Elladan’s Trials,  For Estel

Chapter Seven

He Who Shares Tears

Every man rejoices twice when he has a partner in his joy. He who shares tears with us wipes them away. He divides them in two, and he who laughs with us makes the joy double.--Bishop Fulton J. Sheen

Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood, idly poked at the fire with a long, crooked stick while his mind wandered.  A frown clouded his fair face as he contemplated his mission. He and his friend of many years, Falathar, had stopped to camp for the night only a few miles from the border of Rivendell, their destination.  After many days of hard riding, the end of the journey was in site, and Falathar was beginning to believe that they might actually make it to Imladris without incident.  One never knew when traveling with the Prince, after all, he thought wryly.  It had been a little over a week ago that Legolas had petitioned his father, King Thranduil, to allow him to make this journey, for his alarm had grown to such bounds that he just had to know the condition of his friends, the twin sons of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell.

From where he sat, across the fire from Legolas, Falathar surreptitiously watched the Prince as he continued to poke at the flame, causing embers to dance merrily up into the night on the updraft created by the heat.  Falathar knew that Legolas had often visited Imladris until the terrible ordeal suffered by the wife of Lord Elrond.  He had even accompanied the Prince a few times and enjoyed greatly the companionship of Elladan and Elrohir, for they were a lively and merry pair.  After their mother sailed though, they had seemingly cut off all ties with the friends of their past and committed themselves solely to seeking revenge for the crimes against their mother.  Their mission had undoubtedly been successful as tales of their exploits had grown to legendary proportions that carried even as far as Mirkwood.

The loss of friendship with the twins had saddened Legolas, but he had busied himself with the defense of Mirkwood, whose woods were coming more and more under attack by the dark forces, and by keeping up with the pair through the tales of their deeds.  Strangely, all word of their daring had stopped around four years ago.  It was as though the celebrated duo of death, as the Silvan warriors had come to call them, had simply ceased to exist, so far as news reaching Mirkwood was concerned.  The Prince had grown more and more concerned that his friends had fallen to the enemy on one of their adventures or finally succumbed to their fading spirits and sailed to Valinor to reunite with the Lady Celebrían.  Either way, Legolas had convinced his father that he had to know, and it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing one could inquire of in a message sent to Lord Elrond.

King Thranduil was not particularly keen on his son making the journey, but knew that Legolas was never easily dissuaded once he’d made up his mind on something.  He had agreed to allow Legolas to make the trip so long as he took another warrior with him, which had caused a bit of a row, but in the end Legolas had acquiesced and agreed to bring Falathar.  After all, it wasn’t as though he actually needed protection, Legolas reasoned.  Falathar was his friend and the two had made the trip together several times before.

“Are you quite finished watching me, mellon nin?” Legolas asked from across the darkness causing Falathar to start guiltily.  The smile on Legolas’ face assured his friend that his question held no censure. 

“I’m sorry, Legolas.  I just cannot help but wonder what answers we will find in Rivendell and whether or not they will only end up heaping more sadness upon you.”

Legolas sighed as he met Falathar’s eyes, for in truth, he had wondered the same thing. “Then let us not put this off any longer,” he blurted.  “We’re only an hour from Imladris; let’s go find out what we seek.”

“Tonight?  Now?” came the astonished reply. 

A fierce grin crossed the Prince’s face.  “I’m tired of the wait…of not knowing.”  He stood up and whistled sharply for his mount, which was grazing nearby.  “Besides, I rather fancy sleeping in a bed tonight instead of another flet.  “But,” he qualified, sending a mock glare at his friend, “if you ever repeat that, I’ll swear by all the spiders in Mirkwood that it’s not true!” 

Falathar chuckled as he started to quickly gather up the few things he had pulled from his pack for their dinner. “My Prince, I shall be the soul of discretion!”

Legolas began kicking dirt onto the fire as Falathar started strapping the pack to his horse.  He mentally rolled his eyes and shook his head.  Only Legolas would consider trying to enter the valley of sanctuary in complete darkness.  The odds of their arriving without incident had definitely just dropped dramatically, or so it seemed to Falathar.

O-o-O-o-O

“Lord Glorfindel!” came the call from the garden underneath Lord Elrond’s balcony.  Glorfindel strode over to where Helcar was standing beside one of his warriors.  Holding out his hand he showed his commander what the warrior had just given him.  “This was found beside one of the benches.”

Glorfindel took the proffered bit of cloth and held it close to his nose.  The scent of wintergreen confirmed his suspicion.  It was the bandage that Lord Elrond had placed over Estel’s lip earlier in the day.  “Show me exactly where, Helcar.”

