Chapter XII: First Steps

Gilraen sat at her sitting-room casement, setting the left sleeve into a soft cambric shirt. Across the room, Estel was bundled in a chair before the fire, conversing haltingly with the Lord of Imladris in a tongue she could not comprehend.

In response to Estel’s awkward query, Elrond launched into a smooth, slow and carefully enunciated oration. Estel listened intently, and when the speech ended he said in Sindarin, ‘Five pillars of blue?’

Master Elrond laughed softly. ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Now say it in the correct language.’

Gilraen supposed that Estel complied, but his words meant nothing to her.

There was a rap at the door, and before Gilraen could react Estel sang out, ‘Come in!’

Elladan entered, scanning the room hastily. His eyes fixed upon his father. ‘Gandalf has returned,’ he said, his speech rapid and grave. ‘He awaits you in Elrohir’s chamber. I am to bid you to come at once.’

‘Is something amiss?’ the Elf-lord asked with maddening calm.

‘Nothing that a few stitches and a little rest cannot mend,’ Elladan said, though there was some darker emotion behind the easy words. ‘It seems they ran afoul of a raiding party three nights ago. Elrohir took a wound to the arm.’

‘Ah.’ Elrond closed his eyes serenely. If the news of his son’s injury distressed him at all he did not show it. This was precisely the kind of situation that made him seem so uncaring and aloof, as if he were detached somehow from all the world’s ills. Gilraen caught herself, forcing forward the memory of Estel, lying tormented in bed while the Elf-lord bent over him, wracked with fear and anguish that he could no longer wholly conceal. She understood him better now, she told herself resolutely. It was the detachment, and not the love, that was affected.

It was no use, she realized bitterly. She was still disinclined to look favourably upon him. Her behaviour she could control, but not the whisperings of her heart. His own son was wounded, and he sat there unmoving. Would he give any greater care to her child?

‘You must excuse me, Estel.’ The Master of Rivendell rose to his feet and touched the boy's shoulder in a brief gesture of affection. ‘It seems someone else has need of my healing hands today.’

‘Is he seriously injured?’ Estel asked, twisting in his wrappings to look at Elladan.

‘Not seriously,’ the Elf assured him with an almost earnest smile. ‘He will soon be put right.’ He looked at his sire, who was waiting expectantly in the doorway. ‘You go to him, Atarinya. I would like a few words with young Estel.’

‘I am glad,’ Elrond said, so quietly that Gilraen scarcely heard him. Then suddenly he was gone and Elladan carefully closed the anteroom door. Abruptly it occurred to Gilraen that the usually charismatic and self-assured Elf looked profoundly out of his depth.

‘You look... well,’ he said, moving nearer to the invalid boy.

Estel smiled, the muscles around his mouth rippling beneath the tightly-drawn skin. ‘I think you are being very diplomatic,’ he said candidly.

‘Estel! Do not be so impolite!’ Gilraen scolded.

Elladan laughed. ‘Fear not, lady: he is quite correct. I forget that he is no longer a little boy, and it was rude of me to treat him as such. In sooth, Estel, I find you distressingly changed.’

‘Yet I am alive,’ said Estel in a straightforward way that wrung at his mother’s heart; ‘and I am told that I am fortunate.’

‘Perhaps. That is not for me to say: in matters of healing I defer always to my father. Yet I think, fortunate or no, you are also bored. It is not easy to sit idle when a lively spirit yearns for action. How have you been occupying your time?’ The Elf took the chair his father had vacated, but not before drawing it a little further away from the patient.

‘I have resumed my lessons,’ Estel said in the studiously polite voice that he used when unfamiliar adults asked about his education. ‘I cannot afford to waste time in that respect, for there is much that I still must learn. I am presently studying the tongue of Númenor.’

‘Ah, then you have my pity!’ Elladan grimaced sympathetically. ‘That accurséd tongue cost me many hours of fruitless labour until my father gave up trying to teach me. It was a useless language even then.’

‘Do not tell him that,’ Gilraen interjected. ‘Your sire has only just convinced him that its study is worthwhile.’

Elladan cocked his head to one side. ‘And you approve?’ he said curiously, guarded surprise in his voice.

Gilraen flushed and quickened her stitching. ‘It is not for me to approve or disapprove,’ she said tersely, ashamed that her scornful behaviour was such common knowledge. ‘I have given the education of my son over into the hands of Master Elrond: he must do as he sees fit.’

‘That is a very different tune from the one you were wont to play, lady,’ Elladan said. Then he smiled graciously. ‘It is to your credit that you are able to change it.’

‘I am attempting to,’ Gilraen said, fixing her eyes upon her work and refusing to look at the Elven warrior.

