Chapter 2: At the Edge


Three hours later, darkness had fallen, and the moon and the bright stars in the heavens cast a weak, somewhat sickly light onto the wooded lands. Dark clouds quickly neared the pale sickle of the moon, and soon even that light was extinguished when they shifted in front of it. The sparse light reflected off the stones of a cliff a little to the East of the small clearing the moon was overlooking, making them gleam white and grey and a dozen shades in between.

A dark haired elf tore his gaze away from the sky and scowled at his companions, another elf that looked almost exactly like him.
“Twenty, aye.”

Elrohir gave him a slightly sheepish look and shrugged.
“But they were only half an hour ahead of us.”

Elladan ignored his twin’s words and gripped the trunk of the tree they had climbed a little more tightly.
“’About twenty’ you said, ‘there may be some wargs’ you said…”

His younger brother rolled his eyes and looked down from their airy perch onto the small glade that lay beneath their tree. A squabbling, screaming mass of orcs was all he could see, and he had to admit that yes, there were definitely more than twenty. Not to mention the eight wargs that prowled around the throng of bodies.
“Stop whining, brother. All we have to do is wait; they are killing each other quickly enough already.”

That was something Elladan had to agree with, no matter how reluctantly. They had been following the orc horde for some time when the sounds of a commotion in front of them prompted them to abandon their horses and continue on foot. While they had been moving stealthily through the treetops the sounds had grown louder and fiercer, and when they had reached this one tree they were occupying right now, they had found out why: The orcs were fighting each other and were doing a fine job diminishing their numbers for them.

It had taken them some time to find out what the argument was about, and it had not been easy to discern since orcs never needed much of a reason to start fighting, even among themselves. They often killed each other for the most ridiculous and stupidest reasons, but then again, orcs weren’t known to be very clever either.

This fight seemed to have erupted when a few orcs had come across a small herd of deer, and had apparently killed three or four of them with their crude bows. How the orcs had managed to surprise the usually so vigilant animals was beyond both elves, and that they had hit the beasts was no smaller a miracle. Orc archers were usually not a big threat since they were lousy shots most of the time, and they rarely managed to hit anything that moved quickly and was not busy fighting off other members of the horde.

This time, however, they had somehow managed to shoot some of the animals, and while they seemed to have done it only for spite and because of their joy of killing, it soon became apparent that a part of them was unwilling to let such a wonderful opportunity for a meal pass them by. Some orcs had immediately begun to tear chunks of meat from the carcasses, eating them raw, but the captain of this group was anything but happy about their actions. It appeared that he wanted to have some fun tonight and wished to reach the human settlements before sunrise would force them back into their caves and holes, and soon a full-fledged fight was going on, with orcs dropping left and right.

From the original thirty orcs there were only about twenty left, and the fight showed no sign of abating. The orc captain had soon abandoned all attempts at calming his men down and had joined the fray, either because he had seen that the others wouldn’t listen to him anyway, now that their blood lust was kindled – a feat that demanded some measure of intelligence and that was therefore highly doubted by both twins – or because he hadn’t seen why his subordinates should have all the fun without him.

Either way, the orcs were rather busy killing each other for them, Elladan shrugged inwardly, so he wasn’t complaining. He turned back to his brother, keeping his voice low so the orcs wouldn’t hear them, even though it was probably not necessary for he very much doubted that they would have heard even a herd of oliphaunts running at top speed through the forest right now.

“I do not whine.”

Elrohir rolled his eyes again, only to turn them back onto the scene beneath them. He was not taking any chances; he wouldn’t let those who survived this little argument escape.
“Of course you do. That tone of voice clearly qualifies as whining.”

“It does not.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No, it does not.”

“Yes, it does…” Elrohir narrowed his eyes as the mob beneath them drew apart, the sharp voice of the orc captain yelling orders in the Black Speech of Mordor making both elves cringe. The sound rekindled the spark of burning fury in the younger twin’s heart; to him it seemed only yesterday that he had heard shouts and dark laughter in that tongue that had almost been drowned out by his mother’s anguished screams of pain…

“Elrohir? Brother?”

A slender hand grabbed his forearm, and the young elf blinked quickly, noticing for the first time that he had leaned forward and would have fallen from the branch both of them were sitting on had Elladan not held him back. He consciously unclenched his hands that had wrapped themselves around the smooth bark of the tree and his bow and looked at his brother, shaking his head to regain some semblance of control. Every time he saw one of these creatures a red haze seemed to lay itself over his vision, transporting him back to that orc cave where they had found their mother nearly a yén ago.

“I am fine,” he assured the other elf softly, not trusting himself to speak calmly should he raise his voice even a little. His eyes grew hard and dark when he looked down onto the glade where the orcs were preparing to leave now. The captain had apparently regained control of his men who numbered only eighteen now, and the creatures were piling the ones who had perished in the fight up on one side of the clearing, not because they wanted to burn them or anything of that sort but because they were searching every body for something that may yet be of use for them.

“I am fine,” Elrohir repeated, hatred blazing brightly in his usually calm grey eyes. “Let’s kill them all.”

Elladan smiled grimly, surveying the scene in front of them.
“A noble intention, brother, but I think we need a plan.”

The other elf blinked again, looking slightly startled, before he nodded his head.
“That does sound like a sensible idea, gwanur nín. Do you have a suggestion?”

“I do,” Elladan nodded, beginning to speak quickly when he saw that the orcs were almost ready to move out. “I distract them and you take out as many of their archers as you can before the wargs eat us both. We meet in the middle.”

“Oh?” Elrohir raised a mocking eyebrow. “So you distract nineteen orcs while I try to kill as many of the seven archers that are still left as possible before both of us are torn to pieces by their little friends? Is that your master plan?”

His brother wrinkled his brow as if in deep thought.
“Essentially … yes.”

“Ah,” Elrohir nodded seriously before he began to grin darkly, “I like your style.”

“You would,” Elladan mumbled under his breath as they quickly began to descend the tree, cocking his head slightly to the side when he heard a faint rumbling in the distance. Well, if they were lucky they would be finished and on their way to the Last Bridge when the storm reached them. But then again, he grimaced slightly, they were never lucky.

They stopped on a branch about ten feet above the ground, watching the orc horde closely. Elrohir reached for an arrow and fitted it to his bow so he would be ready to take out the orcs’ archers as soon as his brother started “distracting” them, whatever that might prove to mean exactly. He looked up into Elladan’s serious face when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and smiled slightly when he saw the emotions on his brother’s face. Nodding at what he saw on the other’s face, he smiled slightly and gave Elladan a gentle push into the other direction.

“Go, brother. I would like to get this over with before they decide to leave.”

Elladan nodded as well and smiled back, moving to the side of the branch and eyeing the tree next to him. He needed to move a little bit away from his brother before he made himself known to the creatures on the ground, or their entire plan would fail from the very beginning. Deciding on a sturdy branch about eight feet to the left of him, he quickly turned back to Elrohir, smiling at him.

“And it did not.”

“Pardon me?” the other elf asked, clearly confused.

“My tone of voice did not qualify as whining.”

With that he turned and jumped, landing soundlessly in the other tree and disappearing so quickly from sight that not even Elrohir could follow his movements for long.
The younger twin shook his head and returned his gaze to the orcs, knowing that Elladan would still be able to hear him, no matter how softly he spoke.

