Elrond sat on watch with Areder, a young warrior only a decade past his majority. Elrond was silent and pensive, though he had first tried to ease the young elf's discomfort at drawing a watch with his Lord. The Lord of Imladris had never been one to separate himself from his warriors. In fact when the elven haven was first founded, he rode out with patrols as his duties permitted. But early in the third age, the overwhelming daily and diplomatic tasks of running the Elven haven combined with his healing duties brought that to an abrupt end. Now he only drew watch when they traveled. Due to the lateness of the hour, most of the other elves were sleeping. They were still four days from Lorien boarders having already crossed the misty mountains. Only Glorfindel and his sons were privy to the real reason behind their journey. They were on their way there for a meeting of the white council.
Elrond had been anxious about the journey. All of Elrond's foresight screamed danger and darkness to him. Yet there were no substantial images he could point to so as to delay their journey. Perhaps delaying their journey would only serve to increase the danger. Damn this gift of foresight. These images and feelings were not a guide to actions. Suddenly, though Elrond's senses tingled. He detected the presence of evil, of Orcs and a different being, one with the song of a Maia focused on him. He stood quickly and quietly, his mind reeling. He felt them coming, though Areder had not yet detected anything. The youth stared at his Lord with a look of shock when Elrond raised the alarm. Elrond sounded a call to arms with a series of quick whistles. The others quickly stirred, sensing the urgency of the call.
"Areder help me secure the perimeter." Several more warriors came up behind them. He heard Glorfindel shouting directions, then the Orcs were on top of them. Many surged forward through the hole on his right side, where Areder had fallen.
"Please be well," Elrond prayed silently then plunged his sword into another orc, his third kill. There was no time to stop and check his companion as other adversaries swarmed towards him. Windrider, his steed, neighed anxiously to his left. In the back of his mind came an alarm that he was being isolated, cut off from the rest of his party. He twisted, suddenly award of orcs jumping towards him from behind. A blinding flash of light hit him squarely in the chest and he sank into oblivion.
Thankfully, Elrond's warning was in time to have everyone armed and awake before the orcs descended. Chaos ensued. There must have been nearly three orcs for every elf. The clashing of blades rang in the dark night. It was close, hand-to-hand combat. Glorfindel had tried to reach his Lord, who he had sworn to the Valar that he would protect. But in the darkness and confusion he could not spot Elrond. Then ominously, the orcs retreated, leaving a deadly silence with bodies of the dead and wounded lying on the ground. Well-trained as both warriors and healers, the elves sprang into action, moving through the bodies and separating their injured companions from the dead orcs. It seemed the elves had been luckily this time. Glorfindel called rapidly to his warriors issuing orders, surprised and worried not to find Elrond doing the same. Was his Lord injured? They gathered the wounded to a more defensible position by the caves.
Elrohir tended the wounded, also worried about his father's absence. He had recognized his father's call to arms before the fight broke out. He tried to focus on mending the sword wound before him, bathing the wound before stitching it. He heard Glorfindel speaking slowly and urgently to someone nearby.
"Where is Ada?" Elrohir called to the Seneschal. "He is not here among the injured." Glorfindel turned, visibly agitated. It was obvious that he had expected to find Elrond here. The golden warrior headed back to the battle scene, meeting Elladan, who had been examining fallen orcs and looking carefully for his father.
"Elladan, any sign of your father? Help me check!" They hunted through the bodies of the dead orcs and rounded up the horses. Windrider, Elrond's horse, was prancing nervously and sported orc claw marks down his hind. There was no sign of the Lord of Imladris. Glorfindel reached out with his mind to his friend of nearly five millennia, but he could not detect him.
"Elladan!" He called. "Is your bond to your father intact?" He saw Elladan concentrate momentarily then nod.
"He is alive, though unconscious. That is all I can tell." Elladan's voice trembled. Elrohir came towards them, limping slightly.
"A quick survey of the wounded reveals that the orcs focused on the dark haired Elves. They did not aim to kill only to overpower. They were searching for someone." Elrohir concluded.
"Ada." Elladan stated in horror. "They must have captured him, that would explain their sudden withdrawal. We must track them." Glorfindel nodded.
Xxxxxxxxxxx
Words pierced his consciousness and Elrond realized that he was lying face down in the dirt, surrounded by orcs. His body ached and he kept his eyes shut to ward off the nausea that threatened. He felt a cold metal encircling his neck and realized it must be some sort of manacle. He tried to move his arms behind him and winced as any movement of his arms jerked his head backwards. A rope connected his bound wrists to his braided hair. He was cursing silently when someone interrupted his thoughts by kicking him hard in the side.
