Beta: Anarithilien

Chapter 26: Departures

In Lothlorien, Elladan's news that Mithrandir had found such a Mirror in Minas Morgul as the one they had found in ruined Phellanthir alarmed Erestor. That the Wizard had chosen to take it the White City horrified him.

Subsequently, Erestor had gone with Glorfindel to Elrond to give him the news, expecting Elrond to be alarmed but knowing too, that Elrond's secret yearning was to see his foster-fathers once again. The Mirror might give him one half of that wish at least. Erestor was certain that Elrond's presence would draw the notes of Maedhros' fëa back to the Glass.

Erestor could never forget how Glorfindel's presence had drawn the Balrog to the Glass in Phellanthir, how it had roared and bellowed and the Glass became a bowl of fire as the Balrog had tried to escape to fight Glorfindel once more. Maedhros' fëa had come and defeated the demon but his wounds had been terrible indeed, and as his Song disintegrated, the lonely notes drifted like a ship's bell, lost in the mist.

Ruinátoró came for Glorfindel, thought Erestor, but my lord came for me.

Could Elrond draw Maedhros from the Dark beyond the Mirror with Vilya? Erestor had been able to slide a morgul blade through the strange, skin-like Glass after all. And it was that which had meant Maedhros could defeat the Balrog.

But then if Maedhros could escape, what else might find its way back into the world?

He almost did not care. The sound of his beloved lord's Song slowly drifting, lost on the winds of the Night haunted his dreams. Had done since that night in Phellanthir. He thought Elrond would feel the same.

What he had not anticipated though, was that Elrond insisted they tell Galadriel. Erestor would have preferred she did not know of the existence of either Mirror; he trusted Galadriel no more than she trusted him. Her questions were detailed and knowledgeable, and frighteningly perceptive and there was a look in her eyes that Erestor recognised from long ago. Hunger. Profound loss. Despair.

It had frightened him. It was the same look he had seen in the eyes of the Sons of Fëanor whenever the Oath was invoked.

Glorfindel had said nothing, had not looked at him during the whole of Elladan's story retold to Galadriel, and Erestor thought that Glorfindel shared his disquiet. But when Erestor volunteered to ride ahead to Minas Tirith to help Mithrandir protect the Mirror, and if they were honest, to protect the city from whatever danger the Mirror might pose, Glorfindel said he was going too. And of course, Elladan said he was going with them.

Now the sun was just rising and already Glorfindel and Erestor were preparing to leave. Erestor's tall black horse, Niphredil, snorted grumpily at him and turned his back quarters towards Erestor, flattening his ears and wrinkling his nostrils threateningly.

'Good morning, sweet thing,' Erestor said fondly. He had adopted the custom of some of the Men of Ered Luin and begun wearing a long coat instead of a cloak. It seemed to irritate some and fascinate others in equal measure, adding to his notoriety. The coat had a dashing cut and was dark blue velvet with black fur collar and wide fur cuffs, and deep pockets. Now he pulled out an apple which Niphredil crunched happily and then nipped Erestor on the arm, leaving a soggy bite mark in the new velvet. He laughed fondly.

Glorfindel was saddling Asfaloth in his customary quiet way and Asfaloth stood, perfectly behaved like the gentleman he was, while Niphredil stamped about, letting the saddle slip and throwing his head around while Erestor threw the reins of the bridle over his head.

There was the sound of hurried footsteps and Niphredil barged Erestor out of his way to strain his head over the stall door. Further down the mews, two more horses looked over their doors and whickered softly in greeting. A third grey palfrey kicked the door excitedly and whinnied.

'You cannot arrive in Aragorn's city like some vagabond wench!' Elrohir's voice came as he strode into the dim mews, followed by Arwen. He laughed indulgently and Arwen pouted and fluttered her eyelashes like the vagabond wench he had called her. Elrohir laughed again, and flung an arm around her.

