Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 23: The Hidden Valley

Arwen was still subdued the next morning, and she clung to Elrond, eating only when he coaxed her.

“Sweetheart, what is wrong?” he asked.

Tears filled her eyes and she flung her arms about his neck. “You were hurt, Ada, and Glorfindel had to carry you,” she sobbed into his neck.

“Arwen, that was long ago,” he reassured her. “Do you feel my arms around you? Do you feel my heartbeat against your chest?” He felt her nod her head against him. “I am sorry we ended the story when we did,” he apologized. “Glorfindel did carry me again that day, but by that night I could walk some. I was fortunate to have Glorfindel protecting me.”

Arwen pulled away from him, her eyes opening wide. “When Glorfindel goes with Elladan and Elrohir, does he protect them that same way? Would he guard their backs and carry them if they were wounded?”

Elrond smiled. “Yes, Arwen, he would.  And he would protect you and your naneth, too.”

Watching his daughter process this information made Elrond smile, for she had clearly related it to her anger and jealousy many days earlier, when she had been angry with Glorfindel for taking her brothers away from her.  She was seeing Glorfindel in a new way, and Elrond suddenly found he was looking forward to Glorfindel teaching Arwen as he had the twins.

“What happened next, Ada?  Did Erestor find a place for you to go that was safe?” asked Arwen curiously, as she wiped away her tears and brushed her hair back from her face.

“Erestor scouted ahead, finding places for us to hide from the enemy, for we had families and children and wounded who could not move as fast as the warriors, and who could not fight.”

“But where did you go?  Where did you sleep and what did you eat?” persisted Arwen.

Elrond studied her for a moment, deciding how much he would tell her of this time. His daughter had a very sharp mind, but also a very generous and loving heart, and she felt the grief and hurts of others deeply. But she was also a very persistent child, seeking answers to her questions, and he knew if she did not hear from him what happened, she would seek the information elsewhere.   In this and other ways, she had much in common with Elrohir.

“Erestor!” called Arwen as the advisor walked past them, and Elrond grimaced as he realized he had already waited too long. Erestor approached them with a smile that was truly reserved for Arwen and Celebrían, and Elrond rolled his eyes as he recognized the look, for it had appeared on Erestor’s face the first time he had laid eyes on Arwen as a newborn and fallen in love with her. “Please tell me about what happened when you led the army and all the refugees away from Sauron. I was asking Ada, but I just remembered that he was injured and might not know.”

Erestor smiled indulgently, sitting down beside them with his morning meal. “We are near the Swanfleet, and this morning we will cross the bridge at Tharbad and then turn north towards home, following much the same way that we fled back then, only we won’t be hiding and planting ambushes for those following us. We will tell you about it as we go.  But do not fear for your adar: his wound healed quickly and he remembers well all that happened.”

Arwen frowned at him. “Adar was being carried by Glorfindel because he was hurt,” she argued.

Elrond was about to reply, puzzled by her refusal to accept both his and Erestor’s reassurances, when Elrohir gracefully plopped down beside them. Elrond could not help but smile at his son’s acrobatics as he coordinated his crutch and breakfast perfectly.

“I think I understand what concerns Arwen,” announced Elrohir, and he bent over and kissed her as she turned hopeful eyes to him. “We do not remember everything that happened while we were injured. Arwen remembers little before Adar came and I remember even less.”

Suddenly, Elrond understood. With no other experiences but their own to relate to, they thought he would not remember either. “I was not so young as you, sweetheart, nor so injured as Elrohir,” he explained. “I was weak from blood loss and in pain from the injury, but within just a few days I was back to normal.”

“We did worry about Glorfindel, though,” said Erestor seriously, but his eyes were twinkling. “He was not the same after that blow to the head.”

“How so?” rumbled Glorfindel as he towered over Erestor.

Erestor looked up at the warrior calmly.  “Ask again at the end of the day, my friend, if it is not obvious to all.”

Glorfindel snorted, but did not answer, and Elrond met his eyes a moment later. Though they would not speak of it, they did agree: it was Erestor who was not the same again.

* * *

“Naneth, look at the swans!” cried Arwen.

Elrond looked ahead to where Arwen rode with Elladan, but she was no longer seated sedately in front of him.  She was standing on the horse’s back, held securely by her brother’s arm about her waist. Her eyes were wide with amazement as she looked at the large white birds swimming at the edges of the marsh named for them.

“We have had to travel so far west because of the flood that we could not see them until now,” said Elrond to Elrohir, who again rode in front of him. This time, however, Elrohir balanced himself and his cast without aid. “The floods have widened the marshes far beyond their normal borders, but it appears that in the calmer edges even the cygnets can swim safely.”

“They have babies!”

Elrond and Elrohir laughed at Arwen’s squeal of delight as she spotted the family as well.  At that moment, several swans took flight, flying low over them and south to the sea. As they flew over her head Arwen lifted both of her hands to them, as if she could touch them. She was not disappointed, however, for a moment later a long white feather drifted down, settling on to her palm.

They were nearing the city gates of Tharbad, and the bridge that would cross the river that had so thwarted them. The same young guard was on duty this day who had been there when Garthon, Celeborn and Galadriel’s party, and then Erestor and Celebrían’s group had passed through the city.  He allowed them to pass without stopping, his eyes fixed on Galadriel and Celebrían, who rode side by side.  No sooner had they passed him by when he laid eyes upon Arwen, and a star struck smile covered his face.  Elrond watched as Arwen met his eyes and smiled in return.

“He looks awe-struck,” said Elrohir, amused.

“Few mortals have ever seen a child of the Eldar,” Elrond reminded him. “He thinks her to be just out of her toddler years by her size, yet her grace is of one with more than the twelve summers she has lived.”

“Arwen is a beautiful child,” said Elrohir. Then he growled, “I suppose it will take all of us to chase away her suitors as she comes of age.”

