All That May Become by Grundy

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The Hidden Valley

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By the time they approached Elrond’s promised safety four days later, Celeborn suspected the lad was on the brink of collapse.

The pursuit – for pursuit there was, despite their stealth – was drawing closer. Not close enough to draw swords just yet, or even nock arrows, but to elven ears the noise of the glamhoth in such numbers was audible from miles away. Having it as a constant accompaniment was grating to the nerves, and he suspected that was doing the boy no favors either.

Elrond had found it easy enough to conceal them in mist and cloud that first night, but Celeborn hadn’t failed to notice that the trick grew less easy as they went, requiring more effort and energy each time Elrond hid them. Clever and determined as Luthien’s great-grandson might be, he was still at a disadvantage in a contest of power against a maia. And clearly Sauron had realized his prey was slipping away.

At least they were mounted now. Though Elrond had forbidden his full host to come forth from his secret sanctuary, a small party had come to meet them the evening before, bringing what horses they still had.

It wasn’t enough for all Celeborn’s force, but it did allow them to arrange themselves so that they could move quicker. With Elrond’s people leading the way and providing protection, the wounded could be sent ahead, and the guard in the rear increased.

Elrond had been inclined to reserve the horses strictly for the use of the wounded. But Pelendur had commandeered three without asking Elrond’s opinion on the matter, much less his permission, and flat out informed him they would be riding.

Celeborn had grudgingly resigned himself to Pelendur’s presence, for even aside from the matter of the horses the golodh was proving useful. He knew his lord’s habits better than Celeborn and could spot when to hand Elrond food, insist he take a swig of miruvor, or badger him about having done enough for now.

Celeborn might have been nettled by that, but he suspected he was about to have plenty of time to get to know Elrond the grown ellon as opposed to Elrond the boy he remembered in Sirion. The way he’s spoken about this hidden valley, they’ll be able to keep Sauron’s forces out of it – but they’re also unlikely to leave it until Gil-galad can muster a force sufficient to present a threat to their enemy.

Celeborn tried his best to keep it ‘until’ in his mind rather than the slightly more realistic ‘unless’ he suspected was more accurate. If Numenor did not send aid, the Noldaran would likely not be able to muster sufficient strength. Not when so many in Lindon – Noldor, Sindar, and even Silvan alike – would choose to sail rather than to face another war. He wondered how much thought Elrond and his lieutenants had given to feeding everyone…

“Nearly there, my lord,” Pelendur murmured. “Just one more effort, and then you can rest.”

To Celeborn’s surprise, Pelendur turned a steely gaze on him, and added, “both of you.”

Celeborn wondered where under the stars that had come from. He’s never had the impression the Noldo cared any more for him than he did for Pelendur.

“Now is not a good time for quarrels,” Elrond said, sounding rather less present than either of the elves at his side liked.

The two older elves’ eyes met in silent agreement behind his back.

“For my part, I’ll defer the quarrel until after Sauron is dealt with,” Pelendur replied equably.

“I have no quarrel with anyone helping my people,” Celeborn shrugged, keeping his voice even.

It was true enough; while he might dislike the golodh, this was not the time. (It would also be churlish to complain about the man looking out for him, annoying though it might be.)

“Here it is,” Elrond announced.

There was a note of pride in his voice despite his exhaustion.

Celeborn looked dubiously at the barely visible path leading through a narrow gap in the rocks.

“You’ll want to lead the horse for this next bit,” Pelendur warned.

He and Elrond were both dismounting, so Celeborn followed suit.

“Wait,” Elrond told them. “Before we seal the entrance, I want to do one more thing.”

Pelendur started to protest, but Elrond simply braced himself and did whatever it was he’d intended before either of them could stop him, not that Celeborn could see how they would have.

It was as well Elrond had given them warning. Whatever he had done this time left him too weak to stand, and it was only Celeborn’s quick reflexes that kept him from ending up in heap on the ground.

Celeborn raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll ‘splain later,” Elrond wheezed, sounding as if he’d just run for days.

“Much later, I think,” Celeborn said drily.

Turning to the golodh, he added, “You said something about leading the horses, I believe?”

