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Chapter 3
Through the Storm
It was raining. Storming actually, a dark reminder of the night two centuries ago when Elrohir's life had fallen apart. Was it an omen? He didn't know, but he knew that should he be injured he'd never save Elladan. He pulled his cloak tighter around him and moved to the safer edges of the forest, his heart pounding as he looked out for falling branches. He knew he needed to find shelter, but there was nothing nearby and so he kept going.
He was aware that this whole venture was a risk, that what he had read might be nothing more than a story, but he had to try. At least he was doing something rather than just sitting by helplessly. He had done that for far too long.
He reached into the inner pocket of his tunic, checking for the folded piece of paper there. He had felt bad about removing the pages from the book, but he needed the information and could not carry the whole tome with him.
He smiled wryly to himself – he was in trouble already, a little more would not make a difference.
With thoughts of Elladan filling his mind, he pressed on into the night.
Elrond walked slowly along the corridors of Imladris, to the adjoining rooms of his sons. His heart was heavy from his latest argument with Elrohir and he had been unable to sleep. This time, he was determined to apologise. Too much hurt had passed between them and Elrond was willing now to step down and maybe even offer his son hope by trying some of the cures the ancient books offered.
He moved into Elladan's room, for that was where Elrohir spent most of his time. To his surprise though, he was not there, only Elladan, ever-still in his bed.
Assuming that Elrohir had returned to his own room to sleep at last, he sat down next to his eldest child, taking the limp, pale hand in his and clasping it.
As he mused sadly on the events of the past two centuries, he began to sing softly, wondering if his son could hear his lament.
There was, of course, no response from Elladan and the only sound in the room for a long moment was the heart-breaking sound of the great Lord of Imladris trying not to cry as he mourned his lost joy.
Had Elrohir seen him then, he would have known that his father still felt deeply for both his sons, but alas he was not there, a fact which remained unknown to the elven-lord as he remained at the side of his eldest.
The weather was getting worse. Elrohir could hardly see a step in front of him as the rain continued to fall with terrible force. He had left the forest fearing for his safety and was now fighting the weather in the open plains, trying to ignore the water that soaked him to the bone and tore at his skin until his face and hands were numb.
Several times he stumbled, for his strength was failing now, but his forced himself to keep going, pressing his hand to the paper in his pocket to remind himself what it was he fought for. He would not fail Elladan. He had promised.
At last Elrond rose, setting Elladan's hand back on the blanket that covered his thin body.
"Sleep well, my son." He whispered, as he made his way through the archway to Elrohir's room.
The room was completely dark; the candle had long since died out. No moon shone that night, for it was covered by clouds. Not even Eärendil could be seen.
Moving to the table that was just a shadowed outline in the night-filled room, Elrond's hand found a candle and he quickly lit it. He hoped Elrohir would not mind him waking him, but he could wait no longer to speak his words.
Turning towards the bed, he held the candle up to light his way, but as the soft light shone on the blankets, Elrond realised with a terrible shock, that his youngest son's bed was empty.
Disbelieving, he looked around the room; sure his son must be in there somewhere. He was rarely far from Elladan's side and certainly never by choice.
"Elrohir?" he called out, sure his son must be in the room somewhere. There was no reply though and with worry building in his heart, Elrond moved round the room, searching for any sign of Elrohir. What he found instead made his blood run cold.
The first thing he noticed was that his son's weapons were gone. Elrohir, like many warriors, always kept his weapons in his room near his bed. But the small rack that they usually rested on was empty of bow, sword and quiver. This caused a terrible suspicion to form in Elrond's mind and he quickly lit a few more candles before checking the rest of his son's belongings.
His heart sank when he realised he was right – a fair few of Elrohir's things were gone. The travelling pack he had used in the days when he and his brother had journeyed with rangers was missing, along with his healers pouch and a change of clothes. Elrond knew that a check of the kitchens would find items gone from there as well. For reasons he couldn't even begin to guess, Elrohir had run away.
In his panic, he almost missed the defaced book on the bedside table, still open where Elrohir had removed the pages he needed.
Only a gust of wind that rustled the ancient pages drew his attention to it and he moved to pick it up.
Instantly he saw that there were sheets missing, the frayed binding attesting to Elrohir's actions. Looking at the cover he saw that it was a book of myths and legends but it was still a mystery to him as to why that would cause Elrohir to leave. Knowing that his answers lay in the missing pages, Elrond swiftly strode towards the library. Somewhere he knew there would be a record of the book's contents.
Long hours passed as he searched, his fear growing all the while. The records of the Imladris library were vast and even he, who had helped with the setting up on the collection, was hard-pressed to find such specific information quickly.
Yet at last he found the information he sought and was glad to learn that the information was duplicated in another book. That was found easily and soon he was casting his eyes over the same passage his son had read.
As soon as he saw what Elrohir had found, his heart sank. It was clear now that his son, in foolish desperation, had gone to try to find these strange beings. Fear settled firmly in Elrond's heart, as he thought of Elrohir alone in the wilds on this probably pointless quest. It was a situation that could not be allowed to remain so.
"Glorfindel!" Elrond raced along the corridor to his captain's room, not even thinking twice about waking him.
When the balrog-slayer sleepily opened the door Elrond felt a pang of remorse, but it quickly faded.
"Elrohir has run away," he said urgently. "I believe he has gone to seek out a cure for Elladan." He handed the book to Glorfindel, indicating the passage.
All trace of sleep had vanished at Elrond's words. Quickly he scanned the page as his Lord explained what had happened that night and he soon realised that Elrond was most likely correct in his assumptions.
"I will get a search party together, do not worry, we will soon find him." He smiled comfortingly at the Lord of Imladris. "I can be ready in just a few minutes."
"No." the response to his proposed actions stopped Glorfindel in his tracks.
"You do not wish us to find him?" he queried. He had been sure Elrond would want nothing more.
"I wish him found." Elrond admitted. "But you will stay here, I am going."
Under other circumstances, the look on Glorfindel's face would have been funny.
"With all due respect, My Lord, you have too much to attend to here!" Glorfindel protested.
Elrond however, just shook his head. "No, my friend. For too many years I have been the Lord of Imladris first and a father second. Because of that, my family is broken. My wife has sailed, my daughter is never home, one son sleeps as if dead and the other hates me. This cannot go on, Glorfindel; it has already gone on too long. You are more than capable of running Imladris and Erestor, Lindir and Melpomaen will all help you. It is time that I rearranged my priorities and tried to save my family if I can."
To that Glorfindel had no comeback, so he simply nodded. "As you wish, my Lord. Imladris – and Elladan - will be safe in my hands, I swear it. He wanted to beg him to take an escort, but he knew that Elrond would not. Just looking at the Lord he knew that he needed to do this alone.
Elrond smiled and clasped his shoulder. "I know they will. Thank you, Glorfindel."
With that he was gone, to prepare for the long journey ahead. It had been a long time since he was a warrior, but he had never forgotten how to be one and it was not long before he was ready, dressed in comfortable travelling clothes, weapons on his back and supplies on his horse.
As the sun rose on a new day, Elrond rode out of Imladris, in desperate pursuit of his errant son.
END CHAPTER 3