Chapter 4: Lord of Abomination

“Elrond is a master of healing, but the weapons of our Enemy are deadly.”  Gandalf, Many Meetings, FotR.

Imladris
October 20, 3018

Elrond closed his eyes, his hands gripping tightly to the rail of the porch banister. He could sense Mithrandir’s presence next to him, their powers rising in unison as they focused all of their attention on the river.  Vilya sang upon his finger, the river long under its control, but the presence of Narya provided a harmony that produced a song of greater intensity, powerful and terrible in its crescendo. Elrond could feel the water surge, rising in a foaming fury and slamming down upon evil cloaked and mounted.  A sliver of fear ran through him as he focused upon them, and his mind processed the fear for what it was: the main weapon of the Úlairi, but not a weapon that would prevail against him.  In that same moment he could feel Glorfindel’s presence, and the utter lack of fear in the re-embodied elf of Valinor. He felt the smug smile that tugged at his lips, and allowed himself to relish the dread and dismay of the servants of Sauron, for he could feel Glorfindel’s rage and fury as he chased the undead into the heart of the flood.

“Let us hope the hobbit Frodo was not washed away as well,” interrupted Mithrandir suddenly.

Elrond opened his eyes, his gaze roaming over the lands west of Imladris. The Úlairi had been kept from his valley; he knew this with certainty. “He was not,” he answered quietly.  He laid a restraining hand upon Mithrandir’s arm.  “My people are nearly to them. They will be here soon.”

Unease settled in Elrond’s heart at that moment, and he turned his gaze westward again. Evil had entered his valley, and he could feel its presence, slight but growing stronger in miniscule increments as each second passed.

“What do you sense?” asked Mithrandir.

“The presence of evil,” answered Elrond slowly. “Yet evil not strong enough to harm us, but to cause fear in the faint of heart, and tempt the strong of heart.”

“The Ring has awakened,” mused Mithrandir. “I dared not touch it, so great was the temptation before me. It was evil cloaked as a thing of light and mercy, yet I knew it to be wholly evil.”

Elrond shook his head. “It is more than that.” He paused, then turned on his heel and moved to the door.  “We must prepare.  Come!”

Pleased that Mithrandir did not argue or question, Elrond led the way to the healing rooms of the house.  Elves appeared to assist him, moving without needing words of direction to prepare hot water, linens and beds, and open the apothecary for whatever Elrond might request.  Once satisfied that all was in order for whatever might occur, Elrond sought the quiet of his study.

“Adar?”

Elrond did not respond to his daughter’s voice, but acknowledged her nonetheless. He felt her approach, then her hand was on his shoulder and she leaned over to rest her cheek on his head.  He did not try to hide the tear on his cheek, nor did he flinch when her fingertip brushed it away.  Arwen wrapped her presence around him, her feä touching his, and he allowed his guard to drop and his daughter to comfort him. She seemed to know when he felt Celebrían’s absence the worst, and he had long ago quit denying his pain before her.  He at times wondered from whom she had inherited her strength, and decided that though she was much like him in looks and temperament, her strength came from Celebrían, and Celeborn and Galadriel.  She had been the first to pick up the pieces of their shattered life, and she had been the one to comfort her brothers and father.  Her own comfort and strength had been drawn from her grandparents.

“What do you sense, Adar?” she asked softly. “The healing rooms are alight with activity.”

“Someone comes bearing a wound imbued with evil,” he answered simply.

Arwen sat down next to him on the armless couch, sliding her arm through his. “You have not been yourself since Glorfindel rode out,” she noted.

Elrond untangled his arm from Arwen’s, and wrapped it about her shoulders, pulling her close to him. “Watching my warriors ride out upon rescue missions does not lead to pleasant thoughts.”

Arwen leaned against him, then took his hand in hers and began to trace the line of his palm, much as she had done as a small child.  “I wish I had been here to wait with you, Adar,” she said softly.

