- 11 / A Small Hope -

The small group crept cautiously down the corridor, paying attention to the slightest details that could betray the presence of an enemy. Several times, Elladan had raised his hand, signalling for a stop, while the scouts checked the way ahead.

Seena followed as silently as she could, stepping over the bloodied corpses, their guts scattered around. She clenched her teeth, swallowing the sobs and the disgust. At least, she was still alive. Beautiful Rivendell lay in ruins before her eyes, broken and burned.

Finally, they reached a part of the house that seemed to have been relatively spared, and Elladan spoke briefly with the armed sentinels who stood watch. 'Go inside' de gestured to an open door. 'You will be safe, there.'

Seena and Alwen obeyed hastily. The Healing Rooms were full, not only with wounded elves, but also with warriors, who protected their Lord as he tried to save the victims of the attack. Almwen looked around. 'Ada ! Naneth !' she cried, flinging herself into the arms of an elven couple. Her parents hugged her tightly, tears of relief streaming down their cheeks ; Seena watched them, envious. She was happy for her friend, but the scene before her reminded her more than ever of what she had irremediably lost.

She stepped carefully between the sickbeds, allowing Almwen and her family some privacy. All around her, the healers scurried between the wounded, arms full of bandages and salves. But too many were dying, too much blood had been spilt. The young woman watched as an elfling wailed, clutching the motionless hand of his mother. Maybe he was already an orphan, or maybe he'd become one in a matter of minutes… Seena bit back a sob.

She had taken the decision to withhold her knowledge of the possible future. She knew that this choice would bring its inevitable share of deaths, but there was a difference between knowing that huge numbers would die, and seeing them fade away in pain and blood. The elves around her were disappearing, one by one, irremediably. They were suffering, and they would be missed. Seena suddenly wished she was one of them : that would've relieved her guilt.

The young woman slapped herself inwardly and wiped her eyes. Suicide was not an option she wished to examine ; and self-pity would do no-one good. The young woman rolled up her sleeves and walked to the nearest healer. 'I want to help' she said. 'I'm not trained, but I'll do anything. Please, let me help you.'


Glorfindel brought his blade down in a slashing movement, severing the nearest orc's head. 'Where is the reinforcement ?!' he yelled, slaying another beast. Several corpses away, Elrohir stabbed an enemy before yelling back : 'I don't know ! We've called Finian an hour ago !' The Golden Lord wiped off the blood off his face with his sleeve, and swore. Where was that damned elf ? They were being slaughtered, slowly but surely, and their end would come much quicker than he had hoped if no one came to help them.

A huge orc lunged at him with his primitive weapon ; Glorfindel dodged the blow easily, whirling around in the mud and slashing his attacker across the back. Night had fallen ; they had been fighting for several hours now. The arrival of two of his guards to his side offered him a little respite, and he changed his grip on his sword. The handle was slippery with blood, his fingers growing numb from tiredness and cold.

The elf lord looked around : the small clearing was littered with dead bodies, elf and orc equal in death. He saw Elrohir finish off another enemy, his ancient hatred giving him strength. But it was not enough.

Glorfindel threw himself back into the battle. Despite the noise, the pain and the sorrow, he welcomed the violence ; it helped him forget. When he fought, all his attention was on his movements and those of his adversary. It was a complicated dance, but he had mastered it long ago.

He glanced briefly towards the east, the sound of hooves nearing giving him hope. Maybe Finian was coming, at last… But it was Derval who stormed into the clearing. 'My Lord' he panted, jumping off his horse, 'Finian will not come.' 'What ?' hissed Glorfindel. 'Why ?' Derval unsheathed his sword, and stabbed the nearest orc. 'He was drunk' he breathed out between two blows. 'They found him and killed him in his stupor.'

'They ?' Glorfindel raised a golden eyebrow. 'Yrch' came the answer.

He almost froze with sudden panic, but caught himself in time before it cost him an arm. 'What do you mean ?!' he snapped. 'Surely…'

'The yrch have pierced our defences, my Lord.' Derval looked at him gravely. 'They have entered Imladris.' Glorfindel's eyes narrowed. 'How long ago ?' he demanded, voice rising in anger. 'Answer me ! How long ago ?' The messenger looked at him, taken aback by the worry in his voice. 'An hour, my Lord' he mumbled nervously.

'Elrohir !'

The dark-haired elf looked around to see Glorfindel run though the clearing ; orcs were falling on his way, his blade a silver blur. 'Imladris has fallen to the hands of the enemy. Retreat !' Elrohir shook his head. 'I can not abandon…' 'This battle is lost !!' The Golden Lord yelled at him. 'Can you not see it ? It is over ! Imladris needs us. Now.'

Lord Elrond's son glanced around. Dead, so many dead… He nodded reluctantly.

They raced into the woods, killing the surprised orcs they found on their way. As he ran, Glorfindel pushed away the dreadful thoughts that kept plaguing him. What if they arrived too late ? What if the settlement had fallen, what if she… He clenched his teeth. No. It would not happen, it could not. He would not allow it.


The door of the room slammed open, and Glorfindel stepped inside, his sword ready for an eventual attack. His eyes scanned the room frantically, registering the overturned furniture, the shattered glass on the floor… She couldn't be dead. He refused to believe it.

He stepped further into the room. The churning smell of the orcs filled his nostrils, and he grimaced.

They have been here, he thought, cold dread gripping him.

Glorfindel kicked a chair out of his way. It hit the broken bed, which fell apart with a loud crack, revealing its devastated contents. The elf's heart skipped a beat. He crouched and picked up a sheet ; the white fabric was stained with a dark substance, that the warrior immediately identified as blood.

He felt like a piece of him had just died : empty and cold, a grey veil before his eyes. Sheathing his sword, forsaking caution, he pushed the heavy piece of furniture away : the space beneath it was empty. He narrowed his eyes. There could still be hope, then… Seena could still be alive.

'Glorfindel ?' called a puzzled Elrohir in his back. 'What are you doing here ?' His elder ignored him, striding hurriedly out of the room. 'Take me to the survivors' he barked out.