Feud

Feud
http://feud.shadowess.com
By erobey: robey61@yahoo.com
Disclaimers: see initial chapter
Thanks: to all the readers and especially to Sarah for her beta work. Any remaining errors are only mine!

Chapter 51: Tôl Bar Crebain an Idh [The Crows Come Home to Roost.]
Part Two

The surface of the object was smooth and cold to the touch, only a few pits, scratches, or flaws marred the body of the satiny material, and he ran his thumb against it, feeling the tacky coat of oils left on the glassy stuff by his skin. The slick polish bore testimony to hours of smoothing fion ion by work of careful hands employing running water and the finest grit.

Tentatively, the tip of his index finger probed closer to the edge, transmitting the information gleaned from this sensitive investigation is iis inner vision. He could clearly replicate the image in perfect detail; a regular pattern of delicate scallops all alohe the tapered sides thinned the dense mass into a razored outline. The meticulously deadly sharpness culminated in an apex so diminished it must be but the size of a pollen grain. He ghosted his touch across it delicately, scarcely feeling the impression, not desiring to prick his skin and spill blood.

He held to the article in secrecy, fondling its utilitarian beauty obscured from observant eyes, hidden even from his own view in the dark confines of a pocket.

"…harvest of apples is even more abundant than last season! I took the liberty of distributing the excess to the human villages across the river near the East Road…"

Elrond was vag awa aware of the allocution taking place, but it hardly seemed worthy of his full consideration when he held so fascinating an artefact. He tested the dimensions of the stone point by compressing it between thumb and forefinger. The width was barely more than a sliver, no thicker than a sheaf of parchments stacked together, and he marvelled at the material's ability to mask its durability within so gracefully slender a form.

{Like its maker.}

He followed the edge down the opposite leg of the arrowhead's angle, absently counting the scallops and wondering if the number of depressions was significant in some way, adding to the efficiency of the flight of the missile or increasing its ability to cut through flesh and bone.

{An archer would know such things; I am no archer.}

It had never occurred to him before to question the practical reasons for design; the making of arrows was a skill for his lesser citizens. He had no idea who among the elves of Imladris was responsible for the task or even where the material to make them originated. How did one acquire the knowledge for making a blade from stone? Were his archers still using stone to tip the shafts of their feathered bolts?

{Surely not, they must cast them from molten metallic alloys, even as sword blades are created. The Noldor have not used stone implements since before the First Age.}

And yet Elrond had to admit it; he did not truly know, merely assuming Imladris' archers armed their arrows with metal points. The warriors' quivers were kept filled, that was all the information he had ever cared to have.

"…a small group from Lorien, making for the Havens. They are a single family, fifteen in number, having lost three in the passes…"

The Lord of Imladris sighed and frowned as he sent a glance in the direction of the speaker of these w. T. The remarks were but a sample of a seemingly endless recitation of everything that had transpired since he was last at home, down to the most mundane of details. Elrond shifted in his chair and drummed lightly with his fingers against the exquisite whorls and burls of the wood's grain exposed through the gleaming sheen of the lacquered tabletop. He turned his insight back to contemplating the primitive device of death deep in the pocket of his robe.

His hand flipped the arrowhead over, for the hundredth time at least, to examine the other face of the weapon. He counted the scalloped indents at the bladed rim, identical to the previous number on the reverse, as he already knew. He felt along the gently convex bottom, the place where the point would be joined to the sturdy, slender wooden body of the projectile. Here the bulk of the stone on both sides had been worked, not to achieve lethal sharpness but to fit it snugly into a ready shaft.

{It is shaped like a leaf, how appropriate!}

Elrond wondered if the configuration of his souvenir was a common shape or one specific to the Woodland Realm, or perhaps unique to Legolas. None of this had occurred to him when he had selected the relic from among the handful spilled from the outcast's quiver while he lay, naked and slumbering, after the rains in Mirkwood that day. The Elf Lord had chosen the point hastily, picking this one solely for the beauty of the stone's peculiarly mottled green and black pattern.

He had never been interested enough before to consider what designs the individual barbs might take, merely acknowledging the steep triangular pinnacle gracing the weapons. In the end, what one saw upon viewan aan armed archer was a quiver filled with notched, fletched shafts. The tips were only visible for mere seconds when a warrior aimed and launched the arrow into the air.

But now, he found that he very much would like the answers to all of these questions. Elrond longed to possess the thoughts passing through Legolas' mind when he had chosen this bit of rock and made this arrowhead. Why could the stone not give up these secrets to his healer's touch?

