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The Bitter Glass	By : Massanie Category: +Third Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2221 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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CHAPTER 3: Broken

Celebrían rode next to Dírhael. She was glad for his company, it had always soothed her. Although they could not talk openly about the reason of her journey because of the guards and other diplomats who accompanied them, he had managed to distract her throughout the journey and the lonely evenings at the fire.

The silver queen watched her companion. Dírhael wore a heavy burgundy cloak that shielded him from the icy winds. She smiled at how uncomfortable he looked. Dírhael was not used to travelling: since Erestor had entered his life slightly less than four hundred years ago he had not left Imladris. Well, this little trip would do him good. Seeing something other than Elrond's little valley.

Elrond had probably begged him to go to keep an eye on her. Originally it had been intended that only a small party with only one ambassador would make the difficult journey, but when she decided that she would go, Elrond's chief advisor had volunteered to accompany her and so the party had grown. Dírhael told her that he could use the opportunity to speak to lord Celeborn about the travelling routes; he had always been a bad liar, but still she appreciated the effort.

She pulled her warm cloak closer when she imagined what Dírhael would say if she broke up with Elrond. Celebrían knew that the advisor respected her, but he was Elrond's friend and he knew that it would hurt the Half-Elf tremendously. But she grinded her teeth: Elrond had hurt her, too, by kissing the balrog slayer.

But Celebrían did not want to think about that right now. It had cost her much strength to accept what her mother had foretold her hundreds of years ago. It would do her no good if she kept on lingering in the past. So she concentrated on her travel companion once again.

"You seem a little bit tense my dear lord Dírhael." Celebrían remarked grinning.

Dírhael shot her a deathly glance that had her laughing out loud. "I hate riding. It's uncomfortable. And it's cold, I think it will start to snow any moment and the wind is driving me insane. But aside of that … I am well."

He sighed when the lady of Imladris only kept on laughing. "And I wonder how Erestor is doing. It's the first time that he has to fill in for me. Not that I would not think him up to the task but you know that the others dislike him. He will have a hard time."

"He will manage. But when you return you will probably have to cope with many complaints and one or two resignations."

"Well, for one or two of my 'colleagues' it would be about time to …"

Suddenly a scream ripped the cold clear air a black feathered arrow bored it's shaft into the advisor's throat. Time stood still for a moment, Celebrían's mouth still standing open in shock. She reached out for the friend she had known since she first set foot on Imladris' beautiful land, as if in trance, slowly. But the brunet fell sideward to the ground and only then reality set in and the silver queen sprang from her white stallion and went down to the ground next to Dírhael, trying to stay behind the horse so as to protect her from the arrows.

Helplessly she watched as the advisor squirmed stertorously in the snow, colouring it with his blood. In that very instant she realized that he would die no matter what she did. Dírhael was slowly suffocating from his own blood and the gargling sound that he made horrified her even more than the panicked and pained look in his wide eyes.

Celebrían looked up to the hillside to her left where dozens of Orcs came sliding down towards them bawling and cheering in their terrific ugly speech. Panicking she left the dying advisor to his fate and tried to mount her horse again. But somehow the stirrup escaped her feet and she looked up again with rising fear, seeing the dark mass of bodies climbing and running nearer. 'Saes, Elbereth, saes!'

Finally Celebrían managed to mount the dancing horse and the animal immediately reacted, breaking into a full gallop.

She heard one of the guards screaming her name. The others had already covered not short a distance. One of the warriors waited on the bend they had passed only minutes ago. Breathing heavily already, she held onto that sight, trying to reach the ellon.

But then an arrow hit her stallion and she was thrown as the poor beast collapsed. The snow cushioned her fall but when she looked up again she cried out in desperation: The guard was gone and behind her the foul creatures came nearer, snarling and laughing. Hot tears flowed down her cheeks; she was lost.

Erestor stood behind his desk in Dírhael's and his office. The room was capacious with large curved windows facing the courtyard as it was situated opposite of Elrond's office. Dírhael had chosen the furnishings himself and as always had shown his sense for décor in the process. The desks and cupboards out of cherry wood were beautifully carved and the matching arm chairs were cushioned with dark red velvet and had only been upholstered the year before.

