Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 2: Leaving Imladris

Elladan walked into his father’s study and flopped unceremoniously into a chair before the desk. Elrond looked up, his quill suspended in mid-air, as he waited for his son to speak.

“Adar, now she acts as if she does not care that we are leaving,” said Elladan, exasperated. “We leave in two days, so I asked if she wished to pick out a song to sing at the fall festival.”

Elrond waited patiently for a moment, then finally asked, “And?”

“She picked out a song with me, and then said she was going to play with Liriel.”

Elrond laughed at the expression on his son’s face.  “Is this not what we hoped for, Elladan?  That she would play with other children near her age?”

Elladan released a startled breath of air as he stretched his long legs out in front of him and stared at his father. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.

“It is a confusing emotion, is it not?” said Elrond gently. “We all like to be loved and missed and adored, and it is difficult to reconcile that feeling with the pride we feel for a child who takes a step towards independence.”

Elladan smiled sheepishly at his father. “It is true, Adar.  I want her to miss me terribly but I do not want her to be miserable while I am gone.”

“Let her find her way,” advised Elrond. “She may suddenly change her mind and tomorrow you will be trying to disentangle yourself from her.”

Elladan laughed and stood, and was not surprised when his father came from around the desk to walk him to the door.  He felt the comforting weight of his father’s arm across his back followed by a firm squeeze to his shoulder.

“I promise your naneth and I will love, miss and adore you while you are gone,” teased Elrond.

Elladan glanced sideways at this father, noting the teasing tone to the voice, and the utter sincerity in his eyes.

“Thank you, Adar,” he replied, then hugged his father before returning to the planning and packing.

* * *

Elrohir followed the sounds of bickering into the stables where Erestor was attempting to pack the wagon of goods they were taking to Círdan.  He pursed his lips in an attempt not to laugh and give away his presence, for this scene was one he had enjoyed since he was just an elfling.

“Do they not have berries in Lindon?” asked Glorfindel as he pulled a jar of preserves from the box that Erestor had just carefully packed, scattering the wrapping.

“Not blackberries,” replied Erestor tersely as he grabbed the jar from Glorfindel’s hand and replaced its packing in the box.  “Leave it!” he scolded, slapping the long fingers that were already reaching for a second jar.

Glorfindel leapt nimbly into the wagon, perching on the side.  He pulled the packing loose from a statue and peeked inside to see it.

“Glorfindel!  Go away!  Are you ready to go? Do you not have something to do?” Erestor finally pushed Glorfindel off the wagon as the warrior continued to prod the contents.

“I need to know what I am transporting,” protested Glorfindel as he landed lightly on his feet. 

“I will send with you an itemized list with the location of each item in the wagon!” snapped Erestor.

“That would be lovely,” agreed Glorfindel. “But I should be able to tell Círdan about each item, and for me to provide a proper description and history for each gift I need to see it first.”

Erestor turned on his heel slightly, looking in Elrohir’s direction.  “Elrohir, come and escort Glorfindel from the stable.”

Elrohir walked into the space where they were working, laughter finally pouring from him.  “You wish me to make Glorfindel do something?” he asked incredulously.

Erestor walked to Elrohir and placed his hands on the young elf’s shoulders.  “Elrohir, you are an adult now and I am very proud of how you have taken on the responsibilities of an adult elf.  This shall be one of your greatest challenges, but I have faith you can do it.”

Elrohir ducked under Erestor’s arms and quickly placed the item his mother had asked him to pack on the back of the wagon.  “Naneth says this is breakable and to pack it carefully,” he said as he nimbly sidestepped both elves and raced for the door. He was back in the sunshine when he heard a crash from the barn and then Erestor’s voice raised in frustration.

“Does ‘breakable’ mean something else in your world?”

Elrohir laughed merrily as he went to find his twin.

* * *

Arwen sat on her bed brushing her hair, carefully stroking through the dark tresses until they gleamed.  She had played with Liriel at the waterfall nearly all day, and it had, as Nana suggested, taken her mind off her brothers. Still, when she had gone to the barn to visit the kittens, she found herself saddened at seeing the packed wagon.  She had climbed up on the wheel and looked under the loose tarp at all the things that were being taken to the Havens and wished she were one of them.  Her hair brushed, she slipped out of her dress and pulled her nightgown over her head.

