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. Thank you so much for your help and constant encouragement.

Summary:

Sometimes even the greatest of healers in Middle-earth is driven to his limit and pushed beyond his endurance. When word reached Rivendell that Glorfindel was killed in an orc ambush Elrond experiences a nightmare. 

Rating: PG-13

Chapter 1:  news we never wanted to get

The Lord of Imladris looked up from the reports he was reading when the clattering of hooves drifted up through the open balcony door of his study.

Cold shudders of foreboding ran suddenly down his back. He frowned since he had long learned to heed such premonitions. After placing his quill into its stand he rose and walked around the massive oak desk toward the balcony. There were no guests expected to arrive this late in the evening.

When he stepped outside and saw a magnificent white steed standing in the courtyard of the Last Homely House tossing his head impatiently.  Elrond’s left eyebrow rose.

Instantly he recognized Asfaloth, Lord Glorfindel´s faithful stallion. His surprise to see his Troop commander return so early was replaced by concern when he realized that the rider was not Glorfindel, even though his hair was as golden as the hair the Balrog-slayer was famous for.

The elf crouched low over the horse’s neck was digging his fingers desperately into the white mane to stay on the back of the prancing beast. This he managed only because the stallion danced from one side to the other making sure that the elf did not fall.

The healer’s frown deepened. Not two days ago Glorfindel and a contingent of Imladris’ warriors had departed to clear out an orc den on an often used path in the near vicinity of the hidden valley.

The reports of steadily growing number of orcs in this region and the increased attacks on unwary travellers had finally brought him to the decision to intervene.

Although Elrond had counselled to wait until more information could be obtained, Glorfindel had been adamant to ride out at once to get rid of the malice and to make the road safe once more.

The Lord of Rivendell knew where the doggedness of his old friend came from and had finally consented. Two months before, a party from Lothlórien had been intending to visit the hidden valley to replenish their supplies and rest before continuing on their way to visit the Grey Havens.

The entire party was killed down to the last member in an ambush not an hour’s ride from Imladris. Among the dead was a relative of Glorfindel’s; a most loved cousin and his two barely adult sons.

Glorfindel had been deeply grieved by these events and ever since he was testy and short tempered when it came to his duty to keep the valley and its surroundings safe. Not that anyone had ever questioned his abilities.

The mood and state of mind of his Troop commander had reminded Elrond of the dark times when his sons had ridden out day after day to slay as many orcs as they could to avenge their mother.

He was not eager to repeat those times nor did he want to see another close friend succumb to the destructive feelings of hate and revenge.

Back then it had been Glorfindel who had managed to retrieve the twins from the dark path they had travelled on. Now it seemed he was in dire need of the same service and the Lord of this House was more than willing to give it.

Yet, Glorfindel was in a league of his own. As generous as he was to help others with comfort or easing a burden, he was equally reserved when it came to his own inner self. 

Raised voices in the courtyard made Elrond’s thoughts focus back onto the situation below. His eldest son Elladan had already hastened out and was now aiding the injured elf to dismount.

It was however mostly the work of the older twin for strength had finally left the warrior and he was sliding into the outstretched arms of the young Lord. Gently Elladan eased the body onto the ground while another elf led the agitated horse away.

Briefly Elrond wondered why his son was not heading straight into the house with the obviously badly injured warrior but then his eyes met those of his second son, Elrohir, who had joined his brother on the ground.

Elrohir did not have to utter a word. The sad look he directed at him told enough. The great healer could feel the worry and sorrow emanate from the elves gathered below.

Immediately Lord Elrond turned and hurried down the many steps, along the corridor leading toward the main entrance. Descending into the courtyard he quickly stepped forward and the crowd parted to make room for their Lord.

Close enough now to identify the elf, although Elrond had already guessed the identity of the warrior, he momentarily faltered in his advance. There cradled in his son’s arms was Thalan, Glorfindel’s second in command.

Elrond did not have to be a healer to see that his condition was poor. The elf was bleeding from many wounds on his upper body and his tunic was stained red interspersed with dark patches of orc gore and dirt.

The healer’s hesitation however did not stem from seeing the severe injuries, but rather from the fact that Thalan had been on Asfaloth’s back. The great horse accepted only his master except when Glorfindel ordered him to suffer another. He swallowed at the implications.

Shoving these disturbing thoughts aside, the healer came to the forefront and Elrond finally knelt down. He cradled the head of the injured elf carefully in his lap propping his upper body up to ease the elf’s breathing.

While placing his hands on the torso of the warrior to infuse healing energy into the failing body he felt a light touch on his left shoulder. Without looking up he knew that his advisor Erestor was silently informing him that the healing ward had been prepared.

Briefly the healer looked at his sons gazing at him with a mixture of expectancy and dread. They were accomplished healers themselves and could also feel the fleeting fëa of this poor fellow.

Shaking his head ever so slightly Elrond confirmed their worries that this warrior no longer needed any healing he or anyone else would be able to provide.

While Elladan lowered his eyes and looked sadly at another victim of the dark malice threatening all lives on Middle Earth; Elrohir stood and silently informed Erestor, who requested all bystanders to disperse.

Elrond restrained the flow of healing energy so it would not hinder the fëa’s release from the mortally injured body.

When the rapid breathing had slowed and the moans stilled somewhat, the eyes of the warrior suddenly opened, and as often happened in the final stage of dying, his gaze cleared and the pain seemed to vanish.

Elrond waited patiently until the blue eyes had focused on him.  Indeed, he suspected that the only reason Thalan was still alive was a message he desperately wanted to deliver. How he had managed to ride here in his condition was beyond comprehension.

“My Lord,” Thalan struggled to speak while blood trickled out of his mouth. “Our patrol was ambushed by a great band of orcs even before we had reached our destination. They…. they came out of no…. nowhere…. there were so many….”  Coughing, the warrior was barely able to bring forth another word.

A long history of fighting against the shadow left him with enough imagination to guess what Thalan was not saying. Elrond exchanged a quick look with his advisor who had knelt beside him waiting to see what service he could offer to his Lord.

Elladan and Elrohir had stepped up behind their father, each one placing a hand on one of his shoulders lending him strength and imparting comfort, although they were in need of comfort themselves.

While waiting until the injured elf had caught his breath, the healer directed his gaze toward the distant trees. Dark clouds were not only gathering over the mountains but also in his mind.

Again a well trained patrol had fallen victim to a band of orcs. This did not fit into the usual pattern of these foul beings. Fortune had usually only been on their side when attacking in great numbers or surprising the unaware. But they seemed to have gathered some wits or strength unknown to the elves until now. Desperately he tried to pierce the veil but no wisdom came to him.

Calling upon Vilya Elrond directed his senses beyond the well protected borders of the valley but found no disturbances. How could the orcs gather strength when needed and hide their presence at will? This he would have to find out.

When he looked down again he felt that the struggle of the warrior was coming to an end. Elrond lightly touched his cheek to get the warrior’s attention back for one moment. Making his voice steady and mastering the sorrow gripping his heart he asked: “Captain, what of the patrol? Has anyone survived?”

Even though he could already guess the answer; Asfaloth’s presence foretelling much, he had to know. Elladan’s and Elrohir’s grip on his shoulders tightened unconsciously.

Forcing his eyes open, the fair haired elf tried to speak again. “Dead… all dead. The captain and all… all the others. They thought me dead… I guess…. I could…. I could not….”

“No!” was the choked reply from Elrohir before he could restrain himself. He reeled even more when he felt the great wave of anguish sweep through the bond he shared with his brother. He did not have to look at Elladan´s face to see the horror written there.

Elrohir gulped several times to swallow the nausea that threatened up his throat. This could not be! Valar, please don’t let it be true, he pleaded with a furiously beating heart.

With a pained look the younger twin gazed at his father in the hope he would deny the terrible words and reassure him that all was a terrible misunderstanding, but after the first glimpse he knew how hopeless and childish his wish was.

The face of his father was expressionless and controlled.  Anyone who did not know him would not notice anything wrong. But Elrohir saw instantly the clear signs that his father was as distressed as his sons, fighting for his composure. As always, however, he was a master at hiding his feelings.

With these last whispered words Thalan went limp and died. His hand now shaking Elrond closed the unseeing eyes. He still heard the faint echo of Mandos’ call and waited until the fëa had entirely left the body.

His sons had sunk to their knees and bowed their heads. Erestor had risen knowing that his service was no longer needed. With a lowered head he headed back to the house hiding his shock behind a stony mask.

While Elrond whispered a silent farewell; a silent lament arose around him; a last salute to the departing spirit. Again another well loved member of their community had left them.

Elrond closed his eyes in remembrance. Thalan had come to Imladris as a child. Ever since, he had adored Glorfindel and quickly gained his respect and trust; until Glorfindel had promoted him to the post he had held until his death. He left a wife and a young son already eager to follow in his father’s footsteps.

For long minutes the three half-elves remained on the spot not wanting to show their grief in public but fighting hard for their composure. Elrond had not even registered that one of his apprentices had removed the dead body from his grasp.

After the lament had come to an end Elrond rose. Calling upon his inner strength the healer helped his sons back to their feet and together they walked back to the house past a line of elves looking after them with sympathy.

Inside Elrond quickly headed for his study and did not object when the twins and Erestor followed him without being asked.

Easing himself down in the chair behind his desk the Lord of Rivendell closed his eyes while resting his head on the back of the chair. Again he extended his senses out over the vale and beyond its borders. Once more he could detect nothing out of the ordinary. Were his senses so clouded by the pain in his heart that he could see nothing, or was there nothing to ascertain?

Opening his eyes again he looked at the three faces studying him intently. Like his, their faces were pale and the shock was still written across them. Here in privacy they had no need to mask their distress.

With a shake of his head Elrond confirmed Erestor’s silent question of whether something imminent was threatening them. With this small gesture however he also crushed the hope of his sons that he had miraculously gotten some contact to their already much missed family member.

And a family member Glorfindel had become; if not in blood than certainly in their hearts.

Erestor and Glorfindel had known each other since the war in Eregion. Together with Elrond, they had founded Imladris and made it into the safe haven it was today. Elrond could have not wished for better advisors.

Glorfindel, the fierce warrior, determined yet passionate in all matters of life, and Erestor, the smart strategist, a born diplomat.  They were two essential pillars of the community.

To his children Glorfindel had become a second father, a close confidant, a mentor and a trainer. Never had he failed to protect and guide them just as he had never failed to protect any of the line of Eärendil.

A truer friend Elrond had never known. And now from one moment to the other he would never be around again? He could still hardly believe that the great warrior was dead and yet he had just heard what Thalan had said happened.

Elrond could barely hold the cry that wanted to escape him inside. Elrohir however lost the fight with his pride and silent sobs shook his slender frame.

Elrond rose and drew his son into an embrace, stroking the black tresses gently like he had done when his son had been much younger. He could not shed tears at the moment; his heart was too sore to let any emotion soothe the grief.

He extended his hand toward his eldest but Elladan declined. His pride did not allow him to shed the much needed tears and Elrond had expected nothing else. Elladan would choose his own way and time to mourn.

After a while Elrohir lifted his head from his father’s shoulder.

“Father, we should go there and bring them home, maybe…….”

He let the rest of the sentence hang in the air, but everyone in the room knew what he wished for.

Releasing his son Elrond returned to his desk. He had harboured the same hope just a few moments ago, but he was realistic enough to know that this was wishful thinking.

It would have been Glorfindel trying to reach home, if he had been able and his well trained horse would not have left his master’s side, if there was any life left in the elf.

Having never been one to not face the trials coming his way, Elrond did not want to spark hope where there was none. Yet to impart some comfort for now he nodded.

“You are right, my son. We should not let fall them prey to any scavengers.”

Elladan jerked his head up at those words and clenched his fists. Without another word or glance he left the room. The loud thud of the door slammed shut echoed through the silent halls.

The Lord of Rivendell sighed when Elrohir hurried after his brother. Silently Erestor walked to the doorway after a nod toward Elrond.

“My Lord, I will prepare all that is necessary,” he said softly and slipped from the room.

Grateful Elrond only nodded. Dark times lay ahead of them.

To be continued…………………

A/N: let me know what you think. Please R&R. Lai

Chapter 2:  discussions we never wanted to have

Dawn was just creeping over the encircling mountains shielding the valley of Imladris from unfriendly eyes when the door to Lord Elrond’s private suite banged open and his eldest son stormed into the room closely followed by his brother.

Irritated, the Elf-Lord looked up and directed a questioning gaze at his sons. The look that made many a subject quaver made the older twin slow his hurried steps and after a short flashing of eyes Elladan lowered his head.

Acting on a nod from his father toward the open door Elrohir hurried to close it. “I’m sorry, father,” Elladan finally said. However, as soon as the Elf-lord’s features had softened, the older twin stepped closer. “We have to go now. We cannot waste any more time…..”

“Elladan!”

The sharp command stopped the string of words effectively. Elladan shut his mouth; quick-witted enough to not glare at his father. Elrohir held his breath. Rarely did their father use such a tone with them.

Elrond in contrast took a deep breath. They had already held this discussion two hours before. Shortly after Thalan had died, Elladan had demanded to ride out at once to bring the dead members of the patrol home.

Elrond had made his opinion on this decision clear. As much as he wished the same, he would not send out another patrol or anyone else who might fall victim to whatever unknown was threatening them. He would certainly not send anyone in the dead of night.

Whatever had killed Glorfindel and his well trained patrol was still out there. The light of day would give them some protection. Elladan had argued that the light of day had not sheltered the warriors of the previous patrol but Elrond had been adamant and was not to be moved.

Elladan had been furious and only his respect for his father and his fear of the wrath that he would bring down upon himself by disobeying a clear order had prevented him from storming off. This insight had only lasted until now however and the Elf-lord was not willing to discuss everything all over again.

Waiting until both of his sons looked at him again Elrond continued. “You need not demand, the preparations are nearly finished,” he said with a sweep of his hand towards the packed bags on his bed.

Only now truly noticing what their stormy entrance had interrupted Elladan’s eyes lit up and with a slight bow he turned; nearly running over his brother who was right behind him. The sharp intake of breath from his father however froze him on the spot.

“But,” the Elf-lord said with deliberate slowness until he had the undivided attention of both of his sons. “I’m not sure if you two will go with the party.”

“What?” was the expected cry and this time it was Elrohir who had stepped in front of his brother. When his father did not react to the outburst Elrohir took a deep breath.

“But, Ada,” he said with a much more controlled voice. Elrohir knew exactly how to approach his angered father. Elrond was after all hurting as much as they were and his nerves were as taut as everyone else’s in the house right now.

“You cannot deny us the right to ride out with the search party. Glorfindel was as dear as….” his voice faltered and he lowered his eyes. Elrond sighed and his heart went out to his tender-hearted son. He knew that the death of Glorfindel had struck the boys nearly as hard as when their mother had left.

Stepping closer the healer laid a gentle hand on Elrohir’s shoulder until he looked up again. “I know, my son, and that’s the reason why you two should not come.”

Accepting defeat Elrohir took a ragged breath, not so Elladan. He stepped around his brother and Elrohir realized with dread that his twin had now overstepped his boundaries.

His father’s taut posture said as much. To his surprise however, Elladan restrained his anger and lowered his voice.

“Ada, please, we are no longer children. We appreciate your wish to protect us from the cruel sight that will surely await us. Alas we’ve already seen so much cruelty done in our long years on the road, that we are sure we can face this.” Taking a deep breath Elladan looked at his brother for support.

Elrohir stepped next to his brother and waited until their father’s attention had shifted toward him. “Ada we want to be there to give our friend the last escort he deserves. Please, do not ask us to stay.”

Closing his eyes briefly the Elf-lord took sighed.

His sons were right. His reluctance to let them come stemmed from the desire to protect them from seeing loved ones and long time friends brutally killed. Yet, Elladan was also right that they had seen more brutality than he cared to ever learn.

The Elf-lord opened his eyes and although the brothers could see that they had won the argument they were also appalled by the pain this agreement caused their father.

“Very well. But I will be in command of this trip and I expect you to follow my orders precisely. When I ask you to stay away I expect you to do it. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, my Lord!” the twins answered in unison, aware now that they had maybe not thought about what they had asked for. Nonetheless they would face this trial; they were Lords of this house after all and not known for cowardice. They would give a renowned Lord his final honour regardless of the pain it would bring to their hearts.

When a nod released them the twins turned and opened the door. Elrohir quickly shoved his brother out into the corridor so that he would not forfeit the victory they had just gained.

………………………………..

Shortly after the twins had left his rooms another knock sounded on the door and Elrond looked up in surprise. His sons would surely not bother him again for fear that he would change his mind at the last moment. He was still not sure if he had made the right decision by allowing them to come. The brothers were smart enough to know this.

Yet he could guess who demanded his attention now and he was not up to another unwanted discussion.

“Enter”, he called after he had arranged the last packed bag which only held items he would carry personally near the table. Elrond allowed himself a small smile when Erestor entered. His guess had been right.

Elrond inclined his head after observing his advisor. The normally self-controlled councillor seemed agitated. The stormy grey eyes were narrowed and he panted as if he had run to get here.

“What can I do for you?” Elrond asked with a forcefully calm voice, having no desire to placate another in these dark hours. He was in dire need of some tranquillity himself, yet he knew that he would not get it any time soon.

“My Lord,” Erestor returned quickly because he could clearly sense his Lord’s impatience. “I’ve come across your sons. They are preparing to ride out with the search party and told me you have consented to it. They are not telling the truth, of course.”

Being tired, grieving and on the edge of his nerves himself, he attributed those same feelings to the other members of his household.  The Master of lore sighed and responded in a low voice. 

“Erestor, they told you the truth. I am allowing them to come.” The incredulous look on the dark haired elf’s face would have amused the healer had it happened under other circumstances.

“But, Elrond, you cannot be serious. They… ” Elrond’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“Erestor!”

The same sharp command that had stopped his son’s impertinence silenced his advisor now. Although Erestor was not in the least intimidated, he quickly remembered his manners.

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I forgot my place.”

Regretting his harsh reaction already Elrond sighed. But he was not in the mood to respond like he usually would.

“Never mind, Erestor. Is there anything else you want to…?”

Seeing the fixed gaze of his advisor on his packed bags Elrond closed his mouth and prepared himself for the worst yet to come. He did not have to read his councillor’s mind to know what would come next and he did not have to wait long.

“Elrond, you are not considering going yourself?” Erestor asked and the calm Elrond had missed earlier in the councillor’s voice was now back, with much too great a force.

Stepping forward and indicating the two comfortable chairs Elrond bade his visitor to sit.

Only sitting on the edge of his seat Erestor was not to be deterred.

“But, Elrond….”

When the healer held up his hand the dark haired elf finally consented and leaned back, pressing his fingertips together; a clear sign that he was most displeased with the situation.

“Yes, Erestor I intend to go and furthermore I will be in charge of the warriors going with me and in command of the whole trip.”

When Erestor started to protest again Elrond held his hand up again and was able to restrain his friend a second time.

“Erestor, I’ve allowed my sons to come for the same reason I want to go. We cannot let him be retrieved by anyone else…..” now it was his voice that faltered and Erestor swallowed himself. “And maybe someone is in need of a healer.” Elrond added.

Erestor looked up irritated. Seeing the strange look Elrond rose and laid a gentle hand on the taut shoulder. “I did not mean a member of the patrol of course but maybe a member of the rescue party.”

Letting out his breath slowly Erestor nodded and looked up. “Very well, my Lord, but then you must allow me to come too. Someone has to see to your safety, after all. Who knows? Maybe even a great healer will be in need of a shoulder to lean on.

Elrond smiled and this time it was genuine. Knowing that Erestor did not mean it literally he appreciated it nonetheless.

“I had hoped that you would say that,” he answered and Erestor squeezed the arm of the healer comfortingly before he left.

Elrond smiled after his councillor had closed the door. Erestor had quickly but unconsciously stepped into Glorfindel’s role to remind him mercilessly when he endangered his life. As sad as this development was, Elrond appreciated it even more.

…………………………………………

With a frown directed towards the darkening sky, Master Elrond stepped outside the front door and observed the hustle in the courtyard. The members of the rescue party had already gathered there. Many helpers hastened about to deliver requested items.

The elves in the party had packed a huge wagon they intended to bring with them. Elrohir and Erestor were taking inventory of the things already on board while Elladan paced impatiently up and down the front porch making the helpers nervous.

