Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 5: A Mystery Unraveled

Late morning along the banks of the Hoarwell….

Glorfindel watched as Garthon rode off into the distance, hoping for his safety and also that he would meet groups from Imladris searching for Arwen.  He wished there was way to send word more quickly, but the ability to communicate without speaking was not a skill he could practice over such long distances.  When Garthon was gone from sight, he turned back to the small camp and the three figures still sleeping near the fire.  Elladan, he knew, would wake soon.  Together they would need to make this into a camp that would last them for at least a week or two, or find another suitable site and move the injured ones to it.  And if they did need to move Elrohir, Glorfindel wished to do it while he was still oblivious to the world around him.   He moved to a nearby rock and sat down, contemplating all there was to consider about their current situation.

There was no clean water source nearby, at least not one that Garthon had found.  The area was secluded and trees gave some cover, but they were in a spot not easily defensible.  They had the food they had brought for the trip, and much of it had been salvaged from the wagon.  They also had tarps to form a shelter and extra blankets.  Arwen had no extra clothing, however, and the dress she was wearing was damaged beyond repair.  The bandages and medicines of their healing kits have already been sorely depleted.

Glorfindel turned his attention to the river, looking down upon the rushing muddy water thoughtfully. He pondered the distance from bank to bank, and thought that if someone were on the other side, they might be able to string rope across the torrent below and transport supplies across the chasm. The only thing missing was someone on the other side of the river.

“Glorfindel?”      

Glorfindel turned to see Elladan sitting up, a slightly confused look on his face.  Remembrance then seemed to come back to him and he quickly bent over his sister and then his twin, and his countenance fell.

“I hoped this had all been a bad dream,” he admitted softly.

Glorfindel stood and walked to the fire, caressing Elladan’s head as he moved by him. “Unfortunately, it is not,” he said.  He fixed a plate of food and then handed it to the young elf. “We have much work to do while they sleep.  Eat, and we will start.”

While Elladan ate, Glorfindel explained Garthon’s absence and his assessment of their predicament.

* * *

Elladan listened as Glorfindel outlined the tasks they needed to accomplish.  This was his captain, who planned patrols, maneuvers and training expertly and efficiently; but it was also his childhood friend – the one who was like another father to him, a favorite uncle who looked after him like his own child.  He could see the worry in Glorfindel’s eyes and how often he looked eastward. It was obvious that Glorfindel too was concerned for Elrond and Celebrían, and what effect Arwen’s disappearance must be having on them.

Even as he listened to all Glorfindel said and his thoughts strayed to his family, Elladan was already determining what he would do first.  Clean water was of primary importance, and Elladan knew he wanted to see his brother and sister clean, free of the mud and blood that had liberally coated them.  They had washed their wounds with the fresh water that Garthon brought, but their hair and the rest of their bodies were filthy.  A slight smile tugged at his mouth as he thought of what Arwen’s reaction to being so dirty would be under any other circumstance.

He finished eating, then straightened his clothing and rebraided his hair. He stood, still listening to Glorfindel, as he strapped on his sword and quiver of arrows, and tucked his dagger into his boot.  Then he carefully emptied the remnant of the fresh water into a container retrieved from the wagon, and hung the empty water skins from his belt.

“I will go to where Garthon found water, if I cannot find a nearer source,” said Elladan. 

He grasped forearms with Glorfindel, but did not resist when the warrior embraced him. He clung to him for a moment, then forced his fears down and turned to his siblings.  Kneeling down between them, he stroked each dark head and kissed each brow, whispering words of love to them.

“I leave you Glorfindel, though I wish I could stay with you, but he is better able to aid you than I.  I will try to find you fresh water and more comfortable ground on which to rest. Sleep well,” he murmured.

He rose to his feet and whistled for his horse, who followed him faithfully as he set out on foot.

* * *

Late afternoon on the Great East Road, midway between Imladris and the Hoarwell…..