When she had left the dining room, Glorfindel and her brothers were going over the map and their plans for the trip.  They were leaving in the morning. It was a long way to the Havens, but a fairly straight road.  Arwen sighed and crawled into bed, hugging her doll tight.

Not much time had gone by and she was not asleep when she heard the soft knock at her door, and then Elladan poked his head in.

“Arwen, are you awake?” he called softly.

“I am still awake,” Arwen answered quickly.

Elladan and Elrohir came into the room, and Elladan picked her up and then sat down with her in his lap, while Elrohir flopped across the end of her bed.

“Naneth said that Daeradar and Daernaneth will probably arrive by the summer solstice,” Elladan informed her.

Arwen sat up in surprise.  “I am so glad!” she cried.

Elladan squeezed her tight.  “I knew you would be.”

“We will miss you, Arwen,” said Elrohir seriously.  “Promise you will not forget us while we are gone?”

Arwen bit her lip, but it failed to hold back her tears.  She leaned forward and put her arms around Elrohir’s neck and whispered, “I promise I will remember you.”

Elrohir stroked her hair, and then Elladan stood and they set her back on her bed.  Elrohir pulled the covers up over her and Elladan nestled her doll snug in her arms.  “We will see you in the morning, before we go,” said Elladan softly.  “Good night, Arwen.”

“Good night, Elladan.  Good night, Elrohir,” answered Arwen in a choked voice.

* * *

Elladan threw a pillow at his brother’s head, intending to wake him, only to have Elrohir catch the pillow in midair and throw it back at him.

“You are awake,” laughed Elladan.

Elrohir rolled on to his side to look at Elladan.  “I know I slept some, but I must admit I am eager to go and have been lying here just counting down the hours.”

“What are you looking forward to the most?”

“Seeing the Sea.  Meeting Círdan,” answered Elrohir. “You?”

“Círdan and the Sea, definitely.  But also to see the wide expanse of flat land we will cross before reaching the Tower Hills – Glorfindel says you can see for miles,” replied Elladan as he sat on the floor and leaned up against Elrohir’s bed.

“It is hard to believe that Adar wandered those lands 3000 years ago, and now we will finally see them too.”

“I want to see the towers in the Emyn Beraid, the ones Gil-Galad built for Elendil. There is a palantir there, but I do not know if we will be able to see it,” added Elladan.

Elrohir swung his feet over the side of the bed, barely clearing Elladan’s head. “Come, brother, I see Anor’s first light in the east.  Let us prepare to go!”

* * *

The chime of bells greeted the twins as they entered the courtyard.  Glorfindel’s horse was tossing its head, thoroughly enjoying the delicate music he made with each motion.  Elrohir led his horse into the yard, followed by Elladan and Garthon, the guard who would accompany them.  Originally Elrond had determined to send two guards, but in the end he had decided that one was enough.

Arwen appeared on the porch, her little bag in hand.  She walked down to join her parents and brothers. Glorfindel came over as well with a map unfurled.  She glared at him, unable to hide her anger that he was taking her brothers away again.  She tugged on Elrohir’s tunic.

“Goodbye, Elrohir,” she said when he stooped down to hug her.  She kissed him on the cheek, tears running down her own.

“We will be back by summer’s end, Arwen,” he replied, intending his words to be comforting as he wiped the tears from her face

She nodded, but did not reply.

“Goodbye, Elladan,” she said as Elladan hugged her. 

“I will miss you, Arwen. Take care of Ada and Nana while we are gone,” he whispered.

Arwen pulled away and turned to her mother.  “Nana, Cook has packed us a lunch.  I am going to the waterfall and Liriel is to come later.”

“You do not want to wait until your brothers leave?” Celebrían asked, surprised.

“No, Naneth,” replied Arwen softly.

“Have a good day at the waterfall then, sweetheart.  Be home for dinner,” answered Celebrían as she kissed her daughter on the forehead.