Elrond laughed. “We can take guard shifts by her door! I suspect, however, that in the future, much as now, when Arwen makes up her mind about something, there will be little to deter her.”

They crossed the bridge after a short wait while Erestor spoke to the Captain of the guard for the city. Elrond heard murmuring from some of the humans near him, and heard his name mentioned along with other leaders of the Battle of the Last Alliance. He met the eyes of all who looked upon him, and felt compassion stir inside him for these people whose ancestors he had fought with at Dagorlad.  How confusing it must be for them to see elves who were both in their present and part of their past.  He had seen paintings they revered of their leaders of old, and the elves caught in those portraits were as unchanged as the artist’s hand allowed.

They left the south road that led to the southern kingdoms of the Dúnedain, and headed north along the little used trails. Dwarves still used the paths on occasion, as well as men, but only a few bricks of what had been there during the years of Ost-in-Edhil’s existence now remained.  Elrond paused as he reached the top of the ridge, looking down upon the Glanduin River and the ruins of the city.

“It was from this ridge that you led the charge into battle,” said Elrohir softly, and Elrond felt his son’s hand wrap around his own.

“It was,” answered Elrond. Glorfindel and Erestor had stopped beside him, and all three looked down at what had been their battlefield.  For a moment, Elrond could see the battalion of orcs challenging him; hear their cries for blood and death. Flames leapt from the city walls and Celebrimbor’s arrow-riddled body hung from the pole. Forcing the sounds and images from his mind, he nudged Alagos forward.  The rest of the party fell into line behind Elrond, as he naturally assumed the role of leader again. The horse walked slowly at first, then increased to a trot, his tail swishing proudly behind them.  They walked over fields where so many had died, then crossed the bridge over the Glanduin and followed the stone path to where the city gates once stood.

They rode through the town, Celebrían dismounting near the crumbling foundation of the city fountain where she had played as a child. She took Arwen by the hand and led her around the square, telling her of playing with Narusel there and pointing out where her friends’ families had lived. Elrond had never been to the city ruins with Celebrían, and he dismounted and trailed after her, listening as she told their children of her memories. They picked their way past crumbled brick overgrown with brush, and several times Celebrían stopped to consider where she was.

“Our house was here,” she finally called, flashing a smile at Elrond as her parents joined her at what had been their garden entrance.  There was little left of the foundation, but she seemed certain, and Celeborn and Galadriel seemed to agree this was their home.

Elrond listened to their children asking Celebrían questions, Celeborn and Galadriel answering as well, and he was pleased to hear laughter as fond memories were recalled. The only home he had lost that he remembered was Balar, and it was taken by the sea. He had never had a chance to go back to it or see any remnant of the life he had had there.

A larger ruin to the east caught his attention, and he stepped carefully through the permanent debris that hindered his way. The building stood alone, the river to one side and a road leading into the mountains at her back.  A grassy area fairly free of debris lay          before the remnants of an arch and stair.  Elrond knew that he had found the compound of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain.  He climbed carefully up the cracked and crumbling brick stairs, moving with care around the arch that looked like a stiff wind could blow over.  No roof remained, and few walls, but Elrond wandered through what was there.

His thoughts drifted to Vilya, where it hung silent at his side. He placed his hand over the pouch, and directed his thought to the band inside. This is where you were made. Do you sense your creator here? Or the one who would have you, if he could? He felt the light humming vibration of response beneath his fingers as Vilya came to life.  Satisfaction flowed through him as he felt the ring respond to him, only to him.

“Celebrimbor’s workshop was here on the back of the compound.  Some of these blackened stones might be remnants of his forge.”

Elrond stepped around a pillar and walked to where Celeborn was sifting through black stones upon what appeared to be a sort of hearth.  Crumbling a chunk of soot into black dust, Celeborn then let the particles blow off his palm and away from them.  Elrond did not need to hear words to know what his father-in-law was thinking: his wish that the same fire that produced that final soot had also melted the rings made earlier in that same forge.  Yet there was no point in verbalizing what was not and could not be.

They walked without speaking away from the ruins, joining the others near what had been the rear gate of the city.   They mounted again, but Elrond fell slightly behind his family, preferring to watch and listen rather than be part of their discussion.  The love he bore for Celebrían welled up within him as he listened to her, and he could not think of a picture he treasured more than the one before him now.  Their children were asking questions and listening as she told them about what the city had been like, and the younger guards had also drawn close, some having had family there, for they were seeing the city through the eyes of someone who had been young when she lived there and told stories from a perspective they could relate to.  Surrounded by her audience, even if they were on horseback, she was like a much-adored queen holding court.

“Erestor, will we camp tonight where you did that night you fled the city?” called Arwen.

Erestor looked at the position of the sun before answering. “If we move along a little faster, yes,” he replied.

The horses seemed to quicken their pace without instruction, and by early evening they did reach the Hollin Ridge.  As camp was set up, Elrond saw Arwen sit down next to Glorfindel.

“Are you very strong, Glorfindel?” she asked.

A bright smile crossed the warrior’s face.  “I suppose I am,” he answered. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you carried Ada a very long way. I think you must be as strong as a horse,” replied Arwen, her face intent.

“Hmmm…” pondered Glorfindel.  “I suppose that would depend on the horse.” Picking her up, he settled her into his lap, and she leaned back against his chest contentedly. “Now you I could carry for a very long time, because you are as light as a butterfly.”

Arwen giggled. “Glorfindel, you are very silly.”

“I am not silly,” answered Glorfindel.  He lifted her arms so they were straight out from her sides.  “See your wings?  And is a butterfly not beautiful, like you?”

“Did you carry Ada the next day too?” she deftly changed the subject.

Elrond nearly laughed aloud.  This child was persistent! Not only persistent, but she could charm a Balrog, or at least, a Balrog-slayer.

“Adar, she should come with a warning attached,” complained Elladan.  “Did you see how easily she charmed him?”