The nerves of everyone involved were already on edge and many a harshly exchanged word could be heard. Elrond briefly closed his eyes when he witnessed a sharp command from his son toward a stable hand. The poor boy had not tethered the horses quickly enough for the older twin’s liking.

The Elf-lord did not intervene because he knew that his son would apologize when he realized that he was not the only one grieving. If not, he would make sure of it.

Elrond’s thoughts were occupied otherwise, and he did not want to interrupt what was progressing smoothly enough without his presence. He would make use of the remaining time before departing to do his duty as Master of this valley. Sadly he had performed this duty much too often in the long years their haven had existed.

With a sedate pace he crossed the lawn where his gaze was fixed on a humble house not far from the main cluster of buildings in the centre of the valley. The rain clouds overhead matched his mood. He hardened his heart against the storm of emotions that would shortly assault him.

Not that he minded, and the newly widowed elf had every reason to cry out her sorrow, but he always felt powerless to assuage the pain and the words of condolence sounded hollow. He had already sent a trained healer of his staff ahead to inform the family.

Nonetheless it was his duty to bring words of reassurance and to express his sympathy. He knew that his words held no meaning at the moment and yet they were expected and appreciated later.

Straightening his shoulders and emptying his mind the Elf-lord knocked on the door. He could hear no sound behind the closed door, apart from quiet footfalls until the door was opened a crack. Selinde, his most trusted healer smiled sadly and opened the door wider so he could slip inside.

Elrond thanked her with a silent nod and looked around while the healer closed the door quietly. The little living room was neatly arranged and looked cosy. A few wooden toys were turned over and forgotten on the floor. The Elf-lord swallowed. Captain Thalan’s son was just about ten years old. Glorfindel had often talked about him with affection after visiting his second in command. How eager the little elfling already was to step into his father’s boots. The little boy adored Glorfindel and could not wait to come of age.

Glorfindel had always teased him that he would be the youngest warrior in his ranks. Maybe his wish would sadly come true much too fast. Lost in his thoughts Elrond started when Selinde touched his elbow. “My Lord I’ve given her a slight sedative but she’s awake now. I have sent the boy to their neighbour’s next door.”

Elrond nodded while squeezing her hand in gratitude and walked toward the door where she was pointing. Selinde stayed back. She knew him all too well. This he had to do alone. He was glad that he had no witness of his anguish. He had hidden behind his mask and was sad that he could not share the burden.

Knocking softly on the door to the little sleeping room Elrond did not wait for an invitation. He knew that it would not come. Too often he had experienced this very moment.

He stepped around the door and walked deliberately slowly toward the woman sitting on the bed. As expected she did not look up; her gaze forlornly directed at nothing. With cramped fingers she clutched a tunic to her chest; according to the size undoubtedly belonging to her husband.

The healer briefly closed his eyes when the familiar ache of desperation burned against his fea. He could understand her only too well but that was not what she wanted to hear…what she needed to hear.

Slowly he sat beside her on the bed. Even now she did not look up but he knew that she had acknowledged him by the ragged breath she took. He gently pried the cold fingers away from the fabric and replaced the token with a stuffed horse he had snatched from a cabinet near the door.

At first reluctantly but then with a fierce grip she clutched the toy and pressed it against her chest. With red rimmed eyes she finally looked up and Elrond hoped that she caught the meaning.

While she searched his eyes Elrond recognized some strength in her gaze that nurtured his hope that she would not fade after her loss and would endeavour to stay in Middle Earth if only for her little son.

Taking both of her hands into his, he sent healing energy into the grief-wracked body. “Lady Liriel, I’ve come to express my heart-felt sorrow over the death of your husband. Thalan had done great service to this realm; he was a beloved member of our community and a cherished husband and father. For you and your son, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

When she swallowed and did not burst into tears again, Elrond carefully broke the contact to her fea. “I hope that you can find the strength to remain here in Middle-earth. Your son is a delight and I would be glad to see him reach his majority.  But if you decide to sail you will get any help I’m able to provide.”

With gratitude in her eyes she nodded bravely. “Thank you, Master Elrond, but right now I cannot decide what to do. First I have to tell my son what….what happened to his father and that will be hard enough.”

Laying a hand on her shoulder in sympathy and imparting comfort again Elrond rose. “However you decide; I will support your decision. If you need anything you have but to ask.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” she whispered and rose also. Elrond squeezed her hand before he opened the door.

Selinde was already standing there and slipped inside as soon as the Elf-lord had left the room. “I will take care of her” the healer whispered quietly.

When Elrond had taken a deep breath and just rounded the cluster of bushes fencing the little house he heard a childish cry. “Nana, Nana, I’m back. Aunt Nindé gave me some honey cakes. When does Ada come back?”

Elrond closed his eyes. Thank the Valar that he did not have to answer that question.

To be continued…………

Chapter 3:  sights we never wanted to see

A silent procession was following the great white horse up the small mountain path. Only certain elves were allowed to know the whereabouts of this particular pathway.

The threatening clouds overhead had darkened even more promising heavy rain. Elrond, riding his black war stallion, led the troop of warriors and a few helpers were guiding the wagon.

His black stallion danced nervously sideways; the pace the elves were taking was too slow for his liking. Elrond patted the proud neck affectionately smoothing down the boiling temper of the horse.

Asfaloth, not far ahead of them, was just as nervous. His silent protest of the slow progress was displayed by flared nostrils and an impatiently swishing tail.

Elrond was sympathizing with the animals but the wagon had to be manoeuvred carefully up the steep incline.

However the nervousness was not only felt by the horses. The elves were as anxious to arrive at their destination. They still did not know what awaited them, and thoughts of terrible images assailed every one of them.

The mood of the party matched the grey storm clouds overhead, yet they carried themselves with dignity. They would bring home their loved ones for the last time. They would pay their last respects to their fallen comrades.

After a particularly difficult bend in the path Elrond looked over his shoulder and nodded; relieved, when the wagon managed the turn without any problem.

With a heavy heart the Elf-lord observed the wagon. If all of the patrol members had died then they would need the huge cart. Straightening, the Elf-lord gazed toward the end of the line of elves. Elrohir was bringing up the rear. He had sent Elladan ahead, scouting.

Automatically, Elrond patted the large bag slung over the flanks of his steed. It contained many healing supplies he had brought with him.  He did not know whether he had done so out of long practice or….hope? Erestor had raised a single eyebrow but said nothing. No one else had acknowledged the bag or commented on it.

Briefly the Elf-lord wondered what would become of Asfaloth. He shook his head in annoyance. It was the least of his concerns right now.

Having finally reached open land, after travelling through the thick trees giving additional shelter to Imladris, the rain began to pour down. Within minutes the elves and horses were drenched.

Elrond cautioned for more alertness now that they were near the area where Glorfindel had probably found the orc den. The party would be a much easier target than the patrol had been and he would take no chances.

He ordered two more scouts to ride ahead. The power that protected the valley was no longer of benefit to them.

Half an hour later Elladan and the scouts appeared on the plain quickly coming closer in a fast gallop. Just in front of his father the older twin reined in his horse sharply. With a raised hand Elrond had stopped the trek.

Looking at his son’s face; the Elf-lord knew instantly that they had found the spot where the party had been slain. Horror and sorrow was etched onto the three faces.

“My Lord,” Elladan reported, “just behind the tree line is our destination. We could not detect any orcs or foul beasts in the near surroundings.”

Elrond nodded acknowledging the curt and official tone of his son; knowing that Elladan had chosen this way to deal with his emotions. Without another word the older twin turned; closely followed by his brother who had come to the front of the line.

Elrond gave the signal to continue. He let his gaze wander over the near trees. Something he could not place was tugging at his mind; a presence almost too weak to catch but definitely still lingering.

He strengthened the barrier around his mind to keep the enemy from knowing his presence was there for the time being. Vilya was vibrating on his finger; a clear sign that more than just orcs were at work here.

His senses heightened he followed his sons at a more sedate pace having to acknowledge the order Erestor had given to stay within the protection of the warriors. Asfaloth had already vanished beyond the trees.

When the party of elves had reached a clearing inside the trees hey could not only see but also smell that they had reached their destination. An incredible stench assaulted their noses and a few fought with their heaving stomachs.

Elrond reined in his horse when he had a clear view of the scene. The little clearing was littered with orc corpses. Orcs smelled bad while they were alive, but when they were dead the stench was indescribable.

However what made Elrond have to swallow hard was not the foul air but the many dead bodies of elven warriors lying among the orcs.

The entire party:  elves, warriors and helpers alike, stood frozen looking at the massacre with stony faces. The warriors, more accustomed to such a sight, sadly lowered their eyes while a young stable hand who had volunteered to drive the wagon could no longer hold his tears in check.

With wide eyes he stared at the bloody bodies, before he leapt from the wagon and retched at the base of a tree. Erestor silently helped the young elf back to his feet after he had emptied his stomach from whatever had been in it and laid a comforting arm around the slender shoulders.

He placated the concerned look of his Lord with a shake of his head. The lad would be all right.

If anyone had harboured the hope that Thalan’s message did not match reality, that hope was now extinguished. Nothing was stirring in the clearing anymore. Elrond became aware of his sons standing on the opposite side of the clearing. Their faces looked like they were carved out of stone.

He tried to reach them through the bond he shared with them; but he was rejected by a cold barrier shielding their wounded souls. They would accept no comfort now.

No one could even imagine what tragedy must have taken place here, albeit several of the elves in the party had seen many battles and had seen comrades fall in the past.

Silently Elrond let his gaze wander around the clearing; instinctively counting. He had reached ten dead warriors when he heard Erestor take in a sharp breath and he looked up.

Following the councillor’s gaze Elrond instantly saw what had made his advisor gasp. There in the middle of the clearing lay Glorfindel, pinned to the ground with his own sword, and without doubt, dead. Asfaloth was dancing around the fallen elf neighing quietly.

Elrond closed his eyes. His worst nightmare had come true.

………………………………………

His gaze was still fixed on the spot where the blond elf was lying when something brushed against his mind.  He suddenly staggered. The utter evil made him momentarily recoil. A black malice he hadn’t felt for a long time was trying to tear his mind down. He began to shiver and his world narrowed to a tunnel with no opening at the end. Black was the only colour of his surroundings now.

While shoving back the presence that tried to completely engulf him with a mighty push, he groaned and sank to his knees. The sudden and forceful attack had surprised him but only for a moment. Yet, he would need a few minutes to regain his equilibrium.

The twins’ heads snapped up when they heard the painful sound from across the clearing. Their eyes widened in horror when they witnessed their father sinking to the ground. Quickly they were at his side and saw, with worry, his tightly closed eyes and clenched fists.

The warriors did not move; surprised and at the same time shocked; not sure what had attacked their Lord. Seeing nothing obvious that could have caused such a reaction they quickly guessed it had to be some sort of mental battle. Many hands wandered to the hilt of their sword or readied a bow, even though those weapons were useless in this case.

Knowing exactly what was happening, Erestor ordered the warriors to take up posts around the clearing. The attacker’s power was his mental force, yet he had to reside somewhere nearby in bodily form.

This accomplished, the councillor knelt in front of his Lord and motioned every one into silence. He had seen this often enough and the best way of aiding his Lord was not to distract him.

When Elrond finally opened his eyes Erestor nearly groaned noticing the look in the grey eyes. Elrond did not have to explain what had assailed him. This experience once undergone was forever etched into your mind and Erestor had experienced it before.

Looking between his father and the advisor Elladan narrowed his eyes when neither of the two was forthcoming with an explanation. “Ada, what’s wrong?” he asked; unable to keep the irritation from his voice.

Shaking his head, yet without any word the Elf-lord came back to his feet. Bewildered the brothers looked at each other.

“We’ve work to do and should do it quickly. We must not linger here more than necessary,” Elrond said curtly and turned to stride toward the wagon.

Feeling the consternation coming from his sons nearly physically, the Elf-lord took a deep breath and closed his mind to hide his thoughts. They had enough to weigh down their spirits; they did not need to be burdened with another shock.

Reaching the wagon Elrond briefly pressed his brow against the side platform to gather his strength. After a moment he took a deep breath and carefully extended his senses. The presence was gone. He could no longer detect anything unusual.

Not daring to approach him, the elves had started recovering the dead. Body after body was wrapped in linen and laid into the wagon. The orc carcasses were dragged to the edge of the clearing to be burned. It was a most unpleasant task, but at the moment it was more than welcome.

Elrond observed his sons. Getting no further information they had directed their focus on retrieving still usable weapons, clothes, and personal items they would give back to the family members as a meagre memory of their loved ones. Elrond sighed. He would explain later. Now was neither the right time nor the right place.

Letting his gaze wander around the clearing Elrond clearly recognized the desperate attempt by every member of the group to avoid approaching the dead Troop commander; much less do to him what must be done. This was not out of respect but everyone dreaded to even look at the now deceased beloved warrior.

Straightening his shoulders the healer strode forward, knowing that this was his task alone, and knelt down beside his friend. He praised the Valar for the small mercy that the warrior’s eyes were closed.

The sight that his body presented was hard enough to bear. In a nearly detached manner he let his eyes wander over the mutilated body bearing more wounds than he was willing to count and his gaze stopped at the sword that pinned the blond to the ground. It had penetrated all the way through his left side. The Elf-lord swallowed.

The warrior must have been already on the ground with no chance to avoid the strike of his own sword. What had happened here? Glorfindel was one of the best fighters in all of Middle-earth and no orc would have been able to disarm the accomplished warrior and defeat him thus.

What if the Balrog slayer had fought a battle on two fronts? A battle he was no longer able to concentrate on because his mind was distracted otherwise?

Knowing that only Glorfindel could have answered that question; Elrond reached out, from long routine to touch the elf’s neck for a heartbeat and was not surprised to find none.

Aware of the gazes following him, he rose slowly to his feet, grabbed the hilt of the sword and took a deep breath. He was unwilling to bear the sight any longer. With a determined tug he wrenched the sword free. The blade slid from the body with a sickening noise and Elrond flung it to the side angrily.

The next instant however he froze when a heavy rivulet of bright red blood spurted from the wound and the body jerked away from the pain. With a cry of dismay the Elf-lord quickly knelt on the muddy ground again.

*Valar, he’s still alive,* he thought while gathering his wits. *Dead elves do not bleed and do not jerk away!* his mind screamed when realisation hit him.

All motion in the clearing had come to a standstill; all eyes were drawn the healer’s hand when Elrond reached out again to search for a heartbeat.

Making a conscious effort to calm himself, the Elf-lord concentrated to detect the life sign he so desperately searched for. Yet again his fingers could detect nothing. “This cannot be,” he declared not even caring that he spoke aloud.

He had seen the body react in a way only a still living one could react, but for that the heart must still be beating….

With gratitude he welcomed the steadying presence of his sons in his mind and allowed their spirits to support him. They were kneeling beside him now following his ministrations with stony faces; their earlier rejection already forgotten.

After endless minutes Elrond could finally feel it; a very slow and faint beating beneath his fingertips almost too weak to be detected.

*How could I have missed it in the first place?* he scolded himself, nonetheless relieved at this result. The hopeful look on Elrohir´s face nearly carried him away.

However, a moment later his healer’s rational mind took over again. A heartbeat was no guarantee for survival. The blond elf had lain here for hours slowly bleeding to death from the uncounted wounds. His body was nearly frozen in the chill air and his temperature already below any level of hope.

Nonetheless the healer in him could do nothing differently. While pressing a thick patch of linen Elrohir had handed him to the bleeding hole, he dragged his cloak from his shoulders to cover the deadly pale and still body to shield him from further rain.

When his heavy bag was dropped next to him he looked up into the grim face of his eldest. Elladan was an accomplished healer himself. The initial joy had given way to reality.

Elrond nodded his thanks. “Other survivors?” he asked in a controlled voice. Elrohir only shook his head. Elrond nodded redirecting his attention to his patient. He had one survivor here, who would need his entire range of healing abilities.

The elves continued with their task until the last body was recovered and every orc piled on the clearing’s edge.

While working, the Elf-lord had compartmentalized the friend and transformed to a focused healer a self-protection concept he had long established to be able to treat friends or family-members.

With the help of his sons he cleaned wounds, stitched gashes, washed abrasions and bandaged nearly every visible part of the fair-haired elf’s upper body. Every few minutes he checked for a heartbeat and listened to Glorfindel’s breathing, knowing that the thin lifeline could snap at any moment.

Again he knew he was lying to himself. Glorfindel was strong in body and mind but even within these premises he had practically no chance to survive. His needs had been neglected for too long. Too much time had gone by for the hope of recovery.

For hour after hour the healer gained victories over one problem only to have another arise. The fight for this precious life became a desperate race against time.

At some point Elrond had lost all track of time. His world had narrowed to the wounded body before him. He had not even registered that Erestor had erected a small tent over him to shield them from the still pouring rain.

When nothing more could be done, the Elf-lord wrapped the wounded body in several cloaks and sank back on his haunches. He accepted the mug of steaming tea Erestor offered him with a grateful nod.

After ensuing that the blond warrior was resting as comfortably as possible under these circumstances Elrond sat on the ground in front of the tent and let his gaze wander around their little camp. Nothing remained to be done.

He closed his eyes and extended his senses again beyond the little clearing. The evil presence was gone.

“Elrond?” the Elf-Lord looked up at his soft spoken name. “How is he?” the dark haired councillor asked in a whispered tone, albeit loud enough for every one at the campsite to hear.

Elrond considered his answer well. Yet who would he fool? All had seen the dreadful condition the warrior was in. He decided for a compromise. “He is stable and not deteriorating further,” he answered knowing that Erestor understood what he was not saying.

“Would you like to depart, or shall we establish a camp for the night?” Erestor asked. Elrond again considered his answer carefully. Staying here in the cold and wet camp would surely not improve the well being of their wounded friend, but was transporting him home with all the stress and jostling the right decision? Either way was a risk. Coming to a decision he looked up.

“We will return home,” he declared earning silent nods and relieved sighs from all around. Erestor rose without comment.

*If he’s going to die, then it should be at home,*` Elrond added silently. One look at his sons’ faces told him that they had read his mind as well.

To be continued……………………

Chapter 4: fears we never hoped to experience

The pace of the procession was painstakingly slow. Even though the clearing was not far from Imladris; but ‘not far’ was only the normal speed a traveller would take. This group did not consist of normal travellers and their business was far from ordinary.

The moment after the Elf-lord had announced that they would return home despite of, or rather because of, their gravely wounded companion, a bustle of activity had broken out over the entire little camp.

The warriors who had grieved while witnessing the struggle of their Troop Commander to survive, were glad to be able occupy themselves with practical actions. However they could not resist casting occasional glances towards the little tent where the healer was treating the wounded elf.

Although they had infinite faith in the skills of their Lord; they also had eyes to see and a lot of experience with which to judge the situation.

They only had to observe the grave expression on the healer’s face to know that Elrond was already pushed to his limits, and that would only to keep the blond elf alive. He had not even started to try and improve his condition.

While the camp was broken swiftly and methodically, the Elf-Lord stayed at the wounded elf’s side. His Troop Commander’s condition was too fragile to leave him for even one moment.

Observing the proceedings and seeing that some time was left, Elrond again poured as much healing energy as he could spare into the failing body. He had to find the sensitive balance that would allow him to give as much as possible without using up all of his reserves.

After dismantling and finally strapping the tent Elrond had worked in to the back of a horse, Elladan watched his father carefully. He waited patiently until the Elf-lord had opened his eyes again before he stepped up next to him.

“We are ready to depart,” the older twin announced and extended a hand. He could clearly see how the hands of his father shook slightly. Slowly the older elf’s eyes came into focus. He blinked several times until he seemed to register that someone had addressed him. Looking up at the outstretched hand Elrond smiled and took it, but swayed momentarily after Elladan had pulled him to his feet.

“Father, are you all right?” Elladan asked, worried when all colour drained from the Elf-lord’s face. Pouring healing energy into a wounded body was always tiring, Elladan knew that of course, yet his father knew exactly how to ration his reserves. But was his mind objective enough this time to know when to stop?

When the world stopped spinning and the Elf-Lord had regained his balance he forced a smile at his eldest. “I’m fine, Elladan, don’t worry.” When Elrond looked into his son’s face he knew that neither the words nor the tone was enough. The healer could also still feel the anger in his son’s heart over his decision not to tell him what had assailed him upon their arrival.

