Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 18: Scouting

Morning of day 14 somewhere along the Hoarwell River

Rain fell steadily as the elves began another day’s travel. During the night, torrential downpours had loosened tent stakes, and one of the tents of the Silvan guard had collapsed on top of them and slid partially down the slippery incline.  A wrestling match had begun amidst much laughter as the guards had difficulty extricating themselves from the tangled mess and setting the tent back on level ground. While all had found humor in their predicament, the continuing rain meant that the tent and belongings of those who had been inside had no opportunity to dry.

The wagons were covered with tarps, and the arched boughs that formed the removable skeleton for the wagon that held Elrohir’s bed were high enough that he could sit upright under the covering with ease.  Erestor had seen him looking at Elrond with pleading eyes, but he had not argued at the curt shake of his father’s head. He had crawled dejectedly into the wagon, but his easy smile had returned when Arwen slid in next to him.  The elfling was smart enough to realize they would have the better day beneath the dry tarp, rather than sitting atop a horse with water running off their hooded capes like small waterfalls.  She immediately pulled out her books and paper and pencils and coaxed her brother into drawing with her.

Erestor’s eyes next searched for Elrond and Celebrían. He found them riding in front of the wagon, both shrouded in long hooded capes. Glorfindel and Elladan rode on either side of the horse pulling the wagon. Satisfied that the line was properly ordered, and knowing that Celeborn and Galadriel’s guard were seeing to their welfare, he rode to the front of the line just as one of the advance scouts returned.

“Captain,” the elf reported to Athranen as he pushed his hood back slightly, “there is another washout a half league ahead.  The incline is steep. Even our horses had difficulty near the area, and we did not cross.”

Erestor listened as the scout described the terrain near the washout.  The path was running parallel to the river, and the incline down to the river was steep.  Washouts on the path were becoming more common and more treacherous. The young scout pushed his hood back further, revealing soaked hair, and as Erestor looked closer at the elf he noted that mud covered his boots and trousers, and there were dark splotches on his cloak as well.  The pattern suggested the elf had slipped and fallen, not something he would care to admit, yet if he could barely make it on foot, how would the wagons fare?

“We will need to travel west to find a way to get both horses and wagons around this,” the scout finished.

Athranen nodded, then let forth with a short chirping whistle.  Glorfindel appeared moments later. When Athranen had finished outlining the problem, Glorfindel looked around at the elves who had gathered to hear the news. He was just about to speak when an elf stepped forward.

“We will find a way,” interrupted the Silvan elf.

Elladan and Garthon exchanged smiles.  “We will find a better way,” replied Elladan boldly.

The Silvan guards grinned with unabashed glee at this challenge from their Imladris counterparts.  They had laughed at themselves over the tent incident the night before and had not minded the Imladris elves laughing with them, but a chance to prove their worth over their friends was clearly welcome.

Celeborn stepped forward. “A competition, then!  However, the terrain is dangerous and we have a child with us.  The route which is safest and shortest wins.”

Erestor watched the two groups of elves depart, their laughter and teasing finally fading as they raced on ahead.  He could still hear some of their words as they split, bets being placed as to who would win the contest.  He could not help but smile.

The rain was ending and the sun peeking through the clouds when Erestor turned to Athranen.  “I will ride on ahead to have a look at the wash out.”  With a nod, he set out.

* * *

“Are we placing bets?” asked Celeborn as he walked back to the wagon where the rest of the party had gathered.

“Yes,” answered Athranen.  “I am, of course, betting on the Imladris warriors.”

“Then I shall, of course, bet for the Silvans!” cried the cook as he stepped forward.  He smiled at Celebrían and then, lifting her hand, kissed it.  “Not that the son of dear Celebrían and the twin of our Elrohir will lose! But, I must be faithful.”

Celebrían laughed at the comical cook.  Turning, she looked to her parents.  “Naneth, Adar, place your bet.”

Celeborn grinned, his eyes meeting Elrond’s and then Glorfindel’s.  They began laughing as well, eyes twinkling, and finally Glorfindel spoke.  “I vote for Erestor.”

There was silence; then Elrond laughed again.  “Erestor.” 

Celeborn smiled at the remaining members of their guard.  “I must bet that Erestor will win as well.”

“Erestor?” asked Elrohir, confused.  He looked around at the group and realized that Erestor was indeed gone.  “Did he go with Elladan?”  When Glorfindel shook his head, Elrohir asked, “Should he be out there alone?”

The three elves laughed at him.  Elrond finally drew in a deep breath to control himself and sat on the wagon edge, reaching to tweak Arwen’s braid. “Erestor will have found and prepared the way and we will be over it, before either of the other two groups returns.”

