Elladan’s Trials, For Estel

Chapter Eleven

Again and again, the impossible problem is solved when we see that the problem is only a tough decision waiting to be made.--Robert Schuller

Elrohir strode into the stables as the warriors who had earlier gathered out front thundered across the bridge.  His mood was as dark as the afternoon sky, which was being hooded by ominous thunderheads building overhead.  He could not understand what Elladan was thinking, and he did not like the feeling.  Always they thought and fought as one. How could his brother turn his back on his duty like this? He wouldn’t; it was as simple as that.  None of this made sense.

His mental musings were interrupted by Quenthar, who was exiting one of the empty stalls carrying a bridle.  “My lord, you must hurry. Most of the warriors have ridden out by now.  I will get Celon and Celos for you.”

Elrohir was irritated by the implied rebuke, but did not respond.  He had enough on his mind without engaging in a verbal sparring match with Quenthar.  As it was, the frown on his face spoke volumes. 

“Elladan is not coming.  I go alone.”

This unexpected turn of events did not sit well with Quenthar.  He did not want anything to upset his carefully laid plans.  “It is not like my Lord’s son to be cowardly,” goaded the Elf.

Elrohir’s fury was tempered by his utter astonishment.  He was not accustomed to being so addressed, and even the intimation that Elladan was a coward was utterly absurd.  Was all of Arda going insane this day?  He turned to fix Quenthar with a look that would have done Lord Elrond proud, and his voice was as cold as the snows of Caradhras.  “It is not your place to question my brother, Quenthar.”

Quenthar gritted his teeth but maintained his calm expression.  Confrontation with this whelp was the last thing he wanted at the moment.  He would deal with the twins later, after their father was dead.  He smiled to himself as he subserviently lowered his head.  Yes, he would definitely change his plans to deal with these two curs. And once they were taken care of he’d finish off Erestor, so that no one would be left who could identify him.  Then, he visualized, his path to Celebrían would be clear and she would welcome him with open arms.  “Of course, my Lord,” he muttered, “my apologies.”

Shaking his head as he quickly walked down the rows of stalls, Elrohir passed Celos and entered the stall where his own stallion, Celon, was stabled.  “Come on, boy, we have work to do.”

Celos began snorting and bucking as Elrohir led Celon out from his stall and Elrohir tried to soothe the stallion.  “Sorry, Celos, you stay here this time, though I do not understand why.” 

Elrohir lightly hopped on to the back of his horse.  “Come Celon, let us depart.”

With a clattering of hooves and the swirling of leaves, Celon and Elrohir burst from the front of the stable and raced towards the ancient bridge as lightening crackled overhead.  Elrohir could feel the anxiety of his mount even as he struggled with his own.  He could still hear Celos making a commotion in the stables.  Looking up at the sky and then back at his home, Elrohir signaled his steed.  “Daro, Celon, Daro.”

Celon’s hooves skidded to a stop and he raised his mighty head, shaking it back and forth as he indicated his relief.  Prancing in a tight circle, Celon awaited his master’s next order. 

Elrohir leaned down to pat his friend on the neck.  “Steady, Celon, Steady.  Do you hear that ruckus?  It seems that your brother is out of sorts, as is mine.  I do not like it, my friend.  Something is amiss.

Celon neighed, and danced nervously on the trail, his muscled flank rippling from the strain.

“You feel it too, do you not?  What has our brothers acting so strangely, and what is it that mine is hiding from me?  He has never let me go out to fight a battle without him before.”  With a final scratch between Celon’s ears, Elrohir straightened up, his decision made.  “Come on, we’re going back.”

The horse nickered his approval and started back.  Celon’s senses were alerting him to the tension that was ripe throughout the valley…from the weather, from the Elves, from the trees and even from his master. 

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel loosed another arrow at the attacking humans streaming into the valley.  There must have been a hundred of them.  The warrior was amazed at the sheer size of the attack.  His warriors, though badly outnumbered, were holding back the tide and Glorfindel wanted to know what was happening and why now.  They had always had good relations with the human villages surrounding Imladris, but these didn’t look like simple farmers. This was a rougher, more brutish group.

“Beling,” he called to the young warrior whose horn had signaled the first warning of the attack. “I want one alive.”

Beling nodded from where he was positioned in a tree high above the fracas.  He shot another arrow and motioned to one of his patrol below.  “We need a prisoner.  Lord Glorfindel wants one to question.”

The warrior nodded his understand and gestured to his partner.  Glorfindel had taught all of his warriors to fight in tandem when possible, pairing up to protect each other’s backs.  The two made their way over to where there were three humans sword fighting with a Silvan elf. 

