Elladan’s Trails  For Estel

Chapter Six

He Who Learns Must Suffer

He who learns must suffer, and even in our sleep, pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart.  And in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom…by the awful grace of God. ~ Unknown

For a millisecond all sound and activity ceased in the Hall of Fire as the shocked Elves registered the sound of distress emanating from upstairs.  Fear gripped Elrond’s heart at the pain and fear he heard in his son’s voice and his eyes were pulled to the ceiling, as though he could see right through the rock to the floor above.  Lord Elrond sprang from his seat and raced from the room, followed closely by the twins.  Glorfindel was only a fraction of a second behind them, having leaped over the table rather than take the time to go around it as the dazed faces of the other Elves watched their Lords race from the room.  It was as though time had frozen them in its icy tendrils, beautiful statues with shock marring their fair faces.

Elrond took the stairs two at a time as he sprinted towards his bedroom.  He had no idea what to expect, but his heart told him this was no mere nightmare gripping his youngest.  As he sped down the hallway he could see the light spilling from the opened doorway and for a moment the hope that this was all a mistake raised itself in his chest only to be crushed as he reached the entry way of his bedroom.  Entering the room he beheld a sight that he had never expected to see and could barely comprehend.

Lying face down on the floor in a growing pool of blood was his seneschal; his dark hair was spread out around his head like an ebony halo. Most shocking of all was the sight of the dagger sticking out from Erestor’s back. Tearing his eyes from the gruesome sight he looked to the empty bed and then to the balcony, where the evening breeze was blowing the curtains with a gentleness that mocked the violent setting inside.   His healer’s instincts kicked in as Elrond knelt beside his friend and was relieved to find a pulse beating underneath his gently probing fingers.  “Glorfindel,” he spoke while assessing the wound on Erestor’s back, “call out the guard. Estel has been taken and cannot be far.

“I will lead them myself, my Lord,” warrior affirmed.  He paused at the door and glanced back with grief filled eyes.  “My Lord?”

“I do not know yet, Glorfindel.  I will care for our friend; you find my son.”

With a resolved nod, the golden haired warrior left the room.    

That action seemed to awaken the twins, who had literally been frozen in shock since entering the room.  How could such violence have invaded their home…their Ada’s bedroom, the place that had always signified the very heart of Imladris, the sanctuary of the sanctuary?   Pushing the overturned chair out of the way, Elrohir knelt beside his father to aid him with Erestor, while Elladan walked slowing over to the bed where Estel had been sleeping. 

Elrohir glanced up and frowned at the look on his twin’s face.  Elladan was standing beside the bed holding Estel’s sunshine blankey grasped to his chest, as though he cradled his little brother instead of the boy’s cherished blanket.  Elrohir watched as his brother’s hands slowly balled into fists, pulling at the very threads of the blanket.  Only his keen eyesight caught the tremors that now ran through those fists.  Elladan sensed his brother’s eyes on him and turned to meet his gaze, needing the reassurance of their bond.  What he saw was there was mirrored in his own eyes. Elrohir’s heart nearly stopped as he spied the drops of blood on the blanket and he started to rise from where he knelt to go to his brother.

“Elrohir!” Elrond’s voice interrupted the motion and pulled his attention back to Lord Erestor.  The healer was gently examining the fallen Elf.   “I need your help.” 

Forcing his thoughts back to the sight before him, Elrohir gently placed his hands on each side of the dagger as his father gently eased it from Erestor’s back.

“Ada, the dagger…it’s, it’s…”  Elrohir could not bring himself to say the words.

“I know, Elrohir, it is Elven.”

The twins shared a dumbfounded glance before Elladan dropped the blanket and headed for the door.  “I’m going to look for Estel, and the Valar help the one who has done this when I find him.”

Elrohir was torn between wanting to accompany his brother in the search and staying to help his father with Lord Erestor, for his training as a healer confirmed how seriously the Elf was wounded.  His father’s strained voice pulled back his attention once more and made up his mind.

“Elrohir, I need you.”   Elrohir could hear in his Ada’s voice all the longing to go after Estel that welled up within his own heart, and also the anguish of knowing that the life of the Elf who had been his friend for millennia hung in the balance requiring the all the skill that the Elf Lord possessed.

“I am here, Ada, we will save him together.”  Elrohir assured as he held pressure on the gash.  He wished that he could feel as confident as he sounded.  Elrond used the dagger to cut the Elf’s robes enough so that he had better access to the gaping wound. 

