Title: 'Bridges'

Author: freeflow

Rating: T

Disclaimer, A/N, Summary: See Chapter 1

Chapter 10

The party of elves had long ago given up any attempts to be stealthy in their search. Although never reaching the destructive abandon of their human quarry, the flora was hard-pressed to avoid wild footsteps and desperate scrambling.

As ever, the presence of Lord Elrond reassured the group; there was a survivor to locate, an elf with some information to relay, if only they could find him in time. But the chances were growing slimmer as Elrond himself began to lose track of the essence he had sensed.

'He is here, and yet lives. The trees are protecting him, sending their strength, but I can no longer find him amidst the density of wild-life. Use your eyes and ears, he cannot be far!'

Yet even elf eyes took what seemed to Lord Elrond another age to finally succeed.

'Here! Here my Lord, it is the Lord Erestor! He is badly wounded, I fear!'

As each elf in the group came to an immediate halt, twisting towards the great healer of Imladris as though flowers to sunlight, even the wind seemed to pause in anticipation of his diagnosis.

Dropping to the side of one of his oldest and closest friends, Elrond could not help but feel his mask of confidence slide, if only slightly.

Placing a firm but infinitely gentle palm against a waxen cheek, the elven lord bowed his head, the grief palpable in the surrounding air.

Forcing himself to move, Nerometh took a staggered step towards the pair, voicing the question no one else dared to.

'My Lord… surely he is not…'

Taking a deep breath, and placing his other hand on Erestor's chest, Elrond looked up at the Greenwood captain, a small smile battling for dominance over the pain in the immortal eyes.

'Nay, he lives Nerometh, but the injuries he suffered in protecting my sons will ever lay heavy on my heart. Thrice slashed by cruel blades, an arrow wound to the shoulder and a blow to the head, all of which I would take from him on to myself, if only it were within my power. I do not grieve because he is lost to us, rather that he struggled so valiantly and I was still too late to rescue those he fought to safeguard.'

Lowering himself on Erestor's other side, Nerometh reached out to place a hand on the distraught elf's shoulder. Whilst simultaneously wondering what had possessed him to lay a hand on Lord Elrond's person – the lord of Imladris, Elrond Peredhil, and you dare to comfort him as though you are equals! – and awestruck at the depth of love this great elf had for his subjects, he was also desperately aware of the situation. Time was short, and the forest still rang with the cries of elves - calling for the elflings, and for Glorfindel.

'He would not hold you to any blame in this, my Lord. He - like any one of your people - would fight just as hard to keep your sons safe, and be honoured by the implicit trust such a responsibility marks. Nay my Lord, the only emotions Erestor would have you feel is sorrow for the wounds he has suffered and determination, to reclaim your heirs. If any were to be indebted to his Lordship, it is I, who recognizes the ferocity with which he fought for an elfling he barely knows, an elfling which the elves of the Greenwood would fight to their last breath to protect.'

Squeezing lightly and straightening once more, Nerometh met Elrond's gaze with his own.

'Yet the day is not done, my Lord. For all I and the elves of Greenwood owe to the Lord Erestor, I believe he would agree with me when I implore you to ready yourself to make difficult decisions. The search continues, but you must return to Imladris, and help your friend to recover. If it is true that you can only feel one essence in this area, then…' Nerometh took a breath as the unspoken words surrounding Glorfindel's fate hung heavy between them, 'he is the only one who can tell us what happened, how the little ones fared when he saw them last, and the nature of our foe. It falls to you, once more, my Lord, to put aside your personal fears and work for the greater good.'

As humble as Nerometh may have seemed; whether riding at Thranduil's side, carrying his youngest child with tender affection and dedicated attention, anticipating his King's every request and fulfilling each one often before they were vocalized, Elrond realized that he could never have overlooked this steadfast elf. Just like Erestor, he is obviously the very backbone of Greenwood – invaluable to the running of a realm where the shadow's proximity would otherwise overrule the day to day lives of its inhabitants. With words alone has he turned my mind from maudlin despair to purposeful action. When all this is over, and our children are back safely within the arms of those who love them, I shall see this elf honoured for his diligence. But until then…

Nerometh saw the fire return to the Lord of Imladris' eyes, and the orders that spilled from his mouth would not have been out of place on a battle field. Sharp, succinct and vital, those around him could not help but obey.

