Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 22: War in Eregion Part IV: The Fall of Eregion

Elrond rode behind the wagon bearing his children, but his thoughts were far from the pleasant ride he was having with Alagos. Instead, visions of Elrohir replayed in his mind. His son had smiled and laughed throughout the casting procedure, a sharp contrast to the drawn and pale face that Elrond had carefully watched for days for signs that the pain was too much.  The cast would take several hours to set properly, but Elrohir had grinned at that news and let himself be carried by his twin and Glorfindel to the wagon, where he had stretched out in the sun like a long lean cat. Even now Elrond could hear Arwen’s giggles as she wove blue ribbons into Elrohir’s hair as she braided it, and Elrohir’s voice teasing and playing along with her.

Fingering the pouch against his side unconsciously, Elrond forced his hand back to his thigh when he realized what he was doing.  His gaze drifted ahead, beyond the wagon, to where Galadriel rode next to Celebrían.  Galadriel had not said a word, but he knew that she had wielded Nenya to aid Elrohir.  He lightly pressed his forearm against his side, the hard band of metal easily felt against his ribs through the pouch.  His wonder increased as he felt a slight thrumming vibrate into his flesh. The ring seemed to have come alive, as if it sensed that its companion had been put to use.

He could not help but wonder if he would have been able to wield Vilya to Elrohir’s benefit as Galadriel had used Nenya.  Vilya seemed to vibrate slightly faster, as if in reaction to his thoughts. He felt his heartbeat quicken. Could the Three be awakening, telling their bearers the time was now ripe to begin to use them? He wondered if Círdan could sense Narya?  Would Círdan wield Narya?

Elrond closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax, and allowed Alagos to keep the pace and path.  The horse seemed to sense his relaxation and whinnied softly in response. Elrond unconsciously stroked the sleek neck even as he forced his thoughts to still and his mind to clear itself of the many questions that were battling for his attention.  Deep in mediation, he finally became aware of the breaths of another horse mingling with those of Alagos and opened his eyes to find thoughtful blue eyes gazing steadily at him.  Glancing ahead, he realized that the rest of the party was now far ahead, including the rear guard.

“Alagos, you were to keep pace, not meander off on your own,” he scolded the stallion.

Glorfindel laughed. “Alagos did exactly as he was asked.”

Elrond arched a brow at the warrior, but Glorfindel ignored the censure. Elrond could hardly blame him; he had drifted long in meditation and Alagos had responded to the request of one he respected. Glorfindel did not quicken their pace, however.

“Speak, if that is what you came to do,” said Elrond finally, flinching himself at the slightly harsh tone that he had not intended to use.

“My only intention, my lord, was to keep you from falling from your horse,” answered Glorfindel deftly, his tone entirely respectful.

Before Elrond could respond, he felt Vilya move at his side and without thought he slid his hand over it.  He felt its presence, and was again in wonder over the ring’s power. Suddenly remembering Glorfindel’s presence, he jerked his head up to look his protector in the face. Surprise filled him at the sadness he saw reflected in the depths of the clear blue eyes. He turned away, both hands clenching into fists as conflicting emotions warred within him.

A warm hand covered his own, and he gripped it like a lifeline. “The ring seems to have come alive,” he admitted. He drew Glorfindel’s hand to his side, covering the small pouch. Vilya’s vibrations slowed, and then grew silent. “Did you feel it?” he asked hoarsely.

Glorfindel nodded and removed his hand from beneath Elrond’s, then pressed Elrond’s hand against his side and waited with a contemplative look. Elrond was about to speak when he felt Vilya again begin to sing.  Wonder filled him, though it was now tinged by fear.

“Vilya is communicating to whom it belongs,” said Glorfindel, amused. Suddenly, his countenance darkened. “Or rather, who belongs to it.”

“The Three are not evil,” replied Elrond softly. “It does not own me, nor do I own it.”

Sadness again filled Glorfindel’s eyes. “Things we value too highly can come to own us. Do not let it became of more worth in your eyes than it should.”

Elrond opened his mouth to speak, words of defense on his tongue to remind Glorfindel that he had not yet wielded the ring, that when he did, the benefits would be for all, but he suddenly recalled himself and his brother questioning Gil-galad and Círdan about the Silmarils and the choice their mother had made, and he closed his mouth abruptly.  Glorfindel had seen the darkening of Valinor, the flight of the Noldor, and the fall of Gondolin, all driven by lust for the Silmarils. He knew of what he spoke. “Remind me as often as you see need,” he said instead.

Glorfindel took his hand again and squeezed it firmly, communicating without words his commitment to Elrond. They picked up the pace slightly, and as Alagos trotted along Elrond turned his thought to Vilya. He directed his will to it, commanding silence until he was ready to explore the ring’s power more thoroughly.  To his continued wonder, Vilya complied.

“Ada!”  His daughter’s squeal interrupted his thoughts.

Elrond saw Arwen’s head pop up from the wagon, then abruptly disappear a moment later.  Her giggles could be heard mixed with Elrohir’s laughter, and then she reappeared, gripping the wagon gate tightly.

“Save me, Ada!” she cried in mock fear.

Elrond began to laugh as he beheld the state of his two children.  Arwen’s hair was wound into dozens of tiny braids, which were then woven together in strange shapes around and over her head and tied off with ribbons of many colors.  His son, on the other hand, was decorated all in blue.  One braid was hanging down over his nose, while others stuck out at odd intervals all around him. Elrond watched as Arwen was dragged down on to the bed in the wagon again, shrieks and giggles following as her brother tormented her with tickles.