“That is what he deserves for flirting with her,” replied Galadriel as she joined them.  She smiled at Elladan, and then tugged gently on one of his braids.  “You were just as charming.  It was difficult to refuse you anything as a child, and that has not lessened much since you have become such a fine adult.”

As Galadriel maneuvered Elladan away from them, Elrond was sure his son had just grown another inch. He turned to Celeborn. “The blame for all of this rests entirely with you.”

“How so?” asked Celeborn, the glint in his eye evidence he already knew the answer.

“You married her,” said Elrond, one eyebrow arching as Galadriel looked over her shoulder and flashed him a smile. He pointed at his wife, “bore that one, and mine has simply inherited the trait.”

Celeborn laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.  “Accept it, my son, and your life will remain blissful.”

Everyone had gathered near the fire for evening meal by then, and as cook served them Arwen announced, “Erestor and Glorfindel are going to continue the story!”

“We continued north, not sure where we were fleeing to, but what we were fleeing from was clear, for the enemy pursued us…” began Glorfindel.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Let me walk,” demanded Elrond irritably.

Sighing in frustration, Glorfindel released Elrond’s legs, but kept a firm grip on his shoulders and upper body. Elrond’s feet hit the ground, he grunted in pain, and Glorfindel gritted his teeth as the half-elf struggled to stand.  Slipping his arm lower around Elrond’s waist, Glorfindel helped him to stay upright and eased the pressure he knew he was putting on Elrond’s injured shoulder.  After a few moments, some color returned to Elrond’s face and he bore more of his weight on his own feet.

“Blasted stubborn half-elf,” muttered Glorfindel, as Elrond took a few steps.

“How far behind?” asked Elrond as he tried to turn his head, wincing at the pain.

“Erestor says we have nearly a day’s lead now. Sauron’s troops chased the elves and dwarves back to Moria, but then had to regroup and wait for their supplies to catch up,” replied Glorfindel.  He knew he was repeating things Elrond already knew, but he wasn’t sure how much Elrond remembered. “Celeborn has led one sortie back to take out a small group that was following.”

Elrond’s head jerked up at that. “He is well,” responded Glorfindel. “He is coordinating with Erestor, who has scouts ahead of us and watchers behind us.”

Elrond stopped, his eyes turned north again as he stared into the mountains. “We need to find a place we can make a permanent camp.”

Glorfindel could not help the height to which his eyebrows raised at that statement. “If Ost-in-Edhil could not be held, why do you think any camp we can make can be held?”

Elrond turned slowly to face him. “We cannot go south, for the enemy is there. We cannot return to Lindon, for the enemy is between us and the way west.  There is only so far North we can go before the territory becomes too inhospitable and too dangerous.  The Misty Mountains are a formidable structure to have at our backs, if we can find a niche that makes the back defensible. Tall cliffs to our back, a water source, and something between any enemy and us.  Hidden, it must be hidden.”

Elrond’s voice had faded as he spoke, and at first Glorfindel thought pain and exhaustion were overcoming him.  Instead, Elrond seemed lost in thought, as if he were seeing something the rest of them could not.  “Where is Erestor?”

“Scouting, but he will return this evening. He is not convinced you are well yet,” replied Glorfindel with a smile.

Elrond did not answer, but instead had turned to look south. He took a few steps, still a little wobbly, and Glorfindel moved near to stand at his side. Following Elrond’s gaze, Glorfindel realized immediately what he was looking at.

“We cannot leave the wagons; there are too many wounded,” said Glorfindel as swept one foot over the marks left by the wagon wheels.

Elrond nodded his agreement. “Then we must obliterate our trail, or leave alternate trails as well.” He gazed up at the mountains again. “A rock slide might be helpful.”

“We can do that,” spoke a young voice from behind them.

Glorfindel had heard the child’s approach, and now turned to face the young elf.  He was young, still years from his majority, but Glorfindel had seen the youngster working hard about the camp and on the trail. Behind him were two other children: one female child who looked to be around the same age and a slightly younger male.  They had helped serve food, clean up, tend the injured, fletch arrows, and sharpen blades. They looked at Glorfindel and Elrond in all seriousness, and Glorfindel could see the earnestness of their offer.

“What would you do?” asked Elrond.

The young elf pointed up to the ridge Elrond had been looking at.  “There are many loose rocks on this cliff.  We cleared many out of the way of the wagons this morning, so they are not stable.” He paused, thinking. “With long sticks pushing some of the big rocks, I think much more could fall.  We would be safe if we stood on that lip while we did it. If we were not able to do it, we would find the trail leader to obtain help.”

Elrond smiled at the young elves.  They were clearly quite serious.

“We set traps and ambushes all about the city,” said the elleth shyly. “We are too young to fight, but not too young to help.”

Glorfindel felt his chest tighten and his jaw clench as sorrow flooded over him. Children should never have to be this serious or spend the years of their youth learning such things.  Yet here they were, offering to do whatever they could to help. A sudden memory came to him, long forgotten since his rebirth, of his own father speaking such words about Glorfindel’s youth when he had crossed the grinding ice of the Helcaraxë with the exiled Noldor elves.

“What are your names?” asked Elrond kindly.

“I am Athranen, that is Eirien and her cousin Angren.  I speak for myself, for my parents have gone to the Halls of Mandos.” The young elf thrust his chin out defiantly, but Glorfindel noticed the tremble of his lip. “Eirien’s mother is tending the wounded. She will speak for Eirien and Angren.”

Glorfindel turned his gaze to the youngest of the three, who had remained silent thus far, and was met by sorrow filled eyes.  He reached a hand out and smoothed tussled hair back from the youth’s forehead. “I am sorry, Angren,” he said gently, recognizing that this child also was an orphan.

Angren leaned against Eirien but did not reply; yet he also did not withdraw from Glorfindel’s touch.