The older twin narrowed his eyes. He knew his father well. When the need was dire he sometimes neglected his own needs and overstepped his limits. This time however Elladan held his tongue. He was well aware how desperately Glorfindel needed his father’s support to survive.

His thoughts were interrupted when Erestor guided two horses toward them. A makeshift litter was attached between them. In perfect unison father and son raised an eyebrow which made the councillor chuckle quietly.

“We cannot transport him on the wagon,” he answered the unspoken question with a gentle voice. The Elf-Lord inclined his head appreciatively, when he realized how thoughtfully the litter was cushioned. Even if it would be the much easier way for Glorfindel to be transported Elrond was loath to lay his friend amidst all the dead bodies in the wagon.

With the utmost care Elrond and Elladan lifted the body of the fair-haired elf onto the litter and covered him with a blanket. The horses stood stock-still, sensing the need to be careful. After securing the blanket and the body with a rope Elrond took a last look around. Elrohir had collected his healing utensils into the large bag and secured it onto the back of his father’s nervously dancing stallion.

Elrond nodded his thanks and signalled that he would walk right behind the two horses bearing the litter to keep a close eye on the wounded warrior. Elrohir only nodded knowing how futile a discussion would be. Elladan gazed at his brother disapprovingly. He had expected some support. Their father was in need of some rest, even if only on the back of a horse.

Giving the signal to depart Elrond turned around briskly; well aware of the silent dispute between his sons. The twins mounted their horses, Elladan again taking the lead while Elrohir brought up the rear.

Slowly the procession departed, and apart from the huge pile of orc carcasses nothing indicated that a battle had taken place there. The elves had cleared every sign of their presence. The ground had soaked up all of the tears and blood.

Two guards were staying behind to light the pile of orc bodies and to make sure that the fire would not spread.

Elrond extended his senses again at their near surroundings. Again he could sense nothing disturbing, yet he was sure that the presence he had felt before was still there, hiding, perhaps waiting on a fortunate moment when it could pounce on them. It would not surprise them again; he would be watchful. Their way home was no great distance yet their pace would be slow.

Erestor, seated at the reins of the wagon, let out a whistle and the sturdy horses strained their muscles to drag the cart onward. Two warriors walked next to the litter-bearing horses and made sure that the animals took no misstep and were not spooked by anything unexpected.

……………………………………..

After several hours of walking Elrond’s heartbeat increased when he noticed liquid drops on the ground every time the horses took a step.

He looked at the blanket functioning as the bottom of the litter. Since it was close to nightfall and the blanket had a dark colour, he had not noticed anything until now.

He bent down and let his hand wander along the underside of the blanket. It came back wet and covered in blood.

“Halt!” he cried in dismay, straightening up again. The horses stopped immediately while Erestor managed to stop the heavy cart just in time. Irritated, he stood to see what had caused the abrupt halt. Elrond only held up his bloodied hand in explanation. Erestor’s face drew into a grimace.

The warriors dismounted and formed a defensive circle around their Lord and the wagon since the spot could not be more unfortunate. They had stopped in an open plain with no opportunities for cover and night was nearly upon them.

After quickly securing the wagon Erestor hastened over while Elrond knelt beside the litter. He let out a sharp breath now that he was able to observe the mess. A large patch on the blanket the warrior was resting on was soaked with blood.

The healer briefly closed his eyes. He had checked on the blond no less than fifteen minutes ago. Judging from this amount of blood the wound must have completely re-opened.

Without a moment to spare, Elrond stood and cut the rope holding the body in place. While Erestor spread a blanket on the ground the Elf-lord carefully lifted the body of the warrior from the litter. He did not have to look at the blonds’ side to see the damage, the wetness he could feel on his hands and arms told him enough.

Having heard their father’s sharp command the twins galloped over and dismounted hastily. Just before the call they had clearly sensed their father’s distress and feared the worst.

Elladan knelt beside his father and helped him roll Glorfindel over onto his uninjured side carefully, to better see what had happened while Erestor was lighting a torch. Elrohir hastened to retrieve his father’s healing bag. Briefly he realized how desperately they needed this bag that his father had only brought out of routine.

Elrond quickly cut the old bandages away and took a deep breath. The wound had indeed re-opened and was bleeding heavily. Elladan instantly pressed a thick patch of linen against the hole while the Elf-lord checked the warrior’s heartbeat.

As expected the pounding was fast and shallow. What worried the healer even more however was his futile attempt to get a connection with the warrior’s fëa. The spirit was already preparing to depart the failing body. Elrond massaged his temples. The condition of his friend had been bad enough but now…

Taking another deep breath Elrond indicated for Elladan to continue applying pressure while he positioned his hands on the chest and head of the wounded warrior. He closed his eyes and entered into a healing trance. Reaching deep inside he called upon his strength, putting forth all the healing power he possessed, and pouring his very being into the wounded body.

He opened all locks and released all restraints. Either the blond could be called back now or he would die.

……………………………………

The twin brothers observed their father with matching grim expressions. Through the bond with him they witnessed the desperate battle the Elf-lord fought. They did not dare to add their presence to their father’s. The healer was deep in trance now and any disturbance or distraction could risk his life, not to mention it would end all chances for Glorfindel to survive.

Yet they could barely stop themselves from interfering. They knew that their father was pouring his very essence into the wounded elf and they knew exactly how dangerous that could be.

If this process was not stopped in time their father would die. He would not have enough strength left to sustain his own life-force.

Elrohir looked at his brother with a desperate look. What should they do? Interrupting their father’s healing infusion; they would rescue his life but doom Glorfindel to die. If they let their father proceed, they would forfeit his life.

Quickly Elladan secured the patch he was pressing on the wounded elf’s side with a bandage and wiped his hands on the grass; he had come to a decision. He would not stand there and watch his father die. He had failed gravely in his life once; he would not do so again, even if his father would never forgive him or accept what he was about to do.

Elladan’s head jerked up at his brother’s pained sound. Elrohir had clearly read his brother’s dark thoughts and was as torn as Elladan how they should act, yet he knew that Elladan had made the right decision. The older twin sighed relieved when he sensed his brother’s acceptance. He would have done it anyway but the approval of his twin made it easier to bear.

When Elladan took hold of his father’s shoulder Erestor stepped forward and grabbed his left wrist firmly. “What is going on here?” he asked with irritation in his voice. “What do you think you are doing?” he demanded; yet the tone of his voice was slightly less secure this time. Only just now he had remembered that he was speaking to the sons of his Lord and that his tone was more than inappropriate.

Elladan´s head snapped up again and his eyes blazed; yet he swallowed his sharp reply when he saw the confusion and worry in the councillor’s eyes.

Straining against the firm hold he quickly explained. “Adar is about to kill himself. Glorfindel is too far gone. If he is not stopped we will have two dead to mourn.”

Erestor loosed his grip with a gasp of dismay and looked aghast at the older twin. He was accustomed to the healer using his healing energy but he had not seen that the healer had endangered his own life.

“But how…..” he trailed off his eyes darting to the two Elf-lords on the ground. Bringing the torch closer he could now see how pale the healer had become. The hands he had placed on the warrior’s body shook and his breathing was ragged. How far could this go? Would the healer drop dead from exhaustion before their eyes?

More sensing than seeing the older twin act, Erestor could not wrench his eyes from the desperate scene in front of him. Yet, before Elladan had the chance to pull his father away, the Elf-lord groaned and collapsed. Having anticipated this, Elrohir had stepped behind his father and was able to catch the limp body in his arms.

Shocked but not really surprised, Elladan quickly leaned down and searched for a heartbeat at the neck of the warrior while Elrohir did the same with his father. The twins nearly sobbed with relief when they found both elves alive. Erestor let out a sigh of relief as did all elves witnessing the scene.

Elrohir stroked the sweat-soaked hair of his father out of his face and settled him comfortably against his chest. Now he could impart his own strength into the depleted body and refill the Elf-lord’s reserves.

At the same time Elladan quickly and confidently re-bandaged the blonds’ wound and made him as comfortable as possible.

Seeing that the immediate danger had passed, when he deemed the moment appropriate, the head of the guards came over and knelt beside Elrohir. He directed a worried gaze at the closed eyes of his Lord resting in the lap of the younger twin.

“My, Lord,” he addressed Elrohir “how shall we proceed?”

Shifting his hold on his father Elrohir looked first at his brother and then at the warrior. “My father needs to rest. We should stay here for at least two hours.”

Inclining his head the guard rose and left to inform his men. Looking after the warrior Erestor addressed the older twin. “Elladan, I’m sorry for my…” he trailed off when the dark-haired youth held up his hand.

“It’s alright, Erestor. You could not know. It’s a rare occurrence and father seldom oversteps his limits.”

Accepting the words with a nod Erestor rose and removed the soaked blanket from the litter replacing it with a new one. The twins kept vigil over the two Elf-lords while the guards made sure that nothing would threaten the elves they had sworn to protect.

Elladan and Elrohir however, were far from relaxed. Now would be the perfect moment for an attack. Even though Elrond had not told them what had approached him at the clearing’s edge the brothers had enough imagination to guess the truth. Only the evil presence of one of Sauron’s minions could push their father thus.

With worried hearts they gazed into the darkness. With both of them sustaining the spirits of the Elf-lords and without the opportunity to call upon the power of Vilya they would be easy prey, and the tragedy of a week before could easily be repeated.

To be continued…………………..

Chapter 5: duties we never wanted to do

It was still dark, but with the promise of dawn when the Elf-Lord finally stirred. The younger twin loosened his hold to give his father room to move. The healer opened his eyes slowly and looked at the older twin sitting a few feet away from him with Glorfindel’s head pillowed in his lap.

Only then did he become aware of the fact that he was leaning heavily against someone. He relaxed instantly when he sensed who was steadying him. The steady flow of comfort and support from his child was calming and refreshing. However, he frowned when his memory eluded him for a second:  why did he feel so weak and why he was in need of mental and physical support?

He turned his head to look at his youngest son but regretted the action halfway. With a groan, he sank back and his hands flew up toward his temples. With circular motions, he tried to soothe his piercing headache. While still searching his scattered memory he felt more and more upset that one of his children had to support him.

As a father and a healer, he knew that they needed their strength in mind and body as badly as he did after all that had happened. With this realisation, his memory came rushing back like an icy bucket of water thrown in his face.  His head jerked up with a start so that he could look again at the still form of his Troop commander.

With a sigh of relief, he could detect that his friend was still breathing and he could nearly see the flow of energy from his eldest son enveloping the fëa of the warrior. Now he remembered why he felt so drained and dizzy.

His healing trance to save his friend had depleted his strength. Judging by the disapproving look his youngest son shot him, he had overdone it, but what other options had been left to him?

At the faint sound responding to the pain, Elladan’s head jerked up in alarm. Seeing his father in distress, he directed a concerned gaze at his brother. While still supporting the fëa of Glorfindel, Elladan had no additional reserves to determine what had caused his father pain.

*It is a headache and dizziness. Nothing is attacking him,* his brother told him without words and Elladan relaxed marginally. The older twin had long expected an attack, but either the evil one had retreated or did not dare to approach again. Even if the Elf-lord was unconscious, his ring still protected its bearer and was a force in itself.

Having heard the commotion the warriors slowly gathered, waiting for orders on how they should proceed. Relief was visible on the fair faces when they noticed that their Lord had finally awakened. After a few moments more, Elrond struggled to his feet with the reluctant help of Elrohir. The younger twin would have liked it better if his father had granted himself a bit more rest. Yet the healer strode over and knelt beside the warrior. However, when he extended his hand to lay it on the elf’s chest Elladan quickly shoved his hand beneath his father’s palm.

“No, Adar, you have nothing more to give. Glorfindel is stable for now. You have to rest yourself!” The narrowed eyes and the agitated reply of the younger elf betrayed the worry and fear he harboured for his father. Elrond was initially angered by being reprimanded but that feeling quickly faded when he recognized the concerned undertone in the voice of his son.

He gazed deeply into the eyes of his child and swallowed when Elladan briefly dropped his guard and let his father see what had happened a few hours before. The fear and concern that they could lose two of their most loved ones was still fresh and frightening, as well as the worry of being attacked again with no means or strength to repel the evil.

Yet the Elf-Lord also saw the determination of his headstrong son to save his life even if it would cost them the warrior’s life. Elladan met the gaze of his father steadily. He had made this decision and he would stand fast, no matter how his father would judge this.

Feeling the calming presence of Elrohir who had watched the silent dispute with growing concern Elrond raised his hand and laid it instead on Elladan´s arm. “You are right, my son. I am sorry for the concern I caused you and your brother, but otherwise….” he trailed off and directed a thoughtful look at Glorfindel. Even without touching the limp body, he could detect enough that caused him concern. The state of his friend’s health was still very grave.

Elrohir retreated from both the minds of his brother and father when he sensed that the storm was over, while Elladan closed his eyes and relaxed a bit. When the love of his father enveloped his fëa, he shuddered and could barely hold back the tears that threatened to fall. *I love you, my sons* was the balm that revived both brothers more than other words could have. After Elladan had opened his eyes and nodded at his father, the Elf-lord rose and instructed the guards to organize a swift departure.

Glorfindel was placed into the litter again, after the healer had convinced himself that the wound that had caused their stop was still closed and not causing further trouble. Within a few moments, the elves could resume their walk. They were eager to reach their home as quickly as possible.  Elrond directed his senses outward at their surroundings but again detected nothing out of the ordinary. However, he would not relax until after they had crossed the river.

……………………………………….

At dusk, the elves finally reached the courtyard in front of the Last Homely House. Healers, stable hands and helpers already stood there waiting to lend help to the wearied elves. Elrond immediately instructed his staff to take the Troop Commander inside and prepare everything necessary for further treatment.

He would follow shortly after a quick bath and a change of clothing. Erestor waved him away when he came over to discuss how to proceed further with the dead warriors.

“My Lord, I’m perfectly able to manage this. Your presence is needed in the healing ward.” Grateful for not having to deal with this dreadful task, if only for the time being, the Elf-lord squeezed the shoulder of his councillor thankfully and then hastened inside the building.

After splashing some cold water onto his face and washing his arms and hands thoroughly, the healer quickly dressed in suitable garments and hurried out of his rooms toward the healing wing. Before he could push the huge double doors open, his eldest son stepped into his way blocking the entry. Elrohir´s hand lingered on the doorknob; he was standing slightly behind his brother.

The Elf-lord sighed because he knew perfectly well what argument would arise now. He was not willing to go into another debate with them because he knew they would be right with every point they would raise. 

Therefore, before his son could even open his mouth the healer laid a hand on the eldest twin’s shoulder. “My sons,” he said in a tired tone, but nonetheless a tone that brooked no argument. He cast a side-glance at the younger twin. “I know what you want to say and I will not even think about denying it. I am weary and drained and need rest desperately, but Glorfindel needs my help again to bring him out of the woods. I’m not even sure if I will be able to call him back, weary or not, but I will try not to go too far.”

With that, he squeezed past them and hurried into the corridor leading to the sickrooms. He did not see it; but he did not have to see their faces draw into a grimace reflecting the concern and worry for a much loved father. The feelings flowing toward him through their bond stabbed like a knife into his heart. He was tormented by the desire to reassure them that he would be careful, yet he knew he could not give that promise.

Glorfindel would need all of his healing abilities to be called back from the edge of the abyss he was still lingering on. If it came down to it, he would sacrifice his own life. His old friend had sacrificed his own wellbeing many times in the past without ever thinking about the consequences. Now it was his time to pay him back. He hoped that he would not have to give his life but he was prepared to do it.

When he stepped into the surgery, he stopped for a second, looking at the room and the body of his friend. The warrior was lying on the elevated worktable, stripped naked and already washed. If the healer had not sensed the still resident fëa, he would have assumed him dead.

The white linen underneath the limp body made the pale flesh look even greyer and the many bruises and cuts stood out clearly. Additionally, the great wound in his chest looked swollen and angry red, elven healing ability notwithstanding.

Yet he was not here to lament what had already happened, but to do what he could do to improve the condition of his protector. While on the road, he had only made sure that the warrior did not slip away. Now he would treat the body with all his skill to pull it out of its trauma.

As was his wont Elrond slipped into his healing mode, enabling him to forget the ugly sight before him. In this mode, he could push aside hunger, thirst, weariness, pain, concern and worry. His world narrowed to focus on the patient before him. Only professionalism was now directing his hands. He called upon Vilya to enhance his healing abilities.

Hours later, he had stitched every gash, all bruises were soothed with a healing balm, and the deep wound was both properly cleaned and finally stitched closed. This ended the easiest part. The harder and more delicate part still lay ahead. He needed to remove the shadow from the warrior’s mind. The Elf-lord had clearly sensed that something dark was lingering on Glorfindel’s fëa, assuredly one of the reasons why the patrol had been slain down to the last man.

The night was half way gone when the Elf-lord sank, weary beyond measure, into a cushioned seat someone had thoughtfully positioned near the bed. At least his friend was now resting as comfortably as could be expected in his condition.

The healer had managed to push back the malice that was still threatening the very soul of the elf, yet some deep imprint remained and despite all of his skill, he could not remove it. A clear testimony that something dark remained was Glorfindel’s diminished healing ability, which should have kicked to improve the elf’s condition.

Elladan, closely followed by his brother, slipped silently into the sickroom where his father had been treating their mentor for almost four hours now. Many healers and helpers had come and gone but from none of them could the twins get an answer on how Glorfindel was doing, and when asked how their father fared the helpers quickly excused themselves.

Frustrated Elladan had decided to look for himself knowing that he was acting against his father’s wish to stay away. The brothers knew the sacrifice that their father was willing to make, even if he had not told them.

Again, Elladan was not willing to accept this. He wanted to look in his father’s eyes and have him repeat his desire to give up his life to save the life of another. Elladan knew that he was acting selfishly and that part of him would die with the warrior whom he had grown to love as a second father, but he would never again fail to protect a member of his family.

Elrohir shared the same opinion, albeit he was more reluctant to act against his father’s wishes. Yet his hands already shook when he thought about the fact that his beloved father would give up his life. Elrohir took a deep shuddering breath; it was, after all, Glorfindel’s life they were debating.

Having heard his brother’s intake of breath and feeling the anguish that was matching his own heart’s ache, Elladan resolutely strode around the bed and stopped a moment later at the sight that greeted him.

Their father was deeply asleep in a big and comfortably cushioned chair within arm’s range of Glorfindel’s bed. All words of rebuke left his mind at the sight of the sleeping elf. The sleep relaxed face however, did not betray the utter weariness of the Elf-lord, which had again reached a dangerous level.

Quickly the brothers rushed over and laid their hands lightly on their father’s chest careful not to wake him. While pouring some strength into his depleted reservoir they made sure that their father’s fëa had not been damaged beyond its ability to return to them.

Elrohir covered his father with a warm blanket and placed a small pillow beneath his head fully knowing that this would only marginally alleviate the ache that would occur after resting in the chair. He also knew that his father would not leave his friend’s side, even under the threat of death.

……………………………………..

After the Troop Commander had been carried into the house, the group of elves in the courtyard slowly dispersed. The warriors reported to their captains, the helpers brought back inside what they had carried with them, and many stable hands hurried away the horses.

Erestor and a few of his closest confidants had taken over the task of caring for the dead. They made haste to unload the wagon and transport the bodies to a tent erected at the side of the house. He wanted to place the bodies in a location of privacy, both for their own dignity, as well as for their families’ comfort.

Messengers had already been sent out throughout the valley to inform the families involved and escort them to the tent so that they could make their farewells.

Erestor sighed while carrying another dead elf into the tent. The Lord of this valley had brought twenty-five dead warriors home and this was a hard blow to the sheltered place. Many families he had known over centuries had a dead loved one to mourn.

Many tears would be shed over a husband, a father, a grandfather, a son, a brother, a nephew or a sweetheart. The tent was a poor place to give the family members the opportunity and privacy to mourn. Erestor knew this.  However, with the large number of dead and the haste that was required, this was the best solution possible.

After the last body had been transferred to the tent and laid on the pallets standing in rows, Erestor dismissed his helpers with a curt but heartfelt thank and closed the tent flap. He would take up the post at the tent’s entrance and stand there as an honour guard.

