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History Lessons: The Second Age  by Nilmandra

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter. 

Chapter 4: Faces of Courage

Elrohir stood transfixed, staring at the crumbling bridge and the falling wagon.  He watched as a beam bent, splintering up and outward, then finally breaking in half and falling into the raging waters below.  His keen ears caught the sound of a scream, and he thought the little mare must be severely hurt to still be calling out her pain so loudly. A plank caught on the canvas cover then, tearing it several feet back from where it had been bound to the side of the wagon.  He saw jars of the blackberry preserves that Glorfindel and Erestor had fought over just days before fall from the wagon, quickly lost in the depths of the river.   The wagon had just slipped beyond the broken bridge when the sound of Glorfindel’s voice calling his name drew his attention away from the destruction.

He looked up, and was starting to turn to do as Glorfindel bid, when another scream sounded.  He looked down at the wagon, now falling, to see Arwen’s terrified face staring back at him.  Her arms reached out to him as she screamed his name again.

“ARWEN!” he yelled, fear filling him as he saw his sister plunging to what he thought was certain death. Without thought of his own safety, he jumped in after her.

The wagon hit the water right side up, the jarring impact breaking off two more of its wheels and plunging it partially beneath the surface of the water.  Elrohir landed nearby in the water, feeling first a terrible pain as he hit debris in the water and then cold water filled his mouth and nose as the current dragged him under the logs and planks.  He reached up, fighting his way to the surface and finally grabbing hold of a large beam and pulling himself up so that his head broke the surface of the water.  He flung his arms over the top of the wood, crying out as another log crashed into his back. He gasped for air; then another rolling wave covered him.  He choked on the foul water, but did not lose his hold on the floating log.  It was several moments before he had his breath back and could inhale without coughing.

The current was rapidly sweeping him downstream.  He watched the bridge recede in the distance, and then looked quickly around him. The wagon was some distance ahead of him, but he could not see Arwen.  He felt the start of panic, wondering if she had been swept into the water.  There was no way she could swim in this torrent. Hope for the best, Elrohir, he told himself.  She must be in the wagon.  She must!

He inched his way down to the end of the plank, kicking hard with both feet.  Agonizing pain swept over him, and it seemed the roar of the river and the brightness of the sun both diminished as he fought to stay conscious.  Pain and light and noise all returned with a vengeance, and Elrohir concentrated on the wagon to keep from crying out his agony.  He had to catch up to it and see if Arwen was there.  She had to be there; oh Elbereth, let her be there! He used one arm and his uninjured foot to paddle and kick his way closer to the wagon, and hope returned to him as he began to make progress.

* * *

Elladan raced parallel to the river, through the woods and hills, glimpsing the water only occasionally.  He had to get far enough ahead of his sister and brother to be in position to help, but the paths were winding and it was taking far longer than he had time for.

He had felt his own heart fall when Elrohir jumped.  He had seen his twin make the leap, but his mind refused to believe Elrohir would do such a thing.  It wasn’t until the wagon had bobbed back above the water and he saw the form of his little sister sprawled lifelessly on top of the statue, now broken, that he understood.  He was still bewildered as to how Arwen had come to be in the wagon without their knowledge, but had to push those confusing thoughts aside to focus on how to rescue her.  He had seen Elrohir disappear into the murky depths of the water, and then, after what seemed an eternity, he had surfaced in the midst of a small logjam.   Hold on, Elrohir, he pleaded silently to his twin through the bond they shared.  I will not lose either of my siblings this day!

“Elladan!” Garthon shouted.

Elladan looked over his shoulder to see Garthon on his horse, climbing to a higher path.

“This way is clear. We can get ahead of them and then angle back to the river!”

Elladan nodded and nudged his horse to follow Garthon. As soon as he reached the higher path, the two horses broke into a gallop. Elladan kept his eyes focused towards the river, and estimated they had come several miles when he saw a steep path leading to the riverbank.   Garthon had also seen it, and led the way down the steep incline.  Both elves leapt from their horses and moved to stand at the edge of the river, which raced by below them.  The first of what they thought was bridge debris was just passing by them.

