Part Five
“So many names…” Elladan rolled the scroll evenly as his eyes skimmed the list. It was a good parchment scroll with proper wood handles, and Erestor had no idea how Círdan had come by such a thing in the midst of a campaign. Mind, it was the kind of detail that Gil-galad had been good with, and it was from Círdan that he would have learned that skill.
Erestor glanced discreetly at Elrond and flicked his eyes to Elladan. There had been no war since before his birth, and this reality of loss and casualties was something new for him to assimilate and accept. Elves were not like orcs or brigands, or so the generation born in the valley seemed to think. Elves did not die, or if they did it was very occasionally and mainly involved exciting and courageous skirmishes with orcs. Like everyone else, Elrond’s first born needed to learn the truth of this and there had been quiet agreement between his parents that it was time for his education to begin.
“Too many, yes,” Elrond agreed. “And with little to show for it. Angmar has pushed the men of Arthedain and Cirdan’s cohorts back to Fornost, and even that seems at risk from what he says here.” He passed the accompanying note to Elladan as he spoke. Erestor had already seen it. “The messenger had little to add to this, and the two wounded warriors who made the ride back with him knew even less. A couple of the names on the list aren’t confirmed, but most of this is vouched for.”
The door to Elrond’s office opened while he was speaking and Glorfindel let himself in, closing it behind him. He was dressed for the outdoors, cloaked and booted, his hair braided, and the flush of colour in his cheeks suggested he had just returned to the house. His eyes touched Erestor first before turning to Elrond. “They told me you were looking for me?”
“Yes. Been out riding? Coruon got back with the casualty list.”
Glorfindel bowed his golden head briefly. “I was out walking, feeling the valley around me, touching the trees. And yes I know, I’ve already seen him. I looked in on Gailien and Caedion, too. I can’t believe Caedion managed to ride.” As he spoke, he took the scroll Elladan held out to him. There was no haste, he read name by name and took time to study the notes beside some of the entries. Finally he handed it back. “Coruon told me the others were falling back to Mithlond with Círdan, and that some of the names here were assumed rather than definite losses?”
“Then you know as much as I do,” Elrond told him. “Though that suggestion of hope is one I think we should keep to ourselves. I’d rather a joyful reunion than have families hold onto false hope.”
Erestor nodded and Glorfindel made a small sound of concurrence. Elladan’s voice was unaccustomedly subdued. “How do we tell them? We can’t just post the list and let them read it, can we?”
“We tell each family personally,” his father replied. “That’s how it’s meant to be done. Not when the losses run into thousands, no, but in this case – ”
“I’ll do it,” Glorfindel cut in. “It’s been my task before.”
“Dan and I will come with you then.” Elrond turned to straighten the work on his desk. He looked tired and there were grim lines marking his forehead and the sides of his mouth. “We are almost like family here, and…”
“I – think not,” Erestor interrupted, not unkindly. “I know it’s what you feel you should do, but they’ll have enough to deal with when they receive the news without also trying to be brave in front of their lord. I know Gil-galad liked to handle it himself, but … times are different now, we’ve barely had a chance to realise we’re at war.” And one of Ereinion Gil-galad\s unique gifts had been an ability to give people space to grieve in his presence.
“Erestor, Elladan and I,” Glorfindel suggested. “Erestor because people are used to him sorting out problems, Dan as your representative, and me because I am a warrior and I have seen death. And – they became my men the day Túrebion led them off to join Círdan and my role changed from advisor to Commander.”
~*~*~*~
“That cottage felt – strange.”
Deeply shaken by the experience, Elladan had gone on ahead. Talking quietly, Erestor and Glorfindel were making their way back slowly from the village to the rambling, interconnected group of buildings known as the House.
“Of course it did,” Erestor replied practically. “That poor woman and her son have been waiting to hear the worst for days, perhaps weeks now. What you had to say came as no surprise.”
Meldis had heard Glorfindel through while he explained about the attack on the support group, her face expressionless, her eyes fastened on a place behind him. When he had done, she said very quietly, “I think I knew, my lord. I could not feel him with me for a while now. I had hoped but — I think I knew. Thank you for your kindness in coming to tell us.”
She had been resting a hand on her son’s shoulder while they listened to Glorfindel, and it had strayed to smooth his hair gently while she was speaking. The boy stood quiet, a closed look on his small face. Erestor wondered how well he understood what he had just heard, but supposed his mother was the one to work through that with him. Not an outsider, no matter how well-meaning.
