Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 19: War in Eregion: Ost-in-Edhil

Elrond became gradually aware of a muffled giggling and opened one eye a slit to see who had invaded his dreams and pulled him back to reality. A second voice joined in the mirth, and he could not help the smile that tugged at his lips as he recognized the voices of the two most important females in his life.  Pretending he was still asleep, he rolled slightly, allowing his view to improve without having to open his eyes and prove his wakefulness. Celebrían still lay next to him, but she had acquired a small leech that sat astride her, giggling as she played with her mother’s hair.

“Did you ever fight any ellyn with your sword?” giggled Arwen softly.

“The ellyn were scared of me and my sword,” bragged Celebrían.  She tugged Arwen down closer to her.  “Though they might have been more scared of my ada. They thought he was a big fire-breathing dragon who delighted in incinerating innocent young ellyn.”

Arwen giggled and looked down at her own ada, then reached out and ran the tip of her finger down his cheek.  Elrond fought hard not to smile at the tickling touch.

“Was Ada scared of Daeradar?” she asked.

“I am positive he was,” answered Celebrían.  Even as Elrond heard her words, he felt the touch of her mind against his.  I was not, he protested.  Your parents liked me.

“He chased me, but I finally let him catch me,” she told Arwen.  You chased me! argued Elrond.  Dressing up like a princess and watching my every move; I was like the innocent lamb being chased down by a wolf.

“Your ada was like a lovesick calf, barely able to function in my presence. I had to marry him, just so Imladris would again have a lord,” finished Celebrían.  Humph, he grunted.  Well, in that there might be some truth.

A roll of thunder echoed around them, and Elrond realized why Arwen was awake and in their bed. She clutched tightly at her mother, her memory of the storms from the last several nights giving her pre-storm jitters.

“I wish Ada could stop the storms,” murmured Arwen.

Celebrían laughed softly.  “No, not even adas can stop the storms.  But adas can make you feel safe.  I think if we scoot a little closer to your ada, he will cuddle us both close in his strong arms and you will feel snug and secure.”

Elrond felt Celebrían move herself and Arwen closer to him on the wide cot they shared, and he sighed in his pretend sleep and wrapped an arm about them both.  He sent a soothing touch to his daughter’s mind, and then touched his spirit to Celebrían’s.  Go to sleep, my silver queen. I love you.  He felt peace envelop her and within moments both Celebrían and Arwen were sound asleep against him.  Content, he drifted back on to the path of dreams where they awaited him.

* * *

Glorfindel and Erestor sat on their horses, both silent as they looked upon the muddy mess before them.  The scouts stood to the side, their boots mud-stained and their cloaks wet.

“I am thankful that we did not have storms like this in the first days after the bridge collapsed,” said Glorfindel finally. “We can manage this now; I would despair to think of this weather when Elrohir and Arwen were still so badly injured.”

Erestor flashed a smile at his companion. “We have seen worse.”

“Aye,” agreed Glorfindel. “There are times when I envy the forgetfulness of aged mortals.”

Erestor laughed. “I suppose that is true, at times, but I prefer the wisdom of time and ages. We are less likely to repeat our errors.”

“I would not know,” mused Glorfindel. “I have not made any.”

Erestor snorted. “Apparently the forgetfulness of mortals has overtaken you, then.”

Glorfindel grinned, then returned his attention to the mudslide before them. “Age and time are not on our side this morning, mellon-nín, as we have waited now for several minutes and this mudslide has not cleared itself.”

“There really is not any good way around this one,” replied Erestor grimly. He looked east, the mud easily stretching all the way to the river’s edge.  To the west were marshy bogs, peppered by what he less than fondly recalled were sucking mud holes.  He studied the spot in front of them again.  “This may be as good as we will find.”

Glorfindel slid off his horse and removed his cloak and over tunic. He folded them neatly and placed them in the small pack hanging from the side of his horse.  “Let us get started then,” he said cheerfully as the first of the elves appeared with armfuls of damp cut grass.

Erestor watched as Glorfindel threw himself into the work with the younger guards and warriors, wading into the mud and spreading the stalks of grass into and over the top of the mud, and he could easily see why the warriors of Imladris would follow Glorfindel to death, if need be.  Removing his own cloak and over tunic, Erestor moved slowly into the thick mess, thankful for the boots that encased all of his lower legs.  Instead of helping, however, he began mentally mapping the way through the mud that the horses and wagons would follow.