Pelendur snorted.

“I was going to say you’d hit your head on some of these low arches riding, but if we sling him over one of them…”

“I can walk,” Elrond protested.

At the pair of skeptical looks that greeted that pronouncement, he sighed.

“Let the horses go on ahead. They know the way.”

So it was that Elrond ended up being walked into his hidden valley with Celeborn supporting him on one side and Pelendur on the other.

Past the first rock arch, which could easily have been the entrance to a cave, there were defenders waiting in niches.

“Seal it,” Pelendur ordered the guards as they passed. “No one will be going out again anytime soon.”

Glancing back, Celeborn saw them moving sizable rocks into place, blocking the passage – and probably concealing it entirely from anyone who did not already know it was there.

“You’ll want to keep your eyes on where we’re going, not where we’ve been, Lord Celeborn,” Pelendur suggested tactfully.

As the path wound on, Celeborn understood why he’d said it. There were twists and turns, and in some places the way was nearly too narrow for their trio, with the drop beyond more than enough to injure or even kill anyone who stumbled over.

“The valley itself might have been designed with our need in mind,” Pelendur continued. “There’s only a few ways in, all easy enough to guard, and most can be sealed entirely even without this one doing his special tricks.”

“Just around this bend,” Elrond managed to say, though he still sounded and felt as though he might keel over the second they let go of him.

“Hush, you,” Celeborn ordered gruffly. “You may tell me all about your valley after you’ve eaten and slept.”

A suppressed snicker from Elrond’s other side suggested he was saying what Pelendur couldn’t – or perhaps wouldn’t in front of anyone else.

As they came around a curve and he could finally see the whole valley, Celeborn understood the note of pride in Elrond’s voice earlier.

Even hosting two armies, one of them only just arriving in disarray, the valley was beautiful. (That was true no matter which people’s standards one measured it by.) A number of waterfalls cascaded down the mountains, while a river ran the length of it. Even now, with winter coming on, there was still plenty of green, and despite the elevation, it was warmer in the valley than it had been outside of it.

Elrond was smiling fondly at the sight.

With such a fair foundation to build on, elves could make themselves a beautiful haven indeed. Glancing at the younger elf slung between him and the Noldo captain, Celeborn couldn’t quite suppress a grin as he recalled cities of sand on the beaches of Sirion. Elros hadn’t been the only one who liked to build.

Despite the stunning view, it was slow going until they reached the valley floor, as Elrond inched ever closer to ‘dead weight’ despite his protestations. For a trained (and rather talented) healer, he was abysmal at recognizing his own limits or diagnosing his own condition.

It didn’t take long once they were finally on level ground for Celeborn to spot another familiar face.

“Overdone it again, has he?” Gildor asked with an air of long-suffering patience.

“What are you doing here?” Celeborn demanded, wondering if he should expect any more of his younger kin to turn up.

Gil-galad he could probably rule out – the king of the Noldor had best be in Lindon where he belonged – but it would be like Thranduil to have run off to get a peek at the war before it could come to the Greenwood.

“I’m glad to see you too, uncle,” the younger elf replied with a lopsided smile reminiscent of his father. “As for what I’m doing here, looking after this one, of course.”

“Not very well, obviously,” Celeborn snorted. “We caught him sneaking out. Besides, if you’re here, who does that leave to look after your king?”

“Oh, don’t worry yourself on that score,” Finrod’s foster son responded blithely. “Erestor’s still in Mithlond, not to mention Cirdan. They’ll keep Gil on an even keel, not that he really needs it. He remembers the last dust-up well enough not to come running headlong into an obvious trap.”

Celeborn rather doubted that – Elrond and his brother weren’t the only ones who’d heard lectures on the subject of not putting himself into unnecessary danger in ‘the last dust-up’.

“Is auntie with you?” Gildor asked hopefully. “Watching Elrond is a full-time job, and she’s better suited for it. She also has a considerable advantage, since he actually listens to her.”

“Unfortunately for you, but probably lucky for this one, she and Celebrían are in Lorinand as Amroth’s guests,” Celeborn told him, not hiding what a relief it was to know them safe.