Few personal items were seated on the chief advisor's desk: presents from Glorfindel, Elrond and of course Erestor could be seen on the polished surface like the silver bordered inkwell Erestor had presented him with two years after his arrival.

Erestor's desk bore no personal items, he deemed them distracting.

The chief advisor's second let one hand rest behind the small of his back, the other was held in front of his stomach in a loose fist. His cold and stern gaze was directed at one of his fellow advisors. A senior advisor much older than himself but still Erestor held a higher position. Nonetheless the elder elf had always defied him and Erestor's patience was growing thin.

"I told you to have the abstract ready for me, Faelon."

"And I told you that this is not one of my duties, I am senior advisor not some assistant!"

"You do not have the liberty to choose your duties, advisor!" Erestor's voice was like ice. "If a message contains confidential information it will not be given to 'some assistant'. If you find your duties inacceptable you are free to go. You are lucky that I read the messages from Mirkwood myself and am able to give Elrond a sufficient outline. The messenger leaves tomorrow; we need to formulate an answer until then. This time I am able to cover for you. But next time you find yourself incapable of fulfilling your duties I expect your resignation."

His opponent glared at him but was intelligent enough not to argue – for now.

Erestor turned towards the windows. "You may …" His voice died away until it was nothing more than a whisper "… go."

Faelon watched in bewilderment as the dark elf turned again, a shocked expression on his face, and ran towards the door. "Elrond!" he screamed and rushed into his lord's office. "lord Elrond!"

The lord of Imladris looked up, surprised at the sudden disruption. Right in front of him hurried his chief advisor's substitute into his office, his dark blue robes whirling around him. Erestor gestured towards his office, pale and shocked – a very rare vision.

"Erestor, what … ?"

"Elrond, the party to Lóriën …" The lord paled and hasted past his advisor into the opposite room. Arriving at the window he gasped, turned and ran towards the courtyard, Erestor at his heels.

Bewildered by this unusual display of discomposure, Faelon approached the large windows and looked out to the courtyard. At first he did not realize what had caused all the agitation, the lady's party was not there: neither Celebrían nor Dírhael. But then he saw one of Dírhael's assistants who had been travelling to Lóriën, too. And for a moment his heart missed a beat.

When Elrond and Erestor arrived in the courtyard, the lord's children were already there. Arwen came running towards her father, sobbing hard "Ada, naneth … they took her."

Elrond pulled her into a tight embrace, knitting his brow in an effort to stop the frightened tears that he spilled nonetheless. In his arms his daughter shook and cried; then a strong hand clasped his shoulder to offer comfort. Glorfindel stood before him, framed by his sons.

"Elrond, your wife has been captured by Orcs when her party tried to cross the Redhorn pass. They stood no chance. Dírhael was slain and three of the ten guards."

Elrond blinked his tears away, trying to understand what his captain was telling him. Meanwhile, somehow completely unnoticed, Erestor's face had become a ghostly pale and totally blank, a white marble mask. Distant he seemed as if he had entered another reality, one where there was no such terror. With the utmost care he straightened his robes and treaded into the main house again, towards his office to answer king Thranduil's messages, which would surely not be tended to by lord Elrond in the current situation.

In the courtyard Elrond gave instructions for a search and rescue party which would be led by his sons Elladan and Elrohír. It helped him against the desperate fear and helplessness he felt within his chest and two hours later he watched with his daughter and Glorfindel at his side how the party rode off towards the Misty Mountains.

"Elbereth hear my plea, Manwë see my need! Don't let them be too late … bring her back." And finally Elrond let his tears flow freely along with those of Arwen.

The great hall was empty that evening – not with people: they sat at their usual places at the large wooden tables, waiting for the dinner to be served. But it was empty nonetheless: there was no laughter, no smiles, no chattering; it was void of happiness. Four of the chairs at the main table were empty: Celebrían's, Dírhael's, Elladan's and Elrohír's. And the thusly caused vacuum pulled at the hearts of the assembled elves and left them shattered.

