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Elladan and Elrohir's Not So Excellent Adventure  by Fiondil

V: Intermezzo

Tharbad was much as Elrond remembered it, though it had grown somewhat in the last two hundred years since he had last been through the city. With a quiet word he brought his horse, a black charger named Morvain, to a walk as they approached the city gates on the fourth morning since leaving Imladris. Glorfindel was beside him on his left, riding a grey stallion he named Asfaloth. For as long as Elrond had known him, the golden-haired elf had always ridden a grey and had always named him Asfaloth. To his right Celebrían sat on a chestnut mare named Gwaloth.

He grimaced slightly at the sight of his wife sitting there dressed in breeches and tunic, her silver hair flying behind her in the wind. He had meant to leave her in Imladris, taking only Glorfindel and two others on a swift ride through Eregion, bypassing Tharbad altogether. Unfortunately, while making plans, he had neglected to take his wife into consideration.

"You are not leaving without me, Elrond," Celebrían said firmly, anger blazing in her eyes. "I will not sit here meekly waiting for you to bring our sons home."

Celebrían went white when Elrond told her the news, but quickly recovered. She followed Elrond to their bedroom where Elrond exchanged his usual robes for a riding tunic. Celebrían was exchanging her own gown for breeches and tunic even while Elrond argued against her leaving Imladris. Their argument continued into the main hall where Glorfindel was already assembling their gear.

"Celebrían —"

"You’re wasting your breath, Elrond," Glorfindel interrupted with a scowl for them both, "and time. You two can argue on the way."

Elrond raised an eyebrow at his friend and protector; Celebrían had the grace not to smirk too broadly.

Instead of four riders there were now twice that number, for Elrond would not allow Celebrían to ride without a suitable escort. She carried no weapons herself, save a long knife, but her three guards were sufficient to protect her at need. Rather than ride across the deserted lands of Eregion, it was decided to follow the route the twins should have taken, which would bring them to Tharbad. They were travelling light and would need to replenish their supplies before crossing the Redhorn Pass, for Elrond did not mean for them to stop long enough to hunt along the way. Instead, they rode swiftly throughout the day, barely resting, until several hours past nightfall. Then they were on their way again while the eastern sky was still dark. They kept to the river, avoiding the farms and settlements of Men. Yet, if any mortal had chanced to look out as the elves passed by, they would have seen naught but a thick mist moving swiftly under starlight. In this way they hoped to reach Tharbad in a matter of days.

Originally, the twins were to have crossed the Bruinen and then make their way to the Iant Vedui, turning south to follow the Mitheithel to Tharbad. This was admittedly a longer route than going straight south from Imladris, through Eregion to the Redhorn Gate, but its chief virtue was that it would have effectively put the twins within King Valandil’s province. Elrond had had no qualms calling upon his former fosterling to keep an eye on his sons and Isildur’s Heir was only too glad to help. While the twins had been intent on "going at it alone", their elders had been making sure that they would not be as alone as they might have thought.

For all the good it did, Elrond thought ruefully as he came abreast of the city gates. Their cavalcade came to a halt and Elrond fought to hide the amusement he felt at the sight of the mortals, guards and citizens alike, standing there with their mouths open. He had to admit they probably made quite a sight — the blue and silver banners of Imladris flapping in the wind, the armed escort ranged behind him, the fell light in their eyes more deadly than the keen-edged swords they carried. He did not even attempt to veil his own light, nor did Celebrían. Glorfindel fairly glowed with the light of Valinor and none of the mortals could look at him directly.

"We seek passage through Tharbad, Captain," Elrond said to the leader of the Men, speaking Sindarin, for these were descendants of Númenor, who spoke the elvish tongue as their own, "and supplies, for we have far to go and must move swiftly."

The Man bowed briefly. "As you say, my lord. Tharbad is honored by the presence of the Lord of Imladris for however long you may wish to remain with us."

