Chapter XXI: The Hunt

Two days had passed since the loss of those whom Glorfindel loved most. He had just buried Elerrina, and he was hoping against hope that he would not have to do the same for his daughter. Erestor had sent out more riders, but they had not yet returned. He reached up and clutched the piece of medallion that now hung from his neck. His daughter's medallion. He walked along the pathways of the city and stopped before Elerrina's favorite statue. The mournful elleth's eyes pierced into him, causing him to feel the heavy weight of his grief. He longed to succumb to his grief, but he could not. His daughter still needed him. He glanced up as Erestor approached.

"Glorfindel, the riders have returned," Erestor said.

"What did they find? Did they find my baby?" Glorfindel asked, his eyes pleading.

Erestor shook his head. "They found no trace of her or Nenthalion." He put his hand on Glorfindel's shoulder. "I am so sorry, my friend."

Glorfindel closed his eyes and hung his head. My baby. My precious Elyndiriel. The world began to spin, and he felt ill. He shook off Erestor's hand and stumbled back to his house. He went into the bedchamber and stopped before his daughter's cradle. He stood there for a long while, just staring at the empty cradle. He picked up the baby's blanket and held it close to him. He collapsed onto the bed, on the side that Elerrina used to lie on. He could still smell the sweet scent of her on the pillow.

His grief consumed him, and he began to weep. My wife. My baby. He cried for hours until all his tears were spent. He lay on the bed, filled with emptiness and pain. The painting of his wife and daughter stared at him, and he sat up as a powerful rage took hold of him. He tore through the room, screaming and breaking everything in his path. He refused to believe that his daughter was dead! He was going to hunt down that vile filth, find out where his daughter was, and then kill him. He snatched up his sword and bow and headed for the stables. He crossed Elrond's path, but he charged on, ignoring him. Elrond grabbed his arm, and Glorfindel looked at him with wild, hateful eyes.

"Where are you going, Glorfindel?" Elrond asked.

"I am going to find my daughter and kill Nenthalion," he snarled.

Elrond shook his head. "The riders found no trace of either of them. She is gone, Glorfindel, and he has disappeared."

Glorfindel wrenched his arm free from Elrond's grasp. "I do not care what they found or did not find! I am going to find my child, and I am going to kill that filth if it is the last thing that I do! Now get out of my way!"

He shoved past Elrond and made his way to the stables. He mounted Asfaloth and tore out of the city, his heart consumed with hope and rage.


Nenthalion traveled quickly, stopping only when absolutely necessary. He knew that Glorfindel would eventually come after him, and he wanted to get as far away from Rivendell as possible. The baby cried often, and she seemed to grow weaker by the day. He stopped near the mountains to make camp and to tend the baby's wound. He found several healing herbs in the woods, and he applied them to the wound along with a fresh bandage. The baby continued to cry, and he knew that he was going to have to get her some food, or she was going to die.

He left her at the camp and crept into the nearby village. It was dusk, and it would be easier for him to get what he needed and still remain unseen. He searched the various vendor carts until he found one that sold vessels of milk. The vendor was not at the cart, so he stole two of the vessels. He quickly left the village and returned to his camp. The baby was still crying, and he sighed in annoyance. How can one so small create so much noise? She does not cease her crying no matter what I do!

He built a fire and sat beside it with the baby. He cradled her in his arms and tried to feed her the milk, but she would not drink it.

"Come, little one. You must eat."

She continued to refuse the milk and cried harder. He growled and set her down. He glared at her as she screamed.

"Very well. If you will not eat now, then you will starve!"

He walked over to his horse and removed his wineskin. He took a long drink from it, then looked over at the baby. Her cries had changed from shrill screams to pathetic whimpers. He sighed. He pitied the child, which was something that was unusual for him. He rarely felt pity for anything. What am I going to do with her? I certainly cannot keep her. Then it came to him: Dargon. He was a trader that Nenthalion had done business with in the past. Dargon traded many things, but his primary interest was slaves. I will take her there. He can deal with her.


Nenthalion traveled south, heading for Dargon's estate. It would take him many weeks to get there, and the baby was growing weaker by the mile. If she was not screaming, which was not very often, she was in a deep sleep that he was unable to rouse her out of. An unwelcome concern filled him, and he attempted to feed her once again. This time she took the milk, and he sighed in relief.

He frowned as he watched her eat. She looked so much like her mother. He sighed. He felt some regret over what he had done, but it was too late now. What was done could not be undone. The baby drank the milk quickly, and she looked up at him with curious blue eyes. He flinched as she grasped his finger. A ghost of a smile crossed his face as he looked at his finger clutched in her tiny hand.

"If only your mother had chosen me, this would have never happened." He sighed. "I am sorry that you are suffering, little one. It was never my intention to involve you in this."

He looked down at the baby and realized that she had fallen asleep once again. At least she is not crying. He fingered the piece of medallion that was around her neck. He did not know what it was, but it did not matter, for it was of no use to him. He sighed. He did not have time for these distractions. They needed to continue moving. He held the baby close and mounted his horse as quietly as he could. He nudged the animal, and they continued on to Dargon's estate.


Glorfindel picked up Nenthalion's trail on the outskirts of the forest. It was odd to be able to find an Elf's trail so easily, but Nenthalion was moving slowly for some reason. Perhaps he had been injured. Glorfindel hoped as much. Nenthalion's trail soon changed to that of a rider, and Glorfindel quickened his pace. He traveled for days, never stopping, never wavering in his quest for vengeance. After many days, he came upon a small village at the base of the mountains. He entered the village and approached the first person that he came across: a bread vendor.

"Have you seen a dark-haired Elf in this village?" Glorfindel asked.

The vendor stared at him like he was mad. "The only Elf I have seen around here is you. Now either buy something, or go bother someone else."

Glorfindel glared at the man, his eyes wild and filled with darkness. Fear crept into the man's eyes as he looked into Glorfindel's. The vendor withdrew from him, but Glorfindel just turned and stormed away. He had more important things to do than teaching that man a lesson in manners. He questioned more vendors along the main road, but none had seen or heard of Nenthalion. Glorfindel left the village and continued his relentless pursuit of Nenthalion.