Arwen murmured goodbye to Glorfindel as she walked by, ignoring the hurt she saw in his eyes when she did not hug or kiss him. She knew it was wrong to be angry at him, but she ignored the little voice inside that told her to be nice to him, the little voice that reminded her that he loved her too.  She walked across the yard and on to the path to the waterfall with her head held stiffly, and never once looked back.

* * *

Elladan shouted for joy as they crossed the Bruinen, Elrohir and Garthon joining him as Glorfindel watched in amusement.  It was the first time any of the three had ventured far from home, and he had to admit their excitement was catching. 

“We are finally on our way!” crowed Elrohir as his horse climbed from the riverbed on to the road.

“I thought Erestor would never decide we were ready.  He had to tie down the wagon cover and then check it twice.  How many times did he ask you if you had an extra blanket?” Elladan asked his brother.

Glorfindel laughed as he rode next to the horse pulling the wagon. The waters were high with the spring melting, but not so high as to make the crossing dangerous.  Still he had spoken softly to the sweet mare and encouraged her as she made the crossing. Once they were out of the water he dismounted, checked the harness and straps to ensure they had not loosened in the watery crossing, and stuck his hand inside the wagon, feeling along the seam to ensure it was not wet.  The young elves continued talking, waiting until he mounted again.

“Three times, I think,” Elladan answered.

“You will be grateful before this journey is over for all the things that Erestor did think of,” interrupted Glorfindel with a smile.  “Extra blankets, balm to soothe muscles made sore from hours of riding, the waterproofing of the wagon to ensure we don’t have to unpack and dry everything after rain or water crossings, a good supply of lembas should game be scarce. . . .”

Elrohir cocked his head, staring at him. “Glorfindel, do you like or dislike Erestor?”

Glorfindel looked up in surprise.  “Erestor is a good friend,” he answered immediately.

“Why do you two argue all the time, then?” asked Elrohir, his curiosity genuine.

Glorfindel smirked.  “You will understand when you are much older,” he answered sagely.

“You have been saying that since we were elflings!” protested Elladan.

“Yes, I have, and when you understand I will not have to say it anymore!” laughed Glorfindel.  He nudged his horse into a slight gallop and pulled ahead of the twins, laughing all the way.

They stopped several hours later, to rest and water the horses, and then continued on until dusk.  Their road had followed the Bruinen River, and they set up camp near the river that night.  The terrain was wooded and hilly, with several large rock outcroppings.  The location was one chosen often by travelers to Imladris.

Garthon and Elladan unhitched the cart after backing the mare and cart up beneath an outcropping of rock. Once the wagon wheels were locked, they saw to the care of the horses, paying extra attention to the mare by giving her a good rubdown and special treats. Glorfindel sat in a low tree branch, laughing as the other four horses nudged the two elves, nickering and snorting their arguments that they had worked just as hard.  The little mare tossed her head.  Her lowly job held high honor with the elves and she was not about to let the warrior horses forget it.

Elrohir had built a campfire a short way from the wagon, just beneath the edge of the rock but far enough out that they could sit against the rock wall and still feel the warmth of the flames.  The fire would aid in dinner preparations as well as provide a source of protection. Glorfindel truly did not expect any danger on their journey, but some creatures of the night would fear the flame and keep their distance from it.

“Ah, this is quite good, Elrohir,” commented Glorfindel as he tasted the stew bubbling over the fire.

“That is one thing I am grateful to Erestor for already,” answered Elrohir with a smile. “All I had to do was heat this up.”

Glorfindel accepted the bowl Elrohir prepared for him, and seated himself on the ground. He enjoyed listening to the three younger warriors, although Garthon was considerably older than the twins and very quiet.   Elladan and Elrohir had the map of the journey laid out between them on the ground, and were pointing out landmarks and what day they expected to reach each spot.  He found himself only half listening to their talk and instead remembering them at different ages and how they had grown. He sighed as he thought of Arwen. His heart ached at the hurt in her face as they had left this morning.  Celebrían had kissed him on the cheek and apologized for Arwen ignoring him, but explained that she and Elrond thought that Arwen saw Glorfindel as competition for her brothers’ time.   Glorfindel found himself deeply saddened by this.  He loved Arwen for her own sake, yet in her child’s eyes he was someone she competed with.

