Don't Look Back by Grundy

Don't Look Back

I started this treat after seeing the evocative sketch Oxbridge submitted for TRSB23 104 in the preview gallery. As I understand it, Oxbridge had to drop out of the event, so art for the concept was then completed by pinch hit artist fishing4stars. (Their finished art is below, go be complimentary about it here!) I've tried to incorporate elements from both into the story.

Read Don't Look Back

Elrond barely glanced up when his brother entered the tent, wholly absorbed in stitching yet another wound. Even on days like this when the army was not advancing, there was still plenty to keep the healers busy.

Elros sighed, but quietly – and waited patiently until the minor surgery was finished. At least it wasn’t an amputation. He hated those, and had made sure to listen for any of the tell-tale sounds that meant one was in progress before lifting the tent flaps.

Odd, cutting off limbs in battle never seems to bother you.

Elros grinned. Elrond hadn’t been quite as impervious to the outside world as he’d thought.

“Yeah, but that’s usually orcs,” he shrugged as he reached his twin. “And I don’t have time to stop and gawk at it.”

Sometimes it wasn’t orcs. Sometimes it was Men who had given their allegiance to Angband. That was slightly harder, but Elros had reconciled himself to the necessities of war. There hadn’t been much choice about it. Besides, in battle he was generally moving fast enough not to have to think about it. Or really see it. Stab, slash, cut, whatever – but then move on the second you were sure the opponent in front of you was dead or incapacitated enough not to matter, because there were generally plenty more of them.

He'd never admit it to anyone else, but there were days he regretted not yielding to the pressure of the many older relatives who had opposed him and Elrond taking any part in the War. King Arafinwë had been adamantly against allowing ‘boys who have yet to see their fortieth summer’ anywhere near battle, and Gil-galad hadn’t been much more in favor even if he hadn’t phrased it quite so insultingly.

Being trained for battle and actually being in one were two very different things. Even Maedhros and Pelendur, the two adults in Elros’ experience who had been the most frank about battle (and the most demanding on the training front), hadn’t adequately conveyed the difference.

Pelendur had actually been appalled and subsequently rather acid after Elros managed to get himself included in the retaking of Nan-tathren.

“He does take our safety quite seriously,” Elrond murmured.

Elros blushed. He hadn’t meant his brother to hear any of that.

“At least he doesn’t have to worry about you as much,” he snorted.

“Oh, he worries,” Elrond said thoughtfully. “Even the encampments aren’t entirely safe. And he can’t be in two places at once, which means he has to choose which of us to guard at any given time. Thus why he’s usually keeping an eye on you.”

“You did just fine at Great Sirion without him,” Elros sniffed.

An unexpected counterattack under cover of night had briefly overrun the camp in the area where Taeglin, Esgalduin, and Sirion came together, requiring even the healers to pick up weapons in its defense. Elrond as the ranking prince present had proven he did have the ability to command, rare as it was for him to showcase it.

“Uncle Celeborn and Orodlin were sufficient replacement,” Elrond said drily. “Even if I do flatter myself that I held my own.”

“By which you mean mostly Orodlin, given Celeborn could hardly stand,” Elros corrected cheerfully. “He wasn’t about to let the crown prince of the Sindar be killed on his watch.”

Their uncle had been badly wounded during an ill-advised excursion to the ruins of Mengroth. No one had known in advance that it was now the abode of dragons. The only upside to that particular minor disaster had been finding out for sure that there were dragons nesting nearby. 

The War Council had been able to send sufficient force to deal with them before Morgoth could deploy them against the Army of the West. Otherwise, they might have face a dragon attack on their exposed rear once they advanced further up Sirion.

Dealing with the ruins of Menegroth was what had left the main camp open to the sally from Amon Rudh. Elrond had been furious at not having sufficient forces to pursue the retreating orcs back to their base. He’d had to settle for relocating the camp to a site further north on the Neldoreth side of the river, where they were closer to the forward camps but also in closer proximity to more rivers and thus greater protection from Ulmo.

He’d managed the movement well enough that even Uncle Arafinwë had grudgingly admitted he’d done more than just adequately. In fact, some of the Sindar now looked to Elrond before Oropher. Perhaps it was easier for them to stomach a “boy prince” after Dior. (The Noldor continued to be unimpressed.)

Judging by how quickly Celeborn had been off away east again once he was able for it, getting scolded wasn’t pleasant at any age.