“I have rope,” Garthon said suddenly.  He ran back to his horse and opened his pack, pulling out a length of rope. 

Elladan tied his rope to Garthon’s, squeezing the knot tight and directing his will to the interwoven strands. The knot had to hold. He gathered the coils of slim rope into his arms and over his shoulder.  He searched for several minutes for a tree that would suit his needs, and finally found one a ways south of the path they had ridden down.  He climbed the tree, edging his way up and then out over a branch hanging above the waters.  It put him only about fifteen feet over the river, and he had to hope that the wagon would choose to travel this side of the river and that his rope would reach it.  He sensed Garthon behind him, and turning, helped tie the rope around the tree trunk between them.  Elladan would toss the looped end at the wagon, and Garthon would help anchor the weight if Elladan was successful.  And then they waited.

* * *

Elrohir battled the debris and churning waters for many long minutes before finally reaching the wagon. He lunged forward, trying to grasp the side of the wagon, only to have it slide from his bruised and bloody fingers.  He cried his anguish to the wind as he tried twice more to grab the slippery wood, and twice more he slipped back into the waters.  Ahead of him, the wagon spun as the front edge hit a large rock, and in frustration Elrohir shoved the plank he had used to keep afloat at the slowly spinning wagon.

The plank caught in the spokes of the remaining wagon wheel.

The force of the rotating wagon caused Elrohir, still holding on to the plank, to be spun around too, slamming him into the rock after the wagon slid around it.  Elrohir gripped the plank tightly as the breath was knocked from him, and tears came to his eyes at this sudden new pain.  He groaned and gasped for breath at the burning pain in his side, a red haze momentarily blurring his vision as he again fought to stay conscious.  Elbereth, I am so close, he pleaded.

The wagon again picked up speed as no further obstacles blocked its path, and Elrohir slowly gathered himself for another try.  He pulled himself hand over hand along the plank until he reached the wagon wheel, and then with a cry he put forth all his strength to haul himself up on top of the plank. He sat there for a moment, his hands gripping the wagon wheel so tightly that new blood was shed from the wounds caused by his fingernails digging into his palms. He drew in several breaths, shallow and short, as his injured ribs would not allow for more, and then climbed on to his knees and looked over the edge of the wagon.

He wept as he saw Arwen unconscious, but he could see her chest slowly rise and fall.

He crawled over the side of the wagon, attempting to land as gently as possible, but the wagon jolted and he fell inside, crying out as he landed on the scattered contents and debris in the bottom of the wagon.  Jars of preserves bruised his back and sore side, and broken plaster cut his hands as he attempted to push himself free.  A moan issued from Arwen and he pulled himself to her, heedless of his own pain.

She was lying partially on top of the broken statue, and partially underneath it. Blood matted the hair at the back of her head, and bruises and scrapes seemed to cover her.  She was twisted at a funny angle, and Elrohir felt tears wash down his cheeks as he cried for the injury done to his beautiful little sister.

Thankful that she was mercifully unaware of her predicament and pain, Elrohir began to evaluate his surroundings. His every thought had been of getting to Arwen, and now that he had accomplished this, he had to figure out how to get them safely to shore.  He started by throwing overboard every small item that was near him, saving only packages of lembas and foodstuffs that appeared dry in their wrappings. Once he had cleared space on the bottom of the wagon, he scooted to Arwen, the shooting pains in his leg reminding him of that injury, and carefully freed her from the heavy broken plaster and laid her on her back.  Another tear formed in his eye as he saw the spare blankets Erestor had insisted on them bringing stacked in the corner of the wagon, and he stretched painfully to grab one.  He spread it over Arwen, stopping for a moment to run his hands over her limbs.  Her wrist was swollen and blood stained her dress. He closed his eyes to her injuries, and finished covering her with the blanket.

He looked up for the first time then, and surveyed the scenery around him.  The area was wild, with no obvious paths or roads or villages nearby. He knew of ruins further south, from the maps they had studied, but here there was nothing.  He felt a sinking despair that even if he could get them to shore, they were still far from home and injured and without horses. Suddenly, he looked up and across to the far bank. Elladan!  Elladan was surely following the river, and Glorfindel too!  Elrohir felt hope well within him, and wondered how cloudy his thinking must have been to forget his traveling companions.

