Estel, Erestor, and Gwaurant were now within an easy ride of Rivendell, and Erestor had regained consciousness. His leg still hurt, but he no longer felt sick and dizzy. Apparently the effects of the noxious liquid that he had been forced to drink had completely worn off. He rode comfortably upon his horse, cheerful and at ease. Noticing the tutor's relaxed expression, Estel decided that this was the moment to try and recruit him in his campaign to save the life of Gwaurant.
"Erestor, when I was stealing toward you back there, I heard you speaking in a very friendly fashion to Gwaurant. You don't dislike him any more, do you?"
Erestor had to concede that he did not.
"And Erestor, did you notice that the wolves did not trouble us as we passed by? They are not really vicious creatures, you know—and neither is Gwaurant. Wolves do not attack without reason—and neither does Gwaurant."
"Ah," said Erestor, "you are no doubt worrying over the events that took place the night you and Gwaurant ran away."
"Yes, Erestor," said Estel soberly. "I saw the Gardener carrying Baramagor and Celaimîr's clothes into the Hall."
"Well, Estel, I have good news for you. Baramagor and Celaimîr survived their little adventure."
"They did!? Oh, Erestor, since Baramagor and Celaimîr survived, do you think there is a chance that Gwaurant will be allowed to return to Rivendell!?"
"I'll tell you what, my lad," said Erestor grandly, "as soon as we are back at the Hall, I will go straight to Elrond and tell him that Gwaurant is quite a remarkable dog and ought to be readmitted into the company of Elves."
"Will you, Erestor!?" exclaimed Estel. "I'll be ever so grateful, and I'll behave well at lessons, and I'll do anything you want, I will! Oh, Erestor, you're ever so kind—I'm sorry for every trick I've ever played on you, and I will warn you the next time Elladan and Elrohir have anything planned!"
Erestor waved his hand dismissively.
"Think nothing of it, Estel. 'Tis my nature to perform noble deeds. If you wish, you may requite me in some fashion, but I do not insist upon it."
Of course, upon this further evidence of the Elf's kindness and generosity, the boy redoubled his efforts to assure the tutor of the depth of his gratitude, and in this friendly fashion they journeyed on.
While Erestor was impressing Estel with his magnanimity, Glorfindel the balrog-slayer was making his way westward under much less pleasant circumstances. He had had no trouble tracking his chosen wolf pack, and, at first, the going had been easy enough. The pack had stayed well to the north of the Great East Road, but the ground had been dry and reasonably level, so Glorfindel was not troubled to find himself traveling through wasteland. At length, however, the wolves had passed by Weathertop and so had come to a place that Glorfindel dreaded above all—the Midgewater Marshes. Now he stood at the verge of the swampy land, bemoaning his ill fortune.
"I'd rather these wretched curs had led me to Mount Doom," muttered Glorfindel, gloomily surveying the broken and soggy landscape. "Probably the midges have not forgotten my taste, so freely did they dine upon me the last time I ventured into that mire."
But the balrog-slayer knew (or thought he did, anyway) that if he were to recover Estel he would have to venture into that dreadful slough. Resolute, he released his horse to graze in the shadow of Weathertop—his steed would have done him no good on the paths that he needs must follow—and on foot he began to slog his way through the marsh. As he had expected, he was soon being swarmed by voracious midges, and he almost did himself an injury as he slapped at his own face in a futile effort to drive away the blood-thirsty insects. At length, however, he resigned himself to his fate and ceased flailing, merely trudging on, head down, searching for any sign that would reveal which path the wolves had taken through the bewildering maze in which he found himself. Ai! So soggy was the ground that any marks left by the wolves must have quickly filled, so Glorfindel had no choice but to try each path in turn. As luck would have it, each trail led to a dead end in the center of the marsh. It was of course the very last path that he tried that proved to be the correct one.
As Glorfindel emerged at last from the watery labyrinth in which he had struggled for days, the Elf's spirits soared—and then plummeted. For on the other side of the first dry knoll he breasted, there lay the wolves, sunning themselves—and Estel was nowhere to be seen.
Stunned, he stood for awhile staring at the pack. At last he roused himself.
"No doubt," he said bravely, "Estel has gone on to Bree-land, and the pack was not willing to venture so near to settled lands. I shall have to circle around and pick up his tracks. I will certainly find them somewhere on the far side of yonder wolves."