Elrond nudged Alagos to a trot, slowing as he drew up next to the wagon.  Arwen had gained, or been allowed to gain, the upper hand and was currently sitting astride her brother as she tickled him along his sides and up under his arms.  Elrohir finally wrapped his arms about her, pulling her against his chest, and blew a sloppy, wet kiss on her cheek. Arwen twisted and squealed one last time, before giving in to the strong arms holding her tightly and relaxing against Elrohir.

“Look, Ada,” said Arwen, sitting up and smoothing her hair upwards.  “Elrohir made a hat out of my hair!”

“And a lovely hat it is,” complimented Elrond.

“Elrohir could make one for you, Ada,” said Arwen slyly.

Glorfindel laughed, and Elrond quickly interrupted before the warrior could encourage such a plan. “I would not be nearly so beautiful as you, my daughter,” he answered, biting his lip so as not to laugh at the complete disarray of hair that was wrapped about Arwen’s head.

“Oh, Ada,” said Arwen, an exasperated sigh escaping her. “You are so silly! This is not beautiful; it is a disaster! We were seeing who could make the worst hair style!” She grinned at Elrohir. “Elrohir definitely won, proving he is very bad with hair!”

“That is why I have to do his hair for him,” Elladan informed them as he rode up. “His braids are always crooked otherwise.”

Arwen giggled as she tugged on Elrohir’s braids, then pulled his hair forward to cover his face. Elrond watched as Elrohir’s fingers snaked up his daughter’s sides, making her squirm and giggle, before he finally shook his head, sending his braids and loose hair flying back over his shoulders.  His son’s smiling face turned to him, then, and Elrond looked into the bright, clear eyes that held no pain. He felt tears prickle at his own eyes, saw the immediate concern in Elrohir’s as he noticed, and smiled reassuringly.  The wagon came to a halt as the party stopped for dinner and rest, and Elrond dismounted to help Arwen and Elrohir from the back.  Arwen blew a sloppy, wet kiss against his cheek, much as Elrohir had done to her, and then slid from his arms to race forward to surprise her mother and grandmother with her new look.  Elrond watched her strike a pose before Celebrían and Galadriel that made all three of them laugh, and then she spun in a circle, bobbing her head and making the ribbons fly. He shook his head and smiled, then turned to Elrohir. Extending his hand to help pull Elrohir from the wagon, he felt the peace and calm about his son as their hands clasped, and he pulled Elrohir into an embrace.

“You look wonderful, Elrohir,” he said, then lifted a braid, “the hair notwithstanding. My heart is filled with joy at seeing you without pain.”

Elrohir laughed as he tossed his crooked and disheveled braids, but hugged his father back. “What caused the healing, Adar?”

Elrond smiled. “I am not entirely sure, Elrohir, but I am grateful regardless.” Elrohir looked at him curiously, but did not push the matter. Elrond waited until Elrohir steadied himself on the crutches Glorfindel handed him, and then watched as his son moved away, his normal grace restored.

“Your sons are not aware that two of the Three are present on this trip,” stated Glorfindel softly.

“They are not,” replied Elrond. “They are not aware of them at all. For now, I prefer they not have this knowledge.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Such knowledge in anyone close to you could lead them to harm.”

Elrond digested that thought carefully, as the remembrance surfaced in his mind of how ages before a Silmaril endangered him and Elros and separated them from their parents. Celebrimbor’s rings had been wrought for good, but Sauron had turned the craft towards an evil end, as the Doom of the Valar had foretold

“The Curse of the Noldor and the Doom of the Valar will exist as long as there are elves in Middle-earth,” said Glorfindel quietly, easily reading Elrond’s thoughts, which the half-elf seldom hid from him.  “I quailed as a child beneath the cutting words of the doomsman of the Valar. I knew my parents were afraid, but they were loyal to Turgon son of Fingolfin, and where he led, they followed.  When Gondolin fell and the King died, and my father and so many of my friends and fellow warriors, those words that were imprinted in my mind played over and over again: slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief. All of our work, all of our care to protect our people, had been for naught. We were cursed, and all we built was cursed.”

Elrond was silent for a long moment as he stood next to this powerful, re-embodied warrior of the first age. Glorfindel had heard the Doom of the Valar spoken, had seen it come to fruition, and yet had returned to the cursed, fading and weary elves of Middle-earth. Elrond thought of why Celebrimbor had made the rings: to aid in understanding, making and healing, and preserving things unstained.  Had his motivations truly been to counter the Curse? Could understanding, making, healing and preserving be turned to evil? Or would these things merely contribute to the final words spoken in their doom, increasing their weariness of life in Middle-earth?  He heard the laughter of his children, and as often happened, felt his weariness evaporate, at least for the moment. Under the curse they might live, but Middle-earth was the only home they knew.

“Yet you came back,” he answered as his thoughts returned to the one at his side.

“I am here,” agreed Glorfindel with a merry laugh.

Elrond turned to meet the bright eyes and joyful face, and thought again about the light of Valinor that shone from Glorfindel like a beacon. That Glorfindel was in Middle-earth was proof enough, should he need such a thing, that while the elves who endured here did grow weary with time, they were not forgotten.

Elladan and Garthon appeared to take their horses, and Elrond and Glorfindel made their way into the camp where Cook’s voice could be heard singing an amusing song he was clearly making up as he went along.  Elrohir, Arwen and their hair were the focus of his verse, and the two were laughing, tears running down their faces, as Celebrían and Galadriel attempted to undo the damage they had done to each other. Elrond could hear Celebrían’s giggles, and even Galadriel’s laughter could be heard on occasion.

