Healing Hope

Chapter 30

Let Not Your Heart Be Troubled

“Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow; it empties today of its strength.”  Corrie Ten Boom

For the remainder of the night and into the morning Elrond battled to save Sariboril’s life.  The surgery was finally completed and the master healer lay sleeping in the healing wing where she had spent so many centuries saving lives.  Her apprentices, Merileth in particular, were more than capable of caring for her now, so Elrond discarded the surgical smock he had been wearing and made his way upstairs to look in on Erestor and his sons..

The twins were awake when Elrond walked into the third floor healing room.  They were both sitting up in bed speaking softly with Mithrandir, who had decided that Estel’s rock-ing chair was quite a marvelous thing.  Elrond paused to relish the sight of his sons awake and animated.  Mithrandir was chuckling as the twins related the story of the night Thranduil met Estel and the horses burst into the Hall of Fire causing the pea soup to be thrown over two tables of elves. 

“Oh, oh ho, how I wish I had seen that sight.  Three horses you say?”  Mithrandir asked with a laugh.

“And Fluffy,” added Elrohir, “do not forget Fluffy.”

The Maia looked up at Elrond, his eyes twinkling in merriment. “I do not remember events in the Hall of Fire being quite so…”

“Chaotic?” supplied the Elf Lord ruefully.

“Entertaining, I was going to say,” reproved Mithrandir with a chuckle.  “Ah,” he added with a contented sigh, “why have I never before discovered one of these delightful chairs?”

“Glorfindel made it so that we could rock Estel when he was younger,” explained Elladan.  “It did not take us long to discover that the motion soothed him and helped him drift off to sleep.”

“An important thing, with young ones,” nodded the Istari.  “I remember a pair of mischievous elflings who were active day and night.  No doubt your Adar and Naneth could have used this chair then!”

“I cannot imagine of whom you speak,” replied Elladan with mock indignation.  He frowned, noticing the look on Elrohir’s face.  “What is wrong, El?”

Elladan’s question to his twin drew Elrond’s attention to Elrohir, and he looked more closely at his son.  “Is your head hurting, Elrohir?”

“Only a bit, Ada,” confessed the twin, offering a weak smile to confirm the admission.

“Please lie back down,” instructed Elrond, walking over to Elrohir’s bedside.  He ran his fingers through Elrohir’s hair to relax his son as he studied the swelling over the twin’s eye.  “I came to check Erestor’s condition.  I will make you something to ease the pain in your head while I am here.”   

Erestor was sleeping in the bed closest to the surgery.  The soft talking would not disturb his rest because he had been given a rather strong sleeping draught by Elrond.  The seneschal’s arm had required a great deal of painstaking attention to detail as every bit of the blackened skin was carefully cut away.  After the deadened skin was debrided to remove any foreign matter that might impede healing, a strong poultice was applied to stop the spread of any remaining poison.  Finally the arm was securely wrapped to hold the edges as close as possible until healing could begin to take place.

Moving to Erestor’s bed Elrond felt the seneschal’s forehead.  He was gratified to find it cool, and he watched for a moment as Erestor’s chest rose and fell in steady rhythm. The natural healing ability of the elves was asserting itself already. 

“How is he, Ada?” asked Elladan, concern making his voice husky.

“He is resting comfortably, Elladan.”  Elrond continued to look at his friend and counselor for a few more seconds, realizing how quickly he could have been gone from their lives and the emptiness his death would leave.  Then he looked up to Elladan with a reassuring smile.  “He should wake soon.” 

Elrond frowned slightly at the wince he noticed Elladan attempt to hide from him as the twin shifted his shoulder. 

“Is your shoulder causing you discomfort?” asked the Elf Lord.

Elladan avoided looking at his father while he tried desperately to think of something with which to divert Elrond’s attention and thus save himself from being required to answer the question.

“Elladan…”  The Elf Lord crossed his arms, prepared to wait millennia if that is what it took.  He schooled his features to show none of the amusement he felt as he watched his eldest squirm.