“I am Elrond, herald to King Gil-galad, and I accept your service on his behalf,” replied Elrond formally. All three children straightened, and even Angren’s eyes brightened. Elrond looked at Glorfindel for a moment, and Glorfindel nodded slightly. “You will report directly to Lord Glorfindel.  He is the chief captain of this force and will provide you with your orders.  I expect you to obey him.  You must bring your ideas to him, once you have soundly considered them, before implementing them.”

“Aye, Sir,” replied Athranen, bowing slightly. Eirien nodded and bowed too.

“Aye, Sir,” said Angren, but though his words were directed at Elrond, his eyes never left Glorfindel.

Glorfindel smiled again at the children, then motioned for them to wait for him. Taking Elrond by the arm, he maneuvered him to a nearby rock. Elrond sank down on it gratefully. While his body rested, though, his mind was already at work.  Withdrawing a small bound book and a pencil stub, he began sketching something.  Satisfied that Elrond would rest until he was ready to move forward again, Glorfindel turned his attention to the three youngsters.

“Athranen, I think your idea will work.  Find some branches and give it a try,” he encouraged them.

Glorfindel stood with arms crossed, watching the children go to work. He would normally aid such an endeavor, but he wanted to watch them. The three worked quietly together, sparing few words yet seemingly able to know what the others would do.  They used their strengths to their advantage – Angren, being smallest and lightest, climbed up higher on the ridge and directed where Eirien and Athranen should push.  Athranen was the strongest, and he tackled a large rock that would cause a good-sized slide if shifted.  The weight seemed too much for him, however, but just as Glorfindel was about to climb up to help, Athranen changed positions and motioned Eirien to him.  They worked together, and finally Glorfindel saw the large rock break loose and begin its tumble down the hillside.  Smaller rocks joined it, until a small avalanche was in progress.  The three children stood safe on their solid ridge, watching with satisfied smiles as rocks were strewn across the path below.

Then, like small deer, they disappeared beyond the area of the slide and climbed down on the other side, returning to stand in front of Glorfindel. “Well done,” he praised them.  “The three of you work well together.” The beamed under the praise, and Glorfindel let a moment of silence fall as he studied them. “I shall call you the maethor-nêl, for every troop needs a name. Now, continue on ahead and report back to me with any other possible traps, ambushes or roadblock possibilities you see.”

“Aye, captain!” said Angren and Athranen together, while Eirien nodded shyly, and the three ran off.  Glorfindel watched them go, leaving no tracks, but he did hear Angren repeat their name with pride: Warriors Three.

Elrond’s eyes were closed when Glorfindel returned to him. He touched the half-elf gently on the shoulder, using the opportunity to check the wound. Elrond did not react, though, deep in thought.  In the small stitched book before him was a detailed woodland scene, a massive cliff climbing above a small green area that was surrounded by rivers and waterfalls.  It met the requirements that Elrond had listed earlier. If such a position existed, Glorfindel decided, it would be defensible.

“This is where we are going,” said Elrond finally. He stretched his arm, flexing the bandage on his shoulder and back, then shook his head, as if ridding it of unwanted thoughts. He reached for Glorfindel’s arm, using the warrior for balance as he stood. He had sketched a second copy on a small piece of parchment, and this he now handed to Glorfindel. “Give this to Erestor.”

“What, no map?” teased Glorfindel, as he turned the paper over in his hands. When Elrond did not respond, he continued. “Is this an ideal, Elrond, or a vision?”

“I can see it,” replied Elrond, “but we must find it. It is well hidden and will protect us from the enemy. Yet we have need for haste. We must reach it soon or we will be overtaken.”

Glorfindel carefully folded the sketch and slid it into a pocket inside his tunic. “Come. Only the rear watch remains behind us.” Elrond resumed walking, but after nearly a half league he did not object when Glorfindel slipped an arm about his shoulder to help support him.

* * *

Erestor climbed as high into the tree as the branches had strength to hold him and foliage to conceal him.  Their camp lay below him, silent and dark. Despite his exhaustion, Elrond had worked for hours to provide relief to the wounded, easing their pain and helping them to sleep through the long watch of the night.  Now he slept, his own guardian keeping watch over him. Glorfindel keeps watch over more than just Elrond this night, though, he thought. 

As the camp had bedded down, a child had appeared in the shadows near where Elrond and Glorfindel had laid their bedrolls. He sat on his heels, waiting, until the two had returned and settled in for the night. Erestor was completing his own reconnaissance of the camp in preparation for the next day, his eye straying often to the elfling as he sat in the undergrowth. Glorfindel had been immediately aware of the child’s presence, Erestor knew.  The warrior had finally looked right at the elfling, then motioned for him to come sit at his side.  The child had come forward willingly, sitting down a few feet from the warrior, and he had looked at Glorfindel out of dark brown eyes so full of sorrow that Erestor had to look away. He had never seen that look prior to this war; now he feared it was the only look he would ever see again.

He had seen too many people die.  Children killed before their parents; parents forced to watch their children slaughtered before them.  He had learned that in grief, humans and elves looked alike. Their eyes carried the same sorrow. He supposed the same horrors filled their memories.

Glorfindel had offered the child a drink, and while few words had been spoken, the child had gradually closed the distance between them, finally drifting into sleep with his head resting against Glorfindel’s side.  Eirien’s mother came in search of her nephew, but she had not taken the child, instead returning with his blanket. Not long after, the older child, Athranen, had also materialized out of the night, silently lying down on his blanket next to his friend.  He lay stiffly until the same strong hand that had stroked the hair back from Angren’s face reached to him, and the soothing touch of that fatherly hand sent him into sleep as well.

Erestor had watched Eirien’s mother return to the wounded, where she would take what rest she could find between serving their needs.  Her eyes were lifeless; the only thing keeping her in this world was the love she bore for her daughter.  Her husband and son were dead and while the physical wounds she had earned in her own brave fight to help her daughter escape the city were healing, Erestor did not know if her fëa could be healed.

