Disclaimer:

The characters, 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:

As always many, many thanks to Erulisse and to Selene Aduial for beta reading this story for me. Thank you so much for your help and constant encouragement.

Summary:

Sometimes even the greatest of healers in Middle-earth is driven to his limit and pushed beyond his endurance. When word reached Rivendell that Glorfindel was killed in an orc ambush Elrond experiences a nightmare. 

Rating: PG-13

Chapter 1:  news we never wanted to get

The Lord of Imladris looked up from the reports he was reading when the clattering of hooves drifted up through the open balcony door of his study.

Cold shudders of foreboding ran suddenly down his back. He frowned since he had long learned to heed such premonitions. After placing his quill into its stand he rose and walked around the massive oak desk toward the balcony. There were no guests expected to arrive this late in the evening.

When he stepped outside and saw a magnificent white steed standing in the courtyard of the Last Homely House tossing his head impatiently.  Elrond’s left eyebrow rose.

Instantly he recognized Asfaloth, Lord Glorfindel´s faithful stallion. His surprise to see his Troop commander return so early was replaced by concern when he realized that the rider was not Glorfindel, even though his hair was as golden as the hair the Balrog-slayer was famous for.

The elf crouched low over the horse’s neck was digging his fingers desperately into the white mane to stay on the back of the prancing beast. This he managed only because the stallion danced from one side to the other making sure that the elf did not fall.

The healer’s frown deepened. Not two days ago Glorfindel and a contingent of Imladris’ warriors had departed to clear out an orc den on an often used path in the near vicinity of the hidden valley.

The reports of steadily growing number of orcs in this region and the increased attacks on unwary travellers had finally brought him to the decision to intervene.

Although Elrond had counselled to wait until more information could be obtained, Glorfindel had been adamant to ride out at once to get rid of the malice and to make the road safe once more.

The Lord of Rivendell knew where the doggedness of his old friend came from and had finally consented. Two months before, a party from Lothlórien had been intending to visit the hidden valley to replenish their supplies and rest before continuing on their way to visit the Grey Havens.

The entire party was killed down to the last member in an ambush not an hour’s ride from Imladris. Among the dead was a relative of Glorfindel’s; a most loved cousin and his two barely adult sons.

Glorfindel had been deeply grieved by these events and ever since he was testy and short tempered when it came to his duty to keep the valley and its surroundings safe. Not that anyone had ever questioned his abilities.

The mood and state of mind of his Troop commander had reminded Elrond of the dark times when his sons had ridden out day after day to slay as many orcs as they could to avenge their mother.

He was not eager to repeat those times nor did he want to see another close friend succumb to the destructive feelings of hate and revenge.

Back then it had been Glorfindel who had managed to retrieve the twins from the dark path they had travelled on. Now it seemed he was in dire need of the same service and the Lord of this House was more than willing to give it.

Yet, Glorfindel was in a league of his own. As generous as he was to help others with comfort or easing a burden, he was equally reserved when it came to his own inner self. 

Raised voices in the courtyard made Elrond’s thoughts focus back onto the situation below. His eldest son Elladan had already hastened out and was now aiding the injured elf to dismount.

It was however mostly the work of the older twin for strength had finally left the warrior and he was sliding into the outstretched arms of the young Lord. Gently Elladan eased the body onto the ground while another elf led the agitated horse away.

Briefly Elrond wondered why his son was not heading straight into the house with the obviously badly injured warrior but then his eyes met those of his second son, Elrohir, who had joined his brother on the ground.

Elrohir did not have to utter a word. The sad look he directed at him told enough. The great healer could feel the worry and sorrow emanate from the elves gathered below.

Immediately Lord Elrond turned and hurried down the many steps, along the corridor leading toward the main entrance. Descending into the courtyard he quickly stepped forward and the crowd parted to make room for their Lord.

Close enough now to identify the elf, although Elrond had already guessed the identity of the warrior, he momentarily faltered in his advance. There cradled in his son’s arms was Thalan, Glorfindel’s second in command.

Elrond did not have to be a healer to see that his condition was poor. The elf was bleeding from many wounds on his upper body and his tunic was stained red interspersed with dark patches of orc gore and dirt.

