Healing Hope

Chapter Forty Six

Trust

“To be trusted is a greater accomplishment than to be loved.” Roger MacDonald

As a grim faced Falathar entered the room behind the messenger, Thranduil rose from the bed in one fluid motion, followed closely by Nárë. “Report!”

The young warrior, now mindful of his abrupt pronouncement, bowed respectfully to his king. “My Lord, orcs are pouring from Dol Guldur. They were first encountered by our scouts as they passed the Narrows. Reinforcements were gathered from other scouting parties but the enemy has proven overwhelming.”

Thranduil frowned. “How long have the border scouts been fighting the orcs?”

“Three days now, my Lord,” responded the warrior.

“And only now did they think to inform the court?” asked Falathar, clearly astonished at the turn of events.

Thranduil held up his hand to halt his chief of guards before he could continue. There would be a time and place for those questions at a later point, after the battle had been won. He kept his gaze on the nervous warrior. “Continue, Andien, and then I want you to seek aid from the Healers.”

“Yes, my Lord,” nodded Andien. “Our warriors were able to hold up the enemy, but they have broken out and crossed the Men-i-Naugrim, the Old Forest Road.”

“So close?” breathed Nárë.

“Aye, Master Nárë,” responded Andien. “We are attempting to hold them at the Emyn-nu-Fuin, but we must have reinforcements.” He slumped against Falathar, who supported the elf as he continued his report. “The wounded will be arriving shortly.”

Legolas and Estel emerged from the privy to the palpable tension in the room. Estel’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the wounded elf.

Thranduil met the eyes of his old friend. “Nárë, perhaps you would be so kind as to show Estel your weapons room.”

“Aye,” nodded the Noldo. “Come Estel; you are in for a treat.” He held out his hand for Estel, but the boy drew against Legolas as though afraid to let go. Nárë knelt in front of the frightened child and met his eyes. The calmness of his countenance seemed to soothe the boy. “I still have the sword with which I taught Legolas to fight when he was an elfling.”

“Will you teach me, too?” asked Estel, intrigued by the thought.

“I will, but first you must trust me.” He continued to look into the boy’s eyes. “Can you do that, Estel?”

Biting his lip, Estel took a deep breath and nodded. He let go of Legolas’ hand and stepped over to where he could look up at Thranduil. “I will fight too, King Adar; if you need me.”

Thranduil spared a smile for his youngest warrior. “You do Mirkwood proud Estel, but for now you must concentrate on learning your skill from Nárë.”

Estel stood as straight as he could and executed a perfect bow. “Yes, King Thrandue.”

“Come along, my little warrior,” said Nárë, leading him from the room.

After Estel left the room Legolas turned to his father. “Adar, what has happened?”

Thranduil took the slumping warrior from Falathar. “Falathar, call out the guard.” He turned to his Greenleaf, his voice husky with emotion. “Legolas, gather your weapons and go with Falathar; he will explain what has happened.”

“Yes, Adar,” Legolas had fought many battles in the defense of Mirkwood, and he met his father’s eyes with calm determination.

“Legolas, send back word as soon as you have assessed the situation,” stressed Thranduil. “I must know whether to have the families residing outside the caverns gathered inside.”

Legolas was momentarily dumbfounded by his Adar’s words. “The situation is that grave?” The eyes of his father and the wounded Andien were all the confirmation he needed. Gathering his knives and bow, Legolas bowed to his father and left to follow Falathar.

“Now, young one,” Thranduil addressed Andien, “let us get you to the healers.”

The Hidden Valley

Elladan Elrondion was numb. How long he sat in the pouring rain, as the skies vented their anger, he was not even sure and cared even less. Faithful Celos stood as close to his master as he could, as though attempting to shield the young elf from the torrents or perhaps simply lending his support.

As the thunder grew distant and the rain lessened to fitful drops, the heavy mist once again shadowed the land, obscuring the trees in ghostly murkiness.

Celos nickered softly and Elladan winced as he roused himself from his stupor. Absentmindedly rubbing his shoulder, Elladan became aware of the sudden silence of the laden forest. Alert now, all thought of pain and pity aside, the elf rose to his feet, berating himself for leaving the haven of his home without even a weapon. He was, after all, outside the confines of Imladris proper where orcs and wild animals could be about.

As much as he hated the idea, Elladan swiftly mounted Celos prepared to flee, if no other course were left to him. The pain in his shoulder was fierce now, but the warrior forced himself to block it out and focus on the area around him. He had let down his guard, but Celos had not. Elladan stroked the soft neck of his steed, speaking softly to him as they both focused their attention outward.

Within moments it became apparent what had triggered the reaction in the stallion as Celon appeared as though a wraith in the swirling mists, the sodden young elf on his back looking as miserable as his twin. “El, what are you doing so far out here?” The accusation in Elrohir’s eyes faded as a wave of distress from his twin washed over his consciousness. Elrohir slid from Celon and was beside Celos in seconds, his arms reaching up for his twin. “Brother...”

