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'A Lantern in the Dark'

Part 1
 

Two weeks after the sons of the Lord of the valley rode out to hunt orc with the northern remnant of the survivors of Númenor, unexpected winter guests arrived at the crossing over the Bruinen. A party from the traveling company usually led by Gildor Inglorion arrived, seeking a warm hearth and the companionship of their kindred during the height of the inclement weather.

These were those members of the company less eager for battle and risk, for, so they said, Gildor himself, plus those of warrior skill amongst them, had joined themselves with the sons of Elrond of Imladris and the Dúnedain of the North, in an attempt to break and disperse a large and worrisomely well-organized orc tribe which was raiding the settlements of the Dúnedain more or less at will.

Lord Elrond bade them welcome, offered all the amenities of the Last Homely House, and said quietly to Glorfindel, "It begins."

To the eyebrow raised in inquiry, he shook his head. Unlike Galadriel he had no mirror to aid his inborn gift, nor did he wish for one. He believed his knowledge to be an ability guided by the Valar, and preferred it to unfold in accordance with their will and wisdom.

Sometimes his foresight was crystal clear and incontrovertible. More often, it was simply a matter of knowing something to be true, and making the best use of this knowledge. Therefore he waited, and kept a small corner of his awareness engaged in watching the road to the Ford.

The day before the winter solstice, the period celebrated by men and hobbits as the turning of the year, a time for family and gift-giving, friendship and joy, Imladris received the heaviest snowfall of its existence. There were some hard stares in Glorfindel's direction, as it was a thing now known that Lord Elrond had ceased his tampering with the forces of nature at the warrior’s request. Nothing was said openly, however, as elves found themselves, for the first time in many long centuries, needing to form teams to clear the paths and keep the haven running effectively.

A number of off-duty warriors were given responsibility for keeping the Ford and the steep trail leading down to the valley passable. There was some discontent over what many felt it to be unnecessary work, till it was made clear that the instruction came from Lord Elrond himself, and that he was of the belief that this was a matter of the utmost urgency.

The traditions at this time of year amongst the elves of Imladris were something that had grown over the centuries into a sort of synthesis between the Yule traditions of the Secondborn and the elven acknowledgement that the year had turned, spring would return and with it the growing time would begin. The evening before the solstice usually involved a community dinner, followed by songs and the telling of tales around the fire, as a prelude of sorts to the festivities to be enjoyed the following night.

Although a sense of impending darkness sat at the edge of awareness of all the inhabitants of the valley refuge, there was also a determination to refuse to give it power through acknowledging its presence. This time of year, rooted in such concepts as hope, light and rebirth, was an apt focus, and, despite the inclement weather, preparations for the Winter Moon celebrations went ahead enthusiastically.

~*~*~*~*~

Throughout dinner, despite maintaining an attitude of polite interest in everything happening around him, Elrond was unusually quiet, something which was marked by those sitting closest to him. After intercepting some hard looks from Glorfindel, however, everyone was very careful to refrain from asking what, if anything, was amiss.

At the end of the meal, everyone retired to the Hall of Fire, which had been decorated in the best Imladrian tradition - in other words, it had been transformed for the evening’s entertainment in a manner owing much to many cultures, and very little to any one particular one. The valley of Imladris had been refuge over time to many and cherished its diversity, somehow melding various ideas into a welcoming, inclusive whole.

The Hall was illuminated throughout by scores of tiny lanterns, burning in a variety of soft shades behind coloured glass. Streamers festooned with little glittering, painted suns, stars and representations of forest animals were to be found strung between and draped from every available surface.

There were holly branches and mistletoe, as well as garlands laden with berries, most of this greenery being studded with apples, painted scarlet, silver or gold, which caused Glorfindel to ask Elrond if this had been the reason for his urgency in keeping the trees free from snow for as long as possible. This earned him the first real smile of the evening from the dark haired elf at his side, who remained still and subdued, in sharp contrast to the festive mood surrounding them.

"My mother would have loved all this," Glorfindel said with a fond smile. "She wouldn't have understood it, but she would have loved it."

"I have no idea what my mother would have thought of it," Elrond, who had lost both parents while far too young, said with a wry smile. "But I can tell you that Maglor would have taken one horrified look and fled."

They were in the midst of laughter, their heads close together, when Elrond suddenly stopped and went completely still. Glorfindel felt him leave his body, leave the Hall. The half-elf sat motionless, his eyes staring unseeingly before him, barely seeming to breath. Glorfindel put a hand lightly on his shoulder, as Elrond had taught him to do at such times, so that he would have a thread to follow back, and waited, ready to turn aside anyone who might at that moment attempt to approach them.