When dinner was served Elrond stood. He did not need to speak up to draw attention for the silence was deafening.

"As you know, the party to the Golden Wood has been waylaid, my wife kidnapped and four brave and noble elves slain: Berion and Haradion who already partook in the battle against the Witchking in 1975 and Aglaron who was too young to have seen enough of Middle Earth to leave it just yet in a way like this … and Dírhael; my chief advisor and true and loyal friend. I have known him since before the founding of our beautiful valley and he was one of the most generous and compassionate elves I have ever met. They all will be sorely missed."

Elrond lowered his head as the tears he had hold back until know welled up. Forcing them back he took a calming breath. "To our loved ones who went ahead to the Undying Lands!"

He waited for his people to stand and raise their glass to the ones that had not returned. For one minute they stood in silence, praying for Námo to show them the way to his halls.

"We have lost dear friends and loved ones, and I fear for one more: my wife, who might be still alive. Let us pray for those trying to safe her. May Elbereth hear our pleas in this dark hours, may the Valar protect them!" Speaking the last few words, his voice broke and he lowered his head so as not to show his tears. But there were many who cried that evening for the loss of the chief advisor and the soldiers who had been well loved and they cried for the lady Celebrían, the very heart and soul of Imladris.

Later that evening it was announced that Erestor, son of Dírhael was now appointed chief advisor of Imladris. There was no polite applause, no smiles but more than one glare and many a malicious whisper.

Glorfindel would take the duties of the seneschal, supported by the new chief advisor.

Elrond had wanted to speak to Erestor for the loss of his father must weigh heavy on his slender shoulders but when dinner was over his new chief advisor immediately stood and hurried away to his chambers before anyone could hinder him and after the day's straining events Elrond lacked the strength to follow him: Remembering how reclusive the darkling was, he kept Glorfindel back, too. Erestor needed time to come to terms with his father's death, not two nagging elves he didn't trust.

When Elrond entered his study the next day he saw Erestor working through some papers. The dark elf looked up, a hollow expression in his nearly black eyes. He had obviously not been to his chambers all night long: he had not changed his robes since the previous day and the dark shadows below his eyes proved that he had not slept.

"Good morning my lord. I have attended to all pressing matters; you need only sign the message to Mirkwood if you will. I can cover for you, my lord, if you would prefer to comfort the lady Arwen …"

"Erestor."

"… she would need her father close, I think."

"Erestor!"

The advisor blinked and stared into his lord's face. But he needed some moments before he managed to hide the emotional turmoil he was in behind that cold mask.

"Have you slept at all, Erestor?" Elrond had expected the silence but nevertheless he sighed tiredly when his advisor kept quiet. "I want you to go to your chambers, take a warm bath and sleep. If you find yourself unable to, then go to my labour … you know where the sleeping draughts are."

Elrond knew that he should be a little bit more compassionate but he felt so drained. He had not slept either for fear and grief, somehow feeling guilty for being able to sink into a soft mattress, hiding below warm white blankets, while his wife was out there in the hands of Orcs.

"I will when I finished today's work my lord."

Elrond sighed. He took the younger elf by the shoulders and tried to manoeuvre him towards one of the armchairs so as to speak to him but Erestor flinched away.

"Don't!" He spoke tartly.

The lord took a step back to pacify his new chief advisor but watched him with serious concern. Never had Erestor shied away from a simple touch like that, not even when he had first entered this valley.

"You will at least go to your chambers, change and rest for a few hours. Then you may return to your work, chief advisor."

Erestor gasped at the mention of his new title and looked away.

"As you wish. The message to Mirkwood is on your desk. If you sign it now I will hand it to the messenger, before I retire.

Do you want me to send word to the Golden Wood or do you want to wait for … your son's return?"

"I will write a message for one of our carrier pigeons. They ought to know, they are her parents after all."

"As you wish, my lord." Erestor bowed then waited for Elrond to read through his message to King Thranduil. When his lord nodded and gave him leave to send it to Mirkwood, he turned but was stopped by his lord.

"I spoke to the survivors. His death was swift, Erestor. He probably died not even realizing that they were attacked."

