No Remedy

NO REMEDY - CHAPTER FIVE:


A lone Elf on horseback rode into the front courtyard
of the Last Homely House and stared around in
amazement. He’d always heard the place was beautiful,
but this was far beyond his expectations.

Well, in most ways. He hadn’t expected to see a horse
grazing in the formal gardens.

Maybe it was a special horse?

He swung down from his own mount and looked around
for the stables. The courtyard was oddly deserted; he
would have expected, at the very least, to be challenged
by a guard if he wasn’t greeted by a Lord.

A young Elf came running through the courtyard suddenly,
looking distracted. He stopped short when he saw the
visitor. “Who are you?”

“Legolas of Mirkwood...” the young Prince replied,
looking bewildered, “Did something happen here?”

“I’ll say something did!” The Elf didn’t seem overly
concerned that he was speaking to a Prince, or perhaps
the name ‘Legolas’ wasn’t known to him. “We allowed
our Chief Counselor to go to Lothlorien, *that’s* what
happened!” and he turned to rush into the building.

Legolas caught his arm quickly. “Where is Lord Elrond?”

“Busy! But I’ll tell him you’re here!” the Elf called back,
pulling away and running on.

Legolas was left staring after him.

Imladris was certainly run along *much* less formal lines
than Mirkwood.

He liked it...


*


Erestor’s eyes opened slowly.

He had no idea where he was - someplace cold and damp,
with bristling straw under his cheek.

His head hurt.

Badly.

His body felt heavy and thick - lifting his head to look
around took every bit of strength he could muster.

The room was of stone, with high, narrow, barred windows,
far out of reach. Late evening sky showed in stripes between
the bars. So - he was not in an underground dungeon.

He supposed that was a good thing, although this room
seemed little better.

A low moan alerted him to the fact that he was not alone; he
forced his eyes to look around again. It wasn’t easy, they
didn’t seem to want to focus properly.

He saw most of the Imladris guards, two of the Mirkwood
diplomats, and one of his own Assistant Counselors.

There was no sign of Glorfindel, Araden, or Riel.

He was lying close to the wall; he used it for support to sit up,
blinking owlishly through curly strands of black. His braid
was coming undone, but he wasn’t worried about that right
now.

Where was he?

What had happened?

And most importantly, where was Glorfindel?

He was cold; a glance down told him his cloak and shoes
were gone. Another look around the room made him realize
that all the Elves wore nothing but their tunics and leggings.
All their cloaks, shoes, and weapons had vanished.

The other Elves were beginning to stir. One guard and the
Assistant Counselor gave Erestor odd looks; the rest ignored
him, getting up on wobbly legs and leaning on one another as
they tried to find a way out.

The windows were far too high to reach, and the door was
solidly built and firmly fastened.

For now, they were trapped.


*


Legolas followed another Elf down a long, lovely corridor,
well-lit by huge windows. Apparently, the first Elf had
forgotten about him; Lord Elrond had never appeared. This
Elf had wandered by about half an hour later, mumbling about
supply lists and, of all odd things, chicken coops.

Legolas had asked if he knew where Lord Elrond was and
the Elf had nodded absently, saying he was going to see him
now. Legolas had simply followed him when he continued
on his wandering, muttering way.

Imladris was so much fun!

The Elf had apparently - *finally* - reached his destination;
he pushed open an ornate door and went inside. Legolas
followed him, bright eyes curious.

An Elf he recognized, from his father’s descriptions, as
Lord Elrond was sitting at a large desk, glaring at the
rooster that was sitting calmly on top of some important
-looking documents. “Tharin? Please tell me they’ve
repaired the coop this creature is supposed to be in?”

“Nay, my Lord. No one remembers where the proper
supplies are stored.”

Elrond sighed. “And *who* is responsible for deciding
where they are stored?”

“Lord Erestor...” Tharin said sheepishly.

Elrond groaned and reached for a nearby scroll. He opened
it, and Legolas was even more curious when he saw hundreds
of notations made on it. Elrond marked it with one more, blew
on it to dry the ink, and allowed it to roll back up. Then he
glanced up, and his eyes settled on the blond Elf standing behind
Tharin.

“Allow me to guess... Legolas of Mirkwood?”

“Yes, Lord Elrond,” Legolas said politely, his eyes dancing
with amusement.

Elrond noticed, of course. He sighed and got to his feet, walking
over to greet the Elf. “I am sorry I was not there for a formal
welcome.”

“I don’t mind.”

Elrond raised an eyebrow at that, but before he could reply,
another Elf ran into the room.

“Lord Elrond! The fisher-folk form LakeTown have arrived
with the winter’s supply of fish - they are demanding payment,
but Counselor Hiliadian insists it’s higher than last year.”

“Where are the payment records?”

