Chapter VII: Counsels of War

The following morning, having examined his young patient and left orders with Glorfindel that he was to be kept well-provided with water, and offered broth or weak milk every two hours as long as he was awake, Elrond repaired reluctantly to the private library on the third floor of the house. His heart ached to leave Estel, who was still very weak and in need of constant supervision, but there was little time to waste. Now that the child was no longer in peril of sudden death, Elrond could not afford to neglect the larger matters at hand.

Gandalf was waiting for him amid the rare tomes and ancient texts: he sat at one of the work-tables, with heaps of books and scrolls and a map of the West spread out upon the table before him. Near at hand were a compass and callipers, and a sheaf of hastily penned notes spoke of his sleepless night.

Elrond closed the library door and drew to its heavy bolt. Few folk came up the narrow staircase to this far corner of the house, and the residents of Rivendell would never have passed that door, once closed, without leave, but one never could tell with dwarves: they had a penchant for delving into the secrets about them, and they were fond of exploring and of inspecting unfamiliar architecture.

‘How is the child?’ Gandalf asked, pushing a chair back from the table with one booted foot and nodding that Elrond should take it.

‘He is very weak,’ replied the Elf-lord. ‘He has lost a stone in weight: it is as if the illness was consuming him from within. His mother is with him, and Glorfindel will watch over him, but I warn you now: should they require my aid our counsels shall be put instantly on hold.’

‘He is very important to you,’ Gandalf observed. 'You are extraordinarily protective of him.'

‘The time may come when he will be very important to us all,’ Elrond said. 'My heart foretells shall be great in his own right ere his years begin to wane, and I protect him now only because he cannot yet protect himself.’

‘You are the very picture of altruism,’ commented Gandalf. ‘It cannot be, of course, that he has carved out a place for himself in your heart, and that you could not unseat him if you tried. I saw you weeping at his bedside: you love the mortal boy.’

‘As I love the children of my own body,’ Elrond affirmed.

‘It is a peculiar arrangement,’ the old man observed.

‘In your eyes, perhaps,’ Elrond allowed, setting his jaw coldly against the scholarly detachment in his friend's voice. ‘To me, nothing could be more natural.’

The wizard laughed aloud at the half-Elf’s countenance. ‘Clearly the strain of recent days has worn thin your infinite patience. It would be wise for you to avoid my travelling companions for a day or two. If I grate upon your nerves, be certain that Thorin would rasp them raw.’

‘Thorin. That brings up an interesting point, if we are to pass the morning analysing one another’s foibles,’ said Elrond, his temper cooling and a wry smile playing on his lips. Only Gandalf could rouse in him such irritation and defensiveness: it was one of his friend’s special talents. ‘What do you hope to accomplish with your band of opportunists?’

‘The overthrow of Smaug and the retaking of Erebor, of course,’ Gandalf said lazily. ‘I would have thought that Thorin’s words at the feast two nights ago made that very plain indeed – though perhaps you were not listening to his boasting, being much occupied with other matters.’

‘He spoke at great length of his goals,’ Elrond said; ‘and I am sure he is continuing to do so wherever he can find courteous ears to listen. I asked what you hope to accomplish.’

‘I care little for the ancestral treasures of Thrór,’ Gandalf assured him; ‘but I have a keen interest in the incidental slaying of the dragon that their retaking will entail.’

‘And you expect thirteen rag-tag coal-diggers to conquer the last of the Great Dragons?’ Elrond asked, still disbelieving.

‘Thirteen rag-tag coal-diggers and a hobbit,’ corrected Gandalf. ‘I think they have as good a chance as half a dozen of the Dúnedain, and they can be better spared. The dragon is a threat we cannot ignore. As long as he lies dormant in that mountain it is only a matter of time before he is charmed by the promises of the Enemy and surges forth to lay the North to ruins.’