And so he had sought escape in the trees, alone with his thoughts.  While scouting and planning their route were his responsibility and this spot was a perfect lookout, he did not lie to himself.  He had to escape, for he could not bear to see the pain in the eyes of the children, and the tenderness Glorfindel was still able to display broke his heart. 

Erestor sat lost in thought until the early morning hours, when a call from one of his watchers caught his attention. He slid to the ground, his mind pulled from its melancholic thoughts as his body leapt into action.  Sounding the call of the preset signal that would notify the guards on duty to rouse the camp, he watched as movement began almost immediately.

“A party of orcs is approaching from the south,” whispered one of the rear watchers as Erestor approached.  “Several hundred.” Erestor nodded, then went in search of Elrond.

He noticed the children at work already, Angren yawning as he loaded bedrolls into a supply wagon, while Athranen began the work of eliminating any sign that anyone had camped there. In a matter of minutes, the caravan was moving.

“Erestor, you must head north,” said Elrond. “We must find that location soon.”

Erestor fingered the drawing in his pocket, then nodded.  “I will find it,” he promised. “I may not be back for several days.”

Elrond clasped his arm. “May Elbereth light your path and guide your steps.”

Erestor looked back only once, while seemingly adjusting a strap on his pack. Celeborn had gathered a small band of warriors about him, the group he would lead south to intercept the enemy.  Elrond would lead the warriors who protected the rear of the party.  Picturing the sketch he had memorized in his mind’s eye, he knew that although he was the least likely to see battle and commanded the smallest party, the success of his mission would likely determine whether they would survive the war.

* * *

Glorfindel paused under a copse of trees, hidden in the canopy of leaves. Celeborn’s patrol had been driven north, outnumbered by the orcs following them, but now as the sun rose, the battle shifted to their favor as the orcs were forced to seek shelter in the darkness of the cliffs. Glorfindel had sent the warriors who were guarding the caravan ahead, and as he watched the orcs breaking off, he waited for Celeborn to call his elves off too and continue the march north.  Each life was too precious to waste even one in unnecessary combat.  He finally heard the call, and the elves abandoned their chase of the orcs.

They ran through the increasingly rough terrain, the high ridges and low valleys, and soon caught up with the main part of the caravan.  The wagons were having an increasingly difficult time getting through the narrow passes and crossing the small but fast flowing streams that flowed down from the mountains.  Checking carefully for signs of any trail, Glorfindel was pleased with the work the three youngsters were doing.  He found he had to look very carefully in places to see evidence of where the group had passed.  Orcs would be less careful, tramping over what little evidence did exist.

The caravan was stopped at the edge of a deep ravine that could not be seen until one was upon it.  The climb down would be dangerous on foot or horseback, and impossible by wagon.  Glorfindel walked to where Elrond was speaking to one of Erestor’s scouts.

“Erestor has left us directions to go east into the mountains, where the ravine narrows and we may cross by building a bridge,” said Elrond.

Glorfindel stepped to the edge of the ravine, a slow smile spreading over his face as he considered how easily one might fall over the edge if not careful.  He saw a mane of silver hair out of the corner of his eye.  “Do you have any fleet footed warriors who can run a rope bridge?” he asked.

Celeborn grinned.  “I do. Myself, among others.  We need to get at least one person across with some rope.”

“We need to see what will take longer – building a bridge or traversing the ravine,” replied Glorfindel.  He felt good suddenly, glad for an opportunity to take offensive action and hurt their enemy sufficiently to give the caravan time to get ahead.

A group of warriors were leading the caravan, and within an hour they found the narrowing of the ravine that Erestor had marked on the map.  Mountain ridges came in at several angles around it, and water flowed off the sides of the cliffs in waterfalls.  The edge of the ravine was muddy and slippery from the water that flowed gently from the higher cliffs and into the deep chasm. The gap in the earth they had to cross was perhaps twelve feet.  Celeborn immediately went in search of grasses that could be mixed with the mud for traction.  As Elrond was giving orders to fell trees tall enough to span the opening, Glorfindel and Celeborn plotted their own tactics.  As Celeborn tramped the grass into the mud and tested his ability to jump from it, Glorfindel located several hundred feet of rope. 

Glorfindel motioned everyone back from the edge of the ravine, and grinned as Celeborn took a running leap, easily clearing the ravine and landing lightly on the other side.  Glorfindel threw the rope across, which Celeborn hung over his shoulder.  With a wave, he headed west again, to the spot they had selected to ambush the orcs. Glorfindel watched as several other warriors jumped over the ravine as well. They set up a rope pulley and began bringing supplies over.  A tug on his sleeve caught his attention, and he turned to see Athranen looking at him. The youth pointed up on one of the cliffs to where Eirien and Angren waited.

“We have an idea,” he said softly.

Content he was not needed elsewhere, Glorfindel nodded and followed the youth.  He climbed the steep cliff easily, noting that the children managed it also without loosening any rocks or disturbing any vegetation.  They began to trot ahead, eager to show him what they had found.  Following the trickling water, they came finally to a heavily wooded area and ducked beneath low hanging tree branches.  Glorfindel followed, emerging finally on the edge of a deep pool.

“A beaver’s dam,” said Athranen.

Glorfindel knew immediately what they planned, and began stripping off his outer clothing.  The three children followed him into the water, and the four began carefully probing along the dam.  “There are several weak spots,” said Glorfindel.  They have only recently completed this.  Look how much thicker the dam is on that side – they have been working here for some time.”

“And the trees on the banks are in the water,” agreed Athranen as he paddled back to the edge of the pool. 

After finishing the inspection, Glorfindel climbed out of the pool, grabbing his clothing and leading the way out of the tree canopy and into the sun.  As the children gathered around him, he said, “Your idea is a fine one, and you have done well finding this spot.  No action must be taken until our people are safely across, for the flow of water will prevent others from making the crossing.”

