The Littlest Warrior

Elrond stood with a look of sheer bewilderment on his face, “What are you talking about Sereth? What do you mean he was not ‘all’ there?”

“His consciousness milord…his consciousness, it was as if there were pieces of it missing, I have never experienced anything like that in all my life. There were…gaps, literal holes in his essence just as if someone had sliced them away with a blade.”

Elrond immediately turned to examine Aphrod. Positioning himself on the side of the bed he covered the sentry’s eyes with his hand and probed his mind searching for his conscious self. Moments later he withdrew his hand struggling to compose himself before he spoke to Sereth.

“Do you see what I mean? I did not know that such a thing was possible milord, have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“No my friend, this witchcraft is new even to me, I have never seen ‘part’ of the soul leave the body less the rest followed suit.”

“Is he going to fade milord?” Sereth asked shakily. Elrond placed a calming hand on the elf’s shoulder as he answered, “We will do all in our power to see that that does not happen, we will use our own strength to anchor him here if necessary, but we will not let him fade. For now I think it best if we keep Andras heavily sedated, he has struggled with this longer than Aphrod, and he appears to be weakening. We will use as much sedative as his system can withstand. I will mix the potions myself, meanwhile get Aphrod undressed and bathed, Berach will return with Elwaith and Orophin shortly, we have much work to do before we can count this battle won.”

Berach had not yet returned to the healing wing from his kitchen call on Lady Nilya, and Udalin had decided not to wait. Instead, he chose to go and retrieve Orophin and Elwaith himself. As Orophin hurriedly followed Udalin down the long corridor towards the healing wing, he was given the news that his friend Andras was doing poorly, and it gave him great pause. They had come such a long way, always with the hope and fervent belief that Lord Elrond would be able to set things right and that Andras would be restored to health. To be told now, that to the contrary, the young elf seemed to be getting worse gave Orophin a sinking feeling in his heart.

“We must stop and retrieve Elwaith; Lord Elrond has requested his attendance as well. He apologizes that you have not really had time to rest, but things are not going well and he needs everyone available to help out.”

“I understand Udalin, there is no need to apologize, we must all do what we can.”

Stopping outside Elwaith’s door Udalin knocked firmly. At first, there was no response, but on the second knock, the healer’s drowsy sounding voice was heard.

“One moment…I am coming.” Hastily pulling on his dressing gown Elwaith crossed the room and opened the door. Upon seeing Udalin’s face on the other side of the portal, his first reaction was not exactly a positive one. However, the frown that appeared was quickly replaced with a gentle smile when he realized that the abrasive-tongued healer was accompanied by Orophin. “Phin!” he said cheerfully, and then more sedately “Udalin.” The change of tone in Elwaith’s voice did not go unnoticed, and Udalin drew himself up into a more defensive and commanding posture.

“Elwaith…the patient Andras has taken a turn for the worse, and our Lord Elrond requests your attendance in the healing wing,” he said dryly, deliberately omitting the elf’s title.

“Worse?” Elwaith questioned. “What has happened?” he queried as he turned and hurriedly reached for his leggings.

“He is resisting the sedatives that we have administered. He struggles back towards wakefulness – with wakefulness will come the pain, and we are running dangerously short of the new herb you found. Lord Elrond has sent riders to Rohan to try and secure more, but it may be several days before they return. We are going to have to come up with other ways and other potions to keep our two patients comfortable while we try to heal them.”

“Two patients?” Elwaith asked incredulously, “There is another patient?”

”Oh yes…that is right…you do not know,” he said sarcastically, “while you were ‘resting’, another warrior was attacked.”

The implication in Udalin’s statement was that Elwaith had somehow been shirking his duties, and the Lórien nestron took immediate offense. However, before he could make comment on Udalin’s ill-advised words, a calmer head prevailed, and Orophin spoke in Elwaith’s defense and the well-respected counselor put matters in perspective straight away.

“When we parted earlier, Master Elwaith, after two days of non-stop bedside vigil, was still in the infirmary with his charge. There has hardly been sufficient time twixt then and now to bathe, let alone rest Udalin,” the counselor chastised. “And knowing you as I do Elwaith, I am sure that someone had to practically pry you out of the healing wing. Who was it that showed you to your rooms?”

“It was Lord Erestor.”

“Ahh…as I suspected…and I am sure he gave you little latitude for argument in regard to taking care of yourself so that you could take care of your patient.”

“None at all,” Elwaith responded triumphantly, glaring at Udalin as he continued to dress.