* * *

Elrond eyed the muddy, marshy path before him doubtfully.  The hoof prints of horses and an occasional boot mark were visible in the black mud, with strands of gold and green grasses protruding from the mashed mess.  His eyes quickly scanned the elves, noting that while all had mud caked boots, most were fairly clean.

“We will lead the horses through and bring the wagons last,” said Erestor to the waiting group of mounted elves.  “Allow your horse to be led; we have determined the best path and will lead you through it.”

Elrond looked at the wagon bearing two of his children and then again at the mud slicked road before him.  While the guards had led their horses through, they had not yet tried to take a wagon through the muck.

“Erestor,” he called, stopping the activity around him. “Perhaps Arwen and Elrohir should ride through this pass.”

Erestor’s face grew thoughtful, although Elrond was sure this was not the first he had thought of the matter.  He finally shrugged.

“I will bring Elrohir to you,” he said.

“Arwen can ride with me,” called Celebrían.

Erestor swung Arwen up atop his shoulders, avoiding getting any mud on her clothing, and delivered her to Celebrían’s arms.  He returned for Elrohir, who looked all the more happy for getting out of the wagon.  Elrond watched as Erestor easily lifted Elrohir from the wagon and then up to the horse. As with the day before, Elrond eased his own legs between Elrohir’s legs and the horse, supporting him comfortably.

“Your strength is now occupied with your son and is not available should your horse become skittish or have difficulty in the mud,” warned Erestor calmly.

Elrohir turned his head to look at his father, his mouth opening to speak, but Elrond interrupted him, sliding an arm around his son’s waist as he spoke. “I have more faith in Alagos than I do in that wagon.” The stallion nickered in response, shaking his head and stomping a foot, and Elrond patted his neck affectionately.

Erestor returned to the head of the small column that had formed, taking Celebrían’s horse by the lead that had been slipped around its neck, and began walking lightly atop the mud.  The horse was less happy as her hooves sank into the mire, the mud sucking her down as the mare lifted each leg in turn to step forward.  Erestor stayed by her side, whispering in the mare’s ear.

Glorfindel had slipped a lead over Alagos’s head, and once Erestor was a short distance ahead, he led the stallion into the crossing.  As the horse’s front leg sank into the mud, Elrond tightened his grip on Elrohir, his leg pressing tight against the stallion’s side as he strove to balance Elrohir’s unwieldy cast.  Alagos whinnied in confusion, the movement of Elrond’s thigh against his side telling him to veer to the side, but Glorfindel’s strong hand on the seldom used lead rope instructing him otherwise.

Elrond looked ahead to see if Celebrían was having any difficulty, but she held Arwen easily in front of her, allowing Erestor to guide the mare.  Alagos responded to the encouraging words Glorfindel kept murmuring to him while Elrond focused on steadying Elrohir before him, and slowly they made their way forward.

They were nearing the end of the crossing when Celebrían’s mare suddenly began to struggle. She bucked slightly as she tried to pull a foreleg free of the mud, and Elrond could see that Erestor had sunk deeper into the mud as well.  Erestor calmed the mare, convincing her to stay still, and Elladan suddenly appeared next to them.

“Take Arwen,” directed Erestor.

Elladan reached for Arwen, placing her atop his shoulders, and her hands wound tightly into his hair.  Elrond could tell she was hesitant, but she trusted her brother implicitly. Elladan walked the remainder of the way across the grass and mud mixture, only lightly sinking into the mud.  He turned, seemingly thinking to return for his mother, and found her moving lightly across the mud behind him. 

“Naneth, you did not need to walk in the mud,” protested Elladan, but a sly smile spread across his face.  “Although we have learned you did not mind a good mudfight as an elfling, so perhaps you enjoyed it.”

Celebrían did not have time to respond, for Elladan saw that Erestor was still working with the mare, and he hurried back to assist him.

“Her foot is tangled in something,” said Erestor.

