Disclaimer: Those you recognize belong to Tolkien. I do not own them. Those you do not recognize belong to me.
Summary: Sequel to "Tainted." With the threat now behind them, Thranduil, Elrond, and their families look forward to healing and life returning to normal in Imladris. But hatred runs deep. When the true extent of the plot against them surfaces, they may already be too late to save all they hold dear and to escape with their lives.
Author's Note: Hey, guys! Wow! Thank you so much for your reviews and well-wishes, as well as your patience. I am happy to report that I am feeling much better! But I've also had a couple very trying weeks, and my inspiration just hasn't been there at all (I hope this longer chapter partially makes up for my absence). But fortunately, the amazing Lindsey Stirling got me back on track, and her violin cover of Evanescence's "My Immortal" was the inspiration, as well as the driving force, behind this chapter. I couldn't think of a better song to fit the mood that this is supposed to bring across in each section. So for added effect, give it a listen before/while you read! I am also happy that you guys liked the inclusion of Lindir in the last chapter! We will be seeing more of him in upcoming chapters!
In response to CoffeeRanger: Aww, thank you! Yeah, it's a bummer that this relapse happened, but the cold has run its course now. *crosses fingers* Leaving me with my typical seasonal allergies during the worst time of year for them, lol. Right? So annoying. Thank you! And I'm also glad that you liked the chapter! I love Lindir, so I'm happy that you liked my interpretation of him so far (this is actually my first time writing with him, but I really wanted him to be in these stories), and that his role with little Estel works well and is as cute as I envisioned it to be! I'm the same way, which is why I thought this would be the perfect avenue to introduce Lindir. Yay! I'm glad it was perfect! You can expect a couple more adorable moments with those two :) Estel's nightmare is a significant thing in its own right, so I'm glad you brought it up! His gift of foresight (as small as it is and though he may not understand what it is) is something I've utilized in these stories a couple times so far, so it's something to keep in mind. Though it is also a throwback to the first one with his fear of trolls, so it could also be just a nightmare. Ooh, interesting take on his grandfather and him just projecting that onto Elrond since he's the prominent male guardian in his life. It's probably not so likely that that is consciously what he's doing, but I will say that the nightmare itself has significance. Can I just say how excited I am that the Kinslayings and fall of Gondolin is where your mind went for your Erestor epiphany (and that you were excited about those being possibilities)? As for Erestor's age, no one knows how old he is, lol. But for these stories, he was born early in the First Age, so that'll give ya a pretty good idea. Obviously, I don't want to spoil it since we'll be getting there in just a little bit, but I will say that you are certainly in the right time frame ;) I hope it's still exciting for you! And I'm glad you're really picking up on how close Glorfindel and Erestor are in these stories, and how there's that understanding on such a deep level between them. That will also continue as we go, especially with what's coming up for the chief advisor. It's arguably the deepest relationship in these stories (other than, of course, the father-son ones or the one that exists between the twins). Really? I'm glad you're enjoying this added layer to their friendship since it's just always how I've seen them, but it kinda surprises me it's not really found in other places. Yup, Thranduil. What more can we say about him, huh? Lol. Yup, we all knew it was coming, but I'm hoping it's gonna end up hitting right in the feels just because of how protective he is and what he's willing to do for those around him. As for if Máfortion will actually let Elrohir and Legolas go or if he's just playing Thranduil, that remains to be seen... ;) Because you're right. The worst way to hurt Thranduil would be to hurt his son, and he wants to break the king. Yeah, Elrond's gonna have his work cut out for him, that's for sure ;) Luckily, he's got his own set of... usually pretty reliable skills that may just come in handy for what's to come. Thank you, it's going well so far! A little slower than last week work-wise, which is nice (that's the tricky thing with unreliable coworkers; you never know if they'll be there or not). It's given me more time to rest and try to get over this cold, lol. So I hope things continue to stay settled down, too. You, too!
In response to Ella728: They really are, and this is always the worst time of year for me. Thank you! And thank you for the compliment on the chapter, Ella! It really was, and that was what I was hoping to get across with that last section– just how brazen and how dangerous Máfortion and his crew are. They want one thing, and they'll do whatever they have to in order to get it. They're not afraid, which makes them have less to lose and adds to that dangerous element. So I'm glad that was successful in getting that across. Ah, yes, Thranduil. As for going after them, that is, at the very least, his plan! So we'll see what comes from that coming up here!
In response to Maple for both reviews: Thank you for both! As for Máfortion and co. keeping their word about letting Legolas and Elrohir go... we'll have to see ;) They're not the most agreeable of people, and they only have one thing they want and don't care what happens otherwise. But yes, things are definitely heating up, and I'm glad it's getting exciting! I apologize for the wait, there was a lot to cover in this one, lol. Máfortion is pretty crazy, yeah, and he's had a long time to ruminate on all of his anger and hatred for Thranduil and his family, so that hasn't helped. Yeah, it certainly won't be good...
In response to Wendi: Thank you so much, as well as for your review! Yeah, that's supposedly the bargain Máfortion is willing to make, Thranduil for Legolas and Elrohir. If he holds to it is the question. Well, as for your thought, it's not outside the realm of possibility... They want to break Thranduil, and nothing else really matters to them, so torturing him in front of his son and Elrohir may be something they consider doing. So, we'll have to see what happens with their plans!
And an important note since credit has to be given where credit is due. This chapter is dedicated to a good friend of mine and fellow Tolkien nerd, Gwedhiel. Back when I was writing "Tainted," we discovered that we shared a love for Elrond's chief advisor. As anyone who's looked into any information on Erestor is aware, there really isn't much on him as far as his background is concerned. All we really know is the position he holds in Imladris as well as a few things he does in the Third Age. There's nothing at all that Tolkien gave us about his past– his background, where he came from, or how he came to be the chief advisor to Elrond. And it's those speculations that make Erestor both a very fun and a potentially challenging character to write in terms of fitting this canon character into the canon of Middle-earth. These curiosities and the mystery that surround Erestor were too much for me to pass up and caused me to tie it in as a sister thread to the main overarching theme of sacrifice in these stories. And since this story has been in the works again, I've asked Gwed if she, by chance, had any insight on Erestor that perhaps I just wasn't finding or hadn't thought of as I was preparing to start crafting this background since she was as excited as I was that these would delve into this mysterious past. Little did I know she was at the ready with a quite evidently researched and thought out headcanon of Erestor's life, fitting him into the First, Second, and early Third Ages up through where we find him in Imladris as Elrond's chief advisor when the events of The Lord of the Rings come about. And it felt like a really good fit to me, and a lot of it resonated with the way I've been portraying and setting up Erestor with the reluctance and the anxiety to wield those blades in these stories so far. And I'm very excited and grateful that she allowed me to use her wonderful headcanon for this story. So, Gwed, this chapter is for you because you're awesome and I love ya! Thank you for trusting me to play with your Erestor headcanon. I really hope I've done your fantastic imagination justice, because that door that Erestor has been trying to keep closed is about to burst wide open.