Erestor lifted an eyebrow. This was an entirely different Elrohir from the one who had galloped from Imladris as if the hounds of hell were on his heels, seeking the Grey Company and Aragorn. Whilst Sauron's fall had lifted everyone, Elrohir's ecstasy could surely not be caused by that alone?

'Ada will not allow it.' Elladan followed his brother and sister and Erestor's heart squeezed with misery. Elladan too was changed; the Prince of Dol Amroth was clearly the cause, although the Mirror had bothered Elladan it seemed, far more than Imrahil's absence.

And rightly so, thought Erestor, turning back to brush Niphredil's black mane, which was knotted and tangled with straw sticking out of his forelock.

'Aragorn will want you to enter Minas Tirith a Queen,' Elladan was saying as he opened the door to his own horse's stall. Baraghur nudged him softly. 'It will be a scandal surely for you to turn up without a retinue of fair maidens and a train of packhorses.' But to Erestor, his voice sounded amused as well as irritated.

Erestor could hear Elladan moving around the stall next to him as he worked on a particularly tangled knot in Niphredil's mane. He moved his foot just as the horse stamped down grumpily and then butted him. Erestor smiled and stroked the glossy black neck and went back to the knot.

'Did I hurt you, sweet thing?' he murmured, ignoring Elladan's snort of laughter from the stall next to him.

'Arwen, you are not coming!' Glorfindel announced, leading the patient and well behaved Asfaloth from his stall. Erestor privately thought Asfaloth the most boring horse he had ever met. Although he had been very useful on occasion. But those ridiculous bells! Niphredil bared his teeth and snapped at Asfaloth.

'Please keep your bad-tempered beast under control, Erestor,' said Glorfindel more tetchily than usual.

Arwen pulled her hair over her shoulder and it was only then that Erestor saw she wore breeches and boots beneath a thick travelling cloak with a hood. Oh, she intended to come with them, he had no doubt. And it would take more than Glorfindel saying no to stop her.

'I will stay hidden, I promise. And sneak back out of the city when Ada gets there,' she insisted and laughed. 'Aragorn is as desperate to see me, as I am to see him,' she declared.

Erestor grinned. She was far keener than Aragorn. She was so much older for a start, than the Man she was to wed. Like a child compared with the many centuries Arwen had! He paused. Was that not alike to him and Elladan after all?

No, he told himself. Arwen and Aragorn are Beren and Luthien. And I am a wicked old Feänorian. Kin-slayer. Helico. Outcast. Unworthy.

Niphredil bit him quite hard then, leaving tiny purple marks on his hand and he turned and scratched the bad-tempered horse between his ears. 'Am I neglecting you, sweet thing?'

Elladan laughed softly. 'Has the Sweet Thing bitten you again?' he asked quietly, for Erestor's ears only.

Erestor smiled. 'It is a love nip only.' Finally, he managed to slide the bridle over Niphredil's ears, much to the horse's disgust. Elrohir was leading out Barakhir and Glorfindel still protesting with Arwen and she argued back.

At last Glorfindel looked at Erestor. 'Say something, Erestor! Something to make her stay and arrive with her father and Grandmother. This is not a suitable way for the Queen of Gondor to arrive in her kingdom.'

'He's right,' Erestor said calmly, trying to coax Niphredil from his stable. Suddenly the horse decided to be obedient and trotted out after Erestor, taking the opportunity to snap at first Asfaloth and then Baraghur. Erestor swung quickly into the saddle and pulled his long coat about himself. He looked down at Arwen and gave her a rakish grin. 'Come anyway.'

Arwen shouted with joy and Glorfindel sighed and shook his head, giving up. 'Your grandmother…'

'Would have done the same as I!'

And at that, Glorfindel was silent for it was true. In fact, Erestor was surprised Galadriel wasn't waiting for them at the end of Caras Galadhon on her own horse. He was rather relieved that she wasn't.

But Tindómion was and for that, Erestor was glad.

