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:

As always many many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. Without them this would not be possible.

Summary:

Elrond lies at death’s door and must decide whether to pass on and rejoin his beloved Celebrían or fight to return to his family and friends remaining in Middle Earth.

Rating:

PG-13

Chapter 1:  announced, yet unexpected guests

The Master of Rivendell leaned back in his chair with an inaudible sigh. Again he eyed the four men sitting in front of his desk with a frown.

Something about them felt wrong but he could not put his finger on it. The longer he listened to them the more the uneasy feeling rising up in his stomach intensified. Schooling his features into an unreadable mask and concentrating harder to identify what had unsettled him, Elrond hardly heard the words spoken by the leader of the little group, a sturdy mid-aged man with unfriendly eyes.

However it was not the words he spoke but rather the manners the four displayed that were out of place. The men were merchants from the little town of Ardent, not a day’s ride from Rivendell. The town lay nestled on the outskirts of the great forest that surrounded the hidden valley.

Every year in the spring, emissaries from the village arrived to negotiate the terms of the upcoming grain harvest and settle the delivery schedules.  This year’s meeting had been requested via a message that had arrived two weeks before. It was an annual routine, but Elrond felt ill at ease the moment the four men had entered Imladris.

Maybe one reason for his unease was the fact that usually his chief councillor Erestor negotiated with the representatives from other villages or realms. Erestor, however, was away on a similar errand and therefore not available.

With Glorfindel, his chief troop-commander also not present to attend the negotiations, the Lord of the Last Homely House had the task of having to deal with the humans himself.

An adept negotiator himself, the healer tried to get rid of his unsettled feelings, but again to no avail. He nearly groaned however when a short flash of foresight crossed his vision.

…………someone shouting and running through the forest, a raised knife, a fleeing horse…..

Opening his eyes after he had briefly closed them he looked at his guests and realized in surprise that they had not even noticed his short inattentiveness. Even more disturbed, he began searching in earnest for the reason why the men had upset him and what had triggered this vision. Or had he witnessed something that had already happened?

First of all, the four were complete strangers to him. This was surprising because Imladris and the little town had experienced good relations for many years and the Mayor, Calen, was well known in the Valley. He had always sent men worthy of his trust to keep the alliances close. Those traders, often accompanied by the mayor’s son, Thoren, were also well known in the Valley.

Additionally, the four men had been delayed by a few days and had no real excuse for their lateness. Not that the Elf-lord had a right to question the time schedule of the men, but never had the traders arrived this late after an agreed upon date without a plausible excuse.

Shortly after their arrival Elrond had briefly conversed with some of the patrol leaders, but they reported no recent increase in orc activity or other disturbances that might have accounted for the traders’ delay.

Additionally, the travellers had no idea what they should ask for, or how they should properly negotiate the annual agreements.

And now, after coming so far with his musings, it hit Elrond like a blow. The four didn’t look like townspeople at all, much less like merchants sent by Calen.

He carefully guarded his expression and redirected his mind toward the four in front of his desk. The leader still squabbled over something unimportant and the other three were more interested in the room’s décor than in their companion’s words.

The Elf-lord thought quickly. Should he arrest them and inquire about the real merchants? What if his feelings had deceived him?

No! The four unwashed subjects before him looked exactly like the ruffians plaguing the countryside of late. Robbing and murdering were their daily business.

The elves had received many reports and even pleas for help to identify and catch these ruffians and bring them to justice. Glorfindel had already sent out a small group of his warriors to investigate in this matter. Elrond´s twin sons had even accompanied one of these troops, intent on making the roads safe again and to remove the threat for elves and men alike.

The Elven Lord wondered what these four hoped to achieve here by trying to deceive him. Maybe they had not expected to be brought to the Lord of this house. Maybe they had hoped to speak with some assistant and then…then what?

Elrond shook his head inwardly. Were they really so bold to hope to steal something of value here? Yet, they had surely not intended to visit the valley.

They probably had wanted to disappear after attacking the merchants from Ardent but were caught off guard by the warriors Glorfindel had sent out to look for the missing traders. If they did not want to raise suspicion they had to play along.

Having had enough of this charade now; the Master of Rivendell rose, startling and efficiently silencing the quartet. Slowly Elrond stepped around his desk, four pairs of eyes following his every move, still focused on playing their roles.

With no gesture indicating that he had discovered their plot, Elrond cleared his throat. “I think we should take a break and I will……”

While he had half turned back to his desk, pretending to gather some papers, he was unable to finish his sentence, when one of the men sprang up with agility and speed the Elf-lord had not anticipated.

Only surprised for a moment the healer whirled around quickly, however he was a second too late. The tall man grabbed him from behind with an arm slung tightly around his neck and a blade was pressed against his throat.

Elrond froze not willing to provoke any further rash action because he clearly felt the nervousness and quick heartbeat in the body pressed against his own from behind. He chided himself for his carelessness. He had not even considered that the humans would bring a weapon into his presence. A possibly fatal mistake he now realized.

Before he could think of a method to overpower the one holding him the man pressed the knife harder against the side of his neck. “Move an inch and you will join your creator, elf!” he hissed.

Elrond stood perfectly still, not doubting for a minute that the man would carry through with his threat if pressed. The four men were surely no match for a trained warrior such as he, but the sharp blade at his throat was dangerous. A cut artery no one could undo.

Breathing as shallowly as possible to not increase the pressure of the blade on his neck Elrond followed one of the men with his eyes while he walked toward the door and listened with his ear pressed against the wood. A third one was busy closing the heavy draperies.

It was a paradox. Elrond knew that with one shout, he could alert the whole household to his predicament, but in the same instant he would be dead. And who should help him - the cook, a chamber maid, one of the healers? No, they would not be able to act appropriately. He had never been in need of a personal guard, and had no guardian standing at his door or following his every step. All elves capable of coming to his aid, mainly the warriors, his advisors or his sons, were on patrol, out on the training fields or were completely out of the valley.

As if sensing his thoughts a foul breath near his ear growled. “One sound from you and you are dead, understand?” Elrond sighed inaudible, not daring to nod.

The Elf-lord was angry; angry at himself for not anticipating that these deceivers would have nothing to lose and would act unpredictably.

His thoughts were again interrupted when the man at the door let out a low whistle. “We have to leave”, the listener at the door whispered and strode toward his companion holding the Elf-Lord.

Elrond furrowed his brow. What had startled the men? He could hear no one approach. The house was unusually unoccupied at this time of the year. There were no guests and no representatives to host right now. Most of his staff was on leave to visit family or relatives. He could not expect that someone would inquire about him or his guests any time soon. A servant had brought refreshment only a few minutes ago. If the men would manage to overpower him they had a good chance of leaving the valley unnoticed.

Still unable to move an inch with the blade pressed against his throat he stiffened even more when two of the men began to rifle through the contents on his desk and check the boards along the wall. Elrond pressed his lips into a thin line. He could barely believe what was happening. Their only purpose was to steal. If he had considered some nobler motives behind their actions before, he was deeply disappointed now.

The Master of Rivendell narrowed his eyes when one of the men opened a little wooden box on his desk which held the circlet he wore on official occasions. The High King Gil-Galad had given it to him on the evening before he was killed on the battlefield. It was only a ceremonial device but it was of high value, being made from pure mithril. Having recognized the value immediately, the thief grinned and shoved the beautiful jewel quickly into his pocket; another indication that these men knew their business.

The Elf-lord was forced to watch them steal other items from his office; jewels, money and things of personal or historical value rescued from days long past. Elrond was at least relieved that his most valuable possession, Vilya, was still on his finger, invisible for others to see.

With a quick glance towards his desk he tried to determine how quickly he could grab the jewelled dagger which lay on top of some papers. It was a gift from the Woodland King used only to open letters, but nonetheless a weapon.

Coming to the conclusion that they would not let him live when they had finished their business, the Elf-Lord decided to act. They had most assuredly murdered the traders from Ardent they would not hesitate to kill him too. Distracted as the men were with searching through his things Elrond knew he might not get a better chance. After the man who had already taken his circlet also pocketed the jewelled dagger with a broad grin, Elrond briefly closed his eyes to concentrate. Now he had to face them without a weapon to use for his defense. He took a deep breath, stiffened his muscles and shoved his elbow forcefully back right in the pit of his opponent’s stomach.

Before the man could even feel the air rushing out of his lungs the healer had leaned back in the suddenly free room, ducked out from under the blade, and stepped sideways to avoid the flailing weapon attempting to strike him. Surprised by the powerful shove, the men tumbled back gasping for breath.

At the same instant the Elf-Lord turned just in time to deflect the blow of a second knife swung at him from another of the quartet. The other two had recovered from their shock remarkably fast. Unarmed, he had no other choice but to raise his arm to deflect the blow.

The healer gasped when the blade cut deeply into his forearm but he managed to twist the man’s arm with his uninjured hand sharply before he could strike again, the weapon clattering to the floor.

Sensing another man approach he turned again and slammed his elbow right into the face of the third one who was sneaking up on him from behind. The man staggered back with a grunt while holding his broken nose, blood pouring through his fingers.

Intent on ending this the Elf-lord bent down to retrieve the fallen dagger trying to turn the odds in his favour, but before he could rise again he felt a sharp pain in his back. Momentarily surprised he gasped and looked at the leader who had regained his breath and kneeled behind him his dagger raised to strike again. Forcing back the pain Elrond kicked out with his leg and sent the men sprawling onto the floor a second time.

Elrond blinked at the tears clouding his vision and grabbed the table’s edge to haul himself back to his feet when he felt another blow to his back. Now he could not hold back a cry of pain and sank back to the floor. Grabbing the errant dagger tightly he struck out and sliced through the man’s trousers right into the flesh beneath his knee. He heard a choked cry of pain as the man grabbed his knee and tumbled to the floor.

Before Elrond could gather enough strength to rise again he felt another sharp pain in his back and another….

The Elf-Lord slid down the side of his desk and tried to stay conscious but he was losing this battle. The healer knew that the wounds had to be serious considering his quickly deteriorating senses.

Although there were additional blows, he barely felt them while consciousness left him.

To be continued…………………………

Disclaimer:

see chapter 1.

Chapter 2:  tragedy

The dark haired elf stopped in his steps and turned around when he heard the sound of hurried hoof beats nearing the courtyard in front of the Last Homely House. He was just on his way back from delivering some reports to the Warriors’ Office. The Lord of the house had asked him to take over some of Lord Erestor´s duties while he was not in Imladris.

He narrowed his eyes trying to determine who was rushing into the valley like this. His eyes widened when he recognized Lord Glorfindel at the head of a group of warriors. He brought his mount to an abrupt halt just in front of the steps leading to the main entrance; an action that caused the horse to whinny in protest. Apologetically patting the great white stallion on his neck after dismounting, the Balrog Slayer gave a signal to his men and hurried up the stairs straight toward the dark haired minstrel.

Hastily Lindir surveyed the patrol members but could not detect any sign that would warrant such haste. He had feared to see injured among them, but all, including Lord Glorfindel, seemed well enough, as far as he could tell.

Since the golden warrior had almost reached him, Lindir had no time to continue his observations. With a bow he greeted the Troop Commander. “Mae govannen, Lord Glorfindel. I welcome you and your patrol back to Imladris.” He could not entirely keep the confusion out of his voice.

The tall elf returned the greeting with a nod of his head, but did not hesitate to ask. “Mae govannen Lindir, unfortunately I’m in great haste. Can you tell me where I can find Lord Elrond? I have to speak with him immediately.”

Noting with irritation that the warriors had still not dismounted Lindir nonetheless hurried to answer. “Lord Elrond is still in counsel with the representatives from Ardent, my Lord and……”

The dark haired scribe stopped short when the Balrog Slayer looked at him with eyes full of disbelief. Not knowing what had caused the irritation of the warrior, the slender elf swallowed.

Briefly looking back at his men Glorfindel took a deep breath when he faced the minstrel again. “Lindir, not an hour ago we found the bodies of the four traders from Ardent, including the mayor’s son, on the path leading toward Imladris. They were attacked and killed and robbed of all their belongings.”

Looking in disbelief at the golden warrior Lindir paled and stepped back. “But, my Lord, the merchants arrived in the morning and have been negotiating with Lord Elrond since….” He trailed off when the implication hit him. He had personally greeted the guests and announced them to his Lord, yet the Troop Commander was now telling him they were dead? He swallowed again.

His concern growing while watching the scribe, and easily guessing his thoughts, Glorfindel did not bother to wait to see what conclusion Lindir would come to. He went around the shocked elf and hurried through the entrance hall toward Lord Elrond’s office.

A very bad feeling began to spread in his stomach while he hastened down the long corridor. He was deeply disturbed about the violent act committed on the merchants, but the foreboding he felt now was nothing compared to that.

Recognizing the hurried footsteps of Elrond’s assistant behind him, Glorfindel hesitated only briefly when he reached the office. Hearing no voices or sounds behind the door he determinedly pressed the door handle down and pushed the heavy oak door open.

Glorfindel had seen many horrible sights in his long life while being involved in many conflicts, but the scene that greeted him now made him gasp and momentarily falter in his steps.

There, in front of the massive oak desk not five feet from where he stood, lay the Master of Rivendell, the Lord of this House and his best friend, in a great puddle of blood, unmoving. Lindir, having reached the door, managed to halt his hurried advance before he bumped into the suddenly frozen warrior.

His heart pounding wildly, not from the short run but from the dread that was assailing him, Lindir carefully peered around the warrior still standing at the threshold. What he saw froze his blood in his veins. A cry of utter shock escaped him while he stood frozen like the Troop Commander. Lindir was by no means a warrior and was not accustomed to such a sight. He could not comprehend what he saw before him.

Ripped from his shocked state by Lindir´s cry Glorfindel hurried forward and quickly knelt beside the dark haired Elf-Lord. The amount of blood soaking the tunic and already staining the carpet was alarming.

The fear of what he might find while he stretched out a hand to feel for a heartbeat made his hand tremble. The world around him seemed to have ceased to exist while he concentrated on detecting the pounding he hoped to find.

Long seconds passed until he could feel the weak pounding beneath his finger tips. Closing his eyes Glorfindel let out a breath of relief, yet he knew that a heartbeat was no guarantee for survival.

Letting his eyes wander over the still body he shuddered while he tried to imagine how much time had already gone by. Lindir had told him that Elrond was in council since the morning and now it was long past midday. How long had the Elf-Lord lain there without help?

With every passing minute, anger grew more in his heart. What in all of Middle Earth had happened here? Why had no one noticed what happened in this office? Surely four men attacking the Lord of this house had produced some noise? Elrond had certainly not been attacked without fighting back, had he? And how had the men left afterwards? Someone must have noticed!

Glorfindel shook his head. All those questions had to wait but he would get his answers. The important thing now was to save his Lord’s life. Carefully he lifted the soaked tunic the dark haired elf was wearing and looked with narrowed eyes at the gaping holes covering the back. He counted three and realized with dismay that they were still bleeding.

This was positive information at least. The attack could not have happened long ago, otherwise the bleeding would have stopped by now. Regardless, the wounds had to be deep to produce such a great amount of blood.

While ripping the tunic further apart, Glorfindel registered only subconsciously that Lindir had finally managed to come over and slump beside him.

Grabbing a tablecloth from a nearby table Glorfindel pressed it as firmly as he dared over the wounds, covering them as best he could, to staunch the blood flow.

Shock and anger still raging in his veins the warrior looked up into the pale face of Lindir. The scribe’s eyes were still wide and transfixed at the motionless figure on the ground. Trying to control his agitated nerves Glorfindel fixed the minstrel with his stare and said sternly. “Lindir, fetch Tinár!” When he got no response, he lifted one of his blood covered hands and shoved the scribe hard. “Lindir, the healer, now!” he shouted while turning back to resume his effort.

Startled by the shout the dark haired minstrel scrambled to his feet and turned to obey the warrior’s demand. The shout however had not only alerted Lindir but a good many other inhabitants now crowding around the open door. The minstrel had some problems to squeeze past the shocked elves. Only the ones in the front row could see what was happening and cries of distress and shock rose in number and volume.

Glorfindel looked dismayed at the onlookers, angry at them for only staring at him while he felt the life of his friend flow away under his very hands but otherwise grateful that no one dared to cross the threshold. They wouldn’t be of help anyway. Glorfindel would only allow Elrond’s chief healing assistant Tinár to come closer, and he prayed for him to get there quickly.

While waiting, another thought assaulted the warriors raging mind. What had become of the men? Where they still in the house or long gone from the valley? Involuntarily Glorfindel looked around nearly expecting the men to be lingering in the shadow behind some curtain or tapestry. The warrior shook his head. It would not matter where they had gone. They would not get away with this.

Looking at the ashen face of the Elf-Lord Glorfindel had to convince himself again that the dark haired elf still drew breath. The table cloth was already thoroughly soaked with blood. The Balrog Slayer was restless and kept looking at the door with impatience. What was taking the healer so long?

After another minute and at the end of his patience the warrior couldn’t contain his anxiety any longer. “Tinár!” he yelled.

All murmurs and exclamations at the door stopped immediately. The one word had contained authority, worry and desperation, enough to shock the bystanders to silence.

Only seconds after the shout the crowd parted and the healer rushed past the gathered elves. Already informed by the minstrel he nonetheless looked with dread at the sight before him. He quickly closed the door in the face of the gathered inhabitants and strode over to where Glorfindel was kneeling. He assessed the situation and knelt beside the Balrog Slayer.

“What took you so long?” the warrior asked in an irritated tone, looking sharply at the healer. Ignoring both the tone and the question, knowing that they were born out of stress, the healer bent over and gently but firmly pried the hands of the warrior loose.

“Let me see, my Lord,” he uttered in a calm voice in the hope to placate the riled up blond a bit. With practiced movements the healer checked the heartbeat and probed the wounds one after the other.

Emotionally drained, Glorfindel leaned back to give the healer more room but hovered near enough to lend assistance if required. He wondered at how calm the younger elf appeared to be. This was no usual patient in the infirmary after all and their time was running short, as far as he could tell. But he dared not interrupt the healer’s examination, although he had great difficulty to not urge the healer to go faster. Tinár was, after all, the expert here.

Again he wondered how this situation had come to be. How could the men have overpowered a trained warrior like the Elf-Lord? True Elrond had not had much combat practice in the last years but moves and reflexes acquired in long times past and during many battles could not be undone and would easily match the fighting skills of any man.

Jolted back to attention through the healer’s next words Glorfindel´s face paled even further when his mind registered what the healer had said. “This amount of blood cannot result from these three wounds only, there must be another.”

Furrowing his brow Glorfindel berated himself silently. He had not even considered searching for other wounds after seeing the extent of damage these wounds had done. He helped the healer to carefully turn the body of the Elf-Lord a bit to the side and in the next instant he saw that the younger elf was correct in his assumptions.

The tunic was stained red at two other places on the dark haired elf’s side. Glorfindel felt sick. The three wounds on the back had surely brought down the tall elf, why attack him once more? Glorfindel closed his eyes and squeezed them shut tightly. He had seldom seen such an act of brutality.

However, when the healer beside him touched his shoulder lightly he opened his eyes quickly and directed his gaze towards the other elf.

“I must get him to the surgery.” Tinár said in an intense but soft voice. “Here I can accomplish nothing. My Lord, could you please carry him? I will rush ahead and prepare all that is necessary.”

Already on his feet the healer stopped in surprise when he got no response from the still kneeling warrior. He turned around knowing that he had to rip the shocked elf from his state of shock. “Glorfindel, now!” he shouted louder than necessary in the hope of breaking through to his companion by using the warrior’s name.