'Three of you, gather materials to construct a litter, and have Lord Erestor ready for transport as soon as it is completed. His injuries are serious, but I believe I will have stablised him enough to move by that time. The rest, sweep the area in expanding circles, keeping a partner directly above you in the trees at all times. If the ground can tell us nought, mayhap the forest itself will have gathered clues for us. Pair up, a Greenwood elf with those of Imladris' guard, and use the abilities gifted to you by Eru Iluvatar himself. There is no time for grief, nor clearing this mess. What is not claimed by the woods must remain until we can return to dispose of it. These men have decided on their own destinies. We have our own to carve. Now, to your tasks!'

Fists raised to hearts across the clearing as the elves of two disparate realms merged in to a fearsome contingent. Any differences or distrust which may have existed previously simply dissolved in the face of such desperate circumstances, Greenwood and Rivendell joined by the drive to reclaim their missing children and friend.

Returning his gaze to the still form before him, Elrond could not stop the lone tear which streaked down his strained features. Pushing his own light in to his touch, he whispered softly, so softly that only Erestor himself, had he been able to hear, could have caught his words.

'I give my light to you, dear one, as you gave yours freely to protect those I hold most close to my heart. Take strength from me, Erestor, and return to us. Return to the ones who love you, to those who would gladly share their light. Return to me, my friend, so that you may lead us to your twin treasures. Return as you were, as the Valar made you, as we need you to be. Heed my call, elf of Imladris, and return.'

The dark haired elf made no outward movement, yet Elrond could sense a subtle shift within his patient. A…settling, for lack of a better term. He is no longer torn between two worlds, he is returning. Thank Manwë, but he has heard me. Bowing his head, Elrond allowed himself to listen once more to the frantic cries which yet rang across the forest floor, for Glorfindel, for his sons, for the Prince. Nay, Erestor, I know you, stubborn as you are. For my voice alone, you would not have answered. But for your twin stars, your troublesome, terrible, treasured stars, you would deny Eru himself. A wave of painful love swept through Elrond's being at this, as he realized this truth for the first time. These injuries, inflicted upon an elf he had known for countless centuries, suddenly became simultaneously hideous and wondrous to him. Each tear in the pale skin, each drop of blood staining the elven fabric, every poisonous wound and weeping gash, all were laced with the most profound love.

This elf, who portrayed himself as disaffected, cantankerous and brusque to all those who dwelled within the Last Homely House was now lying in dirt, surrounded by hewn limbs and desecrated humans, dragging in meager breaths and clinging desperately to Arda. All for the sake of three small elflings. Stroking back the disheveled hair before him, Elrond smiled. Ah, Erestor my friend. Your reputation will never recover from this. And should Glorfindel hear of it…

A sharp intake of breath snapped the half-elf from his thoughts. Raising his head once more, Nerometh's words echoed in his mind.

Yes, it is time for action. Yet as regal and respectful as Nerometh's words were, he is not the Lord of Imladris, nor King of the Greenwood. And it is time I acted as a ruler once more.

Straightening, Elrond strode to the elves fashioning scattered branches in to a makeshift litter and knelt to check the strength of their creation. Nodding decidedly, he placed a hand on one Greenwood and one Imladris elf's shoulder and murmured his thanks. 'Now, I fear I must charge you with a task that I myself would undertake; you are to be the protectors of the Lord Erestor. When he is secured, you two, along with two more as guards, are to accompany Erestor back to Imladris. Once there, you will instruct my healing staff as to the nature of his injuries - which I will inform you of – and wait with him until he shows significant improvement.' Raising a hand to stem the imminent revolt, he shook his head and waited for acquiescence. 'I realize your concern for the elflings and Lord Glorfindel would have you return as soon as Erestor is home, yet I would have you wait. If possible, and if the Valar allow, you may come back to us with information from Erestor himself. Perhaps I am unfair in thrusting this duty upon you, as inaction in the face of such desperate times, as I well understand, is untenable. I know this, but still, would beg your assistance.'