The healer’s hesitation however did not stem from seeing the severe injuries, but rather from the fact that Thalan had been on Asfaloth’s back. The great horse accepted only his master except when Glorfindel ordered him to suffer another. He swallowed at the implications.

Shoving these disturbing thoughts aside, the healer came to the forefront and Elrond finally knelt down. He cradled the head of the injured elf carefully in his lap propping his upper body up to ease the elf’s breathing.

While placing his hands on the torso of the warrior to infuse healing energy into the failing body he felt a light touch on his left shoulder. Without looking up he knew that his advisor Erestor was silently informing him that the healing ward had been prepared.

Briefly the healer looked at his sons gazing at him with a mixture of expectancy and dread. They were accomplished healers themselves and could also feel the fleeting fëa of this poor fellow.

Shaking his head ever so slightly Elrond confirmed their worries that this warrior no longer needed any healing he or anyone else would be able to provide.

While Elladan lowered his eyes and looked sadly at another victim of the dark malice threatening all lives on Middle Earth; Elrohir stood and silently informed Erestor, who requested all bystanders to disperse.

Elrond restrained the flow of healing energy so it would not hinder the fëa’s release from the mortally injured body.

When the rapid breathing had slowed and the moans stilled somewhat, the eyes of the warrior suddenly opened, and as often happened in the final stage of dying, his gaze cleared and the pain seemed to vanish.

Elrond waited patiently until the blue eyes had focused on him.  Indeed, he suspected that the only reason Thalan was still alive was a message he desperately wanted to deliver. How he had managed to ride here in his condition was beyond comprehension.

“My Lord,” Thalan struggled to speak while blood trickled out of his mouth. “Our patrol was ambushed by a great band of orcs even before we had reached our destination. They…. they came out of no…. nowhere…. there were so many….”  Coughing, the warrior was barely able to bring forth another word.

A long history of fighting against the shadow left him with enough imagination to guess what Thalan was not saying. Elrond exchanged a quick look with his advisor who had knelt beside him waiting to see what service he could offer to his Lord.

Elladan and Elrohir had stepped up behind their father, each one placing a hand on one of his shoulders lending him strength and imparting comfort, although they were in need of comfort themselves.

While waiting until the injured elf had caught his breath, the healer directed his gaze toward the distant trees. Dark clouds were not only gathering over the mountains but also in his mind.

Again a well trained patrol had fallen victim to a band of orcs. This did not fit into the usual pattern of these foul beings. Fortune had usually only been on their side when attacking in great numbers or surprising the unaware. But they seemed to have gathered some wits or strength unknown to the elves until now. Desperately he tried to pierce the veil but no wisdom came to him.

Calling upon Vilya Elrond directed his senses beyond the well protected borders of the valley but found no disturbances. How could the orcs gather strength when needed and hide their presence at will? This he would have to find out.

When he looked down again he felt that the struggle of the warrior was coming to an end. Elrond lightly touched his cheek to get the warrior’s attention back for one moment. Making his voice steady and mastering the sorrow gripping his heart he asked: “Captain, what of the patrol? Has anyone survived?”

Even though he could already guess the answer; Asfaloth’s presence foretelling much, he had to know. Elladan’s and Elrohir’s grip on his shoulders tightened unconsciously.

Forcing his eyes open, the fair haired elf tried to speak again. “Dead… all dead. The captain and all… all the others. They thought me dead… I guess…. I could…. I could not….”

“No!” was the choked reply from Elrohir before he could restrain himself. He reeled even more when he felt the great wave of anguish sweep through the bond he shared with his brother. He did not have to look at Elladan´s face to see the horror written there.

Elrohir gulped several times to swallow the nausea that threatened up his throat. This could not be! Valar, please don’t let it be true, he pleaded with a furiously beating heart.

With a pained look the younger twin gazed at his father in the hope he would deny the terrible words and reassure him that all was a terrible misunderstanding, but after the first glimpse he knew how hopeless and childish his wish was.

The face of his father was expressionless and controlled.  Anyone who did not know him would not notice anything wrong. But Elrohir saw instantly the clear signs that his father was as distressed as his sons, fighting for his composure. As always, however, he was a master at hiding his feelings.