Elladan nodded in understanding and turned his attention back to Estel. ‘Glorfindel tells me that you are fleet and sure of foot,’ he said.

‘Not now,’ Estel told him. ‘I have not even attempted to stand on my own since I fell ill.’ He scowled blackly. ‘I cannot even walk across the room.’

Gilraen waited for the placating expression of condescension, for some patronizing variation upon ‘such things will come in time’, but instead Elladan grinned. ‘I think you will surprise yourself,’ he said, rising and unwrapping the cocoon of blankets.

‘What are you doing?’ Estel said, somewhat alarmed. Elladan lifted the boy’s bare feet, and slipped the stool out from under them. Pushing back the blankets, he took Estel’s hands in his own.

‘Now stand up,’ he said.

The shirt was in Gilraen’s lap now, her hands motionless as she watched. Estel gripped Elladan’s fingers tightly and slid forward. One foot, then the other struck the floor with a soft slapping sound. Then slowly, cautiously, Estel straightened his knees. His legs trembled under the forgotten strain, and for a moment Gilraen feared he would fall. But Elladan remained still, a living pillar to which the child could cling, and at last Estel was upright.

The Elf spoke a word of encouragement, and withdrew his hands. The child remained upright, swaying slightly, a thin little spectre in his nightshirt. Estel was standing.

A sound halfway between a laugh and a snort of surprise escaped the boy. Elladan took a long step backward. ‘Now try to walk,’ he prompted.

Estel took three halting steps before his weakened knees gave out. Swift as a diving hawk, Elladan swooped forward to catch him, even before Gilraen could spring to her feet with a cry of alarm. He lifted him in his arms and looked frantically at the boy’s face. ‘I am sorry!’ he exclaimed in dismay. ‘Are you hurt? Shall I fetch my father?’

Estel raised his head, a radiant smile on his face. His eyes were shining with the light of triumph. ‘I can walk!’ he exclaimed happily.

‘Not very far,’ the Elven warrior said, looking very relieved indeed. He moved back towards the armchair and set the boy once more among his blankets.

‘What does that matter? Endurance will come in time!’ Estel laughed. In his delight he looked more like his former self than he had at any time since falling ill, and in her heart Gilraen blessed Elladan for giving her that gift. ‘I can walk!’

lar

Gandalf leaned against the door-frame, watching dispassionately as the Lord of Imladris tied off the last suture and clipped the fine silk thread. The ragged edges of the wound were closed now: a meandering red line dissecting the forearm of the half-Elven soldier. Elrohir was leaning on his good arm, his face turned away from his father’s ministrations. Though taught with pain, his primary expression was one of embarrassment.

‘They caught us unawares,’ he said ruefully. ‘Four large orcs and a craven goblin slave. One moment we were alone among the rocks, and the next they were upon us.’

‘A bold band, to assail the two of you,’ Elrond said, soaking a cloth with spirits and daubing gently at the wound. ‘I assume they paid dearly for their audacity.’

‘Not dearly enough,’ Elrohir muttered. ‘What troubles me is that they have grown so bold. We have been remiss in our duties: when my arm is healed there shall be a day of reckoning.’

‘Have you reconsidered your route?’ Elrond asked, turning towards the wizard. ‘Surely it is plain that the High Pass is too dangerous.’

‘We were two lonely travellers on foot,’ Gandalf said. ‘I shall be taking fifteen, and ponies. I must get them across the mountains somehow, and any other pass would take us hundreds of miles off-course. We shall proceed as planned.’ He frowned. ‘How did the servants of the Enemy propagate so enthusiastically upon your very doorstep? What is amiss with the Dúnedain? First you tell me they cannot aid us because they are safeguarding the North, and now it is made plain that they cannot do even that.’

Elrond shot to his feet, his eyes flashing in sudden anger. ‘What is amiss with the Dúnedain?’ he snapped. ‘They are outmatched and hunted! They have no lord to lead them, and each year their number dwindles. Five weeks ago three were lost in the Troll-fells, and signs of a fourth was found on the north shores of Nenuial. Whether he had frozen to death and was later eaten by carrion, or whether he had been overcome by wargs before he perished could not be determined from the fragments that remained. My folk give them such aid as we can, but if the tides do not turn soon there will be no men left in fifteen years. If they cannot secure the mountains that is no fault of their own!’

Elrohir reached up to pluck at his father’s sleeve. ‘I am certain the criticism was not meant in earnest, Atarinya,’ he said sombrely. ‘As doubtless you can see, Mithrandir, the fault lies chiefly with my brother and I. If your party will linger here a few weeks more, we shall cleanse the Pass of the goblin filth for you.’ The old hatred smouldered in his eyes, and he clenched the fist of his sword-arm so that the flesh around the stitches rippled and a dark trail of blood oozed from the wound.