Elladan did not hesitate, but bent over, slipping his hand down the horse’s leg and into the mud.  He dug for a few moments as Erestor held the horse steady, then dropped to his knees and shoved the other hand deep into the muck.  “Her foot is stuck between two roots,” he reported. The muscles of his upper body rippled and strained as he pulled the roots apart, and suddenly the mare reared up, her leg free. The abrupt motion caused Elladan to tip over backward, and he sprawled out in the mud.

Erestor steadied the horse, pulling her forward so she avoided stepping in the same place.  She bucked again, struggling against the lead, and it appeared to Elrond as if Erestor was about to tumble into the mud as well.  The elf managed to keep his feet, however, and with an apologetic look at Elladan, Erestor continued on with the mare.

Glorfindel had watched the scene unfold silently, holding Alagos in place, but now turned to Elrond.  Elrond did not need to hear the words to agree with Glorfindel’s plan. It was obvious they would do better on their own feet.

“I think we will walk,” Elrond informed Elrohir. “Can you hold steady while I dismount?” Elrohir nodded, and Elrond slipped from Alagos, landing as lightly as he could. He then reached for Elrohir, one hand slipping under the knee of Elrohir’s casted leg, and the other around his son’s waist. Elrohir allowed himself to be pulled from the horse, but as he leaned into his father, his cast banged against Alagos near his ear and the horse reared away from the blow.

Elrohir fell on top of his father, who fell into the mud. Elrond gave no thought to his own landing; his entire focus was on Elrohir’s broken leg.  He kept his hands as originally placed, one arm pulling Elrohir to him, cushioning him as much as possible, and the other hand grasping his son’s knee and holding the cast up out of the mud.

Still, the impact jarred. Elrond felt his breath knocked from him and heard Elrohir’s grunt of pain.  Time seemed to stand still as Elrond waited for his lungs to expand and allow air back into them.  Fleeting thoughts crossed his mind: how cold the thick, dark mud was on his neck as it seeped through his hair, how he might better regain his breath if he did not have his son’s weight pinning him down, and the thought he was trying not to think – could his son recover from yet another injury to his leg? Even in the short span of time they lay unmoving on the ground, he could not sense any real distress in Elrohir.

Silver hair brushed his cheek, and he looked up into the amused eyes of his father-in-law. “Let go of Elrohir,” instructed Celeborn.

Elrond felt someone peeling his fingers from Elrohir’s knee and as Celeborn’s words took meaning in his mind, he loosened his grip.  His lungs burned as he finally managed to inhale once Elrohir was lifted from him.  Breathing in deeply, Elrond finally felt his lungs fully expand and the pain in his chest eased.  His vision, which he had not realized was blurred, cleared, and he rolled to his side to see where Elrohir had been taken.

Celeborn strode swiftly yet lightly to the other side of the mudslide, and Elrond could not help but note that the mud apparently did not dare to stick to him.

“Are you able to stand yet?” came the amused voice of Galadriel.

Elrond turned to see Galadriel, dressed in riding trousers and tunic, with one slim white hand held out to him.  He looked at his own mud covered hand and then again at her, and heard her laugh as she took him by the hand and easily pulled him to his feet.

“Thank you,” he croaked, and rolled his eyes when she laughed.

“That was quite a tumble, and, admittedly, a fairly good save of the cast,” said Galadriel merrily. “Glorfindel did not fare so well in his fall, nor Alagos.”

Elrond turned to see his mud covered stallion glaring at an equally mud covered and glaring Glorfindel. Hands on his hips, the golden warrior was nose to nose with the stallion, who stomped and snorted at him.

“If you had just held still as I asked, none of this would have happened,” growled Glorfindel.   The stallion shook his head, sending mud splattering across Glorfindel’s face. “I should let you find your own way out of this bog, you incomprehensible, stubborn, ornery colt!”

The stallion whinnied in a slightly more subdued tone and bowed its head, and Glorfindel acquiesced immediately.  He scratched Alagos behind his ears, whispering to him comfortingly.  Taking the lead, he led the horse through the bog and out on the other side.

Elrond turned back to Galadriel, who was barely containing her mirth.  “Tell me at least that Elrohir is uninjured,” he said dryly.