Nûrsûl heard the sound of an approaching party long before he saw them.  He knew immediately by the beat of hooves that the riders were elves, and his own horse flicked his ears in joy at seeing his kin.   He whistled his approach, and was gratified when an answering call resounded immediately.  A smile crossed his face, for though he bore bad news, he at least bore it quicker than he might have otherwise.

The banner of Imladris swayed in the slight breeze as the riders came into sight, and Nûrsûl was surprised to see both the Lady and Lord of Imladris riding at the head of the column.  He dismounted as they neared, and then both Elrond and Celebrían were before him.

“Did you find them?  Are they coming?” asked Celebrían without greeting or preamble.

Nûrsûl bowed before her, but was unable to meet her eyes and so instead focused on Elrond.

“My Lord, the Last Bridge is gone, swept away in the floodwaters of the Hoarwell,” said Nûrsûl softly. He watched as Elrond’s eyes widened in fear, and respectfully lowered his own gaze.  “I waited until morning, when I could more thoroughly inspect the ruins to see if they were across before this happened.  He slowly pulled the leather strap and the jar of preserves from his pack. “I found these on the eastern shore, about a half mile downstream.”

Elrond took the strap as Celebrían reached for the jar. Nûrsûl watched the agony flit across their faces, and tears slid freely from Celebrían’s eyes as she held the jar to her breast. Her eyes closed and she trembled, but then seemed to steady herself.  She opened her eyes and turned to Elrond.

“They live,” she said calmly.  “They are somewhere down that river and we will find them.”

Elrond gazed west for a moment longer. “This proves only that the wagon met disaster, not all of them.  They would not have continued on to Mithlond, however.  They would head south, seeking a place where they could cross and return north on the eastern shore,” he mused aloud.  “But Arwen. . . .Arwen is only a small child.  She could not go far from Imladris of her own power.  Yet I did not sense any threat about the grounds of Imladris.  But she is in danger and I fear for her. . . .”

Celebrían was already re-mounting her horse. There was a gleam in her eye, an almost savage look like the one that Nûrsûl had once seen on a mother cat as she defended her kittens from a predator.  He was suddenly reminded that their gentle and fair Lady was the daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel, and there was bound to be an iron strength behind her will.

“Return to Imladris with news of the bridge.  Find Thavron.  He will know to start planning for a new one,” Erestor instructed him.

Nûrsûl watched as the party continued quickly west, and smiled as the lead guards had to put forth a little effort to catch Lady Celebrían and surround her, as was their charge. 

* * *

Glorfindel was hesitant to leave Elrohir and Arwen unattended for even a moment, and so concentrated on tasks he could do in their current campsite.  He pulled a spare tunic from his own pack, and using his knife cut the sleeves off just below the shoulder seam.  He pulled needle and thread from the packet of materials every warrior carried to mend his own clothing, and began stitching pleats in the armholes.  He opened up one sleeve and cut it to make a belt, then tucked away the material from the other sleeve.   At this point everything was an asset, and that strip of fabric might end up binding a wound or holding a splint in place. His tunic was still many sizes too large, but it was better than Arwen’s current dress.

He warmed the water Elladan had left, and then knelt down next to Arwen.  She was still deeply asleep.  They had removed her dress the night before, and now in the light of day Glorfindel began to gently bathe her. Tear formed in his eyes at the bruises and scrapes and tears to her flesh, and he found even more shards of plaster and glass to remove from her skin.  He carefully changed the dressings on the deeper cuts and wounds, flushing them with the water and applying healing balms before re-covering them.  The gauze and linen bandages they would boil and reuse.  Her hand seemed to be mending well, although he found himself wishing Elrond could tend to the small fingers.  Her hand was smashed, and while Glorfindel sensed he had all the pieces set properly he wished for Elrond’s firm and steady hands to confirm his work.  Such small hands, already so skilled with a needle and pencil, quill and paintbrush, he thought as he kissed the back of her uninjured hand.