The first families had yet to arrive, but Lord Elrond’s councillor did not have to wait long. A procession was slowly walking over the lawn toward the tent. They did not speak and had no eyes for the beauty of their valley. Women were leading children, who looked around anxiously, not understanding where their joyous world had gone. Fathers were supporting their young daughters-in-law while fighting their own tears. Grim and at the same time forlorn looking sons walked briskly, struggling not to break down in public.

The group was trailed by warriors who were offering their last farewell to their fallen comrades. Several members of the group split off before reaching the house to join the group of elves building the funeral pyre. As soon as the families had said their last good-byes, the ceremony would begin.

While Erestor held open the tent flap to let the elves enter, he directed a frowning gaze at the illuminated window of the surgery. Lord Elrond was still there and no word had reached him so far. Was this a good or a bad sign? Would the Elf-lord even have time to be present to lead the ceremony before the cremation?

With a sigh, he closed the tent-entrance after the last of the elves had stepped inside. Silent weeping amidst whispered words of grief, mingled with high-pitched questions from the children, was all that could be heard from inside.

Over an hour later, a guard informed Erestor that the pyre was ready. The eldest twin had informed the councillor that the Troop Commander was stable so far and that his father was ready for the ceremony. Erestor briefly wondered how Elrond could be ready after all the hardship that lay behind him.

Never one to question what could not be changed he stepped into the tent and waited until all eyes were directed at him. Taking a deep breath, he said gently but firmly, “It is time!”

Having experienced this many times before, he nonetheless braced himself for the silent but intense emotional storm that swept against his fëa. Feelings of anger, grief, sorrow and unbearable loss were flung in his direction.

He knew that he was not the intended target of these emotions but he was there, and for lack of someone else to blame he was the focus. Erestor bore it with understanding and the grace of his long years knowing that a wounded spirit did not work rationally.

When the last mourner had left the tent, Erestor took a deep breath and ordered the already gathered guards to transport the dead to the waiting pyre. From the corner of his eye, Erestor spotted the Lord of the house standing at the steps leading down into the courtyard, his gaze fixed on the pyre. With a few steps, Erestor climbed up and joined his friend.

“How do you fare, Erestor?” the healer asked without turning his gaze from the elves already lighting the torches.

“I fare well, my Lord and you?”

“I’m well, thank you” was the reply.

A double lie.

To be continued………………………. 

Chapter 6: words we never wanted to hear

With a last look at the remnants of the still smouldering pyre, the Lord of the Last Homely House closed the front door with a silent thud. It was almost morning with the promise of a glorious day but this prospect did not bring any peace to his heart.

He was weary beyond the body now. He had led the ceremony of the burial, had delivered his condolences to every family who had dead to mourn and visited with the warriors. Three times he had checked on his Troop Commander; whenever he could afford to be absent from his other duties.

He knew, even without the constant reminders from his sons, that he had to rest soon or his body would shut down. This was what he was doing now: functioning. He felt awful, so tired that he feared he would not find rest without using outside methods to force his body to sleep. He felt weighted down and was worried about his exhaustion. It was so extreme that it frightened even him.

However, he could not grant himself rest now. He swallowed another dose of a drug that would keep him upright and allow him to stay at his friend’s bed side until he was sure that the elf would pull through.

He silently slipped into the room where the warrior was lying. He inclined his head at the ever present healer sitting next to the bed.  The quiet sigh of his colleague told him that nothing had changed. Calming his thoughts, Elrond directed his senses towards the still body on the bed.

With his eyes and ears he could detect the slow rise and fall of Glorfindel’s chest. This was satisfying, but only a sign that the vegetative nerve-system was still functioning. It was no sign of real life.

For that he had to probe deeper, had to extend his senses beyond the visible. He brushed the surface of the wounded elf’s fëa but could detect no trace of conscious thoughts. Seeing what his Lord was going to do, the young healer silently left the room.

Determined, the Elf-lord burrowed deeper in search of the place where the spirit of his friend had retreated to. He was determined to reach the fëa and guide it back to the light. He wanted to be the beacon the fëa needed to return to the surface again.

His advance however came to an abrupt halt when the dark shadow he had felt before blocked his view of the consciousness he wanted to reach. The dark clouds swirled around the elf’s mind imprisoning it and darkening his way to awareness.

The Elf-lord increased his mind’s power to lift the black curtain from his friend’s mind but was repelled so abruptly and viciously that he physically stumbled backwards, slamming his back against the wall.

He stared incredulously at the body on the bed and instantly he knew what had happened. His weariness in both mind and body had weakened his healing strength so much that he was unable to remove the imprint on his friend’s fëa. It had anchored itself there firmly.

Taking a deep breath Elrond walked to a chair beside the bed in real need of a seat now. His whole body was shaking from the exertion and the shock. Clearer than any words could have made it he understood now that rest was imperative.

If he was to help his friend then he would need not only his healing power but also his mental stability to remove the shadow lingering on the fëa. Once the evil was removed, the body would heal.

Just when he was about to rise and call for a healer to relieve him his sons entered the room with worried expressions on their faces. They had, without a doubt, felt the mental backlash and had hurried here to investigate what had happened.

Before they could even ask the question he was much too tired to answer right now; he opened his mind and dropped his guard to let them see what had caused the mental tremor.

While a stormy expression of disapproval appeared on the older twin’s face, the younger twin’s face showed concern for his father and the warrior. Yet before either of his sons could say anything, the Elf-lord rose and walked around the bed.

“I have to rest, my sons. Please stay with him and fetch me should anything worsen.”

Hearing their mental approval while seeing that their faces were stunned speechless, the Elf-lord kissed each forehead and turned without another word. When the door clicked shut behind him, the brothers looked at each other in surprise. They had braced themselves for a battle and had won without even drawing their weapons. Yet they felt no satisfaction.

……………………………………

Nearly twenty hours had passed while the Elf-lord slept, too exhausted to even walk the path of dreams. His sons had made sure that no one dared to interrupt his rest. The brothers had feared for their father’s mental health and were more than relieved that he had seen reason and taken their advice.

At the same time, they had prayed to the Valar that the state of the warrior in their care did not worsen to a degree they could not handle, where they would be forced to waken the Elf-lord.

To their relief the condition of their mentor had not deteriorated, but, and this filled their hearts with dismay, his state had also not changed. He was not getting any better. The tall elf had not moved an inch since Elrond had left.

The twins and the other healers had changed bandages and applied salves. While caring for him they had carefully shifted the body into different positions to avoid irritated skin areas. But every time when they settled the limp body back onto the mattress it stayed immobile, not making the small movements that a healthy body would do every so often.

When it was their shift to watch over the prominent patient again, the twins took up their duty; determined to prolong their father’s rest as long as possible. Elrohir was sitting at the bed’s edge and softly singing to the warrior while holding his hand.

Elladan sat on the window sill and stared down into the courtyard. He did not know why, but today he could not swallow his anguish. Every time they had walked into the room with the same hope in their hearts: to open the door and be greeted by open eyes and the smile they had grown to love.

It was long past time for that. The severe wounds had healed to a degree they could be comfortable with; even if the state was far from the condition it should be. Through some reason that eluded them the body refused to heal properly. Obviously the mind was too affected and blocked a complete recovery or, and Elladan feared as much, the elf had lost his will to live.

Sitting on the sill he pondered these dark thoughts while looking down at the front porch and listening to his brother’s sweet voice.

Life in Imladris had nearly returned to normal or it would have seemed so to a casual observer. A thick cloud of grief and mourning, only detectable by the sensitive souls of the elves, still hung over the valley.

The patrol was not re-established yet. No troop leader, and not even the Lord of this valley, had the heart to replace Glorfindel’s position yet. But a new patrol had to be assigned.

The gap in the circle of protection around the valley had to be closed. The enemy would not grant the elves their time to mourn and they had still not discovered what had cost the patrol so dearly and what was still threatening the road bypassing the valley.

Still deep in thought Elladan turned, startled, when he heard the door open. Relieved to see his father on his feet again, yet at the same time dismayed that the Elf-lord had not taken more rest, the older twin rose and walked over to stand next to his brother.

“Adar, we are glad to see you on your feet again….” the younger twin greeted their father but stopped short when he noticed the Elf-lord’s face.

Elrohir closed his mouth. He did not have to ask; the dark haired youth knew exactly why their father was angry and he did not have to wait long. With a disapproving look the healer gazed at both of his sons. “Why did you not wake me? It’s been over twenty four hours!”

Elladan narrowed his eyes when he felt the irritation and hurt coming from his brother. They had not expected any thanks for keeping watch for two days without leaving the warrior’s side; it was not needed anyway. But this reaction was out of place.

However, before Elladan could reply and much to his surprise, it was Elrohir who answered, calm and controlled. “We thought it best to grant you as much rest as possible. Though the patient’s condition has not improved, it has not deteriorated either and we deemed your presence not necessary. I’m sorry if we judged the situation wrong.”

Elladan swallowed and made a conscious effort to close his mouth. His little, tender-hearted brother, ever seeking to please, had just made it very clear that even he had boundaries that should be heeded.

The brothers were drained both emotionally and physically like their father and their short tempers were only a result of that. Elladan stepped pointedly closer to his brother while meeting the Elf-lord’s gaze, but where he had expected anger he could see shocked silence first; quickly followed by remorse.

Taking a deep breath the Elf-lord stepped forward and laid a hand on both Elrohir’s shoulder and Elladan’s lower arm. “Please forgive me my sons,” Elrond said with an unstable voice. “My words were poorly chosen and I’m sorry.”

Breathing in deeply in relief Elrohir briefly closed his eyes. Willingly he moved into his father’s embrace. “There is nothing to forgive, Ada,” he whispered before he withdrew. Elladan nodded his forgiveness and accepted his father’s squeeze on his arm.

While gazing at one another and exchanging more than any words could have, the three elves turned sharply when a moan came from the bed.

Stepping aside, the brothers made room for their father. The healer moved quickly towards the bed and perched carefully on the edge of the mattress. The twins stepped behind the Elf-lord and gazed, hopefully, at the pale face of the warrior.

Elrond took Glorfindel’s twitching hand gently into his and waited patiently to see if the warrior would regain full consciousness. He sat ready to guide the fëa back to the surface if it should be necessary, yet his spirit just hovered nearby so it would not irritate his friend’s mind.

They were thinking that this was another unsuccessful attempt when the warrior finally opened his eyes. The blue eyes focused slowly and the pained moan conveyed pain, confusion and desperation in the dull gaze that he trained on the healers.

Squeezing the hand he still clasped a bit tighter to let the warrior know someone was near, Elrond imparted some healing energy to calm the distressed mind. However as soon as the contact was made the warrior jerked his hand away and looked at the Elf-lord with an angry expression.

Elrond managed, through long experience, to hide his shock and surprise at the warrior’s reaction just in time. Yet it was not the reaction but an entirely different matter that had made him recoil.

Not fully comprehending what had just happened Elladan quickly made sure to steady his father should he faint when all colour drained from the healer’s face. Elrohir’s brow furrowed in consternation while he regarded the anger expressed on the warrior’s face.

Elrond quickly strengthened the barrier around his mind. The dark images he had glimpsed fleetingly while connecting with his friend’s fëa had caught him off guard. A few times he had seen the dark imprint on the warrior’s spirit but this was nothing compared to the black malice he had experienced now.

“Adar?”

“Glorfindel?”

The tentative questions from the brothers remained unanswered. His composure in place the Elf-lord furrowed his brow when the warrior turned his head away from the three faces looking at him with concern.

Elrond was just about to address his friend again when the warrior suddenly turned his head and gazed at the three peredhil with the same angry expression.

“I’m not dead!” was the statement that came out like an accusation. Ignoring the audible gasps from his sons; his face an unreadable mask now, Elrond looked sharply at the fair haired elf.

“No my friend, you are very much alive, thank the Valar!” he answered with a smile that did not reach his eyes. Still hoping that Glorfindel was making one of his jokes he was famous for, the Elf-Lord was quickly disabused of that idea. If he had expected relief on the warrior’s face he only saw sorrow…disgust?

Elrond quickly shook his head. He had to start thinking rationally again. His patient had just awakened from being deeply unconscious and had experienced a severe wound. Had his sharp mind and his experience deserted him?

He really should know better than to give credit to anything a person said after recently awakening from severe injuries. Such a reaction was unanticipated but not uncommon. The warrior was still disorientated and confused. What had he expected?

Determined not to let his personal feelings cloud his healer’s judgment again, Elrond looked into his friend’s eyes. But again he was taken aback. The dullness in the gaze which would have accounted for the strange behaviour had been replaced by crystal clarity.

“You should not have rescued me, Elrond Peredhil. It was not my intention to survive!”

To be continued……………………………..

Chapter 7: realisations we never wanted to make

“It was not my intention to survive!”

The statement hit the Elf-Lord like a blow. And this time he was unable to hide his feelings. With uncomprehending irritation he looked at the eyes that stared back at him coldly. The warrior showed no signs of being disorientated. The accusation was made quite clearly.

Elrond was at a loss and he was unused to that feeling. He did not have to look at his sons to know how they felt. He could feel their consternation physically.

What had come over the warrior? The healer had expected grief, even desperation but not this cold rejection and surely not directed at him. Was his Troop Commander really aware of what had happened? His reaction at least indicated that he was.

While still affixed by this angry glare the Elf-lord tried to remember if his protector had ever looked at him like that. Yes, the warrior could be difficult at times, when confronted with extreme emotional situations or matters concerning his past, but never had his fierceness been directed at one of his family; least of all him. This made Glorfindel’s reaction all the more disturbing now.

*Elladan, Elrohir, please leave us alone.* The Elf-lord directed this mental order at his sons and left no room for an argument. He wanted to protect his sons if this should get any nastier. Knowing when they had to obey the twins looked at their mentor a last time before they left the room.

With the closing of the door, the eyes of his friend lost the hard glare and looked suddenly sad, even forlorn. Again, he turned his head away from the Elf-lord.

Elrond had to blink at the sudden change. Had he just imagined these awful words or had some mysterious hold on the warrior’s mind been released?

Taking a deep breath Elrond shoved that thought to the back of his mind for the time being. Maybe the warrior was subject to some power he was unable to repel? The dark presence the healer had sensed in the warrior’s fëa came to his mind, but before he could process this thought further the Troop commander closed his eyes with a moan.

His irritation quickly replaced by concern Elrond lightly touched the elf’s arm to impart some comfort with the touch. To his relief the warrior did not jerk away this time, yet he did not indicate if he had even recognized the touch either.

Watching his patient for any signs of distress the healer could not detect anything unusual in the other’s mind. Had he imagined the shadow he had seen earlier? Was it only a wounded spirit clouded by grief and sorrow? Or was there something that could hide and come forth at will?

Elrond broke the contact when he was sure he would not get an answer. He was surprised even more when the warrior opened his eyes and the blue eyes looked back at him; this time not cold but demanding. “Please leave, Elrond. I want to be alone.”

Not even giving the healer a chance to answer the warrior closed his eyes and turned his head away, the only part of his body that he could move without pain.

Taking a deep breath Elrond rose from the chair and tucked the rumpled sheet in place. “As you wish, my friend,” he answered and turned toward the door with a last look at the pale figure. However he would not be far. There is no way that he would leave a patient in that kind of condition alone.

Elrond opened the door and silently slipped into the corridor, failing to see the silent tears rolling down the warrior’s face.

……………………………………………

After leaving he was not surprised to see his twin sons hovering near the door. Seeing the similar anxious expression on both faces, he steered the young elves away from the room down the corridor toward his study but not before he had bid the young healer currently on duty to keep watch and alert him immediately if anything should happen or the warrior would require his help.

Inside, he gestured at two chairs standing in front of his massive desk. Reluctantly the brothers seated themselves; their eyes never leaving their father’s face. The healer rounded the table and lowered himself into the cushioned chair crossing his fingers in front of him. He was well aware of the questioning faces yet he still searched for an answer to the questions that would undoubtedly come.

“Adar,” the younger twin began since the Elf-lord did not make an effort to speak, “he did not mean what he said. He is, after all, the only survivor of his patrol. He will need time to cope with this.”

Elrond looked up sharply. He had expected a demand for an explanation why the warrior was acting this strange, but now his youngest son was trying to comfort him. And while looking at his sons he realized one thing with surprise. The words Glorfindel had uttered had not only irritated but also hurt him. While he had tried to ignore that fact, his gentle son had felt it instantly.

If the patient was anyone other than Glorfindel he would have scolded himself for giving credit to words uttered shortly after the awakening from a severe injury. Never before had the warrior been unable to control himself. Never had he shown anything but love, compassion, and even fierce protectiveness toward the peredhil.

This strange behaviour was alien to Elrond and therefore so disturbing that he was not sure how to react. There must be more to this than confusion and irritation after a trauma.

Realizing that his sons were still gazing at him Elrond forced a smile on his face. “Thank you, Elrohir. You are right. We should give him time to work out his grief. Time will tell and he will return to us, I’m sure.”

Only raising an eyebrow Elladan rose and tugged at his brother’s sleeve. Their father had sunk back into brooding again and the words were only meant to reassure his sons. Nonetheless, they wanted to give the Elf-lord time to reflect on the situation. While opening the door and letting his brother pass, Elladan turned his head. “We will see you at dinner, Adar," he called over his shoulder. The Elf-lord did not answer.

………………………………………………………….

The words spoken out of hope proved false. Over the next days, Glorfindel made tiny steps toward recovery. He was able to sit up for short periods of time in his bed and eat his meals unaided, but his brooding and self-accusations seemed to become worse every day.

Elrond observed this process with growing worry. He did everything he could to lift the mood of the fair-haired elf, but Glorfindel blocked all attempts. Even worse were the mood swings:  one day the warrior was cold and distant, even aggressive; the next day he was sad and withdrawn, nearly overwhelmed with grief and guilt.

One poor victim of these developments was Galaeron, one of Glorfindel´s most trusted captains and his closest confidant after his second-in-command Thalan.

He had asked Master Elrond for permission to visit the Troop Commander and bring well wishes from the troops. The healer acquiesced to this, hoping it would cheer up his friend.

Glorfindel had not even given the captain a chance to open his mouth in greeting. With a voice dripping with contempt and disgust he had addressed the warrior and told him that his pity and hypocrisy were not welcome. He also said that was still alive and the speculation of who might be assigned to his position was premature.

Being a high-ranking captain for a reason, the visitor nonetheless stood speechless, unable to digest what the Troop Commander, a man he had adored all his life, had just uttered. He panted hard a few times while the warrior had turned his head away no longer acknowledging his presence, a clear request to leave.

He swallowed his shock.  The words of greeting and reassurance he had planned to deliver had died on his lips. Trying to understand, yet too rattled to find the right words, the warrior turned and walked toward the door. Grabbing the doorknob he turned, his heart nearly bursting with anguish. He could not leave like this. “Sir?” he asked tentatively directing his gaze at his beloved chief.

“Leave!” was the sharp reply, which made Galaeron flee the room.

…………………………………

Galaeron hurried down the corridor. His only intention was to leave quickly and find a place to think undisturbed. He had expected a badly wounded Troop Commander recovering from his wounds. He had also expected grief after a battle with the result of twenty-five dead warriors.

It had been his and the troop’s intent to reassure their captain that no one held him responsible for what had happened, that they all hoped he would soon return to his post and that they could mourn together and find a way to go on.

But now? Glorfindel had accused him of false emotions and plans to take over his position. Galaeron had to blink while recalling the awful scene. Had some one reported this to him, he would have called him a liar but he had been there himself…

He took deep calming breaths. No, this was not the Troop Commander he knew. Glorfindel had always been kind and caring; demanding, yes with expectations, but always fair, supporting and trusting. What had come over the ancient elf they all loved and adored?

Hearing some one approach Galaeron quickly composed himself. He prayed thanks to Valar that he had not brought the widow of Thalan with him, as she had requested. What would those words have done to the grieving woman, this gentle female he had known all his life?

When he had turned he saw Elrond standing in front of him and he bowed to the Lord of this house. Elrond looked at him with a frown. “Captain Galaeron, what…?” he began but stopped and Galaeron knew he had been unable to hide his feelings.

“Master Elrond, I…” he began but was equally unable to continue. The gaze of the healer was now piercing and Galaeron made no further attempt to hide his thoughts. He allowed the healer to see his emotions.