“Then who will break the dam?” asked Athranen, crushed.

“We have warriors preparing a rope bridge further down the ravine. They will break the dam and then cross on the rope bridge,” explained Glorfindel.  He saw the glint in Athranen’s eyes, and dashed his hopes by adding, “No, you three must cross on the log bridge when it is ready.  Your bravery is not in question, my maethor-nêl. But I would not have you racing on a rope over a deep ravine with orc arrows falling about you.”

They dressed in the warm sun, their bodies and under clothing drying quickly. As they rejoined the elves working on the bridge and the transport of goods across the ravine, Glorfindel noted that the bridge was nearly complete.  Eight logs of approximately the same diameter had been cut and trimmed of their branches, and were being lashed together. Smaller logs had been attached crosswise for support on both top and bottom. They would lower this over the gap, secure it on both sides with ropes tied to thick pins pounded into the side of the end logs, and then begin carefully leading the horses and wagons across.  The three children were already helping prepare for the crossing, so Glorfindel ran back along the edge of the ravine to check on Celeborn’s progress.

He found the rope bridge already in place, and watched in amusement as Celeborn and two of his warriors ran lightly back and forth across it.  Celeborn caught sight of him and stopped about twenty feet from the edge.  “Care to try it, Glorfindel?” he called.

Glorfindel shook his head, laughing.  “I would not get in the way of your fun!” he called back.

Ignoring the mildly insulting remark questioning his gracefulness, Glorfindel instead walked south. It was mid-afternoon, and the orcs would be moving by dusk. Climbing up on to a rock outcropping allowing him an unobstructed view of the lands to the south, he saw movement in the already dark shadows along the west side of the mountains. They were still two to three leagues away.  Glorfindel warbled the look-out call, then waited to hear what the rear watch reported.  Several moments later, a warning was sounded.  Those Glorfindel saw were not elves; they were orcs and they had left their hiding places after only a short rest when they found adequate shadow to travel in.

Glorfindel leapt down from the rocks and raced back to the narrows while Celeborn and his warriors began preparing their ambush, ensuring an adequate trail led the orcs to where they wished them to be.  The ravine trick might be less successful in light than dark, but there was not time to make another plan. As Glorfindel neared the narrows, he knew that the elves working on the log bridge had heard the warning, and though there were no outward signs of fear, their pace had increased.

Glorfindel lent his strength to the lowering of the lashed together logs over the ravine. The make-shift bridge  landed lightly on the opposite side, and the warriors had it secured a moment later.  The fearless warriors who had led the construction walked carefully across it, testing it for sturdiness.  Satisfied, they motioned for the crossing to begin. 

The wagons were nearly empty and already detached from their horses.  Elves pulled the wagons across one by one, then began leading the horses.  The wounded were carried across on canvass stretchers or in the arms of their family and friends.   Calls signaling the progress of the enemy occurred at frequent intervals, and Glorfindel found his senses heightened when he realized they were but a mile away.  The elves had been crossing quickly and efficiently for several hours and he estimated they needed much of the time remaining before the enemy arrived to finish crossing.  Glorfindel heard the tramping of orcs as they approached the narrows.  Not all had followed the easy path, for it was in the sunlight, but had instead stayed in the shadows.  They would be able to cross the ravine by jumping or building their own bridge.

Knowing there was little they could do except send the caravan forward and stay behind to try to kill the orcs as they jumped over, Glorfindel waited, his heart pounding, as the orcs closed in on them while the elves hastened across the bridge.  He thought briefly of the beaver’s dam, but the orcs were so close that by the time all had safely crossed, the enemy would be upon them and all warriors would be needed to fight. A black feathered arrow sailed past him, bouncing on the rock and then falling into the ravine.  He ducked down behind some rocks, and motioned for the elves on the other side to flip the bridge into the ravine.  The remaining guard would have to jump.

“Scout,” hissed the elf as another arrow flew over their heads, landing harmlessly on the stones beyond them. “The others are close behind.”

They heard a grunt and cry, and then the arrows stopped.  Glorfindel looked at his companions in surprise, for none of them had released an arrow yet.  Creeping around the rocks, Glorfindel climbed further up the cliff near the seeping water. To his shock, Angren stood before him, mostly hidden in the canopy of trees. He ran toward him.

Fists clenched at his sides, he had to restrain himself from shaking the child.  Instead he pulled him deeper into the safety of the trees, then knelt beside him.  To his surprise, Angren’s eyes held no fear.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, forcing control into his voice.

Angren merely shook his head and pulled Glorfindel to the pool.  There he found Eirien and Athranen.  Athranen was standing atop the beaver dam, breaking it apart with an axe. Eirien stood guard with her bow drawn and an arrow nocked. She spared Glorfindel only a glance, then returned to scanning the area around the lake for danger.

Even as Glorfindel knew that he should order all three children from the area, he found the idea of obstructing the orcs path appealing.  He warbled a call to the other warriors, and they responded that they would be moving to guard him and the children.  Glorfindel plunged into the water, climbing up on the dam and quickly assessing the young elf’s progress.

“Good work,” he praised him.  Athranen had done major damage to the structure of that part of the dam. He held his hand out for the axe, and Athranen gave it to him.

“Eirien and I have been taking turns, but she is better on watch and I am stronger on the axe,” he admitted. 

Glorfindel took a mighty swing with the axe, bashing a large section of the dam free.  He had to jump to the side as water began flowing through the break.  Behind him Athranen and Angren had climbed back to land.  Glorindel stopped at the area where Angren had been sawing at the branches with one of the large saws that had been used to cut the logs.  Glorfindel put all of his strength behind another blow to the dam, and then jumped free as the structure gave way.  Water poured through the opening, the force tearing larger and larger sections from the dam.  But, as exciting as it was to watch, Glorfindel knew they had to leave before the orcs arrived in force.