Elrond returned as he had departed, abruptly, blinking his eyes twice and reaching up almost as a reflex to touch the hand on his shoulder in silent thanks. He shook his head briefly, grounding himself. When he turned to speak to Glorfindel his voice was steady, certain. "You need to get a full force out onto the King’s Road," he said firmly. "There is a party a few hours’ ride from here being pursued by an orc band. Unaided, they will not reach us."

Glorfindel rose at once. "Have you any idea who they are?" he asked over his shoulder, as he put down his wine and prepared to exit the Hall.

"Not all. But it is a party comprised mainly of men, and my sons ride amongst them."

"Dúnedain," Glorfindel murmured., “As you said, it has begun."

"Not begun, my love," Elrond replied. "Whatever this is, it is upon us."

They touched twice, once the warrior's greeting, the grip of hand to arm, and once in a manner which was all their own, a light, quick touch of fingertips to cheek, and then Glorfindel left, going out into the dark and the snow to call together his fighters.

~*~*~*~*~

The steep, winding path up from the valley floor was slippery but fairly safe, thanks to the efforts made at Elrond's insistence to keep the way clear, and the company of elves led by Glorfindel made good time. Passing the duty guard at the top, pausing only to give them instructions to be doubly vigilant, they turned their horses into the wind and set out at the best speed possible for the river Ford that marked the boundary of Imladris.

Out of the protection of the valley, the wind howled around them, and any save elves riding elven-raised horses would have given up and turned back. The snow had temporarily ceased, but in its place a light but bitingly cold rain fell, and all about them was darkness.

The Ford itself carried an off-putting appearance, for the water had risen far higher than normal and looked dark and angry, but Glorfindel, in answer to expressions of concern, reassured the group. ”This is Lord Elrond's river and lies under his hand. It holds no peril for any traveling this path on his business or with his blessing.”

So saying, or more exactly shouting in defiance of the wind, he urged his horse into the water and led the way across and up onto the road, or rather what could be discerned of it under its blanket of snow.

The going was slower now, in deference to the need to take care for the horses' footing on the snow, but they maintained a steady pace, riding on into the dark of the night. They were an hour beyond the Ford when Celanor, riding to the fore, called back over his shoulder, "Riders approaching, my Lord. At speed!"

Glorfindel drew his company to a halt, deploying them with hand gestures and a few words into a state of battle readiness, and drew his sword. Out of the dark, a small group of riders appeared, bearing down upon them.

At the last possible moment, realising that they were not alone on the road - men not having the eyesight of elves, especially not in the dark – the approaching party pulled to a halt with a fair amount of shouting and jostling. Out of the group Elladan rode, calling something back over his shoulder as he did so.

"Very well met, Glorfindel," he called. "My companions are Dúnedain, and also Gildor and some few of his company. We are pursued by orcs---"

"This is why we are here, sent by your father’s wisdom," Glorfindel cut in. He gestured to the elves behind him. "Do we have the numbers to deal with them now, do you think?"

Elladan looked and nodded briefly. "Probably," he said. "But some of us must ride ahead. Arathorn has fallen, and his settlement is under attack. We are taking his family to the House for safety."

Glorfindel felt something grow still within him for a moment. He personally had been one of the few elves who had liked the grim-faced, serious man, respecting his firmness of purpose and battle skills. He had also spent enough time in Arathorn’s company to have grown to like his occasional dry wit and cynical assessment of his fellows. Glorfindel turned his left hand palm down to the ground and murmured the age-old benediction.

"Go well, my friend. Safe journey into the Light." Then he looked at the group of riders before him, quickly assessing. There was a small group of men, plus ten elves, including Elrohir and Gildor. Someone rode behind Gildor, and Elrohir was carrying something bundled up before him, which he was holding with great care.

"Elladan, you will take this company," he ordered, indicating the warriors he had brought from Imladris, "plus the Dúnedain and half of Gildor's company, and deal with the orcs. I will ride with Elrohir and Gildor to Imladris."

Elladan was his father's heir, trained to make decisions, lead warriors and, more importantly, heed the advice of those better qualified than himself. His instinct was to stay with his brother and those in his care, but his common sense and training told him that they would be much better off under the protection of the Aman-born, battle-hardened warrior famous for having fought and killed a balrog.

The danger was behind, not before, and he would personally not give much for the chances of any ten orcs unfortunate enough to come up against Glorfindel of Gondolin. Elladan gave it a moment, but could find no fault with the instruction.

"As you say," he responded with a quick nod.

Turning his horse, he rode back and passed on Glorfindel’s instructions. He had a brief exchange with one of the men while Gildor was dividing his fighters, but it was quickly resolved, especially as the wind had dropped slightly and the guttural hunting calls of orcs could be heard in the near distance.