“I would have said the lesson was that one can have lapses of judgement at any age,” Elrond snorted. “I doubt Uncle needed any scolding to realize he’d been foolish.”

No, the multiple broken bones and burns that went with them courtesy of angry dragons whose nap had been interrupted had likely taken care of that, but Elros saw little to be gained in pointing it out. Elrond probably already knew the catalog of injuries better than he did. He’d been involved in treating several of them.

“Do you have a few minutes? To talk?” Elros said, taking his brother’s arm to steer him out of the tent.

“I always have time for you,” Elrond assured him.

“Not during surgery you don’t,” Elros snorted. “Or other emergencies.”

“It’s not that I don’t have time then,” Elrond replied, sounding like he’d taken it far more seriously than Elros had meant it. “It’s more that I don’t have sufficient attention to give you and those in need of healing.”

“It’s fine, I’d be useless in the healing tent anyway and you know it.”

“Less useless than you might think,” Elrond replied in amusement. “Just because I was the one formally training doesn’t mean you didn’t learn a fair bit.”

“I would still pity anyone whose life depended on my healing skills,” Elros said drily. “They’re far safer in your hands.”

They’d reached the quiet of their own tent – it was all well and good to have separate rooms whenever they got back to Balar, but in the army camp, they always shared.

“Is your presence vital here for the next day or so, o Master Healer?” he asked carefully.

His twin’s expression sharpened.

“Why? What are you up to now?”

“What makes you think I’m up to something?” Elros protested.

“Having known you all our lives isn’t sufficient?” Elrond said drily. “And thus knowing perfectly well what it looks like when you’re trying to be sneaky?”

Elros grinned.

“You know where we are, don’t you?”

“North of the Lithir and approaching the Pass of Sirion. If you want something more exact, I can always go ask Uncle Oropher.”

“He’s back?” Elros asked nervously.

He’d thought their other Sindarin kinsman was still off with the scouting party trying to work out the best way to approach Tol Sirion.

Elrond’s eyes narrowed.

Now I know you’re up to something.

Elros listened carefully for anyone around before answering. Their royal uncle Finarfin had damnably sharp hearing, and occasionally caught things they hadn’t meant for him to know about.

We’re not far from the Dry River , he said quietly. Gondolin! Don’t tell me you never wondered what it looked like?

I did, Elrond shot back, but I doubt we’ll find out much sneaking off like this. And I don’t much fancy ending up like Uncle Celeborn!

“I’m not completely brainless,” Elros protested. “I’ve had it scouted… after a fashion.”

Elrond crossed his arms and waited.

Birds like us, you know that. So I talked to them about it. They’ve said eagles are nesting there again. Which means no dragons or balrogs. The birds would know about orcs, too, since orcs will happily eat any birds they can get their hands on. And I got a few kingfishers to fly up the approach. There’s no trolls or hidden orc tunnels or anything. We can slip up, have a look about Tumladen, see the ruins, and be back before anyone notices we’re gone.

“Doubtful,” Elrond muttered.

You’re not reckoning with Pelendur. He’ll notice within an hour or two, and we wouldn’t be back that quick.

Elros could tell he was sorely tempted, though.

They hadn’t gotten anywhere near Menegroth, nor would they now. There was little point. Even with the dragons allegedly driven out, no one had been in a hurry to chance exploring the entire cavern system. Oropher had ordered Esgalduin diverted to flood as much of the caves as possible, and collapsed the entrances. (Though he hadn’t confessed it to Celeborn until Celeborn was pronounced well on the way to recovery, lest it shock him the rest of the way to Mandos.)

Odds were they wouldn’t be seeing anything of Hithlum either. Morgoth had turned it into a stinking wasteland, full of poisonous fumes and steaming pits to cook the unwary alive. Ulmo and his maiar were grimly working on widening the Firth of Drengist enough to allow the sea in to wash it all clean.

That left Gondolin as their last chance of seeing anything of where their forebears had lived. 

Their father had been born there, and their grandmother Itarillë, who they’d never met, had lived there with her father Turukano from the city’s founding until its destruction. Turukano’s father Nolofinwë had been buried there.

I suppose King Turukano is buried there as well , Elrond said drily. The songs say his tower fell on top of him.

“You’re developing what Men call ‘gallows humor’,” Elros snickered. “Careful, you’ll shock the Amanyar.”

“The Amanyar, perhaps. Not anyone who’s lived in Beleriand,” Elrond sniffed. “In fact, I believe Orodlin considers it a rather promising sign.”