Elrond nodded and started to speak but a sudden sharp gasp from Celebrían coupled with a dark pain that encompassed his heart left him speechless. Vaguely he felt Celebrían sway and one of her escort catch her before she fell from her horse. He almost thought he would fall himself when he felt Glorfindel grab his arm to steady him.

"Elrond, man raeg?"

Elrond closed his eyes and swallowed the bile that threatened to rise, taking a deep centering breath. He looked at his friend and Glorfindel was shaken at what he saw in the Elf-lord’s eyes. Even the Men looking on were stunned to silence and many had to turn away.

"Nat amartië ónoninnar!" Elrond managed to gasp, speaking in Quenya, hoping the Men would not understand his words. Then the pain was too much and he felt the world fade into blackness.

****

Elrond came to with a groan, feeling sick and dizzy and disoriented. He did not recognize his surroundings and the fact that he was lying on a soft bed under a wood-carved ceiling barely registered. He closed his eyes against the sick feeling and felt someone caress his forehead.

"Easy, mellon nîn."

"G-glorfindel?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"I am here, Elrond. Rest easy."

Elrond opened his eyes, trying to focus. He saw Glorfindel sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes dark with worry. The golden-haired elf gently caressed Elrond’s hair and forehead, a familiar touch that brought great comfort. The dizziness began to fade and his head cleared. Glorfindel reached over with one hand to pick up a glass of water from the night table while with the other he helped Elrond raise his head.

"Drink this. It should help."

Elrond sipped the water gratefully, then allowed Glorfindel to lay his head back down. He sighed with relief.

"Celebrían?"

"Sleeping still. She came to not too long ago but I sent her back into healing sleep. You both suffered a grave shock." He hesitated, his expression full of pain. "The twins..."

Elrond shook his head. "Are alive, but that’s all I can tell you."

"You are sure?"

Elrond found himself smiling, though there was no warmth in it. "If they weren’t, mellon nîn, you would be even now planning our funerals, for neither I nor Celebrían would have remained otherwise."

Glorfindel shuddered. "It would’ve been Erestor doing the planning because I would have followed you."

Elrond’s smile was now genuinely warmer. "I’m sure Námo would have found any number of things to say about that if you had."

Glorfindel chuckled, his eyes suddenly brimming with tears of relief and Elrond reached up and pulled him into an embrace, giving back some of the comfort he himself had received. When he felt the elf’s sobs lessening, he released him and they both sat up. Elrond took a glance around the room. It was a small room with only a single large bed with a night table beside it, a washstand, two chairs and a set of pegs on one wall for clothes. He noticed his and Glorfindel’s saddlebags were piled in a corner. There were two doors, one of them opposite the bed, the other next to the washstand. Both were closed. Morning light streamed through the single small window above the bed.

"Where are we exactly and how long have we been here?"

"This is a guesthouse just around the corner from the gate. The captain of the guard — Húrin, I believe his name is — led us here, then sent for Lord Elemmacil, who holds Tharbad for Valandil. The rest of our escort is below on guard. Elemmacil should be here shortly, I suspect. It’s been less than half an hour since your collapse."

Elrond grimaced at that, but did not speak. He rose and went over to the washstand and splashed water on his face. "Where’s Celebrían?" he asked as Glorfindel handed him a piece of rough cloth that served as a towel.

"In the next room." He nodded toward the door next to the washstand. "That room has no separate entrance from the hallway, which is why I insisted on taking this room in spite of the fact that it is not the best room in the establishment, according to the proprietor. He seemed rather upset when I told him that we would be taking over the establishment for the duration. Captain Húrin and his men are even now removing the other patrons from the guesthouse. I felt it prudent under the circumstances...."

He paused at Elrond’s expression, scowling inwardly. As Captain of the guard and Seneschal of Imladris, the protection of his lord and lady had been paramount in his mind when Elrond and Celebrían had collapsed and he had wanted as few mortals to have to keep track of as possible."Anyway," he continued with less enthusiasm, "the other patrons aren’t too happy either."

