Notes

Celebrimbor was the maker of the Rings, including Vilya. He is Maglor's nephew and Fëanor's grandson.

baur-ur: blood lust, the lust that takes hold when deep in slaughter.

*Nirnaeth Arnoediad – Battle of Unnumbered Tears, where Morgoth destroyed the Noldor forces, Fingon was killed, the Fëanorians routed. Turgon arrived unexpectedly with 10,000 men- there is nothing in Tolkien to suggest Glorfindel was there but it would have been odd if he hadn't. I have assumed that the captains of Gondolin would have met/been greeted/welcomed by the captains of the Union and so Maglor would have greeted Glorfindel.

*Luthien stole a silmaril from Morgoth and gave it to her father. This led to the second kinslaying, and the third. The view of the Fëanorians is that the Silmarils were theirs and had been stolen in the first place- a bit like the Nazis stealing art work and then it being taken as plunder from the War, ending up in an art collection. Maglor feels it should have been returned, as should the other two when finally Morgoth was defeated.

Thanks as always to the very wonderful and generous Anarithilen for beta-reading all my stuff. Without you this would not be written, Anar. THANK YOU

Thanks too, to Spiced Wine for her kind loan of Tindómion.

Also all those readers who kept reviewing and sending encouragement and helpful feedback. I do appreciate it.

Chapter 24: Imladris

Moonlight gleamed on the white and grey horses crossing the borders of Imladris. As always, Elrohir felt the soft implosion in his ears, against his skin as they crossed the Ford and into Vilya's protection. It was like a whisper of welcome, a brush of comfort against his sore heart. The litter bearing Glorfindel swung gently between two horses as they stepped through the cold Bruinen, so careful not to stumble and jar their precious burden. Around them the returning warriors and their horses surged across the ford and the water rippled silver in the moonlight. Annael led two horses with their pitiful burdens, Rothgalon and Lomion, and the returning warriors crowded around them protectively.

By the time the troop arrived at the House, lights had appeared in the windows and the stable hands were waiting. Women stood waiting anxiously, their arms crossed as if that would protect them from dreadful news, and craning their necks to see if their loved ones were amongst the living. From the barracks, a steady stream of warriors appeared, nodding a greeting, whispering quietly amongst themselves.

Elrohir let others take over; the linen-robed healers quickly took the wounded to the Healing wing, and others silently took the dead. The horses were led into the stables, their weary heads low. Saeldir's wife was not the only one to break into a run and throw her arms about her husband, but others had already gathered about Rothgalon and Lomion's families, murmuring softly.

By the time the troop arrived at the House, lights had appeared in the windows and the stable hands were waiting. Women stood waiting anxiously, their arms crossed as if that would protect them from dreadful news, and craning their necks to see if their loved ones were amongst the living. From the barracks, a steady stream of warriors appeared, nodding a greeting, whispering quietly amongst themselves.

Elrohir watched in silence. He did not approach. He would not be welcome right now and he glanced surreptiously towards Tindómion, hoping for a moment of shared understanding. But the fire of Tindómion's anger with Elrohir had dulled into a cold disdain and so Tindómion ignored him and strode quickly over the lawns towards the wing that housed Imladris' captains. His tall figure leapt up the shallow stone steps as if fuelled by his anger, and disappeared into the shadows of the verandah that ran the length of the wing.

Elrohir stood for a moment in the emptying courtyard. No one spoke to him and he would have ignored them if they had.

Then he followed his heart and went to the Healing Rooms, not for Glorfindel for Elrond would be there, but for Elladan.

He walked quietly along the smooth paved floors of the passageways, turned his head to look into the moonlit courtyard where a fountain splashed quietly into a pool. The Healing wing was designed and built around the courtyard, and the windows opened onto tranquility rather than the spectacular and majestic mountains. Ahead of him were lights and movement as the healers attended the newly arrived wounded. He knew Elrond would be there. Following the smooth stone passage, he continued on to the convalescence rooms where he had left Elladan. Here it was dark and silent. There were no others in this part of the wing and he pushed open the door to Elladan's room.