Hope all of you guys enjoy! And again, I sincerely apologize for the wait.
Elvish:
tithen pen– little one
Ada– father
ion-nín– my son
hannon le– thank you
muindor– brother
mellon-nín– my friend
aran-nín– my king
hir-nín– my lord
saes– please
Chapter 10
Elrohir sniffed as he watched Elladan run around with a few of their friends from where he was sitting on the porch of the house of Elrond, a single tear slowly trailing down his cheek. The laughter of the other Elflings echoed in his ears as he cast his gray eyes down to his heavily wrapped wrist and forearm. It had only been a few short days since he had broken a couple of the bones in that tender part of his arm while chasing after his brother through the halls of the house, and though his father had tended it well by setting them back in place, he had still been deemed not well enough to partake in the usual games with his friends. He could not blame Elladan for wanting to play with them, especially since the weather was so beautiful that day, though he still wished that he did not have to be left behind.
Then, the younger twin looked up when he felt a familiar presence beside him, and he quickly wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his tunic when he saw Elrond gazing back down at him with concern. Erestor stood behind him, giving the young Elfling a sympathetic look.
"What is wrong, tithen pen?" the Elf lord asked, dropping to one knee beside his son.
Elrohir sniffed again and shook his head, furiously blinking the tears out of his gray eyes. "'Tis nothing, Ada," he answered quietly as he lowered his gaze.
Elrond exchanged a knowing look with his chief advisor before he arched an eyebrow as he turned his gaze back to his son. He reached out and set a light hand on his back. "Why do you not join me this morn?" he suggested. "I am certain Erestor will allow me to rest for some time before we are supposed to break for lunch." Erestor's left eye briefly twitched, though a small but kind smile turned up the corner of his lips.
The younger twin rubbed his eyes with a small fist before giving his father a tentative smile. The lord of Imladris returned the look before he turned his attention to the Elfling's right hand. "May I see your wrist, ion-nín?"
Elrohir nodded as he raised his wrapped arm, wincing slightly when Elrond's gentle fingers came in contact with the sore area. The Elf lord's brow furrowed a bit as he looked the thin wrist over closely, ensuring that it was still healing as it should have been before the smile returned to his face as he carefully lowered his arm back down.
"It will not be long before you will be able to partake in your games, Elrohir," Elrond assured him. "Though why do you not come with me now? Mayhap Aeglironion will make some of your favorite pastries for us, and we may spend some time with your favorite book of stories."
A moment passed before Elrohir's smile returned, broader than before. "Hannon le, Ada," he muttered.
Elrond nodded once as he rose to his feet and held his hand out to the Elfling. Elrohir set his smaller one in his father's palm, allowing himself to be gently lifted to his feet. "Always, ion-nín."
It was not long before Elladan wandered up to the library himself, claiming their play was not the same without his brother and wanting to spend time with their father, as well.
Elrohir's breath came shakily as he attempted to stay on the horse he was situated on, knowing it was only possible because of one of the Elves who had taken them sitting behind him. His left side was throbbing in time with his racing heart, the pain radiating from his abdomen with each beat. With the thick, dark cloth wrapped around his eyes, it was impossible for him to see where they were going, and his breath and pulse were echoing too loudly in his ears to enable him to strain them enough in attempt to gauge his surroundings.
What he could tell, however, was they had been traveling through the forest for at least a few hours since first light. Though he could not see it, he could feel as the sun made its way higher in the sky against his skin as the four horses swiftly continued to maneuver past the trees.
Where were they headed? It was clear to him that their captors had a destination already in mind with how focused they appeared to be. Though with mounting dread, the younger twin felt that it would be beyond the borders of Imladris. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he and Legolas were at a clear disadvantage when it came to defending themselves against those who desired to bring them harm.
Elrohir clenched his jaw when his slender frame was jostled as the horse the Elf he was riding with jumped over something in its path, the motion causing his side to flare with pain. His body stiffened, causing his captor to chuckle from close to his ear, though he refused to cry out. He would not give any of them that satisfaction. He would not show that weakness.
As they continued to make their way through the forest after Máfortion, the younger twin turned his head to the left, attempting to gain some idea of how Legolas was faring on the steed beside his. The prince had been silent since they had reached the horses, and he had no way of knowing what had happened to him or how serious an injury he had sustained at the hands of their captors may have been. Fear coursed through him when there was still no sign of life from the younger Elf that he could discern.
Though as Elrohir turned his head forward once more, he could almost feel his heart waver when his blind gaze landed on Aeglironion somewhere ahead of him. He had been as angry as Legolas had when they first encountered him a few hours before, but after hearing his words, and the desperation and, arguably, anguish that had noticeably been in them, he was starting to have his own doubts once again.
His mind traveled back to when he and Elladan were sitting in the kitchens of their father's house the night before their former cook was supposed to face judgement where he had voiced the doubts he'd had even then. What if Aeglironion, someone he had wanted to believe the best in, had truly been innocent when he had been banished from Greenwood? What if his bitterness had driven him to Máfortion, however he was connected to wanting to end, it seemed, the life of Thranduil, where he in turn had been forced to act in return for something he appeared to be searching for?
What if the Woodland king, what if his father, had both truly been wrong?
What was Aeglironion searching for so diligently that he had seemingly been forced to act against both Thranduil and Elrond?
Who was Máfortion?
Elrohir was brought out of his thoughts when another rough motion by the horse beneath him caused his throbbing ribs to flare with pain, and this time, he could not prevent a whispered whimper from slipping past his lips. A tremor passed through his slender frame, and he closed his eyes behind the cloth as a weak, shaky breath escaped from him. He shifted his arms with a little difficulty since his hands were bound together so that they were positioned a bit more securely over his left side, knowing it was only a feeble protection.
But then, his breath caught in his chest when a familiar presence brushed against his mind. Elladan. The younger twin grasped onto the essence he knew as well as his own, finding that it gave him some added strength to keep him steady. It also reminded him that he truly was not alone in what he and Legolas would now be facing.
As the comforting influence of his brother continued to calm and rejuvenate him, a gentle light began to ebb its way into his consciousness, filling him with warmth. It was another presence he was very familiar with, one that had always been there for him when it was needed and one that he also did not want to lose sight of.
"Ada..."
The sound of running water reached his ears then, and Elrohir slowly opened his eyes, though he knew it would make no difference. His brow furrowed, wondering if they had reached the Ford. If that was indeed where they were, it would not be long before they would be beyond the borders of Imladris.
Elrohir felt his hands clench tightly.
"Ada... muindor... please..."
Erestor stood rigidly before his closed closet door, simply staring intently at the polished wooden surface while the silence of the room hung heavily over him. He was uncertain how long he had stood in this spot, unable to move, as he considered everything that was now crumbling around him the closer he came to opening that door. He had worked for so long to keep this part of his past locked away, to uphold his vow to himself to never again use the twin Noldorin daggers that were still such a part of him, but he realized he had only been deceiving himself.