"Roll over slave!" The orc kicked him several times with such force that it propelled him onto his back. "Master wants to play with you." The orc laughed maliciously. Elrond cleared his mind, it was only pain, he reasoned, centering his thoughts and steeling his mind before the onslaught. Glorfindel and his sons would track him. Surely they would realize his absence. He felt relief flow through him as he concentrated on his bonds with his sons. They were well.
"Soften him up for me." Came a different voice in softly spoken Sindaran. His hands were jerked up over his head and a rope thrown over the branch of the tree above. They pulled him upright until his toes barely brushed the ground. His tunic was ripped from him. He closed his eyes in concentration, willing a mask over his emotions. His thoughts focused on the beach where he and Celebrian had walked early in their courtship. The whistles of the whip and punches and jeers of the orcs broke through his calm once or twice, but he was able to regain his balance focusing on the waves gently rolling in and out on the shore. He did not flinch. No cry left his lips, though the fiery pain and crack of bones could not be denied. The blood loss made him weary. He lost track of time. At some point the beating stopped, and he called for the rain to wash his wounds. The water felt cool on the fiery marks on his back. A hand grabbed his head roughly and he opened his eyes. His vision was blurred; the face of an Istari swam in and out of focus. He could not understand the words that were spoken, though the Istari was clearly angry. He must escape, that much was clear.
"I said soften him up not kill him." The Istari screamed.
"He made no sound and we like to hear them squeal." The orc protested. Elrond blacked out.
When Elrond came too, he was lying on his back in the dirt. Someone punched him in the stomach and he reflectively swallowed a bitter liquid. His arms were tied to stakes on opposite sides of his body and he found himself staring into the cold, cruel eyes of the Istari.
"You will join me, elf. I will break you to my will." The Istari stated
"I will never join you. You will not win." Elrond replied in a steady soft voice as easily as if they were having a small disagreement over the dinner table. His mind began to loose track of time. He called on the storms, trying despirately to ignore the cycle of fiery pain from the poison needles that the Istari pushed slowly and steadily into his arm, twisting sideways and pulling back out again at a different angle. Again and again his tormentor repeated the process in the same spot. Each time the pain seem to escalate. Each time he was not sure that he would be able to hold back his scream.
"You will join me."
"Never" whispered Elrond, unable to stifle a soft moan. The Istari moved to another spot on his arm, repeating the process again and again. He blacked out at times from the pain. At times he opened his mouth to catch some of the cooling rainwater on his parched tongue, pleasantly swallowing the refreshing liquid. He was growing weaker, but he was sure that his legs would still carry him if he had the opportunity to escape.
The Istari hissed at him again, using his staff to burn into him, setting his mind aflame, but he did not cry out.
"You WILL submit to my will." The Istari screamed.
His blood stirred in recognition of the Maia spirit that his tormentor possessed. "Why would you take up kinslaying?" Elrond asked, his voice oddly calm. " I sense that we share some of the same Maiar blood."
"You mongrel. You mutant of the three kindreds, none want to truly claim you. I will crush your pitiful will." The Maiar spat at him. He pulled a longer, thicker silver rod out and thrust it through Elrond's body, just below his shoulder. It pierced the soft mud underneath him. The pain was a fiery lightening inside of him, encompassing everything, burning into his soul. He could not contain his scream at the utter agony. He knew no more.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
It was half a day later when the party from Imladris caught up with the contingent of elves from the Havens. Gildor greeted Glorfindel grimly. "There is a large party of orcs maybe a half a day ahead of us heading southeast towards the Anduin river." Gildor advised.
"We have been tracking them as well. We were ambushed last night. They had one goal. They have taken Lord Elrond prisoner." Glorfindel said slowly. "Alone, we cannot match their numbers. But together our two forces can engage and overpower them."
"Elrond!" Gildor repeated stunned. It was unheard of – orcs targeting and succeeding in taking an Elf Lord alive. "How could they have known of the council gathering? Did they expect us?"
"I don't know. It was a well-planned attack. Deliberate, as if they were expecting us." Glorfindel said grimly. They made plans to coordinate an attack on two fronts with Gildor leading the forces behind the orc group and Glorfindel taking a smaller contingent through the trees. The storm, which had lasted much of the day, suddenly wiped up violently.
"If anything the weather is in our favor. It should slow them down." Gildor noted. Glorfindel nodded, detecting the metallic twang of Vilya on his tongue. The storm was Elrond's doing. The trees fell silent and the rain abruptly subsided. Gildor looked up at the shocked faces of the twins and Glorfindel as he too, felt a shiver go through him as a cry of sheer anguish was carried by the wind. It was an elf's cry and there could be no mistaking that only the cruelest of torture could induce such a scream.
"We must hurry." Glorfindel mumbled. His heart quaked, knowing that it was Elrond who had cried out. "His need is too great for us to fail." Gildor nodded and relayed orders to his company. It was nearly five hours later, almost dusk when they engaged the enemy. The orc band was trying to cross the raging river. The storm was violent and the water engulfed the orcs. Glorfindel's force headed through the trees directly west of the orc group while Gildor's force pushed them from behind. They hoped to trap the orcs between their warriors.
