Dragonfly: Thanks for dropping everything order to beta this chapter.
Rinny Leonhart: That is quite a compliment. Thank you!
Joee: Yes, I'm afraid that rational thinking has not been and is not now necessarily a hallmark of the human race.
AzureDragoness: Yes, you are right about Gandalf and excitement. For a good time, call 1-800-awizard! (Hope that's not a real 1-800 number. Hey, folks, don't dial that number. I'm just joking around with AzureDragoness!)
Kelly Kragen: Who knows? Now that you have an account, you might be tempted to write and post a story. Go on. Do it. Can't hurt anything and might just be a lot of fun. Look at me, for crying out loud! I'm having a blast. I should be mowing the lawn, of course.
PARENTAL GUIDANCE: BECAUSE OF ELROHIR'S POTTY MOUTH (earlier chapter) AND THE TWISTED SENSE OF HUMOR OF BOTH ELROND AND GLORFINDEL (this chapter), THIS STORY IS RATED 'PG-13'. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
Chapter 25: Reaping the Whirlwind
A lilting melody floated across the plain of Rohan. The Imladris Elves had stopped to rest, and Baramagor, Thoron's young cousin, was entertaining the company with his flute. All Elves were drawn to music and were skilled at singing and playing, but even for an Elf Baramagor's skill was exceptional. All within hearing were enthralled.
All save one, that is. Standing apart from the others, Glorfindel looked thoughtfully at the sky. It had not rained once since they had passed beyond the borders of Southern Mirkwood. The sun had beat down mercilessly, its relentless rays never blocked by even the smallest wisp of cloud. Moreover, a dry wind had blown ceaselessly, further drying the desiccated land. Glorfindel heard the brittle grass crackling under elven feet, light as they were, and glanced over his shoulder as Elrond came up to stand beside him.
"The grass is very dry, Glorfindel. It does not look as if it has rained here in weeks."
"True. Nor does it look as if rain is in the offing. North, south, east, and west, no sign of a cloud."
"We are close to a water course, are we not, Glorfindel?"
"Aye, but I fear lest it be dry. There are but a few drops in my water bladder, and no doubt it is the same for the others."
"If a few drops remain in your water bladder, then you have more than is to be found in mine!"
"Permit me to venture a guess: you gave your last mouthful of water to Estel."
"Yes, although he would not take it until I assured him that I possessed another bladder."
"A falsehood, Elrond?"
The balrog-slayer clucked his tongue in mock disapproval.
"Not altogether a lie, Glorfindel," Elrond retorted. 'Tis true I have another water bladder—I merely neglected to mention that it is in my chamber in Rivendell, is all."
Glorfindel chuckled.
"Someday you and Galadriel must have a contest to see who can be the most enigmatic."
Elrond smiled, but when he spoke, his words were somber.
"Let us pray that the water course has not run dry. It has been two days since the horses were well watered. Their plight is worse than ours, I fear."
"Yes," agreed Glorfindel. "I will order that the horses be led for the time being, in order to spare them. And I will see that the pack horses are unladed and their burdens divided amongst the warriors."
"Perhaps there are some items that could be dispensed with. The camp kettles, for instance. There is, after all, no water needs boiling!"
Glorfindel smiled and went off to give the command. The baggage was soon removed from the pack horses, and Elves busily sorted through the goods, tossing aside anything that could be spared: pots and pans, the camp kettles, cooking utensils, tent cloths and ground cloths, tent poles and stakes. The remaining goods the Elves added to their own packs. Shouldering their new burdens, the Elves marched off, heading south and east toward Edoras, their grateful horses trailing alongside them.
Elladan and Elrohir brought up the rear of the company, constantly scanning for danger from the rear. At length Elladan stopped walking and stood staring steadily behind them. Elrohir returned to his side.
"Elladan, what do you see?"
"Orcs," his brother replied quietly.
"How many?"
"Not many. No more than a handful."
Elrohir relaxed.
"No threat to us, then."
"Perhaps not. Of course, they may summon more of their kind."
"There can be no large bands of Orcs sheltering anywhere near us. They would have to travel leagues to reach their fellows, and then those reinforcements would have to travel leagues again to pick up our trail. By then we would be safe within the walls of Edoras."
"I think, brother," said Elladan soberly, "that you underestimate these Orcs. Look!"
Elladan gestured toward what appeared to be a puff of dust arising from the parched earth.
