Some Futile Hope by Luxa

Part Two: Chapter Twelve

The tide turns.

econd Age, April 13th, 1700. 4:52 P.M.

"This is amazing," marveled Elrond. "Kardim, you have outdone yourself."

"Have I?" said Kardim curiously, stroking his beard. "I don't think I ever saw you in my halls, when I had them. You have not seen the work my Dwarves and I are capable of."

"I never said I had," replied Elrond, raising an eyebrow at the Dwarf. "I was only referring to the splendid work you have done in a besieged refugee camp with few supplies and limited rations. To my eye, untrained in Dwarven work as I may be, it is amazing."

"There is a compliment I can really get behind," said Kardim, his laugh more of a bark than anything else. "I can see that you mean it. Thank you, Lord Elrond."

Elrond ran his fingers over the cool stone of Imladris' new bridge. "No, Kardim, thank you. Not only have you given us bridges for our many streams, but watching all of you build has been good for us, refugees and soldiers alike. We have been trapped here too long, and you have given us a breath of fresh air."

"And thank you, Lord Elrond, for giving us the shelter we needed and work to keep our hands busy."

He and the Dwarf exchanged nods. Kardim left to return to his Dwarves, but Elrond stayed on the bridge, staring into the clear waters that were only a few feet below. The Dwarves really haddone a marvelous job- they'd used Elvish motifs while keeping their style intact, and the designs carved into it were as beautiful as the stone was strong.

He tentatively reached his left hand out to join his right, trying to get it to grip the bar on the bridge. Eight months. Eight months since his injury, and still his arm shook when extended too far. Even now he still had to put it back in the sling sometimes, when it ached too badly.

He pushed the sleeve of his robe up, revealing the scar marring his left arm. It was so large, he thought with dismay, the same thought as always. He ran his fingers across it, feeling the bumps and ridges and, in the middle, the place where his armor was embedded, smooth and golden. A bit of Celebrimbor to carry with him, he realized suddenly, the last thing his cousin and almost brother had ever given him. The thought did not make him feel better.

He let his sleeve fall back into place and fell back into brooding. How Ereinion would laugh at him if he could see him. How he missed the big fool; his laugh, his strength, even how he'd spill Elrond's ink while he was trying to work. Always accidentally, of course. Gil-galad's elbows weren't meant for libraries.

He was so busy staring at the water that he didn't notice someone approach until they were right behind him. He whipped around to find Glorfindel's face only inches from his own. The warrior's eyes were wide, his expression exhilarated, his hair in total disarray.

"They're here," he panted, sounding like he'd run a mile uphill. "They're here! Get your armor on, Gil-galad's here! They're starting a rear attack on the orcs! If we join forces, we should be able to defeat them!"

Elrond couldn't help himself. He laughed out loud, a wild, half crazed sound, and kissed Glorfindel on the forehead with a horrible squelching noise.

"The siege will finally break!" he cried, rushing with his friend to the tents. In the distance, he heard a horn blow.

Second Age, April 13th, 1700. 5:31 P.M.

"Ready?"

He exchanged a look with Glorfindel, although he wasn't sure what it contained. Fear, probably, knowing him. Steel, maybe. Hope.

Elrond didn't respond directly to his friend, watching the horizon closely. In front of them, an army of orcs. Behind him, his army, who'd spent the last half hour jumping into formation.

Behind the orcs, another army.

"What're you waiting for?" asked Glorfindel.

Elrond squinted at the horizon. Where was it?

There. A banner, glinting blue even from this distance. Elrond knew that if he were closer he would see the silver stars of the Elf who meant everything to him.

He raised his sword in his right hand and roared, "Charge!"