Trying to approach Emyn Arnen without attracting the attention of the rest of the White Company would have taken more time than they had. Therefore, Glorfindel had to choose open confrontation once more. At least that way, he spared Asfaloth fumbling around with the bells on the harness.
How badly did these people really know a Firstborn's skills? Even if he hadn't known about their presence, on his way up the hills, Glorfindel would have needed less than two minutes to spot the first few soldiers. Even from a distance, in the moonlight, the armor was already standing out from the background, in spite of the thick undergrowth. Not to mention the animals' unrest. Sometimes, a simple fox or a deer showed more intuition about who was hostile to them than Men.
After a moment of hesitation, he signaled Erestor to tie his horse to a tree and wait in the background, unrecognized, while he joined a couple of elves who were having a discussion in the protection of some close-set trees. For the moment, he remained unnoticed by both groups. The White Company in particular seemed to be too busy with their own worries.
"Everyone is ready," one of the elves shouted towards their current leader who was monitoring the surroundings with critical looks. "The soldiers already agreed too, didn't they? What are we waiting for?"
"We're not going back." The debate had surely lasted for a while already; Thondrar sounded worn down. "Has the last confrontation not shown you clearly enough how insufficient your fighting abilities are?"
"There are a lot fewer soldiers in Emyn Arnen this time," another elf remarked. "We have no choice. If we wait any longer, it might already be too late for the Prince. I just wish we knew what happened to the King and the Steward."
"Maybe someone who's just coming from the area where everyone's suspecting the two of them to be can tell us," Thondrar answered ironically, without turning around to his father, and yet everyone looked Glorfindel's way immediately.
"Milord!" The first elf approached him in relief. "Are you aware of what happened here?"
"Word has got around."
Glorfindel's tone, not as amicable as usual but colored with a lack of understanding and irritation instead, had the others step back. Even the warriors among the elves looked thrown of course, partly even frightened. The failed attack on Emyn Arnen had made it clear to these people how unprotected they were right now, exposed to the dangers of their new home – and not even Glorfindel's son had comfort for them to spare, to mend the damaged morals of this still so young community.
"Why are you hiding?" Glorfindel didn't allow Thondrar to treat him like he wouldn't exist, not this time. "When did you start just abandoning the field to criminals?"
"Well, someone has to get these people to safety." With conspicuously much concentration, Thondrar attended to his traveling bag. With some effort, using his healthy arm, he thrust it upwards and fastened it to the saddle using his teeth. The golden shield with the rayed sun of Gondolin that his father had brought from Imladris to give it to him back then, was hanging from the horn already.
"The Prince ordered me to protect the elves. If there'll be further Stewardaides approaching Emyn Arnen, I will not be responsible for them still being here. If that happens, we'll only get the others from the settlement and proceed straight to Lórien via the Anduin. These elves have stood in Men's crossfire long enough."
Glorfindel's patience for people with a warped sense of responsibility had been wearing thin since the conversation with Erestor at the latest. And if Thondrar had set his mind to being angry with him and not wanting to hear anything from him, that could easily take a thousand years or two to fix.
So he turned to the elves instead. If he wanted appropriate help in the next fight to be expected, he first had to give these people back their courage, or the next attack was destined to fail as well. "How do you like this plan? Would any of you really give up on everything you built here? Preferring the life at home or in the west?"
"No one is running away." The warriors' pride was noticeably hurt. Somehow, Glorfindel wasn't surprised at all that it was one of the Sindar speaking up, with clenched teeth. "We're not going anywhere without the Prince; I've already been trying to explain that to your son for an hour. But once this matter in Emyn Arnen is solved, there won't be much left to keep us here. The whole thing with the settlement was a good idea in the beginning, but support from the realms never happened. None of the other elves are being drawn here."
"Of course not. This settlement is provoking a new war."
Glorfindel noticed with satisfaction that the elves were beginning to think. Guilt and shame were written on more than one face, regarding several things that had happened in the woods of Cair Andros. No, these people would hopefully not give in so easily.