Elrond had felt the need to calm the young advisor, who tried to help him by taking over his responsibilities but unknowingly he pushed him further away with his words.

Within a second, Erestor's face, previously full of grief and pain, hardened and cooled into the well known marble mask, his mouth becoming a thin dangerous line, contorted only slightly with well concealed disgust. "You need not lie to me, my lord." Erestor said in a clipped tone that clearly told Elrond that he had overstepped personal boundaries.

"I spoke with them myself; they were nice enough to tell me that Dírhael choked on his own blood, having been hit in the throat by an arrow. I know that drowning or choking is a very painful death and I can imagine that having an arrow in your throat doesn't make it any better. If that is all, my lord ..." Erestor did not wait for an answer and turned around.

The lord of Imladris was shocked at so much bitterness and cruelty. Maybe lying to Erestor had not been the best approach but to tell the young ellon the brutal truth about his adoptive father's death was nothing less than cruel. And the worst was that he could imagine that the culprits had found some sick delight in their game.

Dírhael had been Erestor's only confidant. The young one had no one else, no one to comfort him and help him through his grief. Now that he had lost him he was completely alone once more.

"No, Erestor. Sit!"

The black haired ellon clenched his teeth and turned to sit once more.

"I am sorry Erestor, sorry for your loss." 'and that I lied to you' his mind continued.

"My lord Elrond, with all due respect: I am your employee and I will perform my duties. Besides that I would like for my private live to stay just that: private."

"I would have thought that there was more than a labour relation between us."

"I was the adoptive son of one of your friends, my lord. That friend is dead."

That stung. Dírhael was – nay had been – not just a friend, he had been his closest companion next to Celebrían and Glorfindel and the only one whom he could trust with everything.

And Erestor was being his considerate self, with his cold pragmatic demeanour. Still he was not angry with the young ellon, merely hurt. He still had his family ... Erestor had nothing.

"He was my best friend next to Glorfindel, Erestor and I knew him much longer than you did. So let me tell you this: he would not have wanted you to seal yourself off like that.

Once I told you I would listen whenever you are ready. That offer still stands."

For one short moment Elrond thought to have seen something like longing in the black eyes, and … guilt? But then the expression was gone and the lord of Imladris was not sure to have seen it at all.

"He is dead, my lord. Can I take my leave now?"

The Half-Elf wondered what exactly Erestor meant with that statement. Dírhael was dead and Erestor's actions did not concern him anymore, did not matter anymore? Or he was dead and whatever Erestor did would not bring him back or make the fact more bearable? Or maybe something different …

Elrond nodded and the advisor stood. He just didn't know how to reach the dark ellon and during the next years Erestor would brush off Elrond's and Glorfindel's attempts to console him and made it clear that he did not appreciate them meddling into his private life. And so they gave up and settled for watching the quiet councillor.

The next two weeks proved hard for everyone in Imladris. Elrond tried to be there for his daughter and simultaneously not to lose his mind in doubt and fear whereas Arwen tried not to burden her ada further – which led to more misunderstandings and more loneliness for both of them.

Glorfindel tried to hold things together and perform his duties with so many guards now absent. And Erestor was seen to carry out not only his duties, but Dírhael's duties and some of Elrond's, too. And of course he prepared everything for the burial of the four elves which had been delayed in the hope that the party led by Elrond's sons would find something to bury. Orcs were known to eat what they killed – be it dwarf, human or elf – and not to leave much besides raw bones; sometimes not even that for they fed the leftover to their wargs.

The new chief advisor buried himself in work, surpassing every expectations and running Imladris as smoothly as ever. But in the face of his own father's death he never cried just once. In fact his public demeanour had not changed at all and only Glorfindel and Elrond noticed that the dark ellon was indeed grieving.

But the other advisors – mainly the senior advisors led by Faelon – disliked their superior even more because of his 'disrespect' towards their former chief advisor. More than ever they wondered why Dírhael had taken the cold Erestor under his wing and once again it was cause of much gossip in Imladris. But this time Glorfindel was occupied with his duties and when he was not in the forests around Imladris helping the patrols and waiting for news of the search party or on the training fields he tried to enliven Erestor and Elrond, never listening to idle gossip.