‘So you have often said,’ Elrond commented. ‘Yet still I question your reasoning. How can they hope to overthrow the dragon? Or will you follow them into its lair and slay the beast yourself?’

‘No,’ Gandalf said. ‘I shall ride with them as far as I may, but I will be in Isengard for the appointed meeting in the second week in August. Once they are through Mirkwood they can accomplish the rest themselves.’

‘I do not understand how you can have such faith in them,’ Elrond argued. ‘Even the heroes of old found dragons to be a fell foe.’

‘As the son of a renowned dragon-slayer you ought to know that better than I.’ The wizard shrugged. ‘But as one who fought before the Black Gate with Durin’s folk at his side, I would also expect you to have more faith in the courage of the children of Mahal.’

‘I do not question their courage or their fortitude,’ Elrond said. ‘I question their common sense.’

‘So do I,’ Gandalf agreed. ‘That is why I have procured the services of the indomitable Mister Baggins.’

‘The hobbit... I am astounded that you managed to convince him to leave his home. The complacency of the Little Folk is legendary.’

‘So is the complacency of Elves,’ countered Gandalf; ‘and yet the Eldar have never failed to come through when needs must.’

‘I will take you at your word that he has a hard head on his shoulders,’ said Elrond; ‘but I fail to see what other assets he may offer. He is neither swift nor strong, and I doubt he would be of much help in a moment of peril.’

Gandalf chuckled as if at some private joke. ‘Before we take leave of your house I shall have him tell you how he and I brought about the downfall of a trio of hill-trolls,’ he said. ‘He is neither so soft nor so frivolous as he looks – and for all your criticisms I noticed you eyeing him favourably yourself, when you took time from your fretting the other night.’

‘He is filled with simple joy,’ Elrond explained. ‘To one who has seen the long ages of darkness and suffering it is a comfort to know that such pleasure and innocence still exists in the world. That is a power in itself -- yes, I see why you brought him along on your treasure-hunt.’

‘Before the year is out you will be glad of my little expedition,’ Gandalf warned. ‘Or would you stand like Turgon before your doors, while dragon-fire devoured your folk and laid your hidden valley to waste?’

‘You need not threaten me with such horrors: I appreciate the need to dispense with the beast. If your thirteen dwarves – and Mister Baggins – can accomplish this then so be it. Yet it seems to me that if they are to succeed, the Enemy must be distracted from the Lonely Mountain. Our other enterprise must go forward without delay.’

‘There can be no doubt of that,’ said Gandalf gravely. ‘If there was any question of his intentions, I think the events of yesterday morning laid them to rest.’

Elrond frowned. ‘I fear it is so,’ he said; ‘and yet how is it possible? Unless the child’s identity is known to the Necromancer, why would he take the chance of assailing Imladris?’

‘Perhaps he did so in the hope that it would serve to weaken and distract you – as I may point out it has. Perhaps it was an evil of some other intent that happened to seize upon the boy instead of its intended target. In any case I think the Enemy is amassing the strength to assault you, and if we let him go unchecked any longer he will spill forth from Mirkwood and lay Rivendell to waste, and Lórien with it.’

‘That would not be a task so easily accomplished,’ said Elrond. ‘While we have our Rings and he lacks the One, our realms will not be simply assailed.’

‘Do you think you could withstand the full onslaught of Sauron?’ Gandalf asked gravely. ‘He does not have the One, but he controls the Nine, and of the Seven he has obtained three. His armies would have the high ground, and long has it been since your folk rose up in their own defence. The ragged remnant of Arnor could not waylay them long, and any aid from Lindon would come too late.’

‘We would fly if we must. I have done so before,’ the Master of Rivendell murmured, his mind drawn back to the fires of Eregion and the ruin of the fair realm of Hollin. ‘And Galadriel would not yield easily.’