Erestor sat apart from them, a smile tugging his lips as he watched them, but his eyes were far away. As Elrond sat down next to his chief advisor, he followed Erestor’s gaze to the bluff beyond them and knew immediately where his thoughts were.

“The land has changed much, but enough natural markers remain to remind us of those days,” said Elrond softly.

“When I learned you had destroyed that band of orcs, I wept with gratitude, knowing they could not harm again.  The next day, though, we came upon the still smoldering remains of another farm. I understood then what the rest of you had learned far earlier about war, how the joy of one victory would fade quickly, because there were so many battles that had to be fought and won to win the war,” replied Erestor. “I grew to dread the thought of coming upon another village or farm, for I feared what I might find.”

The two fell quiet, watching as Elrohir’s and Arwen’s hair was untangled and brushed until the two dark blue-black manes shone in the sun.  They were completely relaxed, their eyes drifted half closed and Elrond smiled as he saw Arwen sway and gently slump against her grandmother as sleep overtook her.  With the pure innocence of childhood, she napped in Galadriel’s arms until gently awakened to have her dinner.

“Erestor,” said Elrohir, when they had finished eating, “will you continue your story?”

Erestor smiled sadly. “I will, although your Adar and Daeradar and Glorfindel may have much to add.” His eyes seemed to unfocus slightly as he remembered the past, and he began, “While already shocked by realizing the war had advanced into Eriador, we finally located Celeborn’s army and learned how dire their circumstance had become…”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Erestor moved silently along the ridge, the shadows of the trees providing cover for his trek along enemy lines.  Sauron’s forces were attempting to reach Ost-in-Edhil by dividing Celeborn’s troops, which were spread between the hills to the south of the city and the bridge on the river to her west.  As a tactical move, Erestor could see the benefit, for Sauron could then surround the two smaller units and drive between them to sack the city. The River Glanduin would be an easy foe for Sauron to defeat once he had Celeborn in hand.

The difference in the size of the armies was terrifying.  How Celeborn had held out this long was a tale that Erestor knew would be told for centuries to come, for the overwhelming odds and his sheer will to hold them off were awe inspiring. Fear twisted his insides, though, as he realized that this appeared to be the final stand. Elrond would need to arrive within just a few days if they were to save the city.

As dusk fell, he watched how the Men in Sauron’s service withdrew from the fighting, returning to the rear of the battle and their encampment, where they would rest for the night.  Ranks of orcs passed them in the opposite direction, taking up position against the weary elves who were forced to battle day and night, weakening their numbers even further.  Quickly diagramming the positions of the city, Eregion’s army and the enemy, Erestor gave his dispatch to Maecheneb, who would cross back over the river and give it to the messenger, who would pass it on to Elrond.

“Be careful, Erestor,” warned Maecheneb.

Erestor clasped forearms with his fellow scout, the familiar warning and the paternal tone not unwelcome.  Although his job as scout was clearly defined, his nature could not easily allow him to watch someone die without attempting to render aid.  His training and Maecheneb’s words were well-ingrained now, though Erestor wondered if he survived this war if he would face consequences for having hardened his heart so much and for so long.

“I want to assess the strength of Celeborn’s army and, if possible, get word to him that reinforcements are to arrive soon.”  He gazed toward the encampment of the elves. With their backs to the blockaded city and the enemy attempting to squeeze through them and encircle them, the ways to reach Celeborn were limited.

“Through the marsh, the Swanfleet they call it, and then up the river,” replied Maecheneb simply as he departed.

Turning to the marsh, Erestor retreated back down the ridge. Even his light step was sucked into the muck that lay beneath the water, and he had to put forth all his effort to maintain the pace he needed to reach Celeborn in time. It took him well into the night to traverse the swamp and river he was forced to use for cover.

The small tent city that was Celeborn’s encampment was quiet, with the warriors who had returned from the front lines of battle sleeping, some in tents and some on bedrolls around the fire.  The entire camp was muddy and damp, and the few elves moving about were gaunt and weary appearing.  Two tents were lit, and Erestor quickly surmised that the larger was for the treatment of the wounded.  He was about to step from the shadows and walk to the smaller, which he had determined held Celeborn, his captains and advisors, when he realized he did not carry any symbol or crest indicating he came in King Gil-galad’s name; he had brought nothing with him but a belt of necessities from his own camp. Deciding that the elves would know he came as an ally, he determined not to rouse the camp and instead slipped quietly between tents to Celeborn’s.

A guard stood at the entrance. Erestor waited patiently as another guard approached him and they spoke in soft voices.  At the moment both were occupied and looking elsewhere, he slipped behind them and entered the tent.

A few cots lined one side of the tent, while tables spread with maps and empty dishes took up much of the rest of the space. He quickly determined which elf was Celeborn, though he had not known him personally while in Lindon, for Celeborn and Galadriel had left with the Noldor jewel-smiths when Erestor was very young. But, if not for his silver hair, Erestor doubted he would have recognized Celeborn at all.

The leader of this army was shirtless, his arm bound to his chest by a bandage that had once been clean, but was now soiled with blood and mud. The glorious silver mane that Erestor did remember was dull and lifeless, braided away from the elf’s face, but with loose strands clinging to his neck and shoulders. He sat on a bench with a map spread out before him, two of his captains at his side.

“They are wise to our strategy of attack,” said one captain wearily. “It will not work again, and we stand to lose some of our best remaining soldiers if we try.”