Elrond took a deep breath but his eyes held sympathy. “Captain, I’m sorry that you had to witness this. I had hoped your presence would do him some good.”

Galaeron stared in disbelief at the Elf-lord. Did that mean that the Troop Commander had talked to the Elf-lord in the same manner? That the rejection was not only directed at him?

Still contemplating this realization Galaeron started when the Elf-lord stepped closer and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Please do not take to heart whatever he said. He’s not himself at the moment.”

Straightening his shoulders, the captain nodded all too ready to believe. “He’s our captain and nothing will ever change that. I pray for his recovery and that he will soon be restored to us.”

With these words the captain bowed and left quickly, his heart more troubled than before.

………………………………………..

After the captain had left the Elf-lord stood there for a few minutes longer trying to understand what was happening with his old friend. This behaviour was so out of the ordinary that the healer feared that it was not the Troop Commander´s conscious will at work here; at least not always.

His first impulse was to be angry at the elf for treating the captain as he had, but quickly the dark images he had seen on the other’s mind came back to his memory and his anger dissipated into concern. What if Glorfindel was possessed by some evil? What if he was acting against his own will?

If so, the situation could quickly change from awful to dangerous. If Glorfindel was controlled by the same evil the Elf-lord had felt on the battlefield then it would change the situation completely.

His Troop Commander was his closest confidant. He knew all that was essential for the safety of Imladris:  the number of warriors protecting the hidden valley, their strategies to repel evil, and all of the matters concerning their very safety.

The Elf-lord narrowed his eyes. How far did this go? Was he only possessed and the enemy trapped in his mind while the warrior stayed in Imladris, or was there some connection to a receiver outside, transferring secrets whenever needed?

Elrond’s knees went weak. Darkness suddenly veiled his vision and he had to steady himself on a pillar for support. Glorfindel was one of the few elves who knew that he was a ring-bearer. If this information could be passed on, Imladris would no longer be safe.

Glorfindel´s last words after awakening came back to his mind: ‘it was not my intention to survive’. Did the warrior know that he was being used or did he only guess something?

This left only one option for him. The presence controlling Glorfindel had to be removed or the warrior had to be effectively kept from giving away vital information.

Elrond swallowed at the implications. He had to find out how much of his musings met reality and then he had to make a decision.

To be continued…………………………….

Chapter 8: words we never wanted to utter

Silently opening the door, Elrond entered the room his Troop Commander had been transferred to. It was a special chamber for patients needing tranquillity yet who were not recovered enough to release them to their own rooms.

These rooms were arranged with more privacy but within the vicinity of the infirmary. Moreover, it was within quick reach of the healers should help be required.

The healer hovered a moment inside the door, but before he could determine if his patient was awake Glorfindel´s deep voice answered his question.

“I’m not asleep, Elrond. Please come closer.”

The Elf-lord raised an eyebrow. This he would have done, even without an invitation, and regardless if the warrior was asleep or awake; but it was not the words that surprised him, it was the tone. Gone were the cold steel in the voice and the contempt in the words. He could almost hear resignation, even pleading, and this was as alien to Glorfindel as his former behaviour was.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts Elrond stepped up next to the bed and observed the warrior closely. The wound in his side had healed to his satisfaction and the other injuries appeared only as red patches on the pale skin soon to be forgotten. Nonetheless, the warrior would be in a considerable amount of pain until all of the internal bleeding, ripped muscles and strained sinews had healed.

Yet the healer was determined to examine the wounds to the spirit, to judge the consequences of the trauma the fëa had suffered.

He would search the warrior’s mind without his permission if necessary to get the answers he searched for, but his Troop Commander surprised him a second time.

With a jerk Glorfindel turned his head and looked at his Lord with the piercing blue eyes they were all accustomed to. Elrond looked steadily back carefully guarding his thoughts. He would be wary, yet open enough to hear the other out.

Sensing his friend’s restraint instantly the warrior took a deep breath.

“Elrond,” he began while the healer took a seat. “I was not myself two days ago and I deeply regret what I said to you and the twins not to mention the words I spoke to Galaeron. I do not know what has come over me….no let me continue…” Glorfindel said quickly when the healer was about to interrupt.

“My thoughts are confused yet I do not have to tell you how grieved I am about the deaths of my men. Everyone is telling me that I am not to blame but I cannot stop blaming myself even if you tell me a thousand times otherwise. I cannot even think about going to Thalan’s widow and her little son, or to the other relatives left behind, and asking for their forgiveness. I was in charge of the patrol; I had the most experience, but those orcs outwitted us as if we were elflings. This is not easy to bear.”

When the warrior had ended, silence descended and the two elves looked at each other for a long time. Elrond was all too willing to forgive; if there was anything to forgive, and to help the warrior to cope with what had happened but the dark presence he had been confronted with twice still gnawed at his mind.

What if the warrior was still being controlled and was forced to tell him what he wanted to hear? Elrond sighed. How could he tell his most trusted friend that he doubted him? Glorfindel´s state of mind and body were too fragile and such a confrontation would do him no good.

Glorfindel might have been devastated but he was still as sharp-minded as ever and he instantly recognized the hesitation of his Lord. “Elrond,” he began anew never leaving the other’s gaze. “I can sympathize with your doubts and I know what is troubling you; but be assured I’m restored now and even if I will need time to come to terms with what has happened I will manage.”

The healer took a deep breath. Had he seen things that did not exist? Had he wronged his best friend? Elrond’s trust in his friend was absolute and had been earned by Glorfindel by hundreds of years of his loyal service.

“The Nazgûl no longer has power over me. He influenced my ability to protect my comrades but no longer.”

The Elf-lord’s head jerked up after he had briefly lowered them to control his emotions. He narrowed his eyes. He had been right! The presence he had felt was nothing other than a ring-wraith. If Glorfindel and his patrol had been directly attacked by this menace it was no wonder that no one escaped alive. Yet Glorfindel had survived; even if barely. Had the warrior managed to repel the evil in the end? He was after all born in Elvenhome and the light from Valinor shone in his eyes.

Seeing plainly that he still had not convinced his Lord, Glorfindel struggled to sit upright with a groan and grabbed the hands of the healer quickly and firmly. Before Elrond could even be surprised, he was carried away by his friend’s overwhelming presence dragging his fëa into a world the healer had experienced with other elves only a few times. Glorfindel opened his mind and released all restraints.

Elrond gasped, while still being held firmly, when the emotions, fears, hopes and memories of the warrior’s mind were laid bare before his inner eye. Glorfindel held nothing back and the healer nearly fainted before the intensity of the other’s fëa. He had a vague idea now why the elves born in Valinor still shone with the light Eru Ilúvatar had kindled in them. It was nothing compared to the elves born in Middle-earth.

When his first nausea had abated, Elrond carefully navigated through the elf’s mind and, to his utter relief, could detect nothing that was not Glorfindel. However, he treaded carefully, almost tentatively, trying not to intrude into parts even he was not allowed to see, nor did he want to.

As quickly as the journey had begun, it ended. Glorfindel slowly released his hold on the cold hands and closed his mind up again. Again, the two Elf-lord’s stared at each other; still reeling from what they had just experienced.

As happy as the healer was that his friend was not possessed by something dark, he was shocked at what it had done to the other’s soul. The devastation went deep, and the elf would have to find a way to forgive himself and forget, or rather to remove the incident from his conscious state, for the remainder of his life.

Glorfindel had seen much sorrow in his life and he would manage this also. Elrond was sure of that. But every wound to the soul would irreversibly change a part of this stunning elf.

Glorfindel smiled. He could nearly see the wheels turning in the Elf-lord’s head. Clearing his throat when he became aware of the scrutiny, Elrond rose. “Thank you, my friend. I was wrong to doubt you, please forgive me,” the healer said while grasping the other’s forearm lightly.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Glorfindel replied and sank back into his pillow. Satisfied that the warrior was resting now, Elrond turned and left the room quietly. With his back turned he could not see the strange smile on his Troop Commander’s face.

………………………………….

For the third time that night, Elrond was ripped from his slumber and he did not make another attempt to return to sleep. Briefly he searched the bond with his children, making sure that all three fared well and that they were not the cause for his restlessness.

He wondered what had caused him to feel this uneasy. He was at times disturbed by visions or dark images of the future, but this was nothing like those previous times. Threatening whispers hovered at the edge of his mind but at every attempt to grasp them they disappeared like smoke mocking him while vanishing.

Irritated he flung back his bedcover, rose, and donning a robe over his night clothes, finally abandoned all hope of rest for the remainder of the night.

He decided to take a stroll through the garden in the hope of finding peace for his mind. Maybe he would be able to detect what was troubling him.

Just as he was about to open the door to the corridor a knock came from the other side. He halted his hand, already hovering above the doorknob, in surprise. The first idea that came to his mind was that only one of his healers would disturb him at this late hour.

His heartbeat increased because the only patient at the moment apart from Glorfindel was an elfling who had broken his wrist while playing. The boy would hardly require his presence in the middle of the night.

With a furrowed brow, and realizing that he would not solve the question by just standing there, he opened the door with a determined jerk, surprising the visitor who had just raised his hand to knock a second time. He was looking into the face of his advisor, Erestor.

Erestor quickly lowered his fist. “I hope I’ve not woken you, my Lord, but I saw the light and wondered if you could spare a minute?”

The Elf-lord raised an eyebrow in surprise. Erestor had appeared in the same half-clad state he was himself and seemed equally unable to find rest.

“It’s an uncommon time to seek council, my friend,” he countered, gesturing the dark haired elf inside. The councillor made no remark at the comment, which was most unusual. He simply walked past his Lord with a curt nod and stopped in front of two comfortable chairs. Frowning Elrond closed the door while he observed the other’s rigid back.

“Sit down, Erestor,” he invited while stepping closer, “and tell me what I can do for you.”

Erestor sunk into the cushioned chair and waited until his Lord had also taken a seat. Seeing the questioning eyes he leaned forward. “I’m here to talk about Glorfindel. He’s acting extremely strange.”

Elrond sighed while leaning back. He had guessed as much. His reassurance that the warrior was slowly returning to himself had fled within seconds. Yet should they not give him more time? It was after all only a few days since the attack.

“Erestor,” he began, “we should just practise some more patience…” he stopped when Erestor rose from his chair and started pacing the room. After a few rounds he stopped and looked at his Lord with an expression Elrond could not place.

“I’m sorry, my Lord, but we are not talking about a few misplaced words.”

Frowning, Elrond was not sure what to make of this. Erestor had never been at a loss for the right words, and the legendary quarrels between him and Glorfindel had always been equally matched. He was sure Erestor was more than able return a rude remark. What was this about?

Seeing the frown on his Lord’s face Erestor took a deep breath. “Elrond,” he began and the healer tensed in anticipation at the grave undertone, “you should appoint a guard on Glorfindel. Through I was surprised, I could repel him. But if he catches someone unaware or untrained…”

Elrond was standing now too his back rigid. “What in the Valar’s names are you talking about?” he said sharply. Erestor’s sharp mind and clear words had always impressed him; this fumbling around was unnerving.

Narrowing his eyes and calming his quickly rising ire Erestor took a deep breath. “As you wish, my Lord, then I will be blunt. Glorfindel attacked me not more than half an hour ago!” He opened his tunic and revealed a prominent bruise on his chest and shoulder already blooming dark blue.

The healer stared in disbelief at the injury. In his irritation he nearly forgot to breathe. Was his advisor telling him that his Troop Commander had consciously hurt him?

He briefly closed his eyes. Glorfindel had not only deceived him by telling that he had recovered but had attacked one of his subjects. Erestor was right. Had it not been a trained elf like Erestor the attack could have been much more disastrous.

Now Elrond was sure that Glorfindel was still controlled by the Nazgûl’s will. The warrior had become a safety risk for Imladris and he had to act accordingly.

To be continued…………………………..

Chapter 9: actions we never wanted to take

After he had cared for Erestor´s injuries and advised the elf to rest, Elrond left the private quarters of his councillor and was now on his way to the healing ward. What he had postponed against better judgement he had to do now. He had to make sure that his Troop Commander did not have the chance to threaten someone else again. Still shocked by what Erestor had told him, he reviewed the report while walking down the corridor.

……………………………………

Erestor had silently opened the door to Glorfindel´s sickroom just a crack to see if his friend was awake. To his surprise he saw the bed was empty and from his position he could not glimpse Glorfindel. Opening the door a bit further, Erestor had peered around the door and finally spotted the warrior standing at the window.

He had frowned. Was Glorfindel already allowed to leave the bed? The advisor shrugged his shoulders. Glorfindel should be aware of what he was doing and Lord Elrond had visited the warrior only shortly before.

He took two steps inside the room and cleared his throat when the warrior didn’t react from his entrance, but even after this announcement the elf did not react. He still stood at the window like he was carved out of stone looking into the courtyard below.

Erestor´s frown had not left his face. Was the warrior deliberately ignoring him or was he so preoccupied with his thoughts that he really had not heard him? Erestor had come to a decision and stepped up next to the elf, lightly touching the other’s shoulder.

“Glorfindel?,” he had asked in a low voice not wanting to startle the elf. Somehow he had felt strange in the presence of his long-time friend. Something was emanating from the warrior that was entirely alien to him.

Later, Erestor could hardly recount to Elrond what had occurred next. It had all happened so fast that he did not have the slightest chance to react. His hand had just made contact with the elf’s shoulder when the warrior whirled around and punched his balled fist into Erestor´s chest.

Having not expected this, the advisor was thrown back with such a force that he impacted hard with the opposite wall. The wind was knocked out of him and he had fought to catch his breath. Erestor was barely able to gasp when Glorfindel moved toward him with a speed no one would expect from one recently recovered and with his right hand pinned his shoulder against the wall with a bruising grip.

However, it was not the pain or the unexpected act that had made Erestor gasp; it was the utter hatred that had stared back at him from the once blue eyes of his friend which were now nearly black with anger.

“Never touch me without my permission. Can’t I have some peace?” Glorfindel growled. For a few seconds more the cold stare continued, but from one moment to the other the eyes had lost their alien expression and the warrior had looked nearly surprised or maybe even exasperated.

Without another word Glorfindel had turned and walked back to the window looking out again as if nothing had happened. Erestor had blinked to make sure he had not imagined this. The pain in his back and the already blooming bruise on his chest and shoulder however had confirmed, strikingly, that the warrior had just attacked him.

He had not wanted to irritate the Troop Commander again, so he had left the room quickly without another glance towards the Elf-lord. Another attack and he could not guarantee he would not fight back. In the corridor again he had flexed his aching shoulder to make sure that nothing was broken.

Fighting down his irritation and taking deep breaths to calm his furiously beating heart he had wondered what had happened to his friend.

Lord Elrond had told him that Glorfindel was deeply grieved and depressed over the incident with the patrol but this attack went above all that could be excused with a traumatised mind.

Never one to not solve problems by himself Erestor quickly made his way down the corridor nonetheless. In this matter he was in need of council from the psychologically trained mind of a competent healer.

……………………………………..

The healer shuddered at the recollection. He felt responsible for what had happened to his advisor. He should have expected something like that. He had not yet told anyone else about the dark imprints he had seen on the warriors mind.

Erestor knew of course that a Nazgûl was initially responsible for the death of the patrol, but the fact that the Troop Commander was still in some way controlled he had kept to himself.

Valar – if anyone else other than Erestor had suffered the attack…Elrond swallowed. He had let himself be lulled in by the warrior’s confirmation that he was all right. He had all too readily believed the false declarations from a mind occupied by an enemy.

Nonetheless the healer wondered how the confrontation had played out. He suspected that the Nazgûl did not have full control over the warrior yet; otherwise he would have easily been able to kill Erestor while he had caught him unaware.

Obviously the warrior was still fighting against the intruder and there was a battle over dominion. Yet, was Glorfindel even aware that he was subjected to another’s will or was he just fighting intuitively?

Having reached his patient’s room the healer straightened his shoulders. He would go in there because he had to make sure if his most trusted friend was no longer the master over his mind. The requested guards had already appeared and were now standing to the left and right of the door. He acknowledged their presence with a nod.

“First I will go in alone. I will call for you if necessary.” Receiving a reluctant nod from both of them the healer did not miss the uneasy gazes the warriors exchanged. Yet they had also glimpsed the long knife strapped to his belt.

This however would be his absolute last means to placate his friend. He hoped he would be able to control whatever was occupying the elf’s mind with the power of Vilya and if not; than with the means of the strong sedative he carried in his pocket.

Blowing out his breath he opened the door and stepped over the threshold.

……………………………………….

He had barely stepped inside the room when the hair on his neck stood on end instantly. Elrond had made himself believe that he was prepared for an incident like the one Erestor had told him about; yet the strong arm encircling his throat from behind caught him off guard nonetheless.

The warrior must have waited next to the door to pounce on whoever was stepping inside. After the attack on Erestor Glorfindel had only to put two and two together to know who was entering. Glorfindel was strong yet Elrond was no weakened scholar. By using all his might and experience he would at least be able to shake loose the strong grip or whirl the warrior around, but this could not be done without risking his friend getting injured again.

Glorfindel had obviously lost the fight for his free will. Elrond could no longer feel the familiar fëa of his friend. Only the presence of the Nazgûl was prominent now. Knowing that this battle had to be fought by the power of the mind and not with the means of strength, he hesitated to hurt a body enslaved by another’s will.

First however he had to even the score to have a better basis for using his mental power. Relaxing his body and not fighting back, Elrond tried to placate the agitated warrior by seemingly relenting. The grip did not tighten further.

Concentrating all of his mind’s energy and calling for more strength upon Vilya, Elrond sent a mighty mental push toward the dark presence occupying Glorfindel´s fëa. The healer prayed that the warrior’s mind would not take any damage.

The Nazgûl did not react as predicted. He did recoil in shock and anger but did not release his hold in the slightest. The push however made him stumble back; but because off the still strong hold around his neck Elrond was forced along with the motion and both elves tumbled against the door with a loud bang.

Only now the strong grip lessened and Elrond could twist out from under the arm, scamper away and get back on his feet. Glorfindel was on his feet just as quickly when the door flew open revealing two grim looking guards with their swords drawn. While one of them stepped forward with his sword, pinning Glorfindel to his spot, the other guard looked between his Lord and his Troop Commander irritated and unsure how to act.

“Do not hurt him,” Elornd cautioned when Glorfindel stepped forward and the guard raised his sword in warning. An arrogant smile appeared on the elf’s face and Elrond knew this was only the Nazgûl´s doing. The guard looked at his chief bewildered.

The air in the room was pregnant with tension. From the corner of his eye Elrond noticed the arrival of his twin sons. He had to act now before the situation got out of control. Glorfindel, or rather the Nazgûl, would risk the destruction of the elf’s body if he saw a chance to kill the Master of Imladris.

Briefly closing his eyes Elrond gathered all his mental power and enhanced his outstanding ability again by calling upon the power of the ring. Not understanding but clearly sensing their father’s need for support the twins connected with his fëa and gave him all the strength they possessed. First focusing and then releasing all the power in a mighty push the warrior was bodily thrown back and tumbled to the floor unconscious.

Yet Elrond was also thrown back from the mental backslash. The healer landed ungracefully on the floor but no one cared. The guard, joined by his colleague looked in disbelief at the two Elf-lords on the floor. They had been told to come to the aid of the Master of Imladris if necessary and this was strange enough because the one Master Elrond was acting against was their chief. Now they had witnessed a battle they had no knowledge of, a battle of the mind.

The twins however, though also not fully comprehending why their father was using the ring´s power against their beloved mentor, rushed into the room concern etched on their fair faces.

His palms pressed against his temples their father had squeezed his eyes shut. Elrond’s mind reeled. The Nazgûl had screeched in terror while being pushed back, yet he had also heard the mental outcry of Glorfindel. As relieved as he was to confirm that his friend was still present he was shocked that he had hurt his friend’s spirit.

While Elladan kneeled down beside his father Elrohir directed an uneasy gaze at the prone form of Glorfindel. He knelt down next to the Commander, unsure how to help. He ordered the guard next to him to close the door.

“Adar, are you alright?” the older twin asked while lightly touching the healer at the shoulder. Opening his eyes the Elf-lord looked at his son. Elladan extended a finger to touch the heavy bump on his father’s brow. The contact made the Elf-lord flinch; he had not felt the pain until then. The impact with the door must have been rather hard.