“Erestor?” asked Elrohir again.

“Yes, Erestor,” answered Glorfindel, finally containing his own mirth. “Erestor is one of the best scouts in Middle-earth, Elrohir, and there was a time when no one knew these lands better than him.”

“Erestor?” repeated Elrohir in disbelief, voicing what many around him were thinking.

Glorfindel gently swatted him on the head.  “Quit repeating yourself, elfling,” he laughed.  “When Sauron attacked Eregion in the Second Age, Gil-Galad sent Elrond to aid the elves here. Erestor was the scout that planned the route Elrond would follow; he scouted the way that led us into battle, and when we were overrun, it was Erestor who found the hidden valley where we built Imladris.”

Elrohir’s eyes were wide with incredulity.  “Erestor?” he cried, stunned.

Glorfindel sighed at Elrond.  “You smack him. I am clearly not getting through to him.”

“But Erestor is . . . is . . .,” stuttered Elrohir.

“Erestor is what?” asked Glorfindel, teasing.

“But he runs Imladris; he advises Adar; he doesn’t do… that,” said Elrohir.

Elrond laughed as he patted Elrohir on the back. “Erestor does indeed do that, and very well, I might add.”

A whistle caught their attention, and with wide grins Glorfindel and Athranen started the group moving again.  They had gone nearly a quarter mile when Glorfindel suddenly veered them to the left, following a cunningly marked trail that could hardly be seen.  The trail turned toward the river for a short way, then resumed south.  They came to a spot that showed evidence of a heavy flow of water, but a rock abutment kept the path from being destroyed.  Branches had been placed in the mud for traction, and Glorfindel carefully led the horse drawing the wagon through the area.  Eventually the trail took a turn to the west again, and they found Erestor waiting for them on the main path.

* * *

Erestor watched until the entire group was back on the main path, and then with a nod at the again chuckling Glorfindel, he headed west to check on the two groups of elves who were still looking for the best way around the washout. He came across the Silvans first, neatly snaring the first elf to run past him. The elf found himself flat on his back, looking up into the dark eyes of the Imladris advisor. Sitting up, he brushed himself off, although he was now very wet from his roll in the damp grass, and growled at Erestor.  “How did you do that?” he finally asked.

Erestor smiled as he held out his hand to the elf, then pulled the guard to his feet. “You were not thinking of danger around you, only of reaching the prize.”

The elf scowled. “The only danger on this trip has been the weather.”

Erestor located the Imladris warriors next. To their credit, they had posted a guard as they prepared the trail they would use, cutting aside some brush and leveling out the ground over one uneven spot.  He moved in silence to where the guard stood. In a training game, he would clap his hand over the elf’s mouth and restrain him bodily. A grin tugged on his lips as he considered the look of surprise that would cover Elladan’s face. Giving in to temptation, he whispered, “Hello, Elladan.”

Elladan jerked in surprise, his eyes opening wide, but a moment later he was flat on his back on the ground, the wind knocked out of him, staring up at Erestor. Erestor smiled, giving the young elf a moment to catch his breath, and then pulled him to his feet.

“Everyone is waiting for you,” he said pleasantly.

“Why did you sneak up on me?” asked Elladan, bewildered.  He reddened. “How did you sneak up on me?  I did not hear anything and I had looked that direction just a moment earlier!”

Erestor wrapped an arm about Elladan’s shoulder, patting his arm consolingly. “Yes, you had.  I merely waited until your back was turned.”

Elladan groaned in dismay as Erestor led them back to the path.

* * *

As soon as they stopped to rest the horses and eat, Elladan flopped on the rear gate of the wagon. Elrohir was just sliding himself to the end to climb out, and he looked at his twin in amusement.

“Erestor caught me off guard and then flattened me,” said Elladan sulkily.

Elrohir nodded knowingly at him.  “That is what one might expect from one such as Erestor,” he answered sagely.

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Elladan, his eyes narrowing.

“Stealth had to be one of his greatest assets, I would think. He spent so much time alone in the wild.  I am sure he could take anyone unaware and slip by any he did not wish to know of his presence,” mused Elrohir.

“What are you talking about?” cried Elladan.

“Really, Elladan, you should have paid more attention in lessons.  Surely you remember that Erestor was the greatest scout of the Second Age, planning the route of Adar’s army to Eregion and the retreat north to what is now Imladris?” replied Elrohir innocently. “He knows these lands like the back of his hand.”

Elladan stared at him dumbly.  “We did not learn that,” he argued. “I would have remembered!”

Elrohir shook his head sadly.  “Sometimes you really were daydreaming, Elladan.  You missed out on some good tales.”