“I see no bubbling which would indicate air escaping, so I think that the lung has not been penetrated.”

Elrohir breathed a small sigh of relief at that news.  “Look, Ada, the blood is not bright red. That’s good, right?”

“Yes,” agreed Elrond as he replaced Elrohir’s hands to hold the pressure on the wound himself.  “That is an indication that the main artery near Erestor’s heart was not hit as well.   We must move him to the bed.  Then, Elrohir, hurry to the apothecary and bring back the supplies we will need to cleanse the wound and close it.  I will continue to hold pressure on the wound until you return.  Now, on three…one, two, three….”

Father and son worked together as a team to lift the wounded Elf onto Elrond’s bed.  As Elrohir hurried from the room to retrieve the supplies they would need to complete the treatment, Elrond applied pressure to the wound with one hand while pulling the pillows from the bed with the other.  Since Erestor was laying face down, he wanted the surface as flat as possible to keep the Elf’s airway open and free from pressure.  Once the surface was completely cleared, Elrond gently turned the seneschal’s head to the side at a more comfortable angle.

“Hold on, old friend,” he soothed.  Despair welled up inside of him and threatened to overcome his legendary composure.  How much more loss must he endure?  Giving himself a mental shake he stopped that train of thought before it could go any further.  He would concentrate on what he could control rather than on what he could not.  He allowed his eyes to sweep the room seeking any clues as to who might have done this terrible deed and taken his son.  ‘Valar help us,’ he thought to himself, ‘Estel is still ill…  Who could have done this?  Why?  The unthinkable conclusion that would not be dismissed was that this was no random act…no orc attack.  Only an Elf could have gained access to Rivendell…to the Last Homely House itself.  But who…why?” 

O-o-O-o-O

Estel was shaking from shock and fear as the shadowed being of his nightmares carried him though the darkness.  He had trouble breathing and his torn lip pained him terribly as the Elf kept his hand roughly covering Estel’s mouth.  The child could taste blood as the lip was cruelly smashed against his small teeth.  Estel could hear the Elf’s labored breath as he ran through the valley with the boy in his arms.  Normally he would feel safe and secure in the arms of an Elf, but not now.  There was no comfort to be felt from this being, only malice.   Estel whimpered as he thought about the horror of the scene in his Ada’s room. 

The child had awakened to see a shadowy form coming into the room from the balcony. It was so much like his recurring nightmare that he was too terrified at first to move or make a sound.  Erestor was sitting beside him in the overstuffed chair with his head resting on the cushioned back.  His eyes were closed and he was humming a sweet melody.  He seemed to be enjoying the heat from the fire crackling in the fire place and getting just a bit of rest after his hectic day.  To Estel it was as though everything moved in slow motion as he watched the “monster” raise a knife high into the air.  Light from the dancing flame reflected on the burnished surface painting a cheery image on this instrument of death.  Just as Erestor became aware of the intruder and started to rise from the chair, the knife descended with deadly speed and buried itself in the seneschal’s back.  His pain filled eyes met Estel’s as he struggled to get to the bed to protect his Lord’s child.  Estel saw him mouth the word, “run” and then fall to the floor.

In his sleep confused state, Estel flashed back to the day he had seen the man falling with the arrow in his eye.   Estel had not remembered that for a very long time, and indeed even now it was so vague that he had no comprehension of who the man was, but the horrendous image of the arrow in the man’s eye had seared itself into the psyche of the child.  Now the horror of that sight was repeating itself before him, only this time the evil had penetrated his home, the safety of his Ada’s room, and Restor was on the floor with a knife in back.  Estel had been horrified by the sight of the blood pooling around the knife and beginning to stream down the Elf’s back, and he whimpered softly drawing the attention of the monster, which he could now see was an Elf dressed all in black.   Estel’s panicked scream had been cut off as the Elf’s bloody hand wrapped around his mouth.   He was picked up and carried over to the balcony, where he thought that the Elf was going to throw him down.  Instead of being thrown from the edge, however, Estel had felt the sickening drop in his stomach as the Elf lunged over the railing carrying him along.

