All That May Become by Grundy

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Food For Thought

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Elrond was relieved that Gildor didn’t appear immediately after he finished eating. He supposed it was just possible that Celeborn had managed to find some errand to keep him busy. (He knew better than to hope it would last very long. Gildor was as adept at getting out of tasks he didn’t particularly want to do as Elros had ever been.)

But the small reprieve did leave him some time to think in peace. There hadn’t been any alternative to trying to save what he could of Celeborn’s force. To let them be wiped out – or worse, captured – was unthinkable for several reasons, not all of them military. Success was a relief, but it also made the situation in the valley a bit worrying.

They might well have a problem. Winter was coming on, and Elrond was not sure how long the newly combined host could hold out under full siege – and he had no doubt that they now were properly besieged. He had been able to slip out with small parties before, but now that he’d tweaked Sauron’s nose, it would be foolhardy to think the net around the valley hadn’t been drawn too tightly for any more such forays. They could also expect this winter to be as harsh as their Enemy could render it.

He had no idea what Celeborn’s supply situation looked like, but he couldn’t imagine it was good. Unlike his host, which had set out from Lindon fully aware of the danger and prepared for the possibility of being cut off, Celeborn’s army had been chased headlong from Eregion in what was less a retreat than a rout.

They had doubtless lost quite a bit along the way, even before their last gasp dash to the safety of his hidden valley. Given that they’d already had to make the hard decision to leave the worst of their wounded, Elrond didn’t doubt they’d also left supplies behind – or more likely, destroyed them. No one fed orcs voluntarily. It was bad enough to leave the dead.

His own force had enough food stockpiled to see themselves through the winter. If they had to feed the newly arrived as well with no added supplies, it should last for the next ten weeks, perhaps one or two longer if they stretched it. But that wouldn’t see them all the way through to the next harvest season.

He should send parties to scout the valley for any caches of nuts or late grains they may borrow from. (It would do the birds and small animals of the area no favors, but if the elven population ran short on food, they would be the next casualties anyway.)

But after that… His abilities did not extend to charming plants from the earth in the wrong season or singing game animals into being. He might be able to keep the river from freezing, or the snows from being as deep or as fierce, but he couldn’t count on that. Not when even a fool could see he’d be directly opposing Sauron for it. As a descendant of Melian on the one side and a family favored by Ulmo on the other, he had a bit more ability than most elves, but he couldn’t expect to defeat a full maia in a head-on confrontation.

They had to hold out until spring somehow, to make it to the growing season and the renewal of edibles in the valley – wild onions and garlics, the early greens. And preferably without eating all the seed they could plant or the livestock animals that had come with the refugees they had taken into their train. Those they’ll need those to stock the storehouses they haven’t built yet for next winter unless the siege could be lifted much more swiftly than he expected.

Gil wasn’t free to march to their immediate relief. Not when he still had to protect Lindon. Particularly not when Elrond had foolishly brought the best of Lindon’s scouts with him, meaning Gil would have to move slower and cautiously whenever he did march. And it would be Gil-galad himself who led that expedition.

Elrond knew that all Gil’s advisors remaining in Mithlond would deplore the idea - he wasn’t a great fan of it himself, and he was the one in need of aid, for Nienna’s sake! But also he knew perfectly well the Noldaran would insist on leading any such expedition himself. Elrond could practically hear him. “No King of the Noldor has ever led from behind!”

That was true. However, it was also true that the Noldor had lost a fair number of kings in Beleriand due to their habit of not leading from behind. (Half a dozen, if he recalled correctly – Fëanaro, Nelyafinwë, Nolofinwë, Findekano, Finderato, and Artaresto. In deference to Elros, he did not include Turukano in the list, given that their great-grandfather had not died marching out to meet an enemy. It probably counted as progress that he could smile at the memory of that particular argument. Though a case could certainly be made for what Men termed ‘gallows humor’ as well…)

Maybe this would be the time Erestor finally followed through on his oft repeated threat to knock Gil-galad down and sit on him to keep him from doing anything foolish.

“I can practically hear you brooding from outside.”

Pelendur slipped in, securing the tent flaps behind him.

“I’m not brooding,” Elrond shot back.