He began searching the western shore, and was finally rewarded by a flash of white and gold on the high ridge above the waters.  Glorfindel!

* * *

Glorfindel had raced along the river, staying along the low banks and keeping a close watch on Elrohir’s struggles.  Twice he had come near to leaping from his horse into the raging currents, in hopes of swimming to Elrohir and aiding him to the wagon or the shore.  Both times Elrohir had managed to save himself, and now that he was in the wagon, Glorfindel raced up on to the high path, allowing his horse to gallop at the fastest pace the stallion could manage.  He came upon Elladan’s and Garthon’s mounts moments later, and followed them to the rivers edge.  He whistled the call of Imladris’ guard, and at the return call he moved swiftly through the undergrowth to find Elladan and Garthon on their perch.  He moved another twenty feet or so downstream and began edging out into the river, holding on to an overhanging branch, until he was waist deep in the water.

The wagon came into sight minutes later, and to Glorfindel’s relief, Elrohir seemed to have made a paddle from the arm of the statue and was doing his best to move the wagon to the western shore. His long hair was matted and his face deathly pale, but the determination on the face of the young elf was unmistakable.

Glorfindel watched as Elladan threw his rope, looping it around the beam that was stuck in the wagon wheel. Elladan and Garthon both braced themselves against the tree, and strained against the weight of the wagon that threatened to pull them into the current as well.

As soon as he saw the wagon slow and begin to spin ponderously towards the shore, Glorfindel swam forward, crosswise to the current.  He had tied his own rope to the base of the tree and swam with the other end in his hand. 

“Hold on, Elrohir!’ he called as he saw Elladan’s rope tighten and jerk the wagon.  He reached the wagon as Elrohir, unable to steady himself, slid from the wagon edge and into the water. 

The wagon wheel creaked and groaned at the strain the rope was placing on it, and Glorfindel looked frantically for Elrohir, while knowing he had to tie off the wagon before the wheel gave way.  He heard a splash, saw Elladan jump into the current, and felt a rush of relief when the dark head surfaced, unharmed by anything lying beneath the surface, and swam towards the wagon.  Trusting Elladan to reach his twin, Glorfindel slipped the end of the rope through the lip where the harness had been, and tied it off.

“I have him!” Elladan shouted. He pulled Elrohir’s head above water, and using Glorfindel’s rope as a guide, pulled him to shore.

Garthon had backed off the log and run to the second rope, and already was anchoring himself, his heels dug into the mud as he began to pull on the rope.  A moment later the last wagon wheel broke loose from the wagon, and the wagon slid free of the first rope. Glorfindel had swum towards shore, holding to the rope as well, and he could just again stand when the first rope broke.  As the wagon began to drift downstream again, he ducked under the water as the second rope slid above his head, then began pulling it with all his might.  He could feel the rope begin to move through his fingers, and knew that Garthon was also pulling.  Stepping back as he went, they pulled the wagon to the shore, finally dragging it partially out of the water and on to the muddy shore. The four elves lay collapsed on the shore, exhausted, Elladan cradling the battered body of his twin in his arms.

In that ensuing moment of silence, sobbing was heard from within the wagon.  Glorfindel leapt to his feet and reached over the side of the wagon. He carefully lifted Arwen, still wrapped in the blanket Elrohir had tucked around her, and cuddled her to his chest.  One hand wrapped into his hair, and held on tightly. He sat down gracefully next to the twins, and held Arwen gently so that her brothers could see her and stroke her hair and whisper soothing words of endearment to her.  She did not open her eyes or speak, just sobbed into Glorfindel’s soaked tunic.

Glorfindel watched as Garthon retrieved the other length of rope and tied the wagon more securely.  With a wordless nod the elf was gone, and Glorfindel knew he had gone scouting the higher ground in search of a suitable campsite. 