Helcar motioned to the warrior to take Lord Glorfindel to where the strip of linen had been found. 

Glorfindel kneeled down beside the stone bench just to the side of the path. It was located approximately three feet from the area just underneath Lord Elrond’s balcony.  The Balrog Slayer narrowed his eyes in thought as he scanned the area for any other tell-tale signs.  He carefully ran his hand over a slight disturbance in the soil, using all his senses to feel the nuances of the location.  It was as though a hand or knee had been driven slightly into the ground, he determined.  Looking back up at the balcony, Glorfindel gauged the angle and nodded.  So this was where the intruder had landed.  He stood up and looked around for any further evidence.  For the hundredth time that night he cursed the lack of moonlight as he strained to see any clues that might have been previously overlooked.

He placed his hand on the shoulder of the warrior that had found the cloth. “Well done.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” the warrior nodded.  “If you have no other need of me, I’ll return to the search.”

“Go ahead,” Glorfindel murmured as much to himself as to the Elf, for he was deep in thought.  “Helcar…”

“My Lord?” Helcar responded, as he walked back over to stand by his mentor.

“Is there any sign of threat around the house?”

“No, my Lord, all is quiet.” 

“Good,” Glorfindel nodded.  “See that it stays that way. Keep your warriors alert.”

O-o-O-o-O

Legolas and Falathar were just entering the border of Rivendell when three arrows landed on the path directly in front of Legolas’ mount, startling the horse and causing it to buck wildly.

“Halt!” called the simultaneous command.

Legolas was shocked by the act, but Falathar was furious.  Pulling his sword form its sheath, he quickly maneuvered his horse protectively in front of the Prince, who was struggling to control his skittish mount.

Immediately, three Elves landed on the path in front of them, arrows notched and aimed directly at Falathar’s heart.

Too angry to be intimidated, Falathar was fairly sputtering with outrage. “How dare you fire on the Prince of Mirkwood?”

The elves didn’t back down.

Finally gaining control of his horse, Legolas jumped off and placed himself between Falathar and the Noldor Elves holding up both of his hands.  “Peace, good Elves, we are no threat!  I am Legolas of the Green Wood and this is my companion, Falathar.  I ask  pardon for attempting to enter your valley at night, but I seek information from your Lord.  Obviously this was a mistake.”

One of the Noldor separated himself from the others and approached the Prince.  “Prince Legolas?”

Legolas lowered his head in a bow of acknowledgement.  The Noldor who had addressed him appeared very young, and was not a warrior that Legolas remembered.

“Forgive my, my Lord, we did not recognize you.”

Falathar snorted from behind Legolas. “It’s hard to see an Elf’s face when you’re busy shooting arrows at him.”

Legolas threw a silencing frown at his friend.  Something unusual was going on here and he wanted to know what it was, for he had never seen the defenses of Imladris on such a high state of alert.  “What has happened?”

Falathar dismounted and stood beside Legolas, ready to defend his Prince if these obviously crazy elves posed any threat.

At a motion from the sentry, the other two elves climbed back up the trees to resume their look out.  When they were out of sight, the sentry turned back to speak to the Prince.  “The whole valley is in an uproar, Your Highness.  Lord Elrond’s son has been stolen and Lord Erestor badly wounded.”

Alarm and relief shot through Legolas at the same time and he took a small step towards the elf.  Obviously the twins, or at least one of them, were alive and still in Middle Earth.  “One of the twins taken?”

“Oh no, my Lord, not the twins…it is the younger Elrondion.”

Now Legolas was completely confused, for the sentry had said “son” and only Arwen was younger, but before he could ask any more questions, a rider approached and the nervous Elf beside him was once more on guard.

“Halt,” the young Elf called out, notching his arrow and aiming it at the new intruder.

“Beling,” growled Glorfindel from atop Asfaloth, “You’re supposed to be guarding the valley from outside forces, not inside.”  The golden warrior leaped off his horse and strode over towards the trio; his magnificent mount followed him nickering softly when he recognized Legolas. 

If the earth could have opened up at that moment and swallowed him, Beling would not have been happier.  As it was, he was grateful for the darkness hiding the furious blush that had just overtaken his fair cheeks at the reprimand.

“Your pardon, my Lord,” he stammered. “I…”

“No,” interrupted Glorfindel with a sigh; “I ask your pardon.”  The commander took pity on the astounded young warrior, knowing that this was his first assignment, and on a night that had seen the valley responding to a threat it had not faced for centuries.  It was bound to have the young one on edge.  “The events of this night have proven stressful for all of us.” 