Falathar was holding his own in the sword fight, even though he would have preferred to be using his bow.   Just wait until he saw Legolas again…he would have a few choice words for his Prince.  ‘Just go out on patrol with Glorfindel, Falathar,’ mouthed the Elf.  Slicing through the sword arm of the human on his left, Falathar turned to parry a blow descending towards his head from the right.  As he was swinging back to face off with the third one, a tall man with a scar running down his face and arms the size of anvils, a pair of the Rivendell elves rushed past him.  One engaged the human while the second one came up behind him and knocked him unconscious with the hilt of his sword. 

Before Falathar could even mouth his appreciation, Beling dropped down beside him from above. 

“Well done,” panted the young warrior. 

“Well done,” snorted Falathar, “All I’ve done so far is to protect myself.”

“No matter,” replied Beling.  “You are a guest in our valley and you have fought valiantly with us.”  The warrior dipped his head to the blonde from Mirkwood. “I honor you.”

Falathar was momentarily speechless.  Here they were in the middle of a battle with the enemy still streaming into the fray and this Elf was taking the time to give him a compliment.  He’d never understand these Noldor elves.

Falathar quickly turned as he heard his name called from across the gorge.  Lord Glorfindel was motioning for him and he started making his way across.

“No, no,” he heard Glorfindel shout as he shook his head and motioned back to where Falathar had just come.  “Bring the prisoner.”

Falathar ran back to where Beling was tying the hands of scar-man, as he thought of him.  The man was still unconscious and lying on his side. 

“Help me pull him up,” grunted Beling as he tugged on the man.  “These humans are heavy.”

Falathar sheathed his sword and stepped across the fallen human.  He grabbed hold of the man’s elbow and helped Beling bear the weight as they made their way across to Glorfindel.

“Excellent,” said Glorfindel.  “Falathar, you and Beling throw that, that thing across your horse and take him back to Imladris.  Turn him over to Helcar to guard until I can get back there to question him.” 

Falathar was looking dumbly back and forth between Beling and the warrior. 

“Do you understand?” questioned Glorfindel. 

“Yes…yes, my Lord,” stammered Falathar.  “You’re sending me back?  But, the battle…”

“It is more important that we have a prisoner to question.  My warriors have this under control,” he said in dismissal.  “Beling?”

“Yes, my Lord,”

“Your patrol has been here the longest.  Take your Elves and see to the transport of the wounded back to Lord Elrond.   He will be waiting in the healing wing.”  Glorfindel shot off an arrow before continuing.  “Then have your patrol take some rest and get some nourishment.”

“Yes, my Lord,” responded Beling as he bowed his head, “and thank you.”  He turned to leave and stopped when he heard his name called again. 

“Beling…well done.” Glorfindel was interrupted by a human that had made it through the line of Elven warriors to strike at the golden haired elf.  The Balrog Slayer made quick work of the attacker and turned back to waiting Elf.  “Tell Helcar that we are in control of the situation here and that I will remain until I’m certain that no other threat comes from this quarter.”

O-o-O-o-O

Elrohir bypassed the stables and rode directly to the front door of his house.  He jumped from his mount and told the animal to stay there, and then he took the flagstone steps two at a time.

Practically bursting through the front door, Elrohir shouted for his brother.  “Elladan!”

In the healing wing with his father, alarm shot through Elladan as he heard his brother’s call.  His first thought, as irrational as it was given the time span, was that his brother had been wounded. 

Glancing up at his father, the older twin stood up from where he had been kneeling in the bandage pantry retrieving linen for the wrapping of wounds.  “I will see what Elrohir needs, Ada.”

“Elladan,” called Elrond. “Let me know how things go out there, will you?”

“Yes, Ada,” replied Elladan.

He hurried out of the healing wing as Elrohir yelled his name again.

“Elrohir,” called Elladan as he entered the hallway, “I am here.  Are you all right?”

Elrohir formulated his thoughts into words as he watched his brother walk towards him. 

“Elrohir, what is it?” questioned Elladan.  “I thought you had answered the call to arms.”

“I did, or rather I stared to,” replied the twin, “but I missed my brother riding along side.  Tell me, brother, why were you not beside me?”

Elladan opened and then closed his mouth.  He did not know how to respond to his twin, and the indecision was tearing him apart.   With a deep sigh, Elladan realized that he could not continue this charade. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the note he’d found earlier in the day.  “Forgive me, Elrohir, I had hoped to spare you this burden, but I find that I need your help now more than ever.”

Elrohir frowned in puzzlement and took the proffered note, reading it quickly. 