0o0o0o

Gimli thrust his hands in his pocket and surveyed the bustling port. Tall masts clanked in the slight wind and he was surrounded by strange languages, accents and fragrances. He recognised pipeweed somewhere amongst the exotic scents, and amber and myrrh, a strange sweetness that was in the oils the Dwarves traded for in Dale and Esgaroth. Precious and rare. For the most noble and rich. Ori had always used it and even now, the scent of it brought to mind his old uncle and made him smile.

He had not had a productive morning. They had received a message from Aragorn asking them to return, but Gandalf had been reluctant. And now that Gandalf had revealed to Gimli what the Wizard had seen in Phellanthir, Gimli could understand why; it was not simply an artefact or some curiosity from the Second Age, not even the wonder that Narvi had described in his writing of the Hall of Mirrors. But the vision of the Balrog, battering at the skin of the Glass, how it had bowled and strained, made Gimli realise how important it was that the Mirror did not fall into the hands of the Easterlings. They could find a way to release these demons in the Dark.

But they had had a fruitless journey.

In spite of the bustle and energy of the port of Umbar, Men were wary of a Dwarf, knowing they were from the West and even Gimli's convincing disguise of alternate mercenary and merchant was not really enough to winkle information from these tight-lipped Men.

He sat on the quay step and watched the sunlight shimmer on softly rising and falling waves; it seemed the Sea itself was breathing in those sighs.

It had taken them a day on Shadowfax to reach Pelargir, riding like the wind itself in hope of catching Kustîg. But there had been little hope of that for the Man was long gone. They had barely missed his ship at Pelargir and easily found another that would take them to the coast, but they had to wait for the tide. That delayed them by a full day and only when they reached the coast did they have any chance of catching him. Here they had found a ship, reluctant even now to go to Umbar but a greedy enough captain took their gold and here Gandalf could whistle up a wind to fill their sails and so they sailed into Umbar after only three days.

But Kustîg had two more days ahead of them. By the time they reached Umbar, he was long gone.

Now Gandalf was off seeking a ship to return them to Gondor and when Gimli asked him what they would do about the Mirror, Gandalf had been at a loss.

'For the moment, nothing,' he said cautiously. 'But news will reach us at some point. And then, we will act. I have another task yet,' he said mysteriously. 'And there are others still who might intervene.' But he would say no more of those others and Gimli had to let the matters rest.

'Gandalf, any news?' he asked as the Wizard came striding towards him with his customary haste. Gone were the white robes however and in their place was the usual garb of a sailor and had Gimli not known it was Gandalf, he would never have thought the wiry Man before him was a Wizard. He fell into step as Gandalf led him to a quiet place near the water.

He sat down beside Gimli and said nothing for a while. The Sea lapped and plashed softly at the pale stone of the quay upon which they sat. Gulls wheeled and cried above them and Gimli remembered how Legolas had stopped in the middle of battle, face upturned and eyes glazed as the gulls cried on the shores of Pelargir. He had seen something similar in Gandalf's face as they leaned on the gunwale of the ship that had brought them here, less intense than Legolas' but a longing nonetheless. Of course, Gimli had said nothing; it would be intrusive and Dwarves were very private. Very patient. Discreet, Gimli told himself.

Gandalf stared into the middle distance for a while, he said nothing but he rubbed a tired hand over his eyes and for a moment, he looked diminished, like a wizened old Man who wanted to rest.

Gimli pulled out his pipe and tapped out the old pipeweed. Then he cleaned the bowl with an ingenious little device made in the Iron Mountains and handed it to Gandalf. As Gimli filled his pipe and struck a flame, Gandalf was slowly tugging his own pipe from somewhere concealed in his sleeve, but looking more thoughtful now.

Gimli leaned back against the warm stone and blew out a thin stream of grey smoke. It was good stone, he thought. Quarried nearby and well cut, well engineered. There was barely a seam. 'Almost as if dwarves built this harbour,' he murmured almost to himself.