Elrond bristled, tensing and nearly pulling his hand from his daughter’s, but Arwen tightened her grip. Silence grew between them, and Elrond knew that Arwen had won this battle long before he responded.  “I am thinking of Celebrían,” he admitted. He smiled at her, drawing her hand to his lips and kissing it gently. “I knew something was wrong immediately. I had had a hard time letting her go, though I did not know why; it seemed selfish of me, and so I only bade her to take care and return soon.” As he spoke to Arwen, Elrond was already drifting back in memory to those days, memories too personal to share with any other.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Imladris
Spring, 2509 TA

Elrond slid his finger lightly from the corner of Celebrían’s mouth down her neck to her breasts, delicately tracing each nipple before moving to her belly. She shivered beneath him, then reached up and pulled his head down to hers. When he kissed her, she tightened her grip about him, holding him against her as if in some battle.  He read the intensity in her eyes, but although she had initiated their energized play he sensed she wished for him to conquer.   She surrendered easily, and he saw to her pleasure, enjoying seeing her rise to the heights that he knew he could bring her to, and the look of bliss he could put on her face in release.  She sighed as he kissed her again, gently now, and when he rolled to lie next to her, she laid her head on his shoulder and pressed herself against his side in contentment.

“I will miss you,” she said softly.

Elrond turned on to his side, allowing him to see her face, and ran his finger along her jaw. “I do not want you to go,” he admitted.

Her face shadowed, and he bent forward to kiss the frown from her lips. “I want you to visit your parents and fetch Arwen; I just selfishly also want you with me. Forgive me.”

“And why, pray tell, should I forgive my husband for wanting to be with me?” she teased.

“Have I ever mentioned how well you change the meaning of my words to my advantage?” He kissed her again, his hands roaming across her body, making her gasp with pleasure.

“I like you advantaged,” she replied breathlessly. “And I will still miss you.”

He pulled her close, burying his face in her hair, and inhaling the sweet scent that was uniquely her. Together they drifted on the path of dreams, deeply contented with each other, and they held each other comfortably until dawn broke and Celebrían’s escort gathered in the courtyard.

Elladan was the captain of the mission, with six guards assigned to him to escort Celebrían through the Redhorn Pass, where an escort form Lorien would meet them.  Elladan and Elrohir would continue on with their mother to visit their grandparents, while the rest returned home.

As they entered the courtyard, Elrond could hear Glorfindel speaking to Elladan as the two reviewed the map of the route they would take, heading south out of Imladris on the west side of the Misty Mountains, then following the road over Caradhras, through the Redhorn Pass, where the Lorien guard would meet them. Once on the other side of the mountains, they would enter the area guarded by Lorien’s marchwardens and protected by Galadriel.

The Elves preferred this road, for it was safer than the High Pass just north of Imladris where goblins often established strongholds in the abundant caves.  The road through the Redhorn Pass would take them to Lorien in about ten days if the weather held.

“Take good care of your naneth and enjoy your visit to Lorien,” said Elrond as he embraced Elrohir.

“I have told Glorfindel to take good care of you with all of us gone,” replied Elrohir in a teasing voice.  “We will miss you, Adar.”

After saying farewell to Elladan, Elrond lifted Celebrían on to her horse, not because she needed the help, but because it was one more chance to touch her.  After a night of lovemaking, he always found his desire to be close to her the next day very intense. The group could be heard singing as they crossed the bridge out of Imladris, until they passed beyond the waterfall and their melody was lost in the loud voice of the water.

* * *

Eight days later…

Elrond was reading in his study when he felt Celebrían’s distress.  He concentrated on their bond, and was able to discern her fear and anger.  Fear seized his heart as he considered all that might have occurred to cause her such distress, and he concentrated on her, sending her his strength while trying not to distract her.  By his calculations, they were near the Redhorn Pass, soon to meet the escort from Lorien.

He began to pace, then walked out on to the balcony, following it to the south side of the house. He turned all of his thought towards the great mountain of Caradhras, but his power did not extend nearly that far. He clenched the balcony rail as he concentrated again on Celebrían, and he felt her anger and fear turn to panic for her life.  A moment later, she drew into herself, seeking him, and he felt the full onslaught of her terror.

He ran back into the house and into the hall, rushing to the front porch, intent on reaching the stables. He stumbled over a rug in his haste, quickly regaining his balance, and shoved past several elves who were entering the house.  If anyone spoke to him, he did not hear it.  He had reached the stables when someone rammed into him from the side, knocking him to the ground.  He rolled, ages of battle experience returning instantly, and leapt to his feet, only to be knocked down again.  His opponent landed on top of him, straddling him and pinning his arms to his side. He cried out as he heard Celebrían cry out in his mind, her pain and fear driving him to fight his captor.  A stinging slap to his cheek made his head spin, and he cried out, “I must reach her!”

“Elrond!”