“It did buy us time, though, as has the rain,” replied the other. “But I fear that I have no more ideas, we have tried them all. We need to send word to those in the city that we cannot hold the enemy back.”

Celeborn lifted his head proudly. “We are not defeated yet.” The green-blue eyes suddenly narrowed, and the silver elf leapt to his feet, drawing his sword with his one good hand as he rushed forward.

Erestor knew he had been spotted as soon as he saw the surprise in Celeborn’s eyes, and he stepped forward into the light. Celeborn’s sword was already in motion as he rushed Erestor, leaving Erestor with no choice but to draw his own.   As he stepped forward he lifted it high before him, intending to deflect Celeborn’s blow, but the reflexes of several ages of battles allowed Celeborn to halt his sword mid-swing as he recognized Erestor as an elf.

“Gil-galad sends you his hopes that you will persevere until aid arrives, and Elrond bids you to stand firm until he can stand with you.  They should cross the Loudwater late tomorrow,” he greeted them.

Erestor would remember forever the look that appeared on the elf’s face as the meaning of the words became clear to him.

“Elrond leads an army here?” gasped Celeborn as his sword fell to his side.

Erestor had barely nodded and replied ‘yes’ when Celeborn demanded, “How many?”

Erestor sighed. “Not enough, but Gil-galad is calling his allies to battle.”

“Will they come?” asked Celeborn, and Erestor noted the hint of fear in the demanding tone.

“I do not know, my lord,” he answered honestly. “But few can refuse King Gil-galad.”

Celeborn nodded, seemingly satisfied, but he swayed on his feet as he turned to walk to his table and one of his captains moved close to his side as he limped back to his seat. Erestor noted how pale Celeborn had become, and saw blood trickling down from under the bandage, and pooling at the band of his trousers.

“Sit,” commanded Celeborn, but his voice was weak.

“I will tell you all I know and listen to all you wish to tell Elrond or Gil-galad while that wound is tended,” said Erestor boldly.

“The healers are tending the seriously wounded,” snapped Celeborn.

Erestor looked apologetically at the captains, both too exhausted to have forced their uncooperative commander to accept aid, before speaking. “Are your captains so poorly trained they cannot tend you?” he snapped back.

Celeborn looked at him in surprise, and Erestor used that to his advantage. “Elrond I am not, but he has taught me some.  Lay down.”

To Erestor’s surprise, Celeborn did.  Erestor cut away the bandages as he spoke, telling Celeborn of Gil-galad’s plans, Elrond’s movements and what he had seen of the enemy’s movements from afar.  He cleaned the wounds and dressed them, then used his own supply of bandages to bind them. Celeborn’s eyes had drifted closed and he had relaxed beneath Erestor’s touch, but as soon as Erestor had finished both speaking and tending him, the elf came immediately alert. He rose and slipped on a tunic and trousers that were less filthy than what he had taken off, and began firing questions and orders off to both his captains and Erestor.

They spent an hour discussing strategy based on when Elrond arrived, for they remained unconvinced that even the two armies combined could defeat Sauron. 

“We must,” said Celeborn, “begin to think that perhaps the best we can hope for is a planned retreat with the remnant of the city.” He paused. “I believe we will win, eventually, but I know it will take intervention of a type I cannot see. We can only plan based on what is known before us, and what is before us is an enemy that we cannot defeat.” He turned to Erestor, his expression grave. “Elrond needs to arrive soon.”

Erestor rose, noting in bemusement that he was finally dry. “I shall return to him with your plans for strategy immediately.”

Celeborn looked at him curiously, then at the entrance to the tent. “How did you get in here?”

Erestor smiled.  “The same way I plan to leave.  May the Valar protect you and Elbereth shine her light to guide your path.  We will return.”

Erestor slipped from the tent, walking silently past the guard who merely saluted him tiredly, and with a sigh of resignation, he waded back into the river and began his return journey.

* * *

Celeborn wiped the blood, sweat and grime from his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic, then turned to see who had managed to retreat successfully from the skirmish they had just been fighting.  He counted the elves and realized only a third of those he had led into the fight had returned with him. An anguished sob caught his attention, and he turned to see an older elf on his knees, holding the body of his son. A flood of emotion ran through Celeborn as he recognized the dead elf as a playmate of his daughter.  Only a few years older than she, they had once fought in the mud.  Pity filled him, as the father in him emerged from where he had ruthlessly suppressed all parts of his being except that of warrior and commander.  Anger at the loss of innocence of these young elves filled him with a rage that made him wish for a platoon of orcs to slaughter.  As despair threatened to overwhelm him, he closed his eyes and forced himself to focus on the war and nothing else.

A shout for aid caught his attention, and the surviving elves of his group ran to help extract their friends from the battle they were losing.  Celeborn gently loosened the elf’s hands from his son’s lifeless body, and pulled him to his feet.  “You are needed,” he said. “Your son will make his way to Mandos’s Halls and Námo is sure to have mercy on one who died so young and valiant.”

Celeborn knew the words were inadequate, but he could not leave the father to grieve, for the enemy would kill him, or worse, torment him. He half lifted the elf and then forced him to accompany them to the next battle.  Celeborn never knew how a family member would react after the death of a loved one; some needed time alone to recover before re-entering the fight.  Some needed to fight to take out their anger. As he watched to assess what this grief stricken father would need, he saw the elf’s eyes light with fire.  Celeborn followed his gaze to where another young elf was engaged in battle: a friend of the elf’s son. 

