Elladan’s Trials, For Estel

The Power of Love

A/N: In honor of Father’s Day I decided to post this chapter a bit early, for it features a very special father.

A Prayer For My Son: Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid; one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory…Give him humility, so that he may always remember the simplicity of true greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, and the meekness of true strength. Then I, his father, will dare to whisper, "I have not lived in vain." General Douglas MacArthur

So close was it to his head that the twin could read the fluid script on the sword that had blocked Quenthar’s blow. Aen estar Hadhafang I chatholhen thand around dan I thang an arwen. Hadhafang…his father’s sword.

Chapter Fourteen

“Ada,” breathed Elladan. Unbelievably, his father’s arms shook with the force he was expending to hold back Quenthar’s blow. “Beware, Ada, he has had a warrior spell cast on him.”

Quenthar withdrew his sword and stepped back. An ugly smirk transformed the well known and respected face into that of a virtual stranger. He relished the fight to come and wanted to savor every moment. “Hello Elrond, prepare to join your youngest in Mandos’ Halls. Oh, I forgot,” he mocked, “your youngest won’t be there will he? He is simply worm’s meat.”

The Lord of Imladris never took his eyes off of Quenthar as he discarded his outer robe in one fluid motion. “Elladan, roll out of the way, ion nin.”

“Ada…”

“Stay out of this, Elladan!” commanded Elrond. Hadhafang was gripped firmly in front of him in a ready position as he side-stepped carefully away from his son, pulling Quenthar’s attention completely to himself. “Estel is not dead, Quenthar. I have seen this.”

“No matter,” growled the Elf, “you soon will be, as will your sons.” With a powerful swing he lunged at Elrond.

O-o-O-o-O

Erestor began to moan softly as he was gently moved from the litter to Elrond’s bed by Elrohir and Curufin. The healer was moving around the room lighting the lamps. The seneschal’s eyes fluttered as they tried to open.

“Erestor,” coaxed Elrohir, noticing the movement, “come, open your eyes. Open your eyes for me and I promise not to let Elladan bring in a snake for Estel.”

Elrohir’s heart gave a lurch at the sound of Estel’s name, and it seemed to have an effect on Erestor as well. The Elf was obviously trying to maintain his tenuous hold on consciousness. Slowly his groggy eyes cleared enough to focus on the twin. “Elrohir?”

Elrohir could not hold back the smile on his face and he squeezed the Elf’s shoulder affectionately. “Welcome back, my Lord.”

The twin turned back to his companion. “Curufin, quickly, go get my Ada. Tell him that Erestor has rejoined us.”

Erestor was struggling to speak, and Elrohir shushed him. “Rest, Erestor, Ada will be here soon.” The Elf Lord was obviously agitated, but Elrohir could not understand what he was trying to say.

“Here, let me get you some water,” soothed the twin as he reached over to pour water from the pitcher on the bedside table. The healing apprentice had moved to the other side of the bed and was smoothing a light blanket over the injured Elf. Easing Erestor’s head up a bit, he helped the Elf Lord to swallow the liquid. “Easy, Easy, not too much to begin with.”

Erestor finished drinking a bit of the water, closed his eyes, and leaned back onto the pillow trying to marshal his strength while the twin handed the cup to the apprentice healer. Erestor took hold of Elrohir’s robe, trying to pull him down.

Frowning, Elrohir wrapped his hand around Erestor’s and leaned down close to the seneschal’s mouth as he strained to hear and understand what the seneschal was trying to say.

“Quenthar…” Erestor, exhausted by the effort, closed his eyes and was lost consciousness once more.

Stunned by what he had heard, Elrohir met the startled eyes of the healer across the bed. What did he mean? Quenthar was the one who stabbed him and took Estel? How was that possible?

Running steps could be heard racing up the stairs and down the hallway to the bedroom where Elrohir and the healer tended to Erestor. Curufin burst through the doorway. “Elrohir, Lord Elrond is gone!”

