To Kill An Elf

Title: To Kill an Elf
Author: Lynsey
Beta: Spell-check
Chapter: 2/?
Pairings: None yet; Characters include Erestor, Glorfindel, and Elrond
Rating: This chapter R
Warnings: Character death.
Summery: No evil deed goes unpunished.
Disclaimer: Don't sue. All I got are college loans, and this isn't
helping to pay them off.


Glorfindel entered his rooms, and began to search for his gear. It had been many years since the last time he had done more than just tour Imladris's borders. He found his throwing daggers, and throwing stars. Out came the long bow he used only for battles and the wicked, barbed arrows that, once in, could not be removed. He found the sticky liquid he used on the points of his arrows, the liquid being a fast acting poison that worked on elf, man, and beast. A variety of daggers joined the rest of his arsenal. Finally, he took his broad sword off of the wall where it had hung since the Last Alliance. He swung it a couple of times, easily remembering the heft and weight of the deadly blade. He strapped it to his back, being as it was too long to strap to his hip. He grabbed the ever-ready travel bag that lived in his wardrobe, and made his way to the kitchens for provisions.

Finally, his bag full of travel provisions, he made his way to the stables. Upon entering, he came face to face with the Peredhil twins. Both Elladan and Elrohir were saddling their mirror-image stallions, and Asfaloth was already saddled and waiting. The twins mounted up, and looked at Glorfindel. The golden warrior saw in their eyes what he would have seen in his own if he had looked into a mirror: death to the one who harmed their beloved advisor.

"The news must have traveled fast," Glorfindel commented as he mounted up.

"Aye, it did," remarked Elladan, spurring his horse after Glorfindel's.

As they rode out of the stables, Glorfindel released a long, high pitched whistle. Moments later, several huge, shaggy hunting hounds joined the horses along with a droopy skinned scent hound.

"We will make to the spot Erestor was returned to the company after he disappeared, it should be a half-day’s hard ride away. We will back track from there. The company did not spend any time searching the surrounding area since they where concerned with getting Erestor home as rapidly as possible. Hopefully, we will find this bastard's trail, and we will have him dead before a sennight is up," Glorfindel informed his small posse as they made their way through the gates of Imladris.

"Death is too good for that piece of warg shit," Elrohir growled.

“Would that we could condemn his fea to the lowest pit of any hell ever conceived of,” Elladan hissed.

“He will die slowly,” Glorfindel grinned evilly. “We will make sure he knows what it is like to suffer before he dies. We can give him his very own hell right here on Arda.”

They spurred their horses into a gallop, eager for the blood of the elf that dared to harm their beloved Erestor.

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Elrond carried the body of his best friend to the healing rooms so the rights of passage could be given. As he walked through the Last Homely House, he began a lament for his beloved advisor. One elf joined in his song, then another, and another, until it seemed the entire house was filled with the mournful song. He came to the healing rooms, and placed his burden on a spare bed. One of his apprentice healers had a dish of cleansing water and herbs prepared, as well as rags with which to wash the body.

Elrond slowly removed the black robes from Erestor’s body. It was such an odd color for the councilor to wear, since he commonly chose reds and blues. Then, Elrond realized why Erestor had chosen black…the robes where saturated in blood from wounds Erestor had never admitted to having, let alone let Elrond treat. Erestor had known he was dying, of that Elrond had no doubt. He also knew that his advisor had omitted telling him of his wounds so as not to burden the Lord. As Elrond revealed more and more injuries, he began to cry once more, grieving for the pain the elf before him had suffered before his death.

The Lord gently cleansed each blemish on the pale, creamy flesh, rubbing away the blood that marred the beautiful councilor’s skin. When that was finished, he washed and braided Erestor’s hair how he had always liked it. He then dressed the advisor in one of his favorite robes of a deep burgundy that brought out the red highlights in the raven tresses.

Quietly, the Lord left the room and gestured for one of his junior advisors that had been lurking outside to come to him. “Have the pyre readied in the courtyard. We will burn the body at dusk tomorrow,” he instructed, then he went to his rooms to further mourn his loss.

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It was nearly evening before the trio of warriors came upon a nearly obliterated camp sight. Elves rarely left a mark on the earth they camped on, and Erestor’s company had been no exception. All they found was the remnants of a hastily doused fire, and a few places where an elf had laid down for the night.

“This is where the fun part starts,” growled Glorfindel. He reached into his tunic, and pulled out a lock of raven hair. The twins each raised a brow at that, but said nothing as Glorfindel leaned down and called to the floppy-eared scent hound, “Voronda, come.”

The dog came, and Glorfindel stroked the wrinkly skinned head. He held the lock of hair up to the dog’s nose. “Ready to work, Voronda?” Glorfindel asked. The dog immediately began to nuzzle and huff at the object in Glorfindel’s hand upon hearing the trigger words it had been taught. The dog began to whine and squirm, waiting for the signal it had been taught before it began its search. Glorfindel stood and mounted his horse again. “Find it, Voronda. Find it!”

The dog immediately put its nose to the ground and circled swiftly. Catching a wisp of what it was looking for, the animal paused for a moment, getting a good sniff of the ground, then started off on the road back toward Imladris.

“Voronda, stop!”