“Shame he’s gone off with Celeborn.”

He’d probably indulge us, Elros added, if only to make sure we’ve understood the kingdom of the Noldor is just as dead if not more so.

“I doubt that,” Elrond said.

Elros noted that for all his skepticism, his brother was in fact packing clothing and other necessities for an overnight trip.

He grinned.

You’re coming?

Well I’m not about to let you go haring off on your own. I’ll grant that you made an attempt at scouting, but we are also under standing orders not to go anywhere by ourselves. And I doubt anyone’s going to count eagles as adequate chaperones.

 

—

 

Elrond did not attempt to argue his brother out of what was probably an idea that would create no end of trouble for them at some later date. He wondered if Elros realized this would almost certainly be used to rule them out of any role in the direct assault of Angband itself.

It had only ever been a long shot that they’d argue their way into that, by Elrond’s estimation. So he wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity unlikely to come their way again for it. But he did recognize the trade-off. He suspected Elros hadn’t thought that far ahead.

Elros was very good at certain practical matters – for example, he’d organized rations for them, as well as sleep rolls and foul weather gear – but when it came to politics, he tended to improvise as he went. That strategy was workable when dealing with Men, but considerably thornier when applied to elves who had been playing far politics longer than the two of them had been alive (put together.)

But no matter how much collective experience their elders might have, they had yet to figure out that the peredhil had a few tricks they didn’t like to make noise about. That meant they had a certain advantage when it came to getting themselves out of the camp unobserved.

They waited until just after sundown, when most of the camp would be sitting down to their evening meal.

Elrond felt slightly guilty singing a single measure that would have put stronger minds to sleep than the pair of boys left to mind the stables while the grown men and elves responsible for the horses ate.  But it was necessary. The stable boys wouldn’t stop them, but they would tell their elders he’d seen them.

Stop squirming over it , Elros advised. The worst they’ll get for falling asleep is a mild scolding. The Men will blame themselves for not making sure growing lads get enough rest.

Elrond nodded as they retrieved their horses.

Both Elrond and Elros hummed quietly on their way out of the camp. It might have been more effective if they’d been willing to risk words, but some of their elders might hear through that. Even a wordless song could hide them well enough.

They kept it up until they’d put sufficient distance between themselves and the sentries. After that, they moved silently, walking their horses, for another quarter of an hour or so – it needed no words for them to agree on the need for caution. If they didn’t manage to get far enough tonight, without being stopped, they wouldn’t get another chance at this.

It wasn’t hard to keep quiet. Elrond knew his brother’s mind nearly as well as he knew his own, and Elros was thrilled to be doing something he deemed relatively safe that hadn’t been planned to a fare-thee-well by the ‘grownups’.

How safe it actually was they’d find out soon enough.

Only once they’d reached the beginning (or end, depending on how you looked at it) of the Dry River, did either of them risk speaking.

“Last chance to back out”, Elros said challengingly as he mounted.

“If I’d meant to back out, I wouldn’t have bothered coming this far,” Elrond snorted as he strapped his pack securely to the saddle. “I suspect I’d have gotten a much better night’s rest back in the tent than wherever you have in mind. You do mean to stop to rest at some point, right?”

“I hadn’t actually picked a spot,” Elros shrugged. “We should probably cover as much ground as we can while the moon’s high, then rest until sunrise.”

“How do you know moonlight will do us any good?” Elrond asked. “I thought the Dry River was like a tunnel?”

Elros smirked, and then gave an odd little bird call.

A nightjar swooped down.

Elrond raised an eyebrow.

“You didn’t think I was mad enough to try this without guides, did you?” Elros grinned. “These fellows have agreed to lead us. And no, it’s not a tunnel. Just well hidden. I imagine our great-grandfather only managed to find it because Ulmo was steering.”

The nightjar asked pointedly if they meant to stand about jawing until sunup or get moving.

“Nearly as sarcastic as you, this one,” Elros chuckled.

“Nearly as cranky as you about his meals being delayed, you mean,” Elrond shot back. “The faster they get us where we’re going, the faster they can get back to their usual business at this hour, finding food.”

The nightjar gave them both a quizzical look as it took off up the stony riverbed, calling to its fellows.

At first it was easy enough to see where the river had once been, but by the second hour of their march, they’d have been thoroughly lost without their winged guides. One patch of rocky ground looked much like another, and even the usual sense of water both twins had wasn’t reliable. Not only had the river run dry well before the rising of the sun, in the long-years before that, the river must have meandered here and there throughout the mountains, changing its course as the land beneath it altered.