“It does hurt some, Ada,” he finally admitted with a reluctant sigh, “and my hand feels weak.”   Troubled, questioning eyes sought his father, and Elrond could see the elfling he had been in that look, always trying to be the strong one and never admit to any weakness. 

Sitting on the bed beside his oldest he adjusted the wrapping over his son’s shoulder and then cupped the twin’s cheek with his hand.  “Elladan, your wound was very serious.  There has been an insufficient amount of time for it to heal.  You must be patient…and tell me when you are in pain.  You have enough experience in healing to know that pain will only impede your recovery.”

“Well,” said Mithrandir, sensing the twins might need some private time with their father, “I believe I shall take a stroll through your garden.”  He rose from the rock-ing chair and patted each twin on the leg.  “I should like to hear some more of your delightful stories when I return, but for now, do as your father says and rest.”

Elrohir waited until Mithrandir was leaving the doorway to call softly, “Enjoy your pipe, Mithrandir!”

The Maia turned with great dignity and gave the twin a wink.  “You always were a troublesome elfling, Elrohir Elrondion.”

Oblivious to his twin’s teasing of the Maia, Elladan continued to search his father’s eyes, his concern shifting to his little brother.  “Ada, what about Estel?  Can we not send warriors after him?”

Elrond moved into the rocking chair so that he could address both his sons.  He closed his eyes briefly and rocked back in the chair.  Momentarily he leaned forward meeting first one set of eyes and then the other.  “I could send our warriors after Estel,” he conceded, “but I will not.  Much as it pains me to say it, until we can determine some defense against this new evil, Estel is safer away from here.”

“He left his blankey and Fluffy,” said Elrohir forlornly. 

“He made a choice from his heart,” observed Elrond fondly, reaching out to stroke the blanket, “and sacrificed for ones he loves.  Do not lessen that act by regret.”

Elrohir pulled the yellow blanket up to his chest, hugging it as he would his brother.  “It still carries his scent,” he smiled.  “We will keep them safe until he returns.”  

“But Ada,” Elladan continued, “what if…”  He could not finish the question.  Embarrassed to be losing his composure, Elladan bit his lip and looked away until his father’s earnest voice impelled him to look back.

“Let not your heart be troubled, for it will rob you of the strength you need to recover.”  Elrond looked from one twin to the other, the wisdom of the ages reflected in his eyes.  His face was as grave as they could ever remember it being, and the fire burning within his heart was laid open before them.  “Make no mistake, my sons,” vowed the Elf Lord, “we will defeat this evil and bring Estel home.”

O-o-O-o-O

Thranduil breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the first tendrils of light grace the eastern sky with a gentle kiss of mauve.  He had walked away from the others seeking solitary refuge in order to clear his mind and order his thoughts after the events of the night.  One of Thranduil’s warriors kept the king within sight while still giving his monarch the isolation he sought.  For several hours the guard kept his vigil as Thranduil sat on a lonely rock overlooking the horses grazing in the meadow below him. 

As he did each morning, Thranduil bade farewell to the slowly fading stars and offered thanks to Elbereth for the blessings of a new day.  He rose from his reverie and walked over to where Estel lay sleeping curled up against Legolas.  They dared not light a fire, so when the night had grown colder, the prince pulled the child into his warming embrace. 

His warriors were ever vigilant, but with the coming of dawn the orcs would be taking to ground and the threat would lessen.  They had ridden far, coming to the foothills of the Misty Mountains before the king felt they had found a tenable position to defend.  Estel had been beyond exhaustion by then, and, as soon as a small pallet had been made for him, had dropped right off to sleep with his fingers wrapped around Legolas’ thumb.  Seeing Estel grasp his son’s thumb reminded the king that he had never had the chance to ask Elrond what significance this might hold for edain children.