“I’m fine, my son,” Elrond reassured his oldest and extended a hand. Not convinced Elladan gripped the outstretched hand and carefully helped his father back to his feet. He had not failed to notice the unnaturally widened pupils in his father’s eyes, but he was not sure if this was a result of the impact with the door or the mental push they had witnessed.

“Elrohir, do not touch him”, Elrond suddenly cried and the younger twin withdrew his hand as if burned. He had stretched out his hand to ascertain Glorfindel´s condition. He looked bewildered at his father. Why should he not touch the elf?

Fearing that the Nazgûl could use the contact to move into another body the Elf-lord sighed. The need for information was now overdue. “Elladan, Elrohir,” he said while inviting the guards with a nod, “Glorfindel’s mind is possessed by a Nazgûl. He first attacked Erestor and then me. I have managed to incapacitate him but unfortunately this will not hold for long.”

While the guards still struggled to understand, the twins nodded, albeit shaken at the revelation. That the warrior was acting strange was known to them, but that the reason behind this was that the warrior was possessed by a Nazgûl’s will they could not have imagined.

Elrond quickly crossed the room and knelt next to the warrior. He checked the heartbeat and nodded, satisfied that no further bodily harm had come to his friend. About his mind’s state he was not so certain. The warrior was deeply unconscious and so was the Nazgûl but this would not hold forever.

With the help of his sons the healer moved the limp body to the bed. He turned back to the guards. “I do not require your presence inside but please stay ready at the door.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” “Of, course, my Lord,” they replied before they left with a last look at the elf on the bed. Elrond could feel their consternation but they trusted him implicitly and for that he was grateful.

Seating himself at the bed the healer made sure that the warrior was still unconscious. He absently patted his pocket containing the vial with the strong sedative. He would force it down the throat of his friend if necessary to never give the Nazgûl or rather its mind the chance to possess Glorfindel´s body again.

Relenting to the questioning looks of his sons the Elf-lord’s features hardened. “Now let us free Glorfindel from this evil,” he declared and laid his hands left and right of the warrior’s face. Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes.

“Be careful, Ada,” the twins whispered ready to support their father. Their faces reflected only concern for the two elders.

`I hope you are still there, my friend to guide and aid me! Elrond thought before his mind sank into the spirit of his best friend.

To be continued……………………

Chapter 10: places we never wanted to look at

For a short time, Elrond felt a great dizziness and was about to withdraw; more by instinct than consciously; but in time he remembered the purpose behind his actions and let himself be dragged along by the current his mind was following. He was no longer sure if he would be able to willingly stop this process and return to a conscious state of mind or if the power of the ring would continue dragging him along until he had reached his destination.

He nearly laughed out loud. He did not even know where his destination was. He had never done this before. He had always only brushed the surface of others’ minds or read thoughts easily bared before him to impart comfort to a failing spirit, but never had he intruded someone’s fëa this deeply and certainly not to hunt and defeat an enemy hiding there. He had no idea what to expect.

When the whirling kaleidoscope came to a stand-still, he briefly shut his mind’s eyes to stop his world from spinning and to stabilize the swaying floor beneath his feet. He was aware that his body was sitting beside the warrior, watched over by his sons and that these feelings were only imagined, but his brain could not distinguish between reality and illusion.

Now that his mental journey had ended, he looked around and was almost disappointed because he could not make out anything more than a dimly lit room – a room without any doors or windows. He carefully stepped farther into the room, and the faint blue light originating from Vilya that had surrounded him until now vanished entirely. When his eyes had adjusted to the dimness, he could make out a faint glimmer coming from the opposite wall.

He stiffened his muscles expecting an attack from the dark spirit at any moment, but when nothing happened, he narrowed his eyes. The glimmer did not move nor could he feel anything dark or alien about the form ahead of him whatever or whoever it was.

With all of senses heightened, he gasped when he realized that the crouched figure on the ground was none other than Glorfindel. He carefully stepped closer. Not even for a second could he let his guard down despite the worry for his friend. This could be a trap. The warrior had not yet reacted to his arrival.

Slowly the healer knelt down and lightly touched the warrior on his shoulder. Without raising his head, Glorfindel shifted just a fraction. *Be careful, Elrond. He’s here, watching us. He cannot be defeated easily.*

With a frown, the Elf-lord withdrew his hand. Glorfindel seemed unsurprised by his presence. In fact, he did not show any emotion at all. Cautiously Elrond looked around as far as his eyes could penetrate the gloom. Just when he turned back to the elf, Glorfindel´s head jerked up and his eyes stared past him. Elrond turned to follow the line of sight but saw nothing.

“Watch out,” Glorfindel suddenly said in a low tone. Elrond rose and now he could perceive something. A dark figure, barely recognizable against the blackness, was suddenly standing there. Narrowing his eyes the healer looked at the figure carefully. He could not make out any features in the face, which had nothing to do with the dimness of the light. Rather, there was nothing in the face of this being the eye could catch on. It was expressionless, devoid of any characteristics, shapeless, wavering, and alien.

Nevertheless, the evil emanating from the being was flowing toward him like a dark vapour, chilling, enveloping, and repugnant. For a second Elrond felt the overwhelming desire to recoil and withdraw but a moment later his unique self-control got the upper hand and he straightened his shoulders.

However, before Elrond could take one-step toward the enemy the shapeless face was drawn into a grimace and high-pitched laughter could be heard.

“Look, look, what we have here? The Master of Rivendell himself. Your poor Troop Commander is unable to fight for himself, what a pity. He has failed before and will fail again. Now you think you can defeat me?”

Not raising to the bait Elrond hid his disdain at the presumptuous being behind a stony mask. He moved between the dark shadow and Glorfindel. The elf had not reacted to the taunt. He had remained immobile.

This made the healer more uneasy then the taunting of the Nazgûl. Redirecting his gaze to the gloomy figure Elrond took another step closer to the being, intent on enlarging the safe distance for the warrior. Something was wrong with Glorfindel. This defeated bearing was unusual for Glorfindel even in such a situation.

“You seem very sure of yourself, but this I will change,” he said in as calm a tone as he could master while being face-to-face with a minion of the Dark Lord.

For a second the Nazgûl seemed stunned but then the unbearable laughter resumed. The healer planted his feet apart and prepared himself for the battle. He had to end this here and now; his friend’s mind had been subjected to this evil already too long.

Gathering all his mental power Elrond directed his full attention at his enemy and released a mighty push of channelled energy. 

……………………………………

The gazes of the twin brothers were fixed on the face of their father; their countenances still troubled. The healer had been sitting beside the golden warrior for over an hour now and seemed frozen in time.

At first, they had barely dared to breathe for fear of disturbing their father’s concentration. They could clearly feel the tension in the healer’s posture. They had witnessed and supported with a healing trance many times before, but this was different. The healing was the secondary part. The main goal this time was to free a spirit from an occupation.

The twins had total confidence in their father’s abilities, yet to fight a Nazgûl within another’s mind was nothing the Elf-lord had attempted before. Their fears, not only for their father but also for the warrior whose spirit was the battleground, were not ill founded.

With one of his father’s hands firmly grasped in his, Elladan’s fëa was connected with his father’s wandering spirit, while Elrohir had bound his spirit to the warrior’s. They only held light contact to determine immediately if something went wrong, but dared not probe further, much less intervene, even if the desire to help was great.

Their hearts however felt restless and their feelings of desperation were spreading. What should they actually do if something went wrong? What could they do? Again, Elladan directed a searching look at his brother, and again he received hopeless look in return. They could only wait.

Dark shapes, wisps of thoughts swirled around their minds; undoubtedly echoes from the confrontation happening right before their eyes yet so far away.

Absently Elladan rubbed his thumb over the stone of the ring on his father’s hand. Vilya was visible now, as it was every time its power was called upon. The faint blue light emanating from the beautiful blue stone illuminated the whole room. The light brought comfort, yet increased their anguish. The power behind the light supported the healer, but with the growing intensity they knew greater demands for Vilya’s support were being demanded; therefore the enemy was fighting back hard.

At this moment, the light was very intense, nearly blinding. Erestor had closed the heavy curtains making sure that anyone looking at the windows would see no sign of light. Very few in Imladris knew that the Elf-lord was the wielder of one of the three rings of power, and this should remain so.

Without warning, it happened. The ring´s light increased again; the blue glow began to spark. The Elf-lord on the bed uttered a cry and the body of the golden warrior convulsed. Shocked, the brothers relinquished their hold on the elves, but only for a second. Quickly they restored their bond and witnessed a battle they had never imagined possible.

……………………………..

When the beam of energy collided with the dark figure, Elrond let out a surprised cry. He was stunned because, while the Nazgûl screamed in rage and pain, the Elf-lord was thrown back with such a force that he slid many feet across the floor to finally impact hard with the wall.

Shaking his head to get rid of his light-headedness, the healer came quickly back to his feet and realized, to his amazement, that the energy was still flowing from him and colliding with the force of the evil being in the middle of the room.

The light of Vilya shone a brilliant blue and the beam of the enemy had a dark red glow. Where the two lights met, they mingled into a single blinding light fighting for dominance.

A pained moan made his head jerk around and away from the fascinating spectacle to the crouched figure on the floor. With shock, Elrond realized that Glorfindel was writhing in pain. Still concentrating on fighting, the healer at first could not identify what was causing the warrior his distress. Narrowing his eyes, he finally saw that some of the red energy was being diverted and targeted at Glorfindel.

Redirecting his gaze back to the Nazgûl Elrond took a deep breath. He pulled himself up to his full height. Calming his thoughts and emptying his mind he put away all the worry and concerns he had, gathering his power and calling upon everything Vilya could offer.

Slowly but determinedly he strode forward, with every step intensifying the blue light until the bypass of red energy ceased. The Nazgûl screeched again but this time in fear. He had no choice but to withdraw from the mighty Elf-lord, now terrible to behold in his rage.

Elrond did not grant the Nazgûl a second of repose. He had to defeat him right now. He felt how the power of the energy directed at him was wavering, yet his own limits were nearly reached too. With strength born of desperation, he moved another step forward. He had the Nazgul cornered against the opposite wall. It was fighting back uncoordinated and frantic now, out of fear and agony.

Closing his ears to the curses and taunts Elrond mobilized all his intellect, remembering that this was only happening in an unreal dimension, to destroy the one who had killed so many elves. Elrond built an enclosure around the dark spirit and sealed the opening quickly. Only faintly, he could hear the screams, which quickly changed into pitiful wails.

The light of Vilya had stopped the moment the prison was sealed. Panting hard the Elf-lord sank to his knees utterly spent. His hands pressed to the cold floor, he gasped breaths of air into his tormented body. He gave no heed to the cries of the Nazgûl. After a few minutes they had stopped anyway.

When the shaking of his muscles lessened somewhat Elrond rose and turned. With dread he looked at the now still figure on the ground. Had his victory been a defeat in the end? Had the concentrated energy killed the warrior? From this distance at any rate he could not make out if the elf still lived.

Stumbling forward the Elf-lord knelt beside his friend and quickly turned the warrior over. The face of Glorfindel was still contorted in pain and his eyes were disturbingly closed. With a shaking hand Elrond reached out and searched for a heartbeat. His own nerves were still frayed and he needed a few moments to make sure that he was indeed feeling a pounding beneath his fingertips.

With a relieved sigh the healer sank down the wall and pillowed his friend’s head in his lap. He did not have the strength to do anything else right now.

His eyes looked at the stone mound he had created. He could no longer hear anything indicating that the Nazgûl was still active. He was defeated and the memory could now be erased from the elf’s mind.

Stroking his friend’s hair Elrond closed his eyes, intent on sitting here until the warrior regained consciousness and he himself could return to his body.

After an indeterminate period of time the warrior stirred and Elrond opened his eyes to look into the blue eyes already focused on him. Pleased, he felt that some strength had already returned.

But instantly he felt that something was not right. He had expected some relief from Glorfindel, but nearly the opposite was the case. Instead, Glorfindel emanated desperation and a weariness that frightened Elrond. He was still affected from the Nazgûl’s occupation but somehow he should also feel the lifting of the dark veil that had surrounded him.

“Glorfindel?” Elrond asked, anxious to learn why the warrior was reacting this strangely. “The Nazgûl is defeated. You are no longer possessed by him. You are safe and free, my friend.” But the healer still got no reaction.

With sadness in his eyes that nearly took Elrond’s breath away, the warrior rose into a sitting position.

“Elrond, I thank you for what you have done for me,” Glorfindel began with a voice that made all the hair on the healer’s neck stand on end. “But as I said before, it was not my intention to survive and I will definitely not come back with you. Please return alone and let me die in peace.”

To be continued………………………….

Chapter 11: blows we never wanted to receive

“But as I said before, it was not my intention to survive and I will definitely not come back with you. Please return alone and let me die in peace.”

The Master of Rivendell still deeply embedded in the warrior’s mind stared in disbelieve at the elf before him. He desperately searched the unnaturally dull eyes of his friend for any sign that the words just uttered were not meant as they had sounded. To his dismay the gaze that was directed at him held not trace of insincerity much less humour, only determination and deadly clarity.

Elrond could no longer use the current condition of the warrior as an excuse for his strange behaviour. The severe wound was almost healed, even if it would still be uncomfortable and painful at times, but it was nothing that would hinder the battle-hardened warrior from returning to his usual routine.

What was left was the grief that still weighed heavily on the Troop Commander. Elrond understood these feelings of loss better than most, having experienced them too many times in his own life. But this despondency Glorfindel was now displaying, even after going through recent events, was not justified. Had the influence of the Nazgûl wounded the spirit of the great warrior to such a degree that he was tired of life?

Had the energy attack wounded the warrior bodily, Elrond wondered? He let his analytical eye wander over the hunched figure. He could not discern anything that indicated that.

Swallowing against the constriction forming in his throat, and shoving back all the hollow reassurances that came to mind, the healer knelt down at eye level with the warrior.

For a while he simply sat there next to his friend, trying to determine how to respond to the desperate statement from the elf. He knew from hard-learned experience that to push Glorfindel did not meet with success.

The warrior had to be convinced. All his being had to be content with a suggestion before he would relent, and even more in such a personal matter.

Yet, when he felt a tug on his mind Elrond knew that the time to act had come. His body was demanding the return of his spirit and he could not linger here forever. Taking a deep breath the healer touched the warrior’s arm lightly to get his attention.

“Glorfindel”, he began when their eyes had met. “I understand how the loss of your men grieves you, but you must not let these feelings weigh you down this much. No one is blaming you for what happened….”

“You do not know of what you speak,” a low voice interrupted him and Elrond would have missed it were it not for the unnatural silence in the odd room.

The healer raised an eyebrow. Of course no one blamed the warrior but it dawned on him that Glorfindel was referring to something different.

“In what do I err, then?” Elrond asked. He shoved back his rising frustration for being unable to detect what the core of the problem was.

Rejecting another reminder from his body to return, Elrond waited patiently for the elf to respond. Just when he already thought that nothing would be forthcoming the warrior raised his eyes. The healer gasped. The gaze was nearly alien to him. Had the dark spirit not been removed entirely?

Quickly looking at the stone mound on the opposite wall Elrond nearly dreaded hearing the mad laughter again. He was relieved to hear the familiar voice of his long time friend, even subdued and weary.

“Elrond, even if you tell me a hundred times otherwise; it was my fault that the patrol was slaughtered.”

Narrowing his eyes the Elf-lord leaned forward. “How so?” he demanded; tired of this game of getting only small pieces, pieces too small to put the puzzle together.

Hearing the unintended, but nonetheless sharp tone of his lord, Glorfindel returned a defiant look. “When the orcs attacked I stood there and watched the scene from afar without intervening,” the warrior spat with a vehemence that made the contempt of his own actions more than obvious.

With superior self-control, Elrond managed to remain calm outwardly until his emotional storm had subsided. He determinedly backed away a bit to give the agitated elf space to breath. Nonetheless he did not let him out of his sight.

“I can hardly believe that, Glorfindel. I claim to know you well enough that this picture you paint of yourself is not right!”

Meeting his Lord’s gaze unflinchingly Glorfindel did not even blink. “And yet, it happened this way,” he answered, his voice now trembling.

Though already guessing the reason behind this, Elrond knew that he had to push now to make the warrior speak of the matter that was tormenting his soul.

“What made you stay back? What prevented you from helping your men?” Elrond asked his tone now gentle but imploring.

Glorfindel looked up again and Elrond could see that his eyes were now filled with tears, but the healer could not determine if these were tears of sorrow or frustration. Yet it did not matter to him. Finally, the much-needed tears could be shed. The wounded soul could finally open the lock.

With a voice devoid of any emotions the Troop Commander began to speak and Elrond listened intently.

“When we reached the clearing nothing appeared out of the ordinary. I could not detect the presence of the Nazgûl and that’s still a mystery to me.”

Elrond nodded while frowning. The evil emanating from a Nazgûl was usually very strong, at least at least when it was that close, and it should have been easily detectible. If Glorfindel had not sensed him at all then the ring-wraith must have found a new way to hide his presence. Glorfindel’s next words confirmed his suspicions, but did nothing to clarify the mystery.

“We did not recognize the presence of the orcs either. The attack came unexpectedly, and was so forceful that we hardly had a chance to react. While my men fought the onslaught from the orcs, my mind was seized and my body immobilized with a ferocity I have never experienced before. The patrol fought valiantly and desperately but the number of orcs was simply overwhelming.”

When the warrior stooped with a shuddering breath Elrond squeezed the arm of the grieving elf to give comfort; shivering himself while imaging the scene before his mind’s eye. He had battled enough orcs to envision the horror that had swept over the little group.

Without responding to the comforting gesture the elf continued, his eyes staring ahead unseeing. “From the beginning I was forced to watch while one after the other of my men was killed without having the chance to intervene. For every dead warrior there were eight to ten dead orcs but their reserves seemed endless until…”

Glorfindel´s voice broke. Elrond closed his eyes. He knew what his friend was unable to say. He had seen the results himself.

Somehow Glorfindel found the strength to go on. “While being forced to watch my men die, the Nazgûl laughed at me and mocked me until my heart could take no more. With the last strength I possessed I let out a cry which cost the last two warriors their life.”

Looking up sharply Elrond searched the face for the meaning of this and he had not to wait long.

“When Thalan heard my cry he turned, startled, and realized for the first time that I had not participated thus far. His eyes narrowed when he looked past another surviving companion to the tree line where the Nazgûl was hovering.

With a cry of rage he ran forward and challenged the Nazgûl, but he was quickly subdued when an orc held a knife to my throat and stopped Thalan’s attack with the threat to kill me. I begged Thalan with my eyes not to surrender but Thalan obeyed and lowered his sword. Two scimitars pierced his body and he fell dead in front of me.”

When the warrior’s voice faded again the Elf-lord swallowed. Thalan had not been dead, he had even managed to return home but he saw no reason to inform the distressed elf of this fact. He would learn of it eventually but it would not change anything.

“What happened next?” Elrond asked with a neutral voice. Glorfindel had to go the rest of road now to cleanse his soul by releasing all of his sorrow.

Yet Elrond feared this last push. Glorfindel had died once and witnessed this in full conscience; what would this near-death experience do to his sanity?

But the healer’s prompt was unnecessary. The warrior was now beyond reason and walked a road where no one should be forced to go.

“After the Nazgûl released my mind I drew my sword but the gathered orcs, only waiting for this opportunity, charged all at once and I was unable to hold out for long. It was odd. The pain of pierced flesh lessened with each stab I could not counter; until I felt so light-headed from the pain and blood loss that nothing else mattered at all....”

Now it was Elrond’s hand that trembled. Valar, now he could understand the wish of his friend not to return to life; to never have to relive this horror again or be reminded of it.

Yet what should he do? He could not with good conscience willingly accept his friends’ wish to die. His entire being screamed in denial. But what words of reassurance and hope should he provide?

Swallowing again the Elf-lord could do nothing else but try. “Glorfindel, I’m so sorry for what happened to your men and to you. I can hardly imagine how you must have felt by being forced to watch them die, but please consider your choice again. I’m here to help you through all this.”

The healer trailed off when he saw the shake of the head of his Troop Commander.  And the sad thing was he could understand the decision. How someone could be forced to live on with the experience of dying twice; one time finally and one time nearly?