It was at the weekly council meeting three weeks after the survivors had ridden into Imladris' courtyard when Erestor first heard the ill-natured comments whispered behind his back.

Those meetings were normally held by the chief advisor to discuss problems and arrange duties and of course Erestor supervised not too patiently how the tasks he had assigned his staff the week before had been fulfilled.

His passive but cold gaze had been directed towards one of the younger trainees, one of Faelon's students. The blond ellon had been instructed to draw up the monthly balance sheet and to present mentionable differences to the council. Both had not happened so the junior advisor found himself the centre of Erestor's intense stare which was directed at him until the young one's flood of words and excuses tumbled and ceased.

Then Erestor directed his gaze towards Faelon but he addressed his student.

"I gave you this assignment for educational reasons. You were to consult your instructor if need arose. Did you?"

The young ellon stayed silent, his gaze directed to his instructor as if waiting for something, for support or permission maybe.

"I see. Faelon, the two of you will stay after the meeting. Now …" Erestor looked to his notes for a moment when everything went deadly silent. He felt his throat tighten and raised his head.

"What did you say?"His voice was not more than a whisper but clearly audible in the quiet chamber.

Faelon met his eyes but did not reply.

Erestor slowly cocked his head and stood gracefully and proud, his notes still in his hands. "You do not want to answer?" he said in his most polite and yet most threatening tone.

Had the elder ellon observed his superior a little bit more, he maybe would not have replied: Erestor's hand had clasped his notes that tightly that the fine paper crumpled under his fingers and his hands shook, even though his face was completely void of emotions.

But the senior advisor hated his opponent, and he had had enough of being subservient before a mere child. And so Faelon raised his chin defiantly. "I said" he rolled the words around in his mouth like a delicacy, relishing their taste. "At least he did not need to use his body's charms to earn his position."

For a moment the silence became deafening, oppressive. Fearful the advisors cast hidden glances at each other as the room darkened. It was not a lingering shadow but rather as if something swallowed all the light, leaving only the chief advisor dimly illuminated, his body seemingly growing terrifically. For the fracture of a second Faelon could have sworn to see the advisor's grey eyes blazing up, burning with a cold blue-white fire.

Then as fast as it had arisen the moment was gone. There in the middle of the council chambers stood the chief advisor, not exactly tall but proud and upright. He held himself like a real lord, Faelon thought, not like the bastard that he was.

"You mean I entered the bed of my adoptive father Dírhael to gain his favour and a high position or are you implying that our respected lord Elrond bedded a minor? For I was when I entered this valley."

He waited but Faelon did not reply. This battle was lost, fighting would only make it worse, especially since he would have had to insult either Elrond or Dírhael to do so.

"I have heard enough. You may go Faelon; and never dare to return to this council. I expect your letter of cancelation on my desk tomorrow. Know that if I do not find it there, you will be dismissed." Erestor's face was cold and hard like ice and his voice like poison. And when Faelon had left he addressed the other advisors with the same venomous tone. "If anyone of you has similar problems or otherwise thinks himself incapable of working with me he is free to go under the same conditions as lord Faelon."

Erestor subjected every attendee of the meeting to his stare but only two of the other senior advisors stood, glaring at him, and left the room.

The chief advisor sighed and his dangerous demeanour gave way to his usual calm self. "I apologize for the unfortunate argument you had to witness. But I will not let anyone talk this disrespectful about noble elves such as Dírhael or lord Elrond.

I am confident that we shall work well together and I hope for your support in the next few weeks. Lord Elrond needs our help and we cannot allow childish behaviour like this to interfere with our duty towards our lord in such dire times. Shall we continue now?"

The rest of the meeting was carried out with an unusual efficiency and concentration from all the remaining elves – mainly because everyone was trying to get away from the uncomfortable company of the chief advisor. When Erestor finally dismissed them they all hurried out of the room – to spread lively stories about how Erestor had fired three senior advisors.