"Dust?" said Elrohir, puzzled. "Dust is a nuisance but no threat."
"That is not dust."
Elrohir peered hard at the horizon and then gasped.
"Fire! They have set fire to the plain!"
"Aye, and the wind blows this way."
Elladan and Elrohir abandoned their place at the rear of the column and ran up to its head, where Glorfindel and Elrond walked together.
"Ada," shouted Elladan, "there are Orcs behind us, and they have set fire to the plain!"
Elrond and Glorfindel looked behind them. Fed by the dried grass, the flames were already spreading wide and leaping high. Quickly Glorfindel knelt down and drew flint and steel from the pouch at his waste. It was easy to kindle the desiccated blades of grass, and soon many Elves ran along a line at a right angle to the band, each holding a flaming tuft with which to set a fire that would move onward, away from them. Hastily they drove the horses into the resulting burned patch, and together they huddled there, watching as the Orcs' blaze roared toward them. The horses, elven though they were, became agitated, and the Elves laid their hands on their muzzles, speaking soothingly to them. The wildfire was a fearsome sight as it raced toward them. As it neared, its flames showered them with ashes and sparks, and its heat scorched them. Still, when the fire reached them, its flames parted and the fire passed to either side. Unharmed in the main, the Elves turned and watched as the firestorm raced on until it disappeared in the distance. This was no time to rejoice, however.
"Now," said Glorfindel unhappily, "there is not even dried grass for the horses to eat."
"If the water course has not run dry," Elrond pointed out, "all is not lost. With no burdens and adequate water, the horses should be able to carry on for a few days yet."
"Aye," said Glorfindel. "If the water course has not run dry." He did not, however, sound hopeful.
Grimly the company trudged on. At last they saw a few scraggly trees upon the horizon, and they made for that spot. As they reached the trees, however, they saw that their leaves were brown and their branches drooped. No sound of water greeted them, only the mournful rattling of dead leaves in the moaning wind. The soil of the dried-out riverbed was hard and had cracked into shards like those of a shattered mirror.
"We should dig in the riverbed," said Erestor. "Often water can be found beneath the surface of even the driest river."
Several Elves found flat stones and began to dig. After scratching out a considerable hole, however, they had encountered nothing more than a little damp soil at the very bottom. They abandoned the effort, and all save Glorfindel and Elrond gathered under the skimpy shade of the dead trees. Those two Elves went aside and considered what to do.
"Our horses cannot bear us to safety," Elrond observed, "but they may be able to scent out water and, unburdened by us or our baggage, perhaps they will be able to reach it and so survive. We should set them loose."
"Aye," agreed Glorfindel, "and mayhap we should follow their lead, trailing after them."
Elrond shook his head.
"No, the horses will travel far and fast to reach water. The water that may succor them all too likely will be well out of our range. We must continue to head toward Edoras and hope that Riders encounter us. Even during a drought such as this, the Rohirrim would not dare to forgo all scouting missions. The Orcs that we have encountered prove that."
"True," agreed Glorfindel. "Very well. I will give the order."
The horses were reluctant to abandon their comrades, but after considerable urging the herd set off, each horse looking back longingly at his rider until at last the herd reached the horizon and vanished from view.
The Elves had stood watching as their friends had slowly ambled off, but now they set about preparing to move out. Glorfindel ordered that they repack their bags and cast aside all that was not absolutely necessary for survival: their cloaks, spare garments, even the small personal items such as combs and the brooches with which they fastened their garments. Baramagor cast aside his flute. When they had finished, they carried little other than the remaining provisions—a small item, that, consisting mainly of lembas wafers—and their water bladders. Empty though these were for the most part, the Elves held on to them against the day when they might be refilled. Having disburdened themselves of any extra weight, the Elves shouldered their baggage, slight as it was, and set off yet again.
Under a scorching sun they marched on and on, growing thirstier by the hour—nay, by the minute! In Elrond's pack were a packet of dried athelas leaves and a small vial of miruvor. At length, seeing how drained the members of the company were becoming, he broke the athelas leaves into tiny fragments. On each bit of leaf he poured a drop of miruvor, and then he gave one to each Elf save himself and Glorfindel, instructing the Elves to suck upon them. To Estel he gave the last and largest piece, although of course he did not tell the boy so. As for Erestor, he accepted his fragment, but he set it aside and gave it to Estel later, telling the boy that he detested the cordial and liked the leaf even less.