“Amroth’s guests?” Gildor chuckled. “Auntie will end up running the place if she stays there any length of time. Amroth’s too easy going to be in charge during a crisis. Amdir will come back from the war to find she’s taken over without even meaning to.”

Gildor made to change places with Celeborn as a support for Elrond.

“I can walk,” Elrond informed them, sounding rather tetchy.

“Really?” Gildor asked, looking him up and down dubiously. “All right then, let him go.”

Celeborn did. Pelendur didn’t. Even so, the would-be lord of the valley stumbled and ended up on his knees before deciding that sitting down voluntarily might salvage some slight measure of his dignity.

“Yes, I can see how well you can walk,” Gildor told him conversationally while Elrond glared at him as fiercely as someone on the verge of unconsciousness could manage. “You can shout at me when you wake up. Whenever that may be.”

Whatever Elrond might have said was cut off by him finally losing the battle to stay awake.

“Oh, good, carrying him will be much easier now,” Gildor said cheerfully.

He hoisted Elrond onto his shoulders and set off, whistling a jaunty tune as he went.

Pelendur shook his head as he watched them go.

“Are we sure he’s adopted?” he muttered to Celeborn.

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When Elrond woke up, it was to a splitting headache and a mouth that felt like sandpaper.

“How long-” he began.

“Three days,” came the rather amused response from somewhere to his left. “Here. Drink.”

He turned his head to find Celeborn sitting in a chair, his feet propped up on a chest, holding out a glass of water with an expression that suggested no argument would be accepted.

As a healer, Elrond knew perfectly well drinking was only sense. His headache was probably due to dehydration as much as anything. But as a patient, it was still annoying to be just awake and already being ordered around.

“You can listen to me, or I can let Gildor and Pelendur at you,” Celeborn shrugged. “Your choice, but I suspect I’m the milder option. I can’t say about Pelendur, but you know as well as I do Gildor won’t worry about sparing your dignity or ego in front of me.”

“Pick my poison, then?” Elrond muttered, taking the glass to drink.

He really didn’t feel up to it, or do doing more than drinking and possibly eating if they meant to feed him anytime soon. They probably would. Food was also indicated.

“I’ve never considered ‘common sense’ poison,” Celeborn snorted. “Though I will be the first to admit that I don’t seem to see the world in quite the same way you do.”

Elrond was still too fragile to miss that Celeborn had only just restrained himself from mentioning Elros.

He hated being in this state. It made it so hard to avoid hearing things people hadn’t meant to share. And hearing such things just made him feel worse when what he heard was a reminder of what he’d lost.

It was just as easy to feel the disapproval radiating from Celeborn of his actions – even if he wasn’t entirely sure what exactly those actions were.

At least it came from a place of care. It was somewhat comforting to know that. Elrond hadn’t always been sure. There were times during the war when he’d had the impression that Celeborn was more annoyed with them than anything – him in particular, being the one whose Noldorin habits were more obvious than his brother’s. He’d occasionally wished they could have the jolly uncle of their childhood back.

But as irritated as Celeborn was about the whole thing, it wasn’t as if Elrond had had any better options. Had he let anyone else attempt the rescue mission, they would have failed, dying to no purpose. Even with his ‘tricks’, it had been a very near thing.

“Enough, Elrond. Worrying can wait until after you’ve eaten.”

Celeborn’s voice was gentle, but it was still plain he meant what he said.

“And don’t try saying you aren’t hungry, either,” came another voice.

Pelendur deposited a tray. The food was plain, but hearty – a bit of lembas, some soup, and a small chunk of cheese.

“Gildor wanted to bring it, but we agreed you should get some food in you before yelling at him.”

By which Elrond understood Pelendur had banned Gildor from the tent until he was satisfied Elrond was well enough that he could afford to waste energy complaining.

He sighed and began to nibble obediently at the bread, wondering in exasperation just how old an elf had to be before they could finally be considered an adult.

Oh, you’re an adult now, Celeborn assured him. But it doesn’t matter how old you get, I’ll always be older. And unfortunately for you, so will Gildor.