Chapter Five

The path twisted through the trees, leading Elladan and his brother back home to the Last Homely House. He shifted on his mare's back, stretching his neck, and tried not to think about why their father had recalled them. He stared at the back of his brother's head, then shifted his gaze skyward to the blue peaking through the trees above them and sighed.

The quiet ride back was annoying him. As was the slow pace Elrohir was setting. Was it necessary that Tulus plod so slowly? Was his brother's gelding actually dragging his feet?

He stared at the rangy grey gelding, but detected no misstep. No dragging of hooves. Just a slow, measured pace.

As if Elrohir is putting off speaking to Father as long as possible.

Typical for his brother, and completely opposite to himself. Elladan would rather get there, find out what their father wanted, do it, and get back out in the wilds. What point was there dragging one's feet? It only made you dread what was coming for a longer time. No, Elladan preferred to get unpleasant confrontation over with as soon as possible.

Not that they had been recalled for unpleasant confrontation. The scout sent to find them had not told them more than Lord Elrond needed them home. Not wished, not demanded, but needed. And that worried him a little bit.

Judging by the droop of Elrohir's usually straight shoulders, that need for them worried Elrohir a lot more.  

But Elladan had heard of no more orc attacks upon the dúnedain, or surrounding areas. Not since Arathorn had been killed. He sucked in a breath at that remembered pain. One more reason to eliminate those vile beasts that preyed upon the innocent!

And that was done by being out of the safety of Imladris and actively hunting the orc packs! And he did not care that his father took exception to his and his brother's hunts. He understood Elrond had responsibilities in the valley, but he did not understand why their father did not condone their need to eradicate the creatures. It was because of them their mother—

He stopped that thought before it sent him into a fit of rage. No, he would not think of what he and his brother had found in that vile cave in the mountains after their mother's caravan had been attacked on their way to Lothlorien. He saved those images to fuel his rage in battle against the creatures who had done the harm to her.

Instead, he reached down and rubbed Acharn's shoulder and went back to musing about why their father had need of them. Elrond had wanted them to be home more after bringing Gilraen and Aragorn — no, Estel, Elladan reminded himself with a wince. Their father had named the child Estel, claiming his true identity needed to be hidden for now. But what good could hardened warriors do for a toddler and a widow? In time, perhaps, he and Elrohir would teach Estel how to fight, but the boy was only three years of age!

He shook his head. No, they were of little use to the child and Gilraen. They were of better use out on patrol or, more to his liking, out hunting orcs.

Acharn suddenly shied, her ears twitching nervously as her hooves skittered over the dirt path. Elladan moved with her, then brought her to a stop. His gaze swept over his surroundings for any sign of danger, but the forest was quiet, outside the usual squirrels hunting for nuts, and birds singing in the treetops. There was no wind. The leaves hung still on their branches. He could sense nothing out of place.

Elrohir called back to him, to ask why he had stopped, but he raised his hand to silence his brother in a long practiced gesture from years of hunting orcs. From the corner of his eye, he saw Elrohir stiffen and still his mount's feet.

His eyes continued to search for whatever had caused his mare to react. But there should be nothing evil here. This close to the valley and the Last Homely House, the forest was protected by his father. However, years of training, as well as trial and error, had taught him never to take anything for granted. Safety only came in caution.

His burly mare suddenly neighed, shifting her stance. Acharn held her head high, her nostrils flaring as she sucked in deep breaths of air. Her small ears were pricked so sharply that they nearly touched at the tips. Then a tremor ran through her whole body. She neighed again and rolled her eyes, looking back over her shoulder at him plaintively.

"What is it, dear friend? What do you sense?"

The mare responded with a soft whuffling sound, and she stretched out her neck, nostrils quivering. Elladan urged her on, letting her take him to whatever had caught her interest. He had long learned to rely on his mount's instincts.

Elrohir brought Tulus up beside him, matching Acharn's pace. They rode side by side for only a couple of minutes before Elladan heard a soft wimper.  He halted his mount and slid from her back with a soft word for her to wait. With Elrohir following, he slipped into a dense thicket.

What he found pricked his heart. In a den made in the hollow of a fallen tree trunk, was a litter of puppies no more than two weeks of age. Fate must have prevented the bitch from returning, for of the seven small bodies, only one still retained life in it, and that only barely. Starving and cold, the pup looked at them with newly opened eyes and made a small yelping noise.

"The poor thing," Elrohir said, reaching out and lifting the dehydrated puppy, then turned on his heel and slipped out of the thicket. Elladan followed him back to the horses. Time was of the essence! They needed to get liquids into the pup right away as well as warm it or it would perish as had its littermates.

While Elrohir held the pup close to his chest, Elladan retrieved his water skin and dribbled a bit onto his fingers so the pup could suck the life-giving liquid off.   

"I wonder what happened to his mother?" Elladan asked, looking around for any sign of her. "Dogs do not abandon their young like this." Acharn nudged him, her large eyes blinking at the puppy nestled against Elrohir's chest as it hungrily took the drops of water offered.

