Some Futile Hope by Luxa

Part Two: Chapter Two

Elrond braces himself for a war he knows he cannot win.

Second Age, June 24th, 1696. 11:20 A.M.

"Do you worry about him?"

"Hmm?"

Elrond looked up from a stack of military papers to find Glorfindel staring disconcertingly at him.

"About who? Really, dear Glorfindel, you'll have to be more specific. I mean, I worry about my squire, who seems to have acquired a worrying affinity for wooing the local maidens, but I doubt you're talking about him."

"No," confirmed Glorfindel, rolling his eyes. "I am not."

Elrond smiled and sipped at his glass of water. "Are you referring to Celebrimbor, who fends off hordes of orcs as we speak while we can do nothing but sit, nearly within sight, and do nothing? Or perhaps my lovely Ereinion, who surely sits back in Harlindon fidgeting and whining to all his advisors for worry of me?"

"Both," said Glorfindel, watching Elrond closely.

"Well, then, the answer to your question is yes," sighed Elrond. "I worry for both of them, although concern for Celebrimbor is foremost in my mind. He is family to me, and he lays under constant siege. I fear...I fear I will never see him again, for if he dies, he may not leave the Halls of Mandos until the end of time."

"You mean..." began Glorfindel, startled.

"Yes," said Elrond.

"But he did not swear the Oath."

"No," said Elrond. "But he is Noldor, and a direct descendent of Fëanor. As a rule, they do not end well."

"There is hope for him yet," murmured Glorfindel, clasping Elrond's hand.

"I worry for Ereinion too, of course," said Elrond, changing the subject. "Can you imagine what he's done to his office in my absence? And just imagine the kind of food he's been eating..."

"He's probably eaten out the kitchen stores by now," chuckled Glorfindel.

"It wouldn't be the first time," muttered Elrond darkly.

Second Age, February 12th, 1697. 3:10 P.M.

"My lord, there's a new host of orcs approaching! Celebrimbor's armies are failing and the orcs are beginning to break through!"

Elrond jumped up from his seat at the council. "Ready the army!" he shouted to the messenger. "Make haste! We join as soon as we are able!"

If only Celeborn hadn't abandoned them; his army would have proven most useful. But the former Lord of Eregion had retreated with his army to Lórinand, where his wife dwelt, with promises to return if he was needed. He had left Elrond stranded, with a diminished army, on the outskirts of a besieged country.

Elrond was not exactly pleased with Celeborn.

"We think the Enemy himself may be with them," said a scout, his face pale with terror.

"We will fight regardless," said Elrond.

Second Age, February 14th, 1697. 10:52 A.M.

"We are defeated."

"Not utterly," said Glorfindel, reaching over to place a hand on Elrond's shoulder. "There is still hope."

"There is more than hope," said Elrond. "Even now, Elves are escaping to us, and they may swell our ranks. We may yet stand against the Enemy and win. I know this. But that does not mean we have not lost many today, many Elves that I trained with and knew, Elves that were barely come of age. Today we have fought and lost, and I have failed my only family, leaving him to torment and death."

Glorfindel was silent.

"Tomorrow, I will lead. But tonight, Glorfindel, leave me to mourn."

"As you will, my lord."

Elrond turned his face away from the stars that night.

Chapter End Notes

A hard chapter to write, but we're finally getting to the good stuff. :)