O-o-O-o-O

The full moon cast a silvery glow that painted the surrounding forest in a hoary hue. Rocks trickled down the hillside as Legolas slid down the path in his hurry to reach the bottom. Thankfully Estel’s seizure had ceased, but the prince feared that the fever might cause another one and was anxious to hand over his precious bundle to a trained healer, preferably the boy’s father.

The disquiet of the trees alerted him before the sound of metal on metal reached his ears as Legolas started on the path that circled the goldfish pond. He paused, trying to place the position of the sounds of battle. “Hold on, Elladan,” he murmured, “I’ll be back as soon as I get Estel to the house and retrieve my weapons.” Emerging from the woods behind the archery targets, Legolas’ heart skipped a beat when he saw the older twin lying on the field and Lord Elrond himself in a pitched battle with Quenthar; a battle that he did not appear to be winning.

Legolas was momentarily frozen, his warrior’s instincts urging him to come to the Elf Lord’s aid while his heart reminded him of his responsibility to protect the child in his arms. Looking down at the innocent face he was surprised to see serious blue eyes gazing calmly back at him with such trust that he was humbled and amazed at the wave of protectiveness that washed over him. A small hand reached up to touch his cheek and it was as though the Valar had granted him the foresight of Elrond to affirm that he would forever be bound to this child. It was at once unsettling and comforting. Legolas would never speak of it again, but ever after he would think of this as the epiphany…the moment that defined his lifelong relationship with Estel. “Come, little one; I will get you to safety then I will return to aid your Ada and Gwador.”

The prince cut back through the woods to circle the archery field. The last thing he wanted to do was distract Lord Elrond or alert Quenthar to his presence.

O-o-O-o-O

Elrohir burst into the healing wing intent upon seeing for himself that his father was not there. Racing down the center aisle between the twin rows of beds he skidded to stop at the immovable figure of Sariboril. “Where is he, Mistress Sariboril? Tell me, please. I’m supposed to protect him.”

Softly and deliberately the ancient spoke. “Young one, your father is a great Lord. He was a warrior before you were even a dream. Trust his ability.”

The twin’s mind heard her wisdom, but his heart knew only fear for his father and remorse that he had failed in his responsibility. Shaking his head in frustration, he turned and fled the healing wing intent upon finding his father.

“Young ones,” sighed Sariboril, shaking her own head thoughtfully.

Elrohir raced down the hallway where earlier he and Elladan had shown Legolas the note. He launched himself through the front door nearly giving Helcar a heart attack in the process.

“My Lord Elrohir,” stammered the startled guard. Torch light flickered from the sconces located on each side of the front entrance. The look on the twin’s face made Helcar’s blood run cold. “What has happened?”

Elrohir was nearly desperate, grabbing Helcar by the shoulders. “My father, Helcar, did he pass this way?”

Helcar’s worst nightmare was taking place before his eyes. Had the enemy somehow breeched his defenses to strike at Lord Elrond?

O-o-O-o-O

Quenthar slashed repeatedly at Elrond as the two maneuvered in their uninterrupted dance of death. Elladan, who had always thought that Glorfindel was the greatest warrior he’d ever seen, was awestruck by the exhibition of swordsmanship he was seeing. Moonlight reflected off the blades as they swirled in a macabre beauty. The bleeding gashes adorning his body, however, bore testament to the seriousness of what was taking place; this was no sparring match. From one unbelievable position to the next they moved, each one anticipating the actions of the other. Elladan gasped as Quenthar’s sword drew blood with a cut to Elrond’s arm.

“Ah,” the Elf purred, “first blood. Rest assured it is only the first of the blood you shall spill this night, Elrond. I shall drink your blood before we are through.”

Elladan was disgusted by what he was hearing but his Ada seemed unaffected. He listened to his father speak as calmly as though he were lecturing the twins on table manners.

“A warrior spell does not make you a warrior, Quenthar,” declared Elrond. “Overconfidence is your weakness.” He did not add that Quenthar was, by far, the best he’d faced.