“Glorfindel, please!” Elrond tried yet again, his voice nearly pleading. He had to get a commitment. The tug on his mind was very strong now and soon he would be wrenched from the warrior’s mind unable to control the process.

“Your death would be a hard blow to our community. Many draw hope from the fact that at least you survived despite their grief. And consider what your passing would mean to the twins and….to me…” he trailed off all further words eluding him. He knew that this argumentation was unfair but he could not help it.

When Glorfindel raised his head Elrond looked at the blue eyes gazing at him. He desperately searched for a sign that his words had somehow penetrated the elf’s stupor.

Just when Glorfindel opened his mouth Elrond was forcefully wrenched from the other’s mind. As he had feared, he had no control over what was happening. His mind was being forced back the same way he had come to insert himself into his friend’s spirit.

The fast and whirling movement made him dizzy and nauseous. The speed back was much greater then the journey in. His body demanded the return of what should not have been parted from it for that long. New to this sensation he let it happen, yet he doubted he would have had any chance to interfere.

Just when he lost all sense of orientation and direction his mind plunged back into his body and he recognized only faintly the surprised gasps of his sons who were hard pressed to catch his body before he could hit the ground.

If they succeeded he did not know because consciousness left him instantly. His last waking thought was drowned in grief and despair. He had not managed to convince Glorfindel to return into the world of the living. His victory over the Nazgûl was actually a defeat.

To be continued………………

Chapter 12: ground, we are not supposed to give up

The twin brothers were witnessing a battle they could neither participate in nor influence. In fact they dared not, yet their wish to do so was nearly overwhelming.

The older twin channelled all the support he was able to give to the healer. Elrohir stood guard over Glorfindel and to warn his father of any unexpected threats that he did not recognize. This was all they could do. Through their mental connection with their father and their natural bond as kin, they experienced all the Elf-lord did.

They could provide support but not intervene should anything go awry. They were forced into the role of bystanders, unable to act as participants.

They had strong confidence in their father’s power enhanced by Vilya but hard-learned experience had told them to always consider the possibility of failure. The power of a Nazgûl could not be underestimated and the Elf-lord’s endurance had its limits.

When the healer let out a cry of surprise, the brothers increased their support until they were on the verge of collapse themselves. They realized that if this battle was not ended soon it would result in a tragedy.

……………………………..

Erestor, still hovering in the corner of the room, whirled around at the cry from his Lord. The ring’s light was now blinding causing him to avert his eyes. Directing his gaze at the twin brothers instead, he narrowed his eyes. Something important must have happened. The postures of the two young elves had stiffened even more and sweat was running down their faces.

The Elf-lord’s body was now shaking with the effort. How long could this go on? Erestor had no extraordinary mental power but he was always good at judging situations quickly and accurately. And, should he give a guess now, he expected that all three peredhil were near a mental breakdown.

Before he could end his thought it happened. His Lord’s body jerked and began to tip from the bed. He sprang forward but the brothers were faster. As lifeless as they had appeared earlier, they were quick now. While Elrohir managed to catch the limp body of his father just in time, Elladan was there to grasp the legs and together they laid Elrond on the bed next to Glorfindel. The glow of the ring had vanished entirely. The jewel had become invisible like before.

For several moments the brothers remained perched at the bed’s edge too exhausted to move. Their hands shook badly and their breaths came in ragged gasps.

Slowly Erestor walked up next to the beds. The healer was lying pale and unconscious, Glorfindel fared little better. The councillor was still deeply troubled about the fact that one of the highest ranking elves in Imladris had been possessed by the will of one of Sauron’s minions.

This should not have happened. How had they all failed to recognize that the Nazgûl still had a hold of the warrior’s mind? How much information had already been transferred?

Erestor was not sure how any information would be exchanged. Had the Nazgûl claimed back his wraith-form and returned to Mordor to report, or could the Dark Lord just gather the needed information directly at any time?

The dark haired Elf-lord shuddered. If the latter was the case then their haven was no longer safe. He took another step closer to study the face of his old friend. Glorfindel, who had always done all that was possible to protect the descendants of his King, had now become their greatest threat.

Taking a deep breath he turned and retrieved an object from the corner of the room that the other occupants had so far failed to notice. When he returned to the bed Glorfindel was occupying he unsheathed a sword.

Two heads snapped up at the sound and two pairs of eyes looked at him incredulously. The brothers stared at the weapon in the hand of the councillor uncomprehendingly.

“Erestor, what…?” Elladan queried and sprang to his feet all weariness forgotten. Elrohir was not a second behind. Had the situation not been this dire Erestor would have been amused.

The twin brothers took a defensive stance in front of their father’s bed while directing an uneasy gaze at the golden warrior, knowing that they could not protect both Elf-lords at once.

Erestor sighed observing this. They would hardy be a match for him anyway, yet he was proud at the boys for their protectiveness and saddened that they acted without reflecting first. Had they so little faith in him?

The councillor could almost see the mind working behind the older twin’s brow. Only the missing understanding held him back so far.

However he did not have to wait long. “Erestor, what is the meaning of this?” a low voice demanded; yet it was not Elladan but his brother. The younger twin had placed a restrictive hand on his brother’s arm.

The dark haired advisor took a deep breath. “Elladan, Elrohir, I do not desire to let any harm come to any of you or….”  

“Your sword however indicates otherwise!” Elladan interrupted vehemently while stepping closer despite the vice grip his twin had on his arm.

Unimpressed by the dark glare from the younger elf Erestor continued. “…. Or to this valley.” He finished and inclined his head toward the still unconscious warrior.

Elladan stopped his advance when realization hit him. With shock he looked at the warrior on the bed. Was Glorfindel still under control of the Nazgûl? Had his father failed to remove the evil presence?

The gasp behind him indicated that Elrohir had come to the same insight. If their father had failed then Glorfindel would still be a threat to all residing in Imladris.

Erestor had realized it and acted upon the threat.

“You can lower your sword, Erestor. That threat is no longer present.”

This time three dark haired heads turned in surprise. Elrond was just moving into a seated position. He observed the tense scene with a frown, but he quickly assessed the situation and acted to diffuse it.

Reluctantly dragging their gaze from the still poised weapon, the twins turned around to help their father sit up. The Elf-lord’s eyes however were still trained on the sword.

Erestor returned the gaze evenly. He knew his duty. Until the Master of Imladris ordered him otherwise and before he was convinced that the order was sound he would not give up his defensive position; even if it taxed his feelings to threaten elves most dear to him. But misplaced feelings could lead to failure and failure could be deadly.

Finally the healer took a deep breath. “Erestor, lower your sword. The Nazgûl is defeated and I removed the presence from Glorfindel’s mind. He’s no longer possessed and no threat to our safety anymore.”

Erestor inclined his head toward his Lord and lowered the weapon, much to the relief of the younger elves; yet he directed a frowning gaze at the still unconscious Troop Commander.

Elrond swung his legs over the side of bed despite the reproachful look from his eldest. He reached out to feel the warrior’s heartbeat. Satisfied to find it regular, even though a bit shallow he met the still questioning eyes of his advisor.

“The Nazgûl is defeated. I made sure he will never bother anyone again….” Erestor narrowed his eyes when his Lord trailed off. He could loudly hear the unsaid “but”.

Obliging the unvoiced question Elrond continued. “However, I was unable to convince Glorfindel to return to us; at least I was wrenched from his mind before I could coax an answer from him.”

Now Erestor brought his sword down and re-sheathed it; accompanied by a relieved sigh from Elrohir. He directed saddened eyes at his friend. Somehow he could understand his decision. Too many tragic events had been raining down on the warrior and even the ever-confident spirit of Glorfindel had its limits.

Glorfindel’s spirit had been assaulted recently, beginning with the deaths of his cousin and his two barely adult sons, killed on their journey toward Imladris not long ago.  This was then followed by the ambush and the deaths of his men, many of them friends of many years including Thalan.  Finally, his friend had experienced the overtaking of his mind by the Nazgul, the minion of the Dark Lord himself.  

One or two of these events would have broken any lesser spirit, but all of them combined could even bring down as bright as sparkling a fëa as Glorfindel’s.

Erestor lowered his head in silent mourning. They had rescued one of his dearest friends from death at the latest minute, only to lose him now to despair. He wondered what would happen to the great warrior. Would his fëa simply depart to the Halls of Mandos or would he remain in his body until it died from lack of use?

Elladan looked aghast at his father. Many questions whirled through his mind but he could not voice any one of them. They had fought valiantly and had yet lost in the end. He felt angry. They had done all they could for the warrior; now Glorfindel had to take the next step.

Like Erestor, Elrohir had hung his head to hide his tears. He had hoped that after rescuing his beloved mentor from bleeding to death and caring for his wounds that he would find the strength to overcome the mental trauma.

Sensing clearly the emotional turmoil from the three elves occupying the room with him Elrond cleared his throat.

“Erestor, Elladan, Elrohir, would you three please leave us alone?” he asked softly but with an undertone all three elves knew all too well. The Lord of Rivendell did not wish to be questioned, at least not now.

Without comment Erestor turned and ushered the twins from the room after they had directed a last look at the pale figure on the bed.

The healer sighed, allowing himself to sink deeper into the mattress finally giving in to his slightly shaking legs. He was in need of some time alone to think undisturbed.

He knew that he did not have the strength to venture into his friend’s mind again to renew his plea for the warrior to return to the world of the living. Yet he knew also that the time to attempt something different was running out.

Like Erestor he wondered what would happen to the warrior. He could already feel the weakening fëa of the elf next to him.

Closing his eyes he sank into a light trance to gather some strength and regain his equilibrium. The fight with the Nazgûl had drained him more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

After half an hour he opened his eyes and rose to sit down next to the warrior. He placed both hands on the elf’s face and again probed the other’s mind. He did not go as deeply as before but it was enough to connect with the fleeing fëa.

Searching and probing, calling and urging, he did not stop until the fëa responded, albeit feebly and unwillingly.

*Glorfindel*, the healer urged. *Tolo dan amen. Henion nír naeth guren lîn. Ú-moe an ngohenad. Lasto beth nîn a tolo dan na galad.*

For long moments the healer waited for an answer. He could sense the fëa struggle and just when he thought the spirit would respond in some way the fëa retreated and broke the connection.

Closing his eyes in defeat the healer withdrew. He had nothing more to give. His reserves were depleted, his resolve was gone, and his hope was shattered.

Knowing that it was a useless gesture, Elrond pulled the coverlet back in place over the warrior’s pale body and rose. Without a look back he tightened the sash around his dressing gown and walked toward the door. His wish for solitude had changed into the desire for company.

Just when his hand reached out for the doorknob, he heard a moan. Lightening fast he whirled around and hastened back to the bed. His heart nearly missed a beat when the blue eyes of his Troop Commander looked back at him.

Swallowing, the healer blinked to make sure he was not imagining the sight. However, before he could react in any way, the golden warrior opened his mouth.

“Elrond, forgive me,” was all he uttered before he closed his eyes again.

The dark haired elf uttered a cry of dismay when he realized that the warrior had already drifted back into a semi-conscious state again without giving him even the slightest chance to say something.

Accepting the repeated defeat the healer reflected on the words just uttered.

Why was Glorfindel requesting forgiveness? Was it to forgive him for nearly drowning in despair but now returning, or rather to forgive him for finally departing?

Elrond prayed for the former.

To be continued……………

A/N

Elvish translations:

Tolo dan amen. Henion nír naeth guren lîn.

Return to us. I understand your heart’s lamentation.

Ú-moe an ngohenad.

There is nothing to forgive. (literally: It is not necessary for forgiving)

Lasto beth nîn a tolo dan na galad.

Hear my call and return to the light.

Chapter 13: hopes we never wanted to lose

Sighing deeply the Master of Imladris rose from behind his desk. He had to check on his Troop commander. Two days had gone by since he had successfully removed the Nazgûl’s presence from Glorfindel’s mind.

Only minutes ago he had let his senses roam around and beyond his valley. He had followed the course of the mighty Bruinen, had traced along the borders, had followed the breeze, communicated with the trees and listened to the surrounding song. To his satisfaction he could no longer detect anything threatening. All seemed in order again.

Earlier, warriors sent out to inspect the area where the patrol had been slain, had also returned with glad tidings. No trace of the Nazgûl could be found nor any sign of roaming orcs. With the destruction of the Nazgûl’s spirit, the bodily presence had vanished too.

Of course he had looked after Glorfindel in the past two days but every time he visited, the warrior was asleep or pretended to be asleep. He was not sure what to make of this. The removal of the evil presence was obviously not enough to let the warrior heal.

His mind was too traumatised to wish to go on. Erestor, his sons and many others had reminded him of the fact that Glorfindel needed time to recover even if his physical wounds had long healed.

As if he did not know this best.

Yet he could not even detect if the warrior had made any steps toward his recovery. Glorfindel had been avoiding him purposefully. The healer wondered how long this would go on.

He was willing to give the warrior all the time he needed to come to terms with what had happened, but this shutting himself off was contra productive.

Elrond sighed. He had wracked his brain for a way to pull the warrior from his shell. Never before had his experience left him so utterly helpless. Should he confront his friend directly and address his pride or duty, or should he let him brood until he came around on his own?

Neither way met his approval. He had to find another course to reach his much-loved friend and missed member of their community.

Two times already the little son of Thalan had asked him for permission to visit the best friend of his father. With a heavy heart the healer had declined with the excuse that the warrior was still recovering. The boy had accepted this, but not without the promise of being allowed to visit his idol as soon as possible.

Thalan’s wife did not entirely understand the reluctance of her Lord. Her husband and the Troop Commander had always been close friends beyond their professional ranks. She did not know about the outcome of the meeting between Galaeron and his chief.

The captain had obviously not told her and Elrond had no intention of telling her either. Yet he was loath to subject the lovable elfling to the same unpleasant experience.

Even though he could not believe that Glorfindel would be this cruel to a little elfling he would take no chances.

The pleading eyes of the little boy however made his resolve crumble the minute he had crossed the threshold of the house the elfling and his mother resided in.  

“Master Elrond, can I go visit Glorfindel today?” the boy asked and looked up at him with hopeful brown eyes. The elfling grieved deeply for his father, yet the prospect of meeting his most beloved “uncle” always cheered him up.

Lifting the boy up with a smile the Elf-lord greeted the warrior’s wife with a nod. His attention returned to the youngling a moment later by his imploring eyes and unanswered question.

Making a quick decision the Elf-lord looked at the elfling smiling. “Yes, you may, Elenion. You can come and visit Glorfindel soon. Would you like that?”

The short disappointment for not being allowed to come with the healer instantly was replaced a second later by the joy of being allowed to visit at all.

“Oh, yes!” the boy cried already wriggling to be set down. As soon as his feet touched the ground the elfling was out of the door and out of sight.

Liriel smiled after her son and gestured the Elf-lord to sit on the couch. Elrond obliged and gently took both of her hands in his own. He looked into her eyes and was satisfied; despite still seeing deep grief, there was also a resolve to not fade.

She returned the gaze bravely while swallowing a sob. “I’m glad you’ll let him come…finally,” she replied the slight lack of understanding in her voice not lost on the healer.

Elrond knew he had to explain something. The whole truth however he would withhold for now. There would be another time to tell it.

“Glorfindel has not been himself of late. I only wanted to protect your son but maybe his visit will do some good.”

She looked at him with a frown. Why should the healer want to protect her son from the one elf she would trust with her son’s life without question?

Was there something besides the horrible wounds and trauma the Troop Commander was recovering from that Elrond had not told her?  

Seeing the deepening frowning on her face Elrond squeezed her hands tighter to get her attention back while sending calming emotions toward her.

“Peace, Liriel. All is fine. I will make sure that your son is perfectly safe.” Reluctantly she nodded still not sure what to make of this cryptic statements.

Elrond rose after he had made his farewell. He was sure he had made the right decision. Glorfindel had been aggressive and offensive while still possessed; but after the removal of the evil presence only desperation remained. Maybe the little boy could show him the way back to the light?

……………………………………………….

Elladan retreated deeper into the shadow of the corridor; forcing his brother right behind him to take a step back too. The twins were just on their way to meet with their father when the healer emerged from Glorfindel´s suite.

The older twin laid a finger across his lips to silence the question on Elrohir´s tongue. His brother’s irritation however did come through their bond clearly. *Why are we hiding, brother?*

His reply not completely formed yet, Elladan gasped when he caught a glimpse of his father’s face. The soft corresponding gasp from behind told him that Elrohir had seen it too.

The emotions that flittered across their father’s face could only be described as crestfallen. This display of emotion was a rare sight and only possible because the healer was not aware of being watched.

The warrior had apparently again rejected the Elf-lord. This was not the first time and had been going on for days now. Every time Elrond wanted to get through to the grieving warrior Glorfindel blocked these attempts. The legendary patience of the healer was wearing thin but never had he responded with anything but kindness and understanding.

Elladan observed this with growing worry. His father looked worse from day to day. He had never complained but you had only to look to know how the Troop Commander’s rejection weighed on the healer’s mind.

And now he had done it again. Elladan loved the warrior dearly but this had gone too far. All of the elves caring for him had reached the end of their patience. This had to stop now. The warrior had to pull through or depart to find healing in the West. It was as simple as that.

Feeling the strong emotion of irritation from his twin Elrohir grasped his brother’s arm. Even though he felt the same he first had to pacify his agitated brother otherwise the situation would get completely out of hand.

Elladan whirled around with a stormy expression on his face. “How far out of hand will you allow this to go?” he asked with a barely restrained voice. Elrohir narrowed his eyes. He was not responsible for this mess and did agree with his brother, but first Elladan had to calm down.

However, before he had the chance to reply he felt a strong grip on his arm forcing him back further down the corridor. To his surprise Elladan was being pulled along in the same manner.

When he discovered who was dragging them so forcefully away from the warrior’s rooms Elrohir took a deep breath, fully knowing what would come next.

Erestor stopped right under a torch and looked from one twin to the other. “Stop sneaking around like thieves. And stop making rash decisions that won’t make anything better.”

Elladan looked aghast at the dark-haired councillor. “Rash decisions, you say? Erestor, this has been going on for days. Father is wearing himself down. We will not stand by and do nothing until he collapses. Glorfindel has got to come to his senses!”

Not displaying any emotion on his face Erestor released his hold on the brothers. “I agree with you,” he said in a controlled voice, “but it’s not your place to do this.”

Elladan raised an eyebrow. “And who do you deem is the right one for this?” the twin asked with a challenge. Having dealt long enough with the older twin’s temper Erestor returned the mocking gaze unimpressed.

“Elladan, Elrohir, listen to me. Glorfindel needs to be pushed out of the dark chasm he has not been able to leave by himself, but it must be done by someone who is as old as he; someone who is a long-time friend, someone who is a mental equal. Your father is too close and you two are too young. There will be only one chance to try. Either I can get through to him or we will lose him forever.”

After the councillor had ended Elladan lowered his eyes and the younger twin swallowed. Erestor was right. His judgment was sound. They had nearly made a possibly fatal mistake.

“Erestor,” Elladan replied while raising his eyes, “you are right. Please excuse my words spoken in anger and frustration. We consent to your proposal.”

“Never mind, I will do what I can. Now go and please keep your father occupied.” With that, the elf turned and strode determinedly down the corridor. The brothers looked after him with matching troubled hearts.

Now all he had to do was to convince Glorfindel, and that would be much harder.

……………………………………..

Having reached the door of Glorfindel´s suite Erestor briefly hesitated before he raised his hand to knock. He had recited what he wanted to say many times and every so often he had discarded the words. He would do what he knew best: to let his intuition rule his actions.

After knocking he waited, not really expecting an invitation. He was just about to knock again when he heard a soft “enter”. He raised an eyebrow in surprise but quickly masked his features when he opened the door.  Maybe this was going to be easier than he had anticipated?

Yet his hopes vanished the moment he crossed the threshold. The warrior was sitting on the windowsill. His gaze was directed out of the window. He did nothing further to acknowledge Erestor’s entry.

Erestor narrowed his eyes. What had happened to his friend? He had suffered a great trauma, yes. He had experienced a heavy loss, but never before had he seen the great warrior so utterly and completely lost. This was not like the Glorfindel he knew of old. His friend had suffered much greater tragedies in his past and every time he had recovered. This devastation was unlike him.