The two groups separated with few words, the Dúnedain speaking brief farewells to the figure huddled behind Gildor as they rode past and the twins offered seldom-required words of caution to one another, accustomed as they were to ride and face threat together. Then the larger group turned into the wind and went in search of the orcs, the pursuers becoming in an instant the pursued, while the smaller group turned for the Ford and home.

~*~*~*~*~

Another room in the same house. Larger, airier, with thick drapes drawn against the night. A fire burnt low in the fire place, because the Lord of this refuge, having a share of mortal blood in his veins, felt the northern chill.

It was a room which had long been occupied, but only recently redecorated. There were jewel colours, textured contrasts of wood and metal and stone, speaking to a definite vision, not the haphazard accumulation of centuries. It was the room of a personality long restrained by the preferences of others, finally encouraged to free expression.

In the bed, two figures slowly writhed to a background of sighs and soft whispers, performing a dance older than time, more warming than any hearth fire. Smoke dark hair tangled with sun gold, hands, lips, searched, caressed, pleasured under the soft, bright covers. Firmly, needfully, the blonde drew the dark-haired elf into a deep, passionate kiss, before urging him over onto his stomach. Both bodies started moving more urgently, in a manner more defined, and the pitch of their breathing changed, increased, became harsher…

“Ada, Rohir says he has to talk to you.”

The room stilled, the two figures in the bed were instantly motionless. The golden elf finally drew back, moving to lie beside his companion, and they looked at one another, summer blue eyes meeting long-lashed storm grey. Then they both turned slowly to look at the doorway and at the two figures standing there, waiting.

Elrond, a veteran of ill-timed interruptions by his sons, though not, truth be told, in recent years, moved away slightly from Glorfindel, then propped himself up on an elbow, taking care to keep the covers around his body, and demanded evenly,

“Explain!”

“Rohir had a dream,” Elladan said softly, gesturing towards his brother, who was still clad in nothing save thin sleep pants and a fall of dark, flowing hair. “He says it can’t wait till morning.”

Elrond surveyed his younger son, the only one of his three children in whom the blood of their Maian ancestress ran clear and close to the surface, and gestured towards the bed. The other time Elrohir had woken him agitated by a forewarning dream, it had revolved around a pale flower, bloodied and trampled within a cave.

That time Glorfindel, the twins, and companies of warriors from both Imladris and Lórien had ridden out at once, but reached the Redhorn Pass too late to save Celebrían from horrors only Elrond himself, as her healer, ever fully understood.

“Come,” he said briefly. The twins exchanged glances, then as one turned their pewter gaze to Glorfindel. Their father made a gesture of annoyance at them.

“You made no objection when I told you we were lovers; in fact you wished us well. What did you think we did in here at night – talked about our day and played chess? Grow up. Come here, child, and tell me your dream.”

Elrohir, his brother’s hand lightly supporting his arm, came over to the bed and curled onto it as he had since he was an elfling. Elladan sat more sedately on the edge behind his brother, keeping his eyes carefully averted from Glorfindel’s naked chest.

Elrond took hold of one of his son’s long fingered, narrow hands, so like his own. There was, he noted with a little tug of tenderness, a scratch along the side, and faint paint stains on the fingers.

“Talk to me,” he encourage, keeping his voice soft. Behind him, Glorfindel settling against him, a hand resting lightly on his lover’s waist, silently supportive.

“They are out there all alone in the snow. They are being chased, and we need to help them,” Elrohir said in a distant voice, his eyes starting to lose focus, to look inward again. Elrond shook his hand lightly to keep his attention.

“Who? Where?” He knew that short, simple questions would be the easiest for his son to focus on. Elrohir shook his head hard, the hair flying, and shivered slightly. Glorfindel pulled the top cover loose and sat up to wrap it about the young elf, his touch firm, completely unembarrassed by his own nakedness.

Elrohir snuggled into the blanket. “I don’t know who they were,” he said softly. “There was fighting and there was blood and it was raining. Then I saw riders fleeing through the snow, pursued by a great shadow, and in their midst was a woman, and she was carrying a lantern.”

“A lantern?” Glorfindel looked at Elrond questioningly. “On horseback?”

“It’s a metaphor,” the half-elf answered distractedly. To his son, he said, “Did you know her face, did you hear anything?” Elrohir’s visions were mainly pictures, but he heard the occasional word.

“No words, no” he said, shaking his head. “But they were men, Ada, not elves. That is all I know. That, and,” he looked intently at his father, his face vulnerable in the faint light cast by the fire and the dim lamp beside the bed. “I think they were trying to reach the Ford, but the snow is so thick, they may not find their way. And should they reach it, there will be no one to guide them. We have to go to them.”