The Elf’s face twisted in rage. “Was it overconfidence when I stood over the human’s bed night after night?” Quenthar spat. “Any one of those nights I could have ended his miserable existence, but I waited for the right time to strike at you. You, Elrond!” He thrust forward attempting to catch the Elf Lord off balance. Elrond shifted to the right barely avoiding the strike as Quenthar continued his taunts. “Was it over confidence when I shoved a knife in Erestor’s back and took your so-called child from your own bed? He is buried alive, Elrond; did you know that?”

The Elf Lord did not know that and his breath hitched at the news, but he forced himself not to react outwardly. He was too seasoned a warrior to allow Quenthar that advantage. He kept his concentration on his opponent, diligently watching his shoulders for an indication of where his next strike would be. Quenthar thrust to his left and then immediately spun around to catch Elrond in a blow to his ribcage.

Elrond side-stepped enough to keep the blow from being fatal, but not enough to completely divert the sword from wounding him. He automatically placed his hand over the wound, drawing it back only to see it covered in blood.

O-o-O-o-O

“No, Elrohir, no…I have not seen him,” Helcar responded. Glorfindel has been questioning a prisoner; perhaps he is there though I should have seen him leaving the house.”

Elrohir and Helcar hurried around the house to the garden where Glorfindel was questioning scar-man. So skillfully had Helcar prepared the man with descriptions of his doom at the hands of Glorfindel that the miscreant virtually tripped all over his own tongue in his rush to tell that he knew.

Like I told you before, the man confessed tiredly, “I don’t know nothing about no Estel; we came for the gold.”

“Gold?” exclaimed Glorfindel. “We have no gold here. What gave you that idea?”

“It was the Elf that visits our town. He told us about the riches you horde here.”

And so the story had come out. On several of his trips to procure oats and feed for the horses, the Stable Master of Rivendell had visited the seediest taverns to spread the tale of vast riches awaiting any group that wanted it badly enough. He even let it be known exactly when the warriors were supposed to be away, leaving the valley vulnerable.

Glorfindel was sickened as he thought about the line of dead humans he had seen today, of the wounded Elves and humans even now being tended upstairs, and all for a lie calculated to incite the greed of men. Glorfindel felt his stomach drop as the truth hit him in the face. Quenthar had set the trap and he had walked, nay, run right into it. It was all a diversion to deflect his attention, but for what reason? Estel had already been taken.

Elrohir could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Quenthar had caused all this too? “Glorfindel, Ada is not in the house; he is gone.”

Glorfindel’s head snapped up. He now had his answer. “How long?”

“Not long, within the hour,” answered Elrohir.

“My Lord,” volunteered Helcar, “my warriors have been diligent. We did not see him leave the house.”

Glorfindel snorted. “When the Lord of Imladris wants to leave his home unobserved, he knows how to do it.”

“Someone approaches,” called a sentry.

Glorfindel, Elrohir, and Helcar all looked up at the announcement.

It was Elrohir that reacted first to the sight of Legolas jogging through the garden. “Estel!”

“Elrohir!” Legolas was relieved to find the twin outside, and with Lord Glorfindel. “Quickly, take your brother. Lord Elrond is fighting Quenthar on the archery field. I must return.”

“What of Elladan?” beseeched the twin as he took his baby brother from the prince.

“He was down; I could not see how badly he was injured. I’m sorry.”

“Prince Legolas, go upstairs with Elrohir and Estel,” commanded Glorfindel. His voice brokered no discussion. “Helcar, with me!”

Legolas was irritated, but not suicidal. There was no way he was going to disobey the Balrog Slayer, so he sighed and looked at Elrhoir. “I will help you with the little one.”

Elrohir tore his eyes away from the path down which Glorfindel and Helcar had just disappeared and looked at Estel with a tender smile on his face.