"Perhaps she met with some foe larger than herself?" Elrohir mused, using one hand to hold the pup and the other to unfasten his outer tunic, so he might slip the pup inside to help warm him. Even though the day was not cool, the whelp could use the additional body heat.

Once assured the pup had consumed enough liquid to prevent its immediate demise, Elladan helped Elrohir do up the ties to hold the pup inside the tunic for the ride back, then steadied Tulus while his brother carefully mounted.

"He shall make a nice addition to the kennel," Elladan commented, eyeing the intelligent set of the puppy's head as it peaked out of Elrohir's outer tunic between two ties.

Elrohir just smiled, and Elladan snorted. It was more likely the poor pup would end up in Elrohir's rooms over the kennel.

Elladan took the lead, setting a much quicker pace than they had previously ridden. They would soon be home where the pup could receive proper care from the kennel master. At least until Elrohir talked the master into letting him do it.

— o —

Glorfindel fled from the house. He had tried to return, after spending much of the morning accomplishing nothing but feeling guilty: guilt for letting Estel get hurt, for not staying and helping Elrond and Gilraen, for not finding some way to take the pain upon himself and spare the innocent child—

So he had returned to offer his services wherever they were needed. He needed to be of use, to in some way make amends for his allowing Estel to get hurt.

But Estel's cries had pierced his heart, as had the tears streaming down the boy's face. The child not understand the pain.

Gilraen's gaze had skewered him as soon as he had walked in the door, as sharp as any blade. And the blame in them laid upon him like a heavy cloak. Elrond had only sighed and shook his head. The Master of the House appeared as weary as Glorfindel could ever remember seeing him, but he had not accepted Glorfindel's offers to help.

Unwelcome in the healing rooms, unable to bear listening to the cries echo in the halls, Glorfindel had fled back outdoors. He wandered for a time in  the gardens, but it did not take long until his feet led him to the stable.

There he sought solace in Brandlir's stall. The grey stallion whickered and lowered his head onto Glorfindel's shoulder. He stood there for some time, stroking his horse's face and ears.

After many minutes, he found his voice and gave utterance to his guilt. "You tried to warn me, did you not?" A soft whicker rumbled in the stallion's throat. "But I did not heed you."

Dark eyes regarded him unblinking as the head sank lower.

"Of course you did not."

The unexpected words had Glorfindel blinking at his horse, as if Brandlir had spoken. Then the familiar tones of that voice registered in his mind and he looked up at the stall door where Erestor stood, those icy-blue eyes watching thoughtfully.

"Tell me, did this silly beast of yours truly warn you, or was he only being his ridiculous self?"

The stallion's head jerked upright, his ears flattened back.

But Erestor just shook his head, not intimidated. "Oh? You would have him blame himself then?" he asked the horse.

The stallion's head dropped, the ears pricking slightly.

"No, I did not think so." Erestor turned his attention back to Glorfindel. "Stop blaming yourself. It is not your fault."

"You were not there—"

"No, I was not. But I heard everything you told Elrond. And I heard everything Gilraen said to you — and he to her."

The last part was spoken softly, peaking Glorfindel's curiosity. His brows raised as he gazed at his friend. "And what did Elrond say?"

Erestor gazed back, unblinking. "He blames himself."

The shock of that statement held him speechless for a full minute. Elrond? Taking the guilt upon himself, when the fault so clearly lay at Glorfindel's feet?

"Why would he blame himself?" he asked. "He was not there either."

Erestor sighed, a frown creasing his brow. "He sensed the danger and yet agreed to let Estel go."

"He believed I could protect him…and I failed him!"

The truth of saying it aloud only made his heart ache the more. A chill ran down his spine. He leaned his head against Brandlir's neck, seeking some warmth, some comfort from his horse. "I failed him," he whispered again.

The stall door creaked open and a warm hand clasped his shoulder. "You could not have known. You are notperfect, no matter what you think! It was a dog, Glorfindel! A dog! How were you to sense that? Orcs? Wargs? Yes! But a dog?"

Glorfindel glanced up to see Erestor shaking his head, his eyes sympathetic. "A terrible thing to be sure, but it is no one's fault. These things happen…as well you know."

Glorfindel stared at him a moment, knowing exactly to what Erestor referenced, but refusing to acknowledge it. "I should have protected him!" Glorfindel growled, declining to let himself so easily out of the blame.

Erestor shook his shoulder. "You did!"

Glorfindel blinked. "But—"

"No, listen to me," Erestor interrupted, turning him around with gentle pressure on his shoulder so they were face to face.

Glorfindel leaned back against Brandlir. A great weariness descended on him, as typical after a battle. He nodded, too drained to argue.

Erestor took a deep breath, taking on the demeanor he was so known for in the council chamber when he was determined to be heard and to have his view accepted.

Stubborn as a mule, Glorfindel thought. Elrond's Chief Councilor never took no for an answer — not if he believed he was right. He sparred with words as well as he did with a sword.

