A/N:
Alright, first things first: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARBIENL!!! huggles Marbienl
So, for those who hadn't guessed it already: This is Marbienl's little birthday-trolls-story. It's rather short, especially if you compare it to my last story - only five chapter, just like the last short story. I'm sensing a pattern here. g I have decided to list Aragorn and Legolas as the main characters, but there are several other elves who will be making an appearance, for example the twins, Erestor or Elvynd who got to speak about two sentences in "An Eye For An Eye". Glorfindel and Elrond, however, are just as important as the reckless human and the stubborn elf this time, and will get quite a lot of attention. (Glorfindel/Elrond: Oh, isn't that nice? sarcasm)
This story was inspired by a few rather innocent remarks about Aragorn's and Legolas' encounter with some hill-trolls, and Marbienl nagged me until I agreed to write a little background story. She also fed me the Glorfindel-plot bunny, so it's safe to say that all this is at least partly her fault. I decided to combine the two plots, both to save time and to get them out of my head. g
Oh, one last thing: Please note that I assume that Gondolin was destroyed on Midyear's Day. I haven't found any precise date for the "Gates of Summer" - the date which is given in the Silmarillion (Chapter 23, Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin) - but I think that it would either be Midyear's Day or Midsummer's Day (which is celebrated either on the same day or on the 24th of June). Considering that the festival was called GATES of Summer, I think Summer Solstice is more likely, and therefore this story takes place on June 21st and June 22nd. If you have any proof that I am wrong, please don't hesiste to let me know. g
So, once again: Happy Birthday, Marbienl! I hope you'll enjoy it, even though there's quite a lot of angst in here later on. Then again, I don't really think that that will bother YOU... g
Okay, that's it. Enough of the rambling and on to the story!
Everlasting
By: Nili
Rating: PG-13. One day in the future I WILL manage
to write a story with another rating, though. One day. g
Spoilers: Several, actually. There are rather heavy
spoilers for the "Silmarillion" in here, I think, and some small ones for the
appendices of "The Return of the King". This story was inspired by several small
remarks in my first story "An Eye For An Eye" (please don't ask me which
chapters, because I honestly don't know), but I really don't think that it is
necessary to have read it. You should be fine either way. If you, however, are
still wondering if Morgoth captures Gondolin or not and are still of the opinion
that the sons of Fëanor are really nice, reasonable chaps, you might not want to
read this.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in Middle-earth;
every single recognisable character, setting, place, event and so on belongs to
J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs. The rest, however (places, characters, etc.)
belongs to me, so please don't kidnap any of my characters. They might be rather
happy to get away from me, but I won't be. I do not have anyone's permission to
use any of the above, but I do so anyway. I'm not a very nice person, I know.
And, finally, this story was written just for fun, and I will most certainly not
receive any money for it. It would be a wonderful way to earn my living, but you
can't have everything, I guess. Please do not use any of my original characters
without asking me first. Thank you.
Summary: While Legolas is visiting his friends in
Rivendell over Midyear's Day, a short hunting trip takes a turn for the worst
when they unexpectedly encounter a group of orcs. In order to save their lives
Legolas, Aragorn, the twins and the rest of their party have to split up, a
decision that soon backfires and leaves not only one, but two lives hanging in
the balance. While the elven prince and the ranger must try to make it back to
Rivendell on their own, Elrond is reminded of the fact that darkness does not
always threaten from without but rather from within and that, sometimes, surviving is the greatest
tragedy of them all.
Series: This story is, once again, part of my
mini-series which still doesn't have a name, poor thing. It takes place a while
before my first story though. So, this is my ... counts on her fingers ...
fifth story, I think, after "Straight Paths", "An Eye For An
Eye", "The Heart of Men" and "To Walk in Night", taking place
in III, 2952, about 16 months before "An Eye For An Eye".
Additional Notes: This newest bit of madness is a
little birthday gift for Marbienl. She is ... well, let's say ... "slightly"
obsessed with Aragorn H/C, Angst and everything else that looks remotely like
it. Don't ask me why, but she has been nagging me about writing Legolas' and
Aragorn's encounter with the hill-trolls which I mentioned only very briefly in
my first story. I hadn't really thought about it, to be honest (I wrote that
about 1 ½ years ago, after all!), but since she has been asking so nicely I did
and voilà, this is the result. So, blame her, not me. g
I have long ago
decided to follow Cassia and Sio's lead and pretend that Gilraen was killed with
Arathorn, and it's not because I don't like her, no. It's just that I have
started this way because it was easiest. I think it's hard to integrate her into
Rivendell-life realistically, and now that I feel confident enough to have a go
at writing her, it's too late. g I hope you - and her - will forgive me for
this not so little detail.
Some people have
therefore told me that my whole concept is an AU, and I think they are
correct, in a way. I totally ignore the fact that Aragorn's supposed to have met
Arwen just after he had been told of his heritage, and I must state here
that I am aware of the fact that I am not Tolkien, and therefore do not even
begin to sound like him, something that can only be commented with "Duh!" in my
opinion. I could never write as well as he does, which means that you will have
to bear with me.
A small note concerning the Elvish used in this story (this
time, both Quenya and Sindarin): I am a follower of the "mellon nín" variety. If
you like the undoubtedly equally correct "mellonen" better, bear with me. As far
as I know, you can use both versions.
And, last but not least: It is not a secret that English is
not my first language. It is, in fact, my third, but that's beside the point.
g So please, tell me when you find a blatant and horrible mistake somewhere -
and you will, trust me. Some of them always manage to sneak their way into the
stories no matter how hard I try. Pointing them out to me doesn't bother me at
all and really helps to improve my English. Thank you!
Chapter 1
The first beams of light were slowly filtering through the heavy drapes in front
of the carved windows, doing their best to find their way past the folds of
thick cloth. It was still early in the morning, so early in fact that even the
birds had woken only a few moments ago, but it seemed that the little animals
were more than ready to make up for that fact by chirping even louder than
usual.
