Chapter 3
"Lindir!" the twins called out in unison, quickly dismounting and embracing their former tutor.
"Welcome home, pyn-neth," the silver-haired minstrel smiled, letting go of the two peredhel as soon as possible, "Maybe you would like to…," he raised an eyebrow, "Take a bath or such before you greet the rest of the house."
"Maybe," Elladan grinned, handling the reins of their mounts to a stable boy. "Did ou inform our father that we would be home from patrol today?"
"Nay, and even if I had tried," Lindir shrugged, "I doubt he would have listened. He usually locks himself in his study or in the library with Erestor."
"Does he now?" Elrohir asked, his expression thoughtful. "We will see what we can do about that. After a bath." He added with another grin at Lindir's expression.
"Hannon lle," Lindir was obviously relieved, "Meanwhile I shall ask the cook to prepare a meal for the two of you." He eyed the two black.haired elves with obvious disapproval. "You've become way too thin."
She was still staring intently down at the mirror as two strong arms suddenly encircled her waist and she felt someone nuzzle her neck. With a sigh she leaned back, relaxing into the touch.
"What is it this time, melme?" a soft voice asked, "I promised you that I would not pressure you to sail for Aman before you feel ready to leave these shores."
Galadriel shook her head. "'Tis not the western shore that worries me, hervenn-nîn," she whispered, enjoying the feeling of Celeborn's body pressed against hers, "A shadow and a threat have been growing in my mind. Something draws near, I can feel it."
"You worry too much," Celeborn gently drew his wife away from her mirror, leading her back to their talan, "And yu know that the mirror is quite useless with the power of the rings gone."
"That's just another thing that worries me," Galadriel murmered, grinning as Celeborn merely cocked his head. It always astonished her anew that he was able to read her moods so easily.
"The power of the mirror should be fading," she sighed.
"But?"
"But it still shows me bits and pieces of the future. Or the past. That's exactly the problem," irritatedly she folowed her husband to the banks of the river Nimrodel, where they seated themselves beneath an anvient weeping willow, "The mirror is undoubtedly weaker, but I cannot control it anymore; I'm unable to choose what to see and thus am unsure if what I see is already past or still bound to happen."
"And you are unsure because?" Celeborn picked a small flower, gently weaving it into Galadriel's hair.
"I am unsure because I feel that there is a shadow rising somewhere on Arda, but the shadow my mirror shows me might just as well Sauron's lst rise to power."
"You speak as though he might rise again."
"Who else? He was the only one strong enough to take Melkor's place, who if not he should be able to make me sense a new shadow?"
Celeborn sighed, shaking his head. "You worry too much," he said decisively, "The witchking of Arnor is slain, the Nazgûl are no more and the ring has been destroyed. Sauron's life force was bound to that ring, he cannot have survived."
"But what if he did?" Galadriel insisted, staring at the gentle waves, "Who knows how long this peace will hold? Ortcs are returning to the free lands of Middle Earth."
"Very well," Celeborn sighed exasperatedly, "I will admit that these orcs might become a danger. I will send letters to Mirkwood and Imladris, asking if they have the same problem."
Galadriel quietly nodded her consent, still lost in thought.
"What?" a somewhat bemused frown graced Celeborn's features, "Do you wish to take another course of action?"
"No, no," Galadriel quickly replied, laying her hand onto Celeborn's, "But what if we aren't the only realm with an orc-problem?"
Celeborn grinned. "Didn't I already tell you today that you worry too much?"
"Aye, you did," Galadriel nodded reluctantly, staring into her husbands silver eyes, "But you know I cannot help worrying…"
"Let's cross that bridge when we get there," Celeborn murmered, closing the distance between them.
"As you wish," Galadriel whispered against his lips, signalling for the nearby guards to leave them alone.
"You will go," Thranduil repeated stubbornly, glaring at the blond elf in front of him as he paced through his throne hall.
"But my liege," Bellmaethorion tried to protest, "Surely there are others who you could send in my stead, I do not wish to leave my duties here and…"
"If I order you to leave your duties, then you will leavre your duties, seneschall!" Thranduil snapped, green eyes blazing.
"As you wish milord," Bellmaethorion sighed, "What do you desire me to do on this journey?"
"I want you to have an eye on my son," Thranduil stated calmly, sitting down on his throne, "The roads are dangerous again and he has vanished without an escort. Find out where he is."
"Shall I bring him home, Sire?"
"Nay, Bellmaethorion, I do not want you to babysit. He's quite old enough to know his own mind. Follow him where ever he may go. And if his road should lead you through Lorien or Imladris, try to find out if there is talk of a new shadow."