It was something he could never fully seal away, for it was always with him, right under the surface.
Taking a deep breath as he set his shoulders, the chief advisor slowly reached a slightly shaking hand out toward the door handle. His fingertips merely brushed against the metallic surface before he quickly withdrew his hand with a quiet gasp, almost as though he had been burned, as his eyes widened when distant screams echoed in his ears. His breath caught in his chest as images of his blood-stained blades flashed through his mind, and he tightly closed his eyes in attempt to block them out.
He was unsure how long it took to regain himself, but when Erestor finally opened his eyes, he found himself met with the same sight of the closed door before him. His breath still coming shakily, he clenched his jaw before reaching out a second time and grasping the door handle. If he did not open this door now, he never would. Hesitating for only a moment, he tightened his grasp before pulling it open.
Darkness greeted him, and as the slender Elf's eyes adjusted, he immediately surveyed the stacks of blank parchment, the extra ink vials, and the extra quills that were waiting for him, all instruments of his daily tasks that he desired to take with him to his sanctuary in the library. Though those comforts were not meant for him now. He was here with a different purpose.
Once his breathing had calmed, Erestor hesitantly stepped one foot into the closet before walking inside completely, allowing the thick air to surround him. His dark eyes moved to the second shelf from the bottom, and he uncertainly reached forward before slowly pushing the piles of blank parchment aside. He set his jaw firmly as he reached up and grasped the hilt of of one of the daggers, still finding it fit perfectly in his hold, before he lifted it off the shelf. His dark gaze passed absently over the worn, thin sheath that protected the blade before he reached up a second time and grabbed the weapon's twin, also finding that it fit perfectly in his hand. Holding them close against him, the chief advisor slowly left the closet, shutting the door again behind him before he approached his bed and set both daggers down on the mattress, one at a time beside the other.
For what felt like a life age, Erestor simply stared down at the two deadly weapons that were before him in the late morning sun. He almost desired to simply close his eyes, for maybe they would not be there when he would open them again, though he did not. He knew it was simply foolish sentiment. He had made an offer to Elrond, one of the two people who had guided him through the difficult time he'd had when first settling in Imladris as he'd struggled to reconcile the ghosts of his pasts, and the guilt that came along with them, with the new position he had been appointed to.
The promise he had made to himself all those years before meant nothing when it came to keeping his word and lending his aid to the Elf lord now.
It was with this thought in mind that Erestor slowly reached forward, almost numb, and grasped the hilt of one of the twin daggers and pulled on the sheath to reveal the shining, intricately designed blade beneath it. It was beautiful to be sure, as well as lightweight, though it was also a silent killer. It had tasted its share of blood. He twirled it once in his slender fingers, then twice. Simple. Effortless. It was almost as though he had not replaced the weapons with quills for all of those years by the way his body remembered the motions of how to handle the dagger.
Perhaps this part of him had not been buried nearly as deeply as he had hoped, after all.
The chief advisor then tilted the weapon so that he could see his reflection in the blade. It was pale, weary. It was what he expected to see.
It had not always been this way, he knew. There had been a time, so long ago, where warfare had simply not been a part of his life, where he had merely observed it from a distance behind the safety of the walls of fortified cities. He had regretted the devastation and lives lost when such battles occurred, though these tragedies had not impacted him directly. Though it had not been his position to be a warrior, he had known that well, for his strength did not lie in battle. Rather, his skill had always been in diplomacy, his analytical mind crucial in matters of gathering information, prioritizing it by how essential it was, and exploiting it efficiently. It was why, when he had been a citizen of Nargothrond, he had been utilized as an ambassador for Finrod in the Falas, for they had once enjoyed strong ties of trade and coalition with those under the great shipwright Círdan's rule. Erestor, having been trusted to negotiate these economic matters due to his knowledge of the bureaucracy of Nargothrond that enabled him to speak on Finrod's behalf, had taken up residence in Brithombar there when he was not returning to his homeland for brief periods.
Though it was upon Finrod's departure with Beren and his subsequent death, causing the king's nephew Orodreth to take up the throne, that had caused the connections the two kingdoms had once enjoyed to begin to turn tenuous. Erestor himself had begun to feel uncomfortable in the role he held, and also dismayed by by the news of Finrod's passing, though it had been when Círdan's foresight revealed the falling of Nargothrond upon Túrin's arrival there when the carefully balanced life he had built for himself began to truly collapse from underneath him.
Erestor's gaze faltered in his reflection in the blade. His thin fingers trembled slightly as he recalled all of the emotions that had shaken the sturdy foundation of the routine he'd held for so long.
Nargothrond, his homeland, had been doomed to fall as long as its king kept its defenses down upon the word of this outsider, of that he had known for certain. Círdan had seen it, and only a fool would dismiss what the shipwright had to say. It was a sentiment that had been shared by most of the citizens of the Falas, and the outright disregard of their leader's words had caused the already strained relationship between the two kingdoms to dissolve. Erestor, on more than one occasion, had spoken in defense of the realm he still held loyalty to, which had done no good, though he had known he probably should not have. He had never felt more out of place in Círdan's land than during that time, his duty as an emissary had quickly become unproductive as the ties between the two lands continued to unravel, though he had also known that he could not return home.
The chief advisor lowered his blade. "I was such a coward then, and a traitor... I could not do what was expected of me... simply because I was afraid to die...
"... As I still am..."
Erestor let out a deep breath and closed his eyes at this realization. He tightened his hold a bit around the hilt of the dagger. His need for self-preservation had twice prevented him from leaving the Falas to return to Nargothrond, even when Orodreth had summoned him to, which had torn him apart in every sense. He had frantically attempted to rationalize his decision, had convinced himself he would ultimately return once the tensions between the two kingdoms had settled and once Orodreth had raised the defenses against the impending attack. The king would have to, he had reasoned, for the good of his people. Besides, his direct allegiance had always been to Finrod, though dead, though even he had known it was a weak justification since his fealty should have been to the Crown above all else, which had then belonged to Orodreth.
Though no matter what, Erestor remembered with shame, he had not been able to bring himself to leave the safety of the Falas. The dark lord Morgoth had discovered Nargothrond when it had been hidden to him for so long. The defenses had not been properly raised. And, as Círdan had foreseen, his homeland had fallen.
The thought that he rightfully should have been in Nargothrond when it fell into ruins had continued to both shake and plague Erestor for years, even though he had kept attempting to convince himself that it was irrational. There were still nights where he had nightmares, which was why he needed sleep without dreams, about his return to his homeland in time to see the city in flames and ruins before his own life was lost.
... a dark figure hovered over him...
... a vial of ink spilled onto the blank pages sitting on the desk in front of him before they drifted to the ground...