‘She would not yield at all,’ Gandalf agreed; ‘but in the end she would be cast down, and the Golden Wood would burn, and at last the only haven of the Eldar would lie beneath Círdan’s hand, and as the Shadow spread Westward even it would fall. Without the One Ring the Enemy’s power is diminished, but still he has the Ularí, and his orc-armies are breeding in the mountains. The fortress of Dol Guldur places him too near to Imladris and Lórien both: we must drive him out.’

‘You have my agreement: you know that already,’ said Elrond; ‘and I speak also for Lindon and Lórien when I say that we know that this must be done. Yet it remains to convince Saruman. When last we discussed this his counsel was to watch and wait. We have done so, and as you say we have seen the Necromancer’s strength increase with each passing year. Now that it is certain who dwells in that tower, we must act. I fear already it may be too late, but to delay any longer would certainly be fatal.’

‘When the Council meets we will have to have our arguments prepared,’ said Gandalf. ‘I may not have time to return to this valley ere I must make for Isengard: it may well be that this is our last opportunity to confer before presenting our case to Saruman. How many of your folk could be mustered to march on Dol Guldur?’

‘Seven score at least,’ Elrond said. ‘Of the green Elves who wander the Wild we might recruit three score more. No great force can be mustered from Lindon, for in crossing Eriador a large company would be easily espied, weeks and perhaps months before we were ready to strike. My latest missives from Lord Celeborn indicate that Lothlórien might raise three hundred with no danger to their own defences: twice that if their patrols were spread more thinly.’

‘What of the Dúnedain? How many of their number might be brought forth to aid us?’

Elrond shook his head. ‘That is out of the question,’ he said firmly. ‘With no Chieftain to lead them, and no Heir of Isildur to lend them strength and courage, they are hard-pressed to maintain the safety of the west-countries. Evil things are astir in the far North, and the threat to Breeland and the Shire and the hidden hamlets where dwell the women and children of the remnant of Númenor is constant. The Dúnedain cannot be spared from their labours, not even for this.’

‘Five hundred,’ said Gandalf softly. ‘Eight, if we took the risk of leaving Lórien defenceless. What of Thranduil? Of old you were his dear friend. Might we call upon him for aid?’

‘I do not think so,’ Elrond said. ‘He would perhaps lend us a legion of archers, but even that cannot be counted upon.’

‘A poor friend, then,’ Gandalf remarked; ‘especially considering that he would benefit most immediately from the overthrowing of the Necromancer.’

‘And pay most dearly for the failure of any such venture,’ Elrond pointed out. ‘In his place I too would be reluctant to goad the war-wolf on my doorstep.’

The wizard grunted in acknowledgement, and then turned his attention to the map. ‘We might approach from two fronts,’ he said, tracing paths with his finger as he spoke. ‘The folk of Lórien might come from the south, with whatever forces Saruman has to offer us – from Isengard they could come by the Gap of Rohan in the last days of summer. Then your forces could approach from the northwest.’

Elrond shook his head. ‘There are goblins in the High Pass,’ he said. ‘It is no longer safe. Even a small party such as yours will be hard-pressed to win through undetected. An army would surely be cut off and slaughtered.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Gandalf. ‘Or perhaps my little party will draw out the goblins and I can rid you of much of that scourge. Who can say? It could be that these rag-tag treasure hunters may prove useful in more ways than one.’

‘A southern march to Caradhras would be but little slower and considerably safer,’ said Elrond. ‘There is less chance of our passing being detected the longer we remain west of the mountains. My advice is to avoid the orcs as best you can when you take your dwarves across: Thorin will have need of every one of his followers before journey’s end.’

‘Of course, we might—’ Gandalf was interrupted by a circumspect rapping at the door.

Swiftly, Elrond rose and opened it. Glorfindel stood there, his fair face grave.

‘Forgive me, lord,’ he said. ‘I was loathe to interrupt, but you were most insistent that I should fetch you if aught went amiss with the child.’

‘What is it?’ Elrond demanded hoarsely.