Elrond raised an eyebrow. "Really? I wonder why?" he said with a teasing light in his eyes. Nonetheless, his tone of voice conveyed his true feelings about Glorfindel’s actions.

Glorfindel felt himself blushing under Elrond’s implied reprimand, feeling about as old as the twins at that moment. It was not something that happened very often. At times like this Elrond reminded him very much of Turgon when the king would call Glorfindel to task for something he had done, or not done. It had been a long time — very long — since he had felt this way.

"Galdor is guarding her at the moment," he said, deciding to change the subject.

Elrond nodded, accepting Glorfindel’s unspoken apology. "I will wake her then. Tell Captain Húrin to leave the other patrons alone. I would not wish to see anyone be put out on my account. See about supplies. I want to be out of the city within the hour."

"Do we really need to leave so soon?" Glorfindel asked nonchalantly. "Lord Elemmacil might wish to at least entertain us for luncheon. We can leave afterwards or even tomorrow."

Elrond narrowed his eyes at the elf’s words. "What are you saying, mellon nîn?"

Glorfindel’s eyes flashed with something that might have been anger, swiftly suppressed. "You and Celebrían both suffered a shock. You may think you are recovered enough to travel but I doubt it. Whatever has happened to the twins, neither you nor I can do anything about it. Let Celebrían at least remain in healing sleep for a while longer. She was..."

He shook his head, unable to find the words to describe the look of desolation in Celebrían’s eyes when she came out of her faint. Before Elrond could respond, though, there was a knock on the door. Glorfindel swore briefly under his breath as he went to answer it. One of their escort was standing there.

"Yes, Gilvellon."

The guard saw Elrond standing behind his captain and a look of relief swept across his face before he saluted and gave his report. "Lord Elemmacil is below, Captain, and is most upset." He smiled wryly. "He looks like he’s about to have a brain seizure."

Glorfindel snorted. "Well, we can’t have that, can we? Valandil would be rather put out if he has to find someone else to rule Tharbad."

"To say the least," Elrond added dryly and all three elves chuckled. "Let Lord Elemmacil know I will be with him presently, Gilvellon." The guard saluted as Glorfindel closed the door.

Elrond, meanwhile, went to his saddlebags and began pulling out a clean shirt and tunic, changing quickly. He then went into the inner room. Galdor stood in front of the bed facing the door, hand on sword hilt, ready to defend Celebrían. He relaxed when he saw Elrond standing there, gave a short bow and stepped away from the bed so the Elf-lord could see his lady. Elrond moved to the bed and quietly sat, staring down at his beloved. He reached out and caressed her silver hair, then bent down and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Straightening, he looked at Galdor and nodded. The elven guard nodded back, no words needing to be said between them. Elrond gave Celebrían one last kiss before leaving. Galdor moved back to stand before the bed, facing the closing door once again.

In the outer room, Elrond saw that Glorfindel had taken the time while he was with Celebrían to change his own clothes. "Let us go greet Lord Elemmacil."

Downstairs they found a scene of quiet pandemonium. The guards from Imladris were standing in a ring below the stairs, refusing to give way to any of the mortals milling about in confusion. Captain Húrin was there with several of his men attempting to herd several irate patrons from the establishment, while a richly dressed Man in the livery of the King of Arnor was arguing with Adandil, Glorfindel’s second-in-command. An anxious-looking Man looked on, wringing his apron into his hands. Elrond decided this must be the unlucky proprietor.

"I demand to see Lord Elrond!" the Man standing before Adandil fairly shouted. Elrond had to assume this was Lord Elemmacil, a distant cousin of Valandil. He was the typical Númenórean — tall with dark hair and grey eyes. Those eyes were presently flashing with anger. "This is an outrage, honest citizens summarily evicted from this establishment without so much as a by-your-leave..."

