The Littlest Warrior

Elrond perched precariously on the edge of a stool, his feet barely skimming the bottom rung. Head bent over his work, he concentrated furiously while his four assistants scurried about the room bringing jars of herbs to his side as he called for them. Erestor too was busy, making repeated trips back and forth to the library for various requested texts, while Andras and Aphrod lay within sight – dying by inches. Were it just a matter of potions and herbs the great Lord would have had the situation under control long ago, but this was not about illness and remedy – there was magic afoot.

With the help of Orophin and Elwaith, Elrond and his assistants worked feverishly through the afternoon seeing to the needs of their patients. Elrond made a mental connection with Aphrod, keeping him in an unconscious state while he worked on the sentry’s hands.

With his direction, the assistants mixed a variety of potions and elixirs, most designed to keep the two patients pain free. Aphrod had not regained consciousness since the time of his attack, and having observed the pain and anguish experienced by the Lórien Ostler, Elrond preferred to keep it that way. He was not inclined to allow the young sentry to awaken, not even for the questioning that Glorfindel deemed necessary for security. Elrond felt that waking the unfortunate elf, however briefly, would be cruel and unproductive. The existence of this beast in the guise of an elf had already been confirmed to his satisfaction; rousing poor Aphrod to provide a visual description, was to his mind redundant, and he thought back now on his earlier conversation with his Commander of Arms…

Flashback:

“Perhaps your way is best Elrond,” Glorfindel said. “Making the lad re-live this trauma can have no true benefit. We must count ourselves lucky that we have the Lórien contingent with us, as I understand it; Timagol was once a resident of Mirkwood, and at least two of the sentries at Elladan’s eastern outpost hail from the Havens. Between us we should be able to identify any elf we might come across.”

Elrond shook his head; weary was he with the events of the day. “Our advantage lies in the fact that we will not recognize this ‘elf,” he said, “it lies in the fact that he is not one of us…he thinks he has the upper hand now, but he is wrong…our knowledge of each other is what will keep us safe.”

“I agree. It is the one element in all of this that cannot be compromised.”

“Besides,” Elrond continued, “…a visual description would do us little good, what, after all, could he tell us?” “That he was attacked by an elf with blond, brown, or black hair? It is not as if the firstborn are covered in scars or other distinguishing marks.”

“True,” Glorfindel replied, “I had not thought of it from that perspective, finding out that the attacker is an elf has not been something that I can easily get my mind around.”

“I understand old friend, believe me I do, but I do not believe that this is an elf.”

“What say you?” Glorfindel exclaimed. “How then can you explain what Rilloth found in the forest? He is the finest tracker in any realm Elrond…he is never wrong – no, if he marks it as an elf then it be an elf.”

“Oh I do not doubt Rilloth’s eye my friend, I say only that his eye has been deliberately deceived. What walks in those woods walks as an elf…looks like an elf…but I assure you my friend no one of the firstborn has done this thing. No one of the firstborn could.” A pensive look crossed Elrond’s face as he stared out the window at the horizon. “Erestor is right in his conclusion, what plagues us does not come from Valinor, nor is it ‘born’ of this land”

“You mean…”

“I mean that our good counselor is, as always, quite astute. Our problem originated at the gates of Isengard – trust in that wizard is something that I have never had.”

“Hurump!” Glorfindel snorted, “And what of Gandalf, you think him a part of this?”

“Nay…he is the only one of the three that remain that I do trust.”

“Yes, well, he did, after all, bring me to you.”

“Hummm yes, well I suppose that will have to count for something” Elrond teased.

“Indeed.”

The moment’s levity was, unfortunately, quickly replaced by the reality of the daunting task that lay before them. Elrond would have to find a counter spell or a cure soon or Andras would not continue, his arrival in the Halls of Mandos unnecessarily expedited, and Aphrod would soon follow.

“No mellon nín, when I touched Aphrod…touched his Fëa…what I felt was the residue of evil…pure unadulterated evil – the kind that can only be conjured at the tip of a wizard’s tongue.”