In the still moonlight that streamed into the room from the open windowns, Elladan slept peacefully. His long lashes lay shadows against his warm cheek but they were the only shadows. Utter love, absolute relief heaved in Elrohir's chest. Elladan was safe. Clear of the shadow. He leaned over his brother and brushed his long black hair away from his sleeping face. All the fatigue from his body eased and he felt that now he could rest.

At that moment, Elladan stirred slightly and his eyes moved under his lids, and then fluttered open. For a moment he stared uncomprehending and then his mouth opened with a cry of inexpressible joy and he grasped Elrohir's arms, pulled his close and hugged him to his chest. 'You are back! And safe.'

Elrohir laughed softly. 'What is this?' he smiled indulgently. 'It is I who should be so pleased that you are recovered!' He pulled away gently so he could look at his kind, gentler brother. 'You are looking well,' he observed with absolute relief, for the last time he had seen him Elladan lay still bewitched and deep in the sorcery of the morgul blade.

'I am much recovered,' said Elladan and then his face became serious. 'Thanks to you, my brother.' He searched Elrohir's eyes but Elrohir glanced away. He did not want Elladan to perceive the darkness in him.

'You offered yourself to Angmar to save me.' Elladan clasped his shoulder and shook him slightly, and then said fondly, 'Fool.'

'They would have taken you into the Shadow. How could I let them?' For a moment the cold touch of Angmar seemed to hover between them.

Do not let him see, he prayed. Do not let him know the darkness in me.

But then the calm blue that was Elladan suffused his own hurt and pain with cool peace, the ragged edges of his hurt were smoothed and knit. His breathing deepened and the shameful hurt dulled. He rested his head against his brother's shoulder and pushed the dark lust down, shoved it deep into the shadows of his heart, and there it slithered and curled, coiled about itself to wait until it was awoken.

'You are my better self,' he said quietly. 'I would die for you. You know that.'

Elladan pressed his fingers against his eyes in distress. 'I do not ask it. Never. For I would rather you had lived. Do not do that again.'

'I do not think I can swear to that,' Elrohir said and glanced at his brother. 'Unless you can swear it also?'

There was a pause and then their eyes met. An identical smile slid across their faces and Elladan laughed softly. 'Fool!' he said again.

And just like that, it was as it had always been, and all was eased between them. Elladan must have felt the same because he settled back onto his pillows and said, 'Tell me what has been happening. Erestor told me of your foolhardy plan but only when you had been sighted returning. Until then he gave me some silly tale about you and Glorfindel taking a message to Bree.' He shook his head slightly. 'That man can lie! I almost believed him except Father was so distressed. I sense momentous events and have not been part of any of it!'

'You are greedy,' Elrohir smiled again, so pleased he was that Elladan was himself. 'I have just returned and had neither food nor drink nor rest and you want stories like a child.'

'I am bored,' agreed Elladan, making room for him. 'But if you are tired, I will wait.'

Elrohir laughed, feeling his brother's presence soothe him as no sleep could, so he settled beside him on the bed and leaned his head back against the pillows, alongside Elladan's. He stretched out his legs and toed off his boots and wriggled his toes comfortably.

He told Elladan how they had ridden out with Gildor, how they had lost one in the Warg attack and reassured Elladan that on their return the wounded warrior and horse had still been there and returned home with them. Then he told him of Amon Sûl, though he was modest on his own account, and focused on the deeds of others.

When he reached the part where the Nazgûl attacked and Glorfindel had been helpless beneath the fallen tower, he paused. Elladan's fingers gripped the coverlet and his knuckles were white. Stealing a quick glance, Elrohir breathed slowly, considering.

It hurt him to see Elladan like this and he thought briefly how it would have been had Angmar killed Elladan. No. Not killed. He would have devoured him, as the Nazgûl had Rhawion. Suddenly he could not bear it and his hand flew up to his chest and pressed against his heart.