But the birds weren’t fooled, and led them by the swiftest path to what they called the ‘dead valley’.

Don’t worry, it’s not all that dead , Elros reassured him. Remember birds’ lives aren’t all that long. It’s been many nightjar generations since Gondolin fell.

And from what they’ve learned, for some years afterward, the hidden valley truly would have been dead, taken over by the forces of the Enemy. It’s only recently, since the landing of the Host of the West, that Morgoth had needed all his orcs, balrogs, and dragons elsewhere. That had meant the Eagles had been able to wrest control of the valley back. Their eyries were now dotted around the Encircling Mountains.

Eagles, he’d been told, could be rather particular about who was near their abode.

“Do you think we’ll have to answer to the eagles before we’re allowed to enter the valley?” Elrond asked quietly.

DOUBTFUL, YOUNG ONE. UNLESS YOU INTEND TO COME UP TO US?

Elrond blinked.

He’d never spoken to an Eagle before, but judging by how loud it was, the eyrie must be directly above them.

Apologies if we have disturbed you , he offered carefully. That was not our intention. Do we need your permission to go further?

WE ANSWER TO THE KING OF THE AIR. YOU ARE CLAIMED BY THE LORD OF THE WATERS. SO IS MUCH OF THE VALLEY.

That put matters in a slightly different light. Though it was also neither ‘yes’ or ‘no’...

We thank you, lords of the air , Elrond offered, hoping that was sufficiently polite.

Elros raised an eyebrow, but said nothing – and kept his thoughts quiet as well.

They continued following the nightjars for another hour before they reached a half-hidden tunnel, and then the ruins of a gate.

“I suppose this must have been the Gate of Wood?” Elrond said tentatively.

Elros shrugged.

They were beyond even second-hand knowledge at this point. The remaining Ondolindrim had generally preferred to talk about happy times if they spoke of the city – festivals, or the early years of the city. Details of the approach hadn’t been high on anyone’s list.

At that point, the birds informed them the way was straight enough from here that they couldn’t miss it even if they were orcs. Elros looked slightly disappointed, but Elrond suspected the birds wanted time to catch a meal before daybreak.

“Let them go,” he murmured. “They’re hungry.”

“As if I could keep them,” Elros chuckled. “Anyway, they’ve gotten us this far. It’s much better than I’d hoped for!”

Elrond gave him a half-hearted glare.

“Look around, there must be a place where they had a guard post. We can take a break until sunrise.”

“There should be a bigger gatehouse near the second gate,” Elros suggested, but Elrond swung down off his horse before that could get any traction.

“On the Gondolin side of it. This gate isn’t in great condition. If the Gate of Stone has collapsed, we’ll have to pick our way over it,” Elrond pointed out. “I’d rather not try that in the dark.”

“Fair,” Elros conceded. Then, after a pause, he added, “you really think the other gates will all be in worse condition than this?”

“Why wouldn’t they be?” Elrond asked. “I doubt the Enemy meant to fortify the valley. And I’m sure they chased anyone trying to flee this way.”

Elros appeared to deflate slightly.

“You do understand that all we’re likely to see in the valley is ruins, right?” Elrond asked cautiously.

“Yes,” Elros said with just enough sharpness to betray that some streak of optimism in him hoped for something more.

“Here,” Elrond said, offering him a blanket. “If we curl up over there, the sun should wake us.”

 

—

Elros kept quiet, but he wasn’t tired enough to need sleep. Elrond, unsurprisingly, was asleep as soon as he had a relatively flat surface under him. He’d been working all hours in the healing tents, and was prone not to remember to sleep unless someone reminded him.

Elros was usually that person. That was half the reason he’d wanted to get away from the camp for a few days. Seeing Gondolin was great, but knowing his brother wasn’t going to exhaust himself to death was also important.

The horses were also resting, not that they much needed it. Neither twin had set foot outside the current main camp in over a week. Their horses were probably happy for the exercise. (They also knew perfectly well they were safest near their elves, so they weren’t about to run off.)

They’d probably been missed by now, but with any number of places they might have gone for some peace and quiet, he was fairly confident no one would come looking for them here right away.

As the hours dragged on, he did his best to keep his mind occupied.

He didn’t want to admit it, even to Elrond, but it would be nice if there was something more than just ruins in the valley. He’d felt drawn there. It had to be more than just curiosity, surely? Foresight? Fate?