“Yes it did, brother, and you know it.”




Glorfindel sat on the windowsill of his bed-chamber, watching the grey storm clouds that had gathered in the far distance. It was already quite late at night, and usually he would already be sleeping, for the coming day would be filled with paperwork since his lord had announced – in his opinion much too happily – that they would spend the day taking stock of Rivendell’s supplies so they could replenish what they needed before the cold season began in earnest. It was already early November, and in the winter it would be a lot harder to get what they needed than now.

It was a reasonable idea – which, however, did not make it any more appealing to the golden haired elf – and Glorfindel also knew that Elrond was burying himself in his work to distract himself from the fact that his sons were out there, hunting orcs with Aravorn and his men. It was the Lord of Rivendell’s instinctive reaction if faced with a problem, and Glorfindel respected that, but a small part of him still wished that Elrond could find other means of distracting himself, means that did not involve him, Glorfindel, or paperwork.

But despite all this he was still awake, and it was not only to watch the storm. He did like watching storms, he didn’t really know himself why, but he didn’t like it enough to chance provoking his lord’s wrath because he was too tired to be of assistance tomorrow. No, he was still here, watching the thunderstorm – without a bottle of Dorwinion this time, however – because he was busy doing two things.
 
Firstly, he was trying not to think about the twins himself or the fact that he would most likely soon have to drag them back to Imladris, and secondly was he busy coming up with a way of exacting bloody revenge on Erestor for yesterday night. The dark haired elf had to pay, for no-one humiliated him, Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin, in front of his lord and the rest of Rivendell’s population. Not to mention his lord’s twin sons, with which he was back at the topic that worried him the most.

Glorfindel sighed. The twins. He very much doubted that he would ever see someone as stubborn as those two young ones. They were clearly their father’s sons, and Celebrían hadn’t exactly been what one would call “weak-willed” either. The golden haired elf smiled, lost in memory. No, the silver haired elf maiden had been anything but, as had been to be expected of a daughter of the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn.

Glorfindel was sure that Celebrían’s stubbornness had been the main thing that had caused Elrond to fall in love with her; the half-elf had finally found someone who was as headstrong as he. Galadriel’s daughter was more subtle about it, and rather resorted to convincing people with that radiant smile of hers that was able to light up an entire room, but in truth she was just as bad as her husband, and ever since Elrond had sometime in the Second Age started talking about her with that particular dreamy expression on his face that could only be found on a fool’s or a male’s who had just met the embodiment of all his dreams, Glorfindel had known that he would be doomed should the two of them ever have children.

And he had been right, the golden haired elf nodded, the twins and Arwen were indeed among the most stubborn beings he had ever met. But this trait would prove to be their undoing yet, he admitted to himself, and there was nothing Elrond or he could do. His lord had been right; Elladan and Elrohir were old enough to decide their own fate, and they had to understand for themselves that their wild hatred would only get them killed. He didn’t expect them to forget what had happened to their mother, of course not, but they had to stop seeking to destroy orcs wherever they could find them, regardless of their own safety.

The blonde elf sighed again, his eyes not really seeing the lightning that was beginning to light up the sky now. He didn’t like being forced to do nothing, and he honestly couldn’t see how Elrond could stand it. Well, he decided a little bit wryly, Imladris’ Lord might be younger than he, but he was definitely more patient.

Tearing his thoughts away from this particularly displeasing subject, he once again began to think about what he could do to Erestor. Most of the ideas he had had were definitely unbecoming an elf lord, but for everything there were exceptions, and this was one of them. Erestor would find out why it wasn’t a good idea to alienate him, he would make sure of that…

After some more minutes, Glorfindel stood to his feet, having come to the decision that he would need to give the matter considerable thought. Deciding that sleep would elude him this night whatever he did, he quickly walked over to his large bed and took up a shirt. He didn’t really expect to see many elves at this time of night, but it would be highly inappropriate to appear in the corridors of the Last Homely House clad only in his breeches. A small, wicked smile spread on his face as he imagined a scenario involving a scantily clothed Erestor, Rivendell’s population and general public humiliation. Oh yes, revenge was sweet indeed, and Erestor would find out about it first-hand, Eru help him!

He bound back his long hair with a leather strip, softly threatening the gleaming strands to shear them off if they didn’t co-operate a little bit more in the near future, opened his door and turned into the direction of the Hall of Fire. Since the Lady’s departure most elves were not feeling very cheerful anymore, and mostly because neither the Lord nor his sons were to be found in the large hall on the evenings the celebrations that had been held there were now few and not as joyous as they had once been. Elves mourned long and hard, and Celebrían’s absence was still felt keenly by all of Rivendell’s population.

Glorfindel entered the hall, finding it empty as he had expected. He didn’t wish for company, and to sit in front of the fire and let its dancing flames soothe his troubled mind and help him come up with a way to avenge himself on Erestor was exactly what he needed right now. As he was about to settle down in a large, stuffed armchair in one of the corners, however, he noticed that he had been wrong: He was not alone.

Hidden in the shadows a little to his left he could see the still, motionless figure of his lord who seemed to be very busy staring into the flickering flames of the fire. All in all, it was a respectable occupation, especially since he himself had come here to do the same, but in his opinion Elrond’s face was a little too dark and too sombre, even if one considered the shadows that were dancing across his face.

He took a few steps closer to the dark haired elf and, when Elrond failed to acknowledge him, laid a hand on his shoulder.
“My lord?”

To his credit, Elrond did not jump when he heard his advisor’s soft voice, but it was obviously a near thing. His head whipped to the right, but his body relaxed after a few moments when he saw who it was that had interrupted his reverie. Glorfindel frowned slightly and narrowed his blue eyes. If his friend really hadn’t heard his approach, he had been deep in thought indeed.

The Lord of Rivendell smiled at the other elf, a smile that looked more than a little bit strained and did not reach his eyes.
“Glorfindel. Sleep is eluding you as well, I see?”

The golden haired elf returned the smile and sat down next to the other elf onto the wooden bench he was occupying, not waiting to be invited to do so. Elrond needed someone to talk to, even if that stubborn half-elf didn’t realise it himself.

“My being is overcome with terror at the prospect of the coming day, mellon nín,” he told him in a confidential tone of voice. “I would rather face another of Morgoth’s balrogs than taking stock of our supplies.”

That statement brought a real smile to the dark haired elf’s lips, and Glorfindel thought that, for this alone, a sleepless night had been well worth it.
“So we have found a challenge that raises fear in the mighty balrog slayer!”

“Nay, my lord,” Glorfindel shook his head. “No fear. Only terror.”

Elrond shook his head and leaned back against the wall, eyes once again straying to the dancing flames of the fire. Glorfindel watched him for a while with his head cocked to the side, and finally came to the conclusion that the dark haired elf wouldn’t tell him anything on his own.
“And why are you here?”

The other elf didn’t answer, although Glorfindel was sure that he had heard him, and merely continued staring straight ahead. After a moment he opened his mouth to speak, eyes dark and overcome with memories.
“It is dark.”