The dog complied immediately and sat down in the middle of the road, looking at Glorfindel expectantly. The warrior had expected this to happen. The dog was following Erestor’s scent back to Imladris, but Glorfindel wanted a different trail.

He gave the dog a new command, “Voronda search! Search!”

Obediently, the dog started circling in the pattern it had been taught. He started in the middle of the area, and spread outward. Each time he found a path of scent that lead outwards from his circles, he would sit down. Glorfindel would mark the spot in his head and give the dog the signal to continue. Two times the dog sat. Once in the direction he had previously marked, toward Imladris, and once leading out into the woods.

Glorfindel brought his horse to the second place Voronda had indicated. He called the dog and gave it the command, “Find it, Voronda. Find it!”

The hound was off on the track through the woods, the trio of elves and a pack of hunting hounds behind him.

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They traveled until dark, and deciding that there was enough light to continue, they followed the determined Voronda throughout the night. They only stopped to force the dog to rest. They had long ago discovered that Voronda’s breed would track a scent until they either found what they were looking for, or they died. Whichever came first. It took many long hours to get a dog to be as well trained as Voronda, and they would hate to loose such a good tracker.

Near dawn, they came upon the remnants of a camp. Whoever had been in this camp had not been concerned about brushing away evidence of their presence. It had also been vacated only very recently, maybe a day before. Glorfindel and the twins dismounted and started to search the area.

“Glorfindel! Over here!” Elladan called. As the golden warrior approached, Elladan gestured toward the tree he was looking at. The captain ran his hands down the bark, finding places where it had been rubbed raw. Feeling a sticky substance on his fingers, he drew them back and smelled them. Blood.

“He had Erestor tied to this tree. Erestor tried to escape, the bonds cut into the bark of the wood, and he rubbed his wrists until they bled. Search more. There may be something else.”

They began to search through the thick leaf litter scattered on the ground. This time it was Elrohir who found something.

Looking at the dirt Elrohir had uncovered, Glorfindel became enraged. The dirt was crusted, as if it had been wet and then dried. The smell coming from the ground told him exactly what had wet the earth. Blood and semen. Lots of it.

“That fucking BASTARD! When I find him he’s a dead elf! I swear to the Valar you will be revenged, Erestor!” Glorfindel raged.

“Voronda, come!” the captain commanded. The animal responded swiftly, sitting obediently at Glorfindel’s feet.

Glorfindel pointed to the ground he had been examining. “Are you ready to work, Voronda? Ready to work?” he asked, signaling the dog to pick up a new scent. The dog sniffed and huffed, then looked up and whined expectantly.

Glorfindel and the twins mounted up, and Glorfindel gave the command. “Find it, Voronda! Find it!” The animal made a beeline into the woods, following this new trail adamantly.

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Dusk arrived in Imladris, and the body of the Chief Councilor lay upon a large wooden pyre. The wood had been soaked in oil, and only awaited the spark of a torch to light it. Elrond came forward as the sun set behind the horizon. Wordlessly, he held forward a torch and touched it to the wood. The fire roared to life, engulfing the wood and the figure lying upon it. Elrond stepped back, and watched the pyre burn as tears of loss flowed down his cheeks.

The population of the valley stood in the large courtyard and watched from windows and balconies. The silence of such a large crowd was unnerving, but no one was willing to utter a single sound. As the night wore into dawn, some elves started to leave the area and attend to their duties. As the day wore into afternoon, more left. As afternoon wore into night, the only elf left at the side of the pyre was Elrond. He sat next to the pile of ashes, watching the last smoldering embers loose their light and die. He had shed his last tears hours ago, but he still sobbed quietly.

He dipped his hand to run it through the large, thick pile of ashes where Erestor’s face had lain. At first, he just skimmed his hand across the top, then he pushed his hand further into the soot. He stopped as his hand encountered something soft, unyielding, and warm. He pulled his hand back and looked at the pile, wondering if he had finally gone insane from grief. This time he put both hands into the pile and started to dig frantically. Seeing what he had suspected, he screamed, suddenly afraid and crawled backwards from the pile. He wrapped his arms around himself and rocked, sobbing.

A worried councilor came to his lord upon hearing his terrified cry. “What is it my lord?”

Elrond could only point at the pile of ashes, too shaken for words.

The councilor hesitantly approached the ashes and peered into the hole Elrond had dug. With a cry, he was on his knees, pushing the rest of the ashes away.

“Bring the healers!!” he cried out to anyone who could hear him. A few soldiers guarding the entrance to the house ran toward the advisor, and, upon seeing him and his concern, one rushed to the healers while the others helped him move the ashes and soot. One of the warriors pulled a form from the soot and ash, and he wiped away what he could from a pale mouth…which drew in a shaky breath.

The guard smiled, continuing to wipe away what he could from the eyes and nose of the figure he held. The healers ran from the house, and down into the courtyard, not quite believing the warrior that had come to them, but silently hoping beyond hope anyway. They reached the warrior and his burden, pulling the form from him and, examining it, gave an excited cry of joy.

The guard still kneeled where he was, tears running down his face. He then laughed to those around him, “A phoenix has arisen from the ashes! What a beautiful day this is!”

Voronda = faithful