Somehow, Glorfindel’s voice broke through his panic, and he followed the voice calling his name back to the present, though it meant distancing himself from Celebrían to do it.  Her panic increased as he withdrew.

“Elrond, you must reach who?  What is wrong?” asked Glorfindel, shaking him slightly.

“Celebrían,” he gasped.  “She is in terrible pain and fear.”

He went limp beneath Glorfindel, called back to Celebrían by her need for him.  He sent  all of his strength to her to bear what was being done, and he took as much of the pain as possible back on himself.  He knew he helped her, he knew she was better for his strength, and she clung to him through their bond, pleading for his help. Then, suddenly, she was quiet, and he felt her presence as he did when she slept, but nothing more.

The next thing he knew he was on his bed, and Erestor and Glorfindel were speaking in hurried whispered tones above him.  Sitting up, he was swinging his feet off the side of the bed when powerful hands grasped his shoulders, keeping him from rising.

“I have a troop preparing to ride out now, Elrond, and I will lead them.  You will stay here, and I have told Erestor he may chain you to this bed if needed,” said Glorfindel, his voice gentle at first, but growing harsh when Elrond struggled against him.  “Listen to me, Elrond!”

The tightening grasp of Glorfindel’s hands on his shoulders was painful, and the pain did as intended, turning his attention to Glorfindel.  “When you leave us, Elrond, where do you go?  To Celebrían?”  When Elrond nodded, unable to speak, Glorfindel continued, “Does it help her?”

“Yes,” answered Elrond hoarsely, and he released his grip on Glorfindel’s forearms, and felt a lessening of pressure in return, though Glorfindel did not release him. “I can bear some of the pain for her, and send her my strength.”

“If you ride out with us, you will not be able to do that,” said Glorfindel, more gently now.  “Celebrían needs you now in this way, and you must stay here to aid her. What of Elladan and Elrohir?”

Elrond had spared only a brief thought for his sons while overwhelmed with Celebrían’s distress, and he now turned to his bond with his children.  “Something is wrong, but they are not in terror like Celebrían. They must be separated from her,” he said, and his mind was filled with grievous thoughts of how that could have come to be.

“I am leaving now,” said Glorfindel. “Erestor has sent someone to the great eagles, to see if they know or will fly south and see what is amiss.  A messenger hawk has been sent to Lorien as well.  Stay here until we return.”  He turned to Erestor. “Do not let him leave, Erestor.  I charge you with the task of guarding him in the defense of Imladris.”

Erestor nodded, and when Elrond met his eyes, he saw again a fierce warrior and a cunning scout, and knew that even if he commanded Erestor to let him leave, his order would not be obeyed. Glorfindel grasped his hand, and then placed Erestor’s hand over it, ensuring that Erestor felt the invisible ring. “This is of great benefit to Imladris, and right now to Celebrían. It must not fall into the hands of the enemy, nor Elrond while he bears it – at any cost. You bear my duty in my absence.”

Erestor’s eyes had widened at Glorfindel’s words, but he nodded and bowed his head briefly in understanding of his new duties.  Glorfindel nodded to them both, and then he was gone.  Minutes later they heard the sounds of a troop of mounted warriors leaving in haste.

Exhausted, Elrond let Erestor push him back down on the bed, and accepted the Miruvor Erestor offered to strengthen and refresh him.   He again focused all of his attention on his bond with Celebrían, attempting to soothe and calm her fëa.  Suspecting she had been knocked unconscious, he found himself wishing her to stay that way, free of the pain her captors had been inflicting on her.  Yet, he knew that unconscious she could not escape her situation, nor fight her captors, nor call for help.  A mixture of fear and anger rose in him as he thought of his sons: fear that they were also harmed or in danger, and anger that they had not protected their mother.

Celebrían’s bliss of unconsciousness abruptly ended several hours later, and he was jerked forcefully into her pain, and he knew the vibrations pounding his soul were her screams. So her night continued, with brief respites from the torture inflicted on her, until finally even in her agony not another sound issued from her.  She withdrew into herself, clinging to Elrond through their bond, and the only comfort he could provide was his presence.

Yet even as he recalled this agony, Elrond had come to learn that what his sons had witnessed was far worse.