Glorfindel blinked, the question of whether Elrond had lost his mind briefly flickering through his mind, but when he looked closer, he could see in the other’s eyes that his friend was not only talking about the room they were in at the moment.
“It is dark, yes,” he agreed quietly.

Elrond ignored him and continued, so softly that Glorfindel would nearly have missed his words.
“All is dark since she left, Glorfindel, it is as if the sun has sunken never to return. Without her presence night has fallen and these halls are empty and dark, and no light shines through this darkness that has laid itself over our home without her laughter.”

The blonde elf shook his head sadly, not able to imagine the sorrow his friend had to feel.
“You will see her again, mellon nín. She is waiting for you on the shores of Aman, and one day you and I will set sail to the West where she is awaiting your arrival.”

“Aye,” Elrond nodded bitterly, “One day. But not one day soon.” He raised a hand to interrupt his friend who had just opened his mouth to say something. “No, my friend, I have seen it. It will be a long time before I will journey to the Havens, and I can only hope that I will leave behind a world that is free and safe, ruled by my brother’s heirs; not a world that is covered in darkness and shadow and under the dominion of the Dark One, and yet there does my foresight fail me. I do not know which side will prevail, and that makes it even harder, in a way.”

Glorfindel didn’t like his friend’s dark tone one bit, and he reached out and grasped his forearm, causing the dark haired elf to look at him in mild surprise.
“Never forget the one thing that matters, my friend. You will see her again, no matter how long it will take. She is happy where she is now and will be waiting for you until the ends of time if she has to; you know how stubborn your Celebrían is.” Elrond smiled at that, inclining his head slightly, and Glorfindel continued, a small smile playing about his lips as well. “When our time here comes to an end, you, your children and I will pass into the West, and all of you will be reunited. All will be well.”

“She is stubborn, that is correct,” the dark haired elf agreed after a small pause, a smile on his lips as he remembered an event from the past. “Alas, so are her sons.”

“Now, my friend,” Glorfindel smiled, “Do not try to shift the blame on your poor wife. How else could they have turned out to be with you as their father?”

Elrond gave his advisor a smug look, looking remarkably like one of his sons for a moment.
“Other than handsome, intelligent, brave, wise, graceful, patient and kind?”

The golden haired rolled his eyes.
“Those weren’t exactly the words I was looking for.”

“I cannot imagine why not,” the Lord of Imladris retorted, but a moment later the lightheartedness disappeared from his face. “Do you remember what I told you earlier today?”

A strange feeling appeared in Glorfindel’s heart and he narrowed his eyes, looking at the other elf intently.
“Which part of our conversation are you referring to?”

“The part where I told you that, one day, they would not be coming back.”

The blonde elf’s eyes widened, and he felt his heart freeze in his chest. Elbereth, Elrond couldn’t mean that… He swallowed hard and took a deep breath, trying to calm his wildly beating heart.
“Have you … foreseen something?”

He almost closed his eyes as he was waiting for an answer. Elrond’s gift – or curse – of foresight was formidable, and if he had seen his sons’ death, it would most likely come to pass, just like so many things before…

“No.”

The softly spoken word let the blonde elf almost sink backwards against the wall in relief, and he had to resist the temptation of wiping his brow to get rid of the very un-elf-lordly sweat that had accumulated there. The Valar be praised…

“But,” Elrond continued, “There is something out there, a shadow, a threat, whatever you want to call it. It has been growing in my mind ever since they left, and I fear that they have once again found the trouble they crave. Yet this time, I feel that it may be more than they can handle.”

Glorfindel nodded, his thoughts already several miles away. He rose and nodded again, about to turn to the hall’s exit.
“I will assemble a guard contingent; even at this time of night there should be more than enough volunteers. We can be gone in half an hour if we hurry, and…”

Elrond smiled slightly and shook his head, looking at the tall blonde elf that stood in front of him. Glorfindel was indeed his best and most loyal friend, and none did he trust more or more unconditionally since he had lost Elros and Gil-galad. And yet, even despite the millennia the golden haired elf had already walked on this world or spent in the Halls of Mandos, he was still rather impulsive – which he would deny if faced with that accusation, for elf lords were of course not impulsive – and did what his heart told him.

“No, mellon nín,” he shook his head and looked at the other elf earnestly, “None of my guards will leave this night, and you least of all.” When Glorfindel merely looked at him with a frown on his face, he added, “The storm is growing stronger in the West; it is not safe outside of our borders now.”

“But…” Glorfindel began, only to be interrupted again by his lord.

“No, Glorfindel. I will not risk the lives of several others for two elves, even if they are my sons, and that because of a vague foreboding that could mean nothing.”

The blonde elf studied his lord’s eyes and quickly saw that nothing save a direct order by one of the Valar would be able to change Elrond’s mind now. With a sigh he admitted defeat and sat down again.
“Is it, Elrond? Is it a vague foreboding and nothing more?”

Elrond’s face darkened, and he looked to the floor, shadows dancing across his features.

“No,” he admitted softly, “It is not. It is as strong and urgent as few others I have received in the past, but that changes nothing. The risk is still too great, and all we can do is pray to the Valar that both of them are clever enough not to go looking for trouble.” He saw the slightly rebellious look on his advisor’s face and added, looking up at him again, “If I still feel the same tomorrow morning you may leave at sunrise. Will that satisfy you?”
 
“No,” Glorfindel shook his head, a resigned smile on his face, “But it will have to do, my lord.” He looked into the grey eyes of his friend that were almost black with worry and suppressed fear now, and told him, partly to reassure himself, “They will be fine. We will probably find them in the rangers’ camp, unscathed and mocking poor Arahad about his infatuation with his young son.”

“Yes,” Elrond agreed, giving him a forced smile, “You are probably right, my friend.”

The two elf lords looked at each other, both fervently trying to believe what they had just said, but both knowing deep in their hearts that it was not so. Elrond broke the almost uncomfortable silence first and leaned back against the smooth stones of the wall.

“Tell me then,” he began, raising a dark eyebrow, “What it is you are planning for my dear chief counsellor?”

Glorfindel looked back at him, displaying an expression of aggrieved innocence. If Elrond wanted to change the subject, he was more than willing to oblige. It would help no-one if they drove each other mad with worry about these irresponsible, insolent little elflings.
“Planned? I? For Erestor?”

Elrond began to smile, a smile that lit up his whole face.
“Please, my friend, this look does not suit you. I know that you are planning something.”

“Another vision of the future?” Glorfindel teased gently.

“You could say that,” Elrond nodded. “Tell me then, or I will have to order you to.”

“You would do that?” Glorfindel exclaimed in mock horror. “What a terribly disgraceful thing to do, to exploit your status to obtain information!”

“It is you who keeps insisting that elf lords do not appear clueless in public,” Elrond reproached, his smile widening. “Besides, planning to do something to a fellow lord I am not yet sure I really want to know is nothing I would call befitting an elf lord!”

His blonde advisor closed his mouth he had opened for a scathing reply. Well, the dark haired elf was right about that…
“Very well,” he relented. “To my shame I have to admit that I haven’t planned anything yet.”

“No?” Elrond arched an eyebrow incredulously.

“No,” Glorfindel replied almost testily, “I have not. I do not plan such things very often.”