“Will somebody please tell us what’s going on?” appealed Falathar from where he was standing behind Legolas.

Glorfindel turned to face the two Silvan Elves, as though seeing them for the first time.  “Prince Legolas…and Falathar, isn’t it?  You pick an unfortunate time to appear at our border.”

Any other time Falathar would have been thrilled beyond measure that his name had been remembered by the legendary Balrog Slayer, but at the moment he was still far too aggravated that his Prince had been fired upon to be flattered.  After all, the King had entrusted Falathar with the duty of protecting the Crown Prince, though of course Legolas didn’t know that, and here he could have been killed by a bow-happy novice sentry!  “And it’s fine welcome we received as well!  Your sentries fired at the Prince. He could have been killed!”

From the other side of Glorfindel Beling reddened again and cleared his throat nervously.

“Falathar, please,” entreated Legolas, glancing back at his friend.  “All is well, young one,” the Prince soothed the sentry, who looked as though he were only a few years younger than Legolas himself.

“Resume your duties, Beling,” Glorfindel instructed the Elf.  “And Beling,” he added for Falathar’s benefit, for though he understood the being’s irritation, these were his warriors and he would not allow them to be berated before him, “continue to keep a sharp eye.  We still don’t know the full scope of tonight’s threat.”

Falathar snorted softly, but Legolas smiled, knowing exactly what Glorfindel was doing and approving of the display of loyalty.

“Yes, my Lord!” breathed Beling with gratitude. He turned and sprinted over to the tree and sped up it with a speed and agility that impressed even the Wood Elves.

 Glorfindel watched the Elf scamper up the tree and turned back to the Prince and Falathar with a tired chuckle.  This night was proving to be full of more surprises than he cared to think about.  “Follow me, young ones.  I will escort you so personally so that there are no more mistakes.  I will clarify the situation to you on the way back.”

 O-o-O-o-O

Lord Elrond Peredhil sat in the chair beside his bed, as it seemed to him he had been doing for the last several days; only this time, it was not his young son for which he held vigil but for his centuries old friend and advisor.  Erestor was sleeping in the huge bed where only three nights ago Elrond had watched his three sons sleep and felt such peace and contentment.  How quickly things had changed!  It took every ounce of self discipline he possessed not be out searching for his youngest this very moment.  The father in him longed to search for his child, to find him, to hold him close…but the healer understood that the need here was greater.  Erestor seemed to be in a stable condition now, but one never knew with these types of injuries when the situation might change.  Besides, should Estel be found he would need to be here to tend the child’s fever or any possible injuries he might have sustained.  At that thought he closed his eyes and sent a quick plea to the Valar that that would not be the case.  He had been awake for almost four days now and he was tired…so very tired.

The Elf Lord had spent more than an hour, assisted ably by Elrohir, in cleaning and sewing the wound to the seneschal’s back.  It had needed to be cleansed and irrigated first.  Then Elrond had carefully followed the path of the dagger with his finger, checking for depth, direction, and the possibility of a nick or tear to the Elf’s lungs or arteries.  Finding none, he had cleaned the injury as thoroughly as possible and begun sewing the wound.  After that a smear of honey was placed over the incision and sealed with fresh, clean linen to fight infection.

Now he sat waiting, his elbows resting on the arms of the overstuffed chair and his long, elegant fingers steepled in front of his face.  A furrow ran deeply between his eyebrows as he searched his mind seeking clues for who could have possibly perpetrated the evil done against his house this evening.  The only sound in the room was the deep breathing of Erestor and the snapping and popping of the fire, which had been built up to assure that Erestor was kept warm during the surgery.

Elrohir stood in the doorway of his Adar’s room just watching his father for a moment.  He was reluctant to disturb his Elf Lord’s reverie, but he was sick at heart and desperately needed his Ada’s touch.  He quietly crossed the room, kneeling in front of the chair and putting his head into his Ada’s lap. 

Elrond smiled slightly and slowly began to run his fingers through his son’s long hair, soothing him as he had since he was an Elfling.  He could easily discern the torment of his son’s soul. 

Elrohir smiled as he relaxed to the feel of his Ada’s fingers.  He had always loved the way his father’s hands comforted him.  “Ada, why can’t life just be frozen in moment’s like this?”

Elrond forced his voice to remain light, understanding that his son needed reassurance.  “Life is what it is, Elrohir. Without the valleys we would not appreciate the mountain top.  Besides, I know you, Ion nin,” he added with a smile in his voice.  “Do you not think that you would become bored with your life if it were peaceful all the time?”