Morbid curiosity , Elrond suggested drowsily.

“You’re supposed to still be sleeping,” Elros muttered.

“I slept enough. Besides, it’s morning. Look.”

Elros followed his eyes upward, and found that high above them, in the crack that was all they could see of the sky, it was no longer dark.

There were still plenty of shadows at ground level, though.

“They’ll be gone by the time we eat,” Elrond informed him. “Which you need to do, even if you were too stubborn to sleep.”

Elros took that in good humor. Besides, he’d managed to purloin some of the waybread Aunt Eärwen had sent along. (Plenty of support staff made waybread for the host, but Aunt Eärwen’s was the best. She always got such a proud look whenever he told her that, not that he had a chance to say it too often. As the commander of the Lindarin fleet, she remained aboard the ships, or very occasionally spent a few days on Balar.)

He might well be in more trouble over that than sneaking out, given how little of the waybread had been left.

Elrond’s eyes widened as he caught that guilty thought.

“Relax, it’ll be me getting scolded, not you,” Elros assured him cheerfully. “So you might as well finish eating.”

Elrond rolled his eyes, but was ready to move on swiftly enough that Elros knew he wasn’t the only curious one.

Elrond’s caution was warranted – the Gate of Stone was now the Pile of Stone, and they had to lead the horses over it carefully, listening and feeling as they went for any unsafe spots or hidden traps.

That proved to be the only real impediment though – the rest of the gates had all been ripped down entirely.

“Probably wanted the metal,” Elrond said as they contemplated the emptiness where the Gate of Writhen Iron ought to have been. “It’s been turned into swords and armor for orcs by now.”

Elros couldn’t argue with that glum assessment. The Enemy needed to arm his forces, and why drive his thralls to mine when there was plenty of metal here for the taking. Though some of it must have had things Sung into it that he couldn’t break – a somewhat battered but still recognizable relief of a massive Eagle was propped against one wall of the ravine, with sufficient debris heaped in front of it that it was clear no one had been in a hurry to touch it again.

The other metal gates were much the same, with the odd bit or piece that must have been too painful or dangerous for the Enemy’s servants to handle left, but the rest stripped. The Gate of Gold was gone entirely, and all that remained of the Gate of Steel was a battered crown, set in the middle of where the gate had once stood in obvious mockery.

It had been beaten, battered, and showed signs of having been used as a latrine. Any ornamentation it might once have possessed had been pried off. Knowing the usual Noldor forms, Elros was fairly sure he spotted mounts for precious stones, but they were empty, giving him an eerie sensation of the empty eye sockets of skulls.

“Don’t touch it,” Elrond cautioned him urgently as they approached. “Give it the widest berth you can!”

“Is it…”

“There’s some foul incantation on it, probably carved on the inside so it’s not readily apparent. But I can feel the malice in it from here.”

Elros felt it himself as they drew closer, and didn’t argue as Elrond all but flattened himself and his horse against the ravine to avoid it. The stone was friendly enough, and he spoke to it in Khuzdul out of sheer habit.

Its answer was unsettling – the mountains were no longer as stable as they had once been. Take care, young friend , was the warning.

Between that and his brother’s obvious unease about the battered crown, Elros almost reconsidered. They could still turn back…

“Did he expect us to come?” Elros asked.

Elrond shook his head.

“This is older than we are. I think he hoped someone would be foolish enough to turn back after they’d fled. Maybe he hoped to bring down one of the few remaining lords.”

It was unlikely Tuor would have returned, but Galdor or Egalmoth might have been tempted to go back to search for survivors.

“Was there even any point by then?” Elros demanded. “There were only a couple left after the balrog did for Glorfindel. Being a lord of Gondolin was fairly fatal.”

Three had made it to Sirion, and only two were still alive. Tuor and Idril had tried to find the way West before Elros had been born. Galdor had sailed with Eärendil. Elros had a hazy memory of Egalmoth still around in the last days of Sirion. He hadn’t been on Balar, so he had likely died in the final kinslaying. (Both he and Elrond had learned not to ask questions if you didn’t truly want to hear the answers. When it came to how people had died, he usually didn’t.)

“And yet you thought we should come tour what’s left,” Elrond snorted. “Despite the fact that we’re heirs to one of those lords.”

“Two, actually. Turukano was lord of the House of the King.”

“Wonderful. So we’re both doomed.”

“You really should spend more time with the Hadorians with that humor. They’d adore you.”