The smile on Elrond’s face grew to improbable dimensions, and he leaned forward, grey eyes twinkling now.
“Ah, I believe I can be of assistance here.”

Now it was Glorfindel’s turn to arch an eyebrow.
“You, my lord?”

Elrond even looked somewhat hurt and offended.
“Of course. I had a twin brother for nearly five hundred years after all; I know everything about revenge, believe me.”

“Then, my lord,” the other elf inclined his head, “I will gladly accept your generous offer. May we think of something that will teach that scoundrel to prey on unsuspecting elves who only want to enjoy their evening in peace and tranquillity!”

“If I remember correctly, my dear advisor,” Elrond interjected dryly, “It was you who wrote that particular word on his forehead.”

“A mere detail,” Glorfindel brushed the younger elf’s objection aside. There it was again, the word. He really needed to find out what it had been; every elf he had questioned had feigned ignorance and had disappeared as quickly as possible, wearing a smug grin one might add. “The entire thing was his fault and he must pay.”

“Very well, mellon nín,”  Elrond conceded, “You have no ideas then?”

“The terms ‘disgrace’, ‘public humiliation’ and ‘pain’ come to mind now that you mention it,” Glorfindel said slowly, the wicked grin spreading once again on his face as he remembered the small vision he had had earlier, and his lord listened to his ideas, clearly amused by most of them.

The thought of the twins never left his or Elrond’s mind, but the enjoyable conversation helped to push it back for a little while and make the long wait that lay ahead until a search party could leave the Last Homely Home a bit more bearable.

Together the two elf lords spent the rest of the evening in the Hall of Fire, blonde and dark head huddled together as they planned something that could only be described as unbefitting two elf lords of their status, but right then, neither of them cared.

There were exceptions to every rule, after all.




A few dozen leagues to the west, Elrohir was just ducking under a blow that had been aimed at his head, coming back up in time to see the stupid expression on the orc’s face when it stared at its scimitar and tried to come up with a reason why it hadn’t hit its intended target.

The elven twin took another step to the side and brought his own blade down, cleanly cleaving the creature’s head from its shoulders. The orc’s body remained upright for a few seconds, frozen in place, before it tumbled to the earth, its black blood colouring the grass a sickening brown.

Elrohir wasn’t there to observe this, however, since he had spun on his heel and moved to the left to escape the crude spear another orc had thrust at him. While he was trying to avoid getting skewered by this new foe, Elrohir tried to find out when and at which point their plan had gone so terribly wrong.

‘That would be the beginning,’ a voice in his head supplied as the younger twin danced to the side, avoiding the weapon that had nearly been thrust into his stomach a second ago. Indeed, it had gone wrong from the very beginning…

He didn’t blame his brother’s plan, because, considering the circumstances, it had been a rather good one. Not by any means perfect, no, but it had been sensible enough in his opinion. What had spoiled the whole thing, however, had been the storm, or more precisely, thunder and lightning. Loud thunder had clapped and lightning had lit up the sky in the exact moment that Elladan had leapt down from his tree to “distract” the horde, causing the orcs to look up in sudden fright. That by itself would not have been too alarming, for they would have noticed the elf anyway a moment or two later, but they also had seen him, Elrohir, where he had been edging forward to have more space to fire his arrows.

Half the horde had still been distracted by Elladan who had drawn as many of the orcs as possible away from the centre of the glade, and Elrohir had therefore had enough time to loosen four arrows which all found their targets in the necks of four orc archers, but the remaining three had recovered quickly enough from their shock of seeing an elf sitting in a tree above their heads to shower the spot where he had sat with arrows.

The only option the younger elven twin had had left had been to drop down from the tree and join his brother on the ground, relying on his sword and long knife to discourage any orc that might feel the urge to come too close to him.

What really bothered him though, Elrohir decided as he narrowly escaped the spear again, were the wargs. He had always hated these creatures with a passion, and now was not the time he felt inclined to let go of that feeling. Orcs were for the most part clumsy and slow adversaries who could be avoided with the greatest of ease unless there were so many that they closed off your every escape, but wargs were an entirely different story.

They were much bigger and intelligent than their wild cousins, the wolves, and a lot stronger as well. They had learned to work together to bring down their prey, and that was exactly what was causing problems for him and his twin.

Elrohir finally managed to dispatch the orc that had been doing its best in the past few minutes to impale him on its spear, and jumped up into the air just in time to avoid the teeth of a warg that had sneaked up on them and had been about to sink its fangs into the flesh of his leg.

The dark haired elf landed soundlessly a foot away from the beast, turned and thrust his dagger deeply into the animal’s throat before it could react. The warg collapsed, twitching spasmodically, giving Elrohir enough time to regain his bearings.

Running up to him were two orcs, their hideous faces contorted into angry masks and their weapons raised high up into the air. One of them brandished a scimitar of the sort that the orcs forged themselves, crude and evil-looking like everything their race made, while the other held a broadsword which the creature had probably stolen from a human that had fallen victim to them.

That was another thing that was to be heeded when one was fighting orcs, he thought idly, turning slightly to the left to look for his brother, orcs were never armed uniformly, for they used all kinds of weapons which they pilfered and stole from the bodies of those unfortunate enough to cross their way. For inexperienced warriors it was rather hard to adapt to having to fight the most different types of weapons at the same time, something that could only be remedied by much training and exercise.

Wrenching his thoughts away from that, Elrohir noticed that the two orcs were only a few yards away now and quickly looked around for his brother. After a fraction of a second he found him, busy fending off several orcs and wargs. Elladan was only a blur of long hair and gleaming blades, his face hard and emotionless and his eyes shining brightly with something that could only be described as blood lust.

There were about eight orcs left, including two archers, and four wargs, if he had counted correctly. And two of these orcs, he added somewhat wryly, were just rushing up to him, murderous intent shining brightly in their yellowish eyes. Elrohir side-stepped at the last possible moment and let the orcs rush past him, using the opportunity to lash out at one of them. A dark smile curved his lips when he heard the creature’s unearthly howl of pain, but the orc didn’t fall to the ground and seemed to regain its wits in time to wheel around with its companion.

Elrohir frowned and narrowed his eyes when he realised that his blow hadn’t killed the orc. Glorfindel would have his head if he heard about it, he decided sheepishly, the ancient elf had always told him to take more time before striking out at an adversary. And Elladan would probably dissolve into giggles after scowling at him and lecturing him about his carelessness, provided that both of them survived this little skirmish, of course…

Elrond’s younger son shifted his stance slightly, sighing loudly when he saw that two wargs were giving up their circling of the group which his brother was fighting right now and were coming his way, quickly. He really, really, disliked wargs. But then again, the more the foul creatures concentrated on him, the less trouble would his twin have, so it was well worth it.

Elrohir took a step forwards when the two orcs rushed up to him and blocked one of them with his sword and the other with his knife, cursing inwardly when he realised that the wargs were almost upon them. He was forced to give way and to move to the East of the clearing, still busy fending off the orcs and now the two wargs that had decided to join the fray.

While he was slowly being pushed away from the clearing and forced to move backwards through the thick undergrowth, Elrohir gave an annoyed growl, lifting his eyes to the cloudy heaven where lightning could be seen in increasingly short intervals.

Elbereth Gilthoniel, what else could possibly go wrong?