"These things happen," Erestor began. "Life is full of the unanticipated. None of us can be expected to sense every possible source of danger. We do our best. It could just as easily have been a poisonous snake. Or Estel could have slipped and hit his head on a rock while running. Or climbed up a tree and fallen. Would you have blamed yourself for any of those things?"

Before Glorfindel could answer, Erestor shook his head. "You would not. Life is full of danger, even without the press of evil. Would you instead lock Estel in a room to keep him safe? Even here, he would not be! In his curiosity, he could climb up a bookshelf and it could fall over on him—"

Erestor paused abruptly, a look of sudden contemplation crossing his features. “Which reminds me, I need to have Istnir bolt them to the walls,” he muttered, his fingers twitching as if they ached for a quill to write his note to himself.

Glorfindel's lips twitched. This was why Erestor was Elrond's Chief Councilor. His arguments were so persistent, so steeped in logic. Most found it difficult to get a word in, let alone argue. And then he threw in these absentminded monologues to himself that lightened the mood, often changing the subject.

He could see the truth in what Erestor said, though his heart yet ached. If only he had moved faster—

"You protected him," Erestor said quietly, shaking his shoulder again to get his attention. "You saved his life."

Glorfindel shook his head, turning and throwing an arm over Brandlir's neck, refusing to accept such a statement. "Glir saved him. He killed the dog."

"And who bred and trained such a beast to be his mount? You! You two communicate as if he had a voice of his own."

Erestor reached out to pat the horse's rump, getting a disdainful snort from Brandlir in return, as well as a cocked hip in his direction. Glorfindel patted his horse, hoping to appease the stallion as Erestor continued.

"And you were the one with the skill and knowledge to bandage that little boy up so his life's blood did not spill itself out. And the two of you," he patted the grey dappled rump again, earning another snort and pinned ears, "brought him home."

Erestor searched Glorfindel's eyes, pinning him in place. "This is not Gondolin — and Estel is not Panguil."

Glorfindel paled at the reference. There were some things the two of them simply did not discuss, and Panguil was one of them.

Erestor ran a hand over his hair, and turned away a moment. Glorfindel watched him, wondering what he would say next. He did not wish to relive those horrid days in Gondolin, when his young squire had come so close to death.

Then Erestor, cunning old goat that he was, changed the subject and hit him with the one thing he could not refute.

"If it were Elladan or Elrohir standing here in your shoes, what would you be telling them?"

Unfair!

Erestor played unfair, and hit even below the belt when needed. Erestor played by his own rules, as he always had, and with that one sentence, his friend struck the winning blow.

Glorfindel dropped his eyes with a slight shake of his head, his lips twitching up in a rueful smile. "Exactly what you are telling me."

"Well, there you have it."

When he glanced up, Erestor's eyes were twinkling.

With a final pat on the grey rump, Erestor turned to leave. "You were the easy one. Elrond and Gilraen will be much harder to convince—"

In his ruminations, Erestor had turned his back on Brandlir. He should know better than doing that by now.

"Erestor—"

The warning came too late.

Brandlir's teeth sank into the fancy, embroidered black robes, eliciting a most undignified yelp and jump.

Erestor spun around, his face flushing as his icy-blue eyes flashed with ire. "The feeling is mutual," he snapped before backing the rest of the way out of the stall.

Erestor strode down the aisle in a huff, muttering about horsemeat being added to the menu as his robes swished about him and one hand rubbed at his backside.

Glorfindel smiled as he watched him go.

Erestor’s words had lightened his load, though he still felt the guilt eating away at him. He knew Erestor was right, but freeing himself of the guilt when that sweet little boy lay in the healing rooms with his arms so badly damaged was a very difficult thing. No matter if it were an accident, it had happened under his watch, and that made him responsible.

But his friend's speech had succeeded in opening his eyes to the whole situation. He could see where he had been overconfident, even a little bit careless in the peacefulness of the day. But he also now could admit that even had he been on the highest level of alert, the dog might still have slipped past him and attacked Estel.

And Erestor was right about Estel not being Panguil. This was not Gondolin. This was Imladris, and Erestor's insight had been just what he needed for him to see that what had happened had been an accident. He smiled.

It was not his fault, and that assurance gave him the peace he needed to do what had to be done. Elrond would need assistance, no matter if he wished it or not, and even if Gilraen threatened to have him thrown out, Glorfindel would march back to that healing room and—

He reconsidered.  Maybe he would walk slowly and put some more thought into how he could most help Estel. A story or two perhaps? There were some illustrated books in the library that might entertain the three year old.

With a much lightened heart, and the image of Erestor rubbing his backside in his head, Glorfindel meandered back towards the house determined to help do all he could to see Estel healed.

To Be Continued…

Author's Note: Panguil is a character from a story I am currently writing that is set in Gondolin. Despite their somewhat contentious relationship, Glorfindel and Erestor have a close friendship, and Erestor is the only one who knows many of Glorfindel's secrets. And visa versa…

Thank you so much to all who have taken the time to read and review! The feedback is most welcome and appreciated! ~NiRi