* * *

Elladan heard Elrohir’s call at the same moment that Garthon, the lead guard, was struck in the chest by an orc arrow. For the first time as a warrior, he was nearly unable to respond to his training; his fear for his mother overcoming all other rational thought.  He watched in horror as Garthon fell from his horse, then swung around to see Berein pulling Celebrían from her horse and pushing her into the cleft of the rock face for safety.  Then suddenly his bow was in his hands and he was nocking an arrow, seeking a target in the shadowed cliffs above them.   He fired arrow after arrow at the orcs that were descending down the sheer rock face by rope, moving with each shot so that the orc archers shooting down upon them could not hit him. His strategy was to draw the orcs’ fire away from the cleft where his mother was hidden, but his instinct was to move closer to her, to protect her and somehow get her away from this danger. Sliding along the cliff wall during a brief lull, he tried to note where each member of his party was.  Garthon had not moved, and now was pierced with many arrows. Elladan flicked his eyes away quickly, refusing to allow any emotion to surface at the death of this long time friend.  Berein and Nathrion were beyond Celebrían, Berein injured and unable to use his bow. His sword was drawn and a few dead orcs lay near him. They had made it down the cliff side, but he had killed them when they reached the bottom.  He could not see Elrohir, but he could not sense any harm to his twin.  He could not see the other two members of the patrol, the rear guard, and did not know if they were alive or dead.

Elladan stole a glance at his mother. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide with anger and fear.  She had drawn her short sword and stood poised with it, ready to defend herself. Her eyes met his briefly, and her gaze reflected her confidence in him. His heart sank as he scanned the cliffs again; his arrows were gone and any orcs that made it to the ground would need to be fought in hand combat.  Even as he watched, orcs rappelled down the sheer wall.

“Berein!” he hissed, as he ran swiftly past his mother. His sword ready, he took Berein’s place at Nathrion’s back. “Take Celebrían and stay ahead of us. I don’t see orcs, and Elrohir should be there.”

“There are many behind us,” panted Berein, giving his position up to Elladan. “I will do all I can to keep her safe.”

Elladan was unable to respond as a wave of orcs descended on him and Nathrion from the rear. He spared only one glance back at his mother, ensuring she was moving with Berein, and then focused all of his attention on the approaching orcs. Vastly outnumbered, he fought the losing battle. Suddenly, Nathrion slammed into him, hit with great force by an orc’s curved scimitar. Elladan fell on his face beneath his fellow warrior and wondered if Námo would be the next person he saw, and then felt a crushing blow to his head.  Darkness consumed him, and he knew no more.

* * *

“Elladan!”

Elladan’s head throbbed mercilessly as someone shook him, and he recognized his brother’s panicked voice despite the fact that his body did not wish to cooperate with his mind.  “Elladan, where is Naneth?”

Elladan grasped the hands that held him by the tunic, squeezing tightly to still them, and forced his eyes to focus on his twin.  Elrohir was covered in dust and what looked like soot, and his hands were bloody, but he did not appear to be otherwise injured. Next to him was Nathrion’s body, nearly cut in two by the sword that had felled him. He forced his gaze away as bile rose in his throat. “I sent her ahead with Berein,” he choked out.  “Did you not see them?”

“I was above, not ahead,” reported Elrohir numbly. He pulled Elladan to his feet, steadying him when he swayed with dizziness. “Orcs have tunneled into the mountain from somewhere to the south, and created openings where they can ambush travelers in the pass. I closed several of them.”

Elrohir whistled, and Elladan nearly fell over in surprise when their horses responded.  Orcs normally butchered any elven horses they managed to capture, and delighted in doing so.  He wondered why they had not done so this time. Somehow, the horses must have eluded capture. Elrohir instructed them to hide and wait.

Unable to aid Nathrion, Elladan allowed Elrohir to hurry them forward.  He averted his eyes as they passed Garthon’s body, and although he did not know the fate of the rear guard, his concern was with his mother.  They walked quickly until he gained his balance, and then they began to run.  A crumpled form ahead of them caused them both to catch their breaths, and Elrohir raced ahead of him.  He heard his twin’s low keening cry and thought his heart would stop even as he ran, but when he reached Elrohir and looked down, he saw not his mother, but the mutilated body of Berein.  His stomach, already queasy from the blow to his head, lurched, and he turned to the side and retched. He felt Elrohir’s arms supporting him, holding his hair back, but he could also feel Elrohir’s fear for their mother.