As if to answer the young elf’s question, the heavens promptly opened and heavy rain began to fall, so heavy that it immediately lowered the visibility to a few feet. Elrohir’s eyes grew wide, and he fought the almost irresistible urge to throw his hands up in despair.

What a terribly stupid question that had been.


At the same time, Elladan was thoroughly annoyed.

Annoyed with the orcs that were trying to cut him into little pieces, annoyed with the orc that had managed to slice his left arm open, annoyed with the wargs that seemed more than willing to eat said little pieces, annoyed with the rain, annoyed with the fact that he could no longer see his twin even though he could still hear him fighting a bit away from the clearing, and, most of all, annoyed with himself.

Here one could see again why Elrohir was the one whose plans were successful, because he was more patient and took more time to judge a situation. His wonderful master plan had gone wrong from the very beginning, and Elladan would have hit himself hadn’t he been so busy trying to keep his adversaries away from him.

Elladan moved quickly to the right and thrust his sword into the other direction at the same time, managing to hit the spot beneath the orc’s arm where its armour was weak and driving his blade right into its heart, if creatures such as these even had things like hearts. The goblin dropped to the ground, dead before its body touched the earth the rain was quickly turning into mud, therefore bringing the number of his attackers down to three, not counting the one warg that was still trying to snap at his legs, obviously having decided that the elf looked far tastier than the multitude of orc bodies that littered the ground.

Actually, he was doing quite well if one ignored that little cut on his arm, Elladan decided with a small, reckless smile, lifting his sword a little as the remaining orcs looked at each other, obviously trying to figure out what to do. The fact that the orc he had just killed had been the captain properly didn’t help them to make a decision either, and the elf was suddenly very glad that he had killed it.

The orcs’ leader had been a strong, dark skinned and determined adversary, and in his opinion more dangerous than the whole lot of his subordinates. He heard a piercing wail somewhere to his left, and smiled darkly when he realised that Elrohir must just have killed another warg. That left only the one that was looking as if it seriously contemplated flight now if he had counted correctly, plus his own three enemies and the two orcs Elrohir was still facing. All in all, it was looking rather good, considering that they had started with about thirty orcs and eight wargs…

Elladan moved into an attack position, appearing next to one of the remaining orcs before the creature had time to even blink or turn its head fully into his direction. The elf’s dagger gleamed when another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, and a second later the orc joined his dead companions on the ground, its throat slit cleanly from one of the creature’s punctured and disfigured ears to the other.

The torrential rain almost immediately washed off all of the dark blood that clung to the elder twin’s knife, and he raised his eyes from where he had watched the bright steel to meet the orcs’ now rather frightened eyes, although a crazed glint was still hidden in their gazes. Elladan felt how the satisfaction he felt every time he killed one of these monsters grew in his heart, and the echo of his mother’s cries that had resounded in his mind ever since he had laid eyes on the orcs stilled somewhat, even though it didn’t fade entirely. It never faded completely, not even when he was asleep; he was never able to forget the sounds of his mother’s torment…

His eyes darkened even further at these thoughts and a cold fury seemed to emanate from the elf’s lithe body, almost tangible in its intensity. The orcs looked at each other, their stupid faces confused, and together they decided that their companions’ death wasn’t worth getting killed for by this apparently crazy elf.

One of the two, an archer that had displayed a certain unwillingness to get involved in the fighting – something that suggested a certain level of intelligence on his part – turned and raced away, heading for the sounds of his fighting companions somewhere close to the cliff that dropped off sharply in the East. It was definitely a cleverer thing to do than to try and run past the elf in front of them, which was exactly what the other orc attempted to do. Before he had even taken more than a few steps, the dark haired elf moved with incredible speed, his whole body only a blur, and the dark creature fell to the ground, eyes wide and unseeing.

Elladan looked down on the orc for a second, sheathing his knife, before he looked up, just in time to see the only remaining warg slowly inch backwards, its tail between its legs. When it had gained some distance, it wheeled around and disappeared between the dark trees as fast as its four legs would carry it.

Well, he wouldn’t miss the beast, that much was sure.

Elrond’s oldest son shrugged slightly, wiped a strand of dripping wet dark hair out of his eyes and took off into the direction the other orc had taken. He had to help his brother and then they could both leave this place behind and find something where it was nice and warm, and, most of all, dry. Elladan pushed through the dense undergrowth, easily following the sounds of fighting, the light his elven body produced the only thing except the flashing lightning to light his way. That was just their kind of luck, he decided, to be caught in the worst thunderstorm of this century. Suddenly he was very glad that Arwen wasn’t coming home this winter; the mere thought of his little sister trapped in such a weather on the mountain pass of Caradhras or anywhere else for that matter was enough to send shivers down his spine.

A second later he left the trees behind and stepped out into the open. In front of him, Elrohir was just fighting the last of the orcs that was still alive, a big, burly creature that wielded a broadsword rather skilfully. The bodies of two wargs and another orc were lying somewhere to his right, all in various states of bloodiness, and behind his brother he could see the edge of the cliff, the stones gleaming white in the light of the lightning.

Elrohir noticed the gently glowing figure of his brother as he stepped into the open, and gave him a small smile while he danced to the side to avoid being cut in two. ‘How typical,’ he thought annoyed, ‘I get to fight the biggest and most skilful orcs while my dear brother gets to slay the rest. It is simply not fair…’

These thoughts were quickly forgotten when the orc in front of him stumbled over a tree root that protruded a little from the ground and tumbled forwards, nearly knocking the younger twin off his feet. Elrohir was quick enough to twist his body to the side while he was pushed back, and he managed to free himself of his adversary’s body and dive to the side a mere three feet away from the cliff’s edge. The orc who had nearly fallen over the precipice needed some more time to regain its bearing, time it did not have when fighting an elven warrior. Elrohir was upon him before the creature could even turn around fully, and a second later the large orc’s body hit the muddy ground, the dark haired elf’s sword protruding from its ribcage.

The younger twin barely gave the orc he had just killed another look and wrenched his sword from its body, sheathing it in the same, fluent movement. He took a small step forward, grinning at his brother who was just coming closer and inwardly deciding that he could actually hear water slosh around in his quiver. He ran a hand through his dark hair, finding it so wet that he could have come out of a lengthy bath for all he knew. Oh yes. The Valar had ways of proving uncannily that it could always get worse.

Elladan grinned at his twin, grey eyes twinkling.
“Are you finished playing? Honestly, while you were dancing around with your friends here I killed about half a dozen over there!”

“Are we comparing our kills?” Elrohir grimaced. “If so, dear brother, I am afraid that you will be surprised, because…”

He never got to finish that sentence, for a small, almost undetectable movement to his brother’s left caught his eye and he moved to the right, narrowing his eyes slightly. Elladan had not seen it, but a small noise, like feet shifting on fallen leaves, alerted him that they were not alone. He whirled to the left, thinking that perhaps the warg had returned, but it was too late. A moment too late he realised that it was not the warg, but the more intelligent orc that had fled from him, the only remaining archer of the group. The orc archer that was aiming at his twin right now.