Estel, of course, had need of such consideration. Not only was he the youngest of the company by several centuries, he also had only a spot of elven blood, and therefore, although he had more stamina than most humans, he still did not have as much as his foster-brothers did. At length, even given the extra miruvor and athelas, the young human began to stagger. Perceiving this, Elladan and Elrohir came to stand on either side of him and bantered with him to keep up his spirits. Eventually, however, it was apparent to them that he would not be able to go on much further.
"Estel," said Elrohir, "do you remember how I used to give you pick-a-back rides?"
"Aye, but that was a very, very long time ago, and I was much littler than I am now."
"Hah," snorted Elrohir. "Not so long ago, and you are not that much bigger!"
"Oh, yes, I am!" retorted Estel.
"I believe," replied Elrohir challengingly, "that I could give you a pick-a-back ride even now!"
"You couldn't!"
"I could!"
"You couldn't!"
"Very well. I shall prove it to you!"
"You shan't be able to take a dozen steps before you collapse under my weight!"
"Oh ho! Did you hear that, Elladan? This little human declares I cannot bear his tiny frame upon my back. Estel, you had better prove that charge, or the penalty you face shall be grave!"
Elrohir stooped, and Estel clambered upon his back, flinging his arms around the Elf's neck. Elrohir slipped an arm underneath each one of the lad's knees and straightened up, groaning for effect. He pretended to stagger a few steps but then broke into a jog. Estel giggled and let his head rest upon one of Elrohir's shoulders. The Elf had scarcely gone thrice twelve paces before the boy was sound asleep. Elrohir slowed to a walk, from time to time shifting his grip to ease the ache in his shoulders. Elladan paced beside him.
"Brother," he said after a time, "Estel sleeps so soundly that I think he could be set upon my back without disturbing him."
Elrohir looked gratefully at Elladan. This was no time to indulge in false pride or sibling rivalry, and he accepted his brother's offer. So they traveled on for the rest of the morning, shifting Estel back and forth between them. Watching them, Elrond thought that he had never loved them more than at that moment.
Estel was not the only one whose strength had begun to fail. Erestor was still feeling the effects of the blow to the head that he had received whilst protecting Estel during the skirmish in Greenwood. He had also, of course, forgone the miruvor and the athelas, although no one knew that but Estel. A patient sufferer, Erestor had said nothing, but it had not escaped Glorfindel's eye that his friend grew paler and paler and walked more and more slowly. He also noticed that it had been long since Erestor had raised his water bladder to his lips, and he knew that this likely meant that the bladder was empty. Glorfindel fell into step beside his friend and walked alongside him for a while, pretending from time to time to sip from his own water bladder. At last he casually offered the bag to Erestor. Hefting the bag, the injured Elf hesitated to drink from it.
"This bladder feels very light, Glorfindel. It contains little water. I would not have you go without water for my sake."
Glorfindel decided to steal a page from Elrond's book.
"I have another water bladder," he said glibly, neglecting, as Elrond had, to mention that said bladder was hanging on a hook in his chamber.
"But is it full?"
"Not full, but you needn't worry," said Glorfindel reassuringly. "Drink up! In fact, why don't you just finish this bladder off for me?"
"If you are sure, Glorfindel."
"Quite sure," replied the balrog-slayer.
Erestor upended the bladder and slowly drained it, savoring each drop. Sighing with gratitude, he handed the empty bladder back to Glorfindel, who accepted it smilingly before taking his leave of his friend to check on other members of the company.
Up and down the column Glorfindel went, encouraging the marchers, who for their part steadfastly tried to put on a show of courage and strength. But not even the soot upon their faces could disguise the fact that their expressions grew more and more drawn from the heat and exhaustion and thirst. At last the inevitable happened: one of the younger Elves pitched forward face down upon the baked earth.
Glorfindel and Elrond hastened to his side and turned him over. It was Baramagor.
The remaining Elves clustered around. Elladan and Elrohir gently placed Estel upon the ground and anxiously joined the others. Some removed their tunics and held them so as to provide shade to the stricken Elf. Those who still had a few drops of water proffered their water bladders. Glorfindel lifted Baramagor into a sitting position, and Elrond carefully dribbled water into his mouth, stroking his throat to trigger his swallowing reflex. Gradually Baramagor revived, to the relief of everyone.
