Camping Crisis

Disclaimer: see previous chapters

“Again!” chorused Glorfindel, Elrond, and Erestor upon hearing of the capture of Elrond’s boys.

Elrond quickly readied commonly needed healing herbs, bandages, and antidotes for common orcish poisons. Glorfindel promptly found the most qualified soldiers in all of Imladris. Erestor made certain that horses were readied with proper supplies.

In two hours flat a rescue team was ready to set out from Rivendell. Legolas took some strong tea to keep himself awake and led the way to the orc encampment.

The journey was very brief, but it seemed like an eternity to Elrond, ancient though he was. With minimal rest, the rescuers rode hard as only elves could.

The orcs were shocked and outraged to be attacked. Glorfindel was in his element, slaying orcs with ease. A few Elves received superficial wounds, but it was truly the orcs that suffered most.

With the speed of an elven father in distress, Elrond rushed into the back of the cave until he found his sons. He unbound them and carried them out one at a time, as gently as a mother dog with her beloved pups.

In truth, the three were rather disgusted at being carried, but knew that protests were futile.

Estel looked through half-lidded eyes as his ada tended him, wondering what it would be like if his birth father still lived. He regretted not knowing the man, but he knew that he was blessed to be cared for by the gentle, wise, and fiercely protective lord of Rivendell.

Elrond’s hair brushed against the young man’s face as the noble elf cared for his foster son. Elladan and Elrohir could be left to the care of army medics, he would check on them later. Their elven bodies would heal efficiently. Estel, though, was so much more fragile. As Elrond looked into the lad’s eyes he thought of his wife. Thankfully, these eyes did not look nearly as haunted as those had.

Elrond shook his head, his long, dark hair tickling Estel’s face. This boy seemed to think battles of little consequence, to be fought and then forgotten. He had the occasional melancholy daydreams about his father, but no one that he actually remembered had ever died in battle. He had grown up among elves, who were not slain easily.

Elrond’s ada’s heart broke with the thought that, all too soon, Estel would be in the midst of all the turmoil. All he could do was protect the boy, and not tell him his heritage until he was truly ready---yet could one ever be prepared to learn that the fate of the world rested on his shoulders? Even as this hidden knowledge protected Estel from outside forces, it protected him from himself. Surely the lad deserved a carefree youth before he accepted responsibility for his whole race. Estel truly was hope for the future, but Elrond could only pray that his spirit would not be crushed with the acceptance of his heritage.

For now, the young man should have no greater worries than pranks, family feuds, and the occasional camping crisis.