“Yes…Lord Erestor is one for being obeyed. One does not stand in the House of Elrond and ignore the words of his Seneschal…you did the wise thing Elwaith, anything else would have been foolish… and rude.” Orophin’s very pointed comment, struck its mark. The counselor had already heard from others of Udalin’s oft time brusque manner with those over whom he had control, and he had no intention of standing quietly by while Udalin took aim at residents from Lórien.

Orophin had gained a considerable measure of respect and admiration with his people, and was held in high esteem throughout the four realms as a counselor who seldom, if ever, ‘told’ you what to do. Instead, his strength was in clarifying the facts, showing you your options, and allowing you the opportunity to find the best path for your life without being prodded or forced. Indeed, even the Lord Celeborn had availed himself of Orophin’s considerable talents, proving once again, that it mattered not how old or experienced you were; if there was something that weighed heavily on your heart Orophin could help put it right. He’d lived a long and sometimes eventful life, and his gently told stories of life’s up’s and down’s were a welcome contrast and respite from the “do as I say” edicts of other counselors; especially when dealing with emotionally distressed elves who believed that they were the only ones who’d ever experienced their particular dilemma.

Orophin had turned out to be an elf of many talents, he counseled others, took the occasional turn on the watches with his brothers, and was said to be one of the finest bakers in the realm. He’d tried his hand, and succeeded at many occupations but the one closest to his heart was this one. He was very good at getting you to understand that no matter what your trials, you were not alone. He was also quite expert at ferreting out all the underlying issues that caused people to do the things they did, all the skeletons that one did not want others to see. That said, it was also true that the good counselor was one who could not abide a bully, or anyone who sought to take advantage of another who was weaker or emotionally fragile, and it was this side of his personality that was now turned out onto Udalin.

“So Udalin,” he continued, as he emphasized Waith’s title, “I hope that you are not suggesting that Master Elwaith should have defied Lord Erestor’s instructions?” “You are not, are you?”

“Oh no Master Orophin,” he responded quickly not wishing to offend,”…of course not, I was just saying…,” but the counselor cut him off.

“Good! For it would be very bad form indeed to disregard the Seneschal, I know that I personally would call into question the judgment of anyone who tried…as I am sure would Lord Elrond.” The thinly veiled threat hit its mark, and the nestron was at a loss as to what to say in reply.

“The Lord Elrond has always been a gracious host,” continued Orophin, “…and his Seneschal is a reflection of that graciousness; he would not be pleased to know that guests in his home were treated in a negative or disrespectful manner.”

The healer was completely taken aback. Outside of the scolding he’d taken earlier in the week at the hands of Erestor, no one had ever taken him to task over his manners, or lack thereof, and he was not sure how to respond. Not even Elrond, who was more inclined to let his apprentices work things out on their own, had ever spoken to him in such fashion. The feisty healer was at once defensive, and mentally weighed the odds as he thought to make a stand with the visiting counselor. However, seeing the glint in Orophin’s eyes, a little voice in his head assured him of one thing; that below that calm façade beat the heart of a warrior, one who was quite capable of shedding that composed exterior if the need arose. So, he thought better of responding, choosing instead to keep silent and accept what the counselor had to say without further comment.

Orophin, as gentle as he was, was an impressive figure of an elf. A good head taller than the average male with strong broad shoulders, a deep baritone voice, and piercing blue eyes; the counselor presented a most imposing presence. Arguments had been known to come to a complete halt simply because he rose from his seat; an occurrence which both Haldir and Rúmil found quite amusing, as, of the three of them, Orophin was the one least likely to raise a hand to another person. But that aside, in heated situations the good counselor always stood with his brothers against any foe, as he stood now with Elwaith.

“I did not mean to imply that Master Elwaith was…shirking his responsibilities, I only meant…”

But Orophin was having none of it and cut him off, refusing to allow him to continue with the lie on his lips.

“Of course you did,” he said calmly, “that’s exactly what you meant, but no offense was taken….am I correct Elwaith?” he asked pensively.

The Lórien nestron thought quickly and decided it was not worth arguing about, besides Orophin had put Udalin in his place and that was enough…at least for now.

“None taken.”

“Good, then we can put this misunderstanding aside where it belongs and move ahead to the tasks at hand – healing Andras and Aphrod.” With Elwaith now dressed, Orophin motioned towards the door, “Shall we?”