Startled, the golden warrior did not even look up but jumped to his feet and carefully scooped the motionless body into his arms. Satisfied Tinár turned and strode toward the door to open it for the Troop Commander and his charge.

The elves still lingering outside the door gasped when the door was pushed open so suddenly but the murmurs stopped immediately, when Glorfindel hurried past them with the Master of Rivendell in his arms. Glorfindel could feel the stares following him and heard exclamations of worry and sorrow following him.

Shutting everything else out the tall warrior focused only on delivering the elf in his arms as quickly as possible into capable hands. He only hoped that there was enough time left to call the Elf-Lord back from the brink of death.

He could clearly feel that life was quickly leaving the body he was carrying.

To be continued……………………………..

 Disclaimer:

see chapter 1.

Chapter 3:  hope destroyed

Half an hour had passed since Glorfindel had delivered the dark haired Elf-Lord into the hands of the healers. No sooner had he laid the wounded elf on the examination table than Tinár had taken over. He had politely asked the Troop Commander to leave the room, using the necessary force in his voice making it plain that he would allow no argument. 

Knowing that he could be of no help anyway, and that he would only hinder the efforts of the healers to rescue Elrond’s life, Glorfindel left, albeit reluctantly. He cast a last look back at the ashen face of his friend, a vision that would never leave his memory regardless of whether the elf would live or die.

Now he sat in the small antechamber of the healing ward covered with the blood of his best friend, his burning eyes directed at the closed door willing the healers to come out and tell him how the Elf-lord fared.

A few minutes before, Lindir had entered and asked about any news, but the blank look from the Troop Commander was enough answer for the minstrel, who quickly left again. Glorfindel was glad that no one else had entered the room after that. He had not the heart to console someone. He could hardly cling to hope himself.

However the longer he sat there staring at his bloodied hands, the more his anguish increased. Was it a good sign that the healers needed so much time or had they lost the fight?

Breathing deeply he knew that he had to calm down. His agitation helped no one, least of all himself. His thoughts were interrupted however by the sound of hoof beats clattering on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Without even seeing who was arriving Glorfindel knew it. He closed his eyes.

This could only be Elrond’s twin sons. His assumption was confirmed a minute later when hurried footsteps could be heard running down the long corridor toward the healing ward. Some one must have already told them what had happened to their father.

Sighing and knowing what was rushing toward him, the golden warrior rose and positioned himself between the entrance door and the surgery door. He straightened his shoulders and braced himself for the agitated youths.

No sooner had he masked his features when the door to the waiting room banged open and Elladan hurried inside, followed by his brother.

Looking frantically around the older twin showed no indication of realizing the blond warrior was standing there and started directly toward the closed surgery door intent on rounding whatever obstacle standing in his way. Elrohir was following right behind him.

Glorfindel quickly took another step into the young elf’s path blocking his way to the door efficiently. As if only now recognizing the warrior standing there, the twins stopped as one and Elladan directed an angry and irritated look at his mentor. “Move aside, Glorfindel!”

Glorfindel did not react outwardly to the openly aggressive tone, knowing all too well the emotions now raging in the young ones who had no knowledge of whether or not their father still lived. Their behaviour was only borne out of the desperation they felt. Meeting the other’s gaze unflinchingly, Glorfindel waited until the emotional storm had abated a bit, yet he did not move aside. Elladan would not push him aside, or so he hoped.

Raising a hand and laying it on the older twin’s shoulder Glorfindel looked quickly at Elrohir still standing a hair’s breath behind his brother. The younger twin however had lowered his eyes, as usual, waiting until the actions of his brother would enable him to act accordingly.

After another few seconds Elladan also lowered his gaze and asked with a chocked voice. “Glorfindel, what happened? How is Ada? You must let us pass to see him!”

Glorfindel fought with his own composure when he saw the anguish in the eyes of the twins now searching his gaze. Restraining his urge to simply draw them into his embrace and tell them that all would be well, as he had done when they were much younger, he only tightened his hold on the older twin’s shoulder while noticing that Elrohir had grasped his brother’s lower arm for comfort.

When the blond warrior did not answer immediately, Elrohir took a deep breath. “Lindir said someone attacked Ada and hurt him quite badly,” he asked for confirmation of this statement and at the same time feared the affirmative.

Glorfindel took a deep breath, as the picture of the bloody body lying on the floor resurfaced in his mind. He was glad that the brothers had not been forced to endure that sight.

“Your father was attacked by four deceivers pretending to be the merchants from Ardent. They stabbed him and left him seriously wounded. When we found him, he had lost a great amount of blood and was barely alive. As far as we know the attackers vanished without being seen.”

Glorfindel resisted lowering his eyes and braced himself for the emotional outburst that would now come without doubt. Yet the twin brothers stood there shocked speechless. Elladan paled even more and Elrohir grabbed the sleeve of his brother’s shirt in a vain attempt to steady him. But the change Glorfindel had dreaded did come quickly. The older twin clenched his fists and drew ragged breaths while Elrohir fought the tears already threatening to spill.

Despite his sorrow Elladan had not lost his sharp mind. “How could this happen? How was it possible for them to leave without being seen?” he asked with a low voice, the anger in his voice clearly recognizable.

Glorfindel took a deep breath, understanding the helpless sorrow turning into anger all too well. Elrohir released a strangled sob, knowing clearly that their mentor would not stop them seeing their father if the situation was anything but most dire, he nonetheless looked at the warrior with the same burning eyes as his brother demanding an explanation.

“I cannot answer any of your questions. When I arrived here the attack had already happened and I came just in time to find your father barely alive.”

Choking back a sob of his own Elladan tried again to get past the warrior. Glorfindel however had anticipated this and grabbed the arm of the dark-haired youth more tightly.

“Elladan, please listen to me. Let the healers do their work. We should not disturb them.”

Angrily shaking the grip loose, Elladan opened his mouth to tell the blond that they were accomplished healers themselves and more than capable to care for their father not only physically but emotionally as well, but before he had a chance to utter one word the door of the surgery opened and Tinár appeared on the threshold.

Three heads snapped around and gazed at the elf standing there. The healer took a deep breath and looked blankly at no one in particular.

“We have done all in our power, but the blood loss is too great. He’s dying.”

……………………………………….

While Glorfindel relinquished his hold on Elladan and closed his eyes in utter despair the brothers let out a keening wail and rushed past the warrior and healer. Now they could be stopped no longer. Tinár did not even try to hold them back. How could he have?

When the twins entered the room they briefly faltered in their advance taking in the sight before them. On the only bed in the room lay their father, pale and unmoving, his upper torso completely wrapped in bandages which hid the many wounds. On some parts the pristine white linen was already soaked with fresh blood.

Too shocked to form a coherent thought, Elladan rushed forward and sat on the left side of the still figure on the bed. Elrohir followed suit but took a moment to search for the bond with his father. While the thread with his brother was strong and vibrant he had difficulty even recognizing the quickly fading connection he had with his father.

A quick look at his brother showed him that Elladan had sensed the fleeting fea of their father too, even though he felt it more unconsciously.

‘We must stabilise him, before he slips past our reach’, Elrohir heard the silent command from his brother and without answering he sat down on the opposite side of the bed and mimicked his brother’s actions. Elladan had laid one hand on the side of his father’s face, the other over his chest.

After completing the circle Elrohir nearly let out a cry when his mind was pulled into a maelstrom of emotion, pain and confusion. Before he had the chance to comprehend what was happening, he was swept away in a current he could no longer control.

…………………………………………

Glorfindel was ripped from his shocked state when the door to the antechamber banged open again and Erestor rushed inside. The eyes of the two ancient elves met and the golden warrior had nothing to explain. The worried expression on the dark haired elf’s face told enough. He had already been informed.

Looking through the still open surgery door and seeing the brothers sitting in trance on their father’s bed, Erestor´s head snapped back to look in shock at Glorfindel. Instantly knowing why the advisor looked so startled Glorfindel turned and hurried into the adjoining room.

“We have to stop them. If Elrond is too far gone, he will drag them with him into the abyss,” Erestor called after the warrior. Glorfindel nodded grimly.

Erestor could only follow, yet he had no idea how to accomplish what he had just proposed. He could hardly tear the brothers out of their trance nor would they react to any command or plea.

Gazing at Glorfindel, now standing right next to the bed, he knew that the blond was struggling with the same thought. However one thing they both knew with certainty: If the Elf-Lord died, his sons would follow and they had no power to stop it.

Like Tinár, who had also returned to the room, Erestor watched the brothers carefully. Perhaps they should not intervene at all. They might accidentally make the situation worse. Erestor shook his head. How could the situation become any worse?

But perhaps the brothers could achieve something? He thought with some desperate hope. Above all they had to consider some other facts. Even if the Elf-lord had made his decision to be counted among the Eldar long ago he was still partly of the Edain when it came to his physical attributes.

An elf would probably have survived the brutal attack but being peredhil did limit the ability to heal considerably.

While thinking about all this the tension in the room grew with every passing second. Neither Tinár, Erestor nor Glorfindel had the heart to stop the brothers in their desperate attempt to reach their father even if the outcome seemed obvious.

Erestor closed his eyes. If fate was cruel today they would not only lose the Elf-lord but his sons as well.

The twins had nearly lost themselves after the torment of their mother at the hand of orcs, but they had managed to escape their devastating grief to some degree with help from those around them, mostly their father. If they lost their father now, there would be nothing in this world to stop them from falling into darkness.

The longer Erestor pondered this, the more he recognized a feeling creeping slowly but steadily into his consciousness. It was a feeling he had long ago buried into the deep recesses of his mind; a feeling that was powerful when released and used accordingly but dangerous when uncontrolled. Hatred was often the very essence that had sustained him and driven him in the many battles he had fought against the Evil One. He shuddered at the resurgence of his old companion.

He was normally a very self-restrained elf. Why was he reacting so strongly about the men’s’ deeds? Perhaps it was because the action was so selfish, so senseless and so unnecessary.

With a deep breath he tried to calm down but it was already too late. The beast had been awakened. Glorfindel´s head snapped suddenly around and Erestor returned the irritated look evenly.

The golden warrior had clearly sensed the strong emotion emanating from him. However, before he would reveal even more of his innermost self, Erestor turned, intent on taming the beast he had released.

When Erestor turned abruptly and hurried from the room, Glorfindel closed his eyes. Hopefully his friend knew what he was doing. He almost felt pity for the men. They would not escape their fate. Erestor would not kill them but they would find no place on Middle-earth to hide and they would answer to the elves for the crime they had committed.

To be continued………………

Disclaimer:

see Chapter 1

Chapter 4:  path without light

After the dark haired seneschal had left, Glorfindel still stood on the same spot, somehow unable to give an efficient command to his body while contemplating what to do. He had watched his Lord perform a healing trance often enough in the past, but what was really happening remained a mystery to him.

Because of this reason he dreaded to interrupt whatever connection the brothers held with their father. Even though he wished nothing more than that they would be successful he knew that they did not possess the powers the Elf-Lord did.

With the elf-Lord already in the process of dying this bond could only end in disaster. He would never forgive himself if the twins died being dragged over the edge and he would have had the chance to rescue them by ripping them from their trance.

Or would they never forgive him if they would have been able to reach their father and were robbed of this possibility through his actions?

Looking up at Tinár standing near the windowsill Glorfindel only received a helpless look. If the powerful ancient elf could achieve nothing what possibility was there for the young healer?

The decision was taken out of his hand when he heard a low moan. The heads of the two elves snapped toward the bed and Glorfindel wondered if he had imagined the sound.

While narrowing his eyes and stepping closer the golden warrior realized that one of the twins had begun to sway lightly and just when Glorfindel took another step toward the young elf, his body went limp and tumbled into the warrior’s outstretched arms.

Quickly overcoming his surprise and shock Glorfindel lifted the lithe body up and placed the son of Elrond on a nearby cot. Tinár had rushed behind the other twin ready if he should collapse too.

He did not have to wait long. Seconds after his brother Elladan lost consciousness and was caught securely in the arms of the young healer. Like Glorfindel, Tinár carried the limp body over and placed him next to his brother on the cot, their foreheads touching.

Quickly Tinár checked both twins for a heartbeat. Gratefully he found what he searched for but he was far from relieved like Glorfindel hovering next to him.

A quick look at the warrior showed this clearly. The pounding beneath his fingertips was much too slow, the breathing shallow and the faces’ complexions ashen. He could clearly see the first signs of fading.

The Elf-Lord had no idea if the brothers had been successful in any way. After a quick look at the older Peredhil he could detect no improvement not even a slight change.

All that had been achieved of the brother’s understandable but rash action was that they now had two more dear ones to worry about. This was obvious enough when Glorfindel returned his gaze at the unconscious brothers. Their natural glow, ever less intense than that of full blooded elves, was barely recognisable any more.

Even if the twins had not achieved to reach their father’s wandering mind they had obviously managed to at least bring some stabilization to the Elf-lord’s quickly deteriorating condition.

Glorfindel bowed his head and clenched his fists in frustration. Again he had failed in his task. He had failed to protect the line of Eärendil. Taking several deep breaths while feeling the anxious look from the healer on his back and with conscious effort he regained some of his composure and raised his head; the sparkle in his eyes flashed dangerously which made the healer gasp and step back.

`This incident has nothing to do with fate. This was the doing of men`, he thought with barely suppressed anger. Life at this time was dangerous enough and when a warrior died in battle it was sad enough but a life cut short in such a way was intolerable.

Remembering the awesome look in Erestor´s eyes, Glorfindel was surprised to feel the same emotions that had driven the dark haired elf to hunt down the men rising in his chest. He was not alien to hate and revenge but this time these feelings could not be denied.

Glorfindel stood slowly and again took deep calming breaths. He would not let these feelings override his rational thoughts.

He hoped that Erestor would find a similar restraint to control himself. After ensuing that at least one healer would constantly watch over the half-elves he turned and left the room.

With a last look over his shoulder the warrior closed the door behind him. Two healers from Elrond’s staff had joined Tinár in undressing and bathing the unconscious elves. They rebound the wounds of the Elf-Lord and removed dirt and grime from the brothers bodies left from being on patrol for two weeks.

Glorfindel walked down the corridor unaware of the part hopeful and part questioning glances that followed him; the elves not brave enough to ask the one question that all of the inhabitants haunted. How was the state of their Lord?

Now recognizing where his feet had led him Glorfindel looked up when he stood on the threshold of Elrond’s study.

He stopped just outside and watched two servants already cleaning the blood soaked carpet and putting the chaos the fight had left back in order.

Upturned furniture and scattered items from the Elf-Lord’s desk and shelves lay all about. A servant was busy collecting all the strewn papers and documents usually neatly piled on the massive desk. Many were now crumbled and blood soaked.

For the first time the warrior tried to imagine how this fight had happened. Had the men attacked all of a sudden and caught the Elf-Lord unaware? Glorfindel doubted this. Judging by the mess, Elrond must have fought back but four to one could be dangerous even for an elf and not to forget the Elf-Lord had been unarmed.

Ignoring the glances directed at him he walked into the room and let his fingers trail over the smooth surface of the oak desk. The warrior suddenly remembered a joke they had laughed at and so many long nights they had sat here doing the daily paperwork or simply talking long into the night.

After rounding the desk his eyes came upon the open drawer. He quickly ruffled through the top papers and searched for the dagger Elrond always had kept there.

It was a beautiful weapon, richly gemmed and only used to open letters. They had always admired the fine workmanship. It was more of personal than of material value to Elrond being a gift from the Woodland King.

Curious now, Glorfindel searched the interior of the drawer more precisely in case the dagger had slid under some papers. It was not there. Why was the drawer open? Had Elrond tried to reach the dagger to defend himself?

Closing the drawer the Troop Commander turned. He furrowed his brow when he recognized that all work had stopped and the servants were staring at him. “Has anyone removed something from the desk?” he asked looking at no one in particular.

Looking bewildered the servants shook their heads. “No my Lord, we weren’t able to rearrange everything yet.”

Glorfindel nodded absentmindedly and turned. What had happened here in the hours Elrond was alone with the four men?

How had he found out that they were not the merchants from Ardent?

His gaze trailed to the wooden box keeping the Elf–Lord’s circlet for official occasions. He quickly opened the box and exhaled sharply. The circlet was gone too. The men had not only managed to nearly kill their host but had also the nerve to rob the valuable items.

The golden warrior’s heartbeat increased and he felt the unusual emotions he had felt before. The red haze again blurred his vision. Gathering his robes he quickly left the room not wanting to let the servants see the fire burning in his eyes.

After hastening down the corridor and sharply turning to the right, the golden warrior opened the door at the end of the stone wall and slipped quickly inside.

With the security of his own chambers surrounding him he quickly exhaled and let the tension gripping him since hours expand. His glow reduced to normal standards and slowly he regained his usual composure.

He walked toward the window sill, sat down and let his head rest on the cool wall behind him. With burning eyes he looked past the gates in the vain attempt to glimpse the dark haired seneschal riding out to find the men which had plunged their haven into chaos.

To be continued……………………………..

Disclaimer:

see chapter 1

Rating:

PG-13

Chapter 5:  got you

Erestor strode from the room and quickly crossed the antechamber hoping that no one gathered there would ask him about what was happening behind the surgery door. He was much too agitated to deal with the worried inhabitants of the Last Homely House right now. He was aware that this should be his job, since no information had been distributed thus far, but in his current state of mind he was hardly the right person to do this.

He shut the door behind him forcefully and leaned his head against the cool wood while closing his eyes. What had come over him? How could he have let these dark feelings creep into his consciousness and pull him under?

Long ago he had exchanged his sword for a quill and vowed that he would not fight again unless his life or the life of someone he cared for was directly threatened. He had promised that never again would he let feelings like hate and revenge rule him. Too much damage had been wrought in the past and too many deeds had been done that he did not want to repeat, much less remember.

But the events of the past hours had reawakened these dark feelings and, although more restrained than in former times, he did partly welcome them to fuel his anger. How dare these ruffians come into the Last Homely House, a place of peace and tranquillity and attack an elf ever intent on helping; an elf who had his very soul dedicated to care for all in need, be it men, elves or some other race?

Hearing someone coming down the corridor, Erestor quickly left and slipped into his suite only a few paces away from the healing ward. With a sigh he closed the door finally no longer forced to pretend. He sat on his bed and took deep calming breaths. He had control over himself again, but this would not stop him from pursuing the men and bringing them to justice. Elves abhorred any sort of killing, even if these subjects did deserve it, but he would take care that their kin would take steps to administer the rightful punishment to the thugs.

Calm by now he opened the top drawer of his cupboard and removed a pair of black leggings and a tunic of the same colour, clothing he had not worn in centuries. After a short inspection he donned them and regarded himself in the mirror. Satisfied he opened the top-to-bottom door of the cupboard and removed a long scabbard.

Taking a leather-wrapped bundle from the corner, he removed the leather covering and stroked the polished surface of his bow with an unconscious, but practiced movement. How long had it been since he had last used it?  When had he fired the last arrow with the intent to kill? How long had it been that he had fletched these arrows? The weight of the weapon felt suddenly so familiar in his hands.

After stringing the bow and testing it’s readiness he grabbed his quiver and attached his sword to his belt. With a last look in the mirror he quietly left his rooms and slipped outside without anyone recognizing the black clad figure hastening toward the stables. On the back of his faithful mare he left Imladris determined to fulfil his self appointed task.