The wizard shook his head. ‘We shall not tarry much longer. Thorin is already eager to be gone, and I have no time to waste. We will take our chances with the orcs. You must spare your energies: we shall have need of the fell Sons of Elrond for a greater endeavour ere long.’

Elrohir’s brow furrowed. ‘Then we are to proceed?’ he asked. ‘The attack upon Dol Guldur is going forward?’

Elrond shook his head. ‘That is yet unknown,’ he said. ‘It remains to convince Saruman that such action is necessary. When last the Council met he was most reluctant to make any move.’

‘We will convince him,’ Gandalf growled. ‘We must.’

‘I ride for Orthanc in August,’ Elrond told his son. ‘If an accord is reached, our forces can depart from the Valley and cross the mountains at Caradhras. I will not return in the interim, but shall ride with Galadriel to the muster in Lórien.’

‘You cannot mean to suggest that you will march on Mirkwood?’ Elrohir said incredulously. Elrond gave him a long, steady look. ‘Atarinya, that is madness!’

‘Have you so little regard for me? I have long lived in peace, but I have not forgotten the arts of war. I am an able commander, and I will lead my folk to battle if I must,’ the Elf-lord said. ‘Do not forget who taught you to wield a blade, my son.’

‘It is unnecessary,’ protested the younger Peredhil. ‘Elladan and I can lead our people. You must stay here, and safeguard the Valley. If we fail at Dol Guldur the Enemy will surely strike back against us: who will protect Rivendell if you do not?’

‘Erestor will rule our people while I am gone. You have seen him only as a lore-master and a teacher, but he too is versed in the ways of combat and defence. I cannot sit idle while the Council moves against the Necromancer. If anything were to go amiss,’ he added with a pointed glance at Gandalf; ‘my presence would be needed in Mirkwood.’

‘Your father is right, Elrohir,’ the wizard said. ‘We have need of him. Without his aid there is little hope of success.’

‘Surely you will not use...’ Elrohir caught himself and rephrased his statement. ‘Surely you will not take extraordinary measures on the very threshold of the Enemy’s tower? What has endured in secrecy so long cannot be laid bare now.’

‘No, it cannot,’ Elrond agreed; ‘and the Three will not march to open war yet. As a last resort, if ruin lay before us, we could unmask our power, but I do not think it will come to that. My heart forebodes that our struggle shall be brief, but in the end fruitless. While the One endures unfound there can be no hope of lasting victory.’

‘Then it must be found,’ Elrohir said. ‘We can drag the Anduin from its source to its mouth if needs must—’

Elrond laughed mirthlessly. ‘A grand gesture, no doubt,’ he said; ‘but useless I think. Saruman has often assured the Council that the Ring was washed into the Sea long ago. After so many centuries it seems impossible that the One could remain where it had been lost, if indeed it was lost there at all. The survivors of the massacre might easily have mistaken what they had seen, or I in my folly might have misinterpreted their words.’

‘That is less likely than you seem to think it,’ Gandalf said wryly. ‘Never have I known you to be hasty in judgement. I would trust your counsel in such matters above even my own. Yet such matters may be debated to greater purpose in Isengard.

'In the meanwhile,’ he said, pushing himself off the door-post and striding to the window; ‘I have treasure-hunters to set on their way, and a stubborn old wizard to win to my cause.’

‘Now you know how the rest of us feel,’ Elrohir said cheekily. ‘Father, will you bandage the arm so that I may go and bathe? Then I would like to see Estel.’

‘Your brother is with him now,’ Elrond told him. ‘I am pleased that the two of you are at last taking an interest in the boy. Not many years remain before he will be old enough to be entrusted to your tutelage.’

‘I had not thought of that,’ admitted Elrohir. ‘He will have to learn the ways of the wild somehow, I suppose.’

‘He will indeed, and he could benefit greatly from your care and wisdom. It would please me to see my children in harmony: Estel thinks very highly of you.’

When Elrohir was gone, in search of a bath, Gandalf turned from the window. His bushy brows were knit into a pensive frown. ‘It occurs to me, Peredhil,’ he said; ‘that you have an ulterior motive for riding to Mirkwood by way of Lothlórien.’

‘Have I indeed?’ Elrond asked softly.

The Istar nodded sagely, plucking at his beard. ‘It has been many years since you have last seen your daughter.’