Yet elven healing was already at work.  The lighter bruises had already begun to fade and the minor scrapes were healing over.  She will heal well, he reminded himself. By midsummer she will be home, whole and healed.  But never the same, he admitted.  It would be long before her terror faded. He covered her again with a blanket and turned his attention to Elrohir.

“You I want to scold soundly for jumping off a bridge and splintering your leg, but my delight in your courage overrides my desire to chastise,” said Glorfindel softly as he first stroked the dark head and then began to examine the many wounds that covered the pale flesh. “You thought only of Arwen, not of your life.  You could not know that she would not be thrown from the wagon, and that you might have saved her at less damage to yourself.  You are still a silly, wonderful elfling.”

“Not an . .  elfling,” said Elrohir hoarsely.

Glorfindel moved his hand to rest along the side of Elrohir’s face, on an undamaged section of skin where he could provide comfort.

“Still an elfling,” contended Glorfindel softly. “A heroic, brave, courageous, tenderhearted elfling.” He smiled at Elrohir as the young elf pressed against his hand, seeking comfort in that touch.

“How. . is. . Arwen?” asked Elrohir in small gasps.

“Shhh, no more talking,” soothed Glorfindel. “I will tell you everything, but spare your lungs and ribs that pain. Arwen still sleeps.  Her hand is broken, and she has many scrapes and bruises.  Two long gashes we stitched.  She will wake with a headache from the blow to the head, but I will ensure the pain is dulled as much as possible.”

He stroked Elrohir’s hair, and watched as his eyes fluttered shut. “Garthon has ridden to Imladris for help, but it may take a few days.  You cannot be moved anywhere soon, but he will get the word that Arwen is with us to your parents as quickly as possible. Elladan is seeking a better campsite, closer to clean water.

“You have many bruises and cuts, broken ribs and a broken leg.  Dirty river water got into your throat and airways.  You are sore and hoarse and in pain, little one,” Glorfindel leaned close. “Go back to sleep. When you next wake, we should be able to bathe you and make you more comfortable.”  Glorfindel looked into Elrohir’s pain-dulled but trusting eyes, and pushed him back into healing sleep.

Elladan returned mid-afternoon, sounding the Imladris call as he approached. Glorfindel answered, grateful for his safe return, though he knew that his worry was likely needless.  Elladan nodded at him as he dropped to his knees by his siblings, quenching his need to see how they fared before sharing any news he had brought.  After several moments spent with each, he came to sit near Glorfindel.

He unfolded a map and spread it out across the rock between them.  “I estimate that we are here,” said Elladan, pointing at a small x he had made on the parchment, “probably fifteen to twenty miles south of the bridge.  I was surprised to think we had come that far, but from the few landmarks on this side, it seems to be true.”  He carefully opened a second piece of parchment, this map drawn entirely in his own hand. “This is our location, and here is the spring Garthon found.  I found two others, one farther south from his and one slightly closer to us.  The best location of the three is the one Garthon found. We would have a clear view of the river and of any approach from the high ridge.  A fire would be seen a long distance. The closest location is not bad, but the view to the river is impeded. The other is simply too far, I think.”

Glorfindel picked up the map Elladan had drawn, noting the distances and locations of springs, natural trails and passage to the river. At each spot he had also estimated the width of the riverbed and the terrain of the land near the shore on either side. Glorfindel was impressed by the map and all Elladan had thought to include, and he could not help but to test his pupil and see what ideas were percolating in his mind.

“Do we have enough rope?” he asked.

Elladan immediately shook his head.  “No, the length is too great.  To create an adequate rope bridge over the river anywhere along here would require a double or triple stranded line.  I have never tried a rope bridge over this length. Have you?”

“No,” answered Glorfindel honestly. “It would be dangerous, but perhaps we could rig a carry line to transport supplies across.” Inwardly he smiled, pleased that Elladan had considered the option and what it would take to do such a thing.

“Elrohir is badly bruised across his back and chest, and his broken ribs make any movement painful,” said Elladan thoughtfully.  “We can make a litter, but we cannot both carry him and leave Arwen alone. This ground along the upper ridge is level enough that Elrohir’s horse could pull the litter, but even still it would jostle him.” He considered this for a moment, then grinned. “Arwen is so small, we can lay her on the same litter with Elrohir and barely notice the difference in weight.”