There was only one person in the dark, silent room,
lying on a large bed with a beautifully carved headboard. Even though he lay
quite motionless beneath the light covers, he was already awake and had been for
some time, even though not even the sharp eyes of an elf would have been able to
detect that fact with absolute certainty.
That had several reasons, actually. One was that there
was a whole family of thrushes outside his windows, making such a racket that it
would have woken even the dead themselves. It had all started rather harmlessly
a few months ago, namely with a single thrush which had even been quite trusting
and nice. Then, however, that thrush had found a mate, and in a matter of weeks
there weren't only two thrushes, there were nine. He was starting to suspect
that his brothers had encouraged the noisy birds to breed in the tree right next
to his balcony, which would be just the kind of thing the two dark haired elves
would find amusing.
But it didn't end there, of course. There was another
reason, and a far more serious one at that. Said reason could be quite concisely
be summed up with the words "Only an insane person slept late when Legolas and
the twins were after his or her blood".
Aragorn grinned and resisted the urge to stretch
lazily, still dividing his attention between the door, the windows and the
curtains that hung in front of his balcony door. To a casual observer it would
appear that this behaviour was paranoid or at least exceedingly cautious, but he
knew better. Legolas and his brothers would be coming for him, and he couldn't
afford any incautiousness at all – at least not if he wanted to greet this
coming dawn with all his limbs firmly attached and/or in the same state as they
were now.
The young man's grin widened even more. He didn't
really know whether or not the twins had always behaved like this or whether he
had rubbed off on them during his rather reckless childhood and youth, but they
were behaving rather childish and vengeful lately – unlike him, of course. He
was behaving like it befitted a young lord of twenty-one years, even though
he was willing to admit that he was suffering some relapses from time to time.
Then again, Aragorn thought smugly as he watched the
sunlight that filtered through the heavy drapes, Legolas and the twins might see
this a little differently; they usually did. He didn't really know how Legolas
would call this latest … incident, but he was sure that the twins would call it
at least a humiliation – if not a mortal offence.
The ranger winced slightly, the first open sign that he
was indeed awake and aware of his surroundings. The words "mortal offence",
which his brothers had indeed mumbled once or twice if he wasn't very much
mistaken, were quite a serious overstatement in his opinion. He hadn't truly
done anything, after all, and if Legolas and twins were to pause the tiniest
bit and actually thought about the entire situation for a moment, they would
come to the exact same conclusion…
Aragorn was still dwelling on this particular subject
when a soft, almost undetectable noise caused him to narrow his eyes and turn to
the right, into the direction of the windows and the balcony door. The man held
his breath and listened intently, trying to pinpoint the noise's source, and
just when he was thinking that he had probably imagined things, another small
noise could be heard, this time definitely from the balcony.
The young ranger grinned as he silently pushed back his
covers and stood up, wincing slightly when his bare feet touched the cold stone
floor. Even though tomorrow was Midyear's Day or Loënd, the feast which
the Halflings and Men also called Summer Solstice, it hadn't been exceedingly
warm until now, and this early in the morning the stone tiles beneath his feet
were so cold that he was actually willing to bet that he would freeze to the
ground if he didn't keep moving.
Taking his mind off the cold floor, Aragorn walked
quickly over to the wall, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the balcony door.
Elladan and Elrohir were beginning to get rather predictable, even though that
was something he wouldn't tell the two elves. He had known they would use the
balcony! For a moment he regretted not having left a little surprise on the
small platform outside his room, but then he shrugged inwardly. It was most
likely for the best; he very much doubted that their father would be happy if he
caused the twins to fall off his balcony and straight into the Bruinen.
Judging by the soft conversation that could be heard
from outside, however, it appeared that the two of them were doing quite a good
job at that themselves.
"Take my hand," a voice coaxed softly, sounding torn
between concern and the urge to laugh. "Come on, brother, it's only a few
inches."
"These 'few inches', Elrohir," an almost identical,
rather pressed voice ground out, "are more like half a metre."
"Mere details," the younger twin brushed his brother's
words aside. "Come, take my hand. I really don't want to explain to ada
that you fell off a balcony and broke every bone in your body. I don't think
even he has that many splints at hand."
"Most … likely not." By the sound of it, Elladan was
making a grab for his twin's hand. "And who am I to inconvenience our lord and
father?"
"For one, not brave enough," Elrohir retorted, and
Aragorn could all but see the smirk on the dark haired elf's face. "And, as
unhappy as I am to admit it, not stupid enough, either."
A soft grunt could be heard next, quickly followed by
the sound of rustling clothes. It appeared that the younger twin had managed to
pull Elladan up and over the railing of the balcony. The man's guess was quickly
confirmed when his younger elven brother's voice could be heard, causing Aragorn
to lean against the wall with a broad grin on his face.
"You could thank me for saving you from a potentially
deadly fall, dear brother."
"Thank you?" Elladan's hushed voice sounded somewhere
between outraged and amused. "Thank you? This was your idea in the first
place! Why should I thank you for very nearly getting me killed?"
"Oh, please," Elrohir obviously rolled his eyes, even
though Aragorn could still not see his brothers because of the curtains that
moved gently in the morning breeze. "We've done this a thousand times, and have
never fallen or something like that! You act as if I have lured you into mortal
peril!"
"Keep your voice down!" the older twin told his brother
sternly. "And I still say we should have used the door."
"And walk right into one of his traps?" Elrohir
retorted contemptuously. "I don't think so."
Elladan said something, his voice just audible through
the heavy material that separated the twins from their human brother, but
Aragorn was listening only with one ear. He knew the two of them, very well at
that, and this was far too easy. They had been making far too much noise, and
were still conversing in voices that could be heard not only by him, but surely
in the next room as well.
