Headers, author's notes, disclaimers, and translations may be found in chapter 1.
*****
"Ai! Not so fast, you mean thing," Glorfindel admonished.
Elrond, Lord of Imladris and sometime Herald of the High King, rolled his eyes and silently begged the Valar for patience.
The warriors of Imladris had sallied forth some days earlier to rid the western reaches of Elrond's lands of an orc infestation. They had, sadly, arrived too late to save some of the Elvish hamlets there, but had gathered up what survivors remained and fought to cleanse the land of the evil creatures.
At Elrond's side, as ever, rode his second, one Glorfindel of Gondolin, slayer of Balrogs, liver of two lives, and consummate warrior. On this particular day, however, Glorfindel had been rather less than his usual adept self as he attempted to intercept a blow from an orcish mace aimed at his liege lord. Elrond escaped unscathed, but Glorfindel had not been so lucky. The blow caught him off balance and knocked him from his horse. So it was that Elrond found himself occupied with dragging his injured friend off the field of battle once the orcs appeared to be routed and retreating. The two warriors staggered clumsily toward an abandoned Elvish house, where the Lord of Imladris could better examine his seneschal.
"Stop fighting me, you overgrown oaf," Elrond hissed, in no mood to cosset Glorfindel's bruised ego.
Glorfindel grumbled wordlessly, but grudgingly stopped trying to move without assistance.
They finally managed to negotiate the open front door of the single-story structure, and Elrond maneuvered his friend through the chaos of the ransacked common room to a relatively whole couch.
Glorfindel collapsed onto the settee with an ill-concealed sigh of relief.
"Alright then," Elrond panted, "where do you hurt?"
"My leg, mostly," Glorfindel admitted. "My shoulder is sore, as well, but I believe it to be bruised only."
Elrond nodded. "Very well, easy wounds first, so long as you keep that leg immobile for now. Let's see your shoulder."
Glorfindel assisted the Elf-Lord in shifting armor and tunics to reveal the shoulder in question. Elrond poked and prodded for a moment, eliciting a yelp and glower from his reluctant patient.
"You are right about the shoulder," Elrond pronounced. "It is bruised, but will heal quickly."
"Should've listened to me instead of poking me in my bruised shoulder," Glorfindel grumbled uncharitably. "I am a good deal older than you, and I know what a bruise feels like."
Elrond rolled his eyes and did not deign to comment. He turned his attention to Glorfindel's injured leg, slitting the leather leggings with his dagger when it became apparent that a more conventional removal would be too painful for the other elf. He grasped Glorfindel's thigh gingerly and was rewarded with an outraged roar.
"Well, you've really done it this time," Elrond said with a heavy sigh. "You, my splendid friend, have a broken leg."
Glorfindel groaned and dropped his head back against the couch. "Please, tell me you jest."
"Nay," Elrond chuckled. "I am sorry, but the bone is split. 'Tis a clean break, though, and I forsee no serious difficulty in healing it. If, that is, you stay off it for the next few days."
Glorfindel growled in frustration and struck out with one mailed fist, demolishing an already-damaged table with a resounding crash.
Both elves were startled to hear a noise from the house's kitchen.
Elrond crept quickly forward on silent feet, sword held at the ready. He motioned for Glorfindel to be silent when the injured elf started muttering about how only Elrond would manage to find the one house with an orc still in it.
The Elf-Lord's sharp ears were pricked, listening for the faintest of sounds. A soft rustle had him lunging toward a large cabinet with a fierce cry, blade extended to smash apart the latch and send the door bouncing against the wall. But it was not an orc that emerged. Instead, the strident wail of a frightened child issued from the newly opened cupboard.
Elrond turned startled eyes toward Glorfindel, almost as if to confirm that he really was hearing what his ears were telling him he heard. Glorfindel could do no more than blink owlishly back at him.
The change in Elrond's demeanor was as sudden as it was surprising. He went from warrior to father in the blink of an eye.
"Hush now, tithen pen," he said softly. "I must have frightened you very badly. Will you come out so that I may apologize? It's alright, no one will hurt you."
The gulping sobs from within the cupboard quieted for a moment. "N-nana? Ada?" a small voice quavered.
Elrond swallowed hard. That little voice sounded so very young. And if the small one's parents lived in this house, which had clearly been invaded and looted by orcs... The Elf-Lord feared that there would be no answer to that plaintive call.
His unhappy reverie was abruptly cut short when the child in the cupboard moved again and peeked cautiously out into the kitchen. Elrond stood transfixed and stared into the bluest eyes he'd ever seen.
Glorfindel watched as child and warrior stared at each other for a moment. Then the child took in Elrond's battle-scarred appearance and dove back into the cupboard, sobbing once again.
"Oh, now that won't do at all," Elrond murmured and reached into the dark cabinet, drawing the struggling, whimpering child out into the light. "Well, who are you?" he asked softly, though the dark-haired child would likely be unable to answer him.
The elfling was very young, scarcely old enough to talk and probably not yet able to walk unaided. Now that Elrond had the child out and cradled against his chest, he could tell that it was a boy. His fingers contacted a scrap of parchment as he tried to shift the child into a more comfortable position against his breastplate.
Elrond frowned and carried the squirming elfling into the common room. He leaned down toward Glorfindel.
"There is something pinned to his clothing. Can you reach it?"
"Aye, I can. It looks like a note."
Glorfindel detached the missive from the boy's clothing. It was scribbled in hasty Sindarin, and read:
~~Carawen & Breghûn
Glorfindel swallowed hard. "They must have locked him in the cupboard, hoping he'd be quiet until the fighting was done," he said quietly. "Ai, I cannot imagine how difficult..."
"NONONONO!!" Eledril shouted, interrupting Glorfindel's musings.
The child and Elrond seemed to have arrived at a stalemate, the boy pushing both hands determinedly against Elrond's chest and scowling thunderously at him, the elf trying to keep hold of the child and prevent him from squirming loose entirely.
"So, mighty warrior," Glorfindel said with a grin, "what are you going to do now?"
Elrond started to respond, but was interrupted by a distant cry of "Yrch!!"
"Go muster my troops, apparently," Elrond responded dryly. "Here, you take him."
"What?! Me?? But..."
"Glorfindel, you are not going anywhere, and neither is this little one. Not until it is safe. I doubt any orcs will come back in here, so it's a logical place to leave you both. For goodness' sake, it's only a baby, not a Balrog."
"But I don't know what to do with a child!" Glorfindel protested.
"You taught all my children," Elrond pointed out reasonably.
"I never met any of them until they were out of the nursery," Glorfindel objected.
Elrond, however, had stopped paying attention. He was speaking to the child, instead. "Eledril, this is Glorfindel, and he's going to take care of you until I get back. He's a good elf, and he will not hurt you."
Eledril looked patently unconvinced, but Elrond set him down on Glorfindel's uninjured leg before hurrying out the door to go lead his army.
Glorfindel stared at the child, at a complete loss. Eledril stared back at the unfamiliar, golden-haired warrior and burst into tears.
Glorfindel blinked. "Now, don't do that," he tried.
The elfling cried harder.
Stifling an oath, Glorfindel struggled the rest of the way out of his breastplate and tried picking Eledril up and cradling him against his good shoulder.
The child wailed disconsolately, tiny fists clenched in Glorfindel's tunic as he finally seemed to understand that his Nana and Ada were not coming to rescue him from these strange elves.
Something in Glorfindel's chest cracked and then shattered as he held the sobbing child helplessly. He looked longingly at the open door, wishing there was someone outside who would come if he called for assistance.
But he was painfully aware, as was the child in his arms, that no one was left to come.
*****