... the blade of his dagger glinted before him, and he slowly reached a slightly shaking hand out toward it...
A shudder ran through Erestor's slender frame as he slowly sat on the edge of his bed, cradling the dagger close to him. He had lived with the guilt of that decision for so long that it had become a part of him. There were times were it was not so potent, though it still lingered, just beneath the surface of his consciousness. Though his decision of choosing his own life over that of his loyalty to the kingdom he had long belonged to was one he would have to live with. He had known of the fate that was going to befall Nargothrond, and yet he had done nothing since he had valued his own life too much. As one with fealty to the Crown, he should have set aside that desire and willingly walked to his own death. And since he had not, since that cowardly fear of dying had caused him to pause, he had been overwhelmed by shame not only for his own selfish actions since his loyalty would have killed him, but also for heeding another leader's words over Orodreth's. He should have been there when Nargothrond had fallen. Perhaps he could have done something to prevent it. Perhaps he could have persuaded Orodreth to raise the defenses himself if he had returned, or perhaps he could have aided some of the people to flee so not as many lives would have been lost. He was ashamed for simply not being there as his homeland died. Though ultimately, he had reached a point where he was glad, almost relieved, that he had not returned when summoned, which only brought about even more shame.
Erestor slowly opened his eyes, his dark gaze tracing over the intricately designed blade. That had been one of the darkest times of his life– his homeland had been eradicated, and he had had no use in the Falas, where he had remained simply because he'd had nowhere else to go. He had ended up settling with the Noldorin refugees there, and with no position in the realm, he had simply had to focus on his own survival and to attempt to figure out what to do from there.
Though his decision had been made for him when what felt like not too long after, his temporary residence in the Falas had been ransacked by enemy forces. With his familiar sense of fear renewed, Erestor had managed to escape with the limited number of Sea-Elves who had fled by ship to the Isle of Balar, where Círdan had been centralizing the refugee camp as more lands had begun to fall at Morgoth's hand. Elves from these lands had continued to arrive seeking shelter, but as the Great Battle only continued to expand, it had soon become clear that all would be needed to gather a force to combat the enemy.
The chief advisor lightly traced a fingertip over the slightly curved blade. He clearly recalled the first time he had wielded a weapon, remembering how even then it had brought him great distress to do so. He had adjusted to it, had even grown numb to it, though the distaste for it never left him. Though once he had been enlisted in the armies of Círdan and Gil-galad, warfare had no longer been something he simply observed from afar– it had become his shocking reality. There had been absolutely nothing that he had known before that was the same. Nothing that had been there before existed anymore.
Screams echoed around him...
... blood stained the gently swaying flowers in the grass beneath his feet...
... his stained blade glinted in the pale sun...
It was only then that he had intimately learned the horrors that war always brought. He had been well aware of the Kinslayings brought on by the sons of Fëanor and had wept at the devastation and loss of life that resulted. Though he had not detested his own personal place in warfare because he could not wield a blade; once he had brief instruction on how to properly handle one, he had been able to hold his own well enough, even though he did not feel he was competent enough since his prior role in Findrod's administration had had nothing to do with warfare, so he had not been able to rely on his experiences there. It had been the actual action of killing another living being, and so closely, that had caused him to be sick to be a warrior. The sights and sounds of death, on both their side and the enemy's, would be ones that would never truly leave him. His place, he knew, had not been on the battlefield with Gil-galad, though it had been his only option since although Círdan had been gathering people for his sea guerilla warfare, he'd had no experience with sailing.
Fortunately, word had passed through the ranks that Gil-galad had been searching for scouts, and Erestor still remembered just how quickly he had taken advantage of that opportunity. It had still been a dangerous part to play in the war and had come with many risks, and though he still hadn't liked what he had to do, it had been much less traumatic for him than being on the ground fighting. It might have been a somewhat cowardly decision on his part, though he had also been well aware of the importance of that position, as well as how he had been more effective in it. His ability to quickly analyze and prioritize information had been crucial and well-utilized, so Erestor had served as a scout through the War of Wrath and the War of the Jewels instead of fighting on the battlefield. He had still experienced many of the horrors of war, devastation that he could still see when he closed his eyes, though it had still, in his mind, had been preferable to being on the front lines.
Pained screams echoed around him, mingling with calls for help...
... he knelt on the ground beside the still form of another Elf, his eyes wide with fear...
... he glanced down at his crimson-stained hands, his blood-stained blade resting on the ground beside him...
The chief advisor glanced at where the dagger's twin rested on the bed beside him, slowly reaching out a slightly shaking hand to grasp its hilt and pull on it slightly to reveal the equally intricate blade inside. It had been after those campaigns that Erestor had found another position as well as a place to settle in Lindon. Gil-galad, having noticed first-hand the slender Elf's analytical mind while in his service as a scout, had offered him a spot as a counselor to him at the head of the economical office. Erestor had thrived in his new position, simply relieved to be outside of a combat position, and being able to focus solely on paperwork, facts, and figures had given him the opportunity, for the most part, to be able to forget about the horrors he had witnessed. He had gotten along well with and had the utmost respect for Gil-galad, and it was then he had also been acquainted with the High King's herald.
A small but fond smile crossed Erestor's face, and for a moment, the tremble that lingered in his fingers stilled. Elrond had seemed so young during that time, yet wise beyond his years. He had been aware of the fate he and his twin brother, Elros, had faced when Maedhros and Maglor had taken them from their homeland of Beleriand, though the herald he had met had not seemed at all impacted by the turbulence of the events or his nominal captivity. He had possessed a kindness and gentleness in his demeanor, though underneath that, a definite source of strength and power. Erestor had taken an immediate liking to Elrond, though they had not had many opportunities to work together.
Over time, his calculating mind, bureaucratic experience and intelligence, and his ability to be forthright with his speech from when he had been an emissary had earned Erestor an opportunity to rise to a position on Gil-galad's privy council, though he had foregone the opportunity to once again be an ambassador. He had simply felt that there could be some lingering unease from those he had dealt with before, and much like when he had been a scout, he had preferred to put his prior experience as an emissary behind him with how it had turned out for him the first time. He had also found that he enjoyed his new position much more, for he had been relied on for his own opinion on important issues and his way of interpreting them rather than speaking on behalf of another, and it had been much less stressful for him.
As Lindon had continued to grow around him, Erestor had been a bit more at peace than he had in quite some time. He had felt as though his new position had been utilizing much more of his potential, he'd had a purpose and had felt as though he had belonged, and he had earned the respect and friendship of not only Gil-galad, but Elrond as well. In time, he had counted the herald as one of his closest friends, and it had been only him that he had confided in about nightmares he had continued to have about the fall of Nargothrond and being on the battlefield, for both still had weighed heavily on his often focused mind. Elrond had always listened with a patience that had seemed to be beyond his years and had never made him feel ashamed for feeling the way he had, even when he had admitted the shame he had still felt for his cowardice so long before.