“Assess Elrohir’s injuries,” Glorfindel instructed Elladan softly.  He shifted slightly and began his own examination of Arwen.  He could feel the sticky mat of bloody hair on his arm, and felt the wound gently, feeling a large bump and deep cut along the back of her head. She whimpered at the touch, and he tenderly stroked her cheek, crooning to her.

“Arwen, sweetheart, I am sorry that hurt. I need to see what other hurts you have and soon we will do something to stop the pain,” he whispered in her ear.

He could feel the damaged tissue and bones of her hand by just hovering his own hand above hers, and her dress was torn along her side where she had a long gash that ran from her ribs to her hip.  Another long cut along her leg was clotted over, but filthy.  Numerous bumps, bruises, scrapes and small cuts marred the small figure.  When Glorfindel considered the broken debris within the wagon, he was not surprised.  She had landed and rolled in broken glass and plaster, been pinned beneath the statue and knocked unconscious by some heavy item that struck her on the back of her head.

Elrohir’s leg lay against Glorfindel’s, and when Glorfindel finished checking over Arwen he moved slightly and heard a moan escape Elrohir.  He had bitten through his lip at some point, trying to stifle his cries of pain, and now he bit into that wound, causing it to bleed anew.  Glorfindel blanched as he looked on the badly broken lower leg, the skin torn where the bone had punctured it.  His eyes met Elladan’s, and he saw the fear there.

“His ribs are broken too.  His breathing grows ragged,” whispered Elladan.

Garthon suddenly appeared next to them, touching Glorfindel lightly on the shoulder

“I have started a fire and spread out the bedrolls and blankets, straight up the hill and to the left.  I will start carrying up any supplies that can be salvaged from the wagon.  Do you need my aid carrying them?”

“No, we can manage. We will need to find clean water, or boil some from the river,” he directed.

Garthon nodded, and then moved to the wagon to begin unloading all that he could salvage.

Glorfindel motioned for Elladan to rise, and then placed Arwen in his arms.  She still held his hair, but when Elladan began to work her fingers free she willingly switched her hold to his hair.  Elladan carried her up the hill, using all care not to jostle her, while Glorfindel turned his attention to Elrohir.

“Elrohir, little one, it is time to rest,” he whispered as he knelt beside him. He stroked the dark hair and tenderly kissed him on the forehead.  “I have never been more proud of you.” He looked into the pain filled eyes, placed one hand on Elrohir’s forehead and the other over his heart, and using all the healing ability he possessed, gently pushed the young elf into sleep. Then he lifted him and carried him to the campsite.

Darkness had come by the time they had Arwen and Elrohir to the campsite. Arwen still would not open her eyes or speak, and Glorfindel pushed her also into a deep sleep.  Then Garthon built up the fire, and Glorfindel and Elladan set to the unpleasant task of cleaning wounds, stitching gashes and setting broken bones.  Both knew that Elrohir’s broken leg required Elrond’s skill to set, but they managed to at least align the bones and bind the wound, and then splint the leg,

It was nearly dawn when they finished, and Elladan sat with a roll of bandages in his hand, staring at it absently.  Glorfindel moved to sit next to him, removing the bandages and setting them aside.  He put his arm about Elladan’s shoulders and hugged him.  Elladan buried his face in Glorfindel’s shoulder and Glorfindel felt the sobs shaking his frame.

“They are going to recover,” Glorfindel said softly, reassuringly.

“I thought they were both going to die,” said Elladan, after breathing in deeply and controlling his voice.  “All I can think of are Adar and Naneth at home.  If we did not know Arwen was hidden in the wagon, I am sure they did not either.  They must be so worried!  And now the bridge is gone and Elrohir and Arwen are too badly injured to travel and we have so far to go to get home. . . Naneth must think Arwen lost.  She will be heartbroken, Glorfindel, and Adar too.”

Glorfindel gently rocked Elladan in his arms as the young elf spoke his fears and worries. When Elladan finished, he answered, “Rest for a while, Elladan.  We will come up with a plan in the morning and find a way to send word to your parents.” He gently pushed Elladan down on to the bedroll next to Arwen, so that she lay protected between her brothers.  Glorfindel sat watch over the three as they slept, all the while contemplating how they would get the injured ones home and hopefully word to their parents before that.