Elladan watched the play of emotions on his brother’s face as he scanned the contents a second time.  As much as he hated that Elrohir was now a part of this trouble, he knew peace in his heart that this was the right thing.  Elrohir loved Ada and Estel as much as he and it was important that he share in something this important.  And the plain truth was that Elladan needed Elrohir…needed his brother by his side. 

“Forgive me, Elrohir.  Until we know who is behind this I could not risk leaving Ada alone.”

Elrohir slowly nodded his head, as numbed by the information as Elladan had been earlier.  “Estel…” breathed the elf almost to himself.   Anger marred his fair features as Elrohir met his twin’s eyes.  “Who could do such a thing?”

Elladan sadly shook his head. “I do not know.  I have thought of little else.  What could possibly have been done to engender such hatred towards our family…towards Ada, and Estel.  And what of Erestor?  Was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time?  Elrohir, I have run these and many other questions through my mind endlessly and I have no answers.  I’m not the thinker that you are, that Ada is.  I am a simple warrior, brother; a warrior that is in far over his head.  I need your wisdom, Elrohir.  Help me save our brother and our father.

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond was exiting from one of the supply pantries when Sariboril came into the main room leading Curúfin and Legolas, who carried Erestor on a litter between them.  He had to choke back a laugh at the look on the Prince’s face as he nodded his approval of the action to Sariboril and walked down the center aisle to meet the healer. 

“I was about to suggest this very move, Sariboril.  There is no way to tell as yet how many wounded we may see; it is best that you are here.  How is he?”

Sariboril made a couple of caustic comments to the two Elven litter bearers, who were gratefully escaping from her tirade through the back doorway of the wing, Curúfin to resume his guard at the door and Legolas to go any place that this she Elf from Udûn was not.

The ancient healer shook her head at the retreating pair.  “Young ones!  Warriors, warriors, they all want to be warriors.  They have no concept of the intricacies of the healing arts.  They seem to think that all they have to learn are a few basics so that they can bandage each other’s wounds.  Impatient, Elrond, they are all impatient!”

The Lord of Imladris could not help but smile at his old friend.  “Sariboril, I seem to remember being told that very thing, as were you, I believe.”

Sariboril scowled at the elf Lord.  “In your case they were right.  Now, let me see what damage you have done to my apothecary.  If it is out of order, you will be on the receiving end of my wrath, you mark my words.”

Elrond’s eyebrows climbed his forehead.  “How ever could you tell whether or not your apothecary is out of order?  There is no order in there!”

Sariboril faced her Lord with her feet apart and her hands on her hips.  “It may not look like order to you, but I know where everything in there is.”

Elrond nodded his acceptance of Sariboril’s statement.  “How is Erestor?” he asked again now that his healer had finished her tirade about the impatience of youth.

Sariboril’s eyes moved over to Erestor, who was sleeping on a bed moved back into a corner where he could benefit from the fresh air without being chilled by a direct breeze.  “He is little changed.  He shows no sign of infection from the wound, but he has yet to awaken.  Could there have been a head injury as well as the puncture in his back?”

Elrond followed her gaze to his seneschal.  He frowned as he shook his head.  “I do not know for sure, though I found no obvious damage when I checked him over after closing the wound.  I believe that the extreme blood loss is what has weakened him and why he is not yet recovering his consciousness.”

The two healers were interrupted by the arrival of the first wounded elves.

O-o-O-o-O

Legolas gratefully rounded the corner, relieved to be out of the healing wing.  He had spent quite enough time in healing wings in his life, and cared little for the thought of spending time there when he was not injured.  It was too much like tempting fate, to his way of thinking.

He heard voices in the foyer and walked in that direction. Perhaps he could be of some use to Helcar. He was highly frustrated to be stuck here in Imladris instead of out at the battle site.  What kind of warrior waited behind when the call to arms had been sounded?  Falathar would never let him hear the end of it, of that he was sure! 

The Prince smiled when he saw the twins engaged in conversation just inside the front door.   If Lord Elrond would not let him respond to the invasion then perhaps he could resume his search for the human child.  The more he puzzled over the dread he had been feeling from the trees, the more he believe that they might be of help to him in the search.

Elladan saw the Prince approaching them and quickly masked the apprehension on his face.  “Legolas,” greeted Elladan.  “How did you escape Sariboril?”

“How is not important,” replied the blue eyed Silvan.  “That I did is all that matters!  Now, tell me what it is that the two of you are hiding from me, for neither one of you has ever been able to fool me before.”

Translations

Daro: Stop

Udûn:  Sindarin for un-west (hell)  The source of the dark flame of the Balrogs