“He will not die today if I can prevent it,” said the elf with a growl, and he threw himself into the battle.

Celeborn followed, his bloodied sword quickly finding a match, and they fought until the enemy pulled back.  To their right, however, he saw another force approaching, and he called, “Retreat!  Fall back!”

As the elves turned to run, he saw the retreating force in front of him turn back upon them and then another company approaching from the hills to their left, and he realized their lines had been broken and they were being surrounded.  “Retreat!” he yelled again, this time grabbing a young elf by the arm and shoving him to the rear.  “Retreat! Back to the camp!”

He watched as the realization of the situation began to dawn on the elves in his command, and they began to flee for their lives.  Celeborn waited until all were running, before he joined them, but he knew they were defeated.  They would retreat to camp, gather their wounded and take what supplies they could carry, and then flee into the hills where some might hope to survive.  With them gone, Sauron would cross the river and walk into the city.

Elrond had not come in time.

* * *

Elrond led his troops over the wide expanse of land south of the swamps, the sounds of battle growing around him.  They were a day later than he had hoped, for the river crossing north of the Swanfleet had been a disaster and much of his army had been forced to travel below the swamps and cross there.  They had incurred some injuries in the failed crossing when a wagon of supplies had become caught on underwater debris, endangering the horses and the much needed supplies.  They had managed to free the wagon, but two elves had been battered in the process.

He could see the banner of the city flying in the breeze above the City Hall of Ost-in-Edhil, but flames had become visible in the last few hours and now that he was close enough to see the buildings, he realized the city had been breached and was on fire. Despair filled his heart. He had come too late.

Elrond heard a murmur of voices behind him, and he turned to see Erestor striding toward him. The young elf had changed much since Elrond had sent him from Lindon months earlier. His eyes had hardened, he moved with a sense of stealth, light of foot and quick, and he seemed to blend in with his surroundings. As he neared, Elrond held out his hand in greeting, and was surprised when Erestor clasped his arm as any warrior would, then immediately released him and stepped back a pace, quickly distancing himself. Sadness filled him as he realized the extent of the loss of innocence in his young friend.  So many more will become this way, should they survive at all, he thought sadly.

“Celeborn called for a full retreat yesterday morning after enemy reinforcements arrived from the south,” said Erestor numbly. “The camp was abandoned and the elves fled into the hills with as many of the injured as they could carry.  Sauron’s forces burned the camp, while others attacked the city.  They used catapults to send flaming debris over the walls, and they finally broke the gate this morning with a battering ram. I could not see if any who remained in the city escaped by way of the river or back gates.”

Erestor handed Elrond a sketch of his estimations of the size and placement of the enemy troops, and Elrond was stunned as he realized how close Erestor must have been to obtain this information. Indeed, he had to have been behind enemy lines in some cases.

“Enemy troops approach from the South, Men mostly, but there were some of the larger orcs in companies as well,” finished Erestor, his hand shaking as he pointed to a spot on his sketch.

Suddenly, a cry arose from the scene below them.  Enemy voices were raised in a primal yell, and it was directed at them. 

“Our presence has been noted,” said Elrond dryly. “Glorfindel, call the captains together.  We cannot defeat this army, but we can try to extract what elves we can from the city and the hills.”

As the captains gathered, Elrond broke them into companies and gave them their orders. “I will lead the frontal assault east with the Silver Company.  Blue and Gold need to circle around here and stop the advancing troops from the south.  Red will cross north of the Glanduin and approach the back of the city – your function is to help any who live escape the city.  Glorfindel, Companies Blue and Gold will be entering into a tactical position that is fraught with pitfalls.  They must not risk being caught between enemies we drive from the city and the approaching army from the south.  I want you to lead them.”

“No,” answered Glorfindel firmly.

A stunned silence fell over the small group, and Elrond raised his eyes to look the elf straight in the face.  Glorfindel looked upon him calmly and Elrond felt heat rise to his face.  The ensuing battle of wills may not have involved words, but Elrond knew that everyone present knew a struggle was occurring.

“Your captains are well trained and capable,” said Glorfindel finally.

Elrond nodded stiffly and finished his orders, then dismissed the captains to prepare their warriors for battle. He turned his back on Glorfindel then, his anger not yet dissipated, and began to walk away.

“Pride is unbecoming in you, Elrond,” said Glorfindel.

Elrond spun around, words of anger on his lips, but they died there as he looked upon his friend.  He was always unclear how Glorfindel did it, but at certain times the light of Valinor shone brightly from him, more so than was normal, and this was one of those times.

“There is no time for diplomacy, for me to say my words for your ears only. Remember this, Elrond, I do not answer to you in only one matter of my service to you, and that is your safety.  I will be at your back.”

Elrond suddenly laughed.  “Yes, you will, and I am sure before the end I will be glad for it, ungrateful though I may seem now.”

The four companies began moving into position immediately, the Blue and Gold Companies coordinating with Elrond so that they attacked in unison. The element of surprise was part of their strategy, for they needed the enemy fighting on several fronts and the confusion that would cause. The Silver Company remained visible to the enemy, who jeered them and challenged them to fight, and Elrond stood tall before his warriors facing them.

Elrond watched the enemy’s movements calmly, the banners of Gil-galad flapping in the breeze. He purposefully kept the attentions of these troops focused on him, and did not turn his head from them even once. Glorfindel, however, had stepped to the back and was following the movements of the Blue and Gold.

“Now, Elrond,” came Glorfindel’s voice.