Glorfindel grinned back at him.  “I will pack the supplies we salvaged and load them on the horses.  The little mare is to carry nothing.  She is walking well enough, but her back is strained. You start work on the litter.”

Glorfindel caught the pleased look on Elladan’s face, but said nothing.  The young elf would find it inappropriate to take joy in anything right now, yet he was obviously pleased to be able to try his hand at creating the design in his head while also helping his siblings.  He went immediately to work, using parts of the wagon he could pry apart, and wood and boughs from the nearby trees.  Tarps to be used for tents on their trip were still in the wagon, undamaged, and in just over an hour Elladan had used the rope to bind the contraption together.  He disappeared back to the river one last time, and reappeared carrying the remains of the statue, now armless. He set it down on top of the litter.

“This thing weighs more than Elrohir and Arwen combined,” said Elladan. “Let us see if the litter can support its weight.”

Glorfindel took two poles in hand, while Elladan picked up the rear poles.  They both bounced the statue a bit and rolled it slightly from side to side, but the litter held.  Unable to hide his smile, Elladan rolled the statue into the nearby woods and then the two of them set the litter down near Elrohir. Elladan began padding the litter with all the blankets and bedrolls they had left, and then waited for Glorfindel to lift his twin and move him on to it.

Glorfindel slipped an arm under Elrohir gently, cradling him in his arms while trying to lessen any pressure on his broken ribs and bruised back.  Despite his caution, Elrohir moaned and cried out softly, and then coughed, a slight rattle heard deep in his chest.  His eyes fluttered open, but the only sound he could make was one of pain.  Glorfindel winced as well, and laid the injured elf on the litter. He tucked the blanket in around him.

“I am sorry, Elrohir,” he murmured as he again touched the elf’s face. “I will give you something for the pain in just a moment.”

Glorfindel moved to the healing kit he had just packed, and quickly withdrew the vial he had already prepared. He mixed it with water, and then turned back to Elrohir. Elladan lay on his side next to his twin, his arm beneath Elrohir’s head and neck, so that their faces were nearly touching.  His other hand rested lightly against Elrohir’s face.  He took the vial from Glorfindel, and with coaxing and soothing words poured the bitter liquid into Elrohir’s mouth and then lightly stroked his neck to help him swallow.

“Sleep, my brother, for I do not want you to feel even a twinge more pain,” he whispered in Elrohir’s ear.  Elladan held him until Elrohir’s eyes glazed over and slipped shut, and his pain-wracked body relaxed.

Glorfindel watched as Elladan sighed and then steeled himself as Glorfindel picked up Arwen, preparing himself to see another loved one in pain.  Thankfully, Arwen remained asleep and blissfully unaware. He laid her next to Elrohir, and straightened and tucked the blanket in around her.  Her arm was exposed for a moment, and Glorfindel saw the tiny flicker of light from another shard of plaster embedded in her arm.  He gritted his teeth in frustration as he gently removed it and flicked it aside.

“I have visions of Arwen as a grown lady, still plucking the occasional piece of plaster from her skin,” he growled in annoyance.

Elladan managed a brief smile as they gently tied the two to the litter, using their own trousers and other strips of cloth in hopes of irritating their wounds the least.  Glorfindel stowed the remainder of their gear on the horses, and then gathered the four near to him. 

“We are going to walk to a new campsite,” he informed the four horses.  He turned first to Elrohir’s horse, acknowledging the concern the horse had for his elf.  “You may follow behind Elladan, so you can see your master.” He stroked the head of his own horse.  “I ask you to bring up the rear.  Make sure we stay together, and ensure your lady friend is well.” He stroked the nose of the little mare last.  “You have been brave thus far, and made it many miles despite your injuries.  This trip is only a few more miles, and then you will rest for several days.  You bore the heaviest burden before; now you shall bear none. Be strong, brave one.”