“I see enough of them in a professional capacity, thank you,” Elrond sniffed. “And don’t think I haven’t figured out that it’s largely due to them that I don’t see more of you in the healing tents.”

Elros blushed.

He hadn’t yet accustomed himself to the notion the people their grandfather was from considered him their lord, or possibly their king. (He hadn’t asked, because he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know.) Apparently he and Elrond were the last remaining descendants of Galdor the Tall.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I’ll try to get them to be more careful.”

“If you’re more careful, they will be, too,” was Elrond’s assessment.

“They wouldn’t mind seeing more of you outside the healing tents,” Elros informed him.

Elrond said nothing, but the tangle of thoughts and feelings Elros got from him meant it was unlikely to happen anytime soon.

They rode on until the ravine broadened, and then opened out onto a broad shelf.

The view must have been impressive once, but now it was ruins, surrounded by water. The water was clean, at least – if you squinted, you could almost convince yourself the lake was natural and the city still intact.

Almost.

Elrond raised an eyebrow and turned toward him.

“I knew about the water,” Elros announced before he could ask.

“When were you planning on mentioning it?” Elrond snorted.

“I thought it would be fun to see your face,” Elros grinned. “Anyway, you could have guessed, after what that eagle said.”

“I’m not swimming in that,” Elrond said flatly. “And I don’t like our chances of picking our way around to the other side of the valley – or even much further along this side.”

“We could paddle,” Elros suggested. “That floating log over there isn’t quite a boat, but I bet we could make it work.”

“I’ll grant you it floats,” Elrond agreed. “But we don’t have paddles, and don’t bother suggesting our swords.”

“You really think we can’t persuade the water to move for us?” Elros shot back. “Either you still need more sleep or you’re getting boring.”

—

Elrond thought it a dubious idea at best, but Elros had his heart set on seeing the city, and there was no dry route to it – certainly not one they could lead the horses on. Both animals were perfectly happy to be left to rest while their riders played around with improvised boats.

He tested the feel of the water, and found it more wholesome and less marked by the Enemy than he’d expected. The Eagle had said the valley belonged to Ulmo… He could only hope they weren’t trading too much on that particular Vala’s goodwill.

As they eased carefully onto the log and set it in motion, he tried not to be distracted. Just because they were on water didn’t mean there might not be any other nasty surprises left behind.

To his surprise, they reached the base of the approach road to the city proper without anything more serious than Elros getting distracted by the sight of fish.

“How do you suppose they got here?”

“There used to be a river, didn’t there?”

“Did there? I don’t remember anything about a river.”

“Most of what we know is third hand anyway,” Elrond shrugged. “I don’t even remember our father talking about it.”

“I don’t remember our father at all,” Elros muttered.

They hauled the log up onto dry land before they made their way up the road – the lake might not have obvious tides or currents, but Elrond didn’t much fancy trying to beg a ride back to the Dry River from an eagle.

The walls of the city were largely intact – though Elrond supposed these might well be only the upper walls.

As they walked through the gate, two things became obvious at once.

It was still possible to make out glimpses of the glory of Gondolin. If the city still looked like this in ruins, it must have been fairer than anything Elrond or Elros had ever seen at its height. Despite the best efforts of Morgoth’s forces, it was clear it had been magnificent.

But it had also very much been a battleground. The Enemy hadn’t bothered with cleanup. Forcing himself to observe with professional detachment, Elrond noted that some bodies had been left as they’d fallen, while others had been butchered after death. At least, he hoped it had been after. (One couldn’t be sure with orcs, and he wasn’t close enough to examine the bones closely enough to be sure. Nor did he really want to.)

“Come on, let’s see if we can make it to the Square of the King,” Elros suggested.

They picked their way carefully toward the center of the city. It was jarring to find occasional flashes of normalcy amidst the ruins – like the bakery that had remained oddly untouched aside from the door knocked askew, what must have been festival treats crumbling slowly to dust in unbroken shop windows.

Elrond did his best to ignore that not all of the remains they passed were adult. He’d heard often enough that their grandmother had brought a large number of children to Sirion that it had never occurred to him before now that she couldn’t possibly have brought them all .

But the oddest part was walking down a street lined by rosebushes run rampant, bearing flowers in every color imaginable. Behind them were the shells of burnt out buildings and columns standing askew no longer holding anything up. Roses twined their way up some of them in a bizarre floral accent.

“I thought the Alley of Roses was burned by dragons,” Elros murmured in wonder. “This is better than any garden on Balar.”