“Come!” he called softly.  As Eirien joined them, he slid an arm about her shoulders and asked, “Did you kill that orc?”

She ducked her head, but he could see the curve of her lip and knew she was smiling. “I do not know if I killed him, but I did hit him and he quit shooting arrows at us.”

He squeezed her shoulder and then released her.  The two warriors he had left on guard were motioning to them, and they ran to join them. 

“Look,” said one, pointing back to the cliff.

Water was pouring in torrents off the cliff, loosening dirt and rock and debris and making the narrowed area impassable. “Mission accomplished,” said Glorfindel. “However, now we must all take the rope bridge. Come!”

They raced over the rocky terrain, arriving breathless near where Celeborn waited in ambush.   He waved them across, looking dubiously at Glorfindel as he did so.  Glorfindel quickly grabbed extra lengths of rope and threw them to each child.  They tied an end securely around their middles, and Glorfindel checked the knots.  “Have you crossed on a rope bridge?”

Athranen and Angren nodded, but Eirien said, “Not one that long.  None of us.”

Athranen went first, one of the rear guards following him with the rope in hand.  Eirien followed, moving so lightly and surely that Glorfindel was sure she was born to it.  A second warrior followed her.  Angren hesitated for a moment, and Glorfindel gripped the rope about his waist in hand. “I can carry you, but if you walk I promise not to let you fall.”

Angren nodded and began to walk.  He had gone only a few steps when Celeborn sounded a call to hurry.  Without thinking, Glorfindel tugged on the rope, pulling Angren off his feet and into his arms.  Holding the elfling in his arms, he dashed across the bridge.  Once across he continued to run, until they had caught up with the others over a small hill and out of sight of the enemy.

“I am sorry, Angren,” he apologized to the white-faced child.  “The enemy was approaching.” He released his hold on the child and tried to set him down, but to his surprise, Angren flung both arms about his neck and hung on tightly.

Glorfindel wrapped his arms around the child, comforting him, even as he gestured to the others to move.  “We must catch up.”

They had walked through the evening and past sunfall, following the course Glorfindel had determined the caravan was following.  They were spread out over several miles now, and while it appeared the orcs had been stopped, Glorfindel knew it was temporary.  He kept them moving at a swift pace, slowing only when he noticed Eirien beginning to fall behind.  None of the children had spoken, instead concentrating only on keeping moving.  They were tired, though.  Too many nights of too little sleep were beginning to take their toll on still growing bodies.

Glorfindel heard Celeborn approaching from behind, and halted.  Celeborn’s group had been running to catch up but stopped now to tend to the injury of one warrior. 

“Did it work?” asked Athranen eagerly.

Celeborn ruffled his hair affectionately. “Yes, it did.  A good number of orcs followed and are now resting at the bottom of the ravine.  They will need to go down through the ravine to follow us, or spend time searching for another way across, as I understand you flooded the narrows.”

“They will be able to cross there in a day or two,” said Athranen evenly.  “We only bought time.”

“A day or two is a worthy reward. Although,” and Celeborn’s voice became stern, “the last I heard you did not have permission to do it.”

“Not exactly, Sir,” answered Athranen, his eyes now focused on the ground. “Lord Elrond said he wished it could be done, but there was not time and he could not spare warriors to do it. Glorfindel was not there to ask.”

Glorfindel knew his eyebrow had nearly risen off his forehead, and Athranen knew it as well.  The youngster’s shoulders slumped dejectedly, and he waited for judgment to fall upon him. Glorfindel let the silence settle around them as he contemplated what he wished to say. A muffled sob caught his attention, and even in the dark he could see tears streaming down Eirien’s face.

At that moment, Glorfindel knew that if ever he had a daughter, she would have him hopelessly wound around her finger.  In her tears, he saw fear and exhaustion and hopelessness.  They were children; they had disobeyed. What they had done was dangerous, yet also courageous.  They needed to be safe and to sleep and to be loved, not lectured. At least not now, the warrior in him amended.  If the orcs were held off, they would have time to learn all he wished to teach them.

Glorfindel knelt down, Angren asleep in one arm, and with the other he pulled Eirien to him. She collapsed against him, and held on to him as Angren had done, as if he were a lifeline.  Now looking up at Athranen, Glorfindel waited patiently until Athranen returned his gaze.  “Novice warriors make mistakes.  We will work on following orders and making command decisions in combat after we have had opportunity to rest and eat and debrief on this mission.”

Athranen’s lower lip trembled and he blinked hard several times, and Glorfindel knew the young elf was also at the end of his endurance.  It was Celeborn, though, who embraced the youngling, and Athranen relaxed. Glorfindel heard Celeborn whisper in Athranen’s ear, “Your father would be proud of you, young one.  You will be as fine a warrior as he was.”

Celeborn released him, then plucked Eirien from Glorfindel’s arms.  “I will carry you, princess. I used to carry my Celebrían this way, did you know that?” Eirien nodded against his shoulder. She did remember the Lord’s silver haired daughter. She nodded off as Celeborn resumed their journey.

Glorfindel shifted Angren in his arms, wrapped an arm about Athranen, squeezing his shoulders for a moment, and then they too resumed walking.  The caravan had kept moving, as ordered, for they feared the orcs would be right on their heels.  They caught up past the midnight hour, finding them in a very hidden vale that Glorfindel suspected they too would have missed if not for the signals that guided them. As they entered the camp, Eirien’s mother gave a soft cry and dashed forward. Taking her exhausted, sleeping daughter from Celeborn, she slid to the ground, rocking the child as shuddering sobs racked her body. Celeborn sat next to her, silent.

Athranen stumbled over a rock as weariness finally overcame him. Elrond guided him to a bedroll made ready, and pulled off his boots and covered him with a blanket as the elfling fell into deep, exhausted sleep.  Glorfindel laid Angren next to him. He turned once to look at Eirien’ mother, and Celeborn, who now held her hand in his own.