The elves surrounding him could not doubt the sincerity in his words; the duality of his duty and his desperation to find his sons warring within age-old eyes and tearing the normally placid leader between two poles.

Raising fists to chest level and rising immediately, Elrond sighed as one decision was put aside. No time to reflect on whether it was wrong or right… Reckless, Elrond, reckless…

But at the sight of his friend being carried with eminent care by his assigned contingent, Elrond could not bring himself to doubt further. The decision is made, for better or… it matters not. Even if I returned with him, I could only do as much as any of the healers at Imladris. He will not awaken faster should I accompany him, and… Now Elrond smiled dangerously, unaware of his own expression and the danger which throbbed from his terrible aura. If I have no other control over these events, then I must make use of what I do have. If my sons are to be found, if Glorfindel is still nearby, if the Prince is waiting to be retrieved, then it is I who shall do so.

As the party of elves left the bloodied clearing with their charge between them, they were the blissfully unaware of the scene they left behind. As history would recall, they were the only elves present to leave the forest that day still believing that Elrond Peredhil had left his expertise in warfare behind him.

With fire in his eyes and a scowl upon his fair features, Elrond Lord of Imladris burned with a ferocity that rivaled any before known on Middle Earth.

I am sorry, brother. You chose humanity as your path, and long have I protected your kin in their mortality; nursing them through illness and injury, joining them in their moments of joy, their fleeting bursts of passion and vivid lust for life. But not today, my twin. Today, the world of men must account for its impetuosity; their actions which are ruled by selfish desires and the need to live as best they can – no matter the consequences. Today, Elros, the elves must teach the second-born that which they so often forget; that the inevitability of their demise should teach them the value of life, rather than make them unmoved by it. And should any of my loved ones fall by their hands, brother, I, Elrond Peredhil, will not hesitate to show them that death is something to fear…

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Having heard the order for those carrying Erestor to move out, Thranduil cursed. Will the Valar forsake us completely this day? Knowing that without a witness to tell otherwise, his son may well have been harmed by these human interlopers, the King of Greenwood felt his last piece of restraint snap. Opening his senses completely, he felt the voices of the trees rush back towards him with a horrendous clamour, forcing him to his knees once more.

They go, they go, the little ones, they go so far from here

Saplings they are, seeds to shelter and we cannot save them

We try, we burn, they cannot be stopped

Hold them, tangle and twist, capture for the teachers, the bringers of light

Why do they slash, crush, tear

The golden light stalks, the light of the deep falls, it fades, it fades, the light of the deep falls

Follow brothers, follow sisters, for the tiny ones, the innocence

They cannot be stopped

A sudden touch to his shoulder wrenched Thranduil from the wails of the forest, and he found himself looking through tears at the warped face of his closest friend.

'Sire?'

The whispered title was filled with such raw fear that Thranduil could not bring himself to answer straight away. That fear, so like his own, spilling from Nerometh to taint the very air they breathed. We cannot survive, it poisons us, the terror, the desperation, the want, the need…

Shaking his head as he realized the words of the trees were seeping in to his consciousness, he forced a wall between his own mind and that of his greatest strength; the forest itself. Now was not the time to grieve with the flora, he needed their assistance, not their feelings, and as they were not particularly explicit at the best of times, their thoughts at the moment were barely coherent. No, you must depend on a separate strength this time, Thranduil. Looking straight at his captain, he reached out a shaking hand and rested it on Nerometh's shoulder.

'I am well Nero, I had hoped our trees would guide me to Legolas. But they suffer as we do, my friend, and their words held nought but turmoil…'

Steadying his King as they both rose to their feet, Nerometh held on to Thranduil's arm as he made certain that he was steady. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes as one of his unspoken hopes was dashed. 'I had placed my expectations on their assistance Sire, and knowing that we are still uninformed as to the events of this day weighs as heavy on me as it will on the rest of our party.'

Listening once more to the shouts from their fellow searchers, both elves were suddenly struck with the need to move.

