gondolin_noble | (no subject)

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It's a peaceful evening in the valley - maybe a little too quiet, with Celebrian and her two sons gone to see her parents in Lothlorien. Now that the sons are both well-grown and trained to Glorfindel's standards, he felt comfortable letting them take command of the guard on that particular journey.

It helps that he's personally been over that pass quite a few times this season, and hasn't found any signs of trouble. Not that he'll ever tell the twins that, of course.

Still, it's a very nice evening, a good one to sit with a book and listen to the water (and the never-ending minstrels).

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Eventually the fighting stops. Eventually. The orcs are not happy about losing their prize - they refuse to retreat, and die hard. The twins return to the fight after a time. Glorfindel is not at all happy about this, but he doesn't have enough soldiers to force them to stand down, so he watches their backs, covering where injuries and rage and exhaustion has made their forms sloppy. The way they fight worries him. The last time he saw the like was before Imladris was formed.

Troubles for another time - preferably one decidedly more comfortable.

Eventually, eventually, there are more elves than orcs. Eventually, he can leave the last few to his captains and start working on the new problems that have formed. First he stops the twins - first Elladan, then Elrohir, forcing them to stand down, to surrender their weapons, to sit down before he stops making it an option. They go, as petulantly as any elfling who has ever tried to avoid a nap.

He should have checked for survivors amongst the dead, first. There's a couple of orcs still moving.

Orcs are brutish creatures , but they are not wholly unintelligent.
Clever enough to stay still, play dead. Clever enough to jump up when the opportunity arises.

Elrond is distracted by the pale counternance of his silver queen, her silence. He hears the Orc snarl as it hurls itself at them and twists his body to shield her, as he reaches for the long knife in his belt.

Leaving his side unguarded.

A cry goes up when the orc strikes - so many see it, but no one is close enough to stop it. A breath later it shot full of arrows by the vengeful Imladris guard. Glorfindel is there a moment after that, shoving the dead orc aside to check on Elrond.

Or he would, if he wasn't suddenly under attack from a pair of elves. The twins have already seen what orcs have done to one parent today, they simply cannot abide the injury of another, and Glorfindel took their weapons. Something he's deeply thankful for at the moment, they're vicious enough without them.

"Stop it!"
Elrond hardly ever raises his voice. Not anymore. Not at his children.

They stop.

He pushes to his knees, pale and bleeding, one hand pressed against his side. " I am fine," he says. "It'll heal.."

He takes a very deliberate breath. "Glorfindel, she will have to be carried. No." Not listening to the twins' protests. "She will need you, where she can see you. You will walk beside her. Talk to her."
Remind her what she has here is what he thinks but doesn't say.

His cloak is covering her from her shoulders down. Pinned in place.
"Nothing's broken. She can be lifted. But there are - cuts. So gently."

He doesn't entirely trust Elrond's self-assessment, but if Elrond can stand and keep up, it will have to do until he can find a healer to find out what is actually wrong besides grief. The twins are still giving him dark looks, he's pretty sure his side is all the colors of the rainbow and possibly bleeding (Valar know he won't be taking the time to check until they are safe again), and Celebrian...

He has seen Elrond do some fairly amazing things, he knows. He reminds himself of this as he gently scoops her into his arms, reassuring her in a soft litany of words that has more to do with letting her know he isn't an orc than with seeking an answer.

He has been called the lord of the seen and unseen... and he's sure the twins can't see it, he's not sure if Elrond has let himself see yet, but she is so very injured.

Elrond gts to his feet and accepts the arm of one of the twins. Maybe he's not completely fine after all.

He also catches Glorfindel's eyes.

He knows.

His sword is retrieved from the dead Orc it's lodged itself in, and they begin their slow retreat.

H e too speaks to her as they begin to move, in sot tones. You can't hear that he is in pain when he speaks.

The tireless training of the Imladris guard pays off again - Glorfindel doesn't have to pull away to divide the remaining soldiers, assign duties, or worry about how they will all get home again. He makes a mental note to reward them later when elves appear to help the injured and exhausted Peredhil onto horses, to bring Asfaloth and make him kneel in the blood-soaked mud so he can mount without shifting Celebrian again, to burn the bodies of the orcs and bring home their own dead with honor.

Instead he can sing to his lady, and ignore the baleful stares of the twins, and make sure Elrond doesn't fall out of his saddle.