‘Yes,’ said the Elf-lord, a small sorrowful smile touching his lips. Once, many thousand years ago in a land long lost beneath the Sea, it had been whispered that his family was broken, sundered by the ills of Arda Marred. At times like this, such still seemed to be the case. ‘So it has.’

lar

Midnight was long past and the candles had burned low, but still the two confederates sat bowed over Gandalf's carefully-drawn diagrams outlining the outer defences of Dol Guldur. The information was many years out of date, but at the moment it was all that they had. Fresh intelligence might be gathered later, but a polished plan of action had to be produced now, before the wizard continued on his quest for dragon gold. To win the support of the head of the Council would be no easy task, and it was imperative that they had a firm answer to any question he might ask. All through the evening they had conferred, arguing all sides of each propsed move and trying to pick their plans apart as meticulously as Saruman surely would. Both were weary and irritated from the debates, both real and manufactured, and they were grating mercilessly on one another's good graces. Their present discussion was not a case of simulated cross-examination; the dischord was very real, and it was growing more heated by the moment.

'Far be it from me to question your admittedly extensive experience in seige warfare,' Gandalf was saying, exasperation thrumming in every pore; 'but you have left an avenue of escape between the arms of your mounted force and the archers of Lórien.'

'Seige warfare is precisely what we must avoid at all costs,' Elrond countered tersely. 'We have neither the might nor the resources to sustain a lengthy conflict. We must descend swiftly upon the Necromancer and drive him forth from his fortress. If we encircle the tower entirely, we will force him to entrench himself and settle in for a contest of attrition. Meanwhile the situation in the North will grow ever more grave, and Lórien will be come little better than a garrison. And what of your dwarves? You will not be able to ride north to their aid, for you will be occupied maintaining a doomed blockade.'

Gandalf planted one bony finger on a heavily annotated map, tracing an arc behind the hatching that represented the battallions of Imladris. 'If we do not form a complete perimeter,' he said; 'then the forces he has assembled within the tower can trickle forth at will. We will find ourselves embroiled in a battle on two fronts.'

'Our purpose is to drive him out. We cannot hope to cast him down utterly, and so we must deprive him of his intolerably advantageous strategic position. If we expect him to fly, it is encumbent upon us to leave him some means to do so.'

'Why, then, force him south? Why not east? As it is now the greater part of our army must gather in the north, with its back to the evils of Mirkwood.' Gandalf gestured broadly and sat back in his chair with an irate sigh. 'The spiders will muster to the scent of blood and death, and once again we will have foes before and behind.'

'Thranduil's folk can afford us some respite from the spiders,' Elrond argued. While his erswhile friend might not be willing to come to their aid, at least he could not deny them assistance with controlling the vermin that infested his realm. 'If we force Sauron east, there is no telling where he will fly. He might migrate north and treat with the dragon, when your dwarves fail to neutralize it. He might even cross the mountains to the ruins of Angmar, and then we would be in a worse position than before. If we drive him south, at least we will know where he will next appear.'

Gandalf's eyes grew black with ominous enlightenment. He leaned forward onto his elbows, hands planted on the table before him like the paws of a great prowling cat, and he fixed the Elf-lord with a terrible stare. 'You wish to drive him into Mordor,' he hissed, and it seemed as if the room grew darker and a cold wind swept through it. 'You wish to force him to return to his old haunts, where he can raise the Barad-dûr anew and breed armies to devour the world.'

'While the One Ring remains within the bounds of the world, we shall never prevent it,' Elrond said. 'Our only chance is to delay him, to beat him back as best we may, and to secure our borders against the next assault. We cannot hope to end his power.'

'You had an opportunity to do just that, and you failed,' Gandalf said bitterly. 'Out of camraderie or pity you allowed the Ring to vanish from our knowledge, when the fires of Orodruin were beneath your very feet! Your gentle heart may destroy us all.'

'That I know well,' murmured Elrond, drawing a weary hand across his temples. 'Grievously shall we all pay for my folly, ere the end. But what is done I have not the power to undo. All I can do is make reparation for that misstep as best I can, and attempt once more to set right that dreadful wrong.'

Their eyes remained locked as a terrible silence fell upon the room. At length the wizard cast his gaze away, and chafed at his beard. 'It is a terrible burden to hold the fate of the world in one's hands,' he said. 'One cannot always choose aright, and ill-made decisions have catastrophic consequences that none can forsee.'

That was as near an absolution as he was ever going to give, and Elrond tried to take some comfort from the words of empathy. It was of little use. He had never forgiven himself for that moment of weakness, and he could not be exculpated so easily, not even by Gandalf the Grey.

The two weary conspirators stiffened in alarm as an unexpected sound cut through the stillness of the library. It was the scraping of a key against the strike plate of the door. They heard it enter the lock, but whoever was weilding it appeared to have difficulty forcing the key against the heavy tumblers. With a soft squeak it was withdrawn, and slowly, tremulously, the door was pushed open.