"…have been required to quarantine the mortal merchants until we can determine what illness this may be. While none have died of it, two Men's villages have fallen prey already…"

The ceaseless resume of activity at the Last Homely House continued. Elrond grunted a noncommittal response and then promptly drove the words from his attention again. One day was very much like another in Imladris, after all, and he had left his home in capable hands.

The Noldo Lord let go the arrowhead and fumbled around in the pocket of his velvet vestments, fingers seeking, heart lurching when they failed to clasp the item he sought. Elrond unconsciously sighed, his pulse relaxing back into its normal rhythm, as soon as his digits' recognised the soft, felted lock of hair coiled in the corner of the garment's concealed pouch. He traced around the spiralling knot he had carefully constructed from the heavy strand, absorbing the remainder of the wild elf's essence infused into the hair.

If he breathed very slowly and deeply, he could catch a faint whiff of the fallen archer's intoxicating aroma at the height of his passion. Elrond drew in a long breath and held it as his eyes dropped shut of their own volition. An image of Legolas surged to the forefront of his mind; the feral elf appeared as he had on that first day in the forest, staring down upon them with bow armed and drawn, that odd mixture of youthful curiosity and jaded distrust shining in the unsounded fathoms of those pools of radiant blue.

"…then the entire goat herd burst into flame and went raging about the paddock. It took every elf in the barracks to extinguish the ensuing blaze, and I had no choice but to instruct my archers to kill the poor beasts mercifully! I suspect some malicious Maia attached to the service of the Dark Lord was responsible."

Silence. The voice had ceased chattering, quite suddenly. What had the elf said just now? Elrond's eyes opened into a narrowed glare as he exhaled a prolonged, silent sigh. His brow creased into an array of furrows that usually signalled his rising wrath and was matched by the deep down-turning of his stern lips. He raised a most daunting scowl to the speaker.

"What did you say, Glorfindel?" he demanded. "I am not in the mood for your unremarkable attempts at humour! Just continue with your bloody report!"

"Forgive me, my Lord, I just needed to reassure myself that you were listening, as it has been over an hour and you have made no reply to anything I have said thus far!" If the venerable Vanya warrior was surprised to hear this discourteous remark from his Lord, he did not show it. He stood at the other side of the broad table, arms crossed against his chest, gazing down upon Elrond with a rather bemused expression tinged with the smallest taint of worry. Rarely was the Lord of Imladris so distracted.

"I assure you I am getting every detail!" Elrond retorted. "Perhaps you have mistaken my complete confidence in your ability to manage these trivialities for disinterest!"

"Nay, I mistake nothing!" Glorfindel snorted. "It is hardly my doing that Erestor is not here to attend to these matters! If you wish me to deal with all this without informing you of the incidents occurring in your Realm during your unexpected absence, please say so! I have twice the work load and half the assistance to complete it!"

"My journey was hardly unexpected, Glorfindel, as you were informed two weeks before I set forth!"

"Oh, aye, yet you never arrived at your proposed destination! Your sons are out searching for you even now! Where did you go, Elrond, and what has become of Erestor?" The Balrog slayer leaned down and slapped his ample palm against the solid wood with a jarring thump.

Elrond rose from the table and met his noble retainer's stare in fury as Glorfindel stood tall and straight. Whatever his first life's glory may have been, Glorfindel was bound in service to the Peredhel's house in this one.

"You forget yourself, my friend," hissed the Noldo Lord. "I owe you no accounting of my activities! As for Erestor, he must be in Lorien by now safely tucked away between his two loves in their cosy Guardsman's talan!"

The two glowered at one another for several seconds and simultaney bry broke away, each taking a step or two to create a calming distance between them within the close confines of the Elf Lord's study.

Elrond rubbed his temples as though his head pained him, when truly he was only irritated due to lack of sleep. Little rest had he achieved since his abrupt departure from the woodsman's village. He had but to drift off for a moment to find his memory assailing him with the unpleasantly stimulating events he had witnessed in the wild elf's sanctuary. When he managed to force these reflections from his mind, he found his thoughts invaded by erotic fantasies of the golden archer offering the Noldo Lord his wanton charms.

Added to this disturbing drain on his resources, his reappearance had been anything but unobtrusive. Upon arriving home the previous day Elrond had discovered that his careful plans to spare his children worry had not been as punctiliously constructed as they might have been. He should have considered that a chance message addressed to him from Arwen, currently residing with the Lord and Lady in Lothlorien, would arrive in his absence. Elrond had chosen suitable destinations with which to conjure his lies, inventing false needs to journey from Imladris. To Glorfindel and his sons he had spoken of meetings with Galadriel; meanwhile informing Arwen that he would be away from home for a month or more conferring with Cirdan at the Havens.

