Disclaimer: Middle Earth and all things and people related to it belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs. I promise to put my toys away when I am done.
Nearing the End of the Road
"My lord!" the scout's cry caught Glorfindel's attention. "Sir, deeper tracks." Glorfindel pulled Asfaloth to a halt, staring intently at the indentations the scout indicated. They were the same type of tracks they had been following earlier – two shod ponies. These, however, were deeper, showing that the ponies were heavily laden. In addition, the tracks steadily led away from Imladris. His relieved smile gleamed in the failing afternoon light. They were getting closer. The twins could not be too far ahead. The ponies needed time to make the journey out and back, and his party had been traveling much faster than two errant elflings would ever dare. Soon he would see them again, and re-assure himself that they were safe. He was not entirely sure if he wanted to hug them the entire way back to Imladris, or shake them for their foolishness.
"Good work, Tirithon." He praised the scout. The rest of the company was making good use of the break - grabbing a bite to eat, or making sure that their horses were still sound and ready for any action. "With any luck…" he stopped suddenly, his attention fixed to the east. The rest of the company stilled and listened as well. For just a moment, all was silent in that small corner of Eriador. Then, dimly, the sound of howling reached their ears. Wolves! Glorfindel could feel the eerie sound chilling his blood, and he paled. In his mind, he could see two small elflings, encircled by a hungry pack…
Evidently, he was not the only one with an over-active imagination. All around him, he could hear the sounds of sharply indrawn breath and horses shifting nervously under suddenly tense riders. The twins were well loved, it seemed. However, he was not about to allow some ill conceived and poorly executed attack just because time was short. He knew what damage undue haste could bring, even when it was caused by the best of intentions.
"Archers out front until you sight them, then two shots as quick as you like and fall back. Make your arrows count." He emphasized, wanting no wild shooting while the twins were about. "When the archers move back, swordsmen charge. Surround and protect the twins first, killing the wolves is secondary. Archers protect the swordsmen and keep the wolves back. Am I understood?" Around him, elves nodded or muttered agreement. Glorfindel nodded in satisfaction – he had trained this group well.
"Then may the Valar be with us and protect us." As one, the party wheeled off into the gathering gloom.
"Look 'Dan, it's our rock!" Elrohir found the energy to dash ahead of his brother. There, just visible in the failing light of the setting sun, was the boulder the twins had picnicked on earlier in the day. Elladan followed his twin's lead, and soon both elflings were clambering up the rugged stone. It was harder to climb than it was before, since both of the twins were weary from walking all afternoon. If they had been home, this would be the time either Elrond or Celebrian would scoop them up and carry them off to bed. The wind had died away roughly an hour before and now all was silent, save for the chirping of the crickets. The first evening stars were beginning to shine in the clear evening sky, including one both of the elflings were familiar with. Elladan eyed his daeradar's star thoughtfully. Since his daeradar was up so high, it was possible that he had seen ada and naneth. Elladan stared at the star that was no star. How does one talk with a star mariner? He was not even sure how he was supposed to get his daeradar's attention. He turned to his twin, who was contentedly watching the stars appear, and was about to ask for his opinion, when a long, low, howl stopped him.
Both elflings froze instinctively, though they had never heard a real wolf howl before then. They had been protected well. The only howls they had ever heard were their own mock-battle cries and Glorfindel's attempts at mimicry during key points of exciting adventure stories. This how was much more frighteningly real. It shuddered from a deep rolling moan to a high yip, then slid back down the scale again. As it died away, the twins looked at each other in mutual horror and excitement.
"Do you think that was…"
"… a wolf howl?" the twins asked each other simultaneously. A second howl prevented them from answering each other and the twins turned as one to face its source. The howls were getting closer. Elladan drew his small knife, the blunted blade glinting in the fading light.
"'Dan, we can't hurt wolves with dull blades!" Elrohir hissed, looking ready to bolt. "We can't even cut ourselves with them!" He had reason to know – every once in a while, when he was excited, he was known to grab his knife by the blade and not the hilt, much to Glorfindel's dismay.
"The wolves don't know that they aren't sharp!" Elladan whispered back, his young voice resolute. Elrohir thought about this for a moment. It was true – unless one looked closely at the knife in Elladan's hand, it was hard to tell that the edges were not razor sharp. He drew his own knife, a twin to Elladan's, and found that he did feel a bit braver, if not safer.
At least, he felt braver and safer until a second wolf joined in the howling… from behind them. Elrohir, remembering watching the guard drill for hours on end, moved so that he was standing back-to-back with Elladan. After all, that is what all the great heroes did in this sort of situation. Of course, the heroes usually had very sharp and very magical weapons as well, but hopefully that would not matter much. Each twin watched the shadowy grassland in trepidation, hoping the wolves would find some other prey. Their blades, though dull, were still good elvish make, and they shone with the last rays of the setting sun.