“They’re supposed to be in Lord Erestor’s desk, but we
couldn’t find them yesterday when we needed them to pay
the woodcutters, either! It’s all such a jumbled mess from
looking for other things...”

“Erestor pays the fisher-folk, too?” Elrond sighed, then glanced
at Tharin. “Remind me to add that to my list.”

“Yes, sir.”

Elrond gave the upset Elf at the door some instructions, and
waited until he left. Then he turned to Legolas again. “Let me
give you some advice, young Prince - if you ever find yourself
King of Mirkwood, *know* who does the real work in your
kingdom and *never* allow them to leave. And if they do
leave, when they return, be sure to praise, pamper, reward,
and supply them with a hundred assistants who have been
threatened on their *lives* to do the work they are assigned
to do!”

Legolas grinned.

He really, *really*, liked Imladris!


*


Erestor and the others were startled when the door to their
cell suddenly slammed open.

Men stood there, roughly dressed Men with smug faces.

“Are the pretty Elves awake, then?” one asked, striding
forward into the room. Several of the guards tried to get
back to their feet, but they were still too weak from the
effects of the potion that had knocked them out and the
earlier frantic search for escape.

The Man ignored their struggles, peering at them all carefully
in turn. His eyes lingered on one of the guards, a slim young
Elf with white-blond hair and guileless green eyes. “Take this
one and put him with the others!” he ordered, and two more
Men came into the room, caught the guard’s arms, and
dragged him away.

The first Man continued his survey of the captured Elves,
occasionally pausing to study one or another, though he
ordered no more removed. Erestor was the last he
approached; the Counselor sat apart from the other
Elves, once more leaning weakly against the wall.

“Well, well...” the Man said, his eyes gleaming as he
studied the slender Elf. “What do we have here?” He
turned back to the door, glaring at his subordinates.
“How did you *fools* miss this one?!”

Erestor jerked as a heavy hand settled on his head,
testing the texture of his hair. It moved to grasp his
chin, lifting his face to the Man’s scrutiny, turning him
back and forth to study him from all angles. Then the
Man grunted and let go.

Erestor thought he would move away, so he was more
startled than before when his arm was grabbed and he
was pulled roughly to his feet.

“Shall we put him with the others, too?” Another Man
asked tentatively.

“No,” the first Man replied, his grip tightening painfully
as Erestor tried to pull away. “No... I’ll be taking this
one straight to the Master.”


*


“Haldir?”

“Yes, my Lady?”

“The delegation from Mirkwood and Imladris... when
are they to arrive?”

“They should be here within the week, my Lady.”

Galadriel was silent for a moment, her usually serene
face troubled. “I fear for them.”

“My Lady?” Haldir was immediately on the alert - if
his Lady was worried about the delegation, then
something was wrong. There was no doubt of that in
his mind.

“I want you to take your brothers, and as many
Galahadrim as can be spared. Go and meet them...
if they are in danger, rescue them.”

“At once, my Lady!” The blond MarchWarden
hurried from the room.

Galadriel watched him go, then turned back to her
work. She thought for a moment of FarSpeaking with
Elrond, but decided not to.

Not yet.

She would stay in touch with her MarchWarden; if
something *had* happened to the Imladris Elves and
those from Mirkwood, then she would let her son-in-law
know.

There was no use worrying him until she knew for sure.


*


“Ada? Ada, we’re back!”

Elrond looked up sharply from his work. He’d just
shooed the seventeenth chicken from his office today.
Perhaps fried chicken would be a good thing to order
for dinner - he had gotten no work at all done today,
and revenge was sometimes sweet.

“Elladan? Elrohir?” He got up quickly and embraced
his sons, looking past them to the little Elf in the doorway.
“And Figwit! Thank the Valar! Do *you* know where
Erestor has stored the boards and wire for repairing the
chicken coops?”

Figwit blinked. “Er... yes, my Lord. They are in the
seventh storage room, under the bedrooms in the east
wing.”

Elrond beamed. “Bless you, Figwit. I’m sure you are
tired; but if you will only inform the carpenter of that, I
will give you the rest of the evening to yourself!”

Figwit smiled, nodded, and disappeared down the hall.
He wasn’t an Elf to ask questions, especially when there
was desperation in Lord Elrond’s voice.

Elladan and Elrohir had turned toward the door, but
two iron-gripped hands stopped them in their tracks.
“Where do you two think you are going?”

“Um... to eat?” Elrohir hazarded, wide eyes studying
his father’s face.

“Fine. Eat. Then, you are taking Prince Legolas, the
guards I have assigned him, and as many other guards
as you feel you need - find the delegation, allow Legolas
to join them - but bring Lord Erestor back here if you
have to tie him up and carry him over your saddle.”

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged looks and snickers.
“Yes, Ada!”

“And don’t laugh at me!”

.