The child hiccupped as he cried softly. He had started to cry when he was placed in his brother’s arms; so dehydrated that his eyes could not even make tears. “Ro…”

He knew he should move, but Elrohir simply stood there for a moment hugging the boy to him, thanking the Valar, the trees, Legolas, everyone he could think of for the child’s safe return. “Thank you, Legolas, thank you.”

The smile on the Prince’s face said it all.

“Don’t cry, Estel. You are safe now; you’re home,” crooned the twin, as a tear marked its path down his cheek. Elrohir hesitated, torn for a moment between the joy of his brother’s return and fear for Elladan and his Ada.

“Why don’t we get this little one upstairs?” suggested Legolas, realizing how the twin must be feeling. “I will draw him a bath. He will need to be cleaned up before you can tend his scratches. Your Ada will have our hides if we attempt to treat him as he is.”

Elrohir seemed to snap out of the lethargy that had gripped him. “Yes, we need to get him cleaned up, and he needs water to fight the dehydration and fever. Draw the bath in Ada’s washroom. There is water by his bed that I can give Estel to drink. I think that Erestor will be relieved to know that he is back as well.

O-o-O-o-O

Quenthar, sensing his victory, closed in for the kill, tracking the Elf Lord with the patience of a predator. For his part, Elrond was trying to keep Hadhafang up while protecting his wounded right side. The blood loss was severely affecting the Lord’s ability to move or think.

“I have you, Elrond,” goaded the stable master, circling his weakened foe. “Now is the time for my revenge.”

“What have I done to garner such hatred that you would strike at my sons, at Erestor?”

“Celebrían, Elrond,” snarled Quenthar, “you failed to protect her. You never deserved her. She left Lớrien because of you and she sailed from this world because of you. I loved her; I would have protected her. My hatred for you has made me powerful. Now you die!”

Elrond watched as the enraged elf swung with all of his force towards his wounded right side. Ducking his head and swirling around to his left in one swift motion, the Lord of Imladris came up and drove his sword through Quenthar’s stomach. For one frozen moment the two adversaries were face to face; one astonished, one resolute.

Panting from the exertion, Lord Elrond stepped back and pulledHadhafang from Quenthar’s body. “You’re wrong,” Elrond whispered as the elf sank slowly to the ground, mortally wounded. “And my love for my sons has made me powerful.”

“Ada?”

Elrond dropped his sword and limped over to Elladan’s side as quickly as his own wound would allow. He sank to his knees. “How badly are you hurt, Ion nin?”

At the rapid approach of Glorfindel and Helcar, both the wounded Elves looked up.

“My Lord,” greeted Glorfindel, as he knelt beside Elrond and his son. “How badly are you wounded? Helcar, go back and summon litters.”

“No!” both Peredhils insisted at once. “We can walk.”

Glorfindel and Helcar both raised eyebrows at that, but wisely held their tongues.

“Helcar,” requested Elrond, “will you help my son to the healing wing? Tell Sariboril that he has lost a lot of blood and seems to be suffering a mild case of shock.”

“Certainly, my Lord,” nodded the warrior. Taking Elladan’s arm over his shoulder, Helcar helped the twin to his feet. Elladan leaned heavily onto the guard as they started slowly back towards the Last Homely House.

“Estel, he…he’s buried somewhere Glorfindel. I must find my son,” panted Elrond.

“Your son is safe,” assured the golden haired warrior as he calmly ripped Elrond’s robe into strips. “He was rescued by Prince Legolas. He is presently being cared for by Elrohir and the prince.”

“Thank the Valar,” breathed Elrond, as Glorfindel wrapped the strips of cloth tightly around his Lord’s injured side.

“Come now, let’s get you back to the house. You no doubt want to see to your sons.”

“His condition, Glorfindel,” questioned Elrond. “How is Estel?”

“Why don’t we go see,” coaxed the warrior with a smile. “I think Sariboril will be anxious to see to your wound as well,” he added with a chuckle.

“Oh no,” groaned the Lord of Imladris, “I will never hear the end of this.”

TBC