Edain children…there was much for the king to consider.  Without Erestor and Sariboril, they were at a distinct disadvantage.  Humans had no place in Mirkwood.  Would they know the proper food to feed the child?  What if he became ill?  Unlike the last homely house, the cavern fortress was not designed with the needs of other races in mind. 

Taking off his cloak, the king sat down beside where his son lay curled around the tiny being and added his cloak to the one already covering the boy.  His hand lingered on the child and then moved to smooth the hair back from his forehead in a motion common to fathers of all time. 

“Legolas, you have spent more time with Estel than any of the rest of us.  What supplies will we need to properly care for an adan?”

“I have been giving that question much thought, Adar,” replied Legolas, shifting so that he could sit up and speak with his father without waking Estel.  “The season is growing late, and soon the snows will come.”  “We will need warm blankets for his bed.  My rooms are the closest to the underground springs and therefore the warmest, so he should stay with me.  It is also fitting because I will be the closest tie he has to home.  I fear he will feel alone in a strange new place.”

“I agree,” concurred the king, watching the child sleep peacefully.  “And I will send our first healer to Lake Town to seek out those of the edain.  We will petition them for the proper care of an adan.”

Legolas could not help but chuckle.  “That should certainly elicit comment from the town fathers!  Thranduil of Mirkwood asking them for advice, and about their own kind, no less!”

“It will do them good to be confounded,” chortled Thranduil. 

“Will the healer explain why he is in need of such knowledge?” asked Legolas, wondering about the advisability of anyone outside Mirkwood knowing of Estel’s presence.

“Absolutely not,” responded the king, smiling broadly at his son.  “Besides, I must keep my reputation for unpredictability in tact.”

High up in the hills the lonely howl of a wolf echoed eerily.  Estel whimpered in his sleep, and Legolas instinctively patted and soothed the child, singing a soft lullaby to him.  Estel sighed contentedly, yawned, and snuggled closer to where the prince sat.

“Hîr nín!” called a warrior from a few feet away, “Riders on the horizon.”

“How many?” inquired the king, rising and walking over to where the elf stood watch.

“Four, my lord,” responded the warrior, pointing to the horizon.

“That should be Falathar and his archers.  Be sure it is before you reveal our location,” cautioned the king as he walked back to his son.

O-o-O-o-O

Haldir held up his hand, halting the advance of his party.  Throughout the ranks, his warriors became more alert as the marchwarden drew his sword.  Their ornately carved travel saddles provided a secure attachment for their sheathed swords, extra water skins, and other necessities of a traveling troop.  Normally the elves preferred to ride without saddles of any type, but for long distances they adopted the more practical accoutrements.

“Why do we stop, marchwarden?” questioned Celeborn, walking his mount forward.  The elf lord was millennia old and so possessing of dignity and wisdom as to be a formidable presence in any group.  His travel clothing consisted of an ivory tunic layered over earth colored suede leggings; his cloak was of the same suede.  Celeborn’s long, silvery hair was pulled back and corded into a single braid fit for travel. 

“We are being watched,” reported Haldir, so softly that only his lord could hear. 

As soon as Illuin saw the contingent from Lórien halt, he dropped from the tree where he had been waiting and began walking towards the group.

Celeborn’s cautioning hand touched Haldir’s arm.  The marchwarden sheathed his sword, dismounted, and walked forward to meet the elf.

“Mae govannen,” the Noldo nodded, his right hand resting over his heart.  “I am Illuin, commander of the border defenses of Imladris.”

Ignoring him, Haldir’s eyes continued to scan the trees behind the commander for a few seconds, observing the movement there.  At the insistence of Lady Galadriel, the group had undertaken this trip weeks ago even though it would probably necessitate wintering in Imladris.  The Marchwarden, well acquainted with his lady’s abilities, was aware that she felt her grandsons would need her, but nothing else.  Even if she did not know the particulars, Lady Galadriel had been overly quiet and pensive throughout the trip, and even Lord Celeborn had been uncharacteristically tense.  The marchwarden lowered his eyes to Illuin.  With an imperious arch to his eyebrow, he made inquiry.  “Why are there so many warriors in the trees behind you?”