A look of confusion crossed Elladan’s face as he considered their lessons and searched back in his mind for all he knew about Erestor. He recalled Erestor teaching them at times, but certainly no lessons were about him.  Suddenly, a thought came to Elladan. He concentrated fully on his brother, touching his mind to his twin’s.  He immediately felt Elrohir’s mirth and then, a moment later, Elrohir recognized his presence and reached back to him.

Elladan found himself torn between the excitement of exploring the bond with his twin and an overwhelming desire to flatten Elrohir. His baser desire won out.

“Ai!” he cried, pushing Elrohir down on to the bed and pinning him there.  “Goblin-breath! Orc-bait!”

Elrohir began to laugh, not struggling at all against Elladan’s weight pinning him to the mattress.  His whole body shook and tears ran down his face. “You call me gullible!  I just learned the story from Glorfindel a short while ago, while you were off looking for a way around the washout.” Elrohir hiccupped, which only made him laugh harder.  “You should see the look on your face!”

Elrohir’s laugh was infectious.  Elladan was unable to stop from joining him, and he finally collapsed on the bed next to his twin.  Finally calming themselves, they looked up when a shadow fell over them and saw Erestor looking down upon them.

“There is food ready; you may join everyone when you decide to stop behaving like elflings,” He paused, then reached over Elrohir to brush some dirt off the mattress.  “Elladan, you are dirty.  Get off the bed and go get cleaned up.” As Elladan sat up, snorting as he attempted not to laugh again, Erestor tugged on his cloak. “You look like you rolled in a pile of muddy leaves.”

This was too much for Elladan, for, after all, it was Erestor who had knocked him to the ground on the muddy leaves.  He burst into laughter again, then crawled to the end of the wagon. He grabbed Elrohir’s crutch and then tugged on his twin’s good leg.

“C’mon,” he snorted. “I will help you.”

The two walked away, still giggling like elflings.  Elladan looked back over his shoulder once to see Erestor straightening up the bed and smoothing out some of Arwen’s papers that they had crushed.  The advisor was pristine, no mud or leaves on him, and his eyes met Elladan’s for just a moment.  Erestor winked and then walked off in the other direction.

* * *

The skies remained clear that afternoon.  Cook had pushed the tarp over the wagon forward, exposing over half of the bed to the open air.  Elrohir had felt his spirits lift for a moment, glad for the sun and glad to be able to more clearly see and hear what was happening around him.  Still, he felt melancholy, all the more so because Celeborn had just come by for Arwen. She had been torn, deciding if she should ride with her daeradar or stay with her brother.  Elrohir had finally swallowed hard and told her to go.  After all, he could hardly admit he was jealous of his twelve-year-old sister. He rested his chin on his arms, which were folded over the edge of the wagon, and closed his eyes.

“Elrohir.”

Elrohir opened his eyes at the sound of his father’s voice and looked into eyes warm and full of compassion. He knew his own eyes reflected his melancholic mood, but he made no effort to hide it from Elrond.  His father knew him too well for that.

“We have an hour’s journey left today.  Do you wish to ride with me?” asked Elrond.

“Yes, Adar!” he exclaimed.  He also made no attempt to hide his enthusiasm.  Elrond knew him too well for that as well.

Elrond called for the horse pulling the wagon to halt, then slide from his horse and lowered the rear gate of the wagon. Elrohir had already crawled back and he slid to the ground, using the wagon for balance.  He eyed the horse enthusiastically, patting him on the neck and whispering to him, then suddenly realized he had no idea how to mount him.

“Does your leg ache today?” asked Elrond

“No, Adar,” lied Elrohir.  He met his father’s eyes and smiled sheepishly.  “It aches a little, but it’s the ache that is always there.”

Elrond checked the cast and let Elrohir move around a bit, then whistled.  Glorfindel appeared immediately, dismounting and coming to join them. 

“I think I will mount first, and then you can lift Elrohir up to me,” explained Elrond.  “He cannot put his weight on the cast, and I want the good leg first.”

Glorfindel grinned as he looked Elrohir up and down.  He bent down and without a word, picked Elrohir up and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of grain, albeit a fragile sack of grain.  Elrohir felt himself passed up to his father and then he was sliding down on to the back of the horse. 

Elrohir wriggled a little, feeling decidedly off balance. The weight of the cast caused him to have to use the muscles of the thigh of that leg more to compensate, and suddenly he wondered if this was such a good idea. The cast also did not allow him to ride in proper position and the stallion whinnied softly as the unfamiliar cast pressed into his side.  He was just about to admit his misgivings to his father when Elrond slid his leg between the horse and Elrohir’s cast, gently supporting the cast and keeping it from rubbing against the stallion’s side.  Elrohir finally relaxed against his father as Elrond repeated the movement on the other side. The position literally made Elrohir recline against his father, and he laughed.