At least, it had only been Elrond until a certain Elf lord from Gondolin had reappeared.
The chief advisor nearly chuckled aloud as his smile broadened, almost forgetting about the twin daggers that were resting in his hands for a moment. At first, he had hardly been able to stand being in the same room as Glorfindel, for his cheerful disposition while working had irked him like nothing else could. He had later learned from Elrond that the Balrog Slayer had done this deliberately since it was too simple to irritate him. Though, over the passage of time, Erestor had adjusted to at least tolerate Glorfindel's antics despite their clear differences in demeanor, and ultimately, he'd had to admit that the twice-born warrior did manage to lift his spirits.
Though it was only when Glorfindel had discovered him awake in the library in the middle of a starless night, furiously attempting to finish some paperwork for Gil-galad in the dim light of a nearly burned out candle after his sleep had once again been interrupted by nightmares of his past and the resurgence of his fear of dying that Erestor had fully realized the friendship that had been forming between them. He clearly remembered how Glorfindel had, with a calm kindness he had not seen from him before, confided in him about the nightmares he often had about his death, which had in turn caused Erestor to reveal why he had been in the library so late to begin with. It had been that moment of vulnerability and mutual understanding that had passed between them that had caused him to consider the golden-haired warrior his most trusted friend. Glorfindel had still been able to annoy him like no one else could, particularly when he had been trying to work, though there had also been that irrefutable bond that connected them that he felt could not be severed.
Erestor sighed as he fully pulled the second dagger completely out of its sheath, holding one weapon in each hand as his dark eyes traveled over the blades. If only his life could have remained that peaceful and productive. Though, he reasoned, if it had, he would not be in the place he loved so much now.
When the dark lord Sauron had begun his conquest of Eriador, a campaign to combat him had been launched. Erestor had been uncertain at the time if he would again be needed in a militant role, and though he had still despised warfare and feared its consequences, he had been prepared to do whatever was asked of him. However, he had been a bureaucrat with no standing position on the battlefield as those such as Glorfindel had. So instead, he had found himself scrambling with all the finances and resources that had had to be calibrated for the war effort.
Though despite his attempts at remaining collected despite how chaotic the situation was, it had proven to be one of the most trying times of Erestor's life as the constant strenuous work had taken its toll both mentally and emotionally and had nearly caused him to lose his mind on more than one occasion. However, he had forced himself to remain poised and focused on his job by focusing on himself and thinking through the problems as logically as he could, giving him the illusion of control even though it had been something he had not possessed since there was no such thing in times of war. Having been closely connected to battle before, a time he had wished not to remember, Erestor had assumed that would have prepared him for this assignment, though working behind the scenes had not been the same as being on the field. It had been a swift learning process and readjustment period, but he had been able to successfully take what he knew and apply it to the new situation he had found himself in, which had led to him conceiving some of the better solutions for the problems they had had to maintain. His hard work and efforts had been recognized by those in standing above him, and even Elrond had taken notice of his administrative potential, though Erestor had not realized it since he had been so worn out and had clearly remembered just why he despised wartime.
When their closely-knit realm of Eregion had been sacked by Sauron's forces, Erestor had been aware that Gil-galad had been faced with the dilemma of who to send with Elrond's regiment to lend their aid, especially in terms of war counselors. The High King had not had many to spare since they had already been spread across Eriador, and he had not wanted to lose them unless he'd had no other choice. His situation had only been more difficult because he had already decided to send Glorfindel with Elrond to be his primary war counselor, and since he had been involved in the war himself, he had been conflicted on who he would, and could, deprive himself of since he had already been losing his herald and the Balrog Slayer.
Erestor clearly remembered his surprise when Gil-galad had enlisted him to leave with Elrond's regiment since he had been so involved in the war management behind the scenes. His orders had been simple– he had once again been expected to take on the role of a scout since his abilities to read and accurately report a battlefield would be crucial to safely reaching enemy lines, though he had also been told to be on hand for the herald. Erestor had had the suspicion that a simple scout had not been his only position in this campaign, for once he had departed with the regiment, he had been one of the primary people that Elrond had confided in and discussed ideas with. Their camaraderie had proven to be beneficial in these discussions, for Erestor had not been afraid to disagree with the herald if he had felt it necessary, and they had been able to speak with such an ease that it had not been difficult to come up with solutions. And the strong friendship that had long been cemented between them had eased the burden of their hearts, and Erestor strongly suspected that had been the reason Gil-galad had chosen him to depart with the regiment.
Personally, reprising his role as a scout had caused him a significant amount of distress and conflict, and it was that reason why he had been glad he'd had both Elrond and Glorfindel with him. Along with their companionship, he had managed to keep most of the anxiety he had experienced at a minimum by reminding himself that he had not been on the battlefield itself, which would have been much worse as Gil-galad could have easily placed him there instead.
Pained screams echoed around him...
... a pair of wide, fearful dark eyes looked back at him, pleaded with him...
... a dark figure moved toward him...
... his own scream echoed in his ears as he reached for his blade, stained with blood...
The chief advisor's thin frame began to tremble once more. As a scout, he'd had to encroach the besieged city of Eregion more than once, along with the other scouts in the regiment, to survey the situation for Elrond, visualize a layout of the battlefield, and figure out the best way to launch an attack. He remembered the fear and dread that had been in his heart each time he'd had to return to ensure their plans were viable or to retrieve more information, even though he had attempted to remain as focused on his mission as possible. He had done this before, though, as he had quickly learned, each war was different from the next.
Erestor had seen much devastation and loss of life as a scout during the War of Wrath and its subsequent battles, though the situation in Eregion had had a completely different feel to it. The new horrors he had seen were also ones that he knew he could never forget no matter how much he tried, and it had been one scouting mission that had nearly gone wrong that would continue to linger with him.
He and a few other scouts had stumbled upon a couple wounded refugees that had managed to survive the sacking of the city in an unoccupied area of the ruins and had been trapped there. Though as they had attempted to get them to safety, their presence had been discovered by a small pack of Orcs. To prevent any further discovery, Erestor had immediately begun to cut them down along with one of the other scouts, though he had been injured in the process as one of the creature's swords had caught him across his back. Fortunately, the laceration had not been too severe, and he and the rest of the scouts had managed to eradicate the Orc party and free the refugees before their presence was alerted.
Once back at the camp, Elrond and Glorfindel had tended to his injury. Though they had insisted that he rest, Erestor had not listened and instead had joined the other scouts in their last few missions to survey the area and finalize their battle plans before the assault was launched. Though as the campaign to reclaim Eregion had come to a close and as they had made their flight to the Hidden Valley, he had vowed to himself he would forever put aside the scout and never use his blades again. He had experienced too many of the horrors of war much more intimately than he had ever desired to, and he had known that it was not where he was meant to be. The death and the destruction he had witnessed had completely changed him, and he had realized it was a fear he would never be able to completely quell. That part of his life, he had decided, would be over, no matter what the consequences would be upon that choice.