All the while Erestor stood with his back turned towards the retreating elves. He waited until he heard the steps of the last few elves trail off in the distant corridors. Then a white, shivering hand moved of his own volition over his mouth to stifle a frantic sob and he desperately tried to force back his tears – in vain.

It was just too much to bear anymore. Dírhael was dead, along with three respected soldiers. He was alone and disliked, no hated. Celebrían was out there somewhere and tortured or killed. And it was all his fault, his fault alone.

Pressing his other hand against his abdomen he bent down a little bit to let his hair fall in front of his tear-stained face. His world span and he desperately wanted to sit down. His left hand left his abdomen to reach for the armrest of a nearby chair, searching to steady its owner.

"My lord Erestor?" A small voice asked, startling the dark hurting ellon.

Angrily wondering who dared to interrupt his one moment of weakness, Erestor dried his tears with his sleeve in erratic movements, straightened and turned.

For one moment the young blond ellon could see surprise in the dark eyes of the chief advisor, quickly replaced by a frown. Faelon's now former student nervously played with the hems of his robe and Erestor remembered how he had done the same thing when he had first spoken with Elrond.

"Forgive me, my lord. I … you wanted to talk with me and … I hope you did not change your mind."

"I seldom do." There was no need to change one's opinion when being right after all.

"Of course my lord. I … I just wanted … I know that it was really my responsibility and it is no excuse of course but lord Faelon gave me another task and said that he would see to the balance sheets himself."

"That comes as no surprise. Melpomaen, is it?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Outstanding performance appraisals by all former instructors; yet always the same note: lacking assertiveness. Correct?"

"Well, …"

Erestor's voice was harsh when he cut in. "Shyness and unduly modesty are foolish. If you're good at something, there is no need to belittle it. Meekness will get you nowhere with me. Understood?"

The blond ellon hastily nodded, too afraid to say something.

"Good. So as you do not have an instructor anymore, I will tutor you, starting tomorrow. Today I want you to enlist every task you have been entrusted with during your apprenticeship and hand it to me tomorrow morning before breakfast. Now go."

Melpomaen nearly fled out of the council chamber, not knowing if he should consider himself the most fortunate elf or the most unfortunate: Erestor had never taken a student before and he was sure the chief advisor would be his stern, impatient self. But then … maybe he wasn't really that bad. He would probably learn more than under the tutelage of any other advisor and Erestor … seeing him cry had startled Melpomaen boundlessly, and now he was just not sure what to think of it.

Time would tell he decided and went to make the list his tutor had asked him for.

Erestor swiftly went to his rooms. He walked with a grim face only curtly nodding to the elves he passed and he felt their eyes upon him, their whispers, their grins and it filled him with disgust. In front of his inner eye he could see them pointing at him, laughing about his red-rimmed eyes, proof of his tears.

He didn't see their shocked faces, their worried glances while they whispered.

"They have finally gone too far, it seems."

"I have long wondered how much of Faelon's insults he would take."

"But he is chief advisor, he should stand above it all. He cannot just fire everyone he dislikes."

"Then he would work alone."

There was no laughter this time.

"Does anyone know what they said to upset him so? I've never seen him cry." Said a female with a sad undertone.

A calm voice spoke up for the first time, the white haired ellon it belonged to gazed thoughtfully after the retreating figure of the black clad advisor. "They accused him of earning his position in lord Dírhael's and maybe lord Elrond`s bed."

There was a shocked silence after this statement while Lindir turned and walked away, slowly reconstructing the image he had had of the dark brat that had worked himself to the top of lord Elrond's household.

Erestor left his rooms half an hour later with his usual serious but calm demeanour. He walked to Elrond's office and knocked. When he was bid entry he opened the door, being welcomed by a raised eyebrow.

Erestor looked at the older elf. The last weeks had left their mark: the lord of Imladris seemed to be weary, older somehow. Deep lines marked his brow and his skin had lost its life. Worry and grief had gnawed at him and it showed in his appearance and bearing.

Erestor hated the fact that he would have to burden him even more.

"Seat yourself, please. I've wondered when you would come by to tell me that you all but fired three of my eldest advisors." Erestor wished his lord would at least raise his voice or growl at him for bypassing his authority like this. Only months ago he would have. He found the disappointment and weariness to be much more difficult to deal with than anger.