“Now I really do feel like an elfling. My leg is too weak for me to ride alone,” he admitted ruefully.

Elrond wrapped an arm about his son’s waist, holding him comfortably against his chest. “I will not let you fall.”

Elrohir sighed and allowed himself to fully relax and enjoy the ride.  He did enjoy being upright and being able to easily see all happening around him, and the smile that covered his face refused to fade.

They reached the site of the night’s camp a little over an hour later. Tents had already been erected, in hopes of drying out from the previous night and in anticipation of more rain. Elrohir could smell dinner cooking, and the voice of the cook could be heard, issuing orders and speaking animatedly with those assisting him.  Elrohir was so relaxed that when Elrond stopped the horse, he just sat in place, gazing contentedly around him.

“Wake-up, Elrohir,” teased Elrond, gently shaking him.

“Thank you, Adar,” replied Elrohir gratefully. “Riding was wonderful.”

* * *

Glorfindel sat down next to Erestor as dinner was being served.  Across from them, the Silvan guards and the Imladris warriors were all eyeing Erestor with suspicion. Glorfindel watched, amused, as Erestor met their gazes unflinchingly until the younger elves finally looked away. 

“Keep that up and the elflings will believe you intend to eat them alive,” he finally said in a low voice.

Erestor smiled at him. “The elflings will learn to pay more attention next time.”

“You believe that they could learn to sense your approach?  That you can bested?” asked Glorfindel in mock surprise.

“Perhaps,” answered Erestor placidly.

Elladan leapt neatly over the log they were reclined against, landing next to Erestor soundlessly.  He said nothing for a few moments, then turned slightly so that he could look Erestor in the eye.

“Erestor, Elrohir and I were just talking about how little we know about you,” he admitted. “Would you tell us more about how you became a scout and what you did in Eregion?”

“When we come to the right time in the story, I will tell you about the war in Eregion as I saw it,” agreed Erestor amiably.

Elladan smiled, but the smile faded as he thought a little more. “But how did you become a scout? Why? Who trained you?”

“The story is not that interesting, Elladan,” said Erestor modestly.  “Suffice it to say that a green elf taught me much of what I know of stealth and how to move creatively, quietly and quickly. The wisest of the Noldor taught me strategy. I did what was asked of me.”

Elladan still wasn’t satisfied, but when he opened his mouth again to speak, Erestor cut him off. “Ask your daeradar and daernaneth to continue the story where they left off. First, though, go help your brother before he falls and breaks his other leg.”

Elladan turned to see Elrohir trying to hobble into the circle where everyone was seated and moved quickly to assist him.  That Elrohir was tired and uncomfortable was obvious to everyone, and Celebrían motioned for Elladan to help him sit down next to her.  Celeborn appeared with cushions on which he could prop Elrohir’s casted leg.  Finally comfortable, Elrohir’s color improved and he smiled when his grandfather sat down beside him.

“We will be carrying him to his bed,” bet Glorfindel.

Erestor nodded in agreement as he watched Elrond bring Elrohir a flask of miruvor, and then Galadriel knelt before her grandson, touching her hands to his head and heart, strengthening him. “Amazing how he has everyone waiting on him hand and foot.”

Glorfindel snorted. Including you, he thought. Before he could consider an appropriate witty reply though, Celeborn began speaking, for Elrohir had asked him to continue.

“Many years did go by before we learned anything of Sauron’s stronghold or his plans. . ..”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

SA 1635 (Celebrían is about 34 years old, or physically picture a 13 year old).

The knock on the door came in the early evening.  The servant who responded returned a moment later, the captain of the guard behind her.  He bowed politely.

“Lord Celeborn, I have the report from the scout who returned yesterday,” said the captain of the city guard.

Celeborn took the parchment and waved his captain to a seat nearby as he began to scan the document.  He shifted to the side, allowing room for Galadriel to sit on the arm of the chair and read alongside him.  There was silence for a short time as they each reread certain segments, then Celeborn asked, “Is he here?”

The captain nodded and rose, returning a moment later with the scout. 

Celeborn looked over the elf, noting that his skin had darkened slightly and he appeared leaner than when he had left years earlier.  The elf bowed and then sat as Celeborn waved him to a chair across from them.  Celeborn could not help but notice that he seemed slightly uncomfortable on the silk covered chair and remembered how he had felt when he first slept in a real bed after returning from a years-long campaign.

“I trust you have eaten and rested,” began Celeborn.  “Your service to this realm is appreciated.”

The elf nodded in acknowledgement.