Elladan found himself in his twin’s arms and together they sank to the ground as Elrohir sought to cradle his brother and bear away some of the pain the elder twin was experiencing. “Why did you not tell me it was this bad?” he asked sadly.

“I could not,” choked Elladan.

“El, you do not have to be the protector of all,” Elrohir admonished softly. “Now you must trust me.” Gently Elrohir pulled Elladan’s head back to rest on his shoulder, murmuring soft words of support in the twin speak that only the two of them had ever been able to understand.

Elrohir’s mind raced as he felt Elladan shaking. His first reaction was one of guilt, which he quickly chased away. How he had missed such evident signs of distress in his twin was not as important now as what he needed to do to help Elladan. His instincts told him that first his brother just needed to be held close, to let loose the self-imposed mantle of responsibility that the elder twin assumed. Elrohir forced himself to relax, allowing that relaxed state to reach out and engulf Elladan. Carefully he massaged the injured shoulder, assessing for himself the degree of pain and injury still held within.

Elladan’s eyes batted as he slid into sleep.

“You stubborn elf,” he whispered, so as not to awaken his brother. “Why did you pretend to be pain free?” Ever so tenderly, Elrohir stroked his brother’s sopping hair back from his face and pressed a kiss to Elladan’s forehead. “I will be the strong one for now, brother,” he sighed, has he rested his head against his twin’s.

As anor sank ever closer to the western ridge, Elrohir continued to hold his sleeping and exhausted brother. Softly he whistled for Celon, who was grazing nearby. The great white lifted his head and immediately came to Elrohir, followed closely by Celos. “Go home Celon,” he urged. “Bring back help.”

Celon’s ears twitched as he looked back towards Imladris and then back to his master, as though reluctant to leave him here.

“Go,” said Elrohir again. “You found him once; you can do it again.”

Celos nudged his twin and moved to stand over the brothers as Celon turned and trotted back down the path.

Imladris

After a lengthy time spent convincing Sariboril to remain in bed for three more days, Elrond had retired directly to his library for solitude. It had been a hurtful day for the Elf Lord, and he wished to gather himself before dinner.

Sitting down at his desk, he was assailed with memories of Arwen playing on the floor beneath the desk. Pushing back, he rose and walked out onto his terrace. Not wishing to be observed, he chose the more private terrace facing the Bruinen. Leaning over the railing, he allowed his fingers to trace the carving in an attempt to focus on the tangible feel of solid wood rather than the memories, which seemed determined to taunt him.

When he finally felt that he had gathered his will, the Lord of Imladris returned to his library. Taking down a journal from high upon a shelf, where he kept it hidden from sight, he sat down and opened the pages to the last entry. Picking up his quill, he dipped it into the ink and began writing words that likely no one would ever read.

My dearest Celebrían...

O-o-O-o-O

Outside, Glorfindel was in the stables preparing Asfaloth. He removed the bells from the bridle, for stealth might be required for this mission. He had seen the look on Elrond’s face and was quite sure that his friend would remain in the library until the evening’s meal. It was his pattern of late, when faced with the ever growing concerns of his family.

Sighing softly, the Golden Warrior mounted Asfaloth and walked him from the stable. “We need to find the twins, my beauty,” he crooned, as he patted the horse’s sleek coat. Glorfindel had hoped that Elrohir would find his twin and bring him back long before now. With the gloom of dusk gathering, he dared not wait longer. He would seek out and return the twins safely.

Asfaloth raised his head and gave it a great shake. Turning towards a lesser used route, the stallion started off at a brisk pace. The warrior had not traveled far when he met Celon coming down the trail. His heart quickened as he realized the stallion was riderless. “Where are they, Celon?” Glorfindel asked as the horse drew up to his side. Celon rubbed noses with Asfaloth as though greeting an old friend and then turned and began leading the Golden Warrior into the forest.

Nárë’s Weapons Room

Seated on the padded floor, Nárë leaned against the wall of the circular sparring room. Lounging back against him, Estel was eating grapes from the Sword Master’s hand. Munching contentedly, Estel leaned his head back against the Noldo’s chest and sighed. “Did you really teach Legolas how to fight?”

Nárë smiled, “Oh yes, young one, I taught him.”

Estel took another succulent piece of fruit from Nárë’s hand and savored the taste. “Umm, that is good.”

“I am glad you like it,” chuckled Nárë. “Are you sure you would like for me to teach you the sword?”

Estel sat up, excitement in his eyes. “Oh yes, Master Nárë; I told King Adar that I would help protect Mirkwood.”

“Very well,” replied the Noldo. “Shall we begin?”

Estel smiled and nodded. “Umm humm.” He used his good hand to push off from the elf’s stomach.

Nárë’s eyebrow hitched as he glanced at the small prints left on his trunk. “Perhaps we should wash that sticky hand first.”

TBC