On this last, he started to rise from the bed, his mind already on leaving the house, finding his horse, riding into the night. Elrond took a firm grip on his wrist and pulled him back sharply.

“Elrohir, there is no one out there now,” he said firmly. “I am certain of it. This is a thing still to come, it has all the marks on it, and when you are properly awake you will know that for yourself. I think the main message is one I have already received - we must keep the pass watched and open, and, so far as possible, the roads traversable and free of orcs and other creatures of darkness.”

Elrohir stilled and studied his father, the only one beside his grandmother who fully understood the dreams and sometimes waking visions he had been heir to since childhood. Of the two, he far preferred his father’s common sense approach to the subject. His grandmother used her Mirror as a tool to direct her visions, meanwhile, like him, Elrond saw things unbidden, knew things with a certainty beyond knowledge. On the whole, if his father said it was not happening yet, Elrohir was more than prepared to believe him.

“But it will happen one day,” he said softly, slowly becoming aware that he was sitting in his father’s bedchamber wearing sleep pants and a blanket, and that they had burst in without knocking and interrupted a very private and intimate moment.

”Whatever it is, it will happen.” Elrond agreed, part of his mind ranging free, trying to sense any unaccounted presence near his valley. All he could feel were the distant movements of orcs, far enough away to pose no threat.

“Nothing?” Glorfindel asked him quietly, knowing where his mind roamed when his eyes took on that peculiar silver hue. At the quick shake of the dark head, he leaned over and said to Elrohir, putting a hand lightly on the young elf’s shoulder as he did so, “Your father will watch in his way, I in mine. Tomorrow I will double the guard on the pass, and tomorrow, too, I think we should start sending out patrols as a deterrent to any roving orc packs. Were there many close by?”

This last was addressed to Elrond, whose ability to search out any wandering followers of darkness within range of Imladris held no awe or discomfort for one who had spent his childhood in company with Galadriel and her brothers. Glorfindel, furthermore, had experienced the other side of death. He was no stranger to the uncommon.

“They are out there,” Elrond confirmed, tugging pillows into place and settling back against them. Glorfindel had brought many gifts to their relationship but one of the greatest, though the Lord of Imladris seldom admitted it, even to himself,, was the way he could take charge of a situation, make decisions. To be able to lean back and allow some one else to do so was a seldom-experienced luxury. “There seem more than normal, but not close. I doubt we are their target.”

“Arathorn sent word asking if we would care to ride with his Dúnedain,” Elladan volunteered. “Packs have begun crossing the mountains again, and his thought was to scour the passes.”

Arathorn was the rather grim, humourless leader of the northern remnant of the Men of the West, newly made chief and one to take his duties seriously. Elrond personally found him hard to like, but tolerated him as he had all the others of that line, the last thread that held him to Elros, his lost twin, whose grave lay deep under the ocean in the wreck of Númenor.

“Perhaps that would be a good course for you two,” he agreed. “I think your brother needs to feel he is doing something useful. When does Arathorn expect you to join them?”

“He wished us to ride no later than tomorrow, I think,” Elladan said, considering. “I assumed you wanted us both home for the Winter Moon celebrations, though. You certainly complained loudly enough about our absence at Midsummer.”

“Don’t disrespect your father,” Glorfindel said absently, as he had since the twins were both old enough to speak. Pewter eyes flashed his way and he mentally cursed his tongue. Since the first magical, unbelievable night he had bedded Elrond, Glorfindel had tried to remain aware of the fact that, for the twins, the lifelong relationship of respect and affection they had shared with him had changed, become complicated.

Glorfindel was still their friend, some-time tutor, and advisor. He was still the master of the defenses of Imladris, and a warrior terrifying in his skill and courage. He still had their admiration and their friendship. But he was now their father’s lover, and the easy interaction that had once existed between them was, for the moment, overlaid with conscious care for the right word, the uncontroversial response.

Accepting that what was done was done, he continued in a brisk tone. “I was going to ask you to take your turns patrolling because it would be good for morale, but you would be better employed aiding the Dúnedain.. If you leave tomorrow, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be back before the Winter Moon.”

Elladan had already risen, eager to get back to his room, away from the reality of a relationship that would always leave him feeling just a little uneasy, and about which, tonight, he had observed somewhat more than he really cared to know.

Elrond, who hoped that the current discomfort would have settled down and been all but forgotten in another hundred years or so, had been staying clear of the conversation, but now he sat up and put an arm around his younger son, pulling him into a quick, rough hug, his cheek against soft, disheveled hair.

“Put it to the back of your mind, Rohir. I think the dream was urgent, yes, but not for tonight. For now, do what can be done. Go ride with Arathorn, help keep the road open. It is the way of such things that you will only know its meaning at the appointed time.”

~*~*~*~*~

Part 2

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