Glorfindel moved back to the litter, squatted down, and grasped the back poles in his hands, and then lifted on Elladan’s command.  Elladan would lead, as he had scouted the terrain and knew the route, while Glorfindel would watch the injured ones for any signs of duress.  With a short whistle, Elladan began climbing the rocky terrain to the high cliff, and all followed his lead.

* * *

Elrond climbed into the maple tree at the spot they had chosen to rest the horses.  He climbed as high as the limbs that were sturdy enough to hold him allowed, and searched to the southwest.  They were close enough to the Hoarwell that he could make out the ridges that bounded the river on each side, though he could not yet see the water.  He needed this moment of silence to think, to make sure he was clearly thinking of what choices he had to make. Celebrían was intent on heading down the banks of the Hoarwell. Erestor was torn between wanting to ensure that Glorfindel, the twins and Garthon were well; and not wishing to abandon the search for Arwen.  It was not that they were abandoning the search for Arwen, Elrond reminded himself.  Groups were searching the grounds and the patrols were searching from their borders inward.  But Erestor is right to want someone present should she be found, he argued Erestor’s position. Elrond knew she was harmed in some way, but alive. Celebrían now seemed to sense it even more strongly than he did.  She insisted that whatever harm had befallen Arwen, they still had to go south.  Even now, Elrond could hear them arguing, something which he had not witnessed before.  His advisor and his wife had always acted as a team; never had they been at serious odds like this.

“The only way Arwen could be this far from Imladris is if she stowed herself away in the wagon and went with her brothers!” said Erestor, exasperated. “Please, Celebrían, we do not . . . .”

“Wait!” Celebrían interrupted him. “What did you just say?”

Elrond would have laughed at the sight of Erestor rendered momentarily speechless - Celebrían had just raised her voice at him! – but he was stunned at what he had heard. Elrond climbed swiftly down from the tree.

“Erestor!” she pulled on his tunic sleeve.  “Could she have done that?  Was there room for her in the wagon?” When he did not immediately answer, she shook him. “Erestor, think!”

Elrond reached the ground and immediately moved between them. He could tell Erestor was deep in thought, and he also knew that one had to let the advisor think through whatever he was pondering, without interruption.  His answers were always sound.

Erestor backed up against a rock, leaning on the edge of it.  His eyes were far away, but his lips were moving as he spoke quietly to himself.

“We pushed the wagon back inside the barn, and then let the mare loose, so we could check the front wheel.  I had pulled the canvass top tight before that, and when I came back into the barn, after the groom had finished the repair and reported to me that it was done, the canvass was loose on the edge.  I thought nothing of it, that the groom might have tucked a tool back inside the edge.  Everyone was ready to go and laughing and singing in the courtyard, so I tightened the cover down again, to make sure no water could get through it, and then the mare was rehitched and she pulled the wagon from the stable.”

“And they got a late start because of the wagon wheel,” Celebrían added breathlessly.  “Arwen had time to go to the waterfall, see the other children, and then return to the stable. This is why she cannot be found anywhere in Imladris!”  She paused then, as the same realization had occurred to all listening to Erestor’s words.  “Arwen was in the wagon! The wagon that fell from the bridge!”

Elrond pulled Celebrían to him, covering her shaking hands with his own, and calming her.  “She lives,” he reminded her, whispering those words in her ear.  He paused then, looking at the waiting guards and Erestor. “That Arwen is with her brothers is the most likely reason we have not yet found her.  Let us continue to the Hoarwell, and then we will head south.”

Elrond held Celebrían’s horse as she mounted, and then turned to his horse.  He realized Erestor was still leaning against the rock, still talking to himself.  “I can not believe I did not check that wagon one more time. How careless of me!”  Elrond felt a flash of mirth at the picture his advisor presented - Erestor who doublechecked the doublechecking, who thought of every eventuality! Excitement rose within him, then, for if Arwen were with Glorfindel and the twins, then her situation was far better than what he had imagined when he thought her all alone or in the hands of someone who wished her harm.