His daughter was nearly as anngly gly precise and painstaking as Celebrian had been, dating the outside of the sealed missive so that the intended recipient would know how long had been the delay between the sending and the delivery. Elrond had never asked Celebrian what the purpose of this comparison might be, suspecting it had something to do with ensuring the messengers went about their tasks without side trips to brothels and gaming houses. The date on Arwen's note made it obvious he was not in Lorien as he had indicated, for an uneventful trip would have placed him in the Golden Wood two weeks prior to her letter's departure.

It was Elladan who had found the sealed scroll amid the accumulating stacks of correspondence on his father's desk and raised the alarm that the Lord of Imladris and his faithful seneschal had gone missing. Elrond mentally winced; it was also Elladan who had first discovered that his mother had never made it to Lorien, all those years ago. Causing his son to relive this dread despair had not been Elrond's intent.

The note had not even been of any importance, merely a reminder of Erestor's Conception Day celebration to be held on the autumnal equinox in Lorien. Prudent to a fault, Arwen had already mentioned this months ago, and used the written method as a failsafe lest he forget she had done so! That such ridiculous redundancy could be the cause of his sons' alarmed concern and possible harm at the hands of Orcs was unbearable!

Silently the Noldo cursed Legolas and Ningloriel, and the entire pedigree of Thranduil's long lineage.

And then there were the horses. He and Erestor had been on horseback when they set out and the animals had not returned on their own. This they would have done if capable of movement, even should their masters be lost, so this produced a mixed signal of both ominous and hopeful mien. Elrond could imagine his sons arguing about that pointladaladan taking the alarmist view that both elves and horses had perished, Elrohir the more positive approach that riders and steeds were alive and merely delayed for some benign reason. The horses had been safely cared for in Beorn's secluded valley during the unwholesome adventure, from whence Elrond had retrieved his own trusted mount on his way home.

Elladan and Elrohir had left almost at once to track down their father and his kinsman. That had been a week hence.

All of this Glorfindel had explained upon his Lord's arrival in the courtyard at tinnu of the previous day, demanding answers in scalding tones of relieved distress covered over with fiery rage.

Elrond sighed.

"Glorfindel, I cannot reveal more to you. My plans went awry, nothing more. The fact that Elladan and Elrohir assumed the worst is horrible enough for me to bear; their fate is what concerns me right now. If they come to harm searching for me, I will never forgive myself!" the Elf Lord quietly spoke his greatest fear.

{Yet it is not they that I turn my thoughts upon! Indeed, I have envisioned the face and form of only the outcast since leaving the woodsmen's village!}

The Balrog slayer turned back to observe his Lord carefully and caught the forlorn expression of guilty remorse transform into one of barely controlled fury. The renowned loremaster and former Herald to the High King must have noted this for he turned slightly away as though attempting to compose his countenance. Glorfindel raised perplexed brows; in response to this scrutiny, the Lord of Imladris was fidgeting! One hand was buried deep in his pocket aimlessly toying with something; the other pushed listlessly through a stack of parchment scrolls on the corner of the table. Elrond did not seek to meet his Master-at-Arms' eyes.

Glorfindel frowned, that also was an uncommon event.

{What is he hiding?}

The reborn warrior had already done the calculations and knew the twins should be scouring the feet of the Misty Mountains on their way to Caradhras. He had sent a rider after them at first light hoping they would be taking their time and investigating every possible cave where Orcs might be lurking. Knowing the sons of Elrond, the veteran of Gondolin expected there would be significantly lesser numbers of the beasts once the brothers completed their traverse of the divide. If his rider did not overtake them, the pair would reach Lorien in three more days assuming everything went smoothly through the High Pass.

He only hoped Erestor was indeed there and could give Elladan and Elrohir reassurance of their father's planned return home, stopping them from a laborious and painstaking hunt through the wilderlands surrounding the Gladden Fields and woodwood. Such a venture would carry them too close to the Dark Lord's fortress of Dol Guldur for Glorfindel's liking. Elrond, he knew, had already worked all this out as well.

So Elrond must have realised that the timing of the arrival of Arwen's message, the twins' departure from Rivendell, and his sudden reappearance was also noteworthy. Had Elrond returned through the High Pass, he would have met his sons upon their way. The Lord of Imladris must have travelled an enti dif different direction, never having been even remotely near Lothlorien.