Aragorn frowned, his attention still on the softly
swaying curtains in front of him. If the twins were behaving like this, it could
only mean that they wanted him to hear them. And if they wanted him to hear
them, then they…
A small noise behind him was all the warning he
received, and while he was still turning around – moving with rather impressive
speed for a human – he realised that he would be too late. A moment later all
thoughts were driven from his mind by a wave of ice-cold water that drenched him
from head to toe in a matter of half a second that gave him the distinct feeling
that his body had just been plunged into an icy lake.
The sudden cold thoroughly shocked him, and he couldn't
suppress an indignant splutter of surprise. By the time he had regained his
senses and had wiped wet strands of hair out of his eyes, the twins had poked
their heads through the curtains in front of the balcony door, both wearing
identical expressions of amusement that incensed the soaked ranger even more.
"Did you get him?" Elladan asked eagerly.
"Oh yes," the blond elf in front of Aragorn answered,
dangling a very large, very empty bucket from one of his hands in an unbearably
smug gesture. "I most definitely did."
Aragorn needed a few seconds to regain his ability to
speak, and a few extra seconds to decide whether he wanted to glare at the twins
or the elven prince in front of him. Finally he raised a hand, shook it slightly
from side to side to shake off the water that covered even his fingers and
pointed it at the fair haired elf.
"You," he accused him in a rather dangerous voice,
"used the window."
"Indeed," Legolas grinned at the dripping man.
"And you never suspected a thing," Elrohir grinned as
well, pushing the curtains to the side and giving the sunlight unhindered access
to the airy room. "Our dear Legolas is rather stealthy, isn't he? For a
wood-elf, I mean."
"In light of our successful operation I will ignore
that comment," the blond elf stated loftily and let go of the bucket, either
because he had no further use for it or because he had noticed the deadly glares
Aragorn was shooting him.
The wooden pail dropped to the floor with a small thud,
and a moment later Legolas had grabbed a towel from the windowsill next to him
and tossed it at the drenched human in front of him. Aragorn caught it
automatically, still glaring at the three young elves.
"That was a totally unprovoked attack!" he complained
while he peeled off his soaked shirt and let it drop to the floor. "Do you want
me to catch a cold and die?"
"Oh, stop overdramatising everything!" Elladan told him
as he pushed back the curtains in front of the window. "Humans very seldom die
from colds. You can count yourself lucky that you got off so lightly."
"Lightly?" Aragorn repeated and grabbed another towel
Legolas offered him, glaring daggers at the grinning Silvan elf. "Whatever did I
do to merit such ill treatment?"
"He asks what he did to merit such ill treatment!"
Elrohir sighed and covered his face with a hand in a dramatic gesture. "Tell
him, Legolas."
Legolas smiled at the twin's antics and turned to his
human friend, who was currently busy trying to dry his shoulder-length dark hair
that was now more or less plastered to his skull.
"Do I really have to tell you? You know well enough
what you did!"
Aragorn stopped towelling his hair and did his best to
look sincere and innocent, something which nearly always failed. After a few
moments he couldn't keep a straight face anymore and began to grin broadly.
"Come now, my friend, 'twas only a joke!"
"Ah," Elladan said and waggled one long finger from
side to side, "If you tie someone's shoelaces together, that's a joke. If you
hide someone's favourite book, that's a joke. If you, however, take someone's
weapons and paint little flowers onto them, it's not a joke!!"
Aragorn's grin widened even more as he remembered
yesterday's weapon practice. The look on the twins' and Legolas' faces when they
had drawn their swords – or, in Legolas' case, his knives – only to discover, in
front of about twenty novices and a rather large number of captains, that their
blades were covered with a multitude of painted flowers was not one he would
forget any time in the near future. The man chuckled inwardly. Or ever.
"The paint was easily removed with a bit of hot water;
I really don't know why you are making such a fuss about it."
"Yes," Legolas nodded, looking eerily like a warg
before it jumped at you. "It was, which is the only reason why your brothers
managed to convince me not to drown you in one of the pools."
Aragorn blinked, not entirely sure if he should take
the elf's words seriously or not, but then he turned around to his
far-too-smug-looking brothers and gave them a curt nod.
"It appears that thanks are in order, then."
"They are indeed," Elladan nodded with a magnanimous
gesture. "As much as I would have liked to watch Legolas try to drown you in the
Bruinen or one of the pools, I really think that it would have displeased ada,
only the Valar know why."
"Who says I would merely try?" Legolas asked darkly,
apparently still severely displeased about the man's attempt to … what had he
called it once he had stopped laughing and had consented to climbing down from
the tree in which he had cowardly taken refuge in face of their fury? Oh yes,
the elven prince nodded inwardly, to embellish them. "I would most
certainly have succeeded if I'd put my mind to it."
"Of course," Aragorn grumbled under his breath, but the
slowly spreading smile on his features belied his gruff tone of voice. "The
mighty Prince of Mirkwood succeeds in every task to which he addresses his noble
personage."
"Precisely," Legolas nodded graciously as he leaned
back against the windowsill, apparently not at all bothered by the human's
sarcastic words. "I couldn't have put it better myself."
"Then, mellon nín, you are in desperate need of
expanding your vocabulary," Elladan announced with a wicked glint in his eyes.
The grin on the older twin's face lasted for mere
moments before he had to duck rather suddenly to avoid two wet towels that were
flung at him, one by Legolas and one by Aragorn. Before either his friend or his
brother had the chance to get their hands on any more wet or maybe even sharp
objects Elladan had rushed out of the room, quickly followed by his twin who
gave the two dour-looking beings a quick, half-smug and half-apologetic shrug.
Legolas reluctantly put down a rather heavy wooden
sculpture that had been sitting on the table next to the window, realising only
now that Lord Elrond would have killed him if he had actually thrown the
carving. He was no expert, but he was indeed rather sure that the small object
in his hands was Númenórean in origin, and therefore hardly something you could
easily replace.