He didn’t even have time to move an inch into the orc’s direction before his keen elven ears detected the swishing sound of an arrow that was being fired, and he turned just in time to see the projectile burrow itself in his twin’s shoulder. Elrohir’s head shot up with a start, eyes wide and unbelieving as the force of the impact propelled him backwards.

Elladan was already running toward his brother before he had fully realised what was happening, a strange shout ringing through the air he couldn’t remember uttering, but even in the moment he broke into his desperate run he knew that he would be too late. Under normal circumstances Elrohir might have had a chance to stop his momentum or to gain a foothold, but the ground was sodden and muddy and too slippery for any such action.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion to Elladan, and so he saw clearly how his younger brother’s body reeled with the impact and was pushed backwards as if struck by an invisible fist. Elrohir’s hands flew immediately to the dark shaft that had hit him in the right shoulder, and his eyes fastened on his twin’s as he was pushed into the direction of the cliff’s edge.

Elladan gave an extra burst of speed in the irrational hope to reach Elrohir in time, looking with wild, desperate eyes at his brother’s identical grey orbs that were full of pain, fear and regret.

“Elrohir!! No!!”

Another shout rang out, a part of his brain this time clearly identifying it as his, but Elladan paid it no heed. All he could see were the wide, amazingly calm eyes of his twin that rolled back into his head as shock set in and he stumbled backwards, falling over the edge of the cliff and disappearing from view.

Chapter 3: Fallen


Elladan slid a few more feet before he came to a full stop. He felt suddenly cold, paralysingly cold, a feeling that had nothing to do with the rain and cold that surrounded him, only two thoughts warring for domination on his mind.

There was the powerful, nearly all-dominating urge to cross the distance to the cliff and get to Elrohir, to get to him now, but a second, even more urgent thought made him move to the side and turn around as quickly as possible. Even though everything in him told him to get to his brother, a more sensible part of his mind, the part that had been trained in warfare and survival for more than two thousand years, insisted that he killed the orc, or he wouldn’t be able to help Elrohir.

Whirling back towards the wood, he reached for an arrow and notched it faster than a mortal’s eye could follow. Letting the projectile fly, he turned back to cliff, not even bothering to wait and see if it had hit its intended target. This one time, the arrow had been there before he had fired it. No-one hurt his brother and lived to tell the tale.

Skidding to a halt next to the cliff’s edge, he fell to his knees and grabbed a large stone with his left hand to avoid falling over the precipice as well, wincing inwardly when he felt the cut in his arm protest. The wound started to hurt now, badly, but he ignored it resolutely as he leaned over the edge.

“Elrohir!!”

The desperate cry was torn from his lips by the howling wind and swiftly carried away, and the dark haired elf felt as if the slowly fading echoes mocked and taunted him. Elladan leaned forward a bit more, staring intently down into the dark chasm.

“Elrohir! Brother, can you hear me?”

The thickly falling rain made it hard for him to see anything, and the growing panic that was beginning to envelop his entire being did nothing to help his concentration either. Elladan’s elven eyes had a hard time piercing the shrouding darkness, but finally, after what felt like an eternity, he saw a tiny, grey-clad figure, about sixty feet below him. A tiny, twisted and frighteningly unmoving figure that looked disconcertingly like his twin.

‘Ilúvatar, no…’ A cold, icy fist reached into his chest and began to crush his heart. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t end like this!

“Elrohir!” he called again, gripping the stone he held harder. “Elrohir!! Can you hear me? Answer me, you stubborn elf!”

Nothing but the howling of the wind answered him, and Elladan felt how the panic inside of him even grew. He could see that his twin didn’t move, and that was probably quite a good thing, too. Elrohir was lying on a ledge half-way down the cliff face that wasn’t bigger than a few metres in diameter, the left side of his body hanging over the edge. If he had landed half a metre to the left, he would have fallen another forty feet, and that was something he definitely wouldn’t have survived in his present condition.

With an obvious effort, Elladan shook his head, reluctantly accepting a few facts. First, that there was no way of finding out if Elrohir was alright, or even alive for that matter. Second, that if his twin moved more than a few inches into either direction, he would roll off the cliff and fall to his almost certain doom. And third, that neither of the former things would change if he stayed here staring down this accursed cliff face.

Scrambling backwards as fast as he could, he tried to force his panicking brain to think. All he could think of was the motionless body of his twin that was lying half-way down that cliff in front of him, and yet again the trained part of his mind took over. If he lost it now, he wouldn’t be able to help his brother.

He stood to his feet, eyes huge and dark in his pale face when sudden lightning flashed across the sky. With a small flash of irritation Elladan decided that this rain was bordering on unnatural. It shouldn’t be possible to rain this much in such a short amount of time, and an elf shouldn’t feel as wet as he did right now. It was not natural, that was what it was.

Elladan forced these thoughts from his mind, staring with unseeing eyes at the rain. Their horses were too far away for him to return and get them; besides, he still had the small bag with healing herbs and bandages strapped to his back next to his quiver; that should do for now. He grimaced wryly. Oh, not even that would help him avoid his father’s wrath, he was sure of that. To be perfectly honest, he was in fact rather sure that his father would fulfil his threat and really send them to Mirkwood with a letter asking King Thranduil to throw them into one of his dungeons until their time came to leave for the Grey Havens.

Well, he decided with a small frown and turned back to the cliff’s edge, quickly reaching behind him to make sure that his quiver was secured on his back, he would make sure it didn’t come to that. He would climb down this cliff and get his brother, and then he would shake some sense into that stupid, thoughtless fool.

Oh yes, that was exactly what he would do, and then he would drag him back to their father and leave for an extended – and admittedly long overdue – visit to the Golden Wood. He would stay there for a few years or a few centuries, namely as long as it would take his father to calm down so that he wouldn’t order Glorfindel to lock him into a cellar the next time he saw him.

‘Hold on, brother,’ he thought as he lowered his body over the edge of the cliff, ‘I’m coming. Just don’t you move an inch, you hear me?’


Half an hour later, Elladan was beginning to seriously doubt the wisdom of his decision.

At the moment, he was hanging twenty feet above the ledge his brother was lying on, on two fingers to be exact. Said two fingers that were beginning to lose their hold and slip right now.

Under normal circumstances climbing down a sixty-feet-cliff wouldn’t have been a problem for him, not even blindfolded or with a hand tied behind his back, but alas, these weren’t normal circumstances. Of course not, he thought irritated as he desperately tried to gain a better grip on the root of a small bush that was growing right above his head, these were anything but normal circumstances.

This was rather unusual, even for them, he decided. Elrohir was lying somewhere below him on that ledge that was just big enough for an elf half his size, he himself was just barely hanging onto this accursed cliff, and his arm was beginning to give him some serious trouble. The dark haired elf looked up at his left arm, looking past the slashed fabric to survey the cut that ran across his whole upper arm. It looked rather ugly now that he thought about it, red and, well, bloody.

He would almost have snorted, managing to hook his fingers into a small crack next to the root he was barely clinging to. Of course it looked bloody, wounds inflicted by orc daggers or scimitars tended to do that just a little bit. Especially if they pierced the skin.

Elladan shook his head and began to resume his climb down the wall. He didn’t know why he was beginning to have these strange thoughts, but they were neither helping his brother nor himself. One part of him wanted to simply jump down the rest of the way and get to Elrohir, now, but another, admittedly incomparably more sensible part of him told him that that would help neither of them. He would most probably injure his brother further, or worse, cause him to fall off the narrow ledge beneath him.