'This is getting us nowhere, Nerometh. With Erestor incoherent and the trees gabbling about lights and saplings, our path is for us to devise. Come, let us bring some decisive action to our troubles. My little leaf is waiting for me Nero, and I shall not fail him.'

Quirking an eyebrow at his leader, Nerometh nevertheless followed in his wake.

'Lights and saplings, Sire? To what were they referring?'

Glancing back at his captain, Thranduil met his eyes only to once more take up his constant perusal of their surroundings. No matter what the trees believe, I will not abandon the hope that just one of them is still here, still nearby…

'I know not, Nero. Just that they whispered of golden light, and the 'light of the deep falls'. The saplings I would suppose were the little ones, for what else could they be to the eyes of the forest? But we have no time to wonder, Nerometh. They grieve, and often I feel their emotions in bursts of colour. It may be that they were just expressing the events in the only way that they can.'

Nerometh however had not risen to his position in the Greenwood guard by simply taking the King's statements at face value. 'But golden light Sire? You are certain it was golden light?'

'Yes, yes Nerometh. Golden, and a flash of the brightest light – as though sunshine on glass, or the reflection from a stream – that is how they perceived it. 'The golden light stalks', I believe.'

'And the 'light of the deep falls', Sire?'

'Yes Nero! It is as I said, yet as you talk to me my child could well be travelling further from us, from the arms he belongs in. Now can we continue our hunt, or will you continue to quibble over the rustlings of the trees?'

Stalking towards the area which had previously been the centre of activity, Thranduil slowed to a halt as he took in the scene. Celebrian, having eventually moved from her place at the smoldering oak was buried in Elrond's arms, but was no longer crying. And Elrond stood rigid, eyes seeing nothing as he waited for the reports from his search parties. Neither moved, frozen by the situation, by the fear, by the distress that hung heavy in the dappled forest light.

Thranduil steadied his nerve and took a step forward. His limbs were screaming at him to move, to act, and his body was unwilling to deny the impulses any longer.

'Elrond, Cel, we must move on. They are gone, I can feel that much. My little leaf would have answered by now, and if he… if he could not… the trees would have told me. I realize that there are numerous paths they may have taken, but we accomplish naught by standing here.' Taking a breath, he lowered his voice and spoke once more, the sorrow in his words obvious. 'I cannot feel elven life in this area, Elrond, and from the condition of Erestor, I do not think that Lord Glorfindel could have fared well in this attack. Yet I know he would have us go on, to retrieve our children. Although I have only known him for a few days, this I can say.'

Both heads snapped towards Thranduil at this, one blazing grey fire, the other with delicate lashes fanned low over sweeping cheekbones. Celebrian did not need to see her old friend to recognize the anguish these words conjured in him – the loss of any elf struck Thranduil to the core, but so soon after Ataralassë, the thought of any immortal being forced from Arda before their time was hideous for him to consider.

A hissed response was not one that the King had considered however.

'You would have me choose between Glorfindel and my children? Or rather, Thranduil, you would make that decision for me? I admire your courage, son of Oropher, but would remind you of your present surroundings. This, I am quite certain, is not the Greenwood, and within this forest, beneath these boughs, I am ruler.'

'Elrond!'

The crackling words had brought all elves in the immediate vicinity to a halt, and paired as they were, with the Imladris and Greenwood contingent working together, the tension poured from each individual.

Celebrian pushed away from her husband with a ferocity that none would have believed her capable of. 'How could you bring up such petty matters when our children are missing, and Erestor is so badly wounded? How dare you belittle his sacrifice with your childish arguments! My sons are out there, scared and alone and you wish to argue over points of authority?'

She knew, as did her hard-headed husband that leadership was not the question here. But being forced to abandon Erestor in order to track his sons, and now that same choice being placed before him again, that another friend he held so dear to him should be left for dead in this Valar forsaken place… The strain had become too much.

Deciding that the atmosphere in the clearing was becoming irresolvable, Nerometh once more steeled himself to intrude upon matters he would far rather avoid. Yet looking from the darkening features of his King to the cold and increasingly volatile face of Lord Elrond, he realized that assertive action was likely the only way to divert these particular elves away from their differences.