Erestor slowly sank into one of the cushioned armchairs in front of his lord's desk.

"We needed to finish the meeting my lord. They were already here I take it?"

Elrond nodded.

"What did you tell them?"

"That I would speak with you before saying anything. You cannot just fire anyone you like without consulting me, Erestor."

Still Elrond's voice bore no harshness. Erestor sighed; his lord was probably too drained to be angry. He stared at the wood grain of his lord's desk thinking about the best way to tell his lord of Faelon's words. They had hurt, they still did.

"They said I was sleeping my way up to the top; in front of the whole council no less."

"By the grace of the Valar." Elrond closed his eyes.

Erestor hated himself for his weakness as he felt his tears well up again. "I … I would be the last to … I felt safe with Dírhael, he would never have … I needed to take drastic measures to stop this immediately."

Elrond nodded sadly. He would deal with this problem personally. The three advisors had crossed all limits, a suspension of staff was inevitable.

"I understand, Erestor. But in future I want you to consult me first so that we will make such a decision together.

Now: how do we deal with all the work with three senior advisors less?"

"Don't worry, my lord. I am already working on it and I do not expect too many problems.

One thing more: I have taken Melpomaen as a student. He is quite intelligent and if he is ambitious enough, I am sure under my tutelage he will overcome his shyness and be a great asset to your council."

"Do not be too hard on him, Erestor. He is not a fighter like you. Be patient and don't expect him to fulfil all your expectations perfectly from the start."

Erestor looked startled, did Elrond not trust him? He would perform this duty as impeccable as everything else! "Of course my lord."

Two days later a soldier from the borders galloped into the courtyard. He brought news that the search party was returning and would reach Imladris the next day. With a grave expression he told Elrond that the lords Elladan and Elrohír had managed to free their mother but that she was badly injured and delirious.

Hearing a gasp to his left, Elrond saw Arwen standing next to him, pale and shivering with the afford to suppress her sobs. In an instant the half-elf drew his daughter in a tight embrace to sooth her "I swear I will do everything to heal her. Now dearest, will you help lord Erestor to make ready for their arrival? I will be in the healing wing preparing what I will need. Everything will be all right again; I promise."

Glorfindel stood near them and when Arwen had left he quietly turned towards Elrond. He had tried to be there for his lord but it was hard on them all. Elrond was slowly breaking apart and it broke him as well.

"If anyone can heal her, it is you, my friend."

Elrond nodded. "Thank you." He tried to smile at the blond. Valar he was so glad that Glorfindel was at his side, he did not know what he would do without him. He filled him with hope whenever he lost it.

And he lost his hope the instant his eyes locked upon the battered body of his wife only hours later.

The silver queen laid battered and broken on a litter carried by her sons. Although her body was covered with a blanket, Elrond could almost feel the numerous cuts, whip marks and bruises hiding beneath.

He had known that she was near; Vilya giving him the power to feel her presence since her party passed Imladris' borders. He had waited, only Glorfindel at his side in the healing wing while he checked for the fourth time that everything was prepared.

And the very moment they entered the courtyard, he had known it, too. But what frightened him more than he would let others see was that he could not feel her through the bond they shared, only through Vilya. Celebrían lived for now but their bond had diminished in strength, it's light only a memory in the darkness that the current events had thrown them into.

With tears in his eyes he passed his sons – too absorbed in his own sorrow to see the distress they were in. Long precious moments he stood at his wife's side, one of her pale hands in his, only aware of the pain he felt at seeing her like that. Then he turned to address his sons.

"Elladan, Elrohír, bring her to the healing wing please."

Elrond went ahead, the younger peredhil following him.

"They tortured her …"

"… in a cave."

"… we could hear their laughter."

And then after a small bitter pause the elder twin added venomously

"… we killed them all."

Elladan's words were so full of hatred that his father looked over his shoulder at his eldest son, for the first time realizing what this might have done to him. He could not blame Elladan, but revenge would not help the young ellon heal – nor his brother.