Glorfindel would gladly sacrifice another few months to show them the right way if need be … as soon as there wasn't a King and his hotheaded son being held prisoner in Emyn Arnen's dungeons anymore.
"You want to fight, then kindly do so. I will need you for this anyway. We will …"
"We will not do anything." Right. There was someone else who couldn't be convinced so easily. This stubbornness was something, Thondrar could impossibly be getting from him. No way. "Again: I will not allow these elves to risk their lives any longer. Who do you even think you are?"
Well, if someone, later, would complain about Glorfindel losing so much time, he would gladly send them his son's way. "Time is short …"
"You don't say." Thondrar didn't seem to mind a whole group of strangers listening to the argument. "I could have told you that a while ago. Unfortunately, you were once more unavailable when you were needed."
Actually, Glorfindel had always been very grateful that he'd missed his son's adolescent phase. Now he had to wonder if Thondrar was just firing a full belated broadside at him. "Let me explain."
"Explain what? That you left me alone once more, as you always do? Just like you did right after I was born? And every single time since then, whenever you could have made yourself useful for a change?" Thondrar turned away abruptly. Glorfindel didn't need to see the other elves' bewildered expressions to know that there was a treacherous glistening in his eyes. Thondrar had just shown more honest emotion within a minimum of time than Glorfindel had been allowed to witness in all of the last few millennia with him.
It was this place that just reminded one far too much of the past, obviously more than Thondrar had expected it to when he had decided to move here. This crisis, being torn between loyalty and responsibility, between worrying and his fighting spirit, took him closer to his deepest abyss than he'd allowed it to happen for half an eternity. "Like you left nana alone?"
Merely a second ago, Glorfindel had been tempted to just leave Thondrar standing there and save the day together with the other elves.
In the next moment, his son finally said it out loud, the thing he'd almost never blamed Glorfindel for so openly. What he had only expressed, when they'd first got to know each other, with a posture of deepest anger, never really allowing a conversation. Even later when bit by bit, they had come to respect and to even love each other.
And for a brief moment that could feel like an eternity for beings who were measuring times as an elf did, Glorfindel, too, forgot why he had actually come here.
It wasn't Thondrar's face any longer that he was seeing when his son forced himself to turn around to him, so similar to his own, with the same sharp eyes and – at least in the sun- and moonlight – the same golden shining hair.
It was the image of his wife, the most beautifully sparkling flower of Gondolin, with all her deeply hidden exceptionalism. Her blossoms had opened only for a single time, when the two of them had given each other their eternal promise, far away from the others, before the first big battle had even been fought. A single day of smiling before the impenetrable mask of melancholy and loneliness had returned. A face that had even radiated unbreakable pride when tearstained.
Just like Thondrar's.
His wife had died. She had hopefully long since found her peace in the Halls and then in the west, without him for now; that he had not been able to be with her back then, to protect her and keep her in this first life that would have had so much more to offer for her … It was a regret that would haunt Glorfindel until he might be lucky enough to meet her reborn soul one day. She did not belong to the existence in these realms anymore though, except in the shape of a debt that could never be fulfilled.
But his son belonged here, to him, with him. It was time to finally make him see that. Apologizing clumsily a few times and training him as a warrior for a few centuries wasn't enough to achieve that. Glorfindel had to make Thondrar understand, no matter how much it was tearing his heart in two, summoning the day when he had regretted it deeply to ever ask for his wife's hand in marriage.
Maybe he should just follow her example, and his son's, and not be ashamed of his tears, even in public. "I had my reasons."
"Sure." The same rejection that Thondrar had welcomed his father with for the first time, in Imladris back then, now distorted his usually so melodic voice into the howling of icy winter rain.