“Elrohir is uninjured,” replied Galadriel congenially.  “His leg was jolted and might be sore, but it is unlikely to have been damaged.  His greatest distress was you holding him so tightly that he could not breathe.” She laughed again, then barely touching his arm, motioned him forward.

Mud did not dare stick to Galadriel, either, noted Elrond, as he sank into the mud up to mid calf.  She moved lightly along on top of the mud and grass as he strained along next to her, and he wondered briefly if anyone had ever pushed her in the mud.

“No,” she answered his thought. “Not even my brothers dared attempt that when we were children.”

Guarding his thoughts more closely, Elrond silently cursed the mud.

They were the last across the mud slide, except for the rear guards some distance behind them.  Even Cook had managed to guide the wagon through the mire, though admittedly several elves pushed it from behind. Elrond sighed with relief as he stood again on firm ground and immediately looked for Elrohir.   He found Celeborn examining him a short distance away and knelt down next to them.  Reaching to touch his son, he suddenly realized his hands were covered in mud and stopped, and then he realized Elrohir was laughing.

“You are a mud monster, Adar!” he teased.  Looking over Elrond’s shoulder, he grinned. “Clearly Elladan is your son!  El, do you remember when Glorfindel first taught us to follow orders and you fell in the mud?”

Elrond turned slightly to see his mud-blackened son standing slightly behind him, arms folded across his chest. As he looked over Elladan, he realized he must look equally filthy.  Elrohir was muddy, particularly his back and hair, but much less so than either of them. Celeborn’s tunic and trousers were dirty from where he had carried Elrohir against him, but his face and hair were clean.

“I am remembering how uncomfortable dried mud all over the body felt quite well,” replied Elladan sardonically.

“Are you injured, Elrohir?” asked Elrond, turning his attention back to his original concern.

“No, Adar,” replied Elrohir.

Elrond studied his son for a moment and knew when Elrohir looked away that he was not telling the entire truth.  A smile tugged at his lips as he suddenly saw an elfling before him again, one who was as honest in his misdeeds as he was in his good deeds.  He allowed his gaze to linger long on Elrohir, until his son was literally squirming before him.

“It is not broken,” amended Elrohir, a light blush on his face, “however, I will admit to some minor discomfort.”

Elrond raised one brow quizzically. “What kind of minor discomfort, Elrohir?”

As he waited for his son to answer, he realized that everyone was gathering around, standing, whereas Elrohir was lying propped on one elbow.  Remembering how conscious of his injured status Elrohir was, Elrond decided to move them all away. “We need water and clean clothes for all who are muddy,” he directed.  “We might as well find a suitable place to camp.” Erestor suddenly appeared, barking orders, and the small crowd dispersed.

He knelt down next to Elrohir, wiping his hands on a cloth handed to him by Celeborn.

“Here,” said Elrohir quietly, pointing to where the break had occurred. “It was throbbing wretchedly, but now it is just an ache.”

Elrond frowned slightly, resting his hand on Elrohir’s leg above the cast.  He could neither see nor feel the area affected, thus did not know how bad the potential injury might be.

“It is a good thing you insisted on the cast, Elrond,” said Celeborn, voicing Elrond’s thoughts.

“Indeed,” replied Elrond quietly.  He studied Elrohir for a moment, then said, “If the throbbing does not abate within a few hours, we will need to remove the cast.”

Elrohir’s eyes widened with dismay and he blinked hard a few times, looking away from his father and grandfather as he struggled with this news.

“There is a creek ahead,” called Erestor as he came into view.  “Well, a small river right now.  But we can clean up before moving on. Put Elrohir on the tarp on his bed in the wagon,” he directed.  He stopped near Elrond as he barked orders to all nearby, and though he spoke of Elrohir as he did all the other baggage that needed attending, the tone was belied by the gentle hand that stroked Elrohir’s hair.  “Just a few minutes to the campsite and then we’ll make you comfortable,” he said quietly.

“I have him,” said Celeborn, brushing Elrond aside as he knelt to lift his son.  “You might get him dirty.”

Elrond stood, feeling decidedly ungraceful as the mud-stiffened fabric of his trousers did not move with him.  He joined Elladan, Glorfindel and all the other filthy elves as they walked, avoiding irritating the horses further, to the campsite.