And so he carefully circled around the pack, watching intently for the marks of a small boot. The ground was soft, so it should have been easy to find some trace of the boy. There was none. Back and forth Glorfindel went, refusing to believe that there was no sign of a small human. At last, however, he had to admit the truth: Estel had not made it through the marsh. The Elf turned and gazed back in disbelief in the direction of the swamp that he had just traversed.
"Estel," he said softly. "Estel."
He could see how it had happened. A small boy who had walked for days, exhausted, probably hungry, attempting a perilous passage through a morass that had claimed many a Man. One misplaced step and the child would have found himself desperately clutching at slimy weeds that would have slipped through his hands no matter how tightly he tried to grip them. There was no sign of Gwaurant. No doubt the dog had blundered in as well in a futile effort to rescue his little human.
Glorfindel cried. He knew that much had depended upon the lad, the last of the line of the kings of Gondor, and he would have been sorry for that fact alone. But what mattered more to him was that he was genuinely fond of the boy. True, Estel had caused all the Elves much grief, but in the eyes of Glorfindel the lad had always repaid many times over every ounce of trouble and care that he had cost his guardians. He had been brave and honest, kind and compassionate. He should not have died so, struggling against a mire that would have inexorably pulled him down the harder he had fought to save himself. It had been altogether a dreadful end, and he had faced it alone save for Gwaurant.
At length Glorfindel became aware that the wolves had come up and gathered around him. They sat on their haunches and gazed at him expectantly, as if waiting for a sign from him.
"Yes," he said mournfully. "I know 'tis necessary to return to Imladris, to carry this sad news to Elrond. He will be heartbroken, all the more so as Estel was his kin, descended from Elros, who is no more. First Elrond lost Elros, then Celebrian, and now Estel. I only hope that in his despair he does not at once depart for the Grey Havens."
The wolves arose and trotted toward the Midgewater Marshes, and numbly Glorfindel followed them. They made their way unerringly through that swamp, and Glorfindel soon found himself on the other side. He summoned his horse and then once more gave way to his grief, relying upon the horse to find the way to Imladris, a task that the stallion found easy, for he had been this way once before in the company of Glorfindel and Legolas.
Several days later, Glorfindel rode wearily through the gates of Rivendell. He dismounted and bade his horse go to the stable, trusting that a hostler would see to the steed. Then he made his way to the garden, for he wished to walk a little and think on the words that he ought best use to break the sad tidings to Elrond. To his surprise, as he entered the garden, he spied Erestor lounging upon a bench of cut turves, a bandaged leg propped upon a footstool. Glorfindel slipped behind the statue of Gil-galad. He did not wish to speak to anyone just yet. Moreover, Erestor looked exceptionally happy, and Glorfindel was loath to visit grief upon him. He knew that Erestor, too, had been fond of Estel, even though he was as careful to hide his feelings as he had always been in the case of Legolas.
As Glorfindel stood hidden behind the statue, he thought he heard a child laughing and a dog barking.
"I have gone far too long without sleep," he muttered to himself. "Aye, and without food and drink. My ears begins to play tricks upon me—as do my eyes!" he added, briskly shaking his head to clear it of the apparition of a boy who scampered across the garden, dog trotting at his heels.
As he watched in disbelief, boy and dog hurried across the garden toward Erestor, who beamed at them. The boy carried a platter upon which sat a plate and a goblet.
"Erester," called the boy, "the Cook himself prepared this dish especially for you. It is venison dressed in a fine sauce, with the finest of wheaten cakes. And the wine is Dorwinion, from Elrond's private stock. He says that you may have as much as you like."
Carefully the boy laid the platter beside Erestor upon the turf bench.
"Is there anything else you need, Erestor?"
"Not at the moment, Estel. Although there is a book that I will want later, after I have dined. It is the volume bound in red that sits atop the first bookcase to the left as you enter the library."
"I will fetch it for you straightaway," declared Estel, "so that you do not have to wait for it when you desire to read it."
"Thank you, Estel. That is very thoughtful of you."
"Oh," said the boy fervently, "'tis nothing to the kindness you have shown me—and Gwaurant, too, of course."
With that off ran boy and dog. When they were out of sight, Glorfindel came forward.