"I, for my part, was robbed of my memories by fire and butchers. I don't even know exactly what she looked like anymore. But for you, she's never been more than an easy plaything in your household anyway, has she? You didn't even stand by her when you were living in the same building. Her death must have been very convenient for you. Since then, you don't have to deal with that little slip anymore, but you can fully focus on whatever lover you're having in your bed at any given time. You didn't talk to me about her even once. I know nothing about your time with her! No records, no pictures. You made sure very thoroughly that no one would ever know about you and her. What exactly makes an elf who allegedly treasures nothing as highly as love, reject his wife and kid so much? Why couldn't you be with her?"
"Foreseeing my death was a first very convincing argument. When my visions then started to threaten me with hers as well, and with yours, I knew that I wouldn't be able to protect you in Gondolin."
Glorfindel tried in vain to keep his tone patient and welcoming. Defeats like the fall of his home were still casting long shadows, even whole Ages later. Screams of beloved beings still haunting him in his dreams … Burning ruins of a whole life that, before his own fall into the abyss, he'd only been able to drag very few friends out of … Among them a certain scrawny librarian who had not ever really got over this catastrophe, just as little as he himself had, which Glorfindel was being just too aware of. And among all this regret, only one single relief – to have made the right choice.
"I was lucky enough to leave with the knowledge that she wouldn't fall victim to a balrog or an orc as well. That was the only thing, the secrecy and your escape should have saved her from. After my return to Middle-earth, I had to accept at some point that she obviously didn't want to be found by me. That she would then be meeting such dangerous enemies in these lands at some point, in the realm of Men of all places, was something I had not expected."
The silence was a compassionate one, not one an embarrassing or even an aggressive one. None of these elves were old enough to remember Gondolin but every one of them knew the story of its fall and the myths about Glorfindel's past. It had not been mentioned in any of these books that there was a completely normal elf hidden behind this hero, with the same worries and fears every worker, ever sewer, every painter had. Something that should have shaken this unbreakable image was seemingly blending with the legend just like another fragment instead. And grotesque as it, it had the listeners look up to him with even a little more respect, with the odd understanding smile and a nod. Maybe it would not even have been necessary to remain silent for so long.
There was just one person left who still didn't manage to see his father like that. He'd left too many scars in his life for that, too much emptiness. Nevertheless, both Glorfindel and Thondrar felt that something like a poisoned apple had just been spat out. Maybe a normal relationship between them would finally be possible now, and peace in their lives once they would live it together in the west one day.
Some time would still pass until then though. And if they didn't make the right resolutions now, even another war might possibly break out before it would come to it.
A brief tremble went through Thondrar when he tried to force himself to concentrate on what really counted right now. He stepped back to get some distance between his father and him but promptly stumbled in his inattentiveness as his leg was playing tricks on him again after all this time since the warg attack; he dropped onto a big boulder by the wayside.
Before Glorfindel could go there which might possibly only have made the situation worse anyway, another elf sat down next to him and put a hand on Thondrar's healthy shoulder. There was at least something that this public dispute had changed – no one would have dared to do that just a few minutes ago.
The reaction was just as surprising. Instead of startling back, Thondrar gifted the young Noldo with a weak smile. For someone usually preferring to keep their distance to others, even to potential lovers, afraid of having to suffer the same fate as their own parents, that was a big step. Maybe this constant fear of commitment had also finally been replaced today by the small hint of understanding for his father.
"So, what was it this time? Bloodthirsty monsters again?" When Thondrar picked the conversation back up, there was only resignation left, and tiredness after the long, lonely watch over the settlement that only Beregond's peace offering could have released him from earlier.
"You did give Erestor less flattering names before."
Steeling himself for the next storm, Glorfindel started to talk, glad about the chance to catch his breath.
Given that in a strict sense, he had not been gone that long, many explanations were being needed, and his listeners' disbelief wasn't really becoming much smaller. He couldn't blame them, seeing as the situation had been worsening by the day while Glorfindel had still been busy trying to clear it up.