As he caught his breath, Elladan looked over the area where Berein had been killed, carefully avoiding looking at their friend.  There were two dead orcs that had been kicked to the side of the path. Elrohir walked a few steps ahead, picking up a cloak and blood stained sword that both recognized as belonging to Celebrían. Their eyes met, and though the words did not need to be spoken, Elrohir said, “The orcs have taken her.”

While Elrohir appeared frozen in place in horror at the thought, Elladan felt his legs begin to move without thought.  He began to scavenge for arrows as quickly as possible. “Move, Elrohir!” he commanded roughly, shoving at this twin when Elrohir did not join him. “We will need all the ammunition we can get.”

He watched as Elrohir began to stiffly move, gathering arrows, and the task seemed to clear his twin’s mind. Once each had a nearly full quiver of arrows, Elladan followed the obvious trail the orcs had left.  Of course, they likely thought they had killed us all, he thought morosely.  They ran lightly along through the pass as the sun set behind them.

“There are only two places for them to go,” whispered Elrohir. “Through the Pass and into the steep cliffs where we know they have lived in the past, but the Lorien guards would have checked their dens in the days before we were due to arrive.  Therefore, they had to go back up just like they came down.”

Elladan could hear the despair in Elrohir’s voice, could feel the emotions that threatened to paralyze his twin.  He considered what Elrohir had said about blocking the orc hovels above them. “How did you get up there?” he whispered as the orc trail ended horizontally and appeared to go up.

“Climbed,” whispered Elrohir. “Not here, though.  There is craggy face ahead where we can climb without equipment. Above there is a narrow ledge with plentiful hand and footholds.  We will approach from the left.”

Elladan chafed at the delay, but did not argue. His mind raced with what he knew of orc tortures and he silently begged his mother to survive whatever they might do to her.  Do not fade, naneth! he cried soundlessly.  Following Elrohir’s steps, he watched as his brother scaled the cliff face on a rough portion of the wall, noting the blood his brother was leaving behind from the burns and wounds on his hands.  The orcs will smell it, he thought dispassionately. He found a handhold and lifted himself from the ground. The orcs will know much more than our smell very soon, he raged.

Elrohir led them steadily upward, finally stopping on a small outcropping of rock. He pressed himself against the craggy cliff, and began moving slowly back towards the spot where the orcs had disappeared.  Elladan followed him, his mind racing between his thoughts of his mother and the path before him.  Elrohir had just motioned to him that they were nearing the entrance to the orc cave when they heard a faint scream.

Elrohir blanched, his hands gripping the rock, and when Elladan would have pushed past him in rage, his brother held him at bay.  “Guards,” he mouthed soundlessly.

Elladan clenched his fists as they heard another scream, followed quickly by more.  They came one upon the other, the orcs mocking and mimicking the sound.  Red haze filled Elladan’s vision.  The whoosh of Elrohir pulling an arrow from his quiver cleared his sight, and he realized that his twin was firing at the two guards.  They fell without a sound, each shot through the throat.  Elladan would have jumped ahead of Elrohir to scout the tunnel, but a firm grasp on his sleeve held him back.

“Stay behind me,” whispered Elrohir, his face white.

Elladan tugged his sleeve away, frustration rising.  Elrohir was suddenly in his face, his eyes flashing. “Control yourself,” he hissed. “You need a clear head to be of any help to Naneth.”

Before Elladan could respond, Elrohir had spun on his heel and begun the slow descent down the tunnel.  Their mother’s screams continued for a while longer, then abruptly ended, and they could only hope that her life had not been ended.   They walked and crawled through the passages, which turned and twisted, going ever deeper and further down into the mountainside.  They had not met any orcs coming up the passage, though at some time he would expect relief for the guards.

Elrohir stopped suddenly in front of him, and Elladan leaned forward so that their faces were nearly touching. “The cavern splits,” whispered Elrohir, his voice nearly imperceptible.  Elladan looked into the darkness, having to focus carefully to see the side passage.  “It is small; let us stay on the main one.”

Elladan nodded his agreement, and they continued for what seemed like hours.  Nightfall had come, he knew, but the blackness in which they moved did not change.  They had just reached a wider, more open cavern with sporadic torch lights placed on the walls when their mother’s screams began again.