As the healers filed out in front of him Orophin surreptitiously grasped Udalin’s arm, momentarily halting him in his tracks, quietly he whispered, “I would like to schedule some time with you later this evening if you are free.” Surprised at the unexpected request Udalin nodded quickly answering, “Of course, will after dinner in the Hall be all right?”

“That will be fine; Lord Elrond’s Hall of Fire always leaves me relaxed, there are some issues we should talk about.”
~~~~~~~

Haldir hurried through the corridors of the Last Homely House heading for the kitchen. His charge Estel was no doubt wondering to where he had gotten. The meeting itself hadn’t taken that long, but the revelations after the meeting had not only taken everyone by surprise, but took extra time. 'Why hadn’t he seen it? Why hadn’t he pieced together the information himself?' he thought.

“I have been too distracted of late,” he said aloud. “I was so worried about Andras I did not stop to think from where the threat could have come. And now there has been another attack, and the little one to protect. I must keep alert; I must not allow my reflexes and instincts to wane simply because I am no longer in the Wood.” As he turned the corner that led to the kitchen, he at first did not see Estel, but as he got closer the boy crossed in front of the door again.

“Still on duty,” Haldir mused, “he has been at this for over an hour, poor little thing must be exhausted.”

Making his turn at the right side of the kitchen door Estel caught sight of Haldir for the first time. The child’s face brightened as he marked the approach of the tall Galadhel. As Haldir came closer Estel almost broke formation, but at the last second remembered what he’d seen the grown-up sentries do. With seemingly practiced accuracy he halted in the center of the doorway, feet spread apart in a defensive stance, and brought his walking stick to bear across his chest saying “Halt, who goes dere?”

It was all Haldir could do to keep from breaking out into full-blown laughter. 'So tiny and so determined,' he thought, but rather than embarrass the child he went along with the protocol. “It is I, Haldir O’Lórien, come to relieve you sentry Estel.”

“A’vance an be reco...recog..” thinking hard he could not come up with the correct word, so he changed tactics, “A’vance an be seen.” The tall March Warden followed instructions and presented himself to the little sentry. Squatting in front of the child so that they could make eye-to-eye contact Haldir gave the proper response.

“Stand at rest Estel Elrondion, you are relieved of duty.”

The child heaved a sigh of relief, grinned a big grin and launched himself into Haldir’s arms. The March Warden closed his eyes as he enveloped Estel in a warm hug. ‘What a wonderful child,’ he thought, then stood with the little one in his arms and nodded his thanks to the kitchen staff as he turned to leave with the boy. The Warden listened carefully as Estel delivered a litany of information about his time on duty.

“I did just wha’ you said Halli, I stood to post just like da warriors, and I kept da ellith safe…even when Lady Nilya tried to make me take biscuits and buttermilk – I dinna do it. I just kept right on doin’ my task, just like I pwamiced – even when I got tired I just kept goin’. An ya know wha’ Halli?”

“What?”

“She even tried to give me honey cakes.”

“No!” the Warden said feigning astonishment.

“Yeth – honey cakes,” the boy said emphatically. He then looked back and forth over each shoulder, as though he were looking for spies and in a voice just above a whisper told Haldir, “I t’ink she was tryin’ to test me,” he said nodding, “but it dinna work Halli, I just kept on doin’ my task.”

“You did an excellent job little one, I am very proud of you. Perhaps one day when you are grown you will come to my home in Lothlórien and work with me guarding the Golden Wood.”

Estel could not imagine being grown, but still thought about this for a second and then replied, “It would be a pleasure to work wit you in da wood Halli, but I do not t’ink I could leave my Ada…or my brudders, and wha would Westor do wit out me?” He wouldna have any one to give lessons to – an dere would be no one for Canú at story time, and who would Lady Nilya give her honey cakes to if I go away?

The child’s response brought a tear to the March Warden’s eye, and he noted that Estel was probably more right than he knew about how essential he was to the lives of the residents of Imladris. “You are absolutely right Estel, I did not think of that – perhaps just a visit then…”

“A visit? I could do a visit,” the child said as he nodded his head enthusiastically.

“Very well then – a visit it shall be!”

“Halli?”

“Yes little one?”

“Do you t’ink mayhaps I ought to take a nap before ‘den?” he questioned as he lowered his head to the March Warden’s shoulder.

“I think that would probably be a very good idea Estel, what say I take one with you – we will rest before supper and dream of all the wonderful things you will see in the Golden Wood when you come for your visit.”

“Dat sounds good Halli,” the child said drowsily, “…weally good.”

“Yes,” the warden replied smiling as Estel drifted off, “…it weally does.”