“Fretting, then,” Pelendur shrugged. “You can go back to it in a moment, but I would have a word with you first. I won’t argue that you had little choice but to go for Celeborn, but was it really necessary to play the stubborn boy about needing help once we were safely past the perimeter?”

Elrond sighed, but it was more of relief than irritation.

Pelendur might be the captain of his guard now. But he’d been sworn to the service of others long before Elrond had been born, and had known Elrond since he was six. Elrond had the sneaking suspicion that no matter what titles or responsibilities he might have acquired since, deep down he was still the young boy getting into mischief between lessons to Pelendur. And as Maedhros wasn’t here to scold…

Fortunately, scoldings had never lasted long from either of his foster fathers, which meant it wouldn’t from Pelendur, either.

“I dislike appearing a needy child with Celeborn’s shadow Orodlin about,” Elrond muttered.

Actually, he hated showing weakness in front of any of the Sindar who were old enough to remember Doriath – and resented him not taking up the title of king as Thingol’s heir. But he wasn’t about to say that when he had no idea who else might be listening just outside.

“Celeborn is your elder kinsman, and was ready to tear strips out of the rest of us for treating you so cavalierly,” Pelendur replied sternly. “Orodlin is hardly fool enough to open his mouth on the subject if there was a chance Celeborn would hear him. Besides, truth be told, I think the sight of you being carried in unconscious worried him as well. Resenting your decision not to take up Thingol’s office does not mean they wish to see you dead.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t do it again,” Elrond sighed, knowing perfectly well what words were required from him.

“You won’t do exactly that again, you mean,” Pelendur said wryly. “I’ve heard that phrase often enough to know beyond doubt I’ll hear it again.”

Elrond chanced a light brush against Pelendur’s mind and found the silent addendum and not just from you. Pelendur didn’t just remember Elrond. He also remembered Elros. (And Celegorm, who had apparently been worse than either of them, or possibly both of them. Not that Pelendur ever had or would say so out loud, least of all to Dior’s grandson.)

“I don’t think I’ll have the opportunity to do it again anyway,” Elrond said ruefully. “I suspect we’re all stuck here for a while.”

“A few seasons at the least,” Pelendur agreed, tidying away the tray and dishes. “So what were you fretting about?”

Elrond sighed.

“The supply situation,” he began.

Pelendur raised a hand before he could get any further.

“The able-bodied among the Sindar, and even quite a few of the wounded, were sensible enough to hang onto their haversacks,” he said. “If forced to choose, most left their arms before they left their vittles. It’s not as if elven-made arrows or blades are of much use to orcs. So things are not quite as dire as you may have been imagining. We’ll make it to the new year well enough, though tuilë may find us impatient for the first fruits.”

Elrond realized to his amusement he’d been growing so used to hearing bad news that good news came as something of a shock.

“Clothing, however, may be more of a problem,” Pelendur continued. “I’ll let Gildor run down the full list of what we do and don’t have – he probably knows better than I do at this point anyway. But I’d advise you to take good care of your footwear, my prince. Should you ruin those boots, you may have little choice but to start imitating your lady grandmother and going shoeless.”

“I daresay that would please the Sindar,” Elrond snorted. “What happened to my extra pair?”

“I took the liberty of donating them to your uncle. His were scorched through in several places. I’m amazed they didn’t fall apart sooner.”

“Is he the only one in need?”

“Far from it, but we’ve been as generous as we can manage under the circumstances. There’s very few spare pairs left, generally only in the smallest or largest sizes not as much wanted.”

Elrond frowned. They were months at the least from being able to replace anything leather, and even then they would not be capable of production in any quantity.

He meant to ask what else was high on the present list of concerns, but was stopped short at the sight – and accompanying chill wind – of Gildor stalking into the tent.

“Excellent, he’s rested and fed enough to hear what an ass he was, trying to walk when he could barely keep his eyes open,” he announced with all the finesse of a charging balrog.

“Out, Inglorion!” Pelendur snapped.

“I’m afraid I must decline. Add it to that ever-growing list of things you’re going to tell my father about whenever you see him,” Gildor suggested with a frown. “Though last I checked, I was a prince of the Noldor, not a captain, so I’m not sure what you’ll rightly be complaining to him about in this instance. You can’t very well call it insubordination when orders are meant to go in the other direction.”