Of course, there was now no water left at all. Glorfindel drew Elrond aside. "Elrond," he said somberly, "we all of us face death. It is not a light matter to meddle with the substance of the cosmos, but the alternative is to watch each and every one of our comrades die slowly of hunger and thirst and exhaustion."
"You are right, my friend," said Elrond, gazing at his hand, wherein lay Vilya, the Ring of Air. "Only rarely have I used the power vested in this ring, but on this occasion I believe I would be quite justified in doing so." Elrond put his bow upon the scorched earth and unstrapped his quiver, placing that down likewise. He unbuckled his sword belt and lay belt and scabbard beside bow and quiver. Next he drew his knife from its sheath and set that upon the shriveled grass as well. Now armed only with the Ring and his own courage and determination, he set off alone, walking until he could no longer be seen by even a keen-sighted Elf.
What words he uttered or ceremonies he performed, he told no one, unless he later shared the secret with the other Ring-bearers. But after a time, Erestor, who lay huddled next to a still-sleeping Estel, sat up abruptly.
"The wind is changing," he said.
Glorfindel arose to his feet.
"Yes," he said, "it has reversed direction."
"And it grows stronger," said a weary Elrohir. He shivered, and Elladan threw his arms around him, drawing his brother close.
Harder and harder and colder and colder the wind blew, and the Elves huddled together, placing Estel, who was now awake, in the center. Squeezing their eyes shut against the dust that was whipped from the surface of the scarred earth, they pulled up the fronts of their tunics to cover their mouths and noses. From time to time, Glorfindel would briefly open his eyes to peer about. At last he saw something far off on the horizon. Tugging on Erestor's sleeve to attract his attention, he shouted above the roar of the wind, "Clouds! Clouds!"
Peering through gritty eyelids, Erestor saw them too and felt both hope and fear. For darker and darker grew the sky as the clouds rushed onward. Down from the clouds leaped lightning, and the growl of thunder mingled with the howling of the wind. The sky was yellow and green and black, and whirlwinds whipped about beneath the clouds. Rain was coming, Erestor knew, but such a rain as might wash them from the face of the earth. He looked about.
"Glorfindel," he shouted above the clamor of the storm. "Yonder the earth dips slightly. 'Tis but a slight depression, but we should make for it nonetheless!"
Glorfindel nodded his agreement, and the Elves began to crawl toward that spot upon their hands and knees, for it was no longer possible to stand. Reaching the depression, they threw themselves down, each Elf clinging to his neighbor. The whirlwinds drew nearer. Glorfindel found himself shouting but knew not what he said. Erestor muttered nonsense into the ear of Estel, who was comforted not by the words, which he could not have made out anyway, but by the soft rumble of the familiar voice. Elrohir and Elladan held tight to one another, exchanging no words at all. The rain pelted them, the wind clawed at them, the hail beat upon them. One whirlwind broke away from the others and headed straight toward them. "It sounded," Erestor said later, "it sounded like the roar of a dragon." To Glorfindel, it resembled nothing so much as the threatening bellow of a balrog.
The claws of the whirlwind reached into the group of huddled bodies and laid hold of the smallest among them, trying to drag him away. "Estel!" screamed Erestor, gripping the boy hard around the waist and striving to wrest him from the grasp of the weather demon. Slick with mud, the boy slipped through Erestor's hands until at last the Elf was clinging only to Estel's ankles. The demon then tried to take the Elf as well. A horrified Glorfindel lunged toward them and seized hold of Erestor's legs as he, still holding tight to Estel, began to fly into the air after the boy. "You shall not have them," Glorfindel screamed. "You shall not have them!" A vicious tug of war ensued, until at last Glorfindel yanked Erestor and Estel free from the fingers of the wind demon, who, disappointed, veered away and rejoined his companions. The tumult of the wind quieted. The rain began to lessen. The last hailstone fell upon them. The storm had moved on. Stunned, they looked about them. The depression in which they huddled was fast becoming a lake as the water pouring off the plain began to collect there. Glorfindel arose on shaky legs.
"We must make for higher ground," he shouted, his voice raw. Dazedly, the other Elves staggered to their feet. Urged on by Glorfindel's hoarse commands, they sloshed through the water until they reached dry ground—relatively dry ground, that is, for the earth had turned to mud and everywhere about them rivulets ran.