Gritting his teeth so hard that the muscles of his jaw trembled, Elrohir moved in the direction of the sound.  They still had not met any orcs, though they had seen some moving in the distance.  Their mother’s cries led them to a large widened area of a side cavern.  The ceiling rose abruptly, and not only could they stand, they could see high above their heads.  The floor was not cleared, but strewn with boulders and in places, water stood.  Orcs were cheering in a circle around something hidden by a pillar of stone before them, and Elrohir ducked down behind a ring of boulders so they would not be seen.  Elladan followed, and they crawled until they came to the other edge of the cavern.  All the while they could hear their mother, hardening their hearts as much as they could to remain able to aid her, but Elladan felt Elrohir grip his arm as he came into clear view and he caught his twin as he nearly fainted.

Celebrían was hung from chains amidst the circle of orcs, nude and bleeding from many wounds.  Her silver hair had been pulled from her head in places and cut in others, and Elladan noted in his rage the orcs gloating over strands of silver in their possession.  The chief of the band was arguing with another high ranking orc, whose loincloth bulged with desire.

“If ya poke ‘em they die an’ the fun is over,” he roared.  He dragged his nails down Celebrían’s belly, eliciting a shriek of pain. “An’ I like hearin’ her squeal!”

“So lets poke ‘er with this,” growled another orc. He held up a short sharp blade, its shaft covered in the runes of Mordor. He poked it at Celebrían’s hip, drawing a drop of blood.

Elladan felt movement beside him and he grabbed his brother’s tunic with both hands, yanking him down beside him.  Elrohir’s eyes were wild and unfocused, his hands shaking.  Elladan felt the bile rising in his own throat and his breath coming in short gasps. They were sorely outnumbered, yet they could not watch their mother tortured or raped.

Celebrían had quieted, hardly jerking away from the shallow jabs of the Mordorian blade into her side and back, and only occasional moans were now coming from her.  Elladan knew she could not withstand much more, and he pleaded to the Valar to somehow free her or let him take her place.  He was trying desperately to formulate a plan, something that would drive the audience of orcs from the room before they took up their game of flinging stones and arrow heads at their mother again. A sudden cry from the cavern caused all of the orcs to roar and then, miraculously, run from the area.  Perhaps they have found the dead guards, thought Elladan, but he did not know if this would aid them or harm them. 

“She’s mine,” growled the chief to the orc he had been arguing with.  “Go an’ see what the noise is about.  Catch your own elf; there are more of them.”

The orc snarled. “I want a female.”

“She’s mine!” roared the chief again. “Go or I’ll string ya up next to her!”

Elladan realized that only a few orcs remained –the chief  and his guards and his adversary. “Now,” he whispered to Elrohir, who still looked to be in shock. He drew an arrow from his quiver and shot the chief through the neck. 

The orcs yelled and stamped around the fallen chief, apparently believing one of their own had done it, since Elladan had used one of their arrows recovered from the earlier battle.  He quickly felled another, and Elrohir shot the orc holding the blade.  The orc fell as he plunged the blade deeply into Celebrían’s hip.

Elrohir could take no more.  He jumped to his feet, firing over and over as he ran to his mother.  Elladan covered him, watching for more orcs to appear at the entrance.  He glanced up to see Elrohir lowering their mother’s tortured form to the ground and removing the chains from her bruised and bloodied wrists.  Elrohir removed the blade from his mother’s hip, tearing his outer tunic off and tying it securely over the wound.  Then, wrapping her in his cloak, he lifted her and ran. 

Elladan led the way out of the cavern, but the way they had come was blocked with orcs running out.  They needed to get out to the west of where they had come in, away from the battle with the elves they were fighting.  Elladan assumed it was the Lorien guards, who had likely grown concerned when they did not arrive.    He made the decision to follow a cavern to the left of the one they had come down. It led them up, and Elladan hoped they would come out on the mountain cliff near where their horses waited.

The journey out seemed to take longer than the journey in, but in reality Elladan knew they were making good time.  He could hear the barely audible voice of Elrohir comforting their mother, but she made not a sound.  Fresh air drifted down to them, and Elladan knew they were close. He slowed as the unmistakable odor of orc assailed his nostrils, and knew they were nearly upon the guards.

“I can smell ‘em again,” croaked the orc gleefully, looking away from them over the pass. “They’ll be passin’ by soon.”

Elladan shot the first in the neck, and then used his dagger to slit the other’s throat as he turned into the dark.  “We are the last you will ever smell,” he snarled as the black blood spurted on to the rocky floor.

He found their ropes already tethered to a large metal ring pounded into the cliff.  He hesitated, unsure if he should go first and ensure the way clear, or lower Elrohir first.  He could see nothing, but could hear the faint sound of the battle happening at the east end of the pass.   He quickly fashioned a harness. “I will lower you and Naneth first,” he said breathlessly.