* * *

Small fires burned all along the outer perimeter of the camp, a camp much smaller than they normally made.  The clearing was small, but insect control made the possibility of anything larger impossible.  The smoke of the fires deterred them some, and netting was strung above cots and bedrolls to prevent the elves from being excessively bitten.

“Rub this on your skin! It is my special treatment, guaranteed to keep the mosquitoes away,” cried Cook as he moved among them with small flasks of some sort of liquid.  He himself seemed unbothered by the insects, Elrond noted, and he sniffed the bottle curiously, seeing which extracts and herbs he could recognize. “Try it, Master Elrond! If you find it to your satisfaction, I will share my recipe with you,” he promised with a grin. “Cooks are good alchemists too!”

He was gone before Elrond could answer, his attention having flitted to other matters.

“Ah, Lady Celebrían.  I believe I may be of assistance.  Rinse his hair one more time, while I obtain a special remedy that will remove the tangles the mud has caused,” said Cook consolingly.  “Our Elrohir suffers enough without this!”

Elrohir was subdued. He has spoken little throughout the afternoon, and was stoically letting his mother work the snarls from his hair.  He had been the only one unable to wash in the creek, and cleaning the substantial mud from his hair had been tedious. His trousers were mudstained, and so he was again bereft of clothing while they were washed and dried. Elrond suspected that the pain in his leg had not abated, and worse, some insect had bitten him inside the cast and it appeared to itch terribly.  Arwen had found him a small twig that fit inside the cast, but Elrond had taken it away after he rubbed his skin raw.  The raw flesh, of course, attracted more biting insects, and could not be protected by Cook’s solution, which couldn’t be poured in the edge of the cast.  Elrond finally rubbed salve under the edge of the cast and then wound a bandage around it to keep the insects out.

Elladan, Glorfindel and the guards returned after finishing bathing and brushing the horses.  Cook had by this time managed to make a good dinner for them, the smell of roast venison filling the camp.  Elrond watched as Arwen carefully carried a plate to Elrohir.  A good idea, meleth-nín, for I do not think he would eat except to please Arwen, he thought to Celebrían.

Celebrían and Galadriel had washed clothing and bedding with Cook’s help, and performed much of the hard work of setting up the camp while the guards had seen to the horses. Arwen had carried many a pail of water, which was used to bathe Elrohir, and Elrond thought she would drop from exhaustion before complaining or stopping.  Her devotion still knew no bounds.

She served Elrohir and sat steadfastly by his side, saying little, but under her watchful gaze he ate.  By the time he finished, her eyelids were half closed and she leaned against him.

“Naneth, has Arwen eaten?” asked Elrohir.

“Yes, she has,” replied Celebrían.  She gently picked the sleeping child up, but Arwen did not wake.  “Let your adar give you something for the discomfort, Elrohir,” she bid him. “You need to sleep deeply and well before we continue tomorrow.”

Elrohir turned his face away, and Celebrían stroked his hair and kissed him on the forehead before taking Arwen to bed.   The warriors were eating when Erestor moved silently to sit next to Elrohir. He said nothing for some time, and Elrond watched as curiosity and opportunity pulled his son from his discontent.

“Did you travel this way when you came to Eregion?” asked Elrohir.

“I did,” replied Erestor. “I was seeking some way across the river, much as we are now.  The spring of that year resembled this one as well, and mud and insects were as much a problem then as now.”

“When did word come to Lindon? What did you know as you headed east?”

“We sent word to Lindon asking for Gil-Galad’s aid when we knew that Sauron was planning to attack us,” answered Celeborn as he folded himself gracefully into a sitting position on the other side of Elrohir.

Erestor nodded to Celeborn to continue. “Tell of Eregion at that time.”

“Some say now that we waited too long to ask for aid, but though we knew Sauron was gathering his forces, we did not know where he would attack. . .,” began Celeborn.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

SA 1693

“Adar, another scout has returned,” reported Celebrían, having knocked on the door before entering and speaking.  She held open the door to show the elf in; having served in her parents’ office these many years, she knew Celeborn would want to hear the report immediately.