Aragorn seemed agree and gave him a wry grin while he
dropped the wet towel he had wanted to throw at his brother to the ground and
walked over to a large chest of drawers to get himself a clean and, most
importantly, dry shirt.
"You're lucky you didn't throw that," he told the elf
with a nod at the small sculpture which Legolas was still holding. "Father would
have skinned you alive."
"Oh?" the elf asked somewhat anxiously as he carefully
put the carving back onto the table. "Is it that valuable?"
"No, at least not in a monetary sense," Aragorn shook
his head. "It's something like a family heirloom. If my memory serves me right,
it was made by Tar-Elendil when he was still a boy. He gave it to Elrond during
one of his visits in Armenelos, Númenor's royal city."
"Tar-Elendil," Legolas frowned softly, deciding not for
the first time that there were some areas his tutors had neglected during his
education, among them the history of Men. Or the history of the Dwarves, for
that matter, but that was something he did not lament in the slightest. "Which
one was he?"
"Elros' great-grandson," Aragorn answered promptly.
"And therefore the fourth king of Anadûn – at least if you count
Vardamir, Elros' son. He never accepted the kingship and abdicated in his son's
favour."
The man's quick answer and the softly spoken Adûnaic
word once again brought Aragorn's heritage to the elf's mind, which the man had
accepted so unwillingly. For a few moments, Legolas was silent while Aragorn
selected a shirt and tunic and began to rummage through a nearby closet for a
dry pair of breeches.
"You know much about your ancestors' history, my
friend."
"Oh yes," Aragorn nodded grimly. "Quite a lot actually.
But perhaps I shouldn't have used that particular name for their home? There is
one much more fitting one: Atalantë. Is there not?"
Legolas gave the man an emotionless look. That was a
name for the isle of Númenor that he, too, knew: The Downfallen, a name that had
been used after the island's destruction at the end of the last age.
"This is not what I meant," he explained evenly. "I
merely…"
"I know," Aragorn turned around with an apologetic
smile and nodded at the elf in front of him. "I know what you meant. I guess
it's just that being woken by ice-cold water did not really improve my mood."
Legolas was old and experienced enough to recognise an
attempt to change the topic when it jumped into his face and grabbed him by the
throat, but he merely put on a look of mock indignation and allowed this
particular matter to drop. It was obvious that Aragorn didn't want to talk about
this now – which was just fine with him. They'd talk about it later then.
"You deserved it," he told the man haughtily. "Nobody
takes a wood-elf's weapons, tampers with them and gets away with it. I think
that is something you ought to remember, young one."
Before the elf could react or even blink, something
rather wet hit him in the face, making him stumble backwards. A part of him was
rather impressed that a man could move so fast, but that part was
swiftly being
dwarfed by growing
indignation and quite a bit of embarrassment. As graciously as he could he
reached up and
removed the wet towel that had wrapped itself around his head in a way
resembling a persistent octopus.
"That," he told the broadly grinning ranger in front of
him, "was uncalled for. And a mistake."
"You called me 'young one'," Aragorn shrugged,
apparently quite unimpressed by the elf's thinly veiled threat.
He had,
after all, heard much
worse from his brothers.
"And that justifies this?"
"Yes?"
Legolas merely commented this with a snort and tossed
the towel into Aragorn's direction, which the man ducked easily however, already
having expected such a reaction from the elf.
"Get dressed then," he told him darkly, but with a
small sparkle of amusement in his eyes. "I don't kill half-dressed children."
"So you only kill fully dressed children?" the young
man shot back quickly.
"Oh yes, of course," Legolas grinned before he turned
around and walked over to the door. "I'm a wood-elf. Haven't any of Imladris'
inhabitants told you about our favourite pastimes?"
"Now that you mention it, yes, they have," Aragorn told
the elf's retreating back, dropping the dry shirt and breeches he had chosen
onto the now also rather wet bed.
He grinned at the elf who had reached the door by now and was just turning back
around to look at him. "Among the main characteristics of the common wood-elf,"
he recited in a way that sounded remotely like Erestor when he was talking about
the common linguistic roots of Quenya and Sindarin, "is the urge to drink vast
quantities of wine…"
Legolas merely leaned back against the doorpost with an
apparently benign smile on his lips that, on closer inspection, looked a little
more like a forming snarl. Aragorn was either unaware of it or simply didn't
care and just went on, a wicked glint in his eyes.
"…to exceedingly indulge in something called
'merrymaking', something that is closely connected with the urge to consume
countless pints of alcoholic beverages, further to abduct Men and Dwarves to
drink their blood, to practice dark magic, to try and get their hands on any
glittering objects and generally behave like overgrown magpies and to – put down
that carving, Legolas!"
Legolas had taken two quick steps forward and had
seized the first projectile he had laid eyes on, namely the Númenórean
sculpture. Only now did he seem to realise what he was doing, and with a frown
that merely deepened the annoyed grimace on his face he slowly returned the
carving to its place. After making sure that it looked just like when he had
picked it up he raised his eyes and looked at the broadly grinning man.
"Are there any more insults you wish to heap on my
people, adan?"
The thus addressed ranger wrinkled his brow in thought
and finally shook his head.
"No, I don't think so. Those were the more interesting
ones, I believe."
Legolas contented himself with glaring darkly at the
man, but it appeared that
he had to consciously stop his hands
from moving
once again into the direction of the wooden sculpture.
"You should be grateful that Lord Elrond is such an art
lover, ranger. Very, very grateful."
"Yes,"
Aragorn grinned and made a quick movement with his hand. "Get out. If I don't
get dressed now, I'll be too late to get anything to eat. If I don't get
anything to eat, I will have to pester the kitchen staff, and if I have to
pester the kitchen staff, we won't be able to leave on time with the rest of the
hunting party. And that, mellon nín, will annoy Glorfindel, and believe
me when I say that you don't want to see him when he's seriously displeased."