……………………………………………..

Crouched low over the neck of his mare he followed the trail the men had left. In their haste to leave the hidden valley they had trampled along, leaving behind signs that even an elfling would be able to follow.

Beside disturbed undergrowth and ripped leaves he spotted dark drops in regular intervals. At least one of the men had to be injured.

All the better, he thought grimly. This would slow their flight and he had a better chance to still reach them while in the near surroundings of Imladris.

When his mare tossed her head and slowed, Erestor straightened and listened carefully while his eyes scanned the way ahead. Some distance away he could make out a faint glimmer between the trees.

*They really had some nerve to start a fire that would give away their position!*, he thought. *Or were they so presumptuous that they did not expect to be pursued?* Slowly he slid from his horse’s back and ordered her to stay in the area and hide. Butting her head against his shoulder the beautiful dark animal turned and trotted from the path.

Erestor readied his bow, checked his sword and leaped up into the trees. For a few moments he remained sitting on a branch, trying to sort out the feelings coursing through him. How long had it been since he was in a similar situation? Pursuing someone, ready to fight and not knowing how this would end?

Slowly he shook his head. He would bring this to an end and return to the life he had chosen over the last millennia. He was content helping Master Elrond to run Imladris. He did not need the thrill of battle any more.

However, for now this feeling was back in his veins and it would sustain him until he had captured the men. With stealth that only an elf could muster he leaped from tree to tree the men’s voices becoming audible now. Directly above them he settled into the embrace of an old oak and surveyed their camp while listening to their conversation.

One of them, seemingly the leader, sat near the fire toying with an object Erestor could not make out from this angle. The man tossed it into the air and let it dance on his finger tip. When the firelight was caught at the smooth surface Erestor recognized instantly what the man was holding - the jewelled dagger from Master Elrond’s desk. It was a beautiful weapon with the finest workmanship Erestor had ever seen.

Of course the blade was valuable, but the value for the half-elf was more personal then substantial. Nonetheless the dark haired seneschal inhaled slowly. It was true then. These men were simple robbers, nothing less, nothing more.

Had the sight of the dagger angered him the object another men was handling infuriated the dark haired elf even more. With the formal circlet of the Lord of Imladris on his head the man rose and rounded the fire imitating the Elf-Lord in a taunting manner. The other men cheered and laughed unaware of the angry glares following their every move.

Having finally had enough of this display and without any sound Erestor readied his bow and jumped down right in front of the four men. With the comforting presence of the tree trunk at his back he made sure that no one surprised him from behind.

He drew his bowstring back and pointed straight at the shocked man’s heart. Two of the other men had sprung up; the last man kept sitting. From the corner of his eye, Erestor could see a thick bandage wound around his knee.

Altering his stance to have all four in his vision he re-directed his gaze at the leader who still tried to comprehend where the elf had come from so suddenly. “This, I think,” Erestor said with a low voice and pointed at the circlet with his arrow tip, “does not belong to you.”

Momentarily stunned into silence the four men recovered surprisingly fast from their shock. The one picked out as target relaxed and grinned mockingly at the irate elf pointing an arrow at him.

“Look. Look what we have here. A lone fighter trying to impress us with his bravery. What do you want, elf? To revenge your Lord? All alone, by yourself?”

Erestor did not blink. He barely suppressed the urge to kill the man still wearing Elrond’s circlet. But that was not his mission. He had to overwhelm them and deliver them to justice, but he had to be careful. Four to one could be dangerous odds, even for a practiced fighter like Erestor. These men had nothing to lose.

Not knowing if his Lord still lived and if he was facing murderers not just thieves, he narrowed his eyes and drew his bowstring back a bit more. The two standing to his side took a half-step back in fright. *So much for their acting unimpressed*, he thought. Only their leader stood there still wearing his silly grin.

“Surrender and I will spare your lives,” Erestor said still fixing the leader with his arrow. No sooner had Erestor uttered the words when the grin disappeared from the leader’s face and he unsheathed his sword, followed quickly by his companions.

But Erestor had released his arrow even faster and brought the man down with a startled cry, the arrow sticking out of his shoulder and coming out of his back. At this short distance the man had been pushed back a few paces from the impact. At the same instant Erestor slung his bow over his shoulder and pulled his own sword free to dispel the blows the others were preparing to deliver to him.

Although the men were no match for him, Erestor realized that they knew their business and he would not make the mistake of underestimating them. As much as he wanted to kill them for what they had done, he wished to bring them to justice more. He wanted to have them suffer for a long time for their crime.

But the men charging at him seemed to have no such qualms to let him escape alive. They had pure lust to kill in their eyes and soon he was hard pressed fighting for his own life.

After ducking a knife the one seated on the ground with the bandaged knee had thrown at him, Erestor spun around intent on ending this fight now.

He had barely finished this thought when he felt a searing pain flare up his leg. Confused he quickly looked down while his two opponents still charged at him. It was obvious that those two were not who had caused his injury.

The leader, the one with the arrow in his shoulder had recovered somewhat, crawled over and had rammed a knife into the dark haired elf’s upper leg with such force that it remained, penetrating his thigh. His vision momentarily blurred by the intense pain, Erestor still managed to raise his sword in time to deflect the blows the other two were raining down on him taking advantage of his distraction.

He managed to deflect the blows but was forced off-balance by the combined assault. He sank onto one knee, his wounded leg no longer supporting him. The two men instantly charged forward seeing their opportunity to kill.

Realizing this Erestor struggled to come back to his feet but the knife blade sent waves of intense pain up and down his leg. Before he had the chance to balance his weight on his other leg one of the men was above him his sword raised high to deliver a final blow.

Knowing that he would not have the strength to block this blow Erestor nonetheless raised his weapon unwilling to die without fighting back. When the blade crushed down he took a deep breath and readied himself to follow the call of Mandos.

But neither the call of the Valar not the striking blow came. Instead the man gave a gurgled cry and fell dead a few inches from the kneeling elf with an arrow protruding straight through his neck.

Blinking but stunned only briefly, unlike the other three men gaping at their fallen comrade, Erestor recognized the familiar fletching of the arrow. Still on his knees he looked into the direction the projectile had come from and spotted the golden haired warrior running into the clearing another arrow ready.

Recovering, one of the two men still standing raised his sword to charge at the new enemy but found himself quickly on his knees too with an arrow sticking from his shoulder.

“One more such foolish try and I will forget my good manners,” Glorfindel warned pointing another arrow at the last man sitting on the ground. After some minutes of angry glares the men reconsidered and lowered their weapons. Glorfindel was not fooled however. All of them had nothing to lose and would not give up so easily.

After handing his bow to Erestor who had managed to stand while leaning against a tree trunk for support, Glorfindel moved over and disarmed them. He was not bothered by the cries of pain while he dragged the two injured men next to their companion with his wounded knee. The dead man he inspected only briefly.

Having made sure that none of the three could reach the weapons he quickly returned to Erestor´s side, who had still been unable to remove the long knife penetrating his upper leg. Carefully he helped him to sit after leaning his bow within easy reach on the tree trunk.

“How are you?” Glorfindel asked, looking concerned at the great amount of blood running down the councillor’s leg.

“I’m fine,” Erestor grunted with a grimace.

The ghost of a smile crossed Glorfindel´s face. “Yes, that I see,” he answered. “Now lie down, before you fall over,” he instructed, helping his friend to slowly sit down.

“I will kill you elf,” one of the men suddenly murmured while he struggled to find a more comfortable position. Shaking his head Glorfindel did not bother to answer. The golden warrior ripped the bloodied leggings open to better see how deeply the knife was embedded. He had barely touched the skin around the wound when all colour drained from the councillor’s face.

Glorfindel stopped his examination. He considered if he should remove the knife and risk a great blood loss, or leave it there to seal the wound. Believing that the wound would be too painful on the way home with the blade still impacting the elf’s leg, he decided to remove the blade.

Looking at his friend he sighed. “This will hurt, Erestor,” he said needlessly, not knowing what else to say. The councillor only nodded.

“Let him be,” the man who had spoken before could be heard again. “One elf less, who cares? Only a dead elf is a good elf.”

Stopping his ministrations Glorfindel closed his eyes. Slowly he stood up, but then quicker than an eye could follow he crossed the distance to the three sitting men and rammed his fist right in the grinning face of the one constantly taunting them. Instantly the man went slack.

Breathing deeply Glorfindel turned back, ashamed that he had let his emotions get the better of him. These men were not worth the outburst. With an apologetic look he knelt at Erestor´s side again and with a quick jerk he pulled the long knife out.

Unable to suppress a cry of pain, Erestor´s upper body bolted upright, only to sink down minutes later. “Thank you very much,” he grunted between clenched teeth, trying to get his breathing under control.

“I’m sorry,” Glorfindel muttered knowing that his friend was not really angry at him. Quickly he wound a bandage from his healing pouch around Erestor’s thigh to staunch the bleeding.

Distracted by trying to cope with the pain Erestor reacted a moment too late. Glorfindel´s head jerked up at the warning of the dark haired elf but it was already too late.

He felt a searing pain at his back and felt a blade sink deep into his flesh just under his ribcage. One of the men must have crawled over while the two warriors were occupied.

Not expecting that someone stabbed in the back would still be able to act the man looked around in panic, when Glorfindel rose.

He grabbed and pushed the man with a powerful shove against the next tree, where he slid down appearing lifeless. If he was dead or simply unconscious Glorfindel did not care, in fact he was not able to because the world began spinning before his eyes. He thought that he must be losing blood rapidly otherwise this strange reaction of his body was not explainable.

All colour was draining from Erestor´s face again, when he saw the quickly spreading red stain on his friend’s back. He gasped, when he saw Glorfindel sway and drop to his knees a minute later. The Balrog Slayer was obviously badly wounded.

Calling forth all his strength Erestor rose and wobbled unsteadily to where the blond had fallen registering with concern that Glorfindel was unconscious already.

Now he had not only four men to deal with, two dead and two wounded who only wanted his death, but he also had a severely wounded friend who needed help quickly. They were many miles from home and no one knew about their predicament.

 To be continued………………………………

Disclaimer:

see chapter 1.

Chapter 6:  unexpected help

As quickly as his wounded leg would allow, Erestor crossed the short distance and knelt down beside Glorfindel. Reaching out a hand, while searching for a heartbeat, he confirmed that the golden warrior was already unconscious. The pounding pulse beneath his fingertips was much too fast and shallow.

He quickly glanced around to make sure that he would not be surprised a second time, but the two remaining men sat subdued at the base of the tree where Glorfindel had dragged them.

Turning his attention back to his friend, Erestor carefully lifted the shirt on the blond warrior’s back; already thoroughly soaked with blood and sticking to the body. He exhaled sharply when he saw the heavily bleeding wound. He was by no means a healer, but as all warriors were he was trained in how to treat wounds in the field to ensure the survival of the patient until proper help could be given.

The dark haired elf suppressed a sarcastic snort. Proper help could only be provided by the master healer at Imladris. Unfortunately Erestor could not rely on his help. And besides, he was not sure if anyone else knew that he and Glorfindel had left the house, where the two elves had gone or what had happened to them.

Under normal circumstances Glorfindel would not have left Imladris without the usual guards or at least he would have told someone where he was going but these circumstances were far from normal. Erestor could only hope that the next patrol was not too far away and would eventually come to their aid.

Tearing the fabric further away by slicing the shirt open with his knife he realized that the wound was not long but rather deep. He removed a fresh bandage from Glorfindel´s pouch and pressed down firmly on the wound to stop or at least slow the blood-flow somewhat.

While providing the necessary pressure his head jerked around in irritation when one of the men could be heard again. “Don’t worry, elf, he will soon be dead. And then you will be alone, ready to follow him.”

Erestor did not even bother to think of an answer. Closing his eyes briefly he shut out the annoying two men and concentrated on his task. Within the span of a few hours this was the second friend he had to worry about.

He still could not even think about the possibility of the Master of Imladris not surviving the attack. With his death his sons would also be lost, and now another pillar of the sheltered valley was lying at death’s door.

Banishing these thoughts to the back of his mind, Erestor slowly lifted the pad he had pressed against the wound and was satisfied that the blood flow had at least lessened to a small trickle.

Nothing to be content with but it had to do. He quickly wound a fresh bandage around the blond’s torso to keep the pressure partly in place on the wound.

After he had accomplished this he rose to whistle for his horse but groaned immediately when a stab of pain ran from his upper leg right into his skull.

Forced to kneel down again, he looked annoyed at the blood that trickled down his leg despite the bandage Glorfindel had applied. Ignoring this he stood again and clenched his teeth until he could balance his weight.

While waiting for his and hopefully Glorfindel´s horse to come the councillor turned to look at what the men where doing. He was again greeted with a gleeful grin on one face.

“You are at a loss, elf, admit it!” the man sneered. “You will never get us back. You are alone without help….”

“He’s not!” a sharp voice suddenly interrupted before the man could finish his sentence.

………………………………………………

Surprised, both the elf and man looked up and Erestor narrowed his eyes until he recognized who had uttered the words. “Legolas!” he said with a smile trying not to let his relief show to the men. “Your timing could not be better.”

Despite the light words Legolas´ returning smile did not reach his eyes. He had clearly noticed the strain in the elf’s voice. Seeing the chief advisor and troop commander of Imladris in such a dire situation had unsettled the young wood elf.

However, the golden-haired elf stepped quickly into the clearing when he saw the councillor sway. With no glance at the men he reached out and grabbed the other’s elbow to steady him. After a thankful nod from Erestor, Legolas helped the advisor to kneel down next to the still body on the ground.

“What has happened?” Legolas asked concerned while also kneeling down, but not without one eye constantly watching the men. Both elves looked up when they heard hoof beats nearing the clearing. Erestor sighed with relief when he spotted his mare and Glorfindel´s stallion canter into the clearing.

Legolas smiled when Erestor´s horse came over and butted his head against his master’s shoulder. Erestor caressed the soft nose in return and beckoned Glorfindel´s white station over.

The great horse had stopped abruptly in the middle of the clearing upon seeing his master lying there unmoving. His head lowered while his nostrils flared and his ears flattened.

However, after the soft call from Erestor he trotted over and lowered his nose into the golden hair of the warrior. He stomped his food when he got no response.

“That’s a long story,” the dark haired councillor finally answered Legolas´ question with a quiet voice and the wood elf paled, when he briefly glimpsed the grief and sorrow in the other’s eyes. Quickly he looked again at the golden warrior lying before them. He was not…? No! He clearly saw that he was still breathing….

What else had happened then to throw the normally so controlled and sovereign Elf-lord off balance? He had always thought that there would be no situation that Erestor could not handle. A wounded friend, even a good friend, could not be the cause for such despair.

When the councillor did not elaborate further the wood elf’s concern grew. He did not want to tell the ancient elf what to do but the otherwise staunch Erestor seemed not as self confident as he normally was. Just as Legolas wanted to suggest something the councillor looked up sharply and tried again to rise.

“I fear I will need your help, Thranduilion. We have to bring Glorfindel back to Imladris.” Legolas only nodded and helped the dark haired elf to rise. Off course he would help. Erestor did not have to ask. The situation became more and more awkward. He could hardly piece the puzzle together. Questions however had to wait for the time being.

“Will you bind the three men to their horses? I will take care of Glorfindel,” Erestor requested with a nod toward their prisoners.

“Two,” Legolas answered with a doubtful look toward the advisor not sure if Erestor would be able to lift the unconscious warrior on top of his horse with the wound to his leg which he could see was bleeding again.

Questioningly Erestor looked where Legolas was already kneeling and saw that the third man was dead. Glorfindel´s push against the tree must have snapped his neck. Only nodding, he quickly grabbed the mane of his horse as the world began spinning again.

More sensing than seeing this Legolas ran to his side again. “Sit down and I will arrange all,” he said softly hoping that Erestor would accept this at least. The councillor was as uncomfortable with this situation as the young wood elf. Legolas sighed when Erestor only nodded and slid down again next to Glorfindel.

With a strange sort of detachment Erestor observed the quick movements of the blond elf. With long trained actions he checked on Glorfindel´s wound and rebound it. He wrapped the tall elf in his cloak to at least hold him warm. After that he stowed all the belongings of the two warriors into their bags.

This accomplished he walked toward the two men, bound their hands behind their backs and secured them on the backs of their respective horses. He was not willing to give them any chance to surprise him while he was occupied looking after the two Imladris elves. The two dead he covered with their cloaks and draped them over their horses as well. All four animals he bound with a leash, nose to tail, to be able to lead them behind him.

Erestor briefly smiled at the determination of the young elf, obvious deaf to the men’s constant protest. He was not cruel and did not cause them unnecessary pain; but he left no doubt, that he did not have much sympathy for them.

After this was done he came over and knelt beside the dark haired councillor. “Are you able to ride?” he asked. Erestor only nodded and pushed himself up. Legolas hovered at the councillor’s elbow ready to help if needed.

With clenched teeth Erestor finally sat atop his mount. After receiving an encouraging nod from the elf, Legolas turned and carefully lifted the unconscious blond into his arms. He gently placed him on the back of his mare. The grey dappled horse had joined them after a short whistle. The mare would make sure the unconscious warrior did not fall off as long as Legolas had not mounted.

Legolas attached the men’s four horses to his and took a last look around the clearing. He narrowed his eyes, when he saw something lying in the grass blinking in the firelight. A look at the dark haired elf showed him that Erestor had seen it too.

He walked over, and snatched the item up. His eyes widened; Lord Elrond’s circlet. He had seen it many times when he was in Imladris on official missions. How did it come here?

While he tried to understand this he spotted another item that did not belong in this surrounding. When he bent down he was surprised a second time. This object he knew well. A beautiful jewelled dagger his father had given Lord Elrond on the birth of Arwen.

With an irritated look he gazed back at Erestor not understanding how these items had come here. After a wink from the councillor Legolas walked back and handed the items over. Erestor stowed them into his pack.

With a sigh he looked the young elf in the eye. “We should depart. I will tell you on the way home.” Nodding, Legolas remounted his horse and carefully grabbed the golden warrior around his waist to get a secure hold. With dismay he realized that fresh blood was already seeping through the bandage on the warrior’s back.

When Erestor gave the signal Legolas spurred his horse forward while making sure that the other four horses would follow. Mercifully the two men had stopped taunting them, sitting now subdued behind their dead companions.

After a while Legolas brought his horse alongside Erestor´s. He carefully looked the councillor over. He knew how stubborn the dark haired elf could be. He would never admit to any discomfort and never ask for help. Seeing the ashen complexion on the other’s face Legolas set his jaw. He would soon be forced to assist without being asked.

Readjusting his hold on the limp body in front of him Legolas looked up in surprise when Erestor suddenly began to speak. Without looking at the wood elf, his gaze directed straight forward, the advisor took a deep breath.

“Four men pretending to be the merchants from Adlen, a small town we often negotiate with, attacked Lord Elrond a few hours ago, left him mortally wounded, robbed what they could get their hands on and left Imladis. After we had discovered what happened I went after them but one surprised me. Glorfindel saved my life but was injured himself. The rest you already know.”

After Erestor had ended Legolas looked at the councillor in shock. Lord Elrond mortally wounded by four men that had forcefully invaded his home? He could barely comprehend this but what shocked him more was the aspect that this was even possible.

Yet he had barely enough information to consider this and now he clearly understood the grief he had seen earlier in the advisor’s eyes.

Riding closer to the other elf’s horse Legolas laid a hand on the other’s lower arm. “I’m so sorry and I hope that the Elf-lord will recover.”