“The route you followed was long and winding,” continued Galadriel, moving directly into her questions. “You first reported a patrol of orcs near the Ephel Dúath, south of the White Mountains. Did you see evidence of any further north?  Any estimate of the size of the population in those areas?”

The scout straightened up immediately, his eyes flicking from Celeborn to Galadriel.  “That is the furthest north I saw orcs,” he replied, his eyes following Galadriel as she stood and moved to a desk across the room.  She pulled out a large rolled scroll, and then returned to where they were seated, opening the map out on the table between them.  He slid gracefully from his chair, kneeling before the low table.  Taking the pencil she handed him, he drew as he spoke. “Here is where I saw the patrol.  I followed them north around the Ash Mountains, but did not see more of them or their kind.  The lands to the east were bare and unkind, so I returned to follow the Anduin south.  I saw Men to the south and east, and here along the coast I saw Men in conversation with Orcs.  I could not make out any of their discussion except that soon they would be traveling north.”

The sound of paper shifting caught Celeborn’s attention, and he looked away from the map to the small table and chair where Celebrían sat.  Intent on her embroidery, she did not seem to be listening to their conversation. A small smile tugged on his lips as he considered that she was likely busy planning her next day’s play.  With enough children near the same age in the city, a tutor was employed to teach the group.  After lessons, they often played together, and Celebrían seemed to have taken on the role of leader of the ellyth. Games ranged from dress up and painting to exploring and tree climbing.  With the latter activities, the ellyn often joined them, but Celebrían had not forgotten that the leader of the ellyn had once teased her and she did not follow him.

Celeborn turned his attention back to the scout and the map he was enhancing with details learned on his journey.  He would normally have sent Celebrían to her room, but her attention was clearly elsewhere.

“The Men to the east are recognizable by several things, not the least of which is their sword,” the scout was saying. “It is curved in a graceful arc, much different than the sword of the orc.  With one slashing movement, one can remove the head of one’s opponent. They also carry long bows, heavier than those of the Silvan elves and less graceful, but no less deadly or effective, especially at long distances.”

“Orcs and Men do not serve together out of choice, but of duty to the same lord,” mused Celeborn.  “Of all you have reported, I believe this fact alone is evidence that Sauron is at work.”

“Though for what purpose he leads them we do not know,” reminded Galadriel.  “Sauron is long rumored to have lived among the Men of the east and Orcs have always been his servants.  That they are serving the same master is not unexpected. If we had evidence they were moving north or west, then we could suspect that Sauron’s motives were to harm those who lived in these lands.”

“Orcs patrol the Ephel Dúath,” repeated the scout.  “They do not guard only the mountains, but what they might protect beyond them, I could not see or learn of.”

They spoke to the captain and the scout for another hour before excusing them for the evening. 

“We will continue to gather intelligence,” said Celeborn finally. “There is naught else to do but learn of the whereabouts and plans of the enemy, for they may not involve us as you rightly reminded us.”

“His plans involve us,” answered Galadriel softly. “I cannot see when or how, but Sauron will neither forget us nor what he crafted here.”

“Naneth, I have finished this part,” interrupted Celebrían. She proudly held out her work for her mother to see, the gaily-colored threads showing the sun rising over the mountains.

“Your color choices are commendable,” praised Galadriel as she inspected the work.  “Your stitches here are a little crooked, though.  Turn your work next time so you aren’t stitching so near the hoop and it will be easier.”

“Yes, Naneth,” answered Celebrían as she rotated the hoop as her mother suggested, her keen eye already seeing the benefit.

“Go now and prepare for bed,” said Galadriel as she kissed her daughter on the forehead.

Celebrían turned to her father next, and Celeborn felt the rush of warmth that he experienced whenever he saw his child.  “Adar, will you come tell me a story?”

Celeborn smiled at her. “I will.  What would you like to hear about tonight, my daughter?  I will think on it while you find your nightgown and wash up.”

Celebrían thought for a moment, finally turning her head to the side as she looked at her father.  “The War of Wrath, Adar, and how you and the king and the Valar defeated Morgoth and orcs and dragons.”

Celeborn’s eyes widened in surprise, for he had expected she would again wish to hear the Lay of Lúthien or tales of Doriath. Just entering the bloom of maidenhood, she still played as a child but glimpses of the lady he knew she would become were beginning to show through in the stories she wished to hear.  He merely nodded, though, and she kissed him on the cheek before skipping off to her room.

* * *

“Lord Celeborn, Lady Galadriel requests your presence at the city fountain,” announced the guard at the door.