* * *

Imladris - dawn

Celebrían dressed in trousers and a tunic, a light cloak thrown over her shoulders for warmth in the early morning chill.   She pulled on her boots and tucked a dagger into her belt, then fastened her short sword at her side.  She was packing a few necessities into a small pack when she heard Elrond come into the room.

She turned to face him, watching his face as he beheld her state of dress.  He looked her up and down, finally meeting her eyes.

“Whatever danger Arwen is in, it lies west also,” she said roughly.  “I feel it in my heart, Elrond.”

He walked to her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.  For a long moment she clung to him, feeling the muscles ripple beneath his tunic as he wrapped powerful arms around her.  He was her strength, and together they would bear whatever was to come.

“Come,” he said softly. “The patrol is ready to leave. I have sent word to Lorinand as well.”

Elrond mounted, dressed as if for battle in garments he had not worn since returning from Mordor over two hundred years earlier.  With Celebrían beside him, they rode west.

* * *

Nursul awoke at first light, and quickly took care of his own needs before heading to the river bank.  In the clear light of day, he could see the splintered fragments of wood that were all that remained of the bridge. This still failed to give him a picture of whether the travelers had safely crossed the bridge, and so he made his way carefully to the riverbank, and began a meticulous search of the muddy grass and debris that littered the bank in places.  He had gone several hundred feet when a sparkle in the sun caught his eye.  He dug in the mud, uncovering a glass jar, still full.  He rinsed it in the muddy stream water, cleaning most of the muck from it.  He read the label and then opened the jar, sniffing the blackberry preserves.  He closed the jar and tucked it into his pack, and continued his search.  A short way further he found a strap of leather, and with some work dug it from the muck.  It was a piece of harness, and after washing it clean he saw the mark of Imladris carved in the leather.

Dread filled his heart, and he whistled for his horse.  He climbed back to the flat land, away from the high floodwaters, and rode several miles downstream.  He did not see any further signs of debris and saw no sign of the travelers.  He made the decision to ride back to Imladris with all haste, and raise the alarm that harm may also have found those he was seeking.

* * *

Garthon returned mid-morning with fresh meat and water, having filled all the water skins at a small spring he found several miles away.  He prepared the meat, and set it to cook, then came and sat next to Glorfindel, who still sat watching over the children of Elrond.

“The waters remain high as far as the eye can see,” Garthon spoke quietly. “There is no evidence of any enemy in this area. Our best hope may lie in the bridge at Tharbad, and then we could follow the road east of the Loudwater back to Imladris.”

Glorfindel was silent as he considered Garthon’s report and all the implications of moving an injured elf and a small child over such a great distance.

“You could send me ahead.  Search parties are surely looking for Arwen, so perhaps I will meet help as I travel, thus shortening the time to bring aid.”

“Traveling as hard as you may, it would still take you at least a week,” calculated Glorfindel, “and that is assuming the bridge at Tharbad still stands, you do not run into any sort of enemy and weather does not slow you.”

“Aye,” agreed Garthon.  He looked at the three sleeping before them. “Shall I go?”

Glorfindel was silent for a moment.  While sending Garthon ahead in search of aid would help word reach Imladris much quicker, he hesitated to send a lone elf on a long journey through rough terrain.  He would normally risk only himself in such an endeavor, but he would not leave his young charges. He met Garthon’s eyes, and saw the sincerity in the request.  Garthon understood the dangers and he wished to do this. He clapped the younger elf on the back, and grasped his arm in the way of warriors.  “May the stars of Elbereth light your way, and the Valar guide and protect your path,” he answered softly.

Garthon packed himself a supply of lembas, for he would not stop to hunt, but left his bedroll upon the ground.  Glorfindel knelt, rolled and tied it, and attached it to the young warrior’s horse.

“I would leave it for Arwen,” argued Garthon.

“You will have the harder journey,” said Glorfindel, raising his hand to end the discussion.  “Fare well, Garthon.”

“Fare well, Glorfindel,” replied Garthon, and he nudged his horse into a trot, heading south.

* * * * *

 





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