“Glorfindel?” Elladan’s voice interrupted his melancholic thoughts.

“Yes, Elladan?”

“Did you live in Lindon long?”

“I lived in Lindon until Gil-Galad sent your father to aid Eregion when Sauron attacked them. I went with your father, and when he founded Imladris I stayed with him. I have lived in Imladris ever since,” explained Glorfindel.

“Glorfindel,” began Elrohir, “will you tell us about when you came back? From Valinor, I mean?”

Glorfindel looked at the sincere faces watching him closely, hoping he might finally tell them this story that they had long wished to hear.  A rumble of thunder overhead caught his attention, and he looked up to see storm clouds moving in from the northwest.  A flash of lightning split the night sky in a bolt of silvery blue light.

“Time is different in Valinor, and in the Halls of Mandos even more so. . . ,” Glorfindel began.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Glorfindel’s first waking thought was that the pain was gone. The blistering heat of the flame of the Balrog had whipped and burned him, and crushing pain had followed as he and the Balrog had toppled over the edge of the steep rocky path of Cirith Thoronath to die on the sharp rocks below. There was now no physical discomfort, and it took him a moment to realize it was because he no longer possessed a physical body.

He guessed, in retrospect, that Mandos had beckoned his feä, had called him to come to his Halls.  Glorfindel did not recall deciding to go, but perhaps his decision was so clear that it merely seemed as if there were no choice to be made.  He had died in anguish – physical pain from the battle, but also mental pain that he was unable to complete the mission to see Idril and Eärendil to safety.  He had died only able to hope that he had helped clear their way. He recalled the presence of one he could only assume was sent to escort him to Námo. After that time seemed to stand still and he remembered little, for he was weary and found rest.

The pain was gone, then, but the mists of time seemed to swirl about him as he took up residence in Mandos’ Halls.  After some immeasurable time, his feä had begun to wander the Halls and he had heard many a spirit crying out to Nienna. He followed the laments, and drifted near to where the Vala would come to provide comfort and counsel. 

He listened, confused, for he did not know what the other feär were saying. He realized then that they were not really speaking either, yet he could hear them and Nienna despite his lack of ears.

“Glorfindel, what counsel do you seek?” came a voice like a song in the wind. “Or is it comfort you wish for instead?”

He pondered her words, for surely she knew his every thought.  Yet she did not respond to his pondering, so he directed his mind to her instead.

“Surely you know, my Lady, that what I seek is comfort?”

“What will bring you comfort, Glorfindel?”

“Knowledge, my Lady. I would be comforted to know that Lady Idril and young Eärendil escaped death at Morgoth’s hands and escaped to safety.”

“The fate of others is no longer your responsibility. Your only responsibility now is your own healing,” replied Nienna gently.

Glorfindel withdrew as a deep sadness pervaded him and he again felt weary. What hope he had felt that Nienna might comfort him had fled.   His spirit sank low and he felt a despair unlike anything he had ever felt before.

“Why do you despair?” asked Nienna.

Glorfindel felt his light dim and his spirit fade, and wondered how he could possibly find words to express the depths of his hurt.

“What causes you pain, Glorfindel?” Nienna asked softly.

It seemed many long moments before he could compose an answer, and even then he felt any response he might give would be inadequate.  Gondolin’s defense and the safety of King Turgon’s family had long been his mission. Did he need to know the outcome because he loved his king, or because it would wound his pride to fail?  His conscience took him deeper then, back to his early years in Aman. He had not yet reached his majority when Fëanor had led the Noldor on their march northward.  His father was loyal to Turgon, and so had followed him faithfully, though swearing no oath and not participating in the kinslaying at Alqualondë.  Sorrow filled him as he thought of his sweet and beautiful mother, and the last time he had seen her face as she slipped through the ice of the Helcaraxë.  His older brother and father had perished in Beleriand in the fight against the war machine of Morgoth.  Guilt infused him, for he had not asked whether his family was present in these Halls. Yet Eärendil was only a child, and Glorfindel had been partially responsible for his safety.  Did others aid them? Were they protected now?