Elrond unsheathed and raised his sword, then bellowed, “Forward! In the name of the King! Gil-galad!”  Behind him, his troops roared after him, “Forward! Gil-galad!”

As Elrond led his troops down the small ridge, Sauron’s forces came out to meet them.

* * *

Celeborn heard the bellow of voices and the name of Gil-galad raised, and he quickly sheathed his sword and climbed into the largest of the trees in the copse he and his men had taken refuge in. On the ridge between the river and the city, he saw elves streaming down the hillside as the enemy raced out to meet them. Relief and sorrow both flooded his heart, as he saw hope for his elves if they could join with Elrond’s force, and sorrow, knowing how many of Elrond’s elves would die.   Jumping to the ground, he announced the good news that help had arrived from Lindon, and with new strength, he led his elves back into the battle.

* * *

Elrond’s heart leapt with the excitement of battle as his forces thrust into the line of the enemy with such force that Sauron’s men fell back in retreat.  The river was at their backs, and the limited opening of the city gates meant that most were forced to retreat south.  Elrond smiled as he heard the cries of war as the Blue and Gold Companies welcomed the enemy with their swords and bows drawn.

The fight before the city was intense, yet Elrond was unable to break the defenses enough to make it across the river.  They fought into the night, but their might was soon diminished as casualties increased and word arrived that the Blue and Gold companies had pushed north, killing a great many of their enemy, but now were fleeing west themselves to rejoin Elrond, enemy reinforcements at their backs. Elrond ordered his forces to retreat slightly, then made his way with Glorfindel to meet with the captains.

To Elrond’s surprise, though the Blue and Gold companies had taken heavy casualties as well, they had also added a few elves to their number.

“Celeborn!” said Elrond, and walking forward, he pulled his former mentor into an embrace. “I am sorry; we were too late.”

“Even together we could not have withstood the army Sauron has built,” replied Celeborn grimly. “But I am glad you have come. Now, however, you must decide what here you are willing to fight for. The city is lost.”

“Aye, it is,” agreed Elrond.  “We fight only to retrieve those of your people we can.  Our Red Company is at the back gates of the city as well, helping with the evacuation.”

“My lord, we should move north as quickly as possible,” said the Gold Company captain.  “Scouts report enemy movement to our south, with what appears to be a many fingered tactic to snare us in an iron grip this side of the river.”

Dawn was breaking as Elrond commanded his troops to withdraw from battle and head north. His eyes were drawn unconsciously to the city, and on this morn the banner of Eregion was gone.  To their horror, what was now lashed to the pole was a body of an elf, peppered with orc arrows.

“Celebrimbor,” said Celeborn, and he bowed his head. “Sauron has what he came for.”

“Come!” shouted Glorfindel. “The enemy is nearly upon us! Go! Go north!”

The elves fled north, crossing the river wherever they could and leaving the bridge for the wagons bearing the wounded.  As they fled around the city they found a remnant of the Red Company fighting Sauron’s forces as they attempted to follow those escaping the city. At Glorfindel’s call, they too abandoned the fight and raced north.

Elrond lagged to the rear of the fleeing elves, leaving Celeborn to lead the refugees of the city at the front of the line.  He watched as orcs and Men emerged from the river, and the distance between the groups closed.  With women, children, wounded and supplies, the elves could not flee faster than they were.  Torn, he looked back at the approaching enemies, and drew his sword.  To stop and fight would be a last ditch effort and mean certain death, but it would buy time for the others to find refuge in the mountains. If they kept going, the enemy would overtake them, and the weakest among them would die, along with anyone who attempted to help them.

“To me!” yelled Elrond, lifting his sword high.

He felt a shoulder brush his and saw the familiar golden hair from the corner of his eye, then the swish of air as another blade was drawn.

“To Elrond!” shouted Glorfindel.

When nearly half of their uninjured warriors stood with them, Glorfindel send word for Celeborn to continue with the rest.  Elrond felt tears prickle at his eyes as he heard a father send his warrior son on to protect the refugees, and as the elf fell in behind him he heard him say, “His children are so young. Forgive me; I wanted one last chance for him.”  Elrond reached behind him and clasped the elf’s hand in support.

They did not rush out to meet the enemy, but let the enemy come to them.  Their archers began shooting what arrows they had remaining, but soon they were in hand-to-hand combat. Elrond fought as if he had nothing to lose, and in reality he did not.  Their lives were already forfeit. Flashes of gold told him that Glorfindel still protected his back, but as he swirled to stab at one orc and then another, he heard a grunt of pain. As soon as the fight allowed, he looked and saw that his protector had fallen.  Fighting his way the few feet to where Glorfindel lay sprawled face down in the mud, Elrond stood before him, determined that no further blows would descend nor would any orc desecrate the body while he still drew breath.

His arm wearied and he grew tired, minor wounds sapping his energy, and he soon hardened himself to the cries of those dying around him. He could not spare anyone from pain; he could not stop their deaths.  They had come to die, and die they would.  A blow caught him along the shoulder and a cry escaped him, though he did not drop his sword. He swung his sword again, amazed when the heavy blade met only air for resistance.  He focused eyes blurry with sweat and blood to look beyond the few feet in front of him and realized the enemy had thinned.  Suddenly, he realized the enemy was turning and running in the other direction.

“Elrond!”

Elrond tried to focus on whoever was calling his name, but his vision and hearing had dimmed and he realized he was losing blood quickly. He recognized Erestor’s face as he slumped to the ground and wondered where the scout had been, but then darkness claimed him and he knew no more.

* * *

“Has he awakened?”