~~~

Cilinwë headed back to his sammoth feeling as if the day had dragged on forever. Though it was only barely later than mid-afternoon he felt unusually tired. It had been a very long time since the Last Homely House had seen this much activity in the way of a military presence; not since the Orc wars over 150 years ago had the house known such commotion.

Unbuckling his sword he placed it carefully on the table in the center of the room. For a moment more he stood glancing at it, then gave it a reassuring pat and moved away from the table. The sword had once belonged to his friend Hendil, who gave the ultimate sacrifice in defense of their freedom. He wore it each day in tribute to a life that was cut down far too soon, a constant reminder to be ever watchful in his duties as Captain of Elrond’s personal guard. Seating himself in an oversized chair he contemplated the day’s events.

Never would he have believed that the vile acts that had been perpetrated against them could have been committed by an elf; but the evidence was undeniable, and now he worried for the little one. Estel was as trusting and innocent as one gets, and he would undoubtedly respond to any elf who beckoned him. It was wise of Glorfindel to assign him his own personal guardians, for the little one would invariably be drawn to any new face he saw. He was pleased that his long time friends Haldir and Rúmil had been pressed into service in this regard, for he could not think of an elf more conscientious than Haldir or one more aware of his surroundings than Rúmil. Between the three of them Estel should be safe – "No!” He chastised himself, "He will be safe – we will not let harm come to the boy, he is, after all, one of us…an orphan, we orphans have to look out for each other,” he said smiling.

As he toed off his boots, he looked over to his own sword, “Celebhîth,” a present from his warrior fathers on the day he reached his majority. He remembered fondly the day it was presented to him, his 100th begetting day celebration; the day after the 5-way tournament where he fought all four of his fathers simultaneously. Through all these years he’d only had occasion to use it once, during the Last Alliance when he fought beside his king. Now it held a place of honor hanging above the mantle directly below the great king’s portrait.

With multiple fathers raising him he’d learned every military skill imaginable. He was accomplished with the bow, lance, axe, short blades, hand-to-hand combat, and all manner of smaller close contact weapons; but it was the sword at which he excelled. Soon it became apparent that this was the weapon that would become synonymous with his name. Each of his fathers set the training bar a little bit higher than the other, and they constantly challenged him to display his skills; knowing that the day might come when they would not be there to protect him. The sleek mithril sword was hand crafted especially for him, designed by the youngest of his warrior fathers who was said to be a favorite of the Valar. The blade was forged by Celebrimbor himself, infused they said, with the virtues of truth and light and imbued with the power of Aulë. A thing of great beauty, it was his most prized possession. Unique in its making, the strength of the Vala Aulë protected it, for only Cilinwë could wield it; no other could even unsheathe it, and he guarded it jealously.

As he pulled off his tunic and prepared to bathe before the evening meal, his thoughts shifted back to Estel. How dear this child had become to him. It sometimes amazed him what a strong connection the two of them shared and it was at times like this that he began to second-guess himself and his commitment to abstain from having a family of his own. ‘There will be time enough for that later,’ he thought, but for now, he was content to share his life with his extended Imladrian family.

His eyes shifted to the box in the corner “Estel’s gift. Perhaps I will carve a little before my bath, with everything that is going on there is no telling when I will again have any free time, and this must be completed before the little one’s birthday celebration.” As Cilinwë sat down to carve, a strange feeling came over him, and his eyes were drawn to Celebhîth. The uneasy feeling became more intense, and he felt as if the sword was calling to him. Rising from the chair, he crossed the room to the mantle and placed his hand on the sword. Instantly he sensed a pulsing, throbbing vibration. “What is it old friend,” he said aloud as he took the sword down from the wall, but the only response he received was the continued throbbing sensation.

In all the many years that he’d been in possession of the sword the only other time he’d experienced anything like this was during the Last Alliance. The sword had pulsed almost non-stop during the entire war, becoming more and more active as the evil of the orcs and the Dark Lord came closer. Now here it was again. Holding the sword gingerly in his hands he spoke to it. ”You sense it too, do you not old friend? Yes…I know…it dares to come closer. But we shall be ready for it…we will protect our Lord Elrond, and our people.” Slowly he crossed the room to his balcony doors. Looking outside he scanned the nearby treeline and the areas close to the gates. “I know you are out there,” he said aloud; then with an imperceptible quickness he unsheathed his sword. “If you want us so badly then come!” “Bertho!” (Dare it!) and the pulsating blade turned a pale shade of blue.