Celeborn looked up from the report and maps he was studying.  The more he had pondered the scout’s report, the more he had decided that whatever lay east beyond the Ephel Dúath was of importance and should be explored.  He shook his head to clear it of the thoughts of the scouting expedition he was pondering sending into those lands and stood, nodding to the guard as he did so.  His curiosity was piqued, for it was seldom that Galadriel requested him to immediately join her.

He could see the gathering of elves at the fountain, Galadriel’s height and golden tresses making her easy to find in the crowd.  Several guards were nearby, but Celeborn could not tell if they were keeping the order or merely observing.  The crowd parted as he made his way to Galadriel.

Standing beside his wife was his daughter.  A dark smudge was visible on one cheek, her hair was mussed and her dress torn in one place.  Yet she held Galadriel’s hand tightly, not as a child caught in wrongdoing, but as a child afraid.  Celeborn heard an elf speaking as he moved to stand next to Celebrían, sheltering her between her parents.

“Children do not play such games idly, Lady Galadriel,” said the elf boldly. “Why would your daughter play we were under attack by Sauron and his men and orcs if there was not a threat?”

Celeborn felt his heart sink as he thought of the conversation held the night before in their home.  Celebrían had been present, but had seemed engrossed in her embroidery. He might otherwise have blamed her play on the story he had told of the War of Wrath, but he would not lie, especially not in front of his child. He turned to the guards.

“Call a meeting for this night in the Great Hall at sundown.” He turned to the elf who had been speaking, at the same time he felt Celebrían wrap both arms about his waist and bury her face into his side.  He stroked her hair as he answered. “All of your questions will be answered there.”

The elf nodded stiffly; then, taking a small ellon by the hand he led him away.  The child, who dragged a play wooden sword behind him, turned back once to look at Celebrían, waving goodbye to her.

The crowd slowly dispersed, but their tension was obvious.  As they moved away, murmuring began and Celeborn could not hear individual words so much as the tone of fear and suspicion.  “Let us go home,” said Celeborn.

Celebrían walked between them, holding both of their hands.  Celeborn felt something sticky on his fingers, and lifted her hand to look at it.  There was a bleeding cut on one finger.

“What did you do to your finger, Celebrían?” he asked as he pulled out a handkerchief to wrap around it. As he looked at her, he realized the smudge on her cheek was not dirt, but the start of a bruise.  “And your cheek?”

“I tried to shoot an arrow, Ada,” she answered.  “The first time I hit myself in the face and snapped my finger, but I did much better after that.”

No more was said until they reached their house.  As Galadriel tended Celebrían’s cut and bruise, Celeborn said, “Tell me what happened. Start with why you were playing such a game to begin with.”

Celebrían twisted her skirt with her uninjured hand, looking at the floor, and Celeborn reached to tip her chin up to look at him. She took in a deep breath and started to speak.

“It was not so much a game, Ada, as getting ready. If Naneth believes Sauron will come here, then we all have to know how to fight.  You said that on Balar, where the elves all lived before the War of Wrath, even the children could wield a sword and a bow.  I do not know how to do either!  So I talked to some of the older ellon about playing war and what we would do if Ost-in-Edhil was ever attacked, and we decided to start learning to fight. We took turns being orcs and elves, and the elves would run and climb in the trees while the orcs chased them. Some of the ellyn had bows and said they would teach us to use them so we could fight back and not just run away.

“Then one of the ellon said he would be Sauron.  So he stood up on the edge of the fountain and said he was lord of the earth, and he challenged the elves.  So we attacked!  That is when Lanthir’s ada came.  He wanted to know why we were pretending to fight Sauron.”

“What did you say?” asked Celeborn.

“I said that you were looking for him,” answered Celebrían, again lowering her eyes. Her voice fell to a whisper. “That you were trying to find out if he meant to harm us.”

“What happened then?” prodded Celeborn gently.

“Lanthir’s father grabbed my arm and pulled me to him.  He kept asking what I was talking about and how did I know this.  I pulled away and my dress tore, but he grabbed my arm again. He kept asking what we knew about Sauron,” replied Celebrían, tears in her eyes. “Then there were elves all around me, asking what I had heard. I was so scared, Ada!”

Celeborn sank down into the chair and pulled his daughter into his lap, holding her as he had when she was a small child. He met Galadriel’s eyes over the top of Celebrían’s head and sighed.  I should have sent her to her room last evening, or at least we should have said she was not to speak of anything she overheard to anyone but us, he thought.

She will not soon forget that lesson. The timing of telling our people may not be what we had hoped for, but we shall tell them now and it will work out for the best, answered Galadriel.