"Clear it up." Thondrar sounded as if he was about to start screaming again. "Is that what you call it when the elves most affected by it hear nothing of Erestor's offenses? By the Valar, ada! Do you even realize what he did? Not to mention the attack on Her Highness of Eryn Lasgalen … The Queen would almost have died at her own wedding! And all of that just because he wanted to be a hero so desperately … If the Stewardaides do still have that book …"
Rubbing his forehead, he jumped up again to pace the narrow path. With the resignation from earlier gone, he was the image of a model fighter again immediately, going wherever he was needed in a flash. And maybe being an inkling wiser and definitely more experienced than before; Glorfindel, in any case, had seldom eyed him with so much pride. Dealing with a little too much temper was a small price to pay for that.
"The Steward, by all the … They've probably been controlling Faramir since the beginning of the year already." Upset, he stopped in front of Glorfindel, with his jaw thrust forward. "The Steward would have believed the elves if they'd come to him with the knowledge of Erestor's involvement. That fight never would have happened!"
A justified reproach, but a mistake that Glorfindel could back with a clean conscience. Besides, his son and Legolas' wife were sometimes sharing not only a few very positive traits but also the same nerve-wracking naivety.
"There are a lot of recent letters that never reached you; some from Imladris were certainly among them. And until recently, we wanted to give Erestor time to get back to his senses by himself. He does not deserve to be an outcast. Only what is between him and me has the same significance in my life as my love for your mother and you, ion nín."
Again, a brief tremble in Thondrar's body, and a flickering in his eyes as he tried not to let these words get to him, not right now.
Surprised murmurs among the other elves, too, meant that Glorfindel could probably spare himself pointing out how blind this group had been.
"Where is he now?" Since mutual reproaches wouldn't get them anywhere, Thondrar started with the planning. The relief that he didn't have to stay as idle as feared, was plain to see. The love for his duty was something that Glorfindel had never had to teach him first. Part of that was not leaving your leader behind when it could be avoided somehow. "Why didn't you bring him? Do you really think he'll come back voluntarily after all that he's done?"
"You forget who it is that we're speaking of here," the elf from earlier tossed in, with a weak grin. "Erestor could even have convinced Sauron that he's too old to rule the world. He doesn't just give up. Besides, I might be mistaken but I think while your lordships have been fighting, something changed in the woods."
Indeed it had; the detour to Minas Tirith of the rest of the White Company had been quick, they had made it here at a record time.
Glorfindel had admittedly feigned to be more certain than he'd been about Erestor's pitifully slim shape being among the men, remaining almost invisible in the protection of the arriving group. In truth, he wouldn't have been surprised if his friend had tried to get away. But in spite of everything, the other elf's sense of responsibility was still too big for that.
"We don't have much time." He gestured Thondrar over while Beregond approached them further and further, together with his soldiers, and their mates left to have a quick meeting with them.
Glorfindel and Thondrar had to take a firm stand as well if the others were supposed to have something to hold on to. "The King might not be found in time. It is our job now to make right what one of us has messed up in good faith. I need everyone who can hold a sword. Not to shed blood but for all of you, for your settlement and for peace."
"Peace, after everything that's happened?" the marchwarden from earlier asked, doubtfully. "Again, Lord: If a saw a chance to put an end to all this with one quick attack, I wouldn't be standing here anymore. But we've already tried that and failed. And with all you just told us, another fight would only make it worse."
"Not a fight, at least not if we can avoid it." Thondrar had understood the plan already and looked at the soldiers with narrow eyes, at the elf in their midst. "A demonstration. But with better arguments this time. Given our wannabe-spy isn't actually on the wrong side after all."
He didn't even give his father a chance to speak who did already have a rebuke on his lips – when it came to Erestor, they would probably never agree about anything again. Instead, Thondrar picked up the thread and advocated something as well that he wasn't even being fully convinced of yet. A sign of relief for Glorfindel, of things between being alright again for now.