Elemmacil suddenly stopped his tirade when he noticed the two Elf-lords descending the stairs. Indeed, all noise stopped as the mortals stared in awe at the sight of Elrond and Glorfindel, one dark, the other golden, their light visible to all. With a quiet word from Elrond, Adandil stepped to the side, allowing the Lord of Imladris and his Captain to pass. Elemmacil stepped back, his expression uncertain.

"Lord Elemmacil, I presume," Elrond said quietly with a slight bow of his head.

The Númenórean swallowed visibly and nodded. "I am Elemmacil," he acknowledged, then seemed at a loss for words. Elemmacil was younger than Valandil by at least a couple of decades and had never encountered any of the Firstborn before, never mind his royal cousin’s foster father.

Elrond smiled warmly. "I wish to thank you for the swiftness with which Captain Húrin and his men responded to our, er, emergency. I fear my lady wife and I suffered a shock. I am grateful to the owner of this fine establishment for allowing us to rest here and recover." Elrond gazed at the nervous looking Man and gave him a small bow then turned to Húrin. "Please, Captain, there is no reason to evict these fine people. I’m afraid that in his enthusiasm to protect me and my wife, Lord Glorfindel was a bit... precipitous." He ignored Glorfindel’s quiet sigh.

"H-how is the Lady Celebrían, my lord?" Elemmacil asked, attempting to hide his nervousness and failing.

Elrond turned his gaze on the mortal, his healer’s mind automatically cataloguing symptoms of distress in the Man’s body and taking a mental inventory of what medicinals were in his packs in the event that the king’s cousin did indeed have a brain seizure. "She is resting comfortably, my lord. I think it best that she remains undisturbed for a while longer."

Elemmacil nodded and gave the Elf-lord a bow. "When she has sufficiently recovered, perhaps you and she and Lord Glorfindel would honor me by joining me for luncheon. I understand that you are in great haste and need supplies. I can have readied whatever you need in the meantime."

Glorfindel stepped forward at that point and Elrond hid a smile when Elemmacil took an involuntary step back. "I will have my second-in-command let you know what supplies are needed, Lord Elemmacil."

Elemmacil nodded, again at a loss for words. This situation had never arisen before and he was furiously wondering how he was to explain this to Valandil. He was not looking forward to writing this particular report to the king.

"I will have an escort come and show you to the citadel in a few hours then, Lord Elrond."

"Thank you, my lord. I will be sure to tell my foster son when next I see him that Tharbad is in good hands."

Elemmacil felt unaccountably pleased at Elrond’s words, as if he were a child being given praise by a respected elder. And that’s not too far from the truth, he reflected ruefully to himself as he gave the elves one more bow before exiting the guesthouse.

A quiet word from Glorfindel and Captain Húrin and his men also dispersed, leaving the elves alone with several mortals standing about uncertainly. The proprietor came forward, still wringing his hands.

"M-my lord," his voice squeaked and he reddened in embarrassment before trying again. "My lord, I am Denethor son of Elenalcar. I am the proprietor of this guesthouse. C-can you tell me how long you might be staying?"

Elrond sighed, suddenly feeling tired. "We will be staying for as long as necessary, goodman Denethor, but most likely we will leave before the day is out, for our need is great."

Denethor nodded, quickly suppressing a sigh of relief which did not go unnoticed by any of the elves, much to their amusement. "If there is anything you require...?"

"Thank you goodman Denethor. Lord Glorfindel will let you know. In the meantime I will return to my wife. I trust that the rooms we have taken were not being used by anyone else?"

"Oh, no, my lord. Indeed I was willing to give you the best room of the house, b-but Lord Glorfindel insisted..."

"Yes, Lord Glorfindel can be rather persistent when he puts his mind to it," Elrond smiled, not looking at his friend who stood impassively next to him. Without another word Elrond turned and started up the stairs. Glorfindel made to follow him, but a gesture from Elrond stopped him and the golden-haired elf remained below. With a resigned sigh and a shrug, he turned his attention to Adandil, giving him instructions about supplies and was not particularly surprised to see Galdor coming down the stairs, a bemused look on the younger elf’s face.