Even though his confidence was shaken Erestor decided to plunge in head on. They could only gain ground and make progress. His current state was no longer acceptable.

“Glorfindel” he said with a carefully controlled voice. “I must speak with you.”

He received no reaction at all.

Forcing himself to remain where he was Erestor waited. Glorfindel could be incredibly stubborn, maybe he was testing his patience but he could be as stubborn as his long-time friend.

As if sensing that ignoring Erestor would not achieve the desired effect, Glorfindel turned his head. Erestor’s face was like a mask. Glorfindel had to react now – one way or the other.

Erestor narrowed his eyes however when the warrior looked at him with a mixture of disinterest and arrogance.

With a voice devoid of any emotion Glorfindel snapped. “But I have no desire to speak with you, Erestor. Please leave!”

Erestor did not move. If he could not get through to his friend now he never would. They would lose the warrior to a slow fading. Choosing his words carefully the dark haired councillor stepped closer.

“Glorfindel, my friend, listen to me. We are worried about you.” When Glorfindel half-turned towards him, Erestor quickly stepped closer.

“Not long ago we thought we had lost you. Our hearts were devastated when word reached us that you had been killed by the orcs. We rejoiced all the more when we discovered that you survived.”

When the warrior fully turned his back on the councillor, Erestor stiffened.

“I survived, yes. But many good men died that day,” Glorfindel said angrily.

“Yes, but that was their job, wasn’t it; to protect their home and to guarantee the safety of their loved ones? Glorfindel, they died with this in mind, do not make their sacrifice worthless through your self-loathing.”

Before he could blink Erestor found himself suddenly inches away from the angry face of the warrior.

“Erestor, you do not know of what you speak. I do not question their bravery. They died because of me, because I was unable to defend them, because the Nazgûl had forced me into submission and made them surrender. I was supposed to protect my men, not the other way ‘round.”

Erestor swallowed when the light of Valinor flashed in the other elf’s eyes. Yet outwardly he remained calm and controlled. Now they were getting to the core of the problem. Maybe he could push his friend a bit farther.

“Glorfindel, I can imagine how terrible it must have been for you. But you must make amends otherwise you will not only destroy your own soul but a few others who love you, who depend on you, who hope that you will return to them…..”

The dark-haired councillor was unable to finish his sentence. A hand was clamped around his neck and again he was forcefully pushed against the wall behind him.

“Stop this, Erestor. I have had enough of it. I was responsible for the death of twenty-five good warriors. I did not have the strength to repel a Nazgûl. I have become the greatest threat to the very valley I have sworn to protect. I’ve betrayed my land and my Lord. I’ve failed in all the duties the Valar entrusted me with. I have no desire to go on with this shame. Have I made myself clear now?”

With that, the warrior released his grip and turned. Before Erestor could even think of a reply the warrior had left the room hurriedly.

Rubbing his sore neck Erestor stared at the door that had banged shut. Now he had accomplished the complete opposite of his intentions. Instead of guiding his friend back to them he had ultimately pushed him away. Now Glorfindel was out of reach.

Middle-earth would be bereft of a mighty presence, Imladris would lose its most competent protector and he would lose his best friend.

To be continued……………………………….

Chapter 14: hopes we never dared to have

After regaining his wits, Erestor quickly left the room and hastened after the warrior. He could not let Glorfindel leave like that. Where was the elf heading anyway? What was he running from? Not heeding the bewildered looks following his hurried steps down the corridor, Erestor wondered where the warrior had vanished to so quickly.

Hearing a door open just out of sight Erestor quickened his steps even more, knowing that a confrontation was now inevitable. Master Elrond’s study was the only room located on this side of the corridor.

A surprised shout of “Glorfindel” confirmed his guess that his friend was just ahead. When Erestor rounded the bend in the corridor an odd sight greeted him. His Lord and the Troop Commander were staring at each other like strangers. The twins were hovering in the middle of the corridor hoping to block any farther flight of their mentor. Erestor knew that this would be futile if Glorfindel did try to force an escape.

However, the battle of irritated looks lasted only for seconds before the warrior turned to run further down the corridor. Erestor could not see his friend’s face, but the frightened expressions on the brothers faces told him enough. The twins quickly cleared out of the way while averting their eyes. The ancient elf was not easily confronted.

Erestor redoubled his efforts to reach the fleeing elf before he could leave the house and reach the stables. He had the uneasy feeling that if Glorfindel managed to leave the grounds of Imladris they would never see him alive again on this side of the Sundering Sea. He only answered Elrond’s questioning gaze with a shake of his head while passing by.

He saw, however, that the warrior was stopped effectively when he reached the door. Erestor cried out in anguish but closed his mouth a moment later at the events unfolding before his astounded gaze.

……………………………………..

Glorfindel was just a few paces short from reaching the entrance when the great double-doors opened and an elleth with her little son at her hand or holding her hand entered.

Erestor recognized instantly who the visitors were and let out a cry of warning fearing that things would now go out of control.

Erestor saw the events unfold in front of him as if they occurred in slow motion. Glorfindel seemed startled by the sudden appearance of the mother and her child and hesitated in his forward progress to leave the house.

The elfling, who had instantly recognized the fair-haired elf, broke free of his mother’s hand and ran toward the elf he had so fervently wished to visit. Yet, when he had nearly reached the warrior, the little boy stopped and his face became a frown. The expression on the face he had only known as kind was frightening him.

The boy’s lower lip began to tremble and he backed away from the elf he had liked so much for all his short life. Alerted through the shout, Lady Liriel, the elfling’s mother, looked up in alarm.

Instantly her gaze was directed toward her son. Her eyes widened when she saw the boy turn and run away from the very elf he had begged her all day to visit. The reluctance of Master Elrond to let her son visit his most beloved “uncle” came suddenly back to her mind and she narrowed her eyes.

Her brain however needed a few seconds to realize that the threat was coming from the last person she had ever expected to be a risk to her son.

She could not comprehend why her dead husband’s friend looked so distressed and was obviously fleeing down the corridor from the chief councillor. Her son had turned and changed direction only to run full force into the legs of the Master of Imladris who had deliberately stepped in the child’s path.

The elfling shrieked in fear but quieted quickly when he recognized who was holding him in his arms. Elrond gently placed the head of the little boy against his shoulder and the elfling began to sob. The healer gave the elfling’s mother a sign with his hand and she stopped her advance.

Glorfindel had not moved an inch after seeing the boy turn and flee from him in fear. He swallowed. Had he caused the child to recoil in terror from him? For long moments he stood there frozen. He did not recognize the various gazes directed at him. Erestor waited apprehensively, he looked ready to intervene, Liriel’s frown had deepened into confusion and Elrond’s expression was blank, yet his gaze was alert.

The warrior took a deep breath, something he had not done for a long time. Seeing the child crying into his Lord’s shoulder twisted something inside him, it moved his heart. Like waking from a bad dream a veil was suddenly lifted from his soul. He blinked as if he had just realized where he was.

The hallway around him had fallen deadly silent apart from the quiet crying of the elfling.

Swallowing down the lump coming up his throat Glorfindel fixed his gaze on the child and slowly walked over; calming his agitated thoughts with every step he took. Locking eyes with his Lord, Glorfindel asked silently for permission to come closer. Elrond granted it with a curt nod but not without a clear warning in his gaze.

When he had reached his friend Glorfindel slowly extended a hand toward the child and touched the small forearm slung around Elrond’s neck softly.

“Elenion, please stop crying. Will you just look at me?” he said softly. For a few seconds nothing happened, yet the quiet voice and soft touch achieved the desired effect.

The boy stopped sobbing and turned his head just a fraction to look at the warrior. His body was still pressed into the strong arms holding him.

The scrutiny lasted a few moments until the boy turned his head fully. “Glorfy?” was the timid query.

A small smile came to the warrior’s face and Elrond slowly released his held breath. His friend was radiating calm and compassion. The haunted expression in his eyes had vanished.

Had the warrior found his equilibrium again? The healer hoped it was the case, yet he remained watchful; a caution he owed to the nervous mother still hovering a few feet ahead. Elrond admired her restraint. It would have been all too understandable for her to snatch her child away from a potentially dangerous situation.

Yet she held her breath like all the other elves witnessing this scene. No small amount of faith in their Lord let the elves stay back and watch how a little child could maybe restore a much loved and missed member of their community.

When Glorfindel opened his arms and beckoned the elfling all eyes were fixed on the warrior. After a brief hesitation however the boy relinquished his hold on the dark haired healer and allowed himself to be picked up by the warrior.

“You frightened me,” the little boy said with a trace of irritation in his voice. The frown had not entirely left his face.

“That was not my intention, little one. Will you forgive me? I hope you will still consider me as your friend?” The golden warrior gazed in earnest at the child; no trace of amusement in his eyes.

The boy looked back just as gravely and after a brief consideration he nodded. “I forgive you,” he said and quickly hugged the elf tightly. Glorfindel returned the hug and held the boy for a long moment. ‘Forgive me, Thalan,’ he whispered almost inaudibly. ‘I will take good care of him.’

The relief in the hallway was almost palpable. Elrond stepped up beside his friend and squeezed his forearm lightly. “I’m glad you are back,” he said, yet his eyes expressed more joy and relief then he could have uttered with words.

Glorfindel inclined his head with the promise of a much overdue talk in a more private atmosphere. After that he turned and strode toward the elfling´s mother. He was grateful that the gathered elves were slowly dispersing.

“Lady Liriel,” he said with a slight bow, “I can only apologize for my recent behaviour.” He looked fondly at the child in his arms before he transferred the elfling into his mother’s embrace.

After receiving her child and before the warrior had the chance to say something more the slender woman tiptoed and placed a kiss on Glorfindel´s cheek. For a second she was embarrassed by her behaviour, but she relaxed when she saw that the warrior did not mind.

“I’m glad you are recovered, my Lord. You must visit us soon, and no excuses” she replied quickly with a stern voice, yet she was not able to hide the joy and relief in her eyes.

Seeing the eager nod of the boy Glorfindel bowed with a smile. “That I will gladly do Lady Liriel, I promise.” Inclining her head in gratitude the elleth turned and left the hallway with her smiling son waving over her shoulder.

Glorfindel did not have to turn to know who was approaching him. Before however Erestor or Elrond had the chance to say anything he turned, looked at them, and quickly spoke. “Please, I need some fresh air. I think a ride will do me some good. I will be back soon. I would be grateful if both of you would grant me a meeting then.”

“Take as much time as you need, my friend,” The Lord of Imladris said while smiling. “We will be there, whenever you are ready to talk,” the dark haired councillor added, a matching smile upon his face.

The warrior inclined his head in thanks and took a deep breath before he left. This time Erestor did not have to pursue the warrior to the stables. He was sure Glorfindel would come back.

…………………………………………..

Galaeron looked up briefly from the report he was reading when he heard the door to his office open. He made a conscious effort not to scowl at whoever was disturbing him again. Since Lord Glorfindel´s absence he could hardly manage all the paper work that had piled on the two desks. Again, he wondered with admiration, how seemingly easily Glorfindel did all this while having many other additional duties.

Galaeron was already late with next week’s schedule of the patrols shift and the gap the slain patrol had left still had to be filled. Furthermore, the assignment of the newly trained recruits to their respective captains had to be considered.

His borderline scowl, however, was quickly replaced by a gasp when he realized who had entered his office. In fact it was the Troop Commander’s office and right now he was standing there regarding him with an unreadable expression. His face carefully neutral Galaeron arose quickly to his feet. “My Lord,” he greeted the Troop Commander while inclining his head.

The following silence was deafening. From the corner of his eye Galaeron saw the two scribes busy attending their scripts after a formal greeting, avoiding any eye-contact with the officers.

Regarding the stiff posture of his second-in-command and feeling the tense atmosphere Glorfindel took a deep breath. He was aware of the fact, that he alone had caused this reticence of his men through his recent behaviour.

He was absolutely sure that Galaeron had told no one how badly he had treated him, yet no one had to be a mind reader to see how deeply his misspoken words had affected the popular captain.

Glorfindel had made it clear that every problem or complaint could be addressed with him and he had always had an open ear for the needs of his warriors. He, as well as the troops had cherished this open relationship built out of trust and respect.

That easy-going manner had been if not destroyed, greatly damaged, and he was here to make up for it. Not wanting to stretch the awkward silence any longer Glorfindel cleared his throat and waited until Galaeron met his eyes. “Captain, may I speak with you?” he asked with a kind voice. He quickly let his gaze sweep over the room and then added “…in private.”

The two young elves practically fled the room before the last word had left his lips. Amusing as this may have been under different circumstances the fact saddened him now. But one step at a time, he would talk to his men later. This was only about Galaeron and him.

“Of course, my Lord,” Galaeron answered and Glorfindel saw that the uneasiness had still not left the captain’s eyes. Sighing he nodded and gestured toward two comfortable seats in the back of the office. Many a difficult conversation had been held there and Glorfindel wanted to make this as easy as possible.

As soon as Galaeron had taken his seat Glorfindel leaned forward and looked intently at his captain. “Galaeron, I’ve come here to offer my sincerest apology. What I accused you off was rude and completely unfounded. I was not thinking clearly.”

Galaeron looked at his chief in shock. Lord Elrond had told him why his Troop Commander had acted as he had and that he had no control over his mind at that time because of the baleful influence from the Nazgûl. Only a few had been informed about this fact but as Glorfindel’s substitute he had to know. Galaeron now felt that that Glorfindel was apologizing for something that was not his fault.

“My Lord, you have no reason to…,” the captain began but was quickly stopped by a hand on his forearm.

“Galaeron, I know what you want to say but it would gladden my heart to know there are no grudges between the two of us. Nazgûl or not, I should have been in better control of myself.”

Lowering his eyes Galaeron only nodded to acknowledge the apology, although only for the sake of his chief. He would support his Troop Commander forever; even sacrifice his life for his, regardless of circumstance.

Seeing Glorfindel smile gratefully, Galaeron blushed slightly realizing that he had not guarded his emotions.

Rising, Glorfindel pulled Galaeron to his feet as well. “I’m glad we have settled this, although it will take some time until I will fully return to my post. I’m glad to know I have a competent captain to take over my duties for a while and fit into Thalan’s position.

With the mention of the deceased captain both elves struggled with their composure. Galaeron had been promoted quickly, but had the bittersweet taste such a promotion also brought with it.

“Take all the time you need, my Lord. We will be glad whenever you decide to return.” Without another word, yet with a much lighter heart, Glorfindel left the office.

...............................................................

Glorfindel walked determinedly down the corridor until he stood before his Lord’s study. With a jerk he lifted his fist, yet he did not knock immediately. Again he wondered what made him hesitate.

Three days had gone by since he was able to lift the mantle of desperation and despair that had gripped him with a fierce embrace. Thanks to a little boy he broke through the surface and returned to his former self with the light around him once more.

He still grieved deeply, but he managed to go on, to take steps toward reaching his inner equilibrium again and gain healing for his soul.

Over the past days he had spoken with his warriors, had paid Thalan’s widow a visit and had spent much time with her little son. He had slowly but steadily begun taking over his duties, until today he had led the morning patrol along the northern border of the valley.

Despite the knowledge of being watched discretely from all sides he had enjoyed making the tour, feeling his old confidence return, albeit slowly and reluctantly. With determination, however, he had checked all reports regarding the safety of Imladris and he was satisfied to find no trace that any minion of Sauron was lurking in the near vicinity of the hidden valley.

One meeting, however, he had postponed until now. To speak, truly speak, with his Lord. He did not know why he was trying to avoid it; Elrond had always been the most understanding and supporting elf, yet this step was the most difficult.

Of course he had talked with the healer since his recovery but just light conversation, not a true exposition of his feelings. Now he had decided to do it with no further delay. Taking a deep breath he knocked on the door.

The Master of Imladris immediately opened the door. “Glorfindel, please come in. I’ve been awaiting you.” ‘Of course he had been’, Glorfindel thought with an inward sigh, but he would just leave this behind him and be done with it. Inclining his head he entered the study.

……………………………………..

Elrond looked up and smiled when a knock sounded at his study door. He was just about to open a wine bottle after Erestor had come to his rooms.

He walked to the door, opening it to see Glorfindel on the other side.  “Enter,” he said, bidding his visitor to take a seat in one of the comfortable chairs around the fire pit. Erestor had already stretched out in one of the overstuffed seats.  

Glorfindel nodded his thanks when Elrond pressed a glass filled with a deep red wine into his hand. With contented relief the healer catalogued the healthy appearance of his friend. Erestor regarded the warrior with the same interest yet from other motives. Glorfindel was well aware of the scrutiny and bore it with grace.

When he and Elrond had also taken their seats a heavy silence descended over the three Elf-lords. Everyone was sorting out their thoughts and no one dared to disturb the other, being too occupied themselves. This time however, the silence felt not awkward but rather companionable.

After a while Glorfindel looked up and addressed the other two Elf-lords with sincere expression. “Elrond, Erestor, even if you do not want to hear it, I will say it nonetheless. I’m deeply sorry for all the distress my recent behaviour has caused. I’ve thought it over carefully and now know that I’m not to blame, at least not entirely, yet you had to bear it nonetheless and I thank you for your patience.”

Turning fully toward Elrond Glorfindel continued. “Elrond you need not fear that any information has been transferred. The Nazgûl had no means to relate anything he learned here. All information died with him.”

Although already guessing and hoping as much, Elrond nonetheless took a deep sigh of relief. With a genuine smile he returned the intense gaze of his old friend.

“I’m glad to hear you say this, Glorfindel, as glad as I am that you are on your way to a full recovery. And I will gladly say it again; neither Erestor nor I, nor anyone else here in Imladris holds any blame against you.”

Glorfindel inclined his head in gratitude, yet a frown crossed his fair face at the words. He could not remember having directed misplaced words at any time toward Erestor. The quick glance between the two dark haired elves however was not lost on him.

Looking back and forth Glorfindel could clearly sense the statement ‘I’ve not told him’ from Erestor.

His frown deepened. “You have not told me what, Erestor?” he asked with a demanding tone. Sighing and knowing that he must tell him Erestor took a deep breath and briefly recounted how Glorfindel had attacked him and thus revealed that he was still possessed.

Glorfindel´s expression changed from frowning into outright horror. He looked with incredulity at Erestor at a loss what to say. Until now he had thought his only missteps were rude and misplaced words but being forced to attack others…he swallowed. The whole mess was moving towards a crest.

Seeing how the warrior struggled to digest what Erestor had just said Elrond stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Glorfindel do not overreact, the attacks caused no great harm…” As soon as the words had left his lips, Elrond realized his mistake.

“Attacks?” Glorfindel cried while jumping up. “Elrond do not tell me that I’ve also attacked other elves…”

Glorfindel stopped and quickly judged the contrite expression on the healer’s face correctly.

“Elrond, I’m sorry…what can I say…..” he whispered, no longer able to form a coherent thought. Elrond sighed. He had to act quickly, otherwise all positive progress would be ruined and the warrior would slip out of their reach again.

“Glorfindel, listen to me. No harm was done, apart for a few bruises and scrapes, certainly nothing worth despairing of. We are only glad you have returned to us and nothing else matters.”

Nodding slowly Glorfindel raised his eyes. “Thank you. I’m grateful for friends like you and if you will have some more patience, I promise I will put this all behind me as quickly as possible.”

“Take as much time as you need, Glorfindel,” Erestor said and raised his forgotten glass to toast with the two elves around him.

………………………………..

One week later a great feast was held in front of the Last Homely House. It was not loud and merry, rather devotional and an opportunity to honour the fallen warriors. Galaeron himself had organized it and only at the last moment had informed his Troop Commander of this event. Glorfindel had hesitated but finally relented to be the guest of honour and he had made a speech that had brought tears not only to his eyes.

All warriors not on duty confirmed that they were more than content with their Troop Commander. Glorfindel had to swallow many times and the following remembrance ceremony was long recounted afterwards.

At last Glorfindel had fulfilled a little boy’s fervent wish. With a steady voice he proclaimed: “And here I nominate Elenion Thalanion to be our youngest honour recruit ever. He shall step in his father’s footsteps and protect all he loves from this time forward.”

…………………………

The End

A/N

I want to thank all that have followed my story and left a review. I appreciate it very much. Lai