“Thank you, Celebrían,” he replied, dismissing her.  He saw the disappointed look in her eyes at being excused, for he knew she wished to hear the news too.  The scouts, however, were seasoned veterans who would report more bluntly and concisely without a maiden in their presence.

“My lord,” began the scout, speaking before Celeborn could even greet him, “his army grows in might and power.  He has gathered uncounted Orcs and Men from the south and east to his stronghold in Mordor.  He rules them with an iron fist.  Now I have seen advance scouts entering the southern part of Eregion.  My lord, I do not know his plans, but in all of these years I have been watching their movements, this is the furthest north they have come.  I was able to come close enough to his scouts to know they were planning strategies of battle.”

Celeborn had motioned the scout to sit and pressed a glass of water into his hands.  The elf finally paused and sipped the liquid.

“If what I have heard is true, a messenger of Sauron travels to Ost-in-Edhil,” the scout finished.

Celeborn looked the elf over carefully, noting the travel stains on his cloak and boots, a tear in his tunic, and eyes that bespoke weariness.  Long this elf had served them, spending many years apart from his family, as he lived in stealth to learn of Sauron’s ways and plans.

“Go to your home and see your family.  Eat and bathe and rest.  Tomorrow we will hear your full report.  I will notify the city guard to watch for a messenger and send out riders to meet him, when our sentries spot him,” he commanded gently. 

A look of dissent appeared on the elf’s face, but Celeborn interrupted him before he could speak.  “I wish to have all my advisors hear your words, for they are of critical import to the region. You will be best prepared to handle their questions when you have rested.”

The elf nodded his acquiescence, and Celeborn could see that despite the protestations he wished to make, the scout was relieved. Celeborn walked with the scout out of the city hall, then made his way to a secluded area of the park where he could sit in the quiet of the trees and listen to what wisdom they might share.

* * *

“Sauron is demanding that all the rings of power be turned over to him,” said Celebrimbor, waving the message in his hand. “He claims that they are rightfully his, as without him, we could not have forged them. I will not give over to him the culmination of my life’s work.”

Celebrimbor paced the length of the room as he spoke; now he stopped, his eyes fixed on Galadriel.  “In his message, he says he will come and claim them if we do not send them willingly to him.”

“The rings must be hidden,” replied Galadriel. “The lesser rings could be thrown into the sea, or buried deep in the Misty Mountains.  In Moria, in the deepest abyss, somewhere he will never find them.”

“The risk of them being found is slight, but how grievous to the one who stumbles upon a ring unawares and places it upon their finger,” interjected Celeborn.  “We find ourselves in a quandary, for we cannot unmake them, nor can we guarantee they will not be found if hidden.”

“What course must we follow, then?” asked Galadriel impatiently. She turned to Celebrimbor.  “The Three at least must be hidden among the elves.”

Celebrimbor nodded in agreement.  “They, at least, were not made by his hand.  They are powerful and he desires them, though I do not think he could turn the bearer to an evil end.”

“Where will we send them? To Gil-Galad is the only logical answer,” said Galadriel, answering her own question.  “Lindon is furthest from Mordor and escape by sea is possible.”

“Lady Galadriel, you will keep Nenya,” said Celebrimbor suddenly.

Celeborn stiffened and felt a sudden dread sweep over him. “No, they should all be sent to Lindon,” he replied. His eyes met those of his wife, and he saw her desire for the ring clearly.

“Nenya is powerful, Galadriel.  In your hands, the decays of time would be slowed and you could strengthen and refresh those around you.  A day will come when you may find it safe to wield,” argued Celebrimbor softly, pointedly ignoring Celeborn. “I thought immediately of you when I saw the adamant. It is meant for you.”

Galadriel looked again at Celeborn and he saw that her decision was made.  Anger welled up within him. “Then you will take it to Lindon yourself, and stay there with it, for I will not have you here if Sauron comes!”

Galadriel did not even flinch at his tone, but met his gaze steadily.  “I will consider it, if Sauron comes,” she answered calmly.

Celeborn slammed his hand down on the table, then closed his eyes and drew in a deep, steadying breath.  Once calmed, he turned back to them.  “What of the Seven and the Nine?”

Celebrimbor shrugged.  “It is the Three he wants.  The lesser rings are just that: less.  They are not capable of great works or deeds.”