His face is white, with pain and worry, but that is the only outward sign of his inner turmoil.

He does reach out to his sons though, torn between wanting to comfort them and to stay close to Celebrian.
The latter urge wins out in the end, as his own world narrows from pain and blood loss.

He stays in the saddle though. He only needs his legs for that.

The ride back into the valley is more unending than the ride out - now he has the time to count every hoofbeat, every heartbeat, every cry, every drop of blood.

He would honestly prefer another balrog.

It ends eventually as all things must, and when they clatter into the courtyard a veritable army of healers await them, warned of their coming by the scouts posted at the borders of the valley. They surge around the returning warriors like a rising tide and Glorfindel does not interfere - they take his silver queen without so much as a by-your-leave, and he trusts that while they'll listen to Elrond for a time, they won't let him do anything life-threatening.

It is a testament to just how worried and worn Elrond is, that he snaps at the healer that comes to assist him get off his horse.
Elrond who is kind and patient and rarely raises his voice. In his own hall.

Everybody takes notice thereof.

He follows the healers and it is late evening before Glorfindel sees him again. Bandaged and pale and leaning against the balustrade of the balcony outside of Celebrian's chamber.
This is obviously as far as they've managed to make him go.

Glorfindel appears on the balcony before too long, also using the architecture for support (in this case, a wall). He's managed to get out of his armor, and has been given a once-over by the healers - he's been warned he will be hunted down eventually, but for the nonce bandages and a warning not to do anything stupid will suffice. He may be every color of the rainbow, but he didn't manage to garner anything life-threatening.

Though he is more battered than last he saw Elrond - he had been in the healer's wing when the twins were finally cornered. Elladan had been fairly easy to sedate, but Elrohir had fought tooth and nail, and hadn't taken kindly to being restrained.

Glorfindel doesn't ask how Celebrian fares - actually, he's surprised the poor elf hasn't fled for Mandos already. He's seen those less grievously wounded succumb faster. Clearly, Celebrian is at least as stubborn as her mother.

"How are they?"
Elrond sounds even more worn than he looks. And he looks very worn indeed.

"Angry. Sedated, for the time being. They need rest and neither was particularly inclined to take it." Glorfindel doesn't have it in him to be sorry to have forced the issue. They would have only ended up doing something to make the grief of today worse.

He sighs and rubs his face with his hands.
"I will talk to them when they wake up," he says.

His fingers are shaking. Just a little.

"Or when you wake up." Glorfindel suggests, with deceptive mildness.

He almost saw an end to his oath today. He perhaps can be forgiven for a tiny bit of overprotectiveness.

Or a whole heck of a lot of overprotectiveness, because that's what's coming.

"I can't sleep,"comes the reply.
Either he is too distraught and exhausted to see beyond the deceptive mildness. Or he ignores it.

"You must." His voice is soft, but inexorable. It's the voice some of the younger guards call 'the voice of doom', which usually makes Glorfindel roll his eyes and find something unpleasant for them to do. "If you collapse, you will only be creating more work for the healers, and they won't let you come near her, you know they won't - they would fear you would give too much of yourself away. I will watch her, while you sleep, and you needn't go far - there's an empty bed in the next room."

He pauses, and then adds, softly:

"Or have I lost your faith in this?"

"No," Elrond says, closing his eyes.
"But she will -" His voice breaks.

"She stands upon a knife's edge - your pain may hinder just as much as your love will aid, Elrond." He reminds his lord, gently. "Regain some of your own strength so you can help bring her back to us."

Elrond sighs, and bows his head, his hair shrouding his face.
He looks like he can hardly stay on his feet.

He steps forward cautiously - he has already fought the twins down today, he has no desire to do the same for their father.

If anything, because Elrond hits harder.

"Come sleep, mellon. One watch only - You have my word I won't let them keep you away after."

"On a pallet, in her room," Elrond replies. Slowly.
"I can't - she is slipping away, Glorfindel. I have to be near her."

He knows Glorfindel has a different perspective, but he has an Elros shaped hole in his life. Partings are very difficult for him.

And he is failing her. He should be able to make this better.

"And you will rest? Truly rest - I will know it if you will not." Glorfindel bargains, raising an eyebrow.

"I will close my eyes."

Counter offer.

"Two watches then, but I will rouse you if anything changes, for good or ill." Glorfindel would have considerably less patience if he didn't know Elrond, and if he didn't love Celebrian.