{Where could he have gone that he would not report the journey?}

Not to Rohan or Isengard, for again the way would cross the path of Elladan and Elrohir on the return. Besides, even in the unlikely event that Elrond had some clandestine dealings with the horse lords, or an undisclosed meeting with Saruman, he would have told Glorfindel. In all the long Ages of their friendship, the Balrog slayer had been party to every politicanoeunoeuvre his Lord had undertaken.

West towards the Havens or to the Shire could not have been his goal, for neither destination would require subterfuge and deceit. Elrond would surely not venture south to Gondor with only Erestor at his side. Such a diplomatic mission would require the counsel and company of Mithrandir at the very least and certainly demand the strength of Glorfindel's warriors, for the concerns of Men were often at odds these days with the interests of elfd. d. Or so, at least, the Steward of Gondor deemed them.

No, whatever Elrond had been up to was removed from the business of overseeing the welfare of Imladris, separate from the trying conundrum of the rising veil of Darkness emerging from the region of Mordor.

That could only mean concerns of a purely personal nature, and pointed to the Woodland Realm to the east.

{This must be connected with the flight of Ningloriel to Valinor}, Glorfindel reasoned.

If he had been in Mirkwood, Elrond would have travelled north along the Anduin, crossing theat Rat River at the Ford in order to scale tarroarrow gap connecting to the Old Forest Road and thus to the safety of the eastern borders of Rivendell. This was a more dangerous way to conquer the Misty Mountains due to the infestation of excessive numbers of goblins and Orcs, yet it was the only logical solution. For whatever reason, Elrond had been in Thranduil's Realm for nearly two months and had returned without Erestor.

{What were you doing there, so far from the borders of fair Imladris? We have no allies to our east!}

Glorfindel's unasked question hung heavily in the air between them. He hoped Elrond was not lying about the seneschal being safe in Lothlorien. He would learn soon enough; Elladan and Elrohir would send back news as soon as they reached the Golden Wood. Until then, he knew Elrond's worry for his sons would increase daily, as would the guilt for sending them into possible peril.

Glorfindel sighed.

"They will return in good health, Elrond. They are seasoned warriors and the very scent of them sends the Orcs running in terror! Although, they will be very disgruntled when they do return!" he tried to send his old friend a reassuring smile. It was hard to endure the bitter tang coating his throat that Elrond's lack of faith in him generated, however, and he could not keep the gleam of cold umbrage from his gaze.

"Aye, I am certain you are right, Glorfindel. I will have to suffer their ire meekly, I fear, for no more than I have told you will I say to them!" Elrond hoped this admission might soothe his trusted comrade's injured pride. Elrond lifted his vision in time to see the genuine surprise upon his friend's features before they smoothed into polite acceptance.

Moving from behind the table, Elrond paced across the room to a tall shelf lined with books and scrolls. Just to give his eyes something to do he let the fingers of his left-hand drift along the spines and trace out the runes and letters there. The other remained concealed. Of their own accord his hand moved from book to book and touched upon the titles displayed, spelling out the fallen archer's name from among the components therein. Elrond cursed again as he realised this, a hissed whisper that passed his lips before he could halt the sound. His oblique vision discerned the hasty movement of Glorfindel's startle.

The Balrog slayer was stunned by this behaviour from the Elven Lord. Elrond was never so preoccupied, never at less than full command of his emotions, at least in the Vanya's record of memory. Glorfindel watched as Elrond jerked his hand away from the texts and strode back to the table, resuming the ruse of examining the documents now strewn across the surface in untidy disarray. Elrond's other hand was still hidden, occupied in its own activity within the flowing robe's concealment.

Perturbed, the warrior pressed his lips together in a grim, disconsolate line. What events could be so unnerving as to bring about the loss of the venerable loremaster's coolly controlled demeanour? Not since the death of Gil-Galad had Elrond been so disturbed in spirit, so unaccountably abstracted one moment and futilely angry the next. Glorfindel watched the Noldo's hand twitch within the folds of the fabric. No doubt the restless fingers mimicked the erratic meandering of the elf's thoughts. The hidden hand's activity was as a nagging strike upon the Vanya's irritated nerves, and suddenly he could stand it no longer.

"By the will of the Valar, what have you got in your pocket?" he barked out this demand more harshly than intended and was about to retract his forceful request when he witnessed something he had never thought to see, even if given a third lifetime of observation.

Elrond of Imladris had a definite bloom of crimson climbing to his ears and a look of panic in his eyes. The Lord of Imladris was blushing.
Tbc