Elrohir sighed and snuggled his head even deeper into his Father’s lap, stretching like a fat tabby cat wanting more petting. He smiled at the question but then sobered as dark memories surfaced in his mind.  “Ada, when Elladan and I were killing orcs I felt empty all the time.  Each time we came home covered in orc blood I would see what it did to you and I hated myself, but I could not change what I was.”  Elrohir lifted his head to look into his father’s eyes, and Elrond could see the tears on his son’s cheeks.  Elrohir took his father’s hand and placed it over his heart, his hand on top of his Ada’s.  “In here, there was only a dead, cold stone.  Estel changed that; he made my heart beat within my chest once more.  He’s just a little boy, Ada, how did he do that?”

Elrond placed his hands gently on each side of his son’s cheeks, wiping away the tears with his thumbs.  Leaning forward, he kissed his son on the forehead before pulling back to look him in the eyes once more. “He taught us that love is stronger than hatred, Elrohir.  Estel will be found; he will come home to us.  We have to believe that.”  He continued to stare for a moment into his son’s eyes, giving him all the strength and assurance that he could. 

A discrete knock on the door interrupted the tender moment between father and son.

Glorfindel stepped inside the room once he saw that Elrond had broken eye contact with Elrohir and looked up.  “Forgive me, my Lord…”

“No, Glorfindel, please come in.  Is there news of Estel?” 

The hope was evident in his voice, and Glorfindel was loathe to crush it. “No, I’m sorry, no word yet, but some clues have been found and I am confident that we will find your son. 

“Clues?” questioned Elrohir hopefully, “what clues?” 

Glorfindel really did not want to share how fragile the clues actually were so he changed the subject hoping to divert Elrohir’s question if even momentarily.  Elrond, he knew, would be another matter.  “My Lord, Prince Legolas has arrived from Mirkwood.  I offered him and his companion rooms, but they insisted on joining in the search for Estel.”

“Prince Legolas?”  Elrond mused glancing at Elrohir and concurring with Glorfindel’s reasoning.  “Is there new trouble in Thranduil’s realm, Glorfindel?  Did he indicate why he is here?”

“There is no new trouble, my Lord,” Glorfindel hastened to assure his friend.  “He was seeking news of the twins and wished to visit for a while.”

“Of course, of course,” murmured Elrond, berating himself mentally. “I am starting to see evil where none exists.  Please tell the Prince that I will greet him once I am sure that Lord Erestor is out of danger.”

“I’ll go speak with Legolas, Father.  I would like to search for Estel myself, if you no longer need my help here.”

“I believe all is under control here, Elrohir.  Go, search with Legolas, and please give the Prince my greeting and welcome.”

Elrohir rose and kissed his father on the cheek before leaving the room.  Glorfindel turned to follow him when Elrond’s voice stopped him.

“Glorfindel, what are the clues and why is Curúfin standing outside my bedroom door?”

Glorfindel took his time turning back around to face his friend.  He had known all along, of course, that this conversation would take place, but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to it. He sighed deeply before beginning.   “My Lord, the bandage you placed on Estel’s lip this afternoon was found beside a bench in the garden, and I found where I believe the Elf landed when he jumped from the balcony with Estel.”  He paused while Elrond digested the news, or more accurately lack of news.  “Curúfin is where he will stay until I have a better understanding of what is happening.  And,” he hastened to add, “you needn’t frown at me like that, for it will do no good.”

Elrond rose from the chair and wearily rubbed the back of his neck.  “My friend, I have not been so long away from Hadhafang that I have forgotten how to fight.  I could easily take up my sword once more to defend my own.”

Glorfindel’s heart swelled with pride at the words of his Lord.  “Of that, I have no doubt, my Lord, and I would be proud to stand beside you in that fight.  But your place is here with Lord Erestor.  Your skill as a healer is much needed and,” he hesitated slightly, “might be needed again.  You have entrusted me with the defenses of Imladris; trust me now to best know how to do that job, even though I failed you this night.” 

Elrond walked over to the Elf that had been his friend for centuries and placed his hands on both of his shoulders giving them a squeeze of encouragement and friendship.  “You have never failed me, Glorfindel, and I know that you will not fail me this time.  Go, do as I bade you earlier and find my son.”

TBC

Hadhafang is the sword that Elrond carried during the last alliance where he was the herald and second-in-command to Gil-galad.  It was handed down to him by his father Eärendil, who in turn received it from his mother, Idril, daughter of King Turgon of Gondolin.  Hadhafang means “throng-cleaver” in Sindarin.