Part One: Return to Imladris

Elanna selected several pine needles and held them tightly against the coil of their fellows in her lap, wrapping them with a strip of reed that had been soaked until it was soft and flexible enough to thread onto her needle. The basket was growing slowly, delicately, under her fingers, each layer no thicker than the pine needles she'd collected from the forest surrounding the elven haven of Imladris. She concentrated on the basket, taking solace in the even rhythm of her weaving, hoping it would liberate her mind from the feeling of dread that had overtaken it.

They had had word: the Dark Riders were abroad. Elrond had sent scouts into the woods, up and down the Bruinen River. They returned, shaking their heads, and set out again in fruitless pursuit.

Dark visions haunted her daily routines, stole the breath from her singing, and soured the wine in her cup. She might have pounded them out of her skull at the forge where she fashioned cups for Lord Elrond's table and bee-sting tips for elvish arrows. But the visions were of fire and swords in the deep bowels of the earth, and the pursuit that usually would have brought her relief from care only intensified it.

Erestor jogged up to her, feet silent on the thick humus covering the forest floor around the bench she sat on with her craft. His face, usually impassive, was grimacing with apprehension, bringing her to her feet.

"Elanna," he said, "Lord Elrond bids you come quickly. Glorfindel has returned from his patrol, with Mithrandir over his saddle. He found him in the forest, badly injured."

Her heart jumped. Concern for the wizard's well-being was at the core of her discontent.

The steward added, "He flew here on the back of a great eagle."

She dumped her basket on the bench, upsetting the bowl of soaking reeds, and hurried ahead of Erestor back to the House of Elrond. She knew where the wizard would be. The House was a sprawling dwelling cut into the valley and merging with the trees, the inner rooms reserved for guests who, unlike the elves, were likely to be affected by the elements and therefore preferred to have four walls surrounding them. Mithrandir visited often enough in his wanderings to have acquired a small inner room of his own where he might store the odd ancient book or artifact collected across the centuries.

He was there, on his back, insensate across the bed, with Elrond leaning over him. Glorfindel stood at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed, frowning down. Like her, he was one of the older lords among the elves, and it showed in his shining face. When he saw her, he put his hand out to stay her a moment. She stopped and he moved his arm up into a supportive embrace around her shoulders.

"Where did you find him?" she asked.

"Not thirty yards from the gate," Glorfindel answered, grimly. "He was unconscious. He awoke for a moment when I lifted him onto my horse. He said the eagle had brought him from Isengard."

"Isengard?" Her breath caught. "Is it possible that Sauron has attacked Saruman the Wise?" A bleak silence met her question.

Elrond glanced over his shoulder at her, his mouth set in a frown; then he rose and waved in the elf lingering in the doorway with a bowl of water, rags, and a box of unguents under her arm. She brought them forward, but Elanna took them before Elrond could, setting them beside Mithrandir and carefully kneeling down to examine him herself.

"He's dehydrated," Elrond said. "And starving, obviously suffering from exposure. Several ribs have cracked, but they have not punctured his lungs. He has suffered a concussion, but enough days ago that the swelling has already subsided. There are other bruises and contusions, as if he was attacked by a squadron armed with clubs."

"It would have to be many indeed to so harm him." She dipped the corner of a clean rag in the bowl of water and dribbled droplets between the wizard's cracked lips. His mouth twitched. When the drops were gone, she gave him a little more. His face was dirty. Dried blood crusted in his eyebrows and hair where her probing fingers found the blow just described. "He smells like smoke and death."

His cloak lay across a chair, and his robe had been opened to examine his injuries. Elanna gazed at his aged and beloved face, delicately touching his cheek amid the cloud of his beard. "Help me get the rest of this off him."

Glorfindel stooped and scooped the wizard up easily so Elanna could manipulate his clothing to draw it off as painlessly as possible. Mithrandir groaned but did not awaken.

"Thank you, Glorfindel," she whispered as he set him down again.

He nodded and raised an eyebrow of inquiry to Lord Elrond. Receiving a silent shake of the head in reply, he took it as a polite dismissal and left with Erestor.

Elanna continued to wash the blood and dirt from the wizard's body, slowly, wringing her rag frequently until the bowl swirled brown and Elrond called for another. He watched her tender labour with concern for Mithrandir, for they counseled together with a trust and openness that could scarce be found elsewhere in these dangerous times.

"I'll not interrupt your ministrations," Elrond said, taking his leave once the clean water had arrived. "He will recover well. Let the grace of Imladris speed his healing."

"It shall be so." She would allow no other alternative.

He hesitated in the doorway. "Summon me as soon as he wakes, and if he says anything, even babbling, let me know."

"I will, my lord."

"This…does not bode well," he added.

"I shall not leave his side."

Left alone, she slowly washed and anointed the wizard's body, her fingers tracing gentle paths across his familiar skin. The unease that had dwelt within her was unrelieved by his safe return to Imladris. He had been battered and broken before. The scars of a warrior graced his arms and torso, usually hidden from all but a few. But something dark lingered on him this time, a stench that she could not wash away. When she was finished tending his wounds, she pulled a blanket over him and eased herself alongside his body, laying her head near his so that the gold of her hair caressed him. She closed her eyes and waited for him to awaken.