The dark haired elf shook his yet again to fling wet strands of hair out of his eyes. It was still raining, something that should not be possible. It truly seemed as if they had done something to displease the Valar or Ilúvatar himself, even though he could not say what that might have been.

And still, he decided with a sudden flash of fury, not even the Valar or the One himself could stop him from getting his twin. He wouldn’t care in the slightest if Manwë or Varda or any other of the Valar appeared or began to sing a little song – even though that was a rather interesting thought – for not even that would be able to prevent him from climbing down this cliff that was apparently beginning to develop a mind of its own, and a rather nasty one at that since it was beginning to crumble beneath his hands and feet.

There was no way he was losing his brother like this, he would simply not think about it. Losing his mother had almost been enough to break his heart, and a small part of him once again started whispering that it had done something much, much worse than that to him, but to lose his twin would be enough to kill him as well. He couldn’t imagine being separated from Elrohir, and wherever his twin went, he would go, and that included the Halls of Mandos.

Elladan took a short look over his shoulder and would nearly have sung with joy when he realised that he was a mere ten feet above the ledge now. The proximity to his brother was enough for him to give him new strength and resolve, and after a few more moments he softly dropped down next to his brother, silently sending a short prayer of thanks to Elbereth.

With another prayer for Elrohir to be still alive, he crouched down next to his unmoving twin and sucked in a deep, shocked breath when he took a closer look at him. Elrohir was lying on his back, his left arm and leg dangling over the edge of the cliff and the broken shaft of the orc arrow protruding from his right shoulder, a large crimson stain covering the base of the projectile. A ragged cut on his forehead had already stopped bleeding, and several large, swiftly growing bruises and smaller cuts could be seen on his face and on what was visible through the numerous rips in his clothing.

Elladan swallowed hard, his right hand he had stretched out to check his brother’s pulse freezing in mid-air. Eru, please no, Elrohir couldn’t be dead, he mustn’t be dead, please…

Elrond’s oldest son took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down as much as he could at the moment, and with his teeth tightly clenched he finally placed his slightly shaking fingers on his brother’s wet throat. After a second, relief flooded through him, so strong that he thought the tears he had been holding back for the entire time would make an appearance after all.

Elladan released the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding, and quickly grabbed his younger brother’s apparently relatively uninjured left arm to drag him fully back onto the relative safety of the small ledge. After a few seconds he had managed to push Elrohir’s unconscious body back as far against the safety of the stone wall as possible, hoping to shield him at least a bit from the torrential rain that way, and sat back a little, only an inch from the ledge’s edge now himself.

The dark elf took a few deep breaths to calm his wildly beating heart as he reached onto his back and fumbled with the straps of the small bag he had secured next to his quiver. His grey eyes were already beginning to survey the damage done to his twin’s body by the arrow and the fall, his mind working at full speed now and assessing every small injury and cut. Elrohir had probably broken or cracked a few ribs – his brother seemed to have a certain preference for sustaining that particular kind of injury – especially if one considered that he had just fallen sixty feet with no chance to break his fall, and apart from the obvious problem that came from having an orc arrow sticking out of one’s shoulder he could also see that this was the least of their worries now.

Elladan pulled the bag off his back and grimaced when he took a closer look at Elrohir’s left leg that had been dangling over the edge of the little ledge. The ribs were not so bad unless they had somehow damaged something inside of the other elf, but this… He carefully reached for the other elf’s leg and withdrew his hands quickly before he had even made an attempt to straighten it. He honestly couldn’t remember having ever seen a leg that looked as badly broken as this one, he admitted to himself. He could actually see the place where the bone had broken through the skin; the rain had already washed away most of the blood.

The older twin’s frown deepened. Elbereth, this didn’t look good, and unless he was very much mistaken, Elrohir had really managed to break both of the bones in his lower leg in his amazing clumsiness, at least twice each, one might add. That was yet another thing he would have to talk with him about, Elladan decided as he lightly ran his hands over his brother’s leg in an attempt to find all the fractures, except the fact that he would forbid him ever to come close to a cliff again he would have to address that; “that” being his twin’s clumsiness and his unearthly ability to sustain the most horrible injuries in the most harmless environments.

‘Very well, it wasn’t exactly a “harmless” environment this time, but still…’

Elladan was too immersed in his thoughts and too worried about his twin to really pay much attention to his surroundings, but even if he had it was still doubtful if he would have noticed anything. He was an elf, after all, not a dwarf, something for which he had thanked Ilúvatar many times in the past, and so he missed the small tremors that were beginning to run through the stone of the little ledge both of them were sitting on at the moment.

It was actually a rather thin stone base that was covered by a thick layer of earth that had accumulated over the years, something that had not been visible from the top of the cliff. The earth was being washed away in the torrential rain that was still beating down on them, and the weight of two beings, even two beings as light as two elves, was slowly beginning to become too much, and the fact that Elladan was kneeling at the very edge of the ledge was not helping either.

The tremors began to increase in their intensity, and when the first cracking noises could be heard over the howling of the wind and the splattering rain it was already too late. Elladan’s head shot up with a start, his hands releasing the small pack he was just opening to take out some bandages. Grey eyes widened when he looked down and actually saw a crack appearing right in front of his eyes, between the still unconscious body of his brother and himself.

A second later, the ledge beneath his body lurched slightly to the side and seemed to drop a few inches, and only then did the elf understand what was happening. Elves did have no great love for rocks and stones, but now it became clear even to him that usually stone ledges were not behaving like this, unless…

His thoughts were interrupted when another violent jolt went through the rock he was kneeling on, and in the next moment the outer piece of the ledge broke away from the rest with an ugly, sharp crack.

Elladan had no time to react when he fell backwards with the rest of the rock, and the only things he thought of before he disappeared down the dark chasm were that he really should have thought of something like this, and that Elrohir would howl with laughter should he ever hear about this.

After what felt like an eternity his body hit the bottom of the cliff, and he stopped thinking altogether.




The next morning dawned as brightly as the last, and it was hard to believe for anyone laying eyes on the spectacular sunrise in the East that just a few hours ago the sky had been filled with dark grey clouds that had only been broken by an occasional shaft of lightning.

Signs of the passed storm were still evident though, and even within the borders of the elf haven of Rivendell the ground was still damp and quite a few fallen branches lay on the paths that wound across the valley.

The elf that stood on the steps leading up to the main building had no eyes for nature this morning, something entirely unusual for one of the firstborn. Even to the most casual observer it was obvious that he was deeply troubled, and the look in his grey eyes could only be described as haunted.

Elrond sighed, slowly beginning to shake his head. It was in moments like this one that he was missing his wife the most, and be it only her steady, calming presence that had always served to calm his troubled mind. Even if Celebrían had never doubted one of his visions or forebodings, she had always exuded a quiet hope that he was wrong or had misinterpreted something, an occurrence that indeed happened once in a while, and that hope had always served to lift his spirits as well.

But now she was gone and he was alone, alone with the worry, fear and despair these thoughts brought him. He had lied to Glorfindel when he had agreed that Elladan and Elrohir were probably alright, and the golden haired elf had known it just as well as Elrond knew that Glorfindel’s optimism was just masking the other elf’s own worry.

