To Lose Hope, is To Give Up

Disclaimer:

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

 Author’s note:

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

 Summary:

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

Rating:

PG-13

Title:

„to lose hope is to give up"

 Author:

 Laikwalâssê

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

Chapter 3: Aftershock

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued……………………..