Clinging one to another, Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel stared about blankly. Where was their father? Why had he not returned?
"Elrond," said Erestor softly, his voice breaking. "Where is Elrond?"
Glorfindel looked at him bleakly. They had scarce survived the storm. How had Elrond fared, alone in the midst of such a tempest?
"I will go and look for him," Glorfindel said.
"And we will go with you," declared Elladan and Elrohir in unison.
Glorfindel shook his head.
"No. I am stronger than either of you, for I have born no burden upon my back. I will be able to move further and faster than you could. Remain here. You must look after Estel, and you must take command of the company in the absence of both Elrond and myself. Only you are both fit and qualified to do so. This is what your father would expect of you," he added quickly as Elrohir opened his mouth to reply.
"Very well," Elrohir agreed unhappily, speaking for both himself and Elladan.
Glorfindel slogged off through the mud in the direction Elrond had taken. On and on he walked. Each step he took he sank into muck, and as he pulled each foot free, it came away with a soft 'plop'. Everywhere the balrog-slayer saw nothing but mud and flattened grass. He swiveled his head back and forth, desperately looking for a breach in the brown sameness.
At last he spotted a large lump, brown like everything else, but a least a break in the monotony of the terrain. He hastened toward it. It was Elrond.
The Lord of Imladris lay in the middle of a pile of heaped-up hailstones. He was curled into a ball like a centipede, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms flung protectively over his head. He was breathing but rather raspily, as if it took great effort for him to draw each breath. Glorfindel was both relieved and frightened. He knelt beside his friend and gently laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"Ooooh," moaned the muddy figure, "don't touch me there. Bruise."
"I'm sorry," apologized the balrog-slayer, moving his hand to another spot.
"Bruise there, too."
Glorfindel lifted his hand and hesitated.
"Any spot not bruised, Elrond?"
"I am not certain, but possibly the little toe on my left foot."
Glorfindel chuckled softly. At least the wind had not blown away Elrond's wit. He adopted the bantering tone he so often indulged in with his friend.
"Elrond, I know we wanted rain, but did you have to go to such extremes? The wind well nigh whipped the tunics from our backs and all but tore the boots from our feet! I warn you: you had better be prepared for a rather large clothing bill, for there is not one of your warriors who could appear with decency in mixed company."
"Well," gasped the exhausted and battered Elrond, "you wanted a change in the weather, and I obliged you. Surely you have no ground for complaint."
"We are lucky to have any ground at all," retorted Glorfindel, "as it was nearly washed out from under us." Then the balrog-slayer grinned.
"Elrond," he said, "do you remember when we were elflings and gave one another pick-a-back rides?"
Elrond simultaneously laughed and hissed with pain.
"Aye, but that was a very, very, very long time ago."
"True, but I will not be outdone by Elrohir. Up upon my back you go!"
Glorfindel squatted down to make it easier for Elrond, who slowly and laboriously crawled upon his friend's back. Groaning even more melodramatically than Elrohir had, Glorfindel arose and began to pace doggedly back in the direction whence he came. Elrond, so worn and weather-beaten he was, fell asleep as assuredly as Estel had. This was fortunate, as eventually Glorfindel began to stagger, and he would not have wanted Elrond to be troubled at the thought that his friend struggled under his weight.
Whilst Glorfindel had been searching for his friend, Elrohir and Elladan had been doing their best to ease the hurts of the other members of the company. All were more or less bruised by hail, some so that they could hardly draw breath without wincing. All were soaked and cold. Of course, they could light no fires. There was no wood thereabouts, and even if there had been, it would have been too wet to kindle.
Fortunately, however, once the storm had passed, the sky had cleared and the sun shone down, warming the rain-soaked soil. The Elves who were less injured helped the more badly bruised to strip off their tattered clothes. Wet garments were spread out to dry, and those Elves who could do so moved about to lessen the stiffness of their limbs. At least, mused Elrohir, looking about at the bedraggled company, there was water enough to satisfy even the thirstiest of its members. Estel, in spite of his encounter with the wind demon, was one of the least bruised, and his foster-brothers had set him to filling each and every water bladder. Happily he crouched at the edge of the newly-formed lake, submerging bladder after bladder into its sparkling waters, carrying back one after another to its owner. Elves drank until satisfied and then used the remaining water to clean the mud from their bodies. Estel cheerfully collected the newly emptied bladders and filled them repeatedly as long as there was a need.