He looked the elves in the eye who had learned to trust him so much in the last few months, one after the other. "I hate exposing you to this risk again that such a battle will happen after all, I stand by that. But if we have to fight for being able to live here in peace first, then that's how it shall be. If anyone wants to leave though, do it now. You'll be safe in the settlement. The soldiers there will take care of you. But if you come with us to the fortress, we'll need the determination of every single one of you."
To Glorfindel's relief, the elves just nodded, and the soldiers quickly agreed after he'd brought them into the loop.
They all had a common purpose now and had finally found the answer to a question that had kept both groups in so much suspense in the last few months. No one was innocent about this matter, no matter if they'd closed their eyes to the obvious or got carried away in their desire for revenge.
Making up for mistakes together could unite even extremely contrasting beings.
"What is it?" Arwen looked up in alarm when Aragorn straightened up suddenly, listening into the almost full darkness of their clammy cell.
Contrary to expectations, the Stewardaides had been leaving them alone since their last visit. Every minute was wrecking Arwen's nerves more. What were these people waiting for? Barhit should long have been here like his men had announced it so cockily earlier, and their enemies wouldn't get a better chance to eliminate the two of them. But the two men outside weren't even talking to each other anymore.
"Nothing. Apparently, my ears aren't the best anymore since I stopped camping in the woods." Aragorn tried to give a halfhearted laugh that was once more being drowned out by a barking cough though. The conditions in this room that he'd been kept in for a lot longer than Arwen had caused a dangerous respiratory infection. Though the only torch in the room had almost burned down, Arwen could see that with increased regularity, Aragorn was also coughing up some fluid of an unsettling dark color that was starting to spread on his ruined bright tunic. Maybe there would soon not even be much left for the Stewardaides to kill.
"How are you feeling?" It was the first time that he was trying to bridge the silence with words that had been prevailing ever since he'd asked her to flee the first chance she got, to leave him here alone to die, to save herself and maybe even the baby in her belly if it should still be alive.
"Obviously better than you." Her hand trembling both with worry and coldness, Arwen stroked through his beard that was encrusted with blood.
It wasn't hard to see that every movement hurt Aragorn. The infections caused by the wound on his shoulder having been torn back open were getting worse by the minute. His breath was going heavier after every coughing fit. And still, his thoughts were only with her.
"The lack of nutrition is starting to take its toll. I almost fainted twice the last hour." She pulled the damp, thin fabric of that foreign dress that the Stewardaides had forced her to put on at some point, tighter around her body. "And I'm still in pain." Absentmindedly, she stroked her belly with her fingertips, swallowing heavily.
Only the trembling touch of another hand forced her to smile. If the most unlikely of all cases had possibly occurred after all, if the Valar had protected the unborn from all the strains of the last few days, then letting herself go now would only have endangered the helpless tiny life in her belly more. "I'm sure it's just the hunger. I didn't even feel so weak in the war, after not eating much for some time and asking much more of myself in battle. That's a good sign, actually, isn't it? It means …" She didn't dare to finish the sentence.
"… that your body is not using all of its strength to support itself but that it's possibly saving it for someone else, yes." Aragorn pressed her close to him with his healthy arm. "Maybe everything is going to be alright after all. It's not too late yet." He breathed a tender kiss to her forehead with his chapped lips before continuing to stare dully into the blackness.
"Something here is off in any case."
These bastards were far too sadistic to go easy on them. After all, they hadn't even shied away from using a little child as bait and killing it as had been proven in Lossarnach.
Arwen instinctively squeezed Aragorn's hand harder. If they could at least have estimated for how long they had been sitting here already … But that was impossible without a chance to watch the change of day and night and with a lack of focus on her senses. She even had tried to count her own heartbeat yet, but listening to that dull throb that had seemed unnaturally loud in the silence had driven her insane. "They want to wear us down."
"I don't think so. These people are far too impatient and bloodthirsty for something like that. Something must have gone wrong. Maybe they underestimated Faramir and he's noticed their true intentions in time. Then he's surely looking for us already." After Arwen's words had kindled weak hope in him, Aragorn seemed ready to indulge in some more optimism.