A sense of warmth filled his spirit then, like a flame kindling dry tinder.  He opened himself to the comfort and felt Nienna near him, calling to him.

“Come, Glorfindel, there is much for you to see,” she called.  He followed her light to the walls of the long hall, where tapestries were hung for as far as he could see. “Vairë, spouse to Námo my brother, weaves the history of Arda into tapestry and hangs them along the halls.  Here you will see your journey and arrival in Beleriand, the building of Gondolin and the arrival of Tuor. Ulmo did send him, and all were well pleased to see his message delivered.”

Glorfindel was too stunned to speak as he took in the delicate artistry that captured the land and people of his King, chronicling their rise and then, to his horror, their fall.  He saw himself battling the Balrog, and his own fall to death, entwined with the Balrog, crashing into the rocks below. He felt both horror and detachment as he remembered that struggle, but he did not turn away, for on the path woven into the next tapestry he could see fleeing elves, and clearly one of them was the child, Eärendil, and Idril, daughter of the King. He felt his spirit quicken then as he hurried to the next scene, seeing the elves watch as Thorondor, King of the Eagles, carried his broken body to a place of burial and then those he had served wept at his passing.  Emotion filled him, but he could not linger, for the next tapestry showed the survivors of Gondolin fleeing down the Sirion, finally coming to the Havens where the remnant of Doriath now lived. Further scenes of young Eärendil growing to adulthood - too quickly, Glorfindel thought -  and then of his betrothal and marriage to Elwing, half elven of Doriath who carried the Silmaril won by her grandparents, completed that cloth.  The tapestries ended two more down, one showing the birth of twin sons to Eärendil and Elwing and Eärendil’s departure as he sailed seeking the Undying lands; and the other showing the sack of Sirion, Elwing’s leap from the cliff into the sea and the abduction of their children by the sons of Fëanor.

Glorfindel felt caught in a swirl of emotions, reaching a height of gladness as he learned that young Eärendil had survived and grown to adulthood, and then falling to despair as he saw Sirion fall and Eärendil’s own children taken.

“In knowledge there is both joy and sadness,” said Nienna gently.  Her voice was strong, though, as she asked him, “Did you find the comfort you wished for in knowing the fate of Turgon’s heir?”

“Yes,” answered Glorfindel softly.  “And no. For they survived the Fall of Gondolin, only to seemingly be lost – Eärendil sailing into mists, Elwing leaping into the sea and their sons taken by those who might kill them. My sorrow is heightened, my Lady, yet I am glad you showed me.”

“Yet all is not lost, for Vairë continues to weave the story that unfolds, though you may not see it yet,” continued Nienna.  “Eärendil is the one spoken of in legend who would find the way to Valinor, come before the Valar and plead the cause of Elves and Men. He has done so and his plea has been heard. We shall go to their aid and cast down Morgoth one last time. Elwing did not perish, for Ulmo bore her upon wings to Eärendil’s ship and it was the light of the Silmaril that guided them to the place that that light once called home.  And Elrond and Elros did not die at the hands of the kinslayers, but were instead loved and freed by Maglor, son of Fëanor.”

Glorfindel wept at her words, and his spirit bowed before her presence.  “I am comforted, my Lady. Thank you for your compassion.”

Indeed his spirit was free, unburdened by pride and weight of conscience, and strengthened with knowledge that his mission, far greater than himself, had succeeded despite his own passing from that world.  He felt joy and grace, and he sang of his gladness.

Later, in the quiet of the mists, Námo beckoned him.  Glorfindel’s spirit bowed low before the throne of the Vala and received his judgment.

“Glorfindel, loyal servant to the House of Turgon, I pronounce you fit to return to life in Valinor. Do you wish to be reembodied and rejoin the living beyond these Halls?”

“Yes, my Lord,” answered Glorfindel humbly.