The lack of food was the most difficult problem to solve. Before the storm, a few wafers of lembas had remained, but now, having been soaked, these had dissolved into a glutinous paste that would not keep. Elladan doled out a handful of the glop to Estel and each Elf save Erestor, Elrohir, and himself, and then they had nothing upon which to subsist for the remainder of the trek to Edoras.
"I will take some scouts and comb the ground for birds' nests," said Elladan, "for eggs can be swallowed raw. Mayhap a few have survived the storm unbroken."
"Good," said Elrohir. "I will take a few other scouts and search for game. Whatever we bring down we can slice into strips to be dried in the sun."
Elladan grimaced.
"I am not fond of jerked meat."
"And I am not fond of raw eggs—but I am even less fond of starving!"
Both Elladan and Elrohir threw themselves wholeheartedly into the search for food. It was necessary for their survival. Mercifully, it also distracted them from thinking about their father. It would have relieved them to know that Glorfindel had found him and was making steady progress back toward their camp. They were not to hear any news of their father until the morrow, however, for even a balrog-slayer has his limits. Increasingly weary, he at last stumbled and fell upon his face. Groaning, Elrond rolled off him and opened his eyes, looking about in bewilderment.
"Has my horse thrown me?" he muttered confusedly.
"Horse, no; beast of burden, yes," said Glorfindel. "I hope you are not bruised anew."
"There are no spots left to be bruised," replied Elrond, his awareness of his surroundings returning to him.
"Except for the little toe on your left foot," Glorfindel reminded him.
"Actually, now I think on it, that may be bruised as well."
"Ah, so you were minimizing your injuries back there," teased Glorfindel. "That is so like you. Well, now that you have admitted the extent of your hurts, you must lie here and rest whilst I refill this water bladder and search for something for us to eat. I will not have to go far for water, but food is another matter."
Soon Glorfindel was back with a full water bladder and a handful of snails.
Elrond raised both of his famous eyebrows.
"Snails, Glorfindel?"
"In one of Erestor's books of lore, it is written that certain tribes of Men believe snails to be a great delicacy. Here are several stones. We shall crack these snails open and try to ascertain their appeal."
Nothing was heard for awhile but the sound of stone striking stone as the Elves broke open the snails between them and fished out the morsels within.
"Well, what did you think?" asked Glorfindel after they had devoured the snails.
"Tastes like chicken," joked Elrond weakly. Just then a grasshopper leaped onto Glorfindel's knee. The balrog-slayer eyed it speculatively.
"No!" exclaimed Elrond, alarmed.
"I understand," mused Glorfindel, ignoring him, "that grasshoppers are not bad once you get past the legs. Perhaps I should hunt some up. You need to keep up your strength, Elrond."
"The water and the snails have quite revived me," Elrond assured him hastily. "I am not the least bit hungry."
"Very well. If you are sure."
"I am!"
"Let us turn in, then. We had best remove these damp clothes, for they will draw the warmth from our bodies as we sleep.
The two Elves stripped and huddled together. Glorfindel rubbed Elrond's arms and shoulders.
"This reminds me," he reminisced, "of the time when Legolas and I rafted down the Bruinen and he was forced into its icy waters. Afterward I held him and chafed his arms and shoulders to bring some warmth to him."
"If that story were widely known," Elrond teased him, "you would be the envy of all the maidens in Imladris. Aye, and of a fair number of the males as well. When Legolas was in charge of training the novice archers, he used to complain of the number of them who had crushes upon him and who, doe-eyed, neglected their shooting to follow him about everywhere, sighing and dreaming."
"Ah, yes," mused Glorfindel, "novices and their crushes, something with which I am all too familiar."
"Yes," said Elrond, "I have often wondered how you managed to fend them off for all those centuries."
"Who says I fended them off," replied the balrog-slayer loftily.
"Glorfindel!"
"Do not fear, Elrond," laughed Glorfindel. "I would never abuse a position of authority."
"In that case," retorted Elrond, "I shall make sure to always place you in charge of the young Elves!"
"Fair enough, Elrond," chortled Glorfindel. "But they don't stay novices forever!"
Elrond punched him lightly in the stomach, and they both subsided into an exhausted sleep.
Hours later, Elrond felt something nuzzling his neck.
"Glorfindel," he muttered sleepily, "you needn't hold me quite that close. I'm no longer especially chilly."