'What?' Elladan stared at him in alarm. He struggled to sit upright. 'Were you wounded? Did they strike you?'

'No, no.' Elrohir shook his head quickly. 'It is nothing…just… ghosts. Phantasms. Just me.'

Elladan breathed a sigh and looked down. Then his grey eyes flicked up again at Elrohir's face. 'Just you?' he said wryly and grasped his hand. 'Do not fear on my account. I am well. Tell me all. I wish to know how you defeated the Witch King,' he said.

Elrohir sighed and leaned his head against Elladan's. He remembered the moment the rain had stopped and the thunder clouds tore apart to let the starlight and moonlight in; how one great winged reptile wheeled and swooped low, and the Nazgûl riding it tilted its empty hood to look down upon Elrohir where he stood.

Rávëyon. Why do you fight?

He closed his eyes and felt the horror of Angmar touch him, brush against his thoughts, even now.

What can I do? Oh Eru, what can I do?

'You are far away.' The voice, beloved as it was, roused him from his darkness. 'Was it so dreadful?'

'Yes. It was.'

Elladan listened in attentive silence to rest of his tale until he came to the end. When he finished, Elladan said nothing at first and Elrohir thought he had fallen asleep.

But then he felt Elladan stir. 'Maglor?' His voice was heavy with skepticism. 'How do you know it was him?'

'It was him. He as good as told me.' Elrohir saw in his mind the long black plume of horsehair that streamed behind Maglor, the helm that clasped his face like cupped hands. 'He wore this armour,' he said, lost in memory and wonder. 'It was sinuous, like fish scales and glittered and shone like Eärendil itself. Fëanor himself must have made it,' he realised. 'Or Curufin.' The thought made him shiver.

Elladan grunted sceptically. 'That is hardly enough! What did he say to you?'

Elrohir remembered the stranger then, and the light touch of his fingers on Elrohir's cheek, his acceptance, an acknowledgement of his blood. 'He spoke of Elrond when he was young, as if he knew him well. And he called Glorfindel back from the Shadow of the morgul blade.'

'Then he must be powerful indeed.'

'He told me he had come from over the Sea but could never go back,' Elrohir found he wanted to convince Elladan that it was indeed Maglor.

'He is not the only Fëanorian to survive Ost-in-Edhil, or to join the Wandering Companies.'

'I asked him to come home with me, that Elrond would welcome him…He said he would not divide Imladris. He would not come with me. He made me promise…'

He felt the heaviness of his brother against him, his quiet breath. 'It was Maglor, Elladan. When he saw Tindómion, he cried out. Do you know what he cried? Nelyo. As in Nelyafinwë Maitimo Fëanorian….who became known as Maedhros. He almost ran when he saw Tindómion! Why else would he leave so suddenly?'

'I know who Nelyo is.' Elladan said irritated, for he was better read than Elrohir even and loved the tales spun by Erestor, who still wore the Fëanorian star blazoned defiantly into his cloak, his boots and Elladan had sworn it was even stitched into his underclothes.

Gently he probed the clear blue light that was Elladan and found the little piece torn by the morgul blade was mending, and the little silver glints of pain were deepening to the the familiar blue.

'Well,' Elladan admitted grudgingly. 'Since I was not there and you were, and you say he told you, perhaps this stranger is indeed Maglor.' He was annoyed that he had missed such a thing, Elrohir knew and wished that Elladan had been at his side. 'How did Tindómion react?'

Elrohir was silent for a moment; he was not proud that he had withheld the trust from his friend. 'Vanwë –Maglor - made me promise not to speak and I was…not myself. I did not think. And then when Tindómion realised I knew and had not spoken of his father's presence, he was angry with me.'

'You cannot blame him,' Elladan murmured. 'His father, whom he once swore to kill, suddenly turns up and saves Glorfindel. And then he does not even stay to speak to him. And his friend does not tell him where he could expect you to.' He looked up. 'I do not judge you, Elrohir. Forgive me, but you can see Tindómion's grievance.'