Erestor had remained with Elrond and Glorfindel while they had been confined in the valley, a companionship all three of them had welcomed and cherished. Together, along with those who had remained from the herald's regiment as well as from Eregion, which had included Lord Celeborn, the sanctuary of Imladris had been raised around them. It had been at that point when he had felt he could truly set aside the scout position he had so dreaded and focus solely on his administrative duties.
After the siege had finally ended and Gil-galad had reunited with Elrond, the High King had transferred Erestor to Imladris after it had officially been dubbed a vassalage of Lindon in place of Eregion. Despite the love he'd had for Elrond, he had initially bristled at this idea since in his view, it had been a demotion from working under Gil-galad, though he had also feared that he would be forced into serving in the position of ambassador once again, this time for Elrond. Though Erestor could not have been more surprised, and unashamedly pleased, when, as Imladris had continued to grow and Gil-galad had granted his herald independence as its ruler, Elrond had put his worries to rest by enlisting him as his chief advisor and administrator. Elrond had truly seen how his capabilities took him much beyond the office of an emissary as their friendship had blossomed while in Lindon, which had been why he had wanted him so close at his side in his administration. Though Erestor had thrived with the authority given to him by Gil-galad, he had only thrived more with the authority that Elrond had granted him since the Elf lord had long recognized his potential and had figured out how to employ it to the best of its ability.
Over time, much had changed in the valley, and Erestor had been at Elrond's side for both joyous times and demanding ones. They had been a comfort to each other upon Gil-galad's death. He had witnessed the wedding of his close friend to Celebrían, and he had watched their three children grow and had had a major hand in their academic lessons as he had grown to love them. He had been at Elrond's side when Celebrían had been brought back to Imladris after being tortured by Orcs, and he had supported him as he had worked relentlessly to heal her. He had been a steadying presence for the Elf lord when his efforts had not been enough and Celebrían had sailed, and he had been a crucial part of the support given to Elladan and Elrohir as they dealt with their anger through leading hunts against Orc parties, as well as to Arwen when she decided to stay with her grandparents. Over all of that time, the friendship between them had only deepened and had led him to become one of Elrond's closest and most trusted confidants, along with Glorfindel, as well as one of the most respected citizens of Imladris.
He knew he could not ask for another place he would rather be.
Feeling a familiar presence close by, the chief advisor's small smile returned. "How long have you been here?" he asked in nearly a whisper as he raised his gaze from his weapons.
Glorfindel returned the look from where he was leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed in front of him. "Long enough to know what is burdening your mind, mellon-nín," he answered just as quietly. But then, his smile faded. "Elrond has asked me to see if I can persuade you to make a different decision."
Erestor chuckled as he lowered his eyes back to the daggers he held. "I appreciate his concern, as well as yours, though I am afraid I cannot," he muttered. "The vow I have made to myself means little when I have given my word to aid him."
Sighing, the Balrog Slayer walked into the room before kneeling on the floor beside the slender Elf's feet. "Erestor, mellon-nín, please hear my words now," he said. "You have faced the horrors of war so intimately when you never should have had to."
"Aye, though it was my obligation," Erestor reminded him quietly.
"That may be," Glorfindel conceded, "though now is not one of those times." He lightly placed his hands over the chief advisor's where they were wrapped tightly around the weapon hilts. "I have always believed that Elrond was the only one who truly gave you the position you were the most fit for. An emissary was not it since you could not use your full potential, and as well as you did in Gil-galad's administration, you were often overshadowed by others. I know you, as well as I, would lend our aid in any way we could to Elrond when he is in need of it. Though breaking that vow you have made to yourself is not necessary. And... I have always ensured that you would not have to do so."
Erestor arched an eyebrow as he looked back at the golden-haired warrior. "You have what?"
Glorfindel gave him a small, sheepish smile. "I may have made a vow of my own to ensure that you would not have to use these blades again," he admitted. "After all you have entrusted me with, I am well aware of what distress it brings you. It was my hope that you would not discover this, though nothing can be done about that now. But Erestor, there is no need for you to wield your daggers. 'Tis not a time where all must do so."
The chief advisor didn't say anything for a long moment. Though he wouldn't admit it, he was touched that the Balrog Slayer had been so concerned for his well being when it came to the struggles he still faced regarding his past. A small smile appeared on his face. "Would this not just be another scouting mission I must complete?" he posed.
The twice-born warrior grinned. "Aye, because you love them so," he replied as he released the other Elf's hands. But then, he sighed. "Elrond may be able to join us in our search for Legolas and Elrohir after all. Estel has seemed to attach himself to Lindir."
Erestor's smile returned. "That is not a surprise," he said. "Lindir has a way with music that tends to soothe the spirit." His dark eyes faltered. "Nevertheless, I still have given my word to Elrond that I would lend my aid. This is something I desire to do, Glorfindel. You know how much Elrohir means to me."
"Aye, I do." Glorfindel's own features fell. "Though is there no way I could dissuade you? You need not do this. You may aid in their recovery through other means."
"I would prefer not to go back on my word, mellon-nín," Erestor told him. "I am aware this is not the same as what I have faced before. Though I would prefer not to use these daggers, I am prepared to if I must. And if I am able to advise Elrond in our search, then I would be glad to. Do you understand, Glorfindel? The more strength we have behind us, the better chance we will have of finding Aeglironion and those who are aiding him."
Glorfindel sighed as he nodded once. He completely understood Erestor's point, though it still did not settle well with him that he felt obligated to wield his blades after desperately attempting, and nearly succeeding, to keep that part of his past behind him. He also felt as though he was failing the chief advisor by not keeping his own word to prevent that from happening.
Though instead, the twice-born warrior smiled at the slender Elf. "You are as stubborn as always," he murmured.
Erestor returned the look. "'Tis not always a horrid thing," he replied. Glorfindel chuckled, and the chief advisor's smile lingered as he sheathed each weapon with careful precision.
"Nay, I suppose it is not," the Balrog Slayer agreed quietly. He then rose to his feet as Erestor did. "There is one more thing I must say. We know not what sort of situation we will be approaching as we search for Elrohir and Legolas, nor do we know how many aid Aeglironion. Should the situation turn ill, I would prefer it to be you who aids them to safety if you are able. Should it come to fighting and you must use your blades, remain close to either Elrond or I."
The chief advisor's dark eyes faltered as he began to walk toward the door, keeping his secure grasp on both of the daggers as he held them close to him. "I assure you I shall be fine, Glorfindel," he said, attempting to keep his tone level despite the anxiety that lingered just beneath the surface. He paused in the doorway, allowing his shoulders to slump ever so slightly. "Glorfindel?"
"Yes?" The golden-haired warrior approached, concern clear in his light gaze.