“She was frantic when she realized Eirien and Angren had not crossed the bridge. It is the most emotion anyone has seen out of her since the city fell. She had been holding on to life by only a tenuous thread, and now she has awakened.  She had distanced herself emotionally even from her daughter. Perhaps now she will choose to live again, for Eirien’s sake, but also for her own,” explained Elrond.

Glorfindel studied his charge thoughtfully. Círdan had told him many years before that Elrond was a thoughtful and compassionate elf, seeing the troubles of others and caring about them.  He knew without asking that Elrond had comforted the mother, had spoken to her and helped her see what she needed to see.

“Much good has come of their disobedience,” he said finally.  “The dam was broken and the narrows will be impassable for at least a day or two.”

“I am sure you will gently but firmly whip them into shape,” laughed Elrond. 

* * *

Erestor stood on the expanse of grass staring straight up what looked to be a sheer wall of rock. He knew it was not sheer, for he had explored it, finding a steep winding path that led up the mountain side, branching into many passes and trails. Turning he looked at the rivers and waterfalls that protected the sides of the lawn, and then out and up at the winding and dangerous path he had taken to reach this spot. He still did not know what had prompted him to come this way.  The landscape was very misleading, for it looked like gentle slopes and rolling hills, yet there were deep gorges and valleys and rifts that could not be seen from a distance. He had nearly fallen down a path that he had not seen for he had been looking elsewhere, but decided to see what lay in that valley.   The path was steep and dangerous, requiring a sound foot.  He had nearly turned back once but felt a prompting to continue.  When he had come to the final river, crossed only with difficulty, and climbed the steep bank, he had emerged on this grassy land and felt as if his breath had been stolen away.  He had pulled Elrond’s sketch from his pocket, amazed, for one would have thought that Elrond had stood in the same place Erestor now did to draw what he saw before him.

Clearly the Valar had directed their paths. 

Erestor stopped at the river, collecting as many white stones as he could carry in his pockets and pack.  These he used to mark the trail at points where it twisted and turned and led in other directions that could easily lead them astray.  Then, with light feet, he returned to find the caravan.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“You found it!” exclaimed Arwen, throwing her arms around Erestor’s neck and hugging him in her excitement.

“I was as surprised as you are,” laughed Erestor.  “Getting everyone there was no easy task, though.”

Elrond was watching each of his children, enjoying their reactions to the story they had just heard.   Elladan’s eyes were fixed on Athranen.  Many a glance had been cast in the direction of the elf from the time the three children had been introduced into the story, for nearly everyone present knew them.  Athranen was a captain of Imladris and Eirien his wife. Their son was a little older than the twins. Angren was not present; he was the captain in charge of Imladris in the absence of Glorfindel and Athranen. Elladan was seeing his captains in a new light.

Elrohir was watching Glorfindel and Erestor. He finally sat up from where he had been reclined against his grandfather. “Erestor, why do you think Glorfindel was different after the blow to his head?”

Erestor smiled. “Ask him. He was to ask if he could not figure it out.”

Elrohir turned to Glorfindel, who now had Arwen hanging over his shoulder. He was whispering in her ear and making her giggle, while ignoring those talking about him.  A smiled crossed Elrohir’s face.  “I think you are right, Erestor, but I do not think it had much to do with the blow to the head.”

Elrond thought of how those two orphaned elves had attached themselves to Glorfindel during their escape, and how he had mentored them into adult hood, standing with them as they came of age, became warriors, and married. As Imladris settled and children were born, it was to the giant golden haired warrior they flocked; him they wished to hear sing; him the young males emulated and from whom the young females learned how they should be treated by a courtly elf. 

“Ada, how did you get into the hidden valley?” asked Arwen.

Elrond shook his head.  “That is not a tale worth telling.  Suffice it to say that we got very wet at times, had to use pulleys to get supplies across the rivers, and take the wagons apart and carry the pieces over and rebuild them.  By winter we had built a structure big enough for all of us to sleep and eat, and gathered enough food to last until spring came. It was hard work, but each night we sang and danced under the stars, for we were also very thankful.”

“Adar,” said Elladan after silence had descended.  “You and Naneth fought in wars when you were very young; Athranen, Angren and Eirien were still children and look at all they did.  I am older than all of you were at that time and have never had to fight any danger or live through any hardship.”

Athranen stood up from where he had been sitting with his young warriors, who clearly felt much as Elladan did.  “I count you blessed, then, and think none the less of you because you have not had opportunity to show your honor in that way. Yet I rejoice too, for every battle we have fought has not been in vain if our children grow up in peace.”

“Evil ever returns, Elladan.  I know you wish for excitement and danger. Once they have found you, you will hope for peace. You will do your part when the time comes, and I know you will fight with honor. Yet, I do not wish that day to come any time soon” replied Elrond sadly.

“Actually,” said Celeborn as he pulled Elrohir back against him, propping his cast up with his own leg, “I think we have all had enough danger and excitement to last for a while.”

* * * *

A/N: The description of the approach to Imladris is taken from the chapter A Short Rest in The Hobbit.

The idea for adding the children comes from a story I read about the French Calvary School in Lys, France.  When Belgium surrendered in 1940 and the Germans invaded France near the coastal city of Dunkirk, 500 cadets – sixteen and seventeen year olds – held the German army back for two days, fighting with the arrogance and innocence of youth. The school was to be evacuated, but the cadets did not wish to leave, but to stay and fight for the honor of France.  There are many stories of the courage and honor of children in tragedy and war, showing the resiliency of youth.  Perhaps they don’t know that what they do is ‘impossible,’ so they do it anyway. As is also true, ‘families’ are often created out of shared circumstances.  Imladris seemed that way – a ‘house’ formed out of the remnants of Eregion and Elrond’s command.  Those two orphans were adopted into and became important pillars of the house.