'I can. And he has always stood by us,' Elrohir said. He bowed his head. 'He is still angry with me. I was not myself. I will find him and apologise tomorrow. I owe him much.'

'It is true you are not yourself.' Elladan pushed himself upright and stroked Elrohir's hair away from his face, searched his eyes for signs of harm. 'You hide from me,' he said sadly. 'You bury your pain too deep and repel all those who love you and would help. Even me.'

Elrohir could not speak; how could he tell his sweet brother what he had done, how he had stood and watched their mother's rape, for Angmar's spell had dug its claws deeply into him, twisted the memories and tainted every part of him.

'Please, Elladan,' he said in quiet desperation. 'Do not ask me. Just be here with me and never let me go.'

'I will not ask you then. And you know I will be with you until the ending of the world. Have we not sworn?' His grey eyes, clear as water, as unsullied, held Elrohir's, cradled him with a tenderness that Elrohir felt he did not deserve but craved nonetheless. 'It is as it has always been, Elrohir. You and me. Never will we be parted. I swear.'

He pulled Elrohir's head back down onto his shoulder, and only then did Elrohir realize that this was his injured shoulder and yet it no longer hurt him. If Elladan can be healed, he thought desperately, then perhaps I too can atone for my sins somehow and be healed of my darkness. If I fight the Shadow with honour and protect the weak, if I pledge myself to the destruction of darkness, I will be saved. He leaned heavily against Elladan and before he knew it he had fallen asleep.

Gently Elladan eased his exhausted brother onto the pillows. He straightened and rubbed his own shoulder where an ache had settled deep in the muscle and bone. Turning to lie on his side and facing Elrohir, he watched as his brother slept, and when the dreams were troubled and Elrohir murmured and his brows drew together as if in pain, Elladan let his calm blue peace ease over him and comfort him so he settled more deeply into sleep.

0o0o0o

Hours later and in another room in the opposite wing of the Healing rooms, Glorfindel, still slightly dazed and dreaming, had been helped into a comforting and deeply-upholstered armchair placed before a crackling fire. Vaguely he recalled the white robed healers and attendants wanting him to stay in the bed but he had insisted he wanted to sit near the fire. A thick robe was tucked around him and blankets lay across his lap for he shivered still. Watching the fire crackle and burn, he let himself drift in and out of consciousness, knowing that he should not have escaped. Knowing that seconds later it would have been too late and he would have been pulled too far from his body to be recalled. He watched himself now, in memory, as he lay there helpless beneath the grinding rocks, crushed. His lungs had felt like they would burst and he had thought, for a moment, how unfair that he should die twice.

Half asleep, he thanked Manwë that Angmar had been too intent on his own sadistic pleasure and so the morgul blade had not pierced him deeply. And now Elrond had just left as exhausted as Glorfindel, having wielded Vilya's restorative power like a blade to fight the last vestiges of sorcery that lingered still in Glorfindel's fëa.

Hands cupped around a pewter goblet, Glorfindel sipped the hot beverage in it that he was sure tasted horrible for there was a hefty slug of miruvor in it too. He still felt cold and every part of him was trembly and shivery. Weak. But he lived.

He drifted in and out of memory and consciousness…confused between the waking world and the past. He knew that upon Amon Sûl there had been a time when he was sitting up, much as he was now but rather than thick blankets tucked around him, there had been several cloaks around his shoulders. And where now he had a pewter goblet, it had been a tin mug that had been pushed into his hands, with athelas and willow-bark or something equally bitter. Miruvor too, as now, to dull the bitterness. And it had been Maglor, not Elrond, who called to him, who guided him back from the shadow. Maglor was the reason that Glorfindel had survived the Nazgûl…

He remembered the moment he had opened his eyes and saw, with shock, and recognition who stood over him. The smile had the same heart-stopping brilliance that had met him on the battlefield which later became the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. The same deep eyes, mercurial, silver in the half light. Even more haunted now.

o0o0o0o