“Come, Erestor!” he called.

The elf broke from his reverie and leapt on to his horse.  With a new determination, he pushed his horse to the head of the column, his body language clear: if he had helped to lose Arwen, he would also be the first to find her.

* * *

Elladan led the way into the small clearing near the spring.  He had selected the spot earlier, sure Glorfindel would agree with his choice, and already had dug a small fire pit, gathered some dry wood and cleared the ground of stones where the bedrolls would lay.  He stopped, and called out to Glorfindel, “Here.”

The pallet was set down, and both elves immediately knelt on either side of it to check their passengers.  Arwen licked at her lips when Elladan touched her cheek, and moved slightly under the blankets.  Elrohir, still drugged, did not move or respond when they touched him, but his chest slowly rose and fell.

“It is better he not feel the pain right now,” said Glorfindel, voicing Elladan’s thoughts as well.

The bedrolls they had lain on before were shaken out and laid on the ground again, but this time they lifted the blankets that the two lay on, and slid them to their beds.  The litter was undone, and Elladan used the tarps to build a small shelter in the trees while Glorfindel started the fire.  The water from the spring was cold and clean, and Glorfindel filled all the skins and containers they had and then started heating water in their pans.  He fingered the largest of the pots, and laughed softly.

Elladan leapt down from the tree where he had been securing the tarp, and sat across the fire from Glorfindel.  He cocked an eyebrow, knowing full well he looked like his father when he struck this particular pose, and waited for Glorfindel to explain the source of his mirth.

“Erestor,” said Glorfindel finally, still smiling. “He packed twice as many pots as any group could ever use, including this big one.  Because we have it, we can heat water to bathe Elrohir and Arwen.”

“Good old Erestor,” replied Elladan wistfully.  He was quiet for a moment as he determined that he would do something nice for the old underappreciated elf who did so much for them.

“Do not overdo it being nice,” warned Glorfindel with a laugh.  “Good old Erestor enjoys every moment of the verbal sparring he does with you. He would not know what to do if you were suddenly nice to him all of the time.”

Elladan laughed aloud then.  There were some things in his life he was glad for, and even took for granted.  One was that Glorfindel always seemed to read his thoughts, and another was that Erestor would always scold him and he would always tease back.   A feeling of warmth settled over him as he thought of what he was most glad for: that his father and mother would know that their children needed help and that nothing would stop them from finding him and his siblings.

* * *

Arwen awoke just as the sun was setting over the tops of the trees in the western sky.  Her first thought in that brief moment between sleep and waking was that she could not see the sun like this from her room.  Then she moved her head slightly, and a terrible throbbing pain made her cry out. She tried to raise her hand to touch her head, and a shooting pain ran up her arm.   She felt loving hands touching her forehead and soothing words filtered to her through the pounding in her head and her own sobs.

“Arwen, sweetheart,” said Elladan tenderly. “I am here.  You are safe, little one.”

Arwen calmed herself and forced her eyes open.  Elladan was next to her, and Glorfindel on the other side. She could see unfamiliar trees and what looked like a tent above her.  A flood of memory returned to her, then, of the terrible trip trapped in the wagon, her fears of being caught where she should not have been, and then the sounds of the screaming horse and falling a long way into the river.  She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memories to go away, but they did not.  She bit her lip, trying not to cry, but the sobs started again and with each one her head ached more.  Pain and fear overwhelmed her, and she could feel Elladan’s hands on her but could not hear him.

“Nana!” she cried out.  “Ada!” But neither her mother nor her father came to wake her from the nightmare she was in.  Instead firm hands grasped her chin, and a bitter liquid was forced into her mouth.  Gentle hands stroked her throat and held her mouth closed until she swallowed, which she had to in order to breathe.   “Nana, I need you. Ada, make the hurt go away, please, Ada,” she pleaded through her sobs.

The pain dulled, her eyelids became so heavy she could not open her eyes, and she felt herself slipping into the darkness.

* * * * *