Words were then spoken he did not understand, but he felt himself drift into rest, into the timeless mists, as the face of Námo faded from his thought.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Glorfindel completed the chapter of his story and they sat in a silence broken only by the receding roars of thunder as the storm moved past them.  He shifted in his bedroll, covering himself with his blanket and laying his head near Elrohir’s.  Garthon took the first watch, and he sat silent on a nearby rock, his eyes resting on Glorfindel and his expression reflecting that he saw his captain in a new light. Glorfindel did not need words to know that his story had affected his young companions greatly, but when he felt Elrohir’s hand slip beneath his blanket and cover his own, he found he had to blink away a tear. He recalled how tenderhearted Elrohir had been as a child, and was strangely pleased to see this trait remained in him as a young adult. 

“Good night, Elrohir,” he whispered softly.

* * *

Dinnertime, back in Imladris . . .

Celebrían felt a growing sense of unease as the afternoon grew late.  She had gone out into the back garden to cut spring flowers and found Liriel’s mother planting vegetables across the yard.  The two mothers had talked pleasantly; then Celebrían had glanced skyward to see Anor beginning her descent.

“Liriel and Arwen should be heading home soon,” she had commented. “They do enjoy playing at the waterfall.”

Liriel’s mother sat back on her heels. “Perhaps they had a disagreement today, for Liriel came home for the midday meal.  She seemed disappointed by something, but then her father asked her to help him this afternoon.  She is with him.”

Celebrían felt a shiver run up her spine and a slight fear begin to grow in her.  She pushed it down, and tried to think practically.  “Arwen was quite upset about her brothers leaving this morning.  Perhaps they disagreed about something and she decided to finish the afternoon alone.”

Liriel’s mother touched Celebrían’s arm gently.  “I am sure she is well and will be home soon.”

That had been nearly an hour ago, and still Celebrían had seen no sign of Arwen.   She had not returned to her room, nor was she anywhere in the family quarters.  The house staff had not seen her. Celebrían moved out on to the porch, and decided to walk to the waterfall.  She set off at a determined pace, following the same path Arwen had taken that morning. She came to the area where the children loved to play, near a shallow pool just beyond the small waterfall where they could wade or swim if they so desired.

“Arwen!” Celebrían called.  “Arwen!”

There was no response, and Celebrían found her hand was shaking as she brushed a strand of hair back from her face.  She walked to the waterfall, and then turned to walk down the stream. Her long gown tangled in the tall grass and rushes, and she was about to move back to the path when a bit of color caught her eye. She felt wetness and then mud sucking at the bottom of her slippers as she moved into the shallow water, until she could finally reach the item.  She grabbed it, pulling it from the rushes, and she felt as if her heart had fallen into the pit of her stomach. It was Arwen’s favorite doll.

Celebrían turned, stumbling in the mud, but quickly regaining her balance and holding her gown up above her knees, she raced down the path.  Several elves saw the Lady of Imladris running, panic in her face, and they turned to follow her.  She ran into the courtyard, her breaths coming in heaving gasps.

“Elrond!  Elrond!”

She was on the porch steps and reaching for the door when Elrond opened it from the other side.  He caught her in his arms, his eyes widened at the panic in her face and mud covering her shoes and the bottom of the gown.

“Arwen!” Celebrían gasped.  “Elrond, Arwen is gone!”

She grabbed his hand, trying to drag him down the porch steps with her, when his greater strength overwhelmed hers and he literally picked her up and sat her on the porch rail.

“Celebrían!  Please, meleth-nín, slow down.  Tell me what has happened,” Elrond spoke gently but firmly. “Take a deep breath.”

“I spoke to Liriel’s mother in the garden.  Liriel was home for the midday meal. I went to look for Arwen, but she is not in the house nor was she at the waterfall.  I searched the area, and called for her, Elrond.  I found this.” A sob caught in her throat as she held up Arwen’s wet and muddy doll.

Elrond took it soberly. Arwen was very careful with her dolls, and this one was her favorite.  Just last evening they had tucked it in her arms as she slept. He closed his eyes and felt for his bond with his daughter. It was intact, and he felt sure he would know if she were injured or distressed, or worse, dead.  He let out a slow breath of air and opened his eyes. He pulled Celebrían close to him and whispered in her ear, “Feel for your bond with Arwen, Celebrían. She is alive.”

A growing group of elves was surrounding the porch and more were walking to them as word spread of Celebrían’s fright and flight. Elrond looked out over the group, and then at the position of the sun.