When Erestor looked back at him the gratitude in his eyes for this attempted comfort was quickly replaced by a sadness that made the young elf shudder. He feared that he had heard not all of this story and he dreaded what awaited them at Imladris.

To be continued…………………….

Disclaimer:

See chapter 1.

Chapter 7:  endurance

The journey toward Imladris was the longest Legolas could ever remember having travelled. He had been on his way to visit the twin sons of Lord Elrond spontaneously, but now he was responsible for two wounded elves and four criminals.

With one eye on the dark haired councillor riding in front of him Legolas again readjusted his hold on the unconscious warrior leaning heavily against his chest. The elf’s head was resting on his shoulder.

With dismay he registered the increasing wetness he could feel seeping through his tunic. He did not have to look at the wound on the elf’s back to see that it had started bleeding again.

He looked around, hoping to detect a patrol or some Imladris guards who could relieve him, but again the forest around the valley was unnatural silent. Something felt completely out of place here.

He considered calling for a halt to have the opportunity to rebind the wound but hesitated when he noticed how tightly Lord Erestor was grabbing the mane of his horse. The advisor had managed so far but Legolas was not sure if Erestor would be able to remount after a break, as much needed as it might be.

Legolas was already hard pressed to care for the blond warrior in his arms as well as the two men he was dragging behind him. Erestor would manage he knew, he was a trained warrior after all and accustomed to going on despite the pain, but the greater problem was his emotional state at the moment. The advisor’s normally sharp mind was weighted with sorrow and grief.

Legolas had only grasped pieces of what had happened at Imladris that day and was not sure if he should ask again what had brought such distress to the Elf-lords. He would find out eventually.

With a quick look behind him he looked at the two unconscious men bound to their horses, now blissfully quiet. Only a few minutes ago Legolas had sprung from his mount, not an easy task with a wounded comrade in his arms, and knocked the two from the waking world, after having sustained nearly an hour of constant taunting. It was not a heroic deed but had been necessary all the same.

Legolas looked at the advisor again and saw the growing red stain on the other’s leg. He decided, despite the need of haste, to stop and allow the injured elves to rest. After taking a deep breath he announced his suggestion, ready to stop the procession.

As expected Erestor did protest, but Legolas managed to convince the dark haired elf that a break was more than necessary and would only delay them half an hour, no more.

Narrowing his eyes after seeing the red stain on the young wood elf’s tunic from the bleeding wound on his friend’s back Erestor relented, knowing that Glorfindel needed to be looked after. He silently admitted that a fresh bandage on his leg would not hurt either.

Legolas was surprised that Lord Elrond’s chief advisor did not protest further; it was almost impossible to convince the elf of something he did not support, but Legolas attributed this to the unstable emotional condition of the elf as well.

After dismounting and lying the troop commander carefully on the ground Legolas turned to help the other elf down from his horse but Erestor had already slipped to the ground. Legolas clenched his jaw but refrained from saying anything; ever a bit in respectful awe of the ancient elf.

Quickly he spread a blanket and carefully rolled the blond warrior on top of it, positioning him thus that he could rebind the wound on his back. While slicing the old bandage away Legolas looked at the four horses standing with their heads lowered behind his mare.

The two survivors remained unconscious and not in need of anything right now. He would care for their horses though; they should not be blamed for their poor masters. Glorfindel´s horse stood a few paces away observing the wood elf intently. Legolas sighed.

The horse distrusted his actions. His ministrations seemed helpless in the face of such a grave injury but what other options were left to him? His only hope was to bring the Imladris elf back to capable hands.

After he had rebound the blond’s wound, seen to Erestor´s leg and cared for the horses Legolas sank into the grass with a weary sigh. Only a short ride and they would be in the valley.

Legolas savoured the quiet and the peacefulness of the moment, the whispering of the trees around him reviving his spirit somewhat.

When he realized that he had heard no further sound from the councillor since his agreement to stop he looked up and tried to catch the other’s eyes. Erestor was looking in his direction but not really seeing him.

Again he could glimpse the deep worry and anguish in the other’s eyes but again a much more intense and deeper feeling: despair. He tried to exactly recall what Erestor had told him had happened in the sheltered valley.

Some deceivers had attacked Lord Elrond and had left him badly wounded. Legolas shuddered. He had never considered the Elf-lord to be the one in dire need of help, but then he shook his head.

There were plenty of other good healers in Imladris which were able to help their Lord, and not to forget his two best friends, Elladan and Elrohir. The Elf-lord’s sons were accomplished healers themselves and were surely capable to make sure that their father survived.

Overcoming his awe, Legolas moved closer to the seated elf and touched the other’s forearm lightly to get the councillor’s attention.

“Lord Erestor, do not give up hope yet. In no more than an hour we will reach Imladris and then Lord Elrond will….”

“He will not”, was the almost angry interruption. Erestor´s head had snapped up and a piercing gaze was directed toward the wood elf. Legolas gulped and nearly forgot what he wanted to say.

Never one to give up so easily and gathering more courage Legolas squeezed the other’s forearm again lightly. “Lord Erestor. I do not understand, why…..”

Legolas was again unable to complete his sentence because he nearly backed away from the sorrow he saw in the brown eyes.

“Lord Elrond is dead. He will not help him,” Erestor said in a hushed tone indicating the golden warrior. Gasping Legolas sat back frozen. His world began to spin. The councillor had said that the Elf-Lord was badly wounded but now he stated that he was already dead?

Trying hard to hold the tears in check Legolas directed his gaze toward the valley. What in Valar´s name had happened there?

……………………………………….

After a while, Legolas did not really know how long it lasted, he took a deep breath and looked again at the still unconscious men. He hardly dared to think about how he would have reacted if they had invaded his home and attacked his father or worst killed him.

He could still not comprehend that the Elf-lord of Imladris could be dead. He had always considered Lord Elrond as a second father to him, Imladris as another home and therefore his heart simply refused to accept the horrible truth.

Again a nagging thought in the back of his mind made itself known. How could all this have happened? How was it possible that these men, or any men at that, were able to attack a skilled warrior like Elrond, wound him this badly and leave afterwards without someone in the Last Homely House or the valley taking notice?

He could not comprehend this but he had hardly enough information to rightly judge the situation. As if sensing the young elf’s thoughts Erestor suddenly directed his gaze at Legolas. The wood elf shuddered, somehow feeling guilty for assuming that something could have been done differently.

Yet to his immense surprise the dark haired councillor confirmed this very fact. “Through our lack of attention we did not discover the attack until late afternoon. No one knows how much time had passed since the injuries were inflicted. It was already too late for proper help. Lord Elrond was bleeding to death; still struggling, yes, but already beyond aid.”

Hearing the self accusing tone along with the minute description of the events Legolas could nearly physically feel the guilt and worry coming from the Imladris elf. He did not know that neither Erestor nor Glorfindel were in the valley at the time the attack had happened and therefore would not have been able to prevent this.

With all the disturbing news swirling through his mind Legolas did not give much heed to another question long begging to be answered. Even more so when one of the men came round and instantly opened his mouth to protest against his unjust treatment.

With a resigned sigh Legolas rose, grabbed his water skin and approached the bound man. He loosed the rope binding the man to his horse and pulled him down from his mount.

His legs, unused for some time, caused the man to stagger while trying to find his balance and he landed on his backside. Cursing loudly and grazing the elf with an angry glare he held up his bound hands in a mocking gesture indication at the water skin Legolas was holding.

Stepping closer while drawing his knife, Legolas cut the ropes with a threatening gesture toward the annoying human. Having understood the implication the man let his further protests die on his lips and drank deeply from the offered water skin.

As soon as he had drunken his fill Legolas snatched the water container from the man and rebound his hands. “You blasted elf, I cannot ride with my hands bound....”, he declared while he kicked out against the elf’s shin. Legolas suppressed a cry of pain and grabbed the curly hair of the still sitting man.

“You don’t have to worry. I will bind you over the back of your beast the same way you arrived here and I will gag you if you utter but one more word.” he growled while holding a piece of cloth up in the face of the human. The man swallowed and took a deep breath but remained silent.

With a last warning glare at the man Legolas returned to their resting spot and offered the water skin to Erestor who took it gratefully. His own water skin was still attached to his horse and out of reach at the moment.

Checking again on the blond warrior Legolas was pleased to see that the new bandage was at least not stained with fresh blood. The ashen complexion of the warrior’s face and the stillness of his body was already enough to frighten him.

Remembering the thought that had come to the forefront of his mind before the man had interrupted them Legolas regarded the advisor who was busy tying a new bandage around his thigh.

Not wanting to stir the emotional storm again after it seemed to have calmed somewhat, Legolas debated with himself if he should ask the councillor the one fact he had to know.

Deciding that he could make nothing worse by simply asking he scooted closer and helped Erestor to stow the remaining healing items back in the pouch. He did not want the men to overhear their conversation.

“Lord Erestor, if I may ask but one more question?” Legolas began while intently watching the dark haired elf. When Erestor did not object or agree the young wood elf took a deep breath.

“What of Elladan and Elrohir? Were the twin sons of Lord Elrond not able to help their father? I know they are pretty good healers themselves...”

Legolas stopped and regretted instantly that he had ever opened his mouth. The sorrow and grief reflecting from the brown depth of the older elf’s eyes increased which chilled the blood of the wood elf to his very core.

Legolas quickly lowered his gaze not knowing if he should simply be silent or ask for forgiveness? On the other hand he nearly choked on his fear that something similarly bad had happened to the twins.

After some awkward moments Legolas heard the deep voice of the advisor and carefully lifted his eyes preparing himself for a story he was not sure that he wanted to hear.

Lord Erestor´s gaze was again on him but his eyes were focused on the distance. “Not long after we discover what had happened to our Lord his sons returned from a two weeks patrol. I do not have to tell you how they reacted. The brothers launched themselves into a healing trance but were unable to call their father back. We fear that Lord Elrond was already too far gone. The only thing that was accomplished was that their minds were dragged over the edge and they are now lost to us as well.”

During the narration Legolas eyes had widened but now he sprung up with a cry of anguish. If he had thought that his world had crumpled with the news of the loss of the Elf-Lord now his world went black.

With tears in his eyes but an angry glare on his face he whirled around; his knife suddenly back in his hand. He had not taken one step toward the man however when a sharp command stopped him.

“Stop, Thranduilion. Not one step further.”

Holding in his advance Legolas’ head snapped around and he directed the same angry glare at the dark haired elf who he registered with surprise was standing not a foot away from him. Before he could even think to take another step an iron grip was forced around his wrist.

Softening his gaze but not his grip Erestor returned the stormy glare unflinchingly. “These men are not worth the toll you would pay.”

With an angry shake of his head Legolas tried to get away from the strong grip but did not succeed. That did nothing to soothe his anger, which Erestor knew was only born out of sorrow.

“They have forfeited their right to draw breath”, Legolas snarled his knife still raised high.

Knocking the knife out of the young elf’s hand quicker than Legolas could even blink Erestor moved closer, his face nearly touching the blond’s now.

“But it is not your place to deal out justice. These are men and not orcs. You would do right to remember that.”

With another cry of dismay Legolas pulled away and staggered back. Suddenly released of the grip he was hard pressed not to lose his balance. In shame he lowered his eyes. What had come over him?

When he heard a grunt however, he quickly looked up again and a wave of guilt washed over him when he saw the advisor had sunk to one knee, his wounded leg no longer supporting him.

Legolas sprang forward and knelt next to the panting elf. “I’m sorry Erestor, please forgive me!” he asked, his eyes searching for the other’s gaze.

Raising his head the dark haired councillor smiled, to the young wood elf’s surprise. “Forgiven, Thranduilion, and now help me up. We have a journey to complete and we need to bring this scum back to Imladris.”

Sighing a relieved sigh, Legolas helped the advisor up and looked back at the man who was staring at him with wide eyes. His mouth remained blissfully shut and his face was very pale.

To be continued……………………………..

Disclaimer:

See chapter 1.

Chapter 8:  reaching home

After they had resumed their journey, the night reached its darkest hour. Never one to be afraid of the wood at night Legolas shuddered nonetheless at the sounds he heard; the trees around Imladris were not as familiar to him as the ones of his home.

They still had some miles to go to reach the inner circle of Imladris. Legolas knew it was usually well protected through the Elf-lord’s power. But was it still protected?  If so, why had no guards or patrols appeared thus far?

For nearly an hour neither men nor elves had spoken a word. The eyes of the dark haired advisor were turned straight forward as if he could see something in the distance Legolas could not. The blond warrior in his arms had not stirred once or even moaned which increased Legolas’ worry with every step they took.

Thankfully the men were quiet too. The unconscious one had awoken earlier but had not even complained about his awkward position hanging head down from his horse’s side.

Legolas had briefly stopped and cut the bonds to allow the men to sit upright but with their hands and feet still bound. Either the men had surrendered to their fate or were simply too tired to speak. Legolas did not care as long as they kept quiet.

Then it happened without any warning. Legolas heard the snarl of orcs before he could see them. He was about to call a warning but registered with surprise that the advisor riding so seemingly apathetic was actually very alert.

Erestor slid from his horse in a way that made Legolas doubt that he had been wounded if he had not seen the wound himself. He slapped his mare on her back and ducked behind a tree. Legolas had also managed to dismount and he laid the injured elf under a low hanging branch of an evergreen, protecting him from sight. This accomplished he ran toward the men while drawing his knife.

Reaching the first man he sliced through the rope and pulled him down from his mare. In a flurry of movement he did the same with the second man while slapping all four horses on their backside to chase them from the path.

Legolas hoped that the human horses were in some way as intelligent as the elven horses, to hide or flee if necessary. He doubted that fact already when he saw how the two mounts with the dead on their back bucked wildly and dove into the underbrush with too much noise for his liking.

When the two men refused to follow his sign to get down and hide, he angrily pulled them both down bringing his mouth inches from their ears. “Do as I say, and no foolish attempts, if you want to live.”

Not waiting for a response Legolas turned and knew that same instant that their attempts to remain unseen had been in vain. An orc rushed past the very tree the injured elf was lying beneath; fortunately not seeing him yet nearly tripping over him.

Legolas however was full in sight and the orc did not bother to wait long to charge at him. In too close proximity to use his bow Legolas drew one of his long knives to parry the crude scimitar swung at him but at the same moment the orc gave an unarticulated cry and tumbled to the ground with an arrow protruding from his back.

Surprised, Legolas followed with his eyes the direction where the arrow had come from and received a wink from Erestor leaning on the tree he was using for cover. Legolas inclined his head in gratitude, ready to dispatch another orc already running at him from between the trees. And for the second time that night he was robbed of his chance to kill the fell beast charging at him.

Like before the orc fell dead just before his feet with an arrow right through his neck. This time however the projectile had come from another direction and could therefore not be fired by his travelling companion. And not only that orc fell dead; the others of the band joined the fate of the one attacking the wood elf.

Instantly Legolas recognized the fletching of the arrows. With relief he lowered his knife while warriors from Imladris dropped from the trees.

Legolas waited patiently while the captain of the patrol greeted Lord Elrond’s advisor, instantly calling for two of his lieutenants to help the advisor sit down and rebind the wound on his leg.

Legolas briefly glimpsed the grimace on the face of the captain when Erestor protested vehemently and declared that he was very capable of returning the remaining short distance without help. Fortunately the warrior was an experienced one, and had enough authority to convince the headstrong advisor to accept help.

The healer of the patrol however had instantly knelt next to the injured troop commander and provided what help could be given in the field.

After the captain had give some more orders he came straight toward Legolas who was still waiting, watching how the Imladis guards efficiently took charge.

“Well met Legolas Thranduilion,” the captain greeted the prince of Mirkwood. “I hope you are uninjured?” The gaze of the captain lingered on the red patch on the young elf’s tunic.

Legolas inclined his head. “I’m fine, this is not my blood. Your timing was just right and I appreciate your help very much.” He nodded his head toward the advisor still debating with one of the lieutenants; the captain only smiled in understanding.

Remembering something Legolas looked past the warrior searching for the two men but he could not make out anyone at the place he had left them. Stepping closer the captain laid a light hand on the young elf’s forearm.

“Do not worry, Prince Legolas. We have caught your errant men. They are already on their way to Imladris.” Legolas looked puzzled at the captain, surprised that the elf obviously knew more of this matter than he did, but he was relieved nonetheless. These fellows in fact, had the nerve to try an escape in the middle of a battle. He was grateful to no longer be responsible for them.

……………………………………

When the tension began to leave his body, albeit slowly, Legolas sunk onto the grass and watched how the warriors piled the orc caresses and lit the pyre to get ride of the stench and filth staining the fair ground of their home.

Any offer to help them they had refused with friendly words and so Legolas could only watch, somehow relieved not to have to do this dreadful task. He performed this duty every so often in his own home and had no desire to get in closer contact with the disgusting creatures. Robbed of the ability to help at the moment he was content in the role of an observer.

Briefly he glanced toward the dark haired advisor and saw with relief that he and the guard had obviously settled their dispute. Lord Erestor was now sitting and accepting the assistance of a young warrior to rebind his leg wound.

Directing his gaze at his other travelling companion his heart sunk when he looked at the drawn face of the healer. Lord Glorfindel was well loved by all of the warriors of Imladris and the loss of the powerful Elf-lord would be a hard blow for them.

Legolas had always silently admired the ancient elf and simply could not comprehend a world without the steadfast presence of the Elf-lord.

He shuddered when a cold chill ran down his spine in spite of the fact that he was sitting in front of a crackling pyre. Another Elf-lord who was dear to him and two of his best friends also struggled to survive; another loss he could not even think about at the moment.

It was always frightening how a single moment could change one’s life fundamentally. He almost dreaded the moment they would arrive in the sheltered valley and he would know for sure about Lord Elrond’s fate.

Legolas nearly jumped when something wet but soft nudged him from behind. Turning quickly and scolding himself for his lack of attention and jumpiness he looked into the big brown eyes of his mare.

Sighing he stroked the velvety nose and scratched between the ears when the horse lowered his head demanding for more. Legolas smiled while willingly surrendering. From the corner of his eye he noticed, relieved, that Lord Glorfindel’s and Lord Erestor’s mounts had also returned unharmed.

Suddenly the pace of the Imladris elves’ activities altered and Legolas knew the moment of departure had come. Two of the warriors had constructed a litter attached between two horses to transport the wounded troop commander home in the hope of reducing the strain on his injured body somewhat.

When all of the elves had mounted Legolas swung up onto his horse and looked back at the two guards who would remain behind to make sure that the fire did not spread. Without Legolas noticing Erestor suddenly appeared beside him. That elf was much too sneaky for his liking.

When he looked in the drawn face however all sarcastic thoughts evaporated. “I want to thank you for your help, Thranduilion,” Erestor said and inclined his head in gratitude. “I’m in your debt.”

However before Legolas had the chance to answer the dark haired advisor had spurred his horse forward, again taking the lead of the procession.

Legolas shook his head. He always felt awkward in the presence of this elf. It was much too easy to misjudge the silent advisor.

…....................................................

Their progress was slow but finally they reached the steep incline leading into the valley. One of the guards took the wounded blond elf into his arms and carried him down, not trusting the horses to manage the steep decent without too much jostling.

Again shivers ran up and down Legolas’ spine. Always before when he had come to Imladris a peace and serenity had settled over him shortly after he crossed the invisible line marking the barrier within which the Elf-lord’s power worked. This time he could feel nothing of the sort. He swallowed and hoped that this did not mean that the Elf-lord had already passed from this world. The valley appeared grey and cloudy; no cheerful singing, no merry lights in the windows.