The blond wood-elf seemed torn between the urge to harm
the man in front of him and to heed his warning, but in the end common sense or
his own experience with Lord Elrond's golden haired seneschal won out. No,
Legolas thought, Lord Glorfindel was indeed not someone he would want to anger
deliberately.
With a last, dark look at the smirking human he turned
back around and disappeared out of the door, only to poke his head back into the
room a second later.
"You forgot something, Estel," he told the dark haired
man in a friendly manner. "We Wood-elves do not only practice dark magic and
drink men's blood, we also like to roast those who wrong us in any way on spits
and eat them bit by bit while they're still alive." He gave the slightly
wide-eyed man another bright smile. "I'll see you at breakfast then, yes?"
A moment later he was gone, and Aragorn slowly
redirected his attention from the now empty spot at the door to his clothes,
making a mental note to keep an eye on Legolas for the next few days, just in
case the elf displayed any signs of cannibalistic tendencies. Remembering that
there was a herd of deer just waiting to be hunted and that he would be too late
if he didn't get a move on soon, he grabbed his shirt and tunic and snorted
softly.
"Actually," he told his dark green hunting shirt while
he was pulling it over his head, "I think that explains quite a lot."
He really didn't know why he was going along with this. It could end only in
pain, disaster, death or blood, or a combination of all four. And, knowing his
sons' and the prince's luck, it also would end in pain, disaster, death
or blood.
Elrond sighed deeply and did his best to forget his
troubled thoughts, which was rather hard since he could almost see the dark
clouds of doom gather on the horizon. It wasn't exactly a premonition or a
vision that told him that it was not a good idea to let the four of them
go anywhere together, but then again, you didn't really need to possess the gift
of foresight to predict an unfavourable outcome to any excursion his sons and
the Prince of Mirkwood undertook.
Oh no, the Lord of Rivendell thought sarcastically, you
didn't need to be foresighted to realise that. All you needed was a bit of
common sense and a memory of average efficiency, and you reached that conclusion
all by yourself in a matter of moments. Elrond frowned darkly. Elladan and
Elrohir together equalled trouble. Elladan and Elrohir and Aragorn equalled even
more trouble. Elladan and Elrohir, Aragorn and Prince Legolas equalled a
catastrophe.
The only thing that was stopping him from packing his
bags to leave for Lothlórien in an attempt to avoid being drawn into this newest
disaster that was surely to come was the fact that Glorfindel and a few other
warriors would accompany them. No, Elrond thought darkly a moment later, that
was a thought that would usually have cheered him up and comforted him – today,
however, it did anything but.
There were two main reasons for this, the dark haired
elf lord mused, still not moving from where he was standing on one of the
terraces that overlooked the lush valley that had been his home for more than
thirty yéni now. One of them was of course that, even though the added
company meant that his sons and Legolas wouldn't be alone and would therefore
have at least a small measure of assistance and protection in whatever mad
scheme they would get themselves involved in this time, it also meant that they
would have the opportunity to drag their escort down into danger and doom with
them. He really didn't look forward to treating even more patients than he
inevitably would have to anyway.
The more important reason, however, was that Glorfindel
wasn't himself, something that was beginning to seriously worry the Noldorin
lord. He had known the golden haired elf for a long, long time, and was maybe in
fact one of the few people on this side of the Great Sea that could claim that
they actually knew Glorfindel. Even despite his open and merry nature the
ancient elf very seldom allowed anyone a glimpse of his true thoughts and
feelings, and it happened even more rarely that he actually confided in someone.
And that was the most annoying thing, Elrond thought
indignantly. That stubborn elf simply wouldn't talk to him! He had tried
everything but violence and a direct order to make his friend tell him what was
wrong, or at least to sit down and talk to him for longer than a few minutes. He
would have liked to believe that Glorfindel was avoiding his presence and
counsel because he didn't wish to speak about whatever it was that was troubling
him, but Elrond was slowly beginning to think that that might not be the only
reason why he was more or less openly shunning him.
The half-elf's grey eyes darkened slightly, lending
them the appearance of a cloudy sky. He had never thought that he would say
this, but he was beginning to hope that Glorfindel simply didn't want to talk
with him. In reality another belief was spreading inside of him, namely that the
other elf wasn't avoiding his counsel, he was avoiding him.
Elrond sighed again, not even noticing that he was
earning himself a strange look from a passing couple that could clearly not see
what was so depressing about the beautiful, green valley at which their lord was
staring. He had been trying to remember if there was anything he could have done
to offend his fair haired friend, but try as he might, he couldn't think of
anything that might have provoked such a reaction. And yet the fact remained:
Every time Glorfindel looked at him an almost pained expression flittered over
his face and his eyes darkened, and a moment later he sought excuses to leave
his company.
He was running out of options, Elrond concluded
solemnly. If he had thought that openly confronting his fellow lord would gain
any results, he would have done so a long time ago. It would not, however, and
he was perfectly aware of that. It never helped to press Glorfindel in such
matters; if confronted with such an accusation, he would flatly deny everything.
If the golden haired elf lord wanted to talk to you, he would, and if he didn't,
it would take far more than the word of Lord Elrond Peredhil to make him break
his silence against his will.
A command from the Valar might do it, though, the dark
haired elf thought half-ironically and half-desperately. Maybe he could pretend
to be Manwë … no, that would be rather impossible, what about Aulë? Ulmo would
be possible as well, and if everything else failed, even a Maia might do, Elrond
decided a moment later. It would have to be a powerful one though, maybe he
could convince Glorfindel that…
"Good morning, my lord."
Elrond's thoughts about which of the Maiar would be
terrible enough to prompt Glorfindel to actually start talking to him
(Mithrandir, he decided inwardly, would definitely make the bigger impression,
even though Curunír would be more eloquent by far) were rather abruptly
interrupted, and he had to stop himself from startling visibly at the unexpected
words.