Illuin fought down a flash of irritation at the arrogant look on the guard’s face.  With added patrols and orc attacks, all of the warriors of Imladris were feeling the stress and pressure of the many extra hours of duty, and it did not escape his notice that the elf had not responded to the formal welcome or introduction.  “Are good manners not a requisite for Lórien warriors any longer?”

Haldir sniffed, his own annoyance rising for a moment before he remembered who it was he represented.  “My pardon,” he intoned in such a way that it was clear he was not in the least apologetic. “I am Haldir, marchwarden of Lórien.  In the name of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, I seek admittance to Imladris, or has the valley ceased to offer sanctuary?” 

Illuin wanted to growl.  If not for his lord’s honor, he would gladly teach this haughty peacock a lesson in protocol.  Instead he stood back and motioned with his arm.  “Imladris awaits our distinguished guests.”  “If you will follow me, I will escort you to Lord Elrond.”  He decided right then and there not to mention to Haldir why so many Imladris guards were present.  Illuin had confidence that the way was well protected.  Let the marchwarden wonder how he could not only have known of their approach but also gathered such a number of warriors as escort.  That thought brought a smile to the border commander’s face.

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel met the riders from Lórien when they were almost to the halfway point of the steep approaches to and from the valley.  The commander of all the defenses of Imladris left the last homely house as soon as he heard the alert horns echoing throughout the valley calling all warriors to the northern section.  Glorfindel had stopped only long enough to confer with Helcar, his commander of inner defenses, before seeking his beautiful and faithful mount, Asfaloth, quartered in the family stable.  Only when Helcar assured his commander that all was secure within the inner valley and, in particular, around the home of Elrond, did the golden one ride for the border.  His warriors had been on alert since the present difficulties had begun and he was proud of their perseverance and performance.

If he was surprised to see Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, the golden warrior gave no indication of it.  Glorfindel had been around Elrond Eärendilion long enough to know that he shared his ability for far-speaking with the Lady of Light.  He had long ago ceased to be surprised at any capability these two displayed.  His duty was to protect Elrond and his line, and to this charge – nay, to this pleasure – he remained true. 

“Mae govannen,” he bowed to the elf lord and the lady of light, “welcome to Imladris. You choose an interesting time for a visit.” 

“Mae govannen,” responded Celeborn, with a smile.  “It is good to see you, Lord Glorfindel.  How are my grandsons, for Galadriel has been uneasy of mind for them?”

“The twins are mending,” replied Glorfindel vaguely, for it was their father’s place to explain their health.  Elrohir seemed well on the way to healing, but Elladan’s shoulder was still a concern.  Glorfindel feared to think how the proud, young elf would respond should the wound prove to be debilitating and his fighting ability adversely effected. 

“Yet your heart is still careworn, golden warrior,” crooned Galadriel softly, her luminous beauty not even dimmed by arduous travel.  The lady had walked her horse forward to join her husband in greeting Glorfindel and now looked at Glorfindel as though attempting to read his thoughts.

“Lady Galadriel,” bowed Glorfindel once more.  He looked back at Celeborn.  “If you will follow me, my lord...” 

Celeborn noted the evasion, but decided to let the matter rest, for now.  “Lead on.”

As the group made their way through the winding trials, Lord Celeborn commented on the unusual assembly of elves along the way.  “You could not have known we were coming, yet you have assembled many warriors as an honor guard. That is quite impressive.”

Glorfindel glanced at Illuin, who suddenly seemed to be extremely interested in something along the edge of the trail.  Haldir also appeared to be watching the commander of border defenses closely and curiously.  So that was the way of it, realized Glorfindel with a chuckle.  Ah, young ones.  He turned his most brilliant smile on Celeborn. “Imladris honors Lórien.”

TBC