“Celebrían, look at me,” said Celeborn gently.  When her eyes met his, he continued. “We did not tell you not to repeat things you had overheard, so I will tell you this now: if you over hear something and you have questions, ask your naneth or myself. We will answer you the best we are able.  If people ask you questions, tell them speak to us. Adults know better than to ask information from a child in such a manner, but the name of Sauron invokes terror in those who can remember him, and I fear they forgot that you were only a child.” Celeborn kept his words gentle, but inside he wished to shake those adults who would scare his daughter so. “I will tell you what I will tell our people tonight. You are not to come; I will tell you about the meeting tomorrow.”

Celebrían nodded, and Celeborn told her about Sauron.  He finished with how Sauron had come to Eregion in the guise of Annatar and learned jewel-craft with Celebrimbor.  He did not speak of the rings.

“Now, your naneth and I need to prepare for this evening.  Cook will send your dinner to your room. Go bathe and rest, and spend your evening quietly at home.  We will come to kiss you goodnight when we return,” he finished.

“You are not angry with me, Adar?” asked Celebrían.

“No, my daughter,” answered Celeborn.  He set her on her feet and kissed her forehead again, and then watched silently as she went to her room.

* * *

There were only several hours left before dawn when the meeting ended and the remaining elves dispersed into the night.  Celeborn stepped into the night air, and breathed in deeply, then looked up to see the stars twinkling overhead.  He found it comforting to see stars that had looked down upon him in Doriath, but also felt a sense of fragility as he thought of all the destruction witnessed by those stars. 

“You spoke well, husband,” said Galadriel softly.

“As did you, wife,” replied Celeborn, taking her hand in his as they walked.  “Some left wishing they had not known of this until we were certain Sauron was a threat.  Some are angry we did not tell them sooner.  The reactions are much as we expected. Future events will determine if what we did here tonight was right, wrong, or indifferent.”

“We should send scouts to see what lies beyond the Ephel Dúath,” said Galadriel.

“I agree,” replied Celeborn.

Inside the door of their home they found two wrapped packages. Celeborn carried them to the table and carefully unwrapped them.  He lifted the bow first, feeling its weight and examining the carving.  Galadriel unwrapped the sword, then stepped back and took an experimental swing with it.

“This is well balanced as well as beautiful,” she noted.

“I asked the captain to have the weaponsmith find or make me weapons the right size for Celebrían,” replied Celeborn. “My daughter will not feel helpless, though I will hope she never has need to use them.”

Galadriel arched a brow at the possessiveness in his use of the words ‘my daughter’ and replied, “My daughter is not helpless, though she will benefit from learning to wield such weapons.”

* * *

Twenty-five years later….

“Lord Celeborn, the scouts have returned from the east,” said the captain at the door.

Celeborn blinked in surprise and rose to his feet.  The two scouts entered, one leaning on the other.  Celeborn pulled a chair up and helped to ease the limping elf into it, even as the elf covered his heart and bowed his head before his lord.

“We feared you were lost,” said Celeborn as he clasped the elf’s hand.  “When your son went in search of you and did not return, we feared for him as well.  Yet your wife never doubted that you both lived.”

“She was my strength,” answered the elf, tired but his eyes now shining.

“You must go to her and rest.  We will talk when you have had a chance to sleep, eat and bathe,” said Celeborn.

“We have come to you first,” replied the injured elf.  “My son has saved me from the hands of our enemies, but my desire to bring the report to you of what I have learned led our footsteps here.  Sauron has built a mighty stronghold and is now growing an army. Orcs and men, wargs and other evil things.”

“His plans?” asked Celeborn, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Dominion of Middle-earth,” answered the elf. “Domination of all peoples.  The most outspoken hatred I heard was for the men of Númenor. He hates them and he fears them.”

The older elf reached to caress his son’s face.  “We should have sailed west when Beleriand sank, that you might have been born where there is peace.”

The son kissed his father’s hand, tears streaming down his cheeks.  “We have you back, Adar.  That is what matters.”

Celeborn watched the father and son together, remembering the hope they had had in Lindon, the hope that led them to Eregion. Peace they had had for many centuries, but he recalled the words of Eönwë, herald to Manwë, King of the Valar.  He had reminded them the curse remained and that Middle-earth would be only a temporary home to the Firstborn.  He had reminded them that the west awaited them, whenever they were ready to come.  Instead of finding that thought comforting now, he found it angered him.  Sauron should have been captured and taken with Morgoth those many years ago, but the Valar had not found him when they broke Thangorodrim. Sauron had been left behind, and he apparently had decided that with his own lord gone, he would set himself up in Morgoth’s place. Celeborn’s jaw tensed as he thought of the battle they would wage against any who thought to drive the elves from their rightful homes, from this the land of their birth.