Xxxxxxxxxxx
Elrond awoke to jolts. The earth moved below him. He was pitched over a horse and the orcs were moving steadily towards a river. He could smell the water nearby. His hands had been secured behind him again, and his tunic had been replaced. The pain from the icy needle embedded in his shoulder was agonizing as each jolt of the horse caused it to move slightly, slowly spreading the poison. They were traveling quickly, perhaps pushed by Glorfindel and his warriors. He called on Vilya and lightning streaked through the sky. Shouts of orders he didn't understand rang through the night. He felt for the bonds to his sons, they were near. Hope welled inside him. He needed a diversion. He heard the clashing of blades and the whistle of arrows.
"Cross the river" someone commanded and his horse was lead into the water. He had his chance and seized it. The power and might of Vilya flowed through him and the water rose in a great wave, pushing him off the horse and carrying him downstream. He heard the cries of the orcs as the water grabbed, thrashed and drowned them. But the water surrounded and protected him, depositing him on a dark shore, protected by overhanging trees. He stood quickly, pausing only to steady himself. Then he scrambled up the bank, stumbling and hitting his chin on the dirt of the bank. His hands, again secured tightly behind him, could provide no help. Spitting the dirt aside, he pushed himself upward and propelled himself away from the river. He focused on his sons and let their bond guide his footsteps. He ran, using all the strength left to him. A golden light beckoned ahead. His spirit cried out with joy, recognizing the light of his protector and Seneschal.
A slight jingling of metal was audible ahead, moving steadily towards them through the trees. Glorfindel gave a signal and raised his bow. Then a tall figure, drenched and topped with dark hair emerged and ran towards him into the small clearing.
"Halt." Glorfindel commanded.
"Glor!" A deeper tenor voice replied, the figure sinking to its knees before him. "They follow." He panted.
"Elrond!" Glorfindel cried and lowered his bow. He rushed toward the figure, jerking him upright to pull him to safety. Elrond moaned at the treatment.
"Cut my hands loose! I need a sword!" Glorfindel dropped his bow quickly and signaled to the others. The Seneschal fumbled quickly for his knife and used it to cut the bonds that secured Elrond's hands behind his torso and connected them to a tight band bound through his hair. A metal collar round his neck with a short connecting chain appeared to be the source of the ringing sound that had alerted him to Elrond's approach. He would have to wait to remove it. Elrond scrambled up, fear evident in his movements.
"A sword!" He demanded. "The Istar comes for me." He turned to face the direction he had come from, raising the sword in one hand while the other hung limply at his left. "Surprise is our best chance."
Glorfindel nodded and wordlessly directed the others.
"Glor," came the soft spoken plea. "I would rather die than be captured. Please do whatever is necessary."
"You will not be captured." Glorfindel stated firmly as he disappeared from view. Elrond drew himself up, masking all pain and anxiety behind the confident mask of a warrior. He had a sword now the fight would be more even. The figure came closer.
"Elf Lord, there is no escape." The Istari broke through the trees to find Elrond alone, standing tall and facing him sword in hand.
"Why are you on the side of darkness, Istari?" Elrond's clear voice rang out. His sword was poised at ready.
"It is the winning side." The Istari spat, advancing ominously. His prey was vulnerable and would be easily recaptured. "Come, I have not finished my games, elf. I will break you to my will!" His staff swung to strike out, and he began muttering incantations. But he could not finish his chant before arrows and daggers struck him simultaneously and he fell dead at Elrond's feet. The elf Lord trembled violently and dropped his sword.
Glorfindel hurried to Elrond's side even as he motioned for other warriors to fill in the gap. He placed a hand gently on his friend's back, but drew back as Elrond let out a hiss of pain. Looking down he found that his hand was red with Elrond's blood.
"Elrond! How badly are you injured?" He cried as he gently took Elrond's good arm and lead him away from the sounds of battle, hovering protectively over the half-elf. Elrond allowed himself be led away; never taking his eyes off the golden-haired elf, as if he were afraid he might vanish.
"Glor," He said in a raspy voice. "I hoped to see you again." Sounds of swords rang behind them as a group of orcs rushed into the clearing. Glorfindel and Elrond were immediately surrounded by Elves. Emboldened by the return of their Lord, archers hidden in the trees fired arrows at the enemy contingent while the swordsmen made short work of any who eluded the deadly arrows.
Glorfindel guided Elrond to a secure spot and gently pushed him into a sitting position at the base of a particularly large tree trunk. He pulled a small water skin from his belt and handed it to Elrond. Then he quickly rose to assess their situation more fully. The elven forces had taken advantage of their enemy's confusion and soon not a single orc remained alive.