Glorfindel’s back visibly straightened, his shoulders squared, and he momentarily fingered the hilt of his dagger. “I will promise you this old friend, if he is found to be the one responsible for the torment that those two young elves are enduring…or for the fear that has been gouged into the hearts of our people, I will bring you that tongue on a silver salver.”

End Flashback.

As the Seneschal stacked the last of the heavy tomes on the table at Elrond’s right hand, he glanced at the weary nestron. It had not gone without notice that his Lord had yet to eat. The cabbage fiasco of two days ago left Elrond weakened, but for all his belligerent denial he could not fool Erestor. The wily Seneschal had been watching him for the better part of the morning, and his declarations of “I am fine,” were falling on deaf, albeit perfectly pointed little ears. These two had been together far too long for Erestor to fall for that line. Placing the books on the table, he stood there – ostensibly ‘arranging’ them in the correct order, while he surreptitiously assessed his lord.

“Do not hover Erestor,” Elrond said without looking up, “you are beginning to look like a mother hen with her chicks, if you are not careful the children will start to throw corn at you - I am fine.”

“Perhaps, but I would feel more confident in your statement if I knew there was something more substantial than the weak broth you have consumed over the last two days in your stomach.”

“Erestor,” Elrond said his voice cautioning; “Do not ‘Erestor’ me with that tone Elrond Eärendilion, it is my duty to make sure that everything in this house runs smoothly – including you,” he said with a huff.

The ancient elf just smiled; he knew only too well that arguing with Erestor about anything was futile. The Seneschal was a master diplomat and a cunning strategist, arguments with Erestor were seldom won; and on the rare occasions when they were; the ‘winner’ always seemed to have to capitulate in some other way. One came to know, that in negotiations with the Lord Erestor, ‘concessions’ would be made, for he would not come away from the table empty-handed. And then of course there was the matter of his stubbornness; a condition that Glorfindel described as ‘legendary’, and something he could readily testify to - once the counselor’s mind was set there was nothing more to be said.

“I am sure you are right Seneschal, but do you think you could ensure the proper running of the house from over there?” he asked as he pointed to the doorway.

“Well I never!” Erestor replied in mock indignation.

“Do not let that falsehood slip past your lips exotic one, for you are almost as old as me, and you have done it all!”

“And more!” Came an enthusiastic quip from the golden-haired warrior whose frame now blocked the doorway.

“I would tread lightly if I were you Glorfindel, our friend here is feeling very – truculent this eve – you might find yourself confined to your room for the rest of the night.”

“And without your supper ‘dearest’ – so mind your tongue! And I am not truculent, thank you very much!” Erestor added “I am thorough…perhaps a bit protective at times…”

Glorfindel sputtered, almost choking on the glass of sherry he was nursing, “A bit protective?” he quipped. The Lord of Imladris looked on adoringly; he loved watching the interplay between these two, and was not above fanning the flames from time to time. Quickly he added his voice to what he could see was going to be an entertaining argument.

“At times, only at times? I do not think the twins would agree with that,” Elrond offered as he looked to Glorfindel for support. Support that the warrior was more than willing to provide, and a little too quickly for Erestor’s taste.

“Aye - Nor would Cilinwë or Braneth or any of the other warriors for that matter.”

“Do not forget Nilya – he is always hovering around poor Nilya,” Elrond added.

“Indeed! The poor elleth can barely keep him out of her kitchen,” Glorfindel confirmed. “And would you believe that Maeraen had to practically run him out of the smithy a few days ago, and all over a tiny little burn on the hand – whoever heard of a smithy who had not been burned a time or two?”

“Certainly not I,” the nestron added shaking his head in the negative.

“Exactly. Hovering.”

Erestor stood with his arms folded across his chest glaring at the two troublemakers. This was not the first time that they had tried to double-team him and as always he was ready for them.