Gandalf grunted.

'Tharkûn,' Gimli asked, lapsing into the Khazâd name for his companion. 'I am still wondering how it was that Kustîg managed to stay ahead of us with that great heavy Mirror and we on Shadowfax. In fact, I have been wondering that ever since we arrived in Pelargir and he was ahead of us.'

Gandalf mumbled around the stem of his pipe and nodded absently. Gimli cast an oblique glance at the Wizard, a little irritated.

'If he had the Mirror, how did he carry it? If it was in a cart, it must have been going like the wind and no one we asked saw anything. True, there are plenty of carts and all the ships at Pelargir going to Umbar had cargo so once he got there, it would be easy to slip away…but how did he get there before us?'

'That is exactly what I have been thinking, Gimli,' Gandalf said softly. 'I fear we have been duped, son of Gloin.'

Gimli grunted and shook his head at himself for not realising sooner. 'It could be behind us,' he said grumpily. 'We could not have passed it on the road and not known,' he said quickly for they had interrogated every cart driver they passed and on more than one occasion, Gandalf had flung back a tarpaulin cover over goods and searched amongst cabbages and silks, turnips and willow baskets. 'I mean it could have been hidden in Minas Tirith still and Kustîg will have someone bring it afterwards, when the dust has settled.'

'And that is why I have sent a message to Aragorn to tell him that we return on the next tide and booked us a berth on a ship bound for Gondor.'

'And when we get there?'

'Well then, my friend, we start looking for that Mirror.'

Gimli nodded sagely, for he had come to the same conclusion himself. 'Because it never left Minas Tirith in the first place.'

0o0o0o

Pippin whistled tunelessly through his teeth as he ambled about the kitchen, straightening things after breakfast, tidying up, happily absorbed. The whistling was a nasty habit he had picked up from Legolas who did it to annoy Gimli. Lobelia was in the garden, sitting very tidily and watching a clump of grass with elven intensity. Pippin smiled to himself. The little cat was quite like Legolas in funny ways like that; in her agility, in her intensity when she was watching something. As Pippin pottered about the kitchen, he realised that he was missing Legolas, missed his sense of mischief and fun…But every time he thought about Legolas, he had an uncomfortable fuzzy feeling in his belly, and he couldn't account for it at all.

'I wonder if Legolas has found Gandalf and Gimli yet,' Frodo said, coming into the kitchen.

Pippin looked at him in surprise. 'I was just wondering the same thing,' he said. 'Has Aragorn had any news?'

'No. Last time I saw him, he told me he has had nothing since the message from Gandalf saying they were in Umbar. He didn't know that Legolas had gone to Pelargir. In fact, he was quite surprised.'

Pippin scooped up some socks that Lobelia had hidden under 'her' cushion that had been on the easy chair by the fire but was now on the floor in front of the fire, prime position for warmth. He threw the socks to Frodo for they were his. 'You'd have thought they would let Aragorn know that Gimli told Legolas to join them.'

'Hm.' Frodo plumped up the remaining cushions in the comfortable chair by the fire and then did the same for the one opposite. He took out pipeweed from the jar on the mantelpiece over the fireplace and sat down in one and unfolded his pipe case. 'Maybe there is another message and Gimli's just got here sooner.'

Pippin stood at the glass door that opened onto the garden, watching Lobelia. 'But why wouldn't they send the two together?'

The two hobbits didn't speak for a moment, each absorbed in his own thoughts. Frodo filled his pipe and tapped the pipeweed down and lit it, then leaned back, half closed his eyes and drew on the pipe until the weed sparked and lit, glowed orange and then settled. He blew out a long thin stream of grey smoke.

'Merry seems to have been gone a long time,' Pippin observed thoughtfully.

'He was going to the fourth level market,' Frodo added. 'Shopping for sausage and mashed spuds tonight.'