"How is it," he growled to a grinning Erestor, "that Estel has become your skivvy?"
"Why, Glorfindel, you speak as if I did not warrant such treatment. In truth, Estel serves me because he has come to recognize my high merit."
"Merit," snorted Glorfindel. "Hah!"
"Glorfindel, it so happens that I am the one who returned from the wild with Estel. Had to fight a couple of nasty goblins in the process and suffered a grievous wound to my limb. No doubt it will be days before I can do without the assistance of my faithful apprentice."
"Your Apprentice! I am training him as a warrior!"
"Were training him as a warrior, Glorfindel," Erestor replied smugly. "Estel has lately come to greatly appreciate the talents of those who are steeped in the lore of ages. Swinging a sword is all very well, but there is something to be said for, ahem, wisdom."
Glorfindel was grinding his teeth, casting about in a rage for a cutting reply that would not require the use of a sword, when Estel reappeared, dog still at his heels. He was sauntering this time, and he carried no book.
"What is the matter, Estel?" asked Erestor. "Could you not find the volume?"
"I am sure I could find it if I would," replied Estel carelessly, "but I won't."
"What do you mean?" said Erestor, puzzled. "Is this a riddle?"
"I was in the corridor next the library," said Estel, "when I encountered Celaimîr."
Erestor looked a little worried.
"Ye-es?" said the tutor.
"Of course," continued Estel, "I at once began to apologize for Gwaurant's behavior, but she said no harm had been done—as she hadn't been wearing the clothes when Gwaurant chewed them!"
"And," the boy added, "Celaimîr said that Baramagor hadn't been wearing his, either."
"Oh," said Erestor. Now he looked a little sick.
Estel was not done yet.
"She also said everyone knew the truth of the matter before the evening was out. Everyone," he emphasized, giving Erestor an injured look.
Glorfindel spoke then.
"For shame," he said sternly. "For shame, Erestor, taking advantage of the love of a poor little child for his faithful dog, a love which drove him to fly into the wild, there to be subject to fear and foes, thirst and hunger."
This may have been piling it on a little thick, but Erestor had the grace to look thoroughly ashamed.
Glorfindel turned to Estel.
"As I have been absent for several days, I need to check on the status of the patrols. How would you like to accompany me on a tour of the borders for, oh, say a fortnight?"
"May I!?" cried Estel, his face aglow. "And may Gwaurant come, too?"
"Of course, my lad. Of course. I've no doubt your dog could become an excellent tracker and guard dog, given the proper training. We will commence at once.'
"But Estel cannot absent himself from Rivendell for so long," objected Erestor. "He will fall behind in his studies."
Glorfindel assumed a solicitous expression.
"But, Erestor, as you are so grievously wounded, surely you will not be up to tutoring the lad for at least a fortnight, mayhap longer. Estel and I will go straight to Elrond and ask his leave. You needn't worry; I am sure he will have no objection."
With that, Glorfindel turned and strode away, Estel at his heels, and Gwaurant at his. Foiled, Erestor sat fuming. He should have liked to have sprung up and hastened to Elrond ahead of them, but, as he was supposed to be an invalid, he couldn't very well do so.
As for Glorfindel, he chuckled as he made his way to Elrond's chamber.
"Estel," he said to his young apprentice, "be sure to ask Erestor someday the meaning of the phrase "hoist by his own petard."
"Hoist by his own petard," said Estel, puzzled. "Whatever does that have to do with anything?"
"It's a Mannish phrase," replied Glorfindel. "It is used when someone is betrayed by one of his own devices."
"Ah," said Estel wisely, "I understand then. I do not believe that I will need to ask Erestor to explain matters."
"Oh, but you must," Glorfindel urged him, "not for your edification but for his. Sometimes the master must become the pupil."
With that the Elf reached out and tousled Estel's hair. Certainly Estel did not need to have his hair tousled, but for once Glorfindel wanted to indulge himself in a gesture that revealed the tenderness that lay behind a balrog-slayer's fierce exterior. And so this odd pair—nay, trio, for Gwaurant must not be forgotten—merrily announced itself at Elrond's chamber, where they sought and were granted permission to depart on the morrow for a tour of inspection—a tour that was only intended to last a fortnight, mind you, and if it is found that in the end it took longer, pray do not try to fix the blame upon me!