“As I said, I am a little protective…but then, in this house one needs to be, else all manner of ill tidings might befall one. It is a good thing I was ‘hovering’ after that trip Elladan made to Laketown, else Elrohir, Arwen, and you for that matter my Lord, would all have been sitting here with the measles - for it was my ‘mothering’ eye that detected the rash before he could spread it to the rest of you.”

“Or perhaps you speak of the time that the twins thought the best way to handle a broken vase was to run away from home, lest their parents feed them to a balrog? Now I wonder where they could have gotten that idea?” he said looking pointedly at Glorfindel. “Were it not for my ‘protective’ instincts we would probably still be searching for them.”

“And then of course there was the time when a certain wife-mother came to visit and seemed hell bent on monopolizing all the free time of her only offspring, who, as it turns out, had, unbeknownst to her husband, selected just that particular day as the begetting day for the child she’d been planning for months. How fortuitous that I just “happened” along to distract said mother-in-law long enough for the aforementioned ‘dynamic duo’ to be conceived.”

“As for Lady Nilya, she, like some others in this room that I will not name, is as stubborn as she is old, and is not always, shall we say ‘forthcoming’ when something ails her. It is at times like that when a little protective hovering can come in quite handy in determining whether one of our most revered residents is being worked too hard and needs to rest.”

“And then there is Maeraen…ah yes, Maeraen who has burned himself 47 times in the last 2 months. Maeraen who always refuses to seek medical attention, leaving those untreated burns to become infected. Unless of course said medical attention is administered by me, – the person, by his word, with the ‘lightest’ touch in all of Imladris,” he said while holding up one gloriously delicate hand and admiring it as if it was a piece of porcelain.

“And last but not least there is our ‘illustrious’ slayer of balrogs, Glorfindel. He who jests at my expense, but cannot seem to remember anything that one asks him to do unless a note is written.”

Glorfindel looked away from the slowly advancing counselor and tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his robe. “Yes…,” Erestor said as he came even closer, “Glorfindel…who cannot seem to find a way to keep his rather large foot in his boot as opposed to his mouth!”

These last words were all but flung in poor Glorfindel’s direction, but the diminutive counselor wasn’t finished. Standing now not quite nose to nose, he continued his onslaught.

“Now, could that be the same Glorfindel who in the past year forgot our edinor (anniversary)? The one who forgot that I am allergic to that horrid spice from the East, pap’rika, when he made the ‘special’ supper for my begetting day festivities? Could it be the same Glorfindel who forgot the Day of Romance designated by Queen Varda Elentári herself, as a day of celebration for lovers? Or, was it the same Glorfindel who forgot to have the settee in our sammoth sent to the cabinetmaker for re-stuffing even though he has been asked to do it six times!? We are talking about that Glorfindel are we not? Pity that there was no one around “hovering” to remind him of those things. It is also a pity that he did not remember that settee, for that is where he will be sleeping for the next fortnight!”

Composing himself again Erestor straightened his robes with a firm tug and turned to march from the room giving the two elves behind him one last parting shot. “If you two will excuse me, I go now to find someone in need of ‘mothering’ – I am sure I can find at least ‘one’ person here in Imladris who appreciates my efforts.”

The two properly reproved Lords called after the insulted seneschal to no avail.

“Erestor…Erestor…do not leave like this. Erestor…”

“No, no, Lord Glorfindel…,” he said, “I would not wish to keep you from whatever it was you were doing before I distracted you with my hovering.”

“Now look what you have done,” scowled Elrond.

“Me?”

“Yes you, I told you to tread gently, now he is upset and we will be paying for this for days.”

“What do you mean we? You are not the one who will be sleeping on the settee!”

“Well you had better go and…” Elrond’s words were cut off as he doubled over clutching his chest gasping for air.

“My Lord! Elrond what is it?” Glorfindel shouted as he shoved a chair out of his way and rushed to the side of his liege.

The nestron braced himself by holding on to the corner of the desk, and with pain-glazed eyes he looked out toward the trees.

“Elrond, what is wrong?”

“It is close,” was all he could manage to say as he crumpled to the floor.