He felt a huff of warm breath, and something soft and moist brushed his lips.
"Glorfindel," he repeated, a little louder. "You'd better not be sleeping and mistaking me for someone in one of your highly imaginative dreams!"
"I am quite wide awake," came the reply. "Open your eyes and look about."
Elrond opened his eyes and found himself staring at the muzzle of his horse. The horse nickered, its warm, moist breast whooshing over Elrond's face. Elrond blinked, wondering if he himself still slept. Then he raised his hand and caressed his horse's soft, velvety nose. The steed was real enough.
"He came back during the night," said Glorfindel, "as did all his fellows."
Elrond sat up and looked about. They were surrounded by horses.
"They did indeed make their way to safety," said Glorfindel, "but once the drought broke, they promptly returned for us."
"The drought has broken," said Elrond worriedly, "and there is water enough, but what are they to live on?"
"Look upon the earth, Elrond!"
As Elrond gazed about, he saw the tiny blades of grass that had begun to push up from the replenished soil.
"There will be several lean days yet," said Glorfindel, "but the horses won't starve. Come, we will make good time now."
Glorfindel helped Elrond mount his horse—the Lord of Imladris would remain sore for many days more—and then he mounted his own steed. In fact, they did not travel much more quickly than they had the day before, for Glorfindel was anxious that the horses conserve their strength until such time as there would be more fresh grass for them to graze upon. Still, both Glorfindel and Elrond were vastly more comfortable, and they were soon laughing and singing as if they had not come near to dying of hunger and thirst and exposure.
"Look," shouted Estel. He was a little apart from the others, for he had been given the task of driving off birds or animals that might try to snatch any of the meat that lay drying in the sun. "Riders must be near, for yonder is a herd of horses!"
Elladan and Elrohir came to stand by his side.
"Yes," said Elladan, "those are horses, but I see only two riders, and I am not sure whether they be Rohirrim or not." He squinted a little, trying to make out the strangers, and suddenly gave a whoop, abandoning both Elrohir and Estel and racing across the plain toward the herd.
"What?" began Elrohir, but suddenly he also recognized the riders and raced after his brother.
Estel could not yet tell who approached, but, taking his cue from his foster-brothers, he ran off as well.
Erestor, of course, divined who must be approaching.
"Elrond will be so happy," he said dryly, "to see his sons running naked across the plain." For everyone's garments were still so wet that no one, save Erestor, had bothered to dress. Elrond, however, himself had hardly a shred of dignity left, so he was inclined to overlook his sons' lack of covering. They swarmed about his horse, whooping and hollering, with Elrond fondly cuffing each head that came within his reach.
"Ada," cried Estel, "there has been such a storm! None like it has ever been seen, I am sure."
"You may very well be right," agreed Elrond. "For certainly it was no ordinary deluge."
Later that night, Elrond told Glorfindel and Erestor what he knew about the tempest.
"I have used the Ring before, but never did it require such an effort to channel its power. I am certain that some other will must have set its thoughts against mine. I strove against this will, trying to wrest control of the Air from it, and it fought back. I was wracked with pain, as if I were being pierced by thunder bolts and battered by hailstones, but I put more and more of myself into the struggle, until at last my opponent gave way. Of course, by the time my foe yielded its dominion over the Air, I had very little strength left with which to control it myself. Its power was well nigh unleashed fully, and I could do little more than pray that the rain would fall where it was needed. That at least was accomplished, although I am sorry it had to be accompanied by such violence."
"The will that set itself against yours," said Glorfindel, "most assuredly must have been that of Sauron."
"That is possible," said Elrond slowly.
"Possible!" exclaimed Glorfindel. "Aye, and plausible and probable! Who else could it have been?"
"There are other forces that can control the weather," said Elrond thoughtfully. "But," he added briskly, shaking off a mood of foreboding that suddenly came upon him, "speculation is fruitless. Tomorrow we will rest here, and then the day after, with full bellies and equally full bladders we shall resume our trek to Edoras."
"Let us hope that its walls are still standing," said Erestor.
"Oh, they will be," Glorfindel assured him. "After all, they had Mithrandir there to fend off the storm."
Glorfindel little knew how true his words were. Of course, the 'storm' Mithrandir had been fending off was not the same as the one Glorfindel had been imagining—and in some ways it was the deadlier of the two.