There was a rattle of the front gate and a loud knock on the door.

'That must be him now,' observed Frodo comfortably.

They heard Sam tramping down the passageway and the door opened. A rumble of voices followed, and they could hear Sam's voice rising in questions, the other, lower, deeper rumbling in answer.

'That's not Merry.' Pippin drew on his pipe and let a perfectly formed smoke O rise into the air and Frodo laughed encouragingly.

'I wonder who is at the door,' he said thoughtfully, glancing towards the door. 'Sam seems to be an awfully long time.' And even as he said this, there was the sound of the door closing and after a moment, Sam came into the kitchen, a puzzled frown upon his face.

'Well that's strange and no mistake,' he said, going over to the kettle and putting it on the stove. Frodo and Pippin looked up enquiringly.

'That was one of the ostler's lads from the stables wanting to speak to Legolas.'

'Legolas?' asked Pippin and Frodo at the same time.

Sam paused, hand midway to reaching for the mugs. 'Yes. He wanted to know if Legolas wanted Arod brought in from the pastures.' He let his hand fall to his side and turned to the other two hobbits. 'Apparently he was turned out with other horses who had been in the war. They wanted to know if Legolas wanted him brought back in.'

'Didn't he take Arod with him to Pelargir? I thought that was why Arod wasn't in the stables.' Frodo drew on his pipe but a frown settled on his thin face.

'Well that's what I asked him. The ostler's lad I mean. He had a strange tale to tell.' Sam looked at Frodo. 'I think we should tell Strider.'

Frodo and Pippin sat up more attentively. 'What did he say, Sam?'

'The strange thing is that stable lad is convinced that Legolas had sent a message to say that Arod should go out to pasture and then he turns up asking for his horse. This lad says that Legolas said he hadn't sent any message. But then he just shrugged and said he would take another horse. But the next thing they know, Legolas has left and not taken a horse after all. They thought he must have changed his mind and not gone to Pelargir at all. That's why he came here. But he isn't, of course.'

Pippin sat up his chair. 'So, Legolas didn't take a horse?' He pulled a face. 'I cannot imagine him going to Pelargir on one of the carts that go up and down there every day.'

Frodo started knocking out his pipe anxiously. 'No. He wouldn't.'

'So, where is he?' asked Sam, eyes wide and alarmed.

'Well he's not here,' said Pippin. 'And he obviously hasn't gone to Pelargir….'

The hobbits became very still.

'Do you think he's hurt?' Sam asked alarmed. 'Or something happened to him?'

'No Man could defeat Legolas, or…hurt him…' Pippin said hesitantly.

Frodo dropped his gaze. 'But he could be tricked. Overwhelmed if taken by surprise.'

The three Hobbits stared at each other, each imagining a terrible scene where Legolas, who they had all seen fight off multiple orcs and goblins and Men, was overpowered.

'No,' Frodo shook his head. 'They would have heard, or noticed something in the stables. There must be something else.'

Slowly Sam took a breath and said, 'There is that ghoul still. We don't know where it is.'

'Do you think…?' Pippin said, eyes wide.

Suddenly Frodo rose to his feet, resolved. 'Where is that message from Gimli? Did Legolas leave it here or take it with him?'

'I think he left it on the table in the hall,' said Pippin. 'I'll go and get it. Let's have another look.'

When Pippin returned, he smoothed out the message and Frodo peered at it, Sam looking over his shoulder. After a while, Frodo looked up.

'Well, it is definitely Gimli's writing. It's spiky and rolling at the same time. And the i is the same, it has that little stroke instead of a dot.' He shrugged and then shook his head. 'Well we are no closer to the truth about why Gimli has written this and Gandalf not sent word.'

Pippin knelt beside him and looked at the message. 'What if they have been captured and Gimli forced to write this?' Pippin suddenly said.

'As you say, Sam. We need to see Aragorn,' Frodo said decisively.

0o0o0o