A moment passed before Erestor turned to face him. His face was a couple of shades paler and his eyes were a bit too bright, yet he was still giving him a small smile. "I am glad you and Elrond will be with me."
Glorfindel returned the look as he set a hand on the slender Elf's back. "Always, mellon-nín."
Thranduil stood still in front of his father, simply watching as he finished securing his sheathed sword around his armored waist. Much like the king, he was also covered with the armor customary of their warriors, his sword already within easy reach at his hip. His light eyes remained on the fair but often stern features of Oropher as he continued to ready himself for what was looming before them, finding they remained impassive before he raised his gaze to the intricate silver crown that adorned his head.
It had filled him with so much pride when the people of Greenwood had chosen to follow his father and had granted him the crown that would give him the name of Woodland king. Though Oropher had accepted his newfound responsibility and obligation to his people as he had any other when they had previously resided in Doriath, which was with a grace and poise he was uncertain if he himself would ever possess. It was as though the sudden added weight of the crown he wore was no burden to him at all, for it was a weight he willingly took on. His father had earned the respect, trust, and love of those he had been leading, feelings that were mutually felt by the king as he ensured their safety was one of his primary concerns since he understood a lord's place was not above his people.
The prince could not possibly imagine how heavy that crown was, though it was crafted as light as the one he was given to wear. Though it also contained the weight of the well being of their people, as well as the admiration those who followed him regarded him with. He was glad it was his father who had been chosen to wear it, for he had always had an elegance and a power about him that enabled him to rule with a fair, steady hand.
Oropher finished securing his sword around him before he raised his light gaze to his son. A small smile appeared at the corner of his lips. "Do you understand, Thranduil?" he asked quietly.
Thranduil was pulled from his thoughts at the deep voice, but the words were still strange to him. "I know not what you are referring to, Ada," he said.
The king's smile broadened. "I overheard your discussion with Aearion this morn," he explained, chuckling when the younger Elf's gaze faltered. "You wondered why I answered the summons."
The prince dropped his head slightly, unable to look back at his father. He had found Oropher's agreement to the High King Gil-galad's call for the armies of both Elves and Men to stand against the rising power of Sauron in the south a bit unlike him, as they had primarily thrived as a kingdom by keeping to themselves. Though he did not desire to sound as though he was questioning an order from his lord, for his word was one he had never doubted and never would.
Then, Thranduil slowly looked up when a light hand touched his cheek, a hand that had not changed from when he had simply been his father to now that he was king of Greenwood. His eyes met Oropher's similar ones.
"I understand that I have not often agreed to lend my aid in the affairs of those outside of our borders," he muttered, his smile lingering despite the peculiar glint in his eye as he carefully regarded his son before him. "Though should this force not be defeated, then none who are opposed to him shall live in peace. 'Tis a grim fate we shall all share, I fear. The only way to achieve a lasting calm is to aid one another in this time of darkness."
Thranduil considered Oropher's words carefully as the latter slowly lowered his hand. The reasoning for his father's decision was a sound one, for it was something he agreed with. Though he could not shake the feeling of dread that had fallen over his heart when his father had made that decision.
The king gazed at the prince for a moment longer before he continued. "'Tis something to consider should you ever become king, penneth. I believe the throne would suit you well. You have matured much since you have chosen to follow me here, and I doubt not that you would follow well in my stead."
"Ada, the people chose you," Thranduil said, startled by what his father was implying. "They love you and all you have done as their king. I could not possibly..." He hesitated with a brief shake as his head. "I would have no need to assume the throne, for you will always be the king they have desired."
"Aye, but that love does not stop with me." A somber look passed over Oropher's slightly troubled features as he reached out once more and set a hand on the back of his son's head. He then closed his eyes as he rested his forehead lightly against Thranduil's. "I am proud of you, ion-nín, as I always will be. Do not ever doubt that."
It was a time that continued to haunt him, though it had been many years since. Much had been lost in the years they had fought and struggled against the forces of Sauron, and much had been sacrificed. Though it was at Dagorlad where his life had been irreversibly altered.
Thranduil let out a long breath as he slowly picked up the crown made of berries and golden leaves he'd had crafted especially for him when he had ascended to the throne of Greenwood. His light gaze passed over what remained of it, remembering back to when he had first been presented with it after he had accepted the title his father had long held before him. He had requested a different make for his own crown, for he still felt as though the shattered one that had been left behind on Oropher's death did not belong to him. The kingdom that was now his sole responsibility had reshaped and rebuilt under his rule, and though much of his father's influence had remained over the Wood, he'd had to accept that he would have to discover his own power as its ruler.
Though he had to admit it was only when he was sitting on the throne Oropher had been chosen to occupy that he had fully understood the words his father had spoken to him in the last intimate conversation he had ever had with him before they departed Greenwood. As a king, as well as a father, Oropher had made many sacrifices during that time. He had willingly given up their solitary life in effort to give his aid for a possibility that the combined strength of Elves and Men could somehow defeat the darkness from the south and prevent it from encroaching across the land, to ensure that the kingdom of Greenwood, as well as others in Arda, along with his son could thrive in lasting peace. He had given his life for that purpose, as well as for the safety of his people, and Thranduil knew in his heart that both he and Oropher had somehow been aware that the great king would not return home before they departed for Dagorlad with their army.
Though the king also realized with irritation that there would be those who had survived the rage of Sauron as he had who would look upon Oropher's actions and call them reckless or prideful. Though Thranduil, having been at his father's side when that abrupt decision had been made, knew that was not what had happened. Oropher had spotted something on the field before them while Gil-galad had not informed them of, and frustrated that he had not seen it and not wanting to risk this looming enemy getting too near the heart of the Elven forces as well as his own, he had called an early charge before the High King could direct them, and he led their army into the fray.
Thranduil knew his father. Oropher would never have risked the lives of his people, would never have risked the life of his son, for his own pride.
And it was with that burden, that weight of his father's death and how his name could be tainted, along with the burden of his father's crown that he brought with him, that Thranduil had carried on his shoulders as he led the vastly diminished army of his people that remained with him back toward Greenwood with Aearion at his side. His people, though lightly armed, had fought valiantly and with the ferocity they were known for, though many had still been lost. His sleep had suffered greatly for years after the battle was finally over and his physical wounds had long since healed, for nightmares of the horrors and death he had witnessed during the Last Alliance had plagued his dreams, as well as never faded from his waking thoughts. Though much time had passed, Thranduil could still not bring himself to turn his gaze to the south, to the memory of where all those lives, including his father's, had been lost.
A few more golden leaves broke off the crown and slowly drifted down to the wooden table.