Elrond heard the voice asking the question, but his mouth refused to aid him by asking who was sleeping.

“No, but the bleeding has stopped and his color has improved.  Let him sleep, for when he does wake and feel the pain of these wounds he will wish for the oblivion of sleep.”

Elrond attempted to turn his head, but a searing pain shot though his shoulder.  His mind was just coherent enough for him to realize that if he was in such pain, then he was likely the one being talked about. Gratified that at least that meant he did not have to answer, he let his head relax again, and realized it was pressed against someone’s chest when he recognized the familiar beating of a heart. Voices spoke above him.

“How is your head?”

“Throbs. Good thing I have hair to hide what is surely a grotesquely misshapen head. Are they in pursuit?”

“Yes, but we have several leagues on them now. Let me carry him for a while.”

“No,” came the firm answer, and Elrond felt himself shifted as gently as possible, though the movement still sent a piercing pain along his side. “You have proven yourself as the consummate strategist in this fight, Erestor.  My brain is good for little right now, but my muscles can carry Elrond.  Scout ahead and determine our course.”

“The march will be long, but I hope to make the Hollin Ridge by sunup. That will offer us some protection and shield us from watchful eyes,” replied Erestor.  “Drink this first, Glorfindel, then I will go.”

Elrond felt them stop and heard the sounds of Glorfindel drinking something above his head, but a moment later he realized that if Glorfindel was drinking, it meant Glorfindel was also alive. In his excitement, he tried again to move his head, but the searing pain returned. He felt Glorfindel’s hands trying to steady him.

“Elrond, do not try to move,” came the gentle voice of a good friend. When Elrond immediately stilled, Glorfindel continued. “Can you take some water?”

Elrond felt the cool trickle of water on his lips and eagerly accepted the drops cautiously spilled between them. He doubted water had ever tasted as good as it did at that moment. Swallowing was hard, but whoever was pouring the water was using the utmost care, and the drops seemed to slide down his parched throat at just the right flow.

“Thank..you…” he croaked hoarsely.

“Do not talk,” answered Erestor. “I will check on you when you reach camp.”

Elrond slid back into dreams as the steady footsteps carried him to the rhythm of the steady heartbeat at his cheek.

* * *

Elrond opened his eyes, focusing on the shadows of leaves in the tree canopy above him.  It was still dark, although the stars did not seem to be visible, and it took him a few moments to realize it was early morning and the sun, though not yet visible, was just rising beyond the mountains to their east.  Remembering how much it had hurt to turn his head, he tried to move only his eyes, and reached out with one hand to feel around him. Golden hair was barely visible, but the pale light that came from the one the hair belonged to could be none other than Glorfindel. He had not dreamed it, then. Glorfindel was alive.

“I am glad to see you awake.”

Elrond looked up and saw Erestor kneeling next to him, a water bottle in hand.  He carefully lifted Elrond’s head and dribbled the precious drops down his throat. Elrond realized the pain was relieved in his head, though he could feel injuries on other parts of him.  Yet, none of that was important right now.  He was alive, Glorfindel was alive, and he wanted to know what happened.

“King Durin and King Amdir sent their armies out from Moria, and they attacked Sauron from the rear,” explained Erestor. “Sauron was enraged, and he chased them back to Moria, but the dwarves and Lorinand elves made it back inside and shut the doors against him.  Not even Sauron could open those doors, so great was the Dwarven spell placed on them. He cursed them, but could do nothing. He suffered heavy losses in that sneak attack, for he was not expecting resistance from the rear.  His forces pursue us again, but we are leagues ahead.”

Elrond nodded his understanding, then decided to try to force his voice to work.

“Celebrimbor?” he managed, trusting Erestor to understand what he was asking.

Celeborn appeared then, and sat down next to Elrond.   “Some of the refugees are members of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain,” he explained.  “Celebrimbor would not leave the city, and when Sauron’s forces broke through, the Mírdain was initially left untouched. Celebrimbor knew why – he knew that Annatar would come for him himself.  When Sauron came, Celebrimbor withstood him on the steps of the compound, blocking his passage and they exchanged harsh words. Celebrimbor was truly enraged that Annatar had deceived him and betrayed him, and Sauron laughed in his face. He demanded the rings and Celebrimbor refused.  At Sauron’s command, Orcs came and overpowered Celebrimbor, and it was Sauron who led them inside.  He ransacked the workshop, but could not find the rings.  Under torture, Celebrimbor finally told him the location of the Nine.  The elf who witnessed this does not know what became of the Seven, but it was the Three that Sauron most wanted.  Celebrimbor told him they were far from his reach and would always remain so.  Sauron taunted him, asked if he had destroyed them, but Sauron knew Celebrimbor could not destroy the work of his hands any more than Annatar could have.  The torture continued, but Celebrimbor remained silent.  Sauron left for a time, and our source crawled from hiding to aid Celebrimbor.  He was unable to pull Celebrimbor into hiding, but he heard Celebrimbor’s last words before Sauron returned with his orc archers and filled his body with arrows.

Celeborn paused and took a deep breath. “We were not there, Elrond, and so cannot know what the Noldor felt when they heard the Curse and Doom pronounced on them as they marched from Valinor. But Celebrimbor was. He repeated those words,

‘To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever…

. . . And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken.'

‘The curse has followed me, despite my renouncing of the oath, and the Valar will not remove the curse from my head.  We all grow weary of the world, but the three would have slowed that weariness. They would allow us to preserve and protect the land we love, and create beauty that does not decay. The Valar may not renounce our Doom, but the Three were our chance to lessen it, to counter the doom and live here as we wished, to have a little piece of Valinor here in Middle-earth. . .’