With these last whispered words Thalan went limp and died. His hand now shaking Elrond closed the unseeing eyes. He still heard the faint echo of Mandos’ call and waited until the fëa had entirely left the body.

His sons had sunk to their knees and bowed their heads. Erestor had risen knowing that his service was no longer needed. With a lowered head he headed back to the house hiding his shock behind a stony mask.

While Elrond whispered a silent farewell; a silent lament arose around him; a last salute to the departing spirit. Again another well loved member of their community had left them.

Elrond closed his eyes in remembrance. Thalan had come to Imladris as a child. Ever since, he had adored Glorfindel and quickly gained his respect and trust; until Glorfindel had promoted him to the post he had held until his death. He left a wife and a young son already eager to follow in his father’s footsteps.

For long minutes the three half-elves remained on the spot not wanting to show their grief in public but fighting hard for their composure. Elrond had not even registered that one of his apprentices had removed the dead body from his grasp.

After the lament had come to an end Elrond rose. Calling upon his inner strength the healer helped his sons back to their feet and together they walked back to the house past a line of elves looking after them with sympathy.

Inside Elrond quickly headed for his study and did not object when the twins and Erestor followed him without being asked.

Easing himself down in the chair behind his desk the Lord of Rivendell closed his eyes while resting his head on the back of the chair. Again he extended his senses out over the vale and beyond its borders. Once more he could detect nothing out of the ordinary. Were his senses so clouded by the pain in his heart that he could see nothing, or was there nothing to ascertain?

Opening his eyes again he looked at the three faces studying him intently. Like his, their faces were pale and the shock was still written across them. Here in privacy they had no need to mask their distress.

With a shake of his head Elrond confirmed Erestor’s silent question of whether something imminent was threatening them. With this small gesture however he also crushed the hope of his sons that he had miraculously gotten some contact to their already much missed family member.

And a family member Glorfindel had become; if not in blood than certainly in their hearts.

Erestor and Glorfindel had known each other since the war in Eregion. Together with Elrond, they had founded Imladris and made it into the safe haven it was today. Elrond could have not wished for better advisors.

Glorfindel, the fierce warrior, determined yet passionate in all matters of life, and Erestor, the smart strategist, a born diplomat.  They were two essential pillars of the community.

To his children Glorfindel had become a second father, a close confidant, a mentor and a trainer. Never had he failed to protect and guide them just as he had never failed to protect any of the line of Eärendil.

A truer friend Elrond had never known. And now from one moment to the other he would never be around again? He could still hardly believe that the great warrior was dead and yet he had just heard what Thalan had said happened.

Elrond could barely hold the cry that wanted to escape him inside. Elrohir however lost the fight with his pride and silent sobs shook his slender frame.

Elrond rose and drew his son into an embrace, stroking the black tresses gently like he had done when his son had been much younger. He could not shed tears at the moment; his heart was too sore to let any emotion soothe the grief.

He extended his hand toward his eldest but Elladan declined. His pride did not allow him to shed the much needed tears and Elrond had expected nothing else. Elladan would choose his own way and time to mourn.

After a while Elrohir lifted his head from his father’s shoulder.

“Father, we should go there and bring them home, maybe…….”

He let the rest of the sentence hang in the air, but everyone in the room knew what he wished for.

Releasing his son Elrond returned to his desk. He had harboured the same hope just a few moments ago, but he was realistic enough to know that this was wishful thinking.

It would have been Glorfindel trying to reach home, if he had been able and his well trained horse would not have left his master’s side, if there was any life left in the elf.

Having never been one to not face the trials coming his way, Elrond did not want to spark hope where there was none. Yet to impart some comfort for now he nodded.

“You are right, my son. We should not let fall them prey to any scavengers.”

Elladan jerked his head up at those words and clenched his fists. Without another word or glance he left the room. The loud thud of the door slammed shut echoed through the silent halls.

The Lord of Rivendell sighed when Elrohir hurried after his brother. Silently Erestor walked to the doorway after a nod toward Elrond.

“My Lord, I will prepare all that is necessary,” he said softly and slipped from the room.

Grateful Elrond only nodded. Dark times lay ahead of them.

To be continued…………………

A/N: let me know what you think. Please R&R. Lai