“Then we will send Narya and Vilya to Gil-galad,” concluded Galadriel.

* * *

A few months later….

Celeborn looked at the map showing the vast encampment still many leagues south of Eregion, and despair filled his heart.  Years of preparation meant naught against an army so large.  Sauron’s army numbered more than all the citizens of the city combined. Ost-in-Edhil would fall under the onslaught; of this he had no doubt.  He looked up into the eyes of the scout, whose pale face reflected the hopelessness of the situation.  Pushing aside his own fears, he began issuing orders.

“You will ride to Lindon to ask for aid from the king,” he informed the elf.  As he spoke, he quickly penned a letter stating that attack was imminent and that Gil-galad should expect refugees.  “Many have chosen to sail in these dark years of waiting; many more will do so now.”

He turned to his captains.  “Prepare our army for battle.  As they draw near, we will ride out against them; we must hold them back to allow those of our people who wish to leave to escape to Lindon. Messengers will be sent to King Durin in Moria and King Amdir in Lorinand, warning them and asking them for their aid.”

As aides, advisors and captains jumped to do his bidding, Celeborn went in search of Galadriel.   He laid out the scout’s map before her, remaining silent as she made her own assessment.

“We cannot withstand this force alone,” she concluded quickly.

“I have sent word to Gil-galad, asking for aid and telling him to expect more refugees,” he answered, then chose his words carefully. “You should take Celebrían and go to Lindon.”

She bristled, as expected. “I am of more use here.”

“And Celebrían?  Are you willing to see her die when Sauron breaks down the walls and destroys all in his path?” interrupted Celeborn.  When she did not answer, fury rose within him and he said harshly, “For Nenya, then, if not for our daughter? Would you risk it to Sauron’s control?”

Galadriel pushed back her chair and rose to her feet in a graceful flurry, standing nose to nose with him.  “Do not try to command me, husband! There is much to consider and I will not make a rash decision,” she hissed.  “Do not forget Celebrían is an adult and capable of making her own choices.”

Celeborn took a step back, shocked. “Celebrían has never known war! How can she discern the right step? She can wield bow and sword, but in defense, not offense!  Do you not think that Sauron would be most pleased to capture our child, our daughter, to torment before us? Use her as a weapon against us?”

He saw the glimmer of fear in Galadriel’s eyes at his words, and knew his point had sunk deep into her mother’s heart.  He softened.  “I must prepare messages to the dwarves and the elves of Lorinand.  We must both warn them and ask for their aid.”

He quietly left the room, allowing Galadriel time to consider his words and come to some conclusion.  His was already made, however.  He would send her away tied over her horse if she would not go willingly. Celebrían, he knew, would do his bidding.

* * *

Galadriel found Celebrían sitting alone near the fountain. The streets were nearly deserted, unusual at any hour but especially at this time of the day.  Normally full of children playing and minstrels singing, now it seemed that even the birds had fallen silent. Her daughter did not look up as Galadriel sat down next to her.

“Narusel has left,” said Celebrían quietly. “Her adar had been considering sailing for some time, but with today’s word, he decided to go immediately.”

“Any adar would fear for his children, knowing an army marches upon the city. Narusel’s younger sister is but a small child. He does well to take his family west,” consoled Galadriel.  “Were you able to say fare well to Narusel?”

Celebrían nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks, and Galadriel wrapped an arm about her and pulled her close. “We must go too, my daughter. Messages must be sent to the dwarves and to Lorinand. We shall be the ones to take them.”

Celebrían looked up. “Will Adar come too?”

Galadriel shook her head.  “No, he must stay to lead our warriors.” She saw the protestation in Celebrían’s eyes and raised a finger to lips about to protest. “Your adar has long been lord of this city, and his duty is to defend it.  I would stay, but I will not send you off alone and you cannot stay. There are worthy tasks for us to accomplish as well.”

“Naneth, I can stay and help defend the city too,” cried Celebrían.  “I can defend myself, and I can help in other ways.  The warriors will need support.”

Galadriel smiled as she considered her own thoughts along these lines.  Celeborn’s words, however, haunted her mind. “No, Celebrían. Sauron has reason to hate your adar and me.  You would be a desirable prize to him.”