The elf lord willed himself not to jump and slowly
turned around, hoping that he didn't show how surprised he really was. After
all, a small voice at the back of his mind provided wryly, elf lords never
allowed themselves to be startled by their people. He could almost hear
Glorfindel's voice at that thought, lecturing him about all the things a proper
elf lord did and did not do, and instead of the good-humoured annoyance he
usually felt a small stab of sadness went through him.
Elrond forced these thoughts to the back of his mind
and inclined his head at the dark haired elf that was standing in front of him,
and unreadable expression on his face.
"Good morning, my Lord Erestor."
The other elf lord returned the nod and stepped next to
Elrond, a faint sparkle of amusement in his eyes as he gazed at the beautiful
sight that was spreading out in front of them.
"Is there something amiss, my lord?" he asked. "Has
something befallen our fair valley and no one thought it important enough to
inform me?"
"No," Elrond retorted darkly. "And you know that very
well too, my friend."
"Maybe," Erestor answered with a slight bow. "But if
there has been no orc invasion, no forest fire, no flood, no storm and no
invasion of three-headed ravenous flesh-eating squirrels, then why do you look
so sad, my lord?"
Elrond ignored the other elf's question and merely
stared at him with a raised eyebrow.
"'Three-headed ravenous flesh-eating squirrels'?"
A small smile spread on the advisor's usually so
reserved face.
"I am merely quoting your slightly unstable seneschal,
my friend. I do not presume to understand everything he tries to tell me, nor
how his mind works."
Erestor's sharp eyes missed little, and the shadow that
fell over the other elf's face at the mention of their fellow lord was as easily
visible as the light of day. He frowned and cocked his head to the side,
studying his lord with sudden intensity.
"So it is Glorfindel who has put you in such a mood?"
he asked softly. "Well, I can understand you perfectly well if that should be
the case."
"No," Elrond shook his head. "He has not. And yes," he
added, to Erestor's obvious confusion, "he has."
"He either has or he hasn't, my friend," Erestor
pointed out calmly. "Not even Glorfindel can do both."
Elrond smiled slightly at his friend and advisor.
"It is nothing he said," he clarified. "It is what he
does not say. There is something wrong with him, and has been for some time, and
instead of allowing me to help him, he avoids me and seeks to flee my company. I
do not know what I have done to him."
"Nothing," Erestor shook his head evenly. At the
confused look on the other elf's face he added, "Tell me, my lord, what time of
year we have?"
Elrond shot him a look that very clearly told
him that he knew very well what date it was and that he should better get to the
point if he valued his life, but when Erestor merely returned the look
emotionlessly, he conceded defeat with a small sigh.
"The thirty-first day of Lairë," he finally
answered curtly. "Or, if you follow the calendar of Men, the last day of Nárië. Tomorrow will be Loëndë, or Summer Solstice. But I don't see what…"
Elrond trailed off as sudden understanding began to spread on his face. "Oh, I
see. Gondolin."
"Yes," Erestor nodded softly. "Tomorrow it will be 6466
years that Gondolin fell, and with it Glorfindel."
"But he has never behaved like this before!" the other
elf shook his head and turned back to the valley, as if hoping the sight would
offer him some solitude. "You have seen it happen as often as I have. Around
Loëndë he gets a little withdrawn and taciturn, but that passes soon enough – or
it usually does. He is behaving very strangely."
"Stranger than usual?" Erestor asked, quirking one of
his eyebrows in faint amusement.
"Yes," Elrond smiled slightly. "Stranger than usual."
He looked at the other elf, narrowing his eyes slightly when he saw the hints of
uncertainty and worry on Erestor's face. So he wasn't the only one who had
noticed Glorfindel's unusual behaviour, which was something that both scared and
relieved him. "He has never behaved like this, has he?"
"No," Erestor admitted softly. "He hasn't. First I
thought that I was imagining things, but it appears that I was not. He and I may
not agree on many things, but I still know when there is something wrong with
him."
Elrond would almost have smiled. To say that Erestor
and Glorfindel didn't agree on many things was like saying that Morgoth had been
mildly displeased after the Valar had cast down his fortress of Angband. They
were simply too different to get along easily, but that didn't stop them from
being good friends during the time they didn't want to kill each other.
"At least I am not imagining things then," Elrond
muttered disheartened. "He is avoiding you as well?"
Erestor looked at his dark haired lord, inwardly
debating whether or not he should answer that question truthfully.
"No," he finally shook his head. "He is simply not
talking to me and is behaving much too seriously, even when the twins or some of
the other young ones are around. But no, he is not avoiding me, but I think that
he is counting on his inhospitable attitude to keep everyone at a distance."
"Then he has some quarrel with me of which I am
unaware," the other elf lord sighed.
"Why don't you simply ask him, my lord?" Erestor wanted
to know.
"Ask him?" Elrond arched an incredulous eyebrow.
"Glorfindel? About things he does not wish to discuss?"
"Perish the thought."
"Indeed," Elrond agreed darkly. "But I think I will
ask him tonight, no matter whether he wants to talk to me or not. Perhaps
he'll be in a more amenable mood after having spent a day hunting."
"Yes," the other elf nodded, doubt visible on every bit
of his face. "Perhaps. And perhaps not."
"No, perhaps not," the Lord of Rivendell sighed. "I
very much doubt it myself; I'll admit that." He gave the valley that was
stretching out in front of them a last look and straightened his shoulders, his
muscles beneath the embroidered robes still tense with worry and suppressed
nervousness. "Speaking of which: When are they leaving?"