The older elf tried to rise and stumbled, and Celeborn felt all anger fall away as he helped the elf to his feet.  He was so thin now, and Celeborn could only imagine what the son had saved his father from.  He watched as the son put his arm about his father’s shoulders, and helped him back out to the street.  Many on the street had heard of his return, and a crowd was waiting outside the door.  They honored him in silence as he walked slowly down the streets to his home, crossing the threshold under his own strength. All heard his wife’s cry of joy, and many wept as they thought of her long years of waiting and believing that he would return to her.

Celeborn stood at the steps to the Hall and watched until the elf was in the arms of his wife. As he turned to walk back to his office, he looked east. He suddenly noticed that it appeared as if a shadow had grown on the horizon, a dark cloud to herald the return of dark times. He decided to go home instead.

Celebrían sat on the porch swing, an adult now and more beautiful in his eyes than he could have imagined. A male elf, older than her but not that far past his majority, sat beside her.  He heard the injured scout’s words again, and when he looked upon his daughter he felt a deep understanding for the elf’s sentiment.  He had hoped she too would never know anything except peace. As he climbed the steps to the house, he saw Galadriel seated at the opposite end of the porch and found himself glad that she always served as chaperone. He already knew that this young elf would never suit his daughter and feared if forced to spend long in his company, he would tell him so.

“Suilad, Adar,” said Celebrían, rising to kiss his cheek.

“Suilad, Lord Celeborn,” said the suitor. Celeborn never could remember his name.

He greeted them, but his mind was elsewhere. The scouts have returned from the east, he told Galadriel. The news is as you suspected. Galadriel rose to follow him into the house, and soon after they heard Celebrían gently dismiss her suitor.  Well attuned to her parents’ moods, she knew that her father bore news and wished to hear it.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Daeradar, what happened when you told your people about Sauron’s army?” asked Elladan.

Celeborn’s sigh was barely audible.  “Many feared the worst and some, especially those with young children, decided to sail west.  Those who had withstood Morgoth were resolute in their wish to stay.  Those born in Middle-earth after the sinking of Beleriand could not imagine that Sauron could wage war against the elves, for they had never known war.  They stayed.  We began training all in the use of weapons and building our supplies that we might outlast any siege of the city.  Yet, we did not know if he would ever attack.

Arwen was watching her mother curiously and finally climbed from her grandmother’s arms to stand before her.  “Naneth, why were you being courted by an elf who was not Ada and when can I have a bow and a sword?”

Laughter in the camp smothered quickly when Arwen turned her stern look upon the offenders.  Elrohir still lay with his head in his mother’s lap, and when he continued to laugh, Celebrían scolded, “Shush!” as she covered his mouth with her hand.

“I did not know your Ada then and when you are older,” she replied.

Arwen looked thoughtful for a moment, then knelt down before Elrohir.  She pushed Celebrían’s hand away from his mouth.  “How old were you when you got your first bow and sword?” she asked sweetly.

Before Elrohir could answer, Celebrían clapped her hand back over his mouth.

Arwen looked at her mother. “It is as I thought.  They were my age or younger,” she concluded.

When Elrohir nodded in response, Arwen pecked him on the cheek and then climbed over elves to reach her father.  Elrond pulled her into his lap, waiting, but she merely kissed his cheek and then made herself comfortable.  Taking one of his hands in hers, she rubbed his fingernails and traced the lines of his palm.

Elrond looked on her fondly and said, “We will have a sword and bow made for you and start lessons when we return home.”

Arwen tipped her head back and smiled at him, and Elrond leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

Elladan snorted.  “She just charmed him without even having to ask!”

“Your charms at that age were just as effective, though different,” answered Glorfindel as he threw a pinecone at Elladan’s head. “Your daeradar could not wait to start you with your first bow after hearing how you wished to learn from the best archer in middle-earth.”

There was much laughter as wine was poured and passed around and Celebrían’s childhood was laid bare for all who wished to know of her antics and suitors.  Erestor noticed when Elrohir drifted off into sleep.  He moved silently around the ring of the campfire and lifted him from his spot on the ground, nodding as Celebrían thanked him.  Elrohir’s bed remained in the wagon, and Erestor laid him carefully on it, propping up his broken leg and covering him with a blanket. Rather than leave him alone away from the rest of the camp, Erestor made himself comfortable against a sack of grain.  A few moments later, Glorfindel approached, two cups of wine in hand. He handed one to Erestor as he sat down next to him.

“You do not win the bet for carrying him to his bed yourself,” said Glorfindel.

“I already did,” answered Erestor as he lifted his wine glass.  “I got you to wait on me.”

They watched as the stars appeared in the clear sky and Eärendil began his night’s journey.

* * * * *