Legolas tried again to imagine how the elves in his home would react to such a situation. The area around the palace would be in an uproar he guessed. The warriors would demand to search for the men who had attacked the King. The anger would override the grief, at least at the beginning.

After they had reached the stable Legolas remained sitting on his horse. He was really tired after this night but also did not know how he should proceed. On the one hand he did not want to intrude into the cloak of silence that had settled over the valley. But on the other hand he could hardly wait to get the information on how Lord Elrond and the twins fared.

With a glance inside the stable he recognized the four horses of the men. He could not spot the men, but he was sure they had been taken care of and could do no more harm.

Just after he had made up his mind to dismount, the door of the Last Homely House opened and Lindir, Lord Elrond’s assistant stepped outside. In his wake Legolas could see at least three healers he knew. The elves quickly descended the steps and took over the care of the wounded troop commander. Lord Erestor had managed to dismount on his own but was now leaning heavily on the arm of a young healer allowing him to lead him inside.

Legolas waited patiently until Lindir had reached him. A stable hand had taken care of his horse in the meantime. “Prince Legolas, welcome to Imladris. I’m glad you have arrived safely after all the ….. trouble.” Seeing how the slender elf struggled with his composure Legolas inclined his head and smiled. “Thank you for the greeting, Lindir. The last stage of my journey was uneventful, thanks to the patrol.”

Nodding relieved Lindir gestured toward the entrance. “Please come inside. Your rooms have been arranged.” Legolas took a deep breath and followed the dark haired elf. What awaited him behind these doors?” he wondered as he walked over the threshold.

To be continued……………………………..

Disclaimer:

See chapter 1.

Chapter 9:  bad news

The Lord of the Golden Wood stepped out onto the talan high in one of the great Mallorn Trees of Lothlórien. 

Dawn was just breaking and the first rays of the sun reflected off the grey, silvery bark. He loved this time of the day when life was just awakening in the great wood.

Although he could sense the peace and serenity throughout the area, he felt an unease he could not fathom at the moment. Leaning against the giant trunk he felt a calming thought coming from the tree and he briefly closed his eyes in thanks and contentment. Sensing no trouble in the woodland area, he wondered where the unsettling feeling that had disturbed his rest was coming from.

To a casual observer the tall figure looked like a statue carved out of marble, the only movement the breeze-ruffled unbound hair flowing down his back like spun silver.

Opening his eyes Celeborn stepped away from the trunk and in front of the railing surrounding the wooden platform. Elves did not need such boundaries; it was in place both for the safety of elflings, as well as for visitors not as sure-footed as the wood-elves.

He looked up sharply when he heard an unusual sound and with surprise recognized a bird circling directly above his position demanding his attention.

No sooner had he spotted the bird when the pigeon descended down in a spiral. He extended his arm and the bird landed unerringly on his forearm slapping its’ wings a few times to steady itself.

After settling down, black piercing eyes looked at him expectantly.

Lord Celeborn furrowed his brow. Carrier pigeons were usually used to transport messages between Imladris and Lothlórien when haste was required.

After spotting the tiny clasp around the bird’s neck he was sure he would know the source of his uneasiness soon.

Slowly, so as not to frighten the bird, he reached out, opened the clasp and extracted a roll of parchment. As soon as the fair haired elf had closed the clasp the bird spread its wings and flew up quickly. Within seconds it was out of sight.

Celeborn frowned. Apparently the bird had not been ordered to wait for an answer. Holding the tiny piece of parchment between his fingers he wondered, what could be so important or urgent in Imladris to send a messenger bird?

Sensing the presence of his wife approaching him, he turned to look at the beautiful female standing there in the dim morning light in a nearly transparent gown; revealing more than hiding. Reading his thoughts clearly, Galadriel smiled at her husband.

“Slept well?” he asked while planting a tender kiss on her lips. After responding, she indicated the still unread piece of paper. “Until now, I suppose?” she answered the smile on her face already dimmed.

She would not yet admit to the strange dream she had that night until she knew what she should talk about. She would not add to the clearly felt uneasiness of her mate.

Taking a deep breath the Elf-lord’s smile also faded while he carefully opened the scroll. Seeing all colour drain from her husband’s face the Lady of the Golden Wood moved beside the tall elf to read the note for herself.

There were very few incidents that would make her husband react this strongly.

She quickly scanned the few lines written in a fluent script while gripping the paper Celeborn had released tightly.

Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn

I deeply regret to be the bearer of such bad news but I have no other choice as to inform you now. I do not know how I might deliver this message gently, so I will be blunt.

Four deceivers pretending to be awaited merchants attacked Lord Elrond wounding him so badly that he lies dying. To make matters worse the sons of my Lord tried to call their Father back from the brink of death but failed.

The healers no longer have hope for the three of them. Not having the heart myself I want to ask you to inform Lady Arwen. Feeling the sorrow deeply myself I can only guess at the sorrow that this bad news may bring to you.

With highest regards

Lindir

When Galadriel had finished reading she looked up at the ashen face of her husband knowing that her eyes displayed the same shock. Her earlier vision and her husband’s feelings of foreboding had both proven to be justified.

While swallowing she moved into Celeborn’s outstretched arms; closing her eyes and placing her head on his shoulder, while absorbing the grief flowing toward her through their bond and releasing her own sorrow in much the same way.

For long minutes they stood there both tormented by the same thoughts. How could this have happened? And how could they tell this bad news to their granddaughter?

While struggling to regain their countenance both powerful elves registered a moment too late that their granddaughter had already stepped up behind them. There was no time to rebuild their composure. The young elf had already sensed that something was amiss.

“What has happened?” Arwen asked with a slight tremor in her voice. Never before had she seen her grandfather, not to mention her grandmother, so shaken.

Tears were already threatening to spill when her grandparents looked at her and opened their arms to include her in their circle. Instantly she felt the calming presence of her grandparents’ fear around her own but this could not drive away the dread she felt. Looking up she pleaded with her eyes for the news that they had to tell to her.

The Lord of the Golden Wood took a deep breath. He guided his granddaughter to a bench a few steps away and Arwen sat down between them, albeit only on the edge of the seat; now convinced that something bad must have happened otherwise her grandfather would not have to struggle so to find the right words. When she looked at her grandmother, seated at her other side, she only received a blank look.

“Arwen, love, I do not know how to say this,” Celeborn began while taking two cold hands in his. Knowing that he could not soften his words he plunged ahead. “A carrier pigeon brought the message that some men attacked your father and wounded him quite badly…..he lies at death’s door…”

The Elf-lord held the gaze of the young female steadily when he saw the shock his message evoked, even when his own heart cried out in anguish. Not having the heart to tell the second part of the message yet Celeborn waited to see how the young elf would react.

After absorbing the news Arwen gasped and stared at her grandfather in disbelief. She could not contain her tears. “What…how?” was the choked reply.

Knowing that his granddaughter wanted no answers at the moment Celeborn only enveloped her in a tight hug while sobs rocked the lithe body.

Arwen buried her face in the soft robes of her grandfather. She struggled for air feeling as if she had lost the ability to draw in breath.

This could not be. She could not bear another loss. She had lost her mother not so long ago and now…. No, her father could not be lost to her too.

She had found some sense of peace for her tormented soul in the realm of her grandparents while she was no longer forced to endure the grief that was ever present at her home. And now, after she had found some balance to her mind, there was another blow. She would surely not have the strength of will to go down the same dark road again; to mourn the loss of another parent.

Suddenly however when her sobs had lessened somewhat she looked up sharply as a thought crossed her mind. Searching the darkened eyes of her beloved grandfather she took a deep breath.

“What of my brothers. They are accomplished healers. Can they not help Ada?” she asked with a shaking voice.

Swallowing hard she began to tremble anew when her grandfather closed his eyes and her grandmother let out some sort of a nearly inaudible wail. In anticipation Arwen swallowed the lump in her throat demanding an answer by squeezing her grandfather’s hand.

Celeborn opened his eyes and looked at the young elf before him with such sadness in his eyes that it nearly caused to Arwen faint.

“They tried, my dear, but failed. Now they are lost to us too,” Celeborn answered his voice rough.

No longer able or willing to absorb any further terrible news Arwen collapsed. Having anticipated this Celeborn caught the limp body and held her tight.

………………………………………

After placing his granddaughter on her bed and sitting there for a while Celeborn rose and joined his wife on the platform surrounding Arwen´s room. Since she spent most of her time here in the Golden Wood they had tried to make her feel more at home by giving her this refuge high in the trees, not far from her grandparents, but her own nonetheless.

Galadriel had her eyes closed and her face was a mask of concentration. Celeborn stepped behind her silently not wanting to disturb his wife. He knew that she had recognized him anyway. They stood there for many long moments.

After a while Galadriel opened her eyes and directed her gaze at her husband. “He is not yet lost to us but is very close. The twins are almost as far gone. They are stumbling in the dark. We must travel to Imladris before it is too late for all of them.”

Nodding Celeborn sighed. If they could not rescue Elrond maybe they could at least call the twins back, but what would that achieve? Without Elrond all hope was lost. The twins and Arwen would fade and follow their father or they would sail. Nothing would remain of his family. All would break apart. Another important pillar in the fight against the darkness would vanish; Middle-Earth would finally succumb to darkness.

Feeling his wife’s touch on his forearm he wrenched his mind away from these dark thoughts. “Please have all necessary preparations made. I will assign someone to look after Arwen while we are gone.”

Before Celeborn could answer his wife’s request they heard light footsteps behind them. “I will come with you. No force can keep me here,” Arwen said with determination in her eyes.

Sighing Celeborn nodded, knowing that he could not deny Arwen the right to see her family maybe for the last time, albeit he did not love the idea of the shaken elleth travelling at all.

While looking intently at the dark haired young elf before her Galadriel inclined her head. “We will need two,” was all what she said before she turned and left.

Not understanding the meaning of her grandmother’s words Arwen wondered how they would reach Rivendell in time. It was a four weeks journey under the best of circumstances. They would be too late in any case.

Wanting to ask her grandfather she stopped, when she saw Celeborn standing there with his eyes closed and his hands stretched up toward the sky. Not comprehending what was going on she stood there transfixed trying not to breathe, so as not to disturb whatever message her grandfather was sending or receiving.

Having lived now for so long in the Golden Wood with her grandparents she was still in awe of the power her grandparents could put forth. Not that they displayed it often, but when they did, she always felt overwhelmed.

After a few hours while her grandfather still stood frozen to the spot she heard a strange sound. Looking up she could see nothing, yet the trees began to sway as if they were in a strong breeze.

But to her utter amazement it was absolutely windless. And then she heard a mighty screech. Instinctively she ducked her head, never having heard such a sound before. Celeborn was still standing on the edge of the platform, his eyes open now, his gaze turned upward.

Her curiosity greater than her fear, she lifted her skirt and quickly descended the many steps down the talan. Nearly running she hastened along the path toward the great clearing she knew to be located nearly in the middle of the great forest with a high pinnacle in the middle.

She did not know why but somehow she knew that her questions would be answered there. Just as she arrived at the glade her eyes went wide. In the sun lit clearing, two of the mightiest creatures she had ever seen landed.

To be continued……………………

Disclaimer:

See chapter 1.

Chapter 10:  painful awakenings and surprises

When Glorfindel awoke he registered two things at once. He was lying in a soft bed and he felt a dull ache coming from his back. Yet, as quickly as he recognized these facts, the rest of his brain seemed to be bedded in soft cotton.

Blinking several times, he tried to adjust his sight to the dim light in the room. What was he doing in one of the rooms of the healing ward? His memory was unwilling to supply him with any information.

Lifting his upper body to see if someone else was in the room with him, he instantly fell back with a groan when the dull pain in his back flared up to a full blown fire stabbing him from behind.

“I would advise you to stop doing that,” a voice to his right admonished him.

He groaned again. He had not sensed the other presence in the room. Feeling that someone had come over and sat upon his bed he blinked again, trying to clear his foggy mind and his blurred vision.

Expecting Elrond to be sitting there, he was surprised to see Erestor instead. Again he tried to grasp the fleeting shreds of memories which were not forming a clear picture at the moment.

When Glorfindel looked at the councillor’s heavily bandaged leg however, all of his memories came rushing back at once and caused as much pain in his heart as the hurt in his back.

Again he jerked up without conscious thought and cried out when the wound at his back protested fiercely against the harsh treatment.

Shocked, Erestor leaned forward quickly to push his friend back onto the pillows. “Easy Glorfindel, you are badly injured. You should not move this much.”

Not letting the pain so easily defeat him Glorfindel opened his eyes after squeezing them shut and tried again to get the blurry face before him into focus.

“How long have I been here?” he asked between clenched teeth.

Sighing, Erestor knew that without providing the requested answers the blond elf would not settle down to rest.

“Not long. We only arrived six hours ago. Dawn is just breaking.”

Drained the golden warrior closed his eyes. What had happened during the hours he had lain here? Was Elrond still alive? What of the twins?

Reopening his eyes he looked at Erestor, still sitting on the bed and looking at him with the clear promise in his eyes that he would prevent any further movements to keep him from injuring himself even more.

“What of Elrond and the boys?” he asked; the pain in his back slowly ebbing away to more bearable levels. When Erestor took a deep breath and lowered his eyes, Glorfindel’s face became paler if this was even possible.

He squeezed his eyes shut again; this time not from pain but rather from despair. He had failed in his task to protect the line of his king. He had not only failed to protect Elrond but the twins as well. The line of his King had ended.

Seeing that the warrior had misunderstood his reaction Erestor quickly touched the other’s forearm to get his attention back.

“They are still alive,” Erestor said while keeping his friend’s gaze,” although their condition has not changed.”

Glorfindel heaved a relieved sigh and he nodded. Not all hope was lost yet.  But he knew that he was lying to himself. He had no more means to rescue the three half-elves now than he had before he left….

Suddenly his head jerked up. Still some parts of his memory were missing. “How did we get home? What of the men?" he asked. He remembered tending to Erestor and getting injured, but what had happened after that was unknown to him.

Erestor took a deep breath and rose to pour a glass of water. He helped the injured elf to raise his upper body without straining his back too much.

After Glorfindel had drunk deeply and nodded his gratitude Erestor sat down on the mattress again, knowing that Glorfindel would not back down until he had all his information.

“After one man stabbed you, the other men nearly succeeded in getting both of us slain but…we got a little help,” he said smiling a bit.

Erestor deliberately avoided telling Glorfindel that he had slain the man who had injured him. His memory would soon return and reveal all of the ugly details.

Seeing Glorfindel’s confused expression the councillor sighed.

“Fortunately the young prince of Mirkwood was on his way to Rivendell. His timing could not have been better.”

Glorfindel’s eyebrow rose in surprise. Having enough imagination to guess what had happened, he smiled sadly.

Legolas was always welcome in Rivendell, but now he would be burdened with the same grief and sorrow they all felt.

“What of the men?” Glorfindel asked again. He clearly felt that Erestor was holding back something. When his gaze did not sway from the Councillor, Erestor sighed.

“Two are dead; the other two are under arrest, until…” Erestor trailed off.

Glorfindel looked up sharply. What was it his friend wanted to say…until Elrond and the twins had left them?

No! As long as they drew breath he would cling to hope. Had Erestor already given up?

Sensing that the other’s distress was so similar to his own, Glorfindel reached out and touched the Councillor’s forearm. Erestor smiled thinly.

He accepted the gesture as what it was; a small attempt at comfort, one that he accepted gratefully.

Erestor did not know what was happening to him. Normally he was the level headed one, the one pillar that could not be swayed easily. Now, he felt like he was paralyzed. At this moment the dark haired elf did not know how to go on.

If Elrond really died their community would break apart. Not today and not tomorrow, but it would be unstoppable. Without its’ Lord and the support of his ring Rivendell would wither and finally succumb to the ever rising shadow.

To lose Elrond would be hard enough but to lose the twins as well - that would be a blow no one would recover from.

Looking at the golden warrior’s face told him that similar thoughts were crossing the other’s mind. The two friends sat there in silence, neither wanting to speak. What could they say or do in any case?

The healers were powerless to stop the fading of the half-elves. What, then, could they hope to achieve on their own?

When they heard raised voices coming from the courtyard directly in front of the windows, Erestor frowned and rose. A depressing silence had settled over the valley since the attack on their Lord.

The elves of the Valley seemed to all be fearfully awaiting the death of their Lord.  All sounds were muted, all duties were done quickly, and everyone avoided meeting someone of the family for fear they would be told that the worst had happened.

Then what was all the commotion about all of a sudden? When Erestor reached the window he could see elves gathered right in front of the house, the lawn and in the courtyard speaking animatedly to one another and pointing into the sky.

“What’s happening?” Glorfindel asked trying to rise again. Not knowing himself what was happening yet, Erestor looked into the direction the elves were pointing in and gasped.

Hearing this, the golden warrior intensified his struggles to rise and get out of bed. He grasped the bedpost for support when his world began to spin and tilt but it was already too late. He crumpled to the ground face down while crying out in pain.

Shocked, Erestor turned and hurried toward his fallen friend. With concern he knelt and carefully touched the other’s shoulder. “Glorfindel are you mad? You must stay in bed!” he breathed, anger and worry colouring his voice. Looking up with clenched teeth Glorfindel only shook his head.

“Help me up”, the blonde breathed while extending his arm.

Knowing that the warrior would attempt to stand with or without his help, Erestor growled and helped his friend up.

He carefully looked at Glorfindel’s back and breathed a sigh of relief when he detected no new red stains on the heavy bandages.

“You are the most stubborn creature I’ve ever met,” Erestor replied, and received only a grin which quickly faded into a grimace when strain was put on the wound again.

Both elves arrived at the window just as two great eagles landed in the courtyard. Erestor stared in awe at the mighty birds, Glorfindel only smiled when he saw both the birds and the passengers that the great eagles had brought to Rivendell.

Now with the help of the two ancient elves from Lothlórien, there was once again hope for the three fading half-elves.

To be continued…………………………..

Disclaimer:

See chapter 1.

Chapter 11:  strange places

When Elrond awoke he felt strange. His body felt light as if no longer burdened by gravity, yet his limbs reacted sluggishly to his mind’s commands.

He was lying on his back on a surface that was neither hard nor was it comfortable. With a conscious effort he managed to turn his head. Next he tried to raise his arm. It did not hurt but his limbs felt weighed down with lead.

What had happened to him? This place felt strange. Overhead he could see a dark canopy when he turned his head. A path led on into the distance and every shape he looked at wavered. He could not make out where one object ended and the next began.

Groaning he massaged his temples. Searching his memory he was sure that he had never heard of or visited such a place. Suddenly an icy fist clenched his heart. Was he dead?

This could not be the Halls of Waiting. The halls of the Vala of Doom were a place of peace flooded with light, full of joy….

His heartbeat increased when suddenly some doubt crept into his confidence. Suddenly things he had thought he knew, about, he was not so sure of anymore. But then where was he?

With a sound of dismay he rose from the ground. Taking a deep breath he made a conscious effort to return to rational thinking. ‘There must be an explanation for why I am here.’ he reflected.

The way behind him seemed dark and uninviting. The path before him appeared more beckoning, illuminated by a faint light in the distance. He had to make a decision. Standing here would serve him nothing.

However after hours of walking the light did not come any nearer. Frustrated, he stopped. This was like being in a bad dream in which you walk and walk and cannot get from the spot. He frowned. Was he dreaming?