Celebrían’s eyes grew large as her imagination allowed her to consider what Sauron would do to her, but Galadriel knew her daughter’s innocent mind could not even conceive the torment she would suffer.

“Prepare only a small pack with a clothing change and necessary items. We will leave at sunrise.”

As Celebrían stood, Galadriel noticed the lock of black hair wrapped around her hand. Her best friend since birth, now a memory, unless they would meet again one day in Valinor. She was sure Narusel traveled with a long silver tress as well.

* * *

She found Celeborn at the armory, now the headquarters of the army.  He was in conference with his captains when he saw her enter and left them immediately to join her.

“I have spoken to Celebrían.  We will leave at dawn tomorrow, and deliver your messages to the dwarves and to Amdir in Lorinand,” she announced.  She saw the relief in his eyes, and knew he would now be able to focus all of his attention on their defense. “I know not where we will end up, if we will stay in Lorinand or go to Lindon.”

“I will come home this evening,” he promised, as he was drawn back into the plans for the defense of the city.

Galadriel and Celebrían were packed and ready, and Galadriel had written the messages to Durin and Amdir herself when Celeborn finally came home.  Lines of worry and care were carved about his eyes, but he relaxed visibly upon seeing her. He held out his hand to her, and when she took it, he pulled her roughly into his arms. His mouth crushed hers in a kiss that was demanding and passionate, his hands threading through her hair, tugging the golden strands as he moved her towards their bed. She responded in kind, arduous and passionate, demanding and forceful, and they removed each other’s clothes without care for preservation of the items. Their lovemaking was fierce as they wrestled for dominance and possession. Each was marked by the other, their bodies mapped and explored as lovers who wished to remember and be remembered, until they both lay exhausted.

They rose as dawn broke, bathing and dressing, and then Galadriel picked up her pack as she looked one last time around the room. It was but one of many homes they had shared, less than some places they had lived, but it was the bed in which Celebrían had been conceived and where she had been born.  It was in this house they had served their people as lord and lady. She did not know if the house would still stand when all was over, nor did she care.  She knew in her heart she would not return.

Celebrían was already awake and waiting for them, the amused glint in her eyes suggesting that her parent’s fare well tryst had been heard.  “I trust you are not well rested?” she quipped lightly.

Galadriel laughed, and Celeborn replied, “May you one day be so fortunate, daughter, to find a mate with whom you would wish to spend a night of passion.”

He wrapped his arms about his only child, then, and pulled her close against him. His hands traced over her, memorizing her, for he had told Galadriel if he were to spend many an age in Mandos’s Halls, he wanted perfect recall of those who waited for him.

“Come to us soon, Adar,” whispered Celebrían. “Be well.”

Celeborn watched silently on the dwarf road as his wife and daughter walked east to Moria. No guards accompanied them, for Galadriel would not allow any to be taken away from more important tasks.  The dwarves would see them safely through Moria, and they would move with care from the eastern door to Lorinand.  He had been separated from Galadriel on multiple occasions, and in war, and they knew what it was like to part not knowing if they would see each other again in Middle-earth. Never had he been parted from his daughter, however, and even while he was grateful she was being sent to relative safety, he felt as if his heart had been torn asunder.

When they were lost to the morning shadows of the mountains, he turned back to the city.  In many dwellings and on the main road heading west, to Lindon, similar scenes were being played out as husbands and fathers watched their wives and children depart, not knowing if they would see each other again on this side of the sea.

Some stayed. Celeborn pushed his fear for them aside, knowing he could not leave any warriors to protect them.  Celebrimbor and his Gwaith-i-Mírdain and their families had refused to leave, as well as many others who had withstood trial and battle before.  Some had lived in Sirion and Balar; a few were survivors of Nargothrond and Gondolin. 

“My lord, we will be prepared to march south day after tomorrow,” reported the captain who had appeared at his elbow.

Celeborn looked south, knowing that battle and death awaited them.  “So be it.”

* * * * *

The next chapter will continue in the Second Age.  I will save all author’s notes to the end of the section on the War in Eregion, for there are many conflicting passages that make one ‘canon’ impossible to hear.

Thank you to all who are reading and reviewing.  Your comments and encouragement mean the world to me.