The Elf and the boy were both momentarily stunned by the force of the landing at the end of the drop, but the large Elf recovered quickly and darted off through the garden on a path that he had predetermined, carrying the child with him.  Estel felt his face, legs and arms being scratched as bushes and thorns pulled at him during this mad dash through the darkened forest. Each jarring foot fall caused more pain to the boy’s injured lip. 

The Elf’s body was covered with the dark clothing, so he was not injured by the run through the dense undergrowth.  Many long years he had contemplated this night…the night that would begin his revenge on the Half-Elven.  It was actually the coming of the human child that had cemented the manner of revenge in his mind.  Quenthar had moved quickly through the garden and down a path leading across the archery fields and deeper into the woods surrounding Rivendell.  In the lesser traveled areas of the valley he had spent many months secreting hiding places known only to him, all to facilitate his vengeful plan.   

Coming to the first one he had prepared just for this night, he stopped.  Fiercely he whispered in the boy’s ear, “I’m going to put you down for a moment; make a sound and I’ll break your neck and leave you here for the wargs.”  Quickly he sat the child down and began pulling limbs and shrubs away from a small hole gouged from the hillside.  Inside the hollow he had built in a box approximately two feet square.   Reaching inside he retrieved a flask that he had stored in the box.  Pulling out the cork with his teeth, he poured a generous amount on a rag that he’d kept wrapped around the flask.  Grabbing up the boy before he could make a sound, the Elf roughly held the cloth to the child’s face forcing him to breathe the noxious fumes.

Estel had been terrified by the threat and lay quietly in the dirt as the Elf worked at pulling away the brush.  Even as frightened as he was Estel tried to concentrate on anything he find to give him a direction or a landmark so that he might figure out where he was.  He could hear the rushing waters of the Bruinen so he knew he was still within Rivendell, and that meant his father and brothers were close by.  Hope flared up in his little heart; for surely they would come for him soon.  Estel’s teeth chattered as he shivered from the cold and from the fever that still lingered, although lowered by the last dose of medicine he had received.  Before he realized what was happening, he was picked up and a foul smelling cloth was clamped over his nose and mouth.  Estel fought to escape the strong smell for as long as he could before the blackness overtook him and his struggles ceased. 

Quenthar held the cloth there a few seconds longer until he was satisfied that boy was completely unconscious.   The Elves of Rivendell would even now be mounting a search, and the dark Elf knew that he only had moments to complete this part of the plan.  Content that the child would be out for several hours, he put the boy inside the box and pulled the door closed, latching it securely from the outside.  Then he proceeded to cover it with the brush and limbs he’d cleared away previously.  Quenthar had rehearsed every step of his plan, timing it down to the last second, and things were proceeding exactly as he’d predicted.  

The one thing he had not planned on was that the boy would not be in his own room but in Elrond’s.  It was unfortunate that Erestor had been in the way, but Quenthar held little pity for any Elf that supported Elrond.  He consoled himself with the thought that the Lord of Imladris would be dead soon himself, and would not have long to grieve for his advisor or for this human refuse that he’d taken into his home.  The familiar rage swept over the Elf once again at that thought.  His beloved Celebrían was in the gray havens and his beautiful Arwen dwelled in the golden wood with her grandparents while Elrond and his sons lavished their love on this brat. ‘Where was the justice in that?’ fumed the Elf.

If Elrond had cared half as much for Celebrían as he did for this human, then his beloved might still be here, the dark Elf thought bitterly.  He had loved the beautiful Elf maiden for as many years as he could remember and her marriage to the Peredhil had been a terrible blow to his ego as well as to his heart.  He had just begun to heal from that loss when word of her attack and tormenting at the hands of the orcs had reached Lothlórian.  Quenthar had immediately left for Rivendell to be at the side of his friend and comfort her.   He was devastated when he saw how the orcs had ravaged her beauty and shattered the peaceful soul within her, and he blamed Elrond Peredhil for not protecting his lady.  Quenthar would never have allowed this to happen to her had she been his wife and he bitterly blamed Elrond for caring more for the wellbeing of the valley and the surrounding human villages than for Celebrían. 