"To kill us himself?" Deep bitterness roughened Arwen's voice. "Do you think, his mind is even clear enough to notice that we vanished? His new Stewardaid-friends are probably being with him right now to whisper new things in his ear that he doesn't even question because there could never be an enemy coming and going unnoticed in his holy halls!"
The inappropriate wrath turned to a dry sob when she remembered that Aragorn and she were to blame for their own misery as well. After all, they'd long known that Faramir was under their enemies' influence. And they had made far too little effort to make that clear to this still so young, insecure man. "They will not allow him to do anything."
"Nauriel, you can't …" Whatever Aragorn had meant to say turned into a coughing fit so painful that it yanked him right to the ground.
At first, the agony and the strain did probably not even let him sense what Arwen was already seeing from the corner of her eyes when she leaned over him, frightened.
What made her drag her husband away from the door a little bit immediately.
No, it wasn't the Stewardaides leader who had entered the cell but the diamond-sharp, long daggers that the two guards had in their hands left no doubt about what they could only be here for.
"Too bad," the older man grinned. "It would have been fun, watching him deal with you personally. But I'm sure he'll be just as happy if we tell him how you begged for your life later."
He sent his younger mate to Arwen with a clear gesture and approached Aragorn, eyes glistening darkly with bloodlust.
Arwen tensed and tried to withdraw, but there was only the cave wall in her back, and her legs didn't properly carry her anymore. Fighting an enemy with her bare hands in this condition, even someone only trained as rudimentarily as this King's enemy, would be almost impossible. Especially since she had to keep an eye on Aragorn on top of that who was even more battered.
Her partner promptly fought to get up and tried to disarm the enemy instead of waiting. His courageous resistance couldn't help him on this day.
With a hard dig in the ribs, the Stewardaid threw Aragorn to the ground and made sure by kicking that very same spot that he would be staying there, too.
Arwen threw herself to the side before her enemy could get too close to her. With her jaw thrust forward in challenge, she came to stand in front of her husband who could hardly breathe right now, much less move.
She couldn't remember to ever have been in such a hopeless fight, the Battle at the Black Gate aside that she had almost not survived already. The last strength reserves that her body was releasing, in the fearful expectation of a far too early, unfair demise, would only prolong the inevitable. Still, she kicked the guy reaching for her away from her, getting him to drop the dagger by a hard punch to his lower arm when the pain in his knee distracted him for a moment.
Her movements being too slow and uncoordinated thanks to her weakness earned Arwen two deep cuts on her arms by the other man. She didn't even really feel the blade slice through her skin, or that blood was dripping from it. Without thinking about it, she rammed the man when he made a move to bend down to Aragorn's helpless body. They both fell to the ground; Arwen did her best to grab her enemy's weapon but he was faster and tried to get to her again with the blade.
At the last moment, she could scoot back a little on her shaking knees, towards Aragorn, to keep on giving him cover as long as she could. If she was to not leave this room alive, she wanted to be with her husband at least, until the very last second.
A surprised gasp escaped her when Aragorn, unexpectedly, found enough energy in him again as well to straighten up and push her aside before one of the Stewardaides could put his dagger to her throat. With the reflexes that he'd trained for decades, her husband managed to dodge the deadly threat and bring the man down with a punch to his stomach.
Finding new hope, Arwen tried to grab Aragorn's arm and pull him up, but the enemy behind her yanked her back and shoved her headfirst into the rough rocks. Arwen threatened to black out immediately, but she fought the unconsciousness.
At that moment, in this despaired deathmatch, it might even have been easier to give in, knowing that she would never wake up again... or only once Aragorn and she would hopefully be allowed to find each other again in a better place … Yet she rather reached out her trembling hand to her husband's once more when the enemy's dagger was finally being put to her throat, the other weapon coming far too close to her beloved once more. "Mîl nín …"