“The bushes may have burned, but the roots must have survived,” Elrond reasoned. “They grew back. And without the foulness of the Enemy, they still bloom.”

One of his bouts of foresight struck then – but for a change, a pleasant one.

Elros looked at him in trepidation, probably expecting him to either have seen the fall of the city or some upcoming battle.

“I’ll have a garden someday,” Elrond murmured, trying to hold onto that fascinating glimpse.

“So will I,” Elros declared. “But possibly slightly more restrained than this. And less thorns. Roses are all well and good, but I think I prefer less hazardous flowers.”

Elrond grinned.

“After this war, I think everyone’s going to want a garden and a bit of peace.”

The Square of the King, when they reached it, was every bit as messy as Elrond had expected.

The remains of Turgon’s tower were scattered over a good portion of it.

“I suppose he’s underneath it somewhere,” Elros sighed.

“I don’t think he is, actually,” Elrond replied reluctantly.

“His tower came down on top of him!” Elros protested.

“That was the story, but I believe it actually came down with him on top of it ,” Elrond replied soberly. “Look.”

He would have happily kept his distance – they might well meet Turgon someday, if it was true that the dead would someday return, and he couldn’t see where it would help to have seen them as corpses first. But Elros went charging over to investigate, leaving him little choice.

Up close, the fatal injuries were all too clear.

“They just left him like that,” Elros fumed.

“Did you expect him to do otherwise?” Elrond snorted. “Given the way they seem to have treated everything else?”

“They took his sword, though!”

“Maybe,” Elrond shrugged. “Or maybe he lost his grip on it and it’s underneath the stone somewhere, or bounced halfway across the square. Please tell me you didn’t have your hopes set on retrieving an ancestral sword!”

“No. But it would have been nice to have something .”

Something of our family , he meant.

“We have things on Balar,” Elrond reminded him. “Gil-galad had anything retrieved from Sirion put into storage for us.”

Elros wasn’t much consoled by that, so Elrond bent and picked up the nearest serviceable item he could see in the rubble.

“Here,” he said quietly. “If it’s not Turgon’s, it was someone’s in his household. Best you’re going to do.”

It was nothing more than a small knife, but when Elros pulled it from its sheath, it was still clean and sharp.

“It’s got the mark of the Mole on it,” Elros grumbled. “I don’t want anything of theirs .”

Elrond added his find to his own belt instead, and cast around until he found a similar blade with the mark of the Hammer.

“You can’t object to something made by Rog.”

Elros studied it carefully, then belted it on.

“Blades of the Noldor,” he said quietly.

“You say that as if we don’t already have swords.”

“They’re dwarf-made. And honestly, probably better. Even if the Sindar do get awfully sniffy about it.”

“You like Narsil.”

“True,” Elros replied, his usual good cheer returning. “But I like having options too!”

We really shouldn’t leave him like this , Elrond said. Now that we’re here. It isn’t right.

You’re right, Elros replied, as serious as he ever got. There’s enough stone scattered around – build a cairn?

Elrond nodded.

It wasn’t easy going, but they managed to construct something respectable from the rubble. 

Elros appropriated what must have once been the dedication on a statue or some other work of craft to lay on top so it was clear that this was the final resting place of Turukano, King of Ondolindë.

“That’s better than nothing,” Elrond said in satisfaction.

Elros nodded, and only then did they resume exploring the rest of the Square.

“That’s the Fountain,” Elros said quietly. “Do you suppose Ecthelion’s still in it?”

“It’s probably worse if he isn’t,” Elrond replied grimly. “Because that would mean they fished him out.”

Elros wrinkled his nose, but having seen to Turgon, it wasn’t as if there was any good reason to shy away from Ecthelion’s possible remains.

When they peered down into the fountain, Ecthelion was still there. So was Gothmog.

Elrond spent the next quarter of an hour arguing his brother out of trying to shift the balrog’s bones so they could do something – anything- for Ecthelion.

“Not only is that a lot for two of us to move,” Elrond sighed, “it’s not shallow. One of us would have to dive to bring him up, and there’s no telling if it’s only water and bones in there. It might be one thing if there were more people here, but I mislike it with only two of us.”

“As well there’s not only two of you, then, isn’t it?”

 

—

Elros nearly jumped out of his skin at the unexpected voice. Elrond looked just as startled.

That’s really bad that they were able to sneak up on us!

When they turned, he recognized Pelendur easily. The other elf was not one he knew, though.