“I know all that,” Glorfindel replied, waiting while Erestor took a look at one of the posts supporting the covering of the communal well. There had been complaints about its stability of late, “and to a point it explains what I was feeling. But there was also something else, something I can’t put my finger on.”
“The boy should have been crying,” Erestor said, more to himself than Glorfindel. “I don’t like it when they don’t cry. Children who don’t respond openly to grief always have trouble with it later. I hope Meldis can manage to counsel him while dealing with her own pain. I don’t think they have other family here, it was just the three of them.”
“Perhaps I’ll come past in a few days and see how things are,” Glorfindel suggested, taking his hand as they reached the path alongside the swift-flowing Bruinen. “It might help to talk — and I can see if the ‘something’ I sensed becomes plainer.”
Erestor nodded. “That might be good, the talking I mean. I doubt the cottage will feel as heavy and dark then either, not now the waiting’s over. The truth may be harsh, but people need facts before they can move on.”
~*~*~*~
“I hate not being able to do anything, Wen.”
“Rohir says Caedion was so badly wounded he has no idea how he managed to stay on a horse. He’s feeling guilty, he says healers should have gone with them, he should have gone with them.”
“Aldros went with them, he was killed when their camp was attacked. When we got there, his daughter was at the house with his little granddaughter…” Elladan closed his eyes briefly against the memory.
Arwen rested a hand sympathetically on his arm. They were sitting close together in the Hall of Fire at a time of day when there were very few people around. She had seen him coming back from wherever he had gone with Erestor and Glorfindel, and the way he walked had been signal enough for her to go and join him. “Learning about war in books or from songs or people’s stories isn’t the same, is it?” she said quietly. “Perhaps that’s why Father hardly ever talks about it.”
“We – sometimes someone gets wounded or killed going after orcs or stray mercenaries or whatever, but it’s a rare thing, so rare the whole valley comes out to mark their passing. This — it’s too big. And, and telling their families was… I don’t have words for it, Wen.”
“They didn’t make you do it, did they?” Arwen asked, startled. Elrond’s children were close without being sentimental, inclined to sarcasm and merciless teasing, but they could be fiercely protective of one another.
Elladan shook his head quickly. “No, I just went along and watched, hugged the people I knew well. Glorfindel did most of the talking. He offered, said he’d had to do it before and they’d know he’d also lost loved ones. Father wanted to, but Erestor said it would be hard enough without them having to act strong in front of their lord. That’s why I was there, in his place.”
She nodded. “That makes sense. And Erestor? What did he do?”
Elladan paused, considered. “He offered his condolences, he promised to see to a few things that had to be taken care of… I think he was along to keep Glorfindel company mainly. I was no good, I just stared and tried to act like I understood how this had all happened.”
“They do a lot of things together these days, don’t they? It’s sweet, specially when you think how old they both are. Are we safe here still, Dan? In the valley. They can’t reach us here, can they?”
“No, they can’t, of course not,” Elladan said firmly, putting the afternoon’s events one side for a moment to reassure his sister. “No one was followed back and the watch stations are all on full alert. We’ll be fine. Just – so many warriors who won’t be coming home.”
“It was like that in the old days, elves were dying all the time,” Arwen murmured. “It’s awful that it’s come back, the dark times. I always thought we’d live these quiet, boring lives till we finally sailed, and I used to resent it, but…”
“They always acted as though it was an interlude,” Elladan responded, his voice low to match hers. “I used to think it was just that they’d seen too much war, but now I think – Grandmother once said darkness seldom dies, it just sleeps. I think it’s awake now. I – Wen, I’m not sure I want to be a captain. I’m not sure how I’d manage it if someone serving under me was killed.”
“Same way as Father always handled it,” Arwen said, resorting to briskness in the face of something beyond her experience. “You’ll do what you have to, just with kindness and a good heart. That’s all anyone can do. Come, let’s talk about something else. Will we still have the festival, do you think? We’re really in mourning, aren’t we?”
“I don’t know. Elrohir’s done a lot of work on it – at last. And Glorfindel and Erestor were talking while we walked down to Third Farm, and they kept agreeing how important it is to make sure people don’t panic. So yes, I think we’ll have the festival.”
“That’s good,” Arwen said, releasing his arm at last and sounding a bit more like her usual self, less like their mother. “We need the festival. Elrohir would be unbearable otherwise.”
“Might be,” Elladan said with a shrug. “Might be worse once he’s organised it and it’s gone off successfully. We can’t win.”
~*~*~*~*~
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Beta: Red Lasbelin