Elrohir gave a low whistle, one that the horses could hear but mortals and orcs could not, as he allowed Elladan to tie him into the harness.   He held his mother snugly against him as he rappelled down the cliff face. Elladan followed a moment later, and to their relief, their horses waited. 

“Mount,” he ordered Elrohir as he gently took their mother from his twin’s arms.  Elrohir released her only reluctantly, mounting and then holding out his arms for her.  Elladan brushed a few strands of hair from his mother’s face and looked into her vacant eyes.  If not for the slow rise and fall of her chest, he would think her dead. “Hold on, Naneth,” he begged.  “We will get you home, I promise.”

He lifted her into Elrohir’s arms and leapt on to his horse.  They moved as silently and quickly as possible, encouraging their horses to go as fast as Elrohir could safely go while holding on to Celebrían.

Only a moment later, Elladan heard noises before them and behind him, and his heart fell into the pit of his stomach.  He saw Elrohir look back, terror on his face, and knew his twin had heard the same noises.  There was nowhere to hide in the pass; they must make it through it and into the rocky hills on the west side of the mountains to have any hope of escape.  Then, a familiar call from their rear sounded, and his heart leapt with joy.

“Daeradar!” he cried softly, and he spun on his horse to meet the riders coming up behind them.

Celeborn rode into view with his bow in his hand and his sword sheathed but hanging unhindered at his side.  He had clearly come from battle, though Elladan saw no injury on him.  Haldir and his brother Rumil rode on either side of Celeborn, with a host of Lorien elves behind them.  Even as Elladan and Elrohir stopped, Haldir waved a contigent of warriors on ahead of them to ensure the pass was clear.

His face pale and grim, Celeborn dismounted and strode to where Elrohir sat on his horse, still cradling Celebrían in his arms.  She was wrapped in his cloak, even her hair hidden, but their grief spoke plainly as to who they had rescued.  Taking her from Elrohir’s arms, Celeborn sank to the ground.

In a darkness lit only by torchlight, Elladan had been unable to clearly see the horrors the orcs had inflicted upon his mother.  As Celeborn pulled back the cloak, he could not stifle the cry that came from him. Already her blood was drying and sticking to the fine material, causing Celeborn to hesitate.  He rested his hands on her head and over her heart, the grief etching his face deepening as he did so.

“My daughter,” he whispered mournfully.  He kissed her bloodied forehead, but she did not open her eyes, and Celeborn’s voice transformed to one of command. “You must get her to your father as quickly as you can.  I will send an escort with you.  Did any others survive?”

“Two are missing; the rest dead,” answered Elladan dully.  “The missing guards were not with Naneth.”

“My people will clean out these dens for good and seal their entrances permanently,” stated Celeborn,  “while I return for Galadriel and Arwen. We will come to Imladris as quickly as we can.” He stood, caressing Celebrían’s shorn head one last time, then handed her back up to Elrohir, who still sat dumbly upon his horse. 

At a call from the front, he waved them forward.  “Go! The way is clear!”

Elladan mounted, and he and Elrohir set forth, surrounded by Lorien elves who looked with sorrow upon their Lord and Lady’s daughter.   He looked back once at his grandfather, who stood strong and still in the path, the look on his face speaking to the restraint he was using in not going with them.  Yet, he would not let any other bring this word to Galadriel and Arwen, nor let them pass this way without his escort.  As they rode forward, no longer in fear and danger, a heavy veil of guilt and shame settled on Elladan. His grandfather had not asked how this had come to be, nor in what way they had failed their mother that she had come to be so harmed.

They were joined midway through the pass by a Lorien guard carrying an injured elf.  Elladan felt a momentary joy as he recognized Hador, one of their rear guards.  Though badly wounded, he was alive. Off the side of the pass, against the cliff, lay the cloak wrapped body of the other.  Behind him, Elladan knew that the bodies of the others in their escort had been gathered, and the Lorien elves would see to their burial pyres. Tears stung his eyes, and he blinked them away.  This was the worst loss that Imladris had suffered in many a century, and it had come under his command.  He had to face not only his father, but also the families of his four dead warriors.

* * *

Thanks to daw and karri for beta reading this chapter. This chapter is cut in half due to length, and the second part will be posted in the next few days.