Pelendur was firing off one of the colored sparklers that was sometimes used as a signal – which implied there were others around as well.

“You two will be answering to the High King when we get you back to camp,” Pelendur said sternly. “Assuming, of course, we manage to get you back safely .”

“There’s eagles nesting all around this valley, we’re perfectly safe,” Elros informed him.

“An interesting assessment, my prince,” the unknown said.

Elros noted that he’d managed to convey appropriate respect for princes along with sarcasm so cutting he was tempted to ask to borrow the man’s whetstone.

Don’t , Elrond cautioned urgently. They’re really unhappy with us.

“Two of your would-be rescuers have already been injured searching the city for you.”

“Enough, Elemmakil,” Pelendur commanded, holding up a hand.

Elros blinked.

“Elemmakil?” he couldn’t resist asking. “Like, Elemmakil who knew our grandfather Tuor in… here?”

“The same,” Elemmakil replied with a small bow. “And I assure you Prince Tuor would have words if he were here to see this piece of foolishness. You’re just lucky I happened to be in the forward camp instead of at the supply depot in the rear.”

Ah, that’s how Pelendur had managed to get here so quickly.

“No one touched the crown from the last gate, did they?” Elrond wanted to know.

“As it happens, someone did,” Elemmakil replied. “I daresay your talents would be appreciated if we can get you back there in time to make any difference to her.”

Elrond managed to both blush and go pale at the same time. His mind was suddenly so firmly closed that Elros couldn’t tell what he expected, or possibly feared, the cursed thing had done. (On second thought, he probably didn’t want to know anyway.)

You don’t suppose it was Handelon, do you? he asked Elrond, suddenly worried.

The former steward of Amon Ereb had been a friend and mentor to him since he was seven, and the thought of losing him wasn’t one Elros cared to contemplate.

No, I think it’s someone Elemmakil knows.

“You boys were both trained to have better sense and better manners,” Pelendur broke in.

“Who was injured, please?” Elrond asked.

“I rather doubt you know her,” Pelendur replied briskly. “But she knew of you, and thought highly enough of the pair of you to volunteer to risk her life in the hopes of protecting yours.”

“You’ve heaped sufficient guilt on,” Elros snapped, his temper flaring as he caught his brother’s distress.

Elrond already took too much on himself as it was. He wasn’t responsible for every last person in the Host of the West!

“Have we?” Elemmakil asked. “I doubt it. You risked your lives to come here, and for what? Trinkets ?”

He waved scornfully at the knives they’d picked up.

“I came to see where we’re from!” Elros snapped. “Everyone else in this stinking army knows their family, even if their family is dead! They know the places they’re from! We don’t. And if you expect me to apologize for burying the only grandparent of mine I’ve ever seen, you’ll have a long wait because I’m not going to.”

Elemmakil was entirely still for a long moment.

Fortunately, it was Pelendur who broke the standoff.

“At least you managed something productive. Now, unless you have some pressing business yet to complete, I suggest we get moving. Elrond, with Elemmakil. Elros, do not even think of stepping out of my sight again before you are back at your tent.”

“I didn’t bring-”

Elrond stepped on his foot.

Enough. We saw what you wanted to see. And I would help Telemmaitë if I can.

Elros sighed, but didn’t say anything as they were hustled down the road at the opposite end of the square from the Tower. The group grew larger as they went, the rest of the party responding to Pelendur’s sign.

Handelon was among them, and limping.

Twisted ankle, nothing worse , Elrond reassured him at once.

Elros was disturbed to find that when they reached the boats this group had used to cross the water – proper boats, though he hadn’t the foggiest notion of how they’d gotten them there much less known they’d be needed – he was put into a separate boat than his brother.

“We can’t afford to lose both of you at once,” Pelendur told him in an exasperated undertone. 

“You’d do well to keep that in mind if you’re serious about contributing in a positive way to the winning of this war. And if you won’t have a care for your own skin, at least think about your brother’s safety.”

Elros sighed. There was no point in protesting that he had thought about both their safety before they set out.

None at all, Elrond agreed silently. Cheer up. We got to see the city. And some time to ourselves for a change. Even if we do seem to have panicked the entire host in the process.

We did, didn’t we?

Elros had to work to keep a suitably penitent expression on his face. It was going to work out. Elrond would fix the person who’d touched the crown. They’d go back to camp and take the rest of the coming scoldings with good grace. They’d win this bloody stupid war.

And then maybe, just maybe, they could come back again someday. A city surrounded by water would be amazing…