Erestor watched the calm mask slip over the other elf
lord's face and sighed inwardly. He would have liked to help his friend, but it
appeared that they both had no idea why Glorfindel was behaving so curiously. He
had tried to tell himself that it was because of the date, because of the golden
haired elf's memories of what had happened all these ages ago, but Elrond was
right; it didn't truly fit. There was something wrong, and he had no idea what
it was and how to make it right, and that was a situation the advisor did not
appreciate in the slightest.
A moment later he realised that his lord was still
waiting for an answer, and he forced himself to return to the present.
"In a few moments," he answered, not needing to ask to
whom the other elf was referring. "They wanted to leave as soon as possible so
they can return today before nightfall. They don't want to miss the
festivities."
Elrond's mood dropped to new, unheard-of levels. The
Midyear's Day Feast – he had almost forgotten about it. It was a long-standing
tradition among his people to celebrate the longest day of the year with a great
feast that would start this evening and would last at least until tomorrow
afternoon. He – just like about everyone else – had always loved this particular
celebration, for it was a merry, cheerful feast, but right now he did not
exactly feel like celebrating. And he was willing to bet any of his favourite
books that he would be in an even less festive mood this evening, because the
chances that every member of the hunting party returned unscathed were more than
slim.
"I see," he retorted as evenly as he could, doing his
best not to let his dark mood show. "Well, then we should see them off,
shouldn't we?"
Erestor wordlessly inclined his head and followed his
friend into the direction of the courtyard. To get there took them quite a bit
longer than it usually would have, because a multitude of elves were busy
decorating the halls and grounds of Rivendell for the upcoming celebration.
After avoiding about the third near-collision this day, this time with a young
elf who was busy pinning garlands to the many pillars of the entrance hall, they
managed to reach the courtyard that was bustling with people.
The two elf lords stopped for a moment, and Erestor
asked himself just why the time before a feast, be it Midyear's Day or Winter
Solstice or any other holiday, had to resemble complete and utter chaos. He did
not like chaos, not even when it was of the perfectly peaceful and harmless sort
which filled the space in front of them. In fact, the dark haired advisor mused
while his eyes wandered over the elves that were hastening from one end of the
courtyard to the other, laden with lamps and flowers, the most dangerous thing
that could happen to you today in Imladris was that you strangled yourself with
a wreath of flowers.
The elf's face froze slightly as his eyes came to rest
on the group of people – on the only
group of people, he corrected himself quickly – who would manage to do
just that. Erestor's eyes narrowed as he followed his lord who had begun to walk
over to the small group of people that were crowding around a few horses. Yes,
if there was anyone at all who could possibly strangle himself with garland, it
was the twins, Estel and Thranduil's son. The mere thought of them going
anywhere together sent cold shivers of dread down Erestor's spine, and he was
sure that Elrond was feeling the same.
The Lord of Rivendell was indeed feeling the same, and
yet he could barely suppress a smile as he looked at his sons and their friend.
He had of course heard about the little joke which Aragorn had played on his
brothers and the young prince, and only an hour or so ago the halls had buzzed
with rumours of what the twins had done as retribution. Right now Aragorn was
glaring at his elven brothers who were pretending to shake with fear at his
wrath, while the Prince of Mirkwood was barely keeping from laughing.
Elrond shook his head and stepped closer, doing his
best not to let his amusement show on his face. If the twins had poured ice-cold
water over their brother in the winter, he would most likely have been severely
displeased, but in the summer it had most likely not done any harm. The three
younger elves and the ranger fell silent as the Lord of Imladris stopped in
front of them, Erestor only a step behind him.
The twins ignored their human brother's dark looks and
smiled at their stern-faced father, trying to look as innocent as possible. They
didn't really know if their father was angry with them, but there was no reason
not to try and at least look innocent of all transgressions.
"Good morning, ada," Elrohir smiled at his
father.
"Don't try this look on me," Elrond shook his head, but
there was an amused sparkle in his eyes. "I know what you did." Aragorn shot the
twins a nasty look and opened his mouth to speak, but before the man could say a
single word, Elrond cut him off. "And I won't get involved, not for all the
mithril in this world, so you can stop looking at me like that, Estel." He gave
his three sons and the far too innocent-looking blond wood-elf next to them a
stern look. "Do you have bandages?"
Elladan nearly rolled his eyes.
"Yes, ada."
"Splints?"
"Yes, ada."
"Herbs? Crushed roots? Needles?"
"Ada!"
Aragorn exclaimed, indignation on his face. "We are going on a hunting trip! The
most dangerous thing that can happen is that Elladan falls off his horse again
and scares the game away."
"I do not fall off horses!" Elladan protested outraged.
"I seem to remember something else," Elrohir grinned at
his incensed twin. "For example the one time you…"
Elrond blinked twice, realising that he was beginning
to lose control of this conversation.
"Ah," he raised his hand, "stop this. Are you sure you
have everything you need?"
"Yes, father," Elrohir nodded earnestly, taking his
eyes off his furiously grumbling brother. "In the highly unlikely case," he
ignored Erestor's muffled snort, "that something does indeed happen, we have
everything we could possibly need. Ever."
"Besides," Aragorn added, "we won't be alone.
Glorfindel will accompany us, and so will Elvynd and his men. We will be
perfectly safe, and back before the feast even starts."
Elrond bit back a number of incredulous and/or
sarcastic remarks and slowly let his eyes wander over the small group of
warriors that were waiting some paces to their right, looking not very happy
about the situation they were finding themselves in. In fact, a small voice
inside his head noted dryly, they were very much looking like elves who had just
been condemned to a slow, painful death.
A dark haired elf standing at the front of the small
group raised his head, swallowed rapidly and gave his lord a quick, faint smile
that looked more than a little bit insincere, and Elrond turned back to his sons
and the prince, a small scowl on his face.
"Promise me to be careful, all of you. If you encounter
orcs or anything else that could be dangerous in any way, I want you to turn
around and run."
"We do not run from orcs," Elrohir scoffed.