Clearing his throat, he raised a hand in a placating manner, directing attention to himself.

'My Lords, Lady, I recognize your fears as very real and would not wish to give you false hope, but I do believe that there is a glimmer of light available to us in this desperate hour.'

Tearing his eyes from those of Elrond, Thranduil had no patience for his captain's riddles.

'Speak clearly Nero, of what hope do you speak?'

'Sire, I believe our ray of hope is, indeed, 'golden', as the trees were attempting to tell you.'

This had become too much for Celebrian. The hole she felt within her signaling the loss of her babies was throbbing in time with their terrified heart beats, and she could not, would not wait any longer. Silver hair flashing as blades on the battlefield, she strode to Nerometh and took hold of his tunic. In a deep, throaty voice, her pain wrapped around the Greenwood captain with her next words;

'If there is hope to be had, then by the Valar impart it to me, Nerometh. For my very being tears in two, and I can see no light to guide me.'

For the daughter of the Lady of Light, such a confession was unthinkable, and until this day, this event, she could not have foreseen such darkness invading her spirit. This knowledge made Nerometh's next words all the more vital, and he realized the dreadful responsibility thrust upon him.

Gripping the Lady of Imladris beneath her forearms, Nerometh watched in dismay as a single tear streaked from the ethereal eyes before him to flee unhindered to the bloodstained grass below.

'The trees, my Lady. They spoke of a golden light which stalks, and a 'light of the deep falls'. For me, and indeed, for all who know him, Lord Glorfindel is the embodiment of golden light. And the stalking he would do can only be to track the elflings. I believe there is hope yet, my Lady. Grasp it, for the Valar have heard your pleas.'

Shaking his head once, raven hair ghosting across his face as though a shadow lifting, Elrond moved to stand behind his wife. Laying a soft hand on her back, he dared to whisper;

'Glorfindel follows them? He is alive?'

Thranduil, not having forgotten Elrond's outburst but too involved in this development to spare it any thought, moved closer also.

'Then the light of the deep falls, it was not the 'deep falls', as I said, but the light of the deep, falls; they spoke of Erestor.'

Nodding in agreement, Nerometh gripped the arms before him in an attempt to bolster the distraught woman he held. 'Together, the Lords Glorfindel and Erestor seem to many to be as different as night and day, yet the kinship between them is as obvious to strangers as it is to the trees themselves. If Glorfindel is sun on the water, then Erestor is the deep of the stream, the undercurrent of each ripple. The trees could not help but be affected by our friends, they simply could not tell us who they saw. To them it is clear, and their whispers tell us what we need to know. That if they spoke true of Lord Erestor, then we may hold to the belief that Lord Glorfindel is already on the trail of our missing little ones.'

This statement broke the spell which had held all present in its sway. Elves dropped from branches as the implications of this fell in to place, and Elrond and Thranduil began crying out instructions to their respective company.

As the two realms divided once more, retrieving horses and uncovering the tracks of their quarry with the precision of those who live amongst nature rather than step over it, the two rulers once more met each others' gaze.

No words were exchanged, yet the sentiment was well understood. No more desperate sniping or irrelevant debates. They had been granted a reprieve by the Valar themselves, and Eru willing, they would soon be on the trail of their most precious gift.

With a determination terrible to behold, the combined forces of Imladris and Greenwood moved forward, hope rekindled, and fury unleashed. The hunt had begun.

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Far away, beneath an ancient ash tree, two elflings snuggled together, their blond and raven hair entangled over gnarled bark. As one whimpered and pressed his face further in to his companion's shoulder, a small hand reached out, only to be gripped in midair as the pain became too much to bare alone.

Both small hands turning white at the strength of the clasped fingers, one tiny voice began humming, calling to the trees and soothing both elfling and the trunk they leant against.

As the lower branches drooped to brush against the tops of the tiny heads, a whisper swirled around their small hollow, contained by the leaves and destined only for tapered ears.

'They'll come, Ro. They'll come.'