"A new shadow, Sire?" Bellmaethorion grasped the handle of his sword, flexing his broad shoulders, "Forgive me, but would't it be better if I stayed and organised our defences instead of…"
"I told you to go, seneschall!" Thranduil roared, rising to his full height, "And I command you to go now!"
Gulping Bellmaethorion took a step backwards. "As you wish my liege," the blond warrior murmered, bowing deeply before his king, "I shall find your son."
"I hope you do," Thranduil's voice was as cold as ice, "I do not suffer fools lightly.!
Bowing once moer Bellmaethorion retreated as Thranduil waved a dismissive hand at him, already turning his attention elsewhere. He had been lucky.
Elrond clasped his hand over his mouth to muffle a shocked scream as Glorfindel pushed him through the library doors. Erestor lay on the floor, a helpless heap with tangled, black hair that clung to his head, glistening with blood.
"Valar help us," Elrond whispered, kneeling down beside his advisor and checking for a pulse.
"Did you see anyone leave or enter the library, Glorfindel?"
"Nay my lord," the blond elda shook his head, "Nor did I see anyone in here with him or on the stairs."
"Neither did I," Elrond murmered, "But at least he is still alive." The half-elf did not look up as he spoke to Glorfindel, once again making sure that Erestor's heart was still beating.
"Go, get a blanket or something," he said, "I will keep watch over Erestor."
As soon as Glorfindel returned with the blamket, they gently heaved Erestor onto it, trying to move the unconscious elf as little as possible.
"Be
careful on the stairs," Elrond admonished Glorfindel as the lifted
the blanket, each of them holding two of its edges, "We will bring
him to the next available bed in the Healing Houses."
The blond
nodded, quietly following Elrond, his gaze always fixed on his feet.
To stumble now was out of question.
"Get him out of those robes! Carefully!" Elrond commaned, as Erestor finally lay on one of the sick-beds, I will tell someone to fetch some hot water!"
Gingerly Glorfindel undressed Erestor, taking care to touch the raven-haired elf as little as possible. He frowned, as he finally managed to cast the advisor's black robes to the floor.
The Erestor's torso was almost coated in blood and the parts, that were free of the mostly dried red, were covered in dark bruises. Some of the bruises were still swelling; the internal wounds obviously still bleeding.
"Elrond?" Glorfindel asked, as he heard movement behind him.
"Yes?"
"Something's very wrong…"
The elda turned in surprise, as Elrond laughed roughly.
"Something
wrong? We found him in the library, Glorfindel! If managed to get
past the guards and attack him, something is very definitely
wrong!"
"No," Glorfindel shhok his head, taking the water
basin from the half-elf, "I just meant… there's blood on him, a
lot of blood and bruises but…" he paused, frowning again, "I
cannot find any wound upon him."
"What?" Elrond stared incredulously at the blond, "Glorfindel, you must be joking!"
"Nay, I am not."
"Well…" Elrond said, sounding unconvinced, "Let's wash the blood of, we'll see then…"
Quietly the two elves washed Erestor, growing more and more uncomfortable by the minute.
Still unable to speak the two gazed down at the unconscious elf on the bed.
"Well?" Glorfindel finally asked, clearing his throat.
"It's impossible, but still…" Elrond trailed off, "Something, nay someone, must have caused these bruises. And the blood must have come from somewhere…"
"I know!" Glorfindel's voice was shrill, almost hysterical, "But the scars, what about…"
"I do not know!" Elrond snapped, shock and stress finally getting to him, "But they look as though they are quite old…" he added thoughtfully.
"Shouldn't they have faded by now, then?" Glorfindel asked, tracing a scar that ran across Erestor's chest, starting at the councillor's left collarbone and running down to his navel.
"Aye, they should." Sighing Elrond stepped forward, tucking a blanket around his advisor. "I shall ask one of the healers to sit with him," the lord of Imladris decided, "Mayhap he can tell what happened when he wakes."
"I will sit with him."
Elrond's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline. "Do you think that wise, meldir? I know you like him, but the two of you never really got along and…"
"If he was indeed attacked," Glrofindel interrupted, "Then it is my fault, for it is my duty to keep Imladris and its borders safe. I will sit with him."
"Very well." Elrond nodded finally, "Inform me at once should he wake. I will be in my study."
"As you wish, milord." Glorfindel gave a brief bow and then settled down beside Erestor's feet, staring at the other's face. There had to be something he could do. He just had to find out what.
Elvish Translations:
Hannon lle thank you
Hervenn-nîn My husband
Melme Love
Pyn-neth Little ones