But this was not the time to speak about this, not when Celebrían laid on this litter on the brink of death.

They entered a sunlit sickroom in the southern part of the healing wing. Almost dissociated Elrond thought that the bright room with its pale wooden furniture and white curtains and bed linen made an almost cruel contrast to the blue-black bruises and dark red stains on his wife's pale skin and the dark shadow that had fallen on his family.

Elladan and Elrohír laid their mother gently down onto the soft bed. The younger twin let his fingers slide over his mother's hair, sticky with blood, silent tears running down his cheeks. But his father was busy removing his wife's clothes and to look over her wounds and his brother too angry to notice.

In an instant four or five healers rushed in and bowled the young twins out of the way.

Quietly Glorfindel entered the room and quickly took in the situation. He saw Elladan's limitless hate burning inside his eyes, the softer anger mingled with fear and pain in Elrohír's; and he saw the distraught expression on Elrond's fair face. The family would break apart if Celebrían died.

Silently he went to Elladan and laid him a hand on his shoulder. "Elladan?"

The young ellon did not react so Glorfindel gently took his shoulder to turn him around but the peredhel only shook him off violently. Once again the dark haired warrior turned to his parents.

"Elladan … look at Elrohír." Glorfindel murmured quietly.

The elder twin turned around to look at his brother standing lost at his mother's side and crying helplessly. The sight broke Elladan's cold anger, leaving only concern for his twin.

Softly Glorfindel interfered "He needs you, Elladan; alone he's lost. Take a bath, both of you. Then, if you feel up to it, find your sister. The three of you need each other.

Elladan, don't let Arwen enter, before we call you; she must not see this. I need you to take over, okay? Can you do this?"

Elladan nodded. Slowly he approached his younger brother and gently steered him out of the room while Glorfindel returned to the courtyard to oversee the medical treatment of his wounded guards and send the others to rest.

There had been casualties, but only few and most of the wounded had survived the travel back to Imladris. The remaining injured warriors would all survive and recover.

As the healers helped the last of his soldiers enter the healing wing, Glorfindel spotted a black clad figure between those of his men who went to the barracks to rest from their long and hard journey and the fighting – Erestor. Slowly he approached the advisor who had halted a much taller and elder ellon and he strained his ears to catch fragments of their conversation.

"… found nothing, my lord." He heard the guard say compassionately. Erestor blinked several times and for a moment he seemed to sway on his feet.

"… the other guards?" Erestor's voice hitched and he looked away to the mountains where his father and mentor had found his death.

The guard shook his head. One moment it seemed as if he wanted to reach out and to reassure the chief advisor but he knew not if he was allowed to and so he drew back.

"I am so sorry, lord Erestor." The guard bowed and left hurriedly, almost fleeing the uncomfortable situation.

Glorfindel sighed. It seemed that Erestor, as young as he was, succeeded in scaring away the most steadfast of his men – even when he was in obvious pain. Carefully he made his way to the counsellor but before he could reach him, Erestor straightened and raised the marble mask that hid his true countenance so well, his moment of weakness had passed. Coldly he nodded towards Glorfindel and walked towards the main entrance.

"Erestor!" The seneschal called after him.

The darkling cocked his head inquisitively as he turned again.

Suddenly Glorfindel found himself at a loss as what to say. He had wanted to offer comfort, but the cold stare that he was objected to halted the words before they could leave his lips.

"If there is nothing important, lord seneschal, I would like to go back to my work. I have funerals and much paperwork to organize."

Glorfindel sadly shook his head. "Don't, Erestor; don't hide your pain: it will poison you."

"I will be fine, my lord. Thank you for your concern, but it is unnecessary. If that is all …"

"He was my friend, too. And Elrond's. If you need a listening ear …"

Erestor only nodded a little bit stiffly and walked away.

Three days Elrond fought for his wife's life and finally he managed to stabilize her. Celebrían had been badly wounded, but she would live and her children rejoiced after waiting in fear to hear the news of her death.

CHAPTER END NOTES

Ada ~ father

ellon ~ male elf

naneth ~ mother

saes ~ please
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The Bitter Glass