Elves could control their dreams. This was different from all the dreams he had ever had. This place felt unreal and he could not interact with his surrounding.

Here existed no sounds, no shapes, no time shift, nothing. It was almost as if he was trapped in some dimension beyond the world of the living.

Coming so far with his thoughts his heartbeat began to quicken again. This could only mean one thing. He was not dead, but almost.

No sooner as that thought had crossed his mind, all memories came rushing back, and with the force of it he fell to his knees.

The false merchants in Rivendell and his struggle with the four of them and then? The pain…the pain in his back….

He breathed heavily in and out as if experiencing the pain again. They must have wounded him quite badly. He had no memory of the time after the attack.

His sharp healer’s mind did come to the right conclusion. He was dying and on his way to Mandos’ Halls but somehow his progress had been disturbed and he had been stranded here.

How was this possible? He had never heard of such a thing happening before and he had much experience in attendance at the side of the dying.

The pain in his heart did increase when he imagined what his death would do to all he held dear. He had foreseen that his time had not yet come, that he still had much to achieve before he could leave Middle-Earth forever. Grief would wash over the peaceful valley of Rivendell and he could do nothing to stop it.

Since he was not dead yet maybe there was a chance to come back? He considered that to be most unlikely. If his body still had the ability to heal itself then it would already have started. But why was he still lingering here?

Was he here until his body accepted the inevitable and let his spirit go? Or was there another reason that kept him from heeding Mandos’ call? The answer that struck him like a blow was as simple as terrifying.

His sons! They were trying to reach him!

His fears for them suddenly overrode his fears for himself. If he was too far gone then they would endanger their own lives. He would drag them with him into certain death.

If there was no hope for him to return on his own then he would push them back.

They had to take his position, to rule in his stead. Long had they been trained for such an occasion.

But was he able to actually manipulate a process that had already started? Would he be able to deny them entry in his mind when they pleaded with him?

With new resolve he marched again toward the light. Maybe he could reach the Halls of Waiting after all without dragging his sons with him.

He hoped that they lacked the strength to sway him and were wise enough not to follow him where they could and should not go.

Deep in his heart however, he knew that this was a faint hope. His sons would follow him one way or the other and this filled him with sadness. Their lives were not supposed to end yet.

Although the light had previously not come any closer, now it seemed to be increasing in intensity. Briefly he wondered why. Was it so because he had accepted his fate? That he had made up his mind? But had he really? Was he ready to let go, to leave all behind?

He shook his head angrily. Never before had he been so indecisive. It was his daily business to make difficult decisions, to handle a variety of situations.

‘Have I really made the effort to return?’ he asked himself, and nearly staggered back when he could not answer his own question with a clear yes.

Was he weary of life? Or did he simply long to cease struggling and fighting and finally be at peace?

All his long years since his parents had left him and his brother Elros had made his choice, he had more than once considered going to the Blessed Realm. However this had never influenced his sense of duty.

Had he not fought enough? Had he not endured all these long years without complaint? After all the losses he was forced to experience was it not now understandable to wish to simply let go?

Feeling that his mind was drifting away from his body, he resolutely set one foot in front of the other to finally reach whatever was beckoning to him.

He found the slight tug on his mind that seemed to hold him back, irritating. With every step he took, however, the effect was less restraining and his longing to find peace was intensified.

With his thoughts occupied he realized he was suddenly standing on a riverbank which had mysteriously appeared. One step further and he would be in the water. He looked out over the small river onto the other shore. He could not make out the light anymore. ‘Had he seen the river glistering in the distance?’ he wondered. ‘What would happen if he crossed the river? Would he cross some line he was not supposed to cross?’

The longing to cross the river and the tugging on his conscience now fought an equal battle in his mind to gain the upper hand.

With dread he saw that the darkness was following him. The line bordering the blackness crept ever closer. The only inviting direction seemed beyond the river.

And then he heard it; a faint sound coming from the other shore. A whispering, a promise, a calling he had not heard for a long time. He closed his eyes and saw clearly his wife’s face before his mind’s eye, calling out to him.

When he opened his eyes again, he stepped back a step with a cry when he saw that the darkness had nearly reached him, the tip of his boot already lost in the inky black.

Feeling that he now had no other option he waded into the knee deep water and quickly crossed the short distance to the other shore. With relief he saw that the shadow was not following him; stopping on the shore of the other side.

The other side? The other side of what? While he had reached the other shore he never heard the anguished cry in his mind or felt the desperate grip loose its hold. Both sensations were lost in the darkness beyond the river he had now turned his back on.

To be continued………………………………….

Disclaimer:

See chapter 1.

Chapter 12:  troubled homecoming

Keeping a tight hold on the feathers of the great bird, Arwen looked with burning eyes at her father’s house while the two eagles descended down the steep mountain pass and aimed for the courtyard just in front of the Last Homely House.

Knowing that the eagle would not let her fall and feeling the comforting presence of her grandfather behind her she nonetheless did not release her hold until the bird had landed and folded his wings. But she could barely contain her anxiety any longer. She could hardly wait until the mighty birds had come to a stand-still, allowing the three elves to slide from their backs.

Her whole body shook with fear that she would be too late. She feared that her father and brothers had died without the chance for her to be near them; without them knowing that she had come home, that she was with them. She was nearly sick with worry that she would lose another family member.

She did not see her grandparents bow before the eagles and thank them for their help in transporting them this swiftly; since she was already running up the stairs leading to the great front entrance. She did not even think about the discourtesy she displayed. The only thought driving her was to reach her family.

The eagles accepted the thanks with a screech and stepped back. With a few flaps of their mighty wings they flew up and were soon out of sight.

The Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood were now greeted by the elves of Rivendell who had assembled in the courtyard after word had reached the hidden valley that two eagles were approaching.

The couple received the most up-to-date news, yet could get no more information besides what they already knew. The fate of the Lord of the Valley still hung in the balance. They were told that Elrond and the twins still lived but they felt sure that their time to intervene was running short. The subdued atmosphere around them and the hushed words exchanged showed this clearly. Yet the arrival of the Lothlorien elves had sparked some kind of hope in the hearts of the Rivendell inhabitants.

After giving words of comfort and squeezing many a sagged shoulder Celeborn and Galadriel turned, nearly as anxious as their granddaughter to get into the house and see for themselves what had befallen the Master of Rivendell.

Her heart filled with dread Arwen ran along the corridors of her home toward the healing wing not caring about the looks following her in bewilderment when she threw all grace and dignity to the wind in her haste.

When she rounded a corner she nearly ran full force into a pair of elves also making their way down the corridor albeit at a much slower pace. Her eyes widened when she recognized her father’s advisors. However it wasn’t the presence of the two but rather their appearance that shocked her.

Glorfindel was leaning heavily on the dark haired councillor for support and Erestor was holding himself stiffly while limping badly. She was unable to determine which one was supporting the other more.

What had happened to these two? Were they involved in the events that had left her father and brothers on the brink of death? What had happened in the house she had always considered a safe haven?

For a short moment their eyes locked and Arwen saw the same worry she felt reflected in the eyes looking back at her. “Glorfindel, Erestor, I’m sorry…” was all she managed to utter; her thoughts in too much turmoil to determine why these two elves were injured too.

She would find out eventually what had happened to her father’s advisor and troop commander, but right now she wanted nothing more then to reach the sickroom and assure herself that her father and brothers still lived. Through the bonds they shared she knew in her heart that they still struggled, but she needed the visual affirmation nonetheless.

With an apologetic glance and before either of them could say anything she rounded the two elves and resumed her dash down the corridor. Glorfindel and Erestor were apparently heading the same way and she would speak to them later. They would understand anyway.

However when she reached the huge double doors leading into the healing wing she slowed her pace and looked in surprise at the elf standing there. At least one she held dear was up and was sound.

Not even wondering what Legolas was doing in Rivendell, Arwen greeted the woodland prince with a fierce hug, words not necessary between them. After drawing back she swallowed noticing the look in the concerned face of her long time friend.

Feeling the despair flowing in waves from the young archer and feeling the tension in his body Arwen directed pleading eyes at her friend. Reading the unspoken question easily Legolas squeezed both of her hands.

“They are still alive, Arwen, but they are slipping away with every passing minute.” Swallowing back the bile that rose in her throat and fighting back the tears Arwen nodded mutely.

“Will you go in with me?” she whispered, motioning at the room behind the doors.

“Of course,” the blond elf answered as he turned to follow the dark haired maiden, though it was with a feeling of apprehension. He was no family member after all and felt that he was intruding into what he considered family affairs. He shook his head. He was already involved in this and if Arwen needed his support he would gladly give it.

Making up her mind Arwen pushed the doors open and hurried down the short corridor to the rooms usually reserved for family members. The door to that room stood open and her step faltered momentarily when she got sight of the three figures occupying the beds. No other healer was in the room at the moment which made the situation appear all the more desperate.

With a cry of dismay Arwen rushed into the room and quickly sat on the bed nearest the door, fearing that her legs would support her no longer. Tenderly she caressed her father’s cheek while tears of fear and frustration ran down her cheeks.

She shuddered when she looked at the heavily bandaged torso of her father not understanding why someone had attacked him thus.

Legolas lingered at the doorway not wanting to intrude on the intimate moment but staying near enough in case his aid should be required.

After looking at her equally lifeless brothers the dark haired elf rose and directed her watery eyes at the prince. “What has happened here, Legolas?” she asked, not so sure anymore if she wanted to hear the truth.

The prince of Mirkwood swallowed. What should or rather what could he tell her? He had barely enough information to comprehend fully what had happened. He only knew the small pieces of events Erestor had told him about on their journey toward Rivendell and he was not sure if he was the right person to tell her.

However before Legolas had the chance to answer, they heard a commotion outside the door and looked up. Glorfindel and Erestor had managed to reach the sickroom and with a near sob Arwen rushed into Glorfindel´s outstretched arms.

The blond warrior enfolded the young elf in his embrace and tried to impart some comfort by simply holding her close. No sooner had he cradled her to his chest then the slender body began to shake.

Legolas looked with worry at his friend understanding her sorrow all too well. He averted his eyes and swallowed the lump forming in his throat. The sorrow of this family he had come to love like his own was tearing at his heart.

Erestor glanced at Legolas but remained standing in the background in case the young prince would need someone for comfort too. He would wait however until this need was requested. He knew how proud the young elf was and did not want to compromise him.

Her face still buried in her mentor’s chest Arwen looked up when hurried footsteps could be heard coming closer from down the corridor. Arwen was relieved to see her grandparents rushing into the room while Legolas shifted uncomfortably, feeling more and more that he should not be a part of this gathering.

While Celeborn greeted Elrond’s advisors and afterwards the prince of Mirkwood Galadriel only acknowledged them with a nod and hurried over to the three beds standing side by side. Briefly she sat on each bed and either touched a forehead or laid her hand on a chest. Her eyes were closed and Legolas could almost feel the power she imparted into each seemingly lifeless body.

Just when the prince of Mirkwood wanted to discreetly sneak out of the room to give the family their privacy, Galadriel rose and fixed all of them with a stern gaze.

Looking at her still crying granddaughter the elven lady cleared her throat. “Glorfindel, would you please take Arwen out of here and stay with her. Erestor, would you enlighten my husband and me as to what has happened. And Legolas, would you please stay; I might require your help.”

Surprised not to be dismissed, Legolas stopped and looked with a mixture of apprehension and shock at the powerful elf. What did she expect from him? What could he possibly achieve that others could not?

Of course; he would do anything to help the elves he had come to love as a second family but nonetheless a slight shiver ran down his spine when he saw that even the golden lady’s hands shook lightly.

Not having the courage or the heart to reject her he only nodded and returned to the room while Glorfindel left with Arwen still clinging to him. Legolas looked at the other remaining elves to determine if they knew what Galadriel intended. No one had minded her commanding tone, in fact they were relieved that some one was still able to function and keep some control.

Sitting down in a chair opposite the three beds Legolas looked up when Erestor began to tell what had happened not two days ago. For the first time Legolas got a full overview of the events which had resulted in the disastrous ending where the three half-elves were no longer reachable by them.

He was shocked to learn about how brutally the Elf-Lord had been attacked and heard clearly the regret in the voice of the advisor that so much time had elapsed between the attack and when Lord Elrond’s wounds had been discovered.

It shocked him even more that the brothers had tried to reach their father and were now also lost to them, like the Elf-lord.

How the four men had managed to commit their crime in the first place and how they had achieved an escape with no one noticing still remained a mystery because neither Erestor nor Glorfindel had been in the valley when it happened.

Galadriel had not interrupted while Celeborn had asked a few questions; but after the report all was quiet for some time. Legolas wondered why no one had shown up in the room, not even one of the ever present healers. Surely Galadriel had requested not to be disturbed.

After briefly checking on the three half-elves again, Galadriel’s gaze was directed at the young archer. Legolas swallowed when he looked into the ageless eyes and could only imagine how troubled the heart of the elven lady must be.

If the worst would come to pass then Galadriel would lose three family members at once, a blow Legolas was sure not even she would have the strength to overcome after the loss of her only child many centuries before.

Galadriel’s voice jerked Legolas back to attention. “Legolas, first I want to try and reach Lord Elrond wherever his mind has retreated to, if this is still possible.”

Her voice briefly faltered and Legolas had to swallow at the implications. If she would not be able to reach the Elf-lord and anchor him in this world then the twins would be lost too, one way or the other.

“If I’m unable to reach one of them I will need your help,” she said looking intently at the young archer.

Barely able to return the Lady’s intense gaze Legolas´ thoughts raced. What could his presence change that the Lady’s power could not achieve?

Seeing the young elf’s frown Galadriel actually smiled. “Do not doubt your worth, young one,” she said. Yet her statement did nothing to make Legolas relax. However, it was not his position to ask the Lady’s doings. If she required his help he would do so gladly even if he had not the slightest idea how to do so.

After a brief and hopeful look at Lord Celeborn who was still standing silently near the door Legolas redirected his gaze to Galadriel knowing that he would get no help from the Elven-lord. Galadriel was the major player here.

What would Galadriel do? How to reach a spirit, shocked by terrible wounds such as the Lord of Imladris was forced to endure? Surely it would be a mind’s battle Legolas could only imagine.

Anticipating and at the same time dreading an answer to his silent questions Legolas watched closely when Galadriel sat down on Lord Elrond’s bed again. She closed her eyes while her right hand rested lightly on the Half-elf’s forehead. Lord Celeborn stepped behind his wife to rest his right hand lightly on her shoulder undoubtedly to support her.

The young prince was fascinated by the power he could feel was being put forth and how it could be commanded at need. His father, being one of the ancient elves as well, could also wield some old magic albeit he displayed it very rarely and then with as few spectators as possible and great care. Legolas had seen it only twice in his life.

Redirecting his thoughts towards Galadriel he looked intently at Lord Elrond but could detect nothing different from the last time he had observed the still form.

If Legolas had expected something spectacular to happen he was disappointed. With a quick look at his friends, resting right beside their father, he saw that the three figures lay as motionless as before.

Then he scolded himself inwardly. What had he thought would happen? That all three half-elves would open their eyes and walk from the room?

After two more hours had passed, although Legolas was unsure of his time estimation, he began to wonder what was happening.

He was slowly feeling more and more uneasy due to the lack of knowledge about if anything was progressing at all. Then Galadriel suddenly opened her eyes and looked at him.

Startled Legolas swallowed, hoping he had not disturbed the Lady’s concentration somehow. “Don’t worry,” Galadriel said and Legolas felt like an elfling caught doing something he shouldn’t.

Seeing the disturbing expression on the Lady’s face however, Legolas dreaded what would come next. “I could not reach them. They are too far gone by now,” she whispered closing her eyes in despair.

Legolas shuddered and tears formed in his eyes. Was all hope lost now? But then he remembered her earlier words. If she could achieve nothing she would require his help. But what could he possibly do that she could not?

To be continued………………………

Disclaimer:

See chapter 1.

Chapter 13:  Lost

Elladan stumbled over something but regained his balance before he could fall. Irritated he looked down and tried to pierce the gloom plunging his surroundings into near darkness.

As far as he could see, he was standing on a path with trees looming over him; the thick canopy effectively blocking much of the light from reaching the ground.

‘What awful place is this?’ he wondered. He could not even make out if it was day or night. It was not cold but neither was it warm. Never before had he been in or heard of such a place.

Despite his irritation he realized, not without interest, that no object here had a sharp outline. Everything appeared diffuse- wavering shapes were all around him.

Unnerved by the situation he had suddenly found himself in he looked back and forth along the path but could find no further clue about where he was stranded, much less in which direction he should go.

He frantically searched his memory for any hints of what could have happened to him but his thoughts were as fleeting and wavering as the whole scene around him was.

Sighing he decided to choose a direction to go in, feeling that this was as good as any other option. Maybe further down the path he could decide how to proceed.

Just when he was about to go his eyes caught something on the ground beside the path; a dark shape, wavering as all the others were, but somehow he was feeling drawn to this spot.

A small cry escaped him when his eyes had narrowed and he could make out what was lying there on the ground. He quickly stepped next to the motionless figure and knelt down. With a shaking hand he turned the body over and looked into his brother’s pale face.

“Elrohir,” he called while he stretched out a shaking hand to feel for a heartbeat and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the steady pounding beneath his searching fingertips.

His own heart pounded wildly while he waited for his twin to open his eyes. He felt that Elrohir was not injured but that his brother’s mind and thoughts were as jumbled as his own were.

Slowly the younger twin opened his eyes and Elladan smiled at his brother while he gazed intently into the grey eyes so similar to his own.

Blinking rapidly Elrohir struggled into a sitting position and looked around him with a frown. Elladan could hear the same question echoing through his mind that he had asked himself before. ‘Where are we?’ `

Coming to his feet Elladan extended a hand to his sitting brother and helped him carefully to his feet. “I do not know,” he answered while looking around. “I have never seen such a place before.” Elladan tried again to pierce the darkness but had the same result; that he could barely see more than a few feet ahead.

When Elrohir did not react in any way to his comment, yet groaned in distress Elladan looked back sharply at his brother. Elrohir was clutching his head in both hands his eyes tightly closed.

However, before Elladan had the chance to ask the reason for his brother’s distress he felt it himself. All of his memories, so elusive a few minutes before, came crashing back all at once, leaving both of them breathless and swaying.

“Ada,” they gasped in unison and sank to their knees. For long minutes they remained on the ground waiting for the pounding in their heads to lessen.

With tears in his eyes evoked by the memory that had told him what had happened to their father Elrohir looked at his brother. Both now knew what their reason for being here was.

Elladan could not resist searching their perimeter with the faint hope of seeing their father somewhere in the gloom. Elrohir followed his brother’s gaze with the same hope in his heart. But was the Elf-lord even here with them? Had they succeeded in steadying the fleeting fea of their father, or had they failed? After entering their father’s mind they had no real recollection of what had happened afterwards.

Elrohir lowered his head. This place did not look like they had achieved anything positive. They had failed. This was a forsaken place. They were not strong enough to call their father back.

Feeling the strong emotions flowing through their bond and seeing the desperate expression on his brother’s face Elladan crawled forward and gripped Elrohir by his shoulders.

“We have not failed, at least not yet!” he cried, trying to sound reassuring. “If Ada was dead, we would know it!”

Appreciating his brother’s effort but not convinced; yet all too ready to believe, Elrohir nodded shakily. Yet the question remained: what had happened to them?

