A/N: Basically, I own everything you don't recognize. I love getting reviews. Ahem. And I shall henceforth treat anyone who gives me them as godly figures. *g*

Sweet Immortality

"Get in the boats, all of you, for I have no time to tarry in these forlorn forests," ordered a strong, stately voice. The haunting dim light befell the forest. It seemed as though all was immensely quiet, neither animal nor elf making a sound. With great notice, a chill partook in the hearts of the small party, widening their sorrow and mishap. The wounded carried the wounded and those who were struck by neither sword nor arrow guided them. Every face wore the expression of grimness. And each who stepped into the boat felt a sensation of helplessness, for they were only a small raiding party traveling thither.

A single Elf, face white and drawn, approached what seemed to be the captain and said thusly: "Sir, Githran has fallen behind. I confess, we kept no close eye on him for we were caring for the other wounded." The soldier's eyes were desperate and searching, dependent only on the hope, which the captain bestowed upon him. At the corners of his lips were the traces of dried blood, and upon his brow was a distinctive scar which also shown of blood.

"Then go back and fetch him! I have little time for this. The wounded are dying, so be quick!" Snapped the captain. His gray eyes were quickened and alert, tongue tart with sharp answers.

"Aye, Lord Glorfindel!" And thusly he followed an unmarked trail into the mossy forest.

The captain stepped forward onto the emerald bank of the narrow river. His eyes looked yonder, surveying and estimating the trek home. Rolling hills, shadowed by the day's end, lay ahead. The unnamed river cut between them. The Elves were mumbling and grunting, though never too loud. When they were seated in the three boats (none of which very large); they seated the wounded upon their laps. A thick smell of blood and death lingered.

Lord Glorfindel waited impatiently for the elf soldier to return. Finally, through the mist of the forest, he saw yonder a running figure. Alas! only one came hither. The captain was in puzzlement and said thusly: "Where is Githran? Has he fallen behind again?" Came from Glorfindel was a hint of sarcasm. Ordinarily, he was rather a gentle and kind Elf, however, when the burden of life or death was upon his shoulders, he did not hesitate to do whatever was needed to return them to safety.