“Amariel!” Elrond called to one of Celebrían’s maidens who served in the house.  She ran forward to him.  “Take Celebrían inside and help her get cleaned up, then escort her to the dining hall.”

Elrond turned to Celebrían, noting she was still shaking, but was calmer now.  “Go with Amariel, Celebrían. I will organize search parties and then come for you.”

He waited until Amariel had led a reluctant Celebrían inside before turning to the waiting elves.

“Arwen appears to be lost or missing,” he said to the group.  He quickly appointed leaders to organize smaller search parties.  “Erestor, please search the house from top to bottom.  Arthrenen, please search all outdoor buildings.  Arwen has a special love for the barn kittens.   Calenil, please search from the waterfall to the Bruinen. We will use the dining hall as our command center.”

Elrond watched the elves disperse; listening as Erestor rang the bell atop the house, informing all of Imladris that an emergency had occurred on the grounds, and he was thankful that plans for everything from an attack by the enemy to a fire to a missing child had been created. 

* * *

Elrond sat with his head in his hands, thinking, as the last search party entered the dining hall.  The cooks were still serving hot food to each elf who entered, providing their own tangible comfort. It was long past dark, and Arwen had not been found anywhere on the grounds of Imladris. 

On the table before Elrond were wet pieces of drawing paper, the colors smeared and dripping, but the work unmistakably that of his daughter. Calenil’s group had found them further downstream from where Celebrían had found the doll.

“My lord, we have searched to the Fords of the Bruinen, and seen no evidence of Arwen,” reported the weary elf.

Elrond looked up and nodded, his face drawn. Fear was growing in his heart, along with a sense of uneasiness that Arwen was in danger. He felt Erestor’s hand on his arm.

“Elrond, I think we should send warriors to each of the patrols.  We must consider all options – that Arwen is lost beyond the normal ground of Imladris, that someone has taken her, or that she has run away.”

Elrond nodded.  “I should have already done that, Erestor,” he acknowledged wearily.

“Actually, you did.  You sent this missive several hours ago,” answered Erestor with a grim smile.  He had taken this action on Elrond’s behalf, and Elrond knew he would take others before this night was through. He watched as Erestor turned to the heads of the search parties, then, and directed them to detailed maps of Imladris spread out on the tables. “Map everywhere you looked, and think of everywhere that a small child could be lost.  Wells, caves, cellars, closets, wardrobes, barrels – any place a child could become trapped. Send out elves to search these areas as you identify them.”

The elves leapt into action, surrounding the maps, adding detail and sending out smaller search groups. Elrond squeezed Erestor’s hand in thanks, and felt relieved that he had the aid of someone so thorough and so detail oriented. He bore these qualities himself, but admitted to himself that fear was clouding his thinking.

He rose and walked across the room to where Amariel still sat with Celebrían. Never had he seen Celebrían looking as she now did – fear and grief and loss all burdening her and weighing down her normally vibrant and lively spirit.  One of the healers arrived then, and Elrond took the vial the elf gave him and mixed it in wine.  This he gave to Celebrían. He did not like to deceive her, but he did not regret sedating her.  He sat with her as she drank the wine, then pulled her into his arms. When she was asleep he carried her to their bed, and left her in Amariel’s care.

He returned to the dining hall with a heavy heart.

* * * * *

Author’s Notes:  The information about Glorfindel is mostly made up, with my reference points on possible timing for when he left Mandos’ Halls and returned to Middle-earth based on the Glorfindel essays published in HoME Volume XII ‘The Peoples of Middle Earth.’  There is nothing written about his history or family.

Geography wise, early in the Third Age there was no Shire, but Bree may have existed.  The Brandywine is a hobbit name for the Baranduin River, so we will refer to it as the Baranduin, the elvish name for the river that runs from Lake Nenuial (Evendim) to the Sea. At this time, Eldacar has just become King of the Northern Kingdom, with the primary city being Annúminas at Lake Nenuial. The ancient East-West road literally runs from Imladris to the Havens, and is the same road the dwarves used in the First Age. Fornost was likely present, although not a chief city of the Dúnedain, and Amon Sul (Weathertop) was in use.