Releasing his grip Elladan stood and gestured in the direction he had intended to go. “Let us go, brother. Standing here will achieve us nothing. I have the distinct feeling that we may find Ada here somewhere.”

Grateful that at least Elladan had re-found his determination, and having no other suggestion of his own, Elrohir nodded and stood to follow his brother down the path. However, his whirling thoughts were unable to settle down.

If they had failed that would mean they were dead now and on their way to the halls of Mandos. But this place did not look like anything resembling the realm of the Vala responsible for the dead. Yet, what did the halls of the dead look like? He had, after all, no means to judge this. Frustrated, Elrohir shook his head. He did not know what to believe anymore, but he supposed that they were not dead merely wandering between the world of the living and the dead.

This thought alone made him shudder. He had never heard of such an endeavour before and was far from sure of his assumptions. But in one thing he agreed with his brother. He was sure that their father was not dead, rather lost in this twilight world like themselves. And he hoped reverently that there was still a chance for all of them to return.

Then one thought occurred to him with crystal clarity. If their father was lost to them and died, he would not be either willing or able to endure the loss of another parent, not even with the support of his twin.

After the departure of their mother the brothers had nearly lost themselves in dealing out vengeance where no equity could be gained, allowing themselves be ruled by their anger where no absolution could be given. At that time they were nearly consumed by their grief with no hope of consolation. This would not happen again. He would not be able to endure such dark times again.

Lost in his thoughts Elrohir bumped into his brother when Elladan suddenly stopped. Elrohir mumbled an apology but frowned when it seemed that his brother had not even noticed the collision.

Elrohir stepped around the frozen figure and looked sharply at his brother. Elladan was looking straight ahead with his head tilted to the side as if he was listening to something barely audible.

When Elladan did not move or make any sound Elrohir could not contain his anxiety any longer. “What is it? What do you see?” he whispered into his brother’s ear.

Elladan whirled around and looked, confused, at his brother. Could he not hear it? Looking back in the former direction Elladan pointed straight ahead. “There, do you see the light?” he asked, not looking back at his brother, his eyes somehow fixed on the spot ahead.

Narrowing his eyes Elrohir straightened when he could indeed now make out a faint lightening of the gloom far ahead. And now that he was concentrating he also heard what Elladan obviously did. There was some kind of whispering – no words or clear sound, more like a kind of a background noise, easy to overlook.

Both brothers were not sure if they liked what this might imply, but they were nonetheless drawn unstoppably forward. Knowing each others’ thoughts as exactly as their own, the twins marched on, now eager to reach the light.

However if Elrohir had thought that they would soon get nearer, he was disappointed. His feet felt heavy as if they were laden with lead. Every movement was sluggish. A look at his brother told the younger twin that Elladan fought the same battle.

“Do you think we will find Ada there?” Elrohir asked tiredly, desperately wanting to bring their father back and leave this unreal place.

When Elladan looked back at his brother Elrohir nearly took a step back when he glimpsed the hopelessness in the older twin’s eyes. What did Elladan fear? That they had already lost the battle? That their father was already out of their reach? Had Elladan some insight he had not?

Before he could give voice to his fears however, Elladan grabbed his hand and Elrohir had no chance but to follow. “Come,” Elladan called back over his shoulder. “I have the feeling that we must hurry.”

Not knowing what this could mean, Elrohir ran after his brother not needing to be dragged along. The dread he felt in his heart had intensified the nearer they came to the unnatural light.

And then, like before, Elrohir nearly ran into his brother when Elladan again stopped suddenly. But Elrohir had no time to protest because his eyes were drawn to the river that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere before them.

But it was not the river that nearly made him cry out it was the view of their father just stepping out of the water and onto the far bank.

As soon as the tall Elf-lord had reached dry land his figure began to waver and was soon swallowed by mist wafting along the other shore.

“ADA!” the twins cried at the top of their lungs but without any success. The distance was either too great or the mist or something else muffled their cries so that the Elf-lord could not hear them.

The twins realized in growing panic that the figure of their father was vanishing more and more into the mist. The Elf-Lord had not reacted at all to their pleas not to go any further. He had not even looked back.

Elrohir sank to his knees spent. His cries had changed into sobs. In his heart he feared that their father had already crossed a line he should not have; a line that would mean no return.

When Elladan dropped down beside him with his face in his hands, Elrohir knew that Elladan feared this also.

For long minutes they sat there and could not believe that they had been too late; that they would no longer be able to call their father back. Both brothers knew that if they were not able to return to life with their father they would follow him into death. This was the point they seemed to have reached now.

After a while, when all their tears were spent, the brothers rose and stood forlornly on the path. Somehow they dreaded simply following their father. This would seal their fate. Turning back, however, was no option either.

Briefly Elladan thought about the ones they would leave behind. His heart nearly broke as he tried to imagine the grief their passing would cause the remainder of his family.

Making up their minds the brothers looked at each other and stepped into the water together.

To be continued……………………………..

Disclaimer:

See chapter 1.

Chapter 14:  lead on and I will follow you

Elrohir stopped, startled when the water lapped at his legs. It felt strange, wrong. The surface rippled sluggishly and he was reminded of syrup or oil.

Just a few minutes before the brothers had decided to cross the river to follow their father. The Elf-lord was already lost in the mists swirling on the other side of the river.

Looking up Elrohir met the gaze of his brother. He was standing only a few feet further in the water that barely reached his hips. Elladan looked just as surprised.

Looking down at the water that was sticking to his trousers like honey again, Elrohir was now sure that this was not water at all. As he had guessed earlier, the river represented some kind of barrier, some sort of line which they should not cross.

Elrohir let out a frustrated breath. What options were left to them?

Knowing the thoughts crossing his brother’s mind like his own, Elladan turned and looked toward the other shore. It was only a few feet away. He could not get rid of the feeling that that he could never reach it. Was this an illusion, a mental blockade, or some real obstacle?

Elladan started when Elrohir touched his arm. “I’m not sure that we should proceed,” the younger twin murmured.

For a second Elladan was inclined to agree. But, as quickly as his compliance had come, it vanished. With anger in his eyes he shook his head.

“No!” he replied annoyed. “What are you suggesting? Should we turn back and return to our day-to-day-life? Without Ada there will be no life I’m willing to return to. No stupid river, water or not, can keep me from following him. You can stay if you wish.”

When he saw the shock on Elrohir´s face over his aggressive reply, all of his anger vanished and a great sense of guilt washed over him. What had made him yell at his brother in a manner like this? Elrohir had only made a suggestion.

Quickly closing the small distance between them Elladan drew his brother into a gentle embrace. “I’m sorry, Elrohir, please forgive me. I did not mean it the way it sounded.”

Feeling his brother nod against his shoulder Elladan drew back and sighed, relieved when he saw that his brother held no grudge against him.

“I’m also not willing to return without Ada, but I’m not sure if we should cross this river. Maybe there is another option?” Elrohir said steadily while meeting his brother’s gaze unflinchingly.

Elladan nodded and considered Elrohir´s words. But again the older twin did not see any other choice but to follow their father over the river and he had the distinct feeling that their time was running short.

Shrugging his shoulders Elladan turned and set one foot in front of the other determined to reach the other shore. He was relieved when he saw from the corner of his eye that Elrohir was following him without further complaint. Elladan clenched his jaw. He knew that Elrohir trusted his lead, he always had, but he would not have followed him if he wasn’t sure of this choice.

After a time the brothers could not place they reached the other shore without incident. Elladan quickly scampered up the incline and turned to extend his hand toward his brother. Elrohir took the proffered hand gratefully.

He felt weary to the bone and briefly wondered how such a short distance could have tired him that much. The deep lines under Elladan’s eyes told him that his brother was as exhausted as he.

However the twins stopped their movements abruptly when they got sight of their father standing not far away with his back turned to them. This however was not what made the twins stare. It was the scene the Elf-Lord was standing in.

Amidst the uninviting grey mist there was a landscape born from a dream. And the dream seemed to change with every passing second. The images turned so quickly that Elladan began to feel dizzy. Elrohir stood there open mouthed.

When the scene began to stabilize, the brothers registered with surprise that it was their father who was creating this spectacle with his mind, his feelings and his wishes. How this could be possible they had not the slightest idea.

In their familiarity with the elder elves they called father, uncle, grandfather or mentor, the younger ones often forgot about the powers these ancient beings possessed. When Elladan had reached a spot where he could look at his father’s face he was not sure however if the Elf-lord was doing something consciously. The Elf-Lord appeared equally nonplussed.

Ripped from his thoughts by his brother’s touch on his arm Elladan swallowed when the image had come to a complete stand still. There on a beach – a beach? – stood his mother beckoning them to come closer.

Knowing somewhere in his mind that this was not real; that his mother was not dead and therefore could not be here, he was nonetheless unable to tear his gaze away. Like his father, he longed with all his heart to be reunited with her at last. The choked cry from beside him told him that Elrohir was as excited as he was.

For many moments the three half-elves stood there frozen with the familiar ache in their hearts and the longing to let the scene playing before them to be true. Celebrían was dancing over the white sand with bare feet and was wearing a beautiful gown that matched her hair colour.

But father and sons only had eyes for the healthy appearance of the elf they loved most. No trace of the ordeal she had suffered could be seen any more.

As happy as Elladan was to see his mother again he was just as relieved that he had found his father. Guided by his first impulse Elladan wanted nothing more than to close the distance and drew his father in a tight embrace. Yet suddenly he stopped in his advance.

Had they not followed their father to bring him back from the brink of death? Had they, blinded by the beauty and trouble-free atmosphere here, forgotten about their lives and loved ones left behind?

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts from the bitter-sweet atmosphere Elladan took a determined step toward his father.

He would at least try to bring them all back. However, he nearly faltered in his resolve when he saw the joy on his brother’s face. But Elladan had already made up his mind.

Consciously not looking at his mother Elladan stepped next to his father and looked him up and down. Gone was the pale and haggard appearance of the Elf-Lord after the attack. His father glowed with an inner light long dimmed by the hardships they faced day to day. All his wounds were healed, no trace was left. Elrond seemed at peace.

Swallowing Elladan hesitated again to approach him. He nearly feared that he would not be willing to turn back. “Ada,” Elladan began. “We are so glad that we have found you. Please, we must head back before it is too late.”

For long minutes the Elf-lord did not react, he did not even acknowledge that he had heard the words. Elladan’s breathing increased. His father’s gaze was unwaveringly directed at the shore and his wife.

When he felt his brother step up behind him the older twin relaxed slightly. Through their bond he knew that Elrohir had also overcome his shock followed by the overwhelming joy in seeing their mother and was now as determined as he to bring their father back.

When Elladan was about to address his father again the Elf-lord turned his head and looked at his sons. Both twins swallowed. The figure standing before them outwardly resembled their father but the look in his eyes was alien to them.

Overcoming his anxiety Elladan made another attempt to speak but was interrupted by the whispered words the dark haired elf before them uttered suddenly: “But I cannot leave here and I’m not even sure if I want to.”

Shocked to the core Elladan did not know what to say. With these few words his worst fears had been confirmed. Their father was lost to them. He was not willing to return to world of the living.

But Elladan was not known for giving up so easily and his ties with his family were strong. His father’s wish to stay here was born from an illusion. His mother was not there. The apparition on the shore before them was born from his father’s mind. When the Elf-lord discovered this it would be too late.

“Elladan….” the older twin heard his brother’s chocked plea and he could bear the tension no longer. Grabbing his father’s shoulders he gently forced his father to fully turn toward him. Elrohir rounded them and deliberately blocked the view of the shore.

“Ada, please,” Elladan pleaded and he did not care how pitiful he sounded. “Come back with us. Nana will be always there, she will understand.”

Seeing no understanding, only pain and longing in his father’s eyes, Elladan’s heart nearly broke. Had the Elf-lord’s mind been damaged in some way? Where were his sharp wits, his wits that only a few could match? Did he not realize that by remaining here they would cause barely imaginable sorrow back home?

Elladan watched the beloved face intently but his desperation flared again when he saw the still indecisive expression on his father’s face.

Like always when he was at a loss Elladan’s agitated mood changed into anger. Did his father only think about himself? The twins felt sick at heart seeing the picture of their mother standing there a few paces away. Elladan wanted nothing more than to run into her outstretched arms and forget all their hardships.

But he knew now was not the time and he had to do everything possible to make his father see reason but again he hesitated. Was this his right? If his father wished to stay here, did he have the right to deny him this?

“Ada is not thinking clearly. This is not real. He cannot see this. Your decision is right. We have to bring him back, with or without his consent,” Elrohir suddenly said and Elladan swallowed audibly. His brother thought the same way. He nearly laughed out hysterically. Ridiculous. How could he have doubted this, he briefly wondered? With a grateful nod he briefly looked at Elrohir and received a quick squeeze on his shoulder.

Turning back Elladan shifted impatiently from one foot to the other and could barely stand the silence that stretched between them. It was surely not his place to order his father or pressure an answer but somehow he feared that their time was running out.

Maybe soon their chance to decide would be taken from them and then they must stay here with no chance to ever return.

However when his father lowered his head and murmured a faint ‘I’m sorry’, Elladan’s heart nearly missed a beat.

Their Ada was not willing to return with them. Unable to say or do anything the brothers stood there and looked on in horror as Elrond slowly turned and strode determinedly toward the shore.

Feeling all the energy draining out of him Elladan sank to his knees with a sob, shortly followed by his brother. The choice was made. If their father was not willing to come back then the brothers would remain here too.

With sorrow Elladan thought again on the ones still hoping for their return but it could not be helped. He would not endure another family loss.

Their choice was made.

To be continued………………………………………..

Disclaimer:

See chapter 1.

Chapter 15:  follow the road and do not falter

“I could not reach them. They are too far gone by now,” she whispered closing her eyes in despair.

Legolas swallowed while a tight fist was squeezing his heart. ”Was all hope lost?” he asked himself silently.

*No, it is not, but we must not lose any more time now!* 

Again hearing the Lady’s thoughts in his mind Legolas jerked his head up and directed his gaze at her. He had to guard his thoughts better.

For a second time Galadriel had easily read his mind, but then these were strong emotions near the surface and even an elf less gifted than Galadriel would have been able to read them.

Although he had not lost confidence in the Lady, his hope was dampened when he looked into her eyes. Was he meant to see restlessness, irritation and…fear in them? What had happened? Had she lost the contact with the three half-elves, or had she been in contact with them at all?

Her serene attitude had changed. Her hands shook slightly and her eyes darted toward her husband. Was she trying to get affirmation, comfort or help from him?

Lost in his thoughts, Legolas was startled by a commotion at the door. Tearing his gaze away from the Lady of Lothlorien he turned his head around and recognized, in surprise, the elves standing there.

When had Lord Glorfindel and Lady Arwen come back into the room? He certainly had not heard them enter. It was another testimony to his shaken condition.

With interest he watched the silent exchange between Galadriel and Celeborn. Only inclining his head fractionally the silver haired elf moved toward the bed near the great window and gently lifted the still form of the older twin up and laid him next to his father onto the large bed. He did the same with Elrohir.

After making sure that the three Half-elves appeared comfortable all eyes were directed at Galadriel.

As much as Legolas felt welcome in this family, now he felt keenly out of place and had the bad feeling he was intruding too far into personal matters. But again, before he could put action to his thoughts, Galadriel addressed him.

“Now there is only one chance left for us to reach them,” she began and Legolas leaned forward with no small amount of anxiety.

“We must combine our powers and call for them.” Legolas looked quickly around to see how the others would react to this statement. To his dismay no one seemed uneasy at the Lady’s announcement save him.

He had no idea how they, or more specifically he, should accomplish this. His family was not gifted with any extraordinary mental powers.

With a disturbing smile Galadriel rose and extended her hand. Tightening his lips into a thin line Legolas grasped her hand and let himself be drawn to the mattress.

He was followed by Erestor, Glorfindel, Celeborn and Arwen. All five elves were now standing around the bed facing the three Peredhil at their center. Galadriel then completed the circle.

She extended her other hand to her husband and each of the remaining elves grasped the outstretched hand of his neighbour. Legolas was now standing between Galadriel and Arwen.

As soon as he had made the contact he felt a slight tingling flowing back and forth through his body. In wonder he looked up right into the blue eyes of Glorfindel.

The golden warrior smiled in understanding and gave a quick nod of reassurance. Grateful for the gesture Legolas’ heartbeat increased nonetheless. What would be expected of him? He prayed to the Valar that he would not be the weak link in this chain. Hearing the Lady speak again Legolas looked up.

“We have to join our minds to call for the peredhil. We must do this as an entity but also as each one individually. I will guide you to the place where we can meet them, but then everyone must proceed on their own. We must not let them slip away any further.”  She admitted, “I’ve never done this before and I’m not sure if this will work. But we have to try.”

Nodding their heads the elves closed their eyes.

Legolas heart raced. He had to restrain the urge to break the contact and to run away but he dared not. He did not even dare to make a sound or move.

With a conscious effort he tried to still the turmoil raging in his thoughts. He had to calm down. He would do anything to save his best friends and the Elf-lord who he had grown to love as a second father; but the fear that he would do something wrong, that he would worsen the situation nearly choked him.

However, before he had time to take a breath, his mind was wrenched from his conscious state and cast into a maelstrom he could not comprehend.

He cried out at the feeling of free fall. He had nothing on which to orient, nothing that his mind could grasp to stabilize itself. The mad dash through swirling lights, rotating spirals and stretching nothingness made him dizzy and sick.

Just when he thought he would lose his mind the motion seemed to slow and he regained some sense of control.

Breathing heavily he tried to relax and failed because he knew that the journey had just begun.

………………………..

Suddenly and without warning the swirling kaleidoscope around him came to a standstill and then vanished entirely.

Legolas breathed slowly in and out to stop his spinning head. Knowing that this was a mind trip, he nonetheless felt grateful to have solid ground back under his feet even if it was imagined.

Looking around he frowned. Not accustomed to such experiences he felt the strangeness of his surroundings heavily. All sounds from nature were muffled, the light filtering through the trees was dimmed and the colours of the plants appeared washed out.

Additionally, there was an undercurrent of music, but discordant, not harmonious.  He wondered, “What place is this?”

Reminding himself that he had a mission to accomplish, Legolas surveyed his surroundings in the hope that he would get a clue about how he should proceed.

With anger born from his helplessness growing in his heart he cursed the Lady of the Golden Wood for not preparing him better. He ‘would know what to do when he was there’, she had said to him. He did not even know where to start with his search for the elves he wished to call back.

Yet, never one to dwell on matters he could not change, Legolas chose a direction to take on the path and marched on.

With dismay he noticed that he could see none of the other elves with him on this mission. Was this planned or had they lost each other already? His irritation grew with every step. ‘Combining their mental power’, she had said, yet he had no idea how to do this.

Soon however he could make out a sound muffled like the other noises but somehow elevated over the background noise. Identifying the noise as that of flowing water he hastened his steps and came quickly to the edge of the forest; the path leading straight to a small river.

Stepping out of the twilight he raised his eyebrows. There on the river’s edge stood Glorfindel, Celeborn, Erestor, Arwen and Galadriel or rather their mind images in regular intervals. They all looked transfixed across the river, their bodies looking like carved statues.

Before he had the chance to comprehend what was happening Galadriel and Arwen extended their hands toward him without turning around. Looking closer Legolas noticed that the gap between the two elves was wider than between the others.

He would take the same place he had occupied while part of the circle around the bed. Not wondering anymore how they knew he was there he quickly crossed the distance and grasped the outstretched hands.