The two glared at each other, their standoff broken only by Elrond’s sigh.

“As fascinating as it would be to watch the two of you fight, I’m in no mood to deal with either of you after, so perhaps it could wait?”

“It can wait easily enough. Besides, I doubt it’ll be me he ends up fighting with,” Pelendur said with the sharp grin that tended to remind people he had been a Fëanorion loyalist.

Gildor was one of the rare people who didn’t care about such things. Normally the attempt at intimidation would have gotten a chuckle out of him. Today it didn’t even rate a smile.

“I’ll leave you to it, my prince,” Pelendur said with a bow that was pointedly only directed toward Elrond. “Inglorion, if you tire him, it won’t be your father who hears about it in some blessed hereafter, it will be your uncle – who happens to be right at hand here and now.”

Elrond blinked as Pelendur left, once again taking care with the tent flaps.

“Pelendur and Celeborn are…getting along?” he asked cautiously.

Gildor tossed himself into the chair the captain had just vacated and propped his wet feet up in front of the brazier.

“Getting along might be going a little too far, but they are being surprisingly civil to each other. And before you ask, you’re not the only one questioning whether that’s a sign of Sauron’s influence or possibly a warning of the end of days,” he said darkly.

“If they’re getting along, what under the stars has you in such a foul mood?” Elrond asked, still turning over this wholly unexpected wrinkle in his mind. If there’s been one constant in his life to date, it was that the surviving Iathrim and the few Fëanorion followers still left cordially detested each other.

As far as he could tell, the dislike between Celeborn and Pelendur in particular was long-standing, and rather implacable on Celeborn’s side. He’d always found it best not to ask. There was only so much he could do to smooth over the circumstances of his childhood and youth.

“Too much Sindarin nonsense,” Gildor admitted. “I heartily thank whatever Vala cares to listen that neither Thranduil nor Oropher are here. But Orodlin’s on fine form and doing his best to make up for their absence. Worse, he doesn’t have the sense to keep to Uncle’s section of the camp with his ‘all Noldor are kinslayers’ attitude. Even Thranduil recognizes that there are limits! Also, it’s bloody cold out there, and I’ve been as sharing as anyone else with my extra clothes.”

“You don’t have to share if they’re annoying you that badly,” Elrond pointed out, wondering if it would bring the wrath of basically everyone down on him if he tried to coax the fire into putting out a bit more warmth than usual.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gildor sniffed. “Just because some of the Sindar are a pain in the rear doesn’t mean I’m going to let anyone wander around in filthy rags.”

“Take some of mine,” Elrond said, confident that while they might have given away his boots while he slept, no one would have touched his clothes. On rare occasions, having everyone so insistent he was a prince was useful.

“I’d take you up on that, except some idiot would see your colors, assume I’m you, and start expecting me to do still more to get this valley of yours in order,” Gildor said wryly. “I’ll settle for just thawing out in here for a while and making you listen to me grouse.”

“Why not warm up in your own tent?” Elrond asked. “And if Orodlin is being such an annoyance, I give you leave to avoid him, not that I’ve ever known you to need my leave for anything.”

That did get a wry smile out of Gildor.

“You know, I might take up pointedly asking your permission for things. I bet it would really irritate the Iathrim. Particularly those puffed up cockerels who don’t realize that I know Doriathrin, seeing as that’s the dialect Father taught me first!”

He snagged an extra blanket from on top of the chest at the foot of Elrond’s camp bed.

“As for why I don’t warm up in my own tent, it’s not at all warm. It’s a waste of kindling to heat empty tents, and I’ve been out and about all day. My tent will be marginally less cold than outside. But yours is nice and toasty! Besides, I know perfectly well they won’t have told you much about what’s been going on, which means you’ve got a list of questions by now, and your temper won’t improve any waiting on answers. One of us grumpy is quite enough.”

“Indeed. What say you start with the supplies, as we were already speaking of clothing?”

Gildor sighed and obligingly began running down the list of what they did have, and the much lengthier tally of what they lacked.