****

Elrond knelt on the edge of the bed, stroking his wife’s hair. She lay there in peaceful repose and he hesitated disturbing her, but with a gentle kiss on her lips, called to her fëa, willing her back to consciousness. There was some resistance at first, but when she recognized the one who called she came willingly, if not joyfully. Her eyes opened and Elrond smiled down at her.

"Mae govannen, meleth," he whispered, continuing to stroke her hair.

Celebrían smiled briefly, then her expression darkened as memory returned. "Elrond! Our sons!" she cried, attempting to sit up, tears beginning to fall.

"Shh, it’s all right, Celebrían, it’s all right." He rose gracefully and sat on the bed, taking her into his arms, softly crooning. He willed some of his healing power into her. "They’re alive, Celebrían. You must hold on to that."

Celebrían began weeping in earnest and Elrond felt his own tears coming. "Shh. Iston, iston. Na dîn, meleth. Ú-nîr. Hirithanc ionnath vîn ar tegithanc am mbâr."

Finally, her tears stopped and they held each other for a time, enjoying the mutual comfort between them. Then, Elrond felt his wife’s body stiffen and he released her. She looked up at her husband, her silver-grey eyes bright with resolve.

"Let us go find our sons."

****

Glorfindel took one look at Celebrían’s face as she and Elrond descended the stairs and sighed, knowing there would be no rest for any of them now.

"Adandil," he said quietly to his lieutenant. "Have Captain Húrin inform Lord Elemmacil that we will not be joining him for luncheon after all."

Adandil grinned shamelessly at his superior and gave him a wry salute before leaving to find the mortal captain.

Two hours later the elves were riding out of the East Gate, the banners of Imladris snapping in the wind, with an escort of mortals led by Captain Húrin. The elves were grimly amused at the idea of mortals offering to protect them and once they had passed the last earthwork surrounding the city Glorfindel uttered a soft word and they all quickened their pace, leaving the Men behind in the dust.

Most of the city’s citizens looking on as the elves departed breathed a sigh of relief; the fell look on the faces of the Firstborn, especially on that of the silver-haired lady, were too daunting for most to endure for any length of time. Lord Elemmacil, on the other hand, did not see the elves off, contrary to protocol. Instead he sat in his study drinking a glass of heady wine, wondering just how the hell he was going to explain all this to his royal cousin.

****

In the depths of the Golden Wood, Galadriel stood on the balcony of their private flet with Celeborn, the late morning sun streaming through the mellyrn, casting a green-gold haze all about. They were both looking north and west towards the Misty Mountains. Celeborn noticed his wife's expression was outwardly calm, but the silver-haired Lord of Lothlórien was not fooled.

"What do we do?" he asked quietly, willing to let her take the lead in any decision they might make.

Galadriel shook her head. "Nothing. Elrond and Celebrían come to us."

"And the Twins?" He was amazed at how steady his voice was, sure that the trembling in his body would manifest itself in the words he spoke.

She turned to look at her husband, her eyes glittering with unshed tears and the remembered Light of the Two Trees. "Our grandsons are beyond our aid."

She turned back to stare towards the Misty Mountains where the fate of her daughter's family hung in the balance. When Celeborn quietly took her hand, she did not refuse him.

The light of Eärendil found them hours later still standing on the balcony, hand-in-hand.

****

Iant Vedui: the Last Bridge, the Bridge of Mitheithel.

Elrond, man raeg?: "Elrond, what is wrong?"

Nat amartië ónoninnar!: "Something has happened to the twins!"

Fëa: Spirit, soul.

Mae govannen, meleth: "Well met, love."

Iston, iston. Na dîn, melethril, ú-nîr. Hirithanc ionnath vîn ar tegithanc am mbâr: "I know, I know. Quietly, love. No tears. We (inclusive) will find our sons and bring them home."





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