At the moment of contact, instantly the tingling was back. The feeling spread quickly from his fingertips to his arms and finally flooded his whole body. It was not an unpleasant feeling yet strangely unfamiliar.

Tightening his hold he waited for what would happen next. To his dismay nothing did. Except for the sensation flooding through him he could feel or hear nothing from the other elves but then what had he expected? Galadriel had said it clearly before. After arriving everyone had to proceed on his own.

Nonetheless the young archer could not resist looking at his direct neighbours and now when he strained his ears he could make out that the other elves were calling something across the river.

The din the river was producing was not very loud, yet he could not understand what Galadriel and Arwen were saying. With a frown he shook his head. Nothing here could be compared with the real world. Suspecting that they were calling the names of the half-elves they searched he followed their example and called for the twins and the Elf-lord at the top of his lungs.

After a while he was not sure if this was the right action. Looking down he regarded the river consciously for the first time. What kind of strange fluid was this? It didn’t look like water at all. If this was no river of water then perhaps it was some symbol; a border between the living and the dead. Coming so far with his musings he shuddered. If the three half-elves were already beyond the border then had they crossed this line and were forever doomed; separated from the living world?

Legolas directed his gaze again at the other shore but this time he did not shout but rather pleaded with his friends to come back. He recalled fond memories, funny situations they had shared, and talked of hopes and wishes they had discussed.

After some time however he doubted that they would achieve anything. Nothing had changed since their arrival. None of the missing elves had appeared, or they were unable to contact them.

Legolas lowered his head. They had come too late. Since Galadriel had not made the attempt to cross the river there seemed to be no point in doing so.

Suddenly he felt a great weariness wash over him and he was nearly overwhelmed by the forcefulness of this sensation. Quickly he looked to his left and recognized with dismay that the other elves had also stopped their calling.

Falling to his knees while breaking the contact, Legolas’ body was wracked by sobs. They had failed. The half-elves were gone – forever.

To be continued…………………………

Disclaimer:

See chapter 1.

Chapter 16:  not all hope lost?

When Elladan had nearly reached his parents standing side by side on the shore and beckoning him to come closer he stopped. Over the din of the river he could suddenly make out another noise that was not there a minute before.

Turning his head he tried to determine what he was hearing. He was sure now he heard faint voices calling something but the sound was so low that he could not discern the words.

The older twin held up his hand when he felt Elrohir step up behind him a question on his lips. Closing his eyes Elladan stood stock still and listened into the darkness beyond the river. Frustrated he shook his head.

Maybe the voices were calling something that was important for them but the veil that muffled all sounds here made it nearly impossible to understand the words clearly.

Taking a few steps back and nearly back to the water, Elladan´s eyes went suddenly wide. The words being called were names; their names...Elladan, Elrohir and Elrond.

And now he knew why he had so much trouble understanding them. The three names were all called at once but from different sources and instantly he knew who was calling for them.

What was happening here? Trying to pierce the darkness Elladan’s heartbeat increased. How had the members of his family managed to let their voices drift into this world?

Despite the awkward situation he smiled. Galadriel! His grandmother was not one of the most powerful elves in all of Middle Earth for nothing!

But then he frowned. Had he been but a few paces further away from the river he would not have made out the calling voices at all if not for the one voice that sounded somehow different. It was not one of his family he was sure, but nonetheless a voice he knew all too well and it was as dear to him as the others.

He did not know why, but the voice of his best friend could bridge the chasm between the living and the dead.

And something else was different. Legolas was not just calling their names, he was pleading for them to come back, was telling stories and events, was speaking with all he had to offer without thinking it over.

Where the voices of his family made them listen and held them back from slipping further away, Legolas’ voice showed them the way back.

With surprise and new hope Elladan whirled around and looked into his twin’s wide open eyes. Elrohir had also understood what was being vocalized and had come to the same conclusion.

Somehow their loved ones had managed to find a bridge to this world and were guiding them home.

Embracing his brother in joy Elladan sobered as quickly as he had been joyous just a moment before. What would this change? Their Ada was not willing to return and this new situation would not change his mind.

Feeling his brother’s touch on his forearm Elladan looked up. “We have to try,” Elrohir whispered and Elladan nodded.

Yes, Elrohir was right. He would not depart from here without their father even if he had to drag him back without his consent; but at the same time he knew that he would and could never do that. The grimace on his brother’s face told him that the same thought had occurred to him.

However he had to try. Just when he started to go back to the beach Elladan stopped abruptly a second time when he realized his father was standing no more than two feet away from them. Elrohir let out his breath in a rush.

Elladan swallowed and regarded the Elf-lord standing before him carefully. What had happened? Surely his father had also heard the voices and realized what they meant. Or had he come to say goodbye?

Fighting down the lump in his throat Elladan´s gaze wandered past his father to the beach and then he gasped. The beach had vanished as had his mother. The unreal illusion was gone. They were standing in the diffuse twilight that did not reveal much of their surroundings again.

A similar gasp from his brother told him that he had not imagined the vanished illusion. The brothers looked around but could not see the scene that had drawn their father and themselves away from the riverbank anywhere.

Looking at his father Elladan let out a sigh of relief when he saw the Elf-lord smiling. “I think it’s time to go home,” he said and walked forward to embrace both of his sons at once. Struggling for their composure the twins returned the hug with great relief.

Elrohir wiped a tear from his face and for the first time since being here he looked carefully at his father. Gone were the haggard appearance and the pale countenance they had been confronted with after the attack. No wound or trace of the ordeal remained. Their father was glowing and looked healthy, as if the attack had never happened.

Lowering his head Elrohir swallowed. As happy as he was by the decision of his father to come back with them; he was equally troubled by the knowledge of what awaited him upon their return; a badly battered body and a return of the feeling of loss without his beloved wife by his side.

Tilting the chin of his youngest son up with his finger Elrond smiled. “Do not worry, I will manage. It was an illusion. I’m glad to come back and I’m not alone. I have my children and many other friends I’m grateful for. Your mother will wait for me and one day we will be truly united.”

Elrohir could only nod, not trusting his voice right now. When he looked up and into the smiling face of his brother all three half-elves turned and quickly stepped into the water.

His senses focused towards the voices, using them as guidance, Elladan looked down with irritation when he was barely able to lift his foot to take another step. It was more difficult than before. The water seemed more restraining than when they were crossing it earlier. It was still only knee deep but hindered him nearly as much as a rope would.

Turning his head and looking at his brother told him that Elrohir struggled like himself but the frown on his father’s face caused his heartbeat to increase. “Ada, what is wrong here?” he asked when their eyes met.

“We must cross this river quickly”, Elrond answered but Elladan could clearly hear the warning undertone and the urging in his father’s voice.

Taking another straining step Elladan wondered what had happened to the river. His earlier contemplantations returned nearly painful. This was no water at all. The river was a border, a line not to cross, at any rate not if you wanted to return.

He had the distinct feeling that they had lingered too long, that the choice to return was no longer theirs. With a cry of dismay he redoubled his efforts but the more he struggled the more restraining the water became.

He turned his head sharply when he heard Elrohir´s cry. “The voices”, his brother shouted. “I can barely hear them anymore.”

Redirecting his attention Elladan trembled. Elrohir was right. The rushing of the little river had increased so much that they could barely hear any other sound.

The river became more and more a barrier they would not be able to cross. Only the voice of Legolas could still be heard from afar. Even the darkness beyond the river had increased.

When Elrohir stumbled and fell into the water Elladan was unable to take one step to help his brother. His feet were nearly immobile now. Every move was only possible with the utmost exertion.

His gaze trained on Elrohir and watching to make sure that his brother’s head was still above the surface, Elladan briefly wondered how this would end. Would they be forever frozen in the river, or would they have to turn back and vanish in the twilight or the Halls of Mandos with no chance to return to life?

Seeing his brother slipping more and more into the awful substance the older twin cried out with frustration. The water was nearly solid now, movement was no longer possible.

Was it possible for Elrohir to slip under the surface? And what would happen then? Would he drown or suffocate?

While tears of strain and fear were rolling down his face Elladan started when he felt a hand grab his firmly. He turned his head and saw his father standing not a foot away from him, his other hand firmly gripping the hand of his brother. How had Elrond managed to move and get next to them?

Blinking at his father Elladan let out another cry but this time in awe. The Elf-lord was glowing, but not with the faint light with which all elves shone. He was burning from the inside and the light was so bright that Elladan had to avert his eyes.

Elrohir had managed to come back to his feet while Elladan still felt as if rooted to the spot.

After a few minutes the bright light dimmed and an illuminating faint glow began spreading making the gloomy surroundings even more unreal. And now Elladan understood. His father had called upon the powers of Vilya and the powerful ring had responded to its master.

Feeling a tugging on his hand Elladan watched in surprise when his father slowly moved one foot in front of the other leaving him no choice but to follow along with the firm grip that was nearly crushing his fingers.

Feeling that he would fall over, Elladan realized that the water was not as restraining as before. Although it was still very tough and sticky, it was no longer solid.

Straining his tired muscles he managed to lift his foot and take a step. Looking to the side Elrohir had also managed to stumble behind their father who never relinquished his hold on their hands.

After over an hour the three Half-elves stepped out of the water and onto solid ground that was only beneath their feet. Completely out of breath and tired beyond anything they had ever experienced they sank to the ground unable to speak, and just concentrated on breathing.

After a while Elladan looked up into the face of his father. His glow had returned to normal standards and the ring’s light had become invisible as before. To his dismay his father’s eyes were closed tightly, his exhaustion appearing even greater that his own if that was even possible.

Unable to hear any voice still calling Elladan hung his head. With a trembling hand he stroked the hair of his brother’s head which was leaning against his shoulder. Could he no longer hear the voices because his body had shut down? Or had the calling stopped altogether now?

Was his father’s hunched figure and apathy a sign that they had fought and lost in the end after all? Was their way back now closed forever? Unable to hold his eyes open even a second longer Elladan sank to the ground joining his brother and father in unconsciousness.

To be continued………………………….  

Disclaimer:

See chapter 1.

Chapter 17:  epilogue

Slowly his senses returned to awareness. Only when he felt a steadying hand at his back did Legolas register that his wandering mind had found the way back to consciousness. After slowly opening his eyes, he blinked several times to focus his still swaying vision and sighed, relieved, when the room stopped spinning around him.

He was still sitting between Arwen and Galadriel. With a pounding heart he looked around the circle. All of the other elves still had their eyes closed, their chanting, however, had stopped.

Had they achieved anything? He could not say if this mental voyage was successful. He had no real memory of what had happened. Releasing the hands of his neighbours he waited patiently until the elves around him opened their eyes.

Legolas swallowed. Why was everyone silent? A bad feeling was growing in his stomach. He felt that the silence did not bode anything good. Not wanting to be the one asking questions to which all the others seemed to know the answers, he held his tongue.

His anxiety was relieved a moment later when Galadriel opened her eyes and looked around.

“We can do no more. Now it is up to them.”

Legolas’ head jerked up. What was this supposed to mean? Had they achieved something, or had they failed? Frustrated, he directed his gaze at the three Half-elves still lying on the bed.

His heart sank. Nothing had changed. Master Elrond and the twins had not responded to their attempt to call them back. They looked as pale and lifeless as before. Lowering his eyes he swallowed again, this time to fight down the tears that threatened to fall.

“Not all is lost yet,” Legolas heard Celeborn say. He raised his eyes to look at the Elf-lord and was surprised that the words were directed at him. Gazing intently at the older elf, Legolas tried desperately to judge if the words were only meant to comfort him or if there was really still hope for the peredhil.

Lord Celeborn’s face, however, remained emotionless and it was impossible for him to read anything in it. To understand the great Lord would require more familiarity with him.

Arwen was the first to rise and Legolas followed her moves with his eyes. She walked over to her father; kissed his brow, and then did the same to her brothers. Her face was as unreadable to him as that of Lord Celeborn. He wondered if her face reflected hope or despair.

Just when he thought he could not stand the uncertainty any longer Galadriel touched him on the shoulder and he nearly jumped.

“Give them some time,” she said and Legolas could only nod.

Slowly the elves cleared the room and after a last look at the Half-elves Legolas followed.

Feeling forlorn, the blond elf stood in the main corridor contemplating where to go. He was not sure if he wanted to talk to anyone in the family right now and he did not want to be an added burden to the grieving family.

Making up his mind he headed to the one place where he always found comfort. In the large gardens he could release some of his tension. He had not seen where the other family members had gone when they left the healing room.

Climbing an old oak the young archer melted into the embrace of the huge tree. Closing his eyes he opened his senses to the song of the ancient being. He attuned his soul to the music vibrating up and down the trunk and regained some sense of calm and composure.

He must have dozed off for it was already darkening when he was jerked upright by a silent call. He looked down and saw Lindir, Master Elrond’s assistant, standing at the base of the tree.

Quickly he descended down to step in front of the slender dark haired elf. Legolas swallowed. What had happened in the meantime? Had joy returned to the peaceful valley, or had utter despair finally taken up residence?

“Lady Galadriel is requesting your presence,” Lindir said abruptly and before Legolas had any chance to judge the mood of the other elf, Lindir had turned and headed back to the house.

Sighing, Legolas straightened his clothing and followed the minstrel, dreading what would await him. While hastening toward the house Legolas looked around. He could see but a few elves going about their daily chores. There were no visitors in the garden, no singers, and no couples sitting on one of the many shaded benches. He wondered if this was a good or a bad sign.

Shaking his head he directed his gaze forward. He would face whatever awaited him in the next few minutes. He was tired of this anxiety. He had to know, now and finally.

Reaching the healing ward Lindir smiled and gestured him inside. Had the elf actually smiled? Legolas’ heartbeat quickened. Hastening his steps he quickly walked down the corridor. Reaching the door to the sickroom he stopped at the sight that greeted him.

Elladan and Elrohir were sitting next to their father leaning with their backs against the headboard of the large bed. Legolas briefly closed his eyes and sent a silent thankful prayer to the Valar when he realized that the Elf-lord was also awake, and speaking quietly with the older twin. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel were standing at the window watching the scene fondly.

Letting out his breath, a real smile, the first for a long time, appeared on the blond elf’s face. They had achieved the impossible. Lord Elrond’s wandering feä had found its way back into his body.

The soft sound made Arwen, who was also sitting on her father’s bed, turn. She smiled at her friend but rose quickly when Legolas made a move to leave the room. He did not want to intrude at this intimate moment.

But Arwen was having none of it. Quickly she grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the bed. Before Legolas could protest or wriggle free, Master Elrond looked up at the young archer.

“My Lord, I’m glad to see you awake,” Legolas said with a slight bow. While awake, the Elf-lord still looked very pale and tired. But he extended his hand and beckoned Legolas to come nearer. Stepping up to the bed the dark haired elf grasped the slender hand of the archer.

“Legolas, my sons have already told me how you aided my advisors and helped to arrest the men. But most of all I’m grateful for your help to guide me back. I’m in your debt.”

The young elf was held by the gaze of the Elf-lord. Legolas was stunned speechless. What had he done that was so remarkable?

“We also are grateful, mellon,” Elladan said seriously and Elrohir nodded. “Your presence gave the unity enough voice to break through into the shadow world. Without your help we probably would not be here.”

Legolas looked aghast from one dark haired elf to the other. ‘Could they please stop this?’ he thought. ‘He had done this to help friends he loved dearly and no thank you was required. Could they quit thanking him now before he fell apart?’

When he heard Lord Celeborn chuckle quietly Legolas relaxed. The silver haired elf patted his shoulder lightly in passing. With a wink toward his family he left the room.

Seeing the fatigue in the eyes of her son-in-law Galadriel stepped closer. She knew that despite the joyous moment the three Half-elves, and especially Elrond, were far from recovered.

Indeed, too tired to hold his eyes open much longer, Elrond looked briefly at all present and expressed his thanks where no words were necessary. The twins followed their father’s example and sank into a much needed healing sleep. After all the other elves had left the room Galadriel closed the door quietly.

Arwen accompanied Legolas to his chambers. At the door she kissed his cheek lightly and wished him a good rest. Only now did he register how tired he really was. After hugging her he closed the door and sank onto the large bed with a sigh. Before his head touched the pillow he was fast asleep.

Joy had returned to the valley, and all of the inhabitants of Rivendell rejoiced in the fortunate outcome from the tragic happenings of the past week.

…………………………………..

Over the next two weeks the Master of Rivendell made good progress and the healers supervising his recovery were satisfied with the pace of his healing.

The twins, while not injured physically and back on their feet much sooner, made sure that their father accepted the advice of his healers and his staff.

Also on their way to recovery, Glorfindel and Erestor often enjoyed the last rays of the autumn sun on a large balcony overlooking the valley. Long talks between themselves and with their Lord allowed all of them to come to terms with what had happened.

With Glorfindel and Erestor still not in shape to travel, Celeborn had volunteered to transport the two surviving men to Ardent and deliver them into the mayor’s justice.

When Calen learned about the crimes the two men had committed, he instantly ordered them to be placed under arrest until a final judgement could be rendered. He left no doubt that these deeds could only be answered by execution.

Although he did not agree with this punishment, Celeborn was not surprised by it when he learned that one of the original merchants who had been murdered by the thieves had been Thoren, Mayor Calen’s son. Celeborn did not object however. The men’s business was their own.

Leaving the little town quickly after assuring the mayor that the relationship between the elves from Rivendell and the little town would not suffer because of the actions of the criminals, Celeborn returned to Imladris eager to see how his family was faring.

He could feel that the Master of Rivendell was nearly recovered the moment he rode into the hidden valley. The serenity and peacefulness that the vale was known for engulfed and revived him the moment he crossed over the border.

After reporting to Erestor he quickly walked down the long corridor toward the healing ward. He smiled at the sight that greeted him when he entered the room appointed for family members.

Elrond was sitting on a comfortable settee, surrounded by his children, Galadriel and Glorfindel. His wife rose and welcomed him into the group. Even the Prince of Mirkwood seemed at peace and relaxed at this family gathering.

After all had taken their seats again Elrond listened intently to a report of all that had happened since the attack. Every participant shared his part of the story and Elrond’s emotions veered from horror to sorrow to incredulity.

After all of the details were shared and the twins had related what they had experienced in their foray into the grey world between life and death, an awkward silence stretched out. The Lord of the House gazed at each elf in the group long and intently.

“I do not know if I will ever find the right words to express my thanks to all of you, but I’m very grateful for what every one of you has done for me. Without your help I would not be here….” His voice faltered, but more words were not necessary.

Seeing her son-in-law struggle to contain his composure Galadriel cleared her throat. “I think I speak for all of us; we are glad that it turned out well and you decided to return to us.”

Waiting until Elrond had raised his eyes she continued. “Your time has not yet come, peredhil,” she said with a stern but compassionate undertone in her voice.

“A toast,” said Glorfindel, raising his glass and holding it aloft while all of the others followed his actions. “The darkness has once again been defeated and the light has prevailed.”

Drinking to the words said by the Golden warrior, and agreeing with all their hearts the elves then left the three peredhil, knowing that some words still needed to be said between them that were not meant for other ears.

After the three peredhil shared their experiences, hopes and fears Elladan retrieved his father’s circlet that Legolas had returned to him earlier, placing it into his father’s lap.

“Welcome back, Ada,” the twins whispered in unison.

The End

A/N:

I want to thank all that have followed this story and reviewed. I appreciated every comment very much. Erulisse and Selene, thank you for making this readable.

Lai