“Those were his final words, for Sauron commanded him to plead for his life, but Celebrimbor would not.  He died with his regrets, but what dignity he had he held on to until the end,” finished Celeborn.

“Did Sauron learn where the Three were hidden?” asked Elrond hoarsely.

“He did not learn from Celebrimbor, but he is smart enough to guess where Celebrimbor may have sent them,” said Celeborn with a resigned air.

“My lords,” interrupted one of the captains, his eyes and address encompassing Elrond, Celeborn and Glorfindel, who had listened to Celeborn’s words as well, “Erestor sends word that we must be resume our journey within the hour.”

The three elf-lords nodded their agreement. An hour later, the wounded were loaded into wagons or carried by the uninjured, children were placed atop broad shoulders, and the ragged elves continued their journey northward.

~ ~ ~* * * ~ ~ ~

Soft weeping could be heard as Elrond finished his part of the story, and Elrond drew Arwen into his arms as she ran her hands up and down his arms and chest, as if ensuring he was well. Glorfindel rose and retrieved his small harp from his things, and then sat on the log beside Erestor. He began to sing as he plucked softly at the strings, and silence fell over the camp as the tenor voice rose in harmony with the instrument.  Elrond watched the tension fall from Erestor as he relaxed, and noted the same effect on the others. The music carried them all beyond the riverbanks on which they were camped, floods and memories of war forgotten, as Glorfindel sang of Elvenhome. Word pictures of Valmar, the city of the Valar, were drawn behind closed eyelids, and the beauty and healing of the gardens of Lorien blossomed around them. The white ships of the Teleri at Alqualondë shone in the sunlight, their sails caught in the breeze as sea creatures dove in the waves off their prows.  The beaches of white sand glittered like jewels, and indeed if one looked closely a precious gem was likely to appear. The Pelóri Mountains rose above the shores, Taniquetil marble white and shining brilliantly in the sun.

As Glorfindel’s voice faded, only the natural sounds of their camp could be heard, the trickle of water flowing from a nearby stream and the calls of birds as they sang their appreciation for the golden bird in their midst and the song he had graced them with. Elrond finally opened his eyes, heavy though they were in relaxation.  To his surprise, he saw tear falling silently down Galadriel’s face. Celeborn, who had avoided her most of the day, now sat behind her, and she leaned against his chest, her head lying back on his shoulder, and Elrond suddenly realized that the song had made her long for home. Her inner light shone brightly, however, as if awakened by the scenes that her mind’s eye had never forgotten.

His gaze shifted to Glorfindel then, and he saw that the warrior was also shining more brightly than normal. One hand gently stroked the dark head of the one sitting at his feet, but no tears stained his face.  Instead he appeared proud and joyful and strong, filled with purpose and love.  The comfort of his touch seemed to flow into Erestor, who, though he hid his sorrow well, had been deeply affected by the remembrance of the death and slaughter he had seen in those years.

Glorfindel began another song, as none seemed ready to leave circle of the fire.  Instead, they sat together long into the night.

* * * * *

Many thanks to all who are reading and especially to those who have reviewed and sent me emails wondering where the next chapter is!  This was by far the most difficult chapter to write, but I hope this look at the rings and the events of the War in Eregion were worth waiting for.

A/N: The following passage from Unfinished Tales, The History of Galadriel and Celeborn, form the basis for the war story. (p. 239 of my version).

When news of this reached Gil-galad he sent out a force under Elrond Half-elven; but Elrond had far to go, and Sauron turned north and made at once for Eregion. The scouts and vanguard of Sauron's host were already approaching when Celeborn made a sortie and drove them back; but though he was able to join his force to that of Elrond they could not return to Eregion, for Sauron's host was far greater than theirs, great enough both to hold them off and closely to invest Eregion. At last the attackers broke into Eregion with ruin and devastation, and captured the chief object of Sauron's assault, the House of the Mírdain, where were their smithies and their treasures. Celebrimbor, desperate, himself withstood Sauron on the steps of the great door of the Mírdain; but he was grappled and taken captive, and the House was ransacked. There Sauron took the Nine Rings and other lesser works of the Mírdain; but the Seven and the Three he could not find. Then Celebrimbor was put to torment, and Sauron learned from him where the Seven were bestowed. This Celebrimbor revealed, because neither the Seven nor the Nine did he value as he valued the Three; the Seven and the Nine were made with Sauron's aid, whereas the Three were made by Celebrimbor alone, with a different power and purpose…..

In black anger he turned back to battle; and bearing as a banner Celebrimbor's body hung upon a pole, shot through with Orc-arrows, he turned upon the forces of Elrond. Elrond had gathered such a few of the Elves of Eregion as had escaped, but he had no force to withstand the onset. He would indeed have been overwhelmed had not Sauron host been attacked in the rear; for Durin sent out a force of Dwarves from Khazad-dûm, and with them came Elves of Lórinand led by Amroth. Elrond was able to extricate himself, but he was forced away northwards, and it was at that time [in the year 1697, according to the Tale of Years] that he established a refuge and stronghold at Imladris (Rivendell). Sauron withdrew the pursuit of Elrond and turned upon the Dwarves and the Elves of Lórinand, whom he drove back; but the Gates of Moria were shut, and he could not enter. Ever afterwards Moria had Sauron's hate, and all Orcs were commanded to harry Dwarves whenever they might.