When Celebrían sailed it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, and Quenthar had begun the transformation from friend and trusted ally to enemy.  He hid his malice well and continued the charade of caring companion, even taking young Arwen under his wing and spending time with the child.  He could see much of Celebrían in her lovely daughter and while Arwen remained in Rivendell he was able to carry on almost like a normal Elf.  Eventually, however Arwen had left to live with Celeborn and Galadriel and the darkness had completed its overtaking of Quenthar’s heart.  It was then that he began formulating a plan for revenge.  Placing the last of the brush carefully back into place, Quenthar stepped back to survey his handiwork.  Unless someone knew what to look for they could walk past this very spot and not even realize it was there.  Nodding to himself, he quickly made his way back down the dark trail.  This time, however, he skirted around the opposite side of the archery field and made his way to the home where he had spent the past hundred years.  

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel stood on the top step of the entry to the Last Homely House. Beside him stood Elladan with such a look of fury on his face that it sent shivers down the backs of many of the younger warriors and awakened memories of dark days that they all had thought were behind them. His sword was strapped to his side and his quiver was on his back.  A beautifully carved Elven knife was at his waist, and there wasn’t a shadow of doubt in any being present that he would use these weapons on whoever was guilty of invading the haven of his home.

Gathered below them were the first warriors that had answered the alert signal…a signal that had not been heard in Imladris in many centuries.  Concerned looks met his as the warriors gathered. Glorfindel raised his hand to quiet the soft conversations of the Elves before him.  “Warriors of Imladris, tonight, evil has entered the home of our Lord.  I regret to tell you that Lord Erestor has been gravely wounded and that Estel has been taken.  We have had no indication from our sentries of intruders entering the valley, so we must conclude that whoever has done this has been here for a while.  He motioned to his second in command, a Noldor whose delicate features belied his skill and determination as a fighter.  The warrior stepped forward and bowed slightly to his commander.  “Helcar, set up a defensive perimeter around the house.  This may be a ruse to draw us away from the intended target.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Helcar nodded again and signaled his cadre to take up positions around the Last Homely House.  Helcar’s troop contained the most experienced warriors in Rivendell, and that is who Glorfindel wanted guarding Lord Elrond.

“Curúfin,” Glorfindel called aside to an Elf standing off to Elladan’s right.  Besides himself and the twins, Curufin was the most skilled with a sword, and unlike Helcar, Curufin looked the part.  Slightly shorter than was typical of Elves, Curufin was built like a bull.  His perpetual scowl completed the picture.  “You are now Lord Elrond’s personal guard.  He will not like it, but that is the way it will be.  You take your orders from me, is that understood?”

 “Yes, my Lord,” Curúfin bowed quickly and moved past Elladan towards the front door intent upon finding his Lord and protecting him.

“Illuin!”  The commander in charge of the perimeter defenses of the valley stepped forward.

“My Lord,” he too bowed slightly to the Gondolin warrior. 

“Double the sentries at the borders.  This could be a feint to draw our attention away from an invasion from that quarter.  We can take no chances. Have Quenthar provide the swiftest steeds for our messengers.  I want reports from each sentry point hourly.”

“It will be done immediately, my Lord.”

“Illuin, also send riders to Lórien and Mirkwood. I want to know whether or not any threat has been detected in the other Elven realms.”

It took all the restraint Elladan could muster to stand still through these instructions when every fiber of his being was itching to begin the search, but he recognized the wisdom of Lord Glorfindel’s actions and trusted his teacher implicitly. 

Glorfindel quickly separated the remaining Elves into teams and assigned them different areas to search.   “They cannot be far, so let us move out and find them.  Estel is sick and needs to be brought back here as quickly as possible.”

O-o-O-o-O

Located beyond the stables of Imladris, where he worked with the magnificent Elven mounts, the home where Quenthar lived was made of native rock and blended beautifully with the other structures of Rivendell.  Ivy grew up one entire side of the house and the carved doorway gave a cheery welcome which belied the malice within the small but elegant house.

Closing the door softly behind him, Quenthar passed quickly through the gathering room to the back of the house where his bedroom was located.  He washed all the dirt from his hands and changed into his work clothes to answer the call to arms which was still been signaled even now.  A satisfied smile came to his lips as he imagined the worried looks on the Elves gathering in the courtyard at this very moment.  ‘No doubt the great and might Lord Glorfindel is leading the charge,’ he thought bitterly.  ‘If he had been doing his job as he should have then Celebrían would never have been attacked,’ he reasoned, his hatred spreading to Glorfindel as well.  Hatred had consumed him to the point that he could see nothing but the flawed views created in his own twisted mind.    Quenthar smirked at himself in the looking glass.  ‘Time to go join the search!’  He was whistling a tune as he exited the house.