The twins were not alright, he could feel it.

The Lord of Imladris sighed again and unconsciously bit down on his lower lip in increasing agitation. Sometimes he seriously cursed the One for gifting him with foresight; to him it appeared more and more that it was only Ilúvatar’s way of punishing him for something he or his people had done many an age ago. Perhaps it was punishment for some of the terrible things done by the Noldor during their flight from Valinor?

He would never know, but lately it seemed to him that he only got visions of what was to come when it was already too late. It was a rare thing that he was warned of something specific, but when that happened, it had always been too late for more than a hundred years now. He had been too late to save his beloved wife from the torment that eventually drove her away from him, he had been too late to save many of his warriors and of his brother’s heirs from pain and death, and now it seemed that he would be too late to save his sons as well.

Elrond almost hung his head. He should have listened to his instincts, he should have kept them here until they had seen the error of their ways and accepted that blind revenge would not serve to help them or give them the peace they sought, he should…

“My lord?”

He stopped himself from jumping a foot off the ground, and while he was still turning around, he decided that he really had to stop getting lost in thought, or he would be the first elf to die from a stroke. And that, he reasoned, would probably only serve to highly amuse the elf that was standing in front of him.

Glorfindel arched a golden eyebrow in question.
“Did I surprise you, my friend?”

“No,” Elrond shook his head, “Not at all.”

“Of course not,” the other elf smiled. “Whatever gave me that idea?”

“I don’t know,” Elrond retorted, turning back to watch the courtyard where several elven warriors were beginning to appear now, their horses trailing dutifully behind them. “I will never understand how your mind works, I fear.”

Glorfindel narrowed his eyes, but apparently decided not to comment on this. He stepped to his friend’s side, his long grey cape swishing behind him as his eyes wandered over the small troupe of warriors in front of him.
“We’re ready, my lord. We can leave in a few minutes.”

Elrond turned slightly and looked at his golden haired advisor seriously.
“I thank you, mellon nín. I had very much hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but apparently…”

“It does not surprise you, does it?” Glorfindel asked, smiling softly.

“No,” Elrond shook his head again, “Not in the slightest. I cannot remember the last time this fair house has been graced with good fortune.”

The golden haired elf looked at his friend with sad eyes. He too had hoped that today it would be different, that Elrond would tell him that his feelings had proven to be false, that he was sure that the twins were alright, but it had proven to be a vain hope. He had needed to take only one look at his lord’s face this morning to realise that in fact nothing was alright, and least of all his lord’s sons.

“Do not despair, my lord,” he said. “We will find them and bring them back, and we won’t let them out of this house again until they have seen reason.” He paused and added after a moment, “And after you have patched them up again, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Elrond agreed somewhat dryly. “I think I can detect a certain pattern in their behaviour of late.”

“Indeed,” Glorfindel smiled. “It usually involves horrid injuries, near-death experiences and me dragging them back here.”

“And I know none as perfectly suited for that job as you, my friend!” a new voice announced, and with a small, respectful bow to Elrond a dark haired elf stepped forward, a smug smile on his lips.

Glorfindel briefly closed his eyes, vainly hoping that this was merely an apparition. When he opened them again, however, the elf was still standing next to Elrond, the smile now definitely amused. The golden haired elf almost hung his head. And here he had thought that this day could not possibly get any worse.
“Erestor.”

Erestor smiled at the blonde elf, an unreadable twinkle in his eyes.
“Good morning, my Lord Glorfindel. I trust you are well?”

Glorfindel gave the other elf lord a bright, blinding smile and grabbed his arm, pulling him a little to the side while he tried to ignore his lord’s raised eyebrow who was watching in obvious amusement.

“What are you doing here, my lord Erestor?” he asked in a friendly tone of voice, looking pointedly at the other’s attire. The dark haired elf wasn’t wearing his usual robes but clothing similar to Glorfindel’s, made of soft, grey elven fabric, complete with a long cape and a sword on his belt.

“Why,” Erestor asked, somehow managing to project an air of hurt surprise, “I am accompanying you, of course.”

“Of course,” Glorfindel nodded before he blinked quickly, ignoring the soft snickering that could be heard from somewhere behind him that sounded suspiciously like Elrond. “What do you mean, ‘accompanying me’?”

“You did not think I would let you go after those two irresponsible elflings alone, did you?” Erestor asked, something like enthusiasm shining in his eyes. “I will accompany you, my friend, and none of those who have hurt them will be able to stand before our wrath!”

Glorfindel stared wide-eyed at the other elf, his mind working so fast and hard that he was surprised that no-one could see the sparks flying. This was the reason why he usually spent the time Erestor was feeling adventurous in Lothlórien, but since he had been too unobservant to notice the subtle signs that indicated that the younger elf was entering the aforementioned time, he was stuck here, and it seemed that the walls were closing in on him, figuratively speaking.

He couldn’t think of any sensible reason why Erestor shouldn’t accompany him, except the very obvious one, namely that he would go insane if he did. He was still planning to do something rather drastic to his lord’s chief advisor, besides, if Erestor was in this kind of mood, he was even worse than the twins in terms of recklessness and impulsive behaviour. Glorfindel shuddered inwardly. There was no way the dark haired elf was coming with them.

“Well,” he began, displaying a false smile he had learned a very long time ago at the royal court of Gondolin. “You are needed here, my friend. Is that not correct, my lord?”

Elrond forced his face into a stern façade, inwardly thanking the Valar for friends such as these. Somehow Glorfindel always managed to cheer him up a little, even if it happened unintentionally sometimes. Ignoring the warning glare his golden haired advisor shot him, he answered,

“No, my friend. I think I will be able to do without Lord Erestor for a few days.”

He would almost have laughed aloud when the warning glare turned into unbelief, then into outrage and then into something that could only be described as passionate thirst for revenge. The Lord of Rivendell forced himself not to gulp. Suddenly he could very well imagine how that poor balrog must have felt all these ages ago.

Erestor interrupted the icy silence that had fallen by clapping his fellow elf lord heartily on the back.
“You see, Glorfindel? I will be ready in a minute!” He turned to Elrond and bowed once again. “Do not worry, my lord, we will return those troublesome sons of yours to you. They will be just fine, I’m sure.”

With an encouraging smile at his lord he turned and walked down the stairs leading to the courtyard, or rather skipped down the stairs leading to the courtyard, Glorfindel noted despairingly. This was a behaviour highly unbecoming an elf lord, he decided, besides, it did not bode well for his future.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. O Elbereth, all he wanted was to go and find the twins as fast as possible, and now here he was, condemned to taking Erestor with him. He opened his eyes again that were now of a dark, rather stormy blue colour, and fixed them on his lord who wasn’t looking as smug anymore, which he noted with some satisfaction.

“That was unnecessary,” he all but hissed.

“On the contrary,” Elrond shook his head, the smug look reappearing in the blink of an eye. “You forget that Erestor is a capable warrior, even if he chooses to stay here in Imladris most of the time. Besides, you do not honestly believe that I could keep him here when he’s like this, do you?”

Glorfindel glowered at the dark haired elf lord, knowing perf