Thranduil was well aware of what ramification his decision would bring him now, though it was one he'd had no difficulty making since he was offering his life not for his people, but for the one who meant more to him than anything. For a moment, he wondered if Oropher had experienced this same feeling of determined resignation when he was on the brink of making a similar choice so long before. Though, much as he was certain his father had felt before him, he knew his own decision was a willing one. And also as Oropher had expressed before him, he was certain that Legolas, though young in his years, would follow well in his stead. He was responsible for one of his age, and Thranduil had so much pride in his son for not only all that he had attained as both prince and captain of Mirkwood, but also how he had been told about how the prince had handled the hardships they had faced while in Imladris. Legolas had learned much about how to rule a kingdom by observing him, and his strength of character and giving nature would enable him to do so without much difficulty. With some guidance, the kingship would suit his Greenleaf well, despite his clear disinterest in the throne. He only hoped Legolas would one day understand the decision he was now making and would not think ill of him for it.
The Woodland king set his shoulders as he lowered his crown onto his head. He then turned and picked up his sheathed sword from the bed, securing it around his slender waist. His life may have now been forfeit, though once he was certain that both Legolas and Elrohir were out of immediate danger, he would not make it effortless for Máfortion to claim what he so desperately coveted. It would be a dishonor not only to himself, but to his realm as well as to the memory of his father since it was with Oropher where this traitorous Elf's true hatred stemmed from. He refused to be broken easily.
But then, Thranduil closed his eyes and rested his palm against the wall when a lightheaded feeling came over him. He wrapped his other arm around his abdomen when that familiar burning feeling returned, and he inwardly cursed his weakness as a cold sweat settled on his face. But his lingering condition from the poison also caused his mind to travel to Elrond, knowing he would have to be cautious with the next move he made. The Elf lord already seemed to be partly suspicious of him when he had come to check on him, though his mind was burdened down with his own worry for his youngest son. He would have to move soon or risk losing the opportunity he had to ensure the safe return of both Legolas and Elrohir.
The faint feeling subsided after another moment, and Thranduil opened his eyes before he picked up his cloak and draped it over his shoulders, fastening it securely in front of his neck. He then opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, closing it silently again behind him before making his way toward the staircase that would bring him down to the first level of the house.
But he had only turned the corner when a quiet, tentative voice gave him pause.
"Aran-nín?"
Thranduil looked over his shoulder, knowing that if anyone else had called out to him, he probably would not have stopped. A small, somber smile turned up the corner of his lips as he watched Tidurian quickly, though somewhat hesitantly, approach him.
"I have been hearing from the Imladris guards of the Orc attack," the Mirkwood guard said, concern crossing his fair features. "Is it true about what happened to Lord Elrohir and... and Legolas?"
The king sighed before giving him a brief nod. The younger Elf's clear concern for the prince touched his heart. "Aye, 'tis the truth," he confirmed quietly. "Though it was not the Orcs that took them..."
Tidurian gazed at Thranduil for a long moment before realization dawned in his eyes. "Was it... was it those Elves who had been banished from Greenwood?" he asked in just above a whisper. "The ones who harmed you?"
Thranduil's gaze faltered, and he knew that no matter what he said, the guard would not believe him. So he remained silent.
Fear replaced the concern in Tidurian's eyes. "For what purpose would they be taken, hir-nín?"
"None that should have involved them," Thranduil told him, fully turning to face the guard. "Though Lord Elrond, Lord Glorfindel, and Lord Elladan are gathering patrols in order to search for them, so I have no doubt we will find them."
Tidurian nodded once, a determined look in his eye. "Allow me to aid with the patrols, hir-nín," he said. "I wish to lend my support in their recovery."
Another small smile appeared on the Mirkwood monarch's face. He knew how close the guard had been to Legolas since he had been an Elfling, and it did not come as a surprise to him that he would want to aid in the search for him and Elrohir. "Aye, I am certain your aid would be appreciated," he replied. "Speak with Lord Elrond or Lord Glorfindel, I am certain they will accept your sword."
Tidurian's brow furrowed. "And what of you, hir-nín?" he wondered.
Thranduil's slightly cheerful look waned. "Do not worry for me..."
The guard's gaze passed over the king's cloak before landing on the mostly concealed sword beneath it. A look of understanding passed between them. "Allow me to be at your side, Thranduil," Tidurian murmured.
The king's gaze saddened as he slowly shook his head. "This I must do alone," he told him.
"Is Lord Elrond aware that you are departing?" Tidurian pressed.
A peculiar gleam appeared in Thranduil's eye as he considered his answer. "I would appreciate if you spoke nothing of this conversation to anyone. If I had another option, I would take it."
Tidurian noticeably hesitated. "Thranduil..."
But Thranduil reached out and set a hand on the young guard's head. "Saes," he whispered. "Speak with Lord Elrond. I am certain your aid would be gratefully accepted."
A long moment passed where Tidurian simply met Thranduil's gaze before he sighed as he lowered his and nodded once. "All right, hir-nín," he muttered. "If this is truly what is best."
"It is best," Thranduil assured him, his smile returning as he lowered his hand once more. He then bowed his head slightly to him, watching as the guard dipped his head in response, before he turned and began to make his way down the hallway.
But then, the Mirkwood monarch once again paused, though this time with confusion. In the back of his mind, a memory was trying to push its way to the surface, a memory long forgotten from his days in Greenwood. He had returned home after the Last Alliance... Helinniel had been waiting for him... the assassination attempt on him had been discovered... and then...
Thranduil glanced over his shoulder at the guard, seeing he was watching after him with an unreadable expression on his face. And then there was Tidurian, one of the young Elflings who had been orphaned after the battle. But there was something else in this memory, something he could not quite grasp...
With a sigh, the king turned and walked down the hall with purpose in his step. The memory began to fade. All he could see was his son's face.
Author's Note: And that's it! I was gonna initially continue this scene, though I figured this would be the best place to stop it since the rest of it can be a scene of its own. Plus it was already on the lengthy side, lol. I admit, a lot of my personal takes on Oropher slipped their way into this chapter, but what can I say? I love that Elf king, lol. So, Elrohir and Legolas are close to leaving the borders of Rivendell, Erestor has been confronted with his past and is forced to accept it, and Thranduil is on his way to meet with Máfortion. I've been enjoying the speculation on your guys' part about whether he will uphold his side of the bargain– will Máfortion release Legolas and Elrohir when Thranduil arrives? Any thoughts on where they might be being taken (no clues this time...)? Is there something more to Tidurian, as Thranduil almost remembered? Things to think about as we wait for the next update! I sincerely hope that it won't be nearly so long. I've already made a pretty big dent in the next chapter to try to make sure that doesn't happen.
A little editorial note. In chapter eight where it's mentioned that Legolas and Elrohir had already reached the Ford, I had intended to be in this part with Elrohir (complete brain freeze on my part!). I have gone back and changed it in that chapter. Also, just for fun, I have gone back to "Tainted" (as well as all of my LOTR oneshots) and tweaked things with Aeglironion (as well as included Tidurian in a brief scene) to make him jive more with how he is in this story (five years is a long time between stories, and a *ton* has changed with my ideas for "Stained" than last I thought about it). With all that said, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! See ya next time!