‘He took some barley broth and fell into what we thought was a natural sleep,’ said Glorfindel; ‘but now he has awakened suddenly and he is in great distress.’

Elrond turned to make his apologies to the wizard, but Gandalf nodded curt acquiescence. ‘Go,’ he said in resignation. ‘Neither of us shall have any peace unless you do.’

The Elf-lord followed his counsellor swiftly down the stairs and into his bedchamber. Estel lay huddled on the bed, his limbs curled inward towards his abdomen. He had tried to press himself up against the headboard, but he had not the strength to move such a distance. His body was trembling violently and a soft, keening sound came from his throat as he wept into his hands.

His mother stood back from the bed, pain and horror on her face. ‘He will not suffer me to touch him,’ she said anxiously.

‘Nor me,’ Glorfindel added before needing to be asked.

‘Estel?’ Elrond said gently, drawing near the bed. Cautiously, he stretched out his hand and touched the boy’s quaking shoulder. ‘Estel, my child, what is wrong?’

The boy whimpered and tried scramble towards his guardian, but again he was too weak. He clutched at Elrond’s arm instead, and the Elf-lord sat, drawing him up into a sitting position and letting the boy press his torso against him. Estel buried his face in the front of Elrond’s robe, plucking plaintively at his garment as a sundering sob shook his wasted frame.

‘Hush, little one, you are safe,’ Elrond soothed. ‘What is the matter?’

‘M-my head,’ Estel wept. ‘In my head...’

Elrond glanced at Glorfindel, whose face was impassive. From her place by the wall Gilraen was watching, wide-eyed and pained, as another gave her child the consolation she could not. ‘You had an evil dream?’ Elrond asked.

Estel shook his head convulsively against Elrond’s ribs. He tried to speak again, but another sob prevented him. Elrond ran his hand soothingly up and down the child’s spine.

‘Take a moment and calm yourself,’ he instructed softly. ‘Draw in a deep breath. Now release it slowly. Good boy. Slowly. I am here. You have naught to fear.’

Several minutes passed as the terror began to leach away. Estel’s breathing grew more regular and the shaking abated somewhat. At last Elrond ventured to ask again; ‘Tell me what is the matter. What has frightened you so?’

‘There are things...’ Estel gasped, his ravaged voice cracking painfully. ‘There are things in my head. I can see them... like memories...’

‘You had many black visions while you were ill,’ Elrond said. ‘It may be that one such apparition is revisiting you now. Do you want to tell me about it?’

The boy shook his head, and then nodded almost immediately afterwards. ‘Fire,’ he said. ‘There is fire. A flaming mountain. People... p-people are dying... b-b-burning...’ A fresh sob welled up and he began to weep again.

‘My brave boy, my poor brave boy,’ Elrond soothed. ‘It is only a nightmare, an echo of your sickness. Do not be afraid: nothing can harm you while I am here.’

‘I can smell it...’ Estel whispered. ‘I can sm-mell...’ He shuddered violently and clutched more desperately at his guardian’s arm.

Elrond closed his eyes against the bitter onslaught of memory. He too could smell it: the acrid reek of singed garments and burned hair, the metallic tang of heat-compromised mail, and the sweet salt stench of charred Elven flesh. A prince of the Noldor was not so easily slain: words had passed between them ere the end. He could feel the broken body in his arms, ichor oozing from the bone-deep burns. A tremor ripped through him and Estel whimpered.

‘Atarinya...’ he said haltingly.

‘I am here, little one,’ Elrond murmured, recalling himself. He stroked the child’s silken hair. ‘I am here.’

‘Please,’ Estel ventured tremulously. ‘P-please...’

He did not finish his entreaty, but Elrond understood. He tightened his embrace and rocked the child gently. ‘Peace, my son,’ he said, momentarily forgetting Gilraen’s presence in the room. ‘I will not leave you.’

Estel needed him, and the matter was settled. The affairs of the Council would just have to wait until another day, and Gandalf with them.