"Oh yes, you will, or you won't be leaving," Elrond
retorted in a steely tone of voice. "I don't want to spend Summer Solstice
patching all of you up. If you get involved in any fighting, you will wish you
hadn't come back once you do."
"No fighting, my lord. You have my word," Legolas
nodded quickly, recognising that particular tone of voice. It was the same as
the one his father used every time before he lost his temper. "I will look after
your sons, and I promise that we will not seek out any of Morgoth's creatures."
Elrond nodded slowly, realising very well that this
promise wasn't exactly what he had been asking them of them, but knowing just as
well that it was all he was going to get. The twins and Aragorn were still
nodding approvingly at their fair haired friend when a movement to their left
caught the elf lord's eyes, and he turned to lay eyes on Glorfindel who was just
entering the courtyard, his bow and quiver slung over one shoulder.
The dark haired lord left the young ones to their soft
conversation and took a few steps away from them, his eyes not leaving his
golden haired friend. The other hadn't seen him yet, but even now his face was
strained and too pale. If Glorfindel had been mortal, he would have thought that
he was ill or suffering from some kind of sickness, but he was not mortal. He
was an elf, and elves didn't get sick. There was nothing wrong with his friend's
body unless he was suffering from some sort of hidden poison, so there had to be
something wrong with his spirit.
Elrond was still studying the other elf when
Glorfindel's head came up and his eyes locked with his lord's. Something
appeared in his eyes, something that the dark haired elf couldn't identify in
the few seconds that it was visible, but at least he didn't wince when he saw
him. It was something that filled him with a sort of mild relief, but not nearly
enough to dampen the sadness and worry in his heart. The small sparkle in the
other's eyes disappeared as quickly as it had emerged, and Glorfindel walked
over to him, a rather blank expression on his face.
"My lord," he nodded when he had reached the spot where
Elrond was standing, still watching him.
"Glorfindel," Elrond nodded back. He wanted to say
more, but for once in his life he was at a loss for words. After several moments
he simply added, "Try to bring them back in one piece, will you?"
The blond elf smiled slightly, a smile that did not
reach his serious eyes.
"I will do my best."
"I know you will," Elrond smiled as well. "I really
would like to spend this Midyear's Day in relative peace and quiet."
That had apparently not been the right thing to say,
and the dark haired elf watched with an inward, weary sigh how the emotionless
mask attached itself even more firmly to his friend's face. Every single bit of
what had been still visible of Glorfindel's feelings disappeared behind a blank
wall that seemed to slide over his eyes, and Elrond felt how his frustration
even mounted. He really had enough of this now.
"We will be back before the sun has set, my lord,"
Glorfindel promised tonelessly.
"Good," Elrond nodded curtly. "We have to talk."
"About what?" the other elf asked, apparently greatly
surprised.
"You know about what, or your mind isn't as astute as
everyone else believes it to be, my friend. As soon as you're back, we will
talk."
The blond elf opened his mouth to say something,
apparently to deny knowing about what the younger one was talking, but then he
closed it again without uttering a sound. For a few moments the two elves merely
stared at each other, but then the fair haired lord inclined his head slightly,
a weary smile flittering over his face.
"Is that an order, my lord?"
"If it has to be," Elrond nodded again, flinty
determination in his grey eyes, "Even though I would prefer it if it were not."
Glorfindel smiled again, this time a little more
genuinely.
"Then we will talk once I get back."
"I will be here," the other elf inclined his head.
Glorfindel returned the nod before he turned around and
began to walk over to the other elves who were still waiting patiently behind
him. It took him only a few moments to urge the twins, Aragorn and Legolas to
stop quarrelling among themselves and to mount his horse, and soon the small
group of people were disappearing through the gates amidst laughter and glad
shouts.
Elrond remained where he was, looking after the hunting
party, his sons' laughing promises to be careful still ringing in his ears. The
last horse soon passed out of sight, but still the elf lord did not move,
somehow feeling even worse now than he had before. With a deep sigh he finally
turned around, forcing himself to try and let himself be cheered up by the
festive mood of the elves around him.
He hadn't taken more than two steps when Erestor
appeared at his side, moving as soundlessly as a wraith in the night.
"Later?" was all he asked, concern shining brightly in
his eyes.
"Later," Elrond affirmed softly, once again turning
back into the direction where he had last seen his sons, Glorfindel and the
others. "If I can corner him or tie him to something unmoving."
"Good luck then, my lord," Erestor said seriously, and
a moment later he was gone, disappearing in the mass of busy elves that were
hastening to and fro.
Elrond looked after his advisor with a small smile on
his lips, and when he turned back toward the main entrance of the Last Homely
House he agreed silently that luck was something he would most likely need in
abundance.
TBC...
Loëndë (Q.) - "Year-middle", Midyear's Day, also called
Summer Solstice. On a modern calendar, it falls on the 22nd of June
ada (S.) - father (daddy)
mellon nín (S.) - my friend
Anadûnê (Adûnaic) - Westernesse; another name for the
Isle of Númenor
adan (S.) - human, man
yéni (pl. of yén) - elvish unit of time, equivalent to 144 years
Lairë (Q.) - 'Summer', the time between the (modern) 22nd of May and the
(modern) 1st of August
Nárië (Q.) - the sixth month of the year according to the Stewards' Reckoning.
On a modern calendar, the time between the 23rd of May and the 21 of June
Poor Elrond. One would think he would have learned to listen to
his premonitions of doom, wouldn't one? shakes head Honestly. Well, he'll be
shown that it would have been easier for everyone involved if he'd just locked
all of them into one of the cellars and thrown away the key. g Be that as it
may, I usually say "Review, please" or something like that here. I'll try to
update ... hmm, let's see ... on Saturday or Sunday, I think, and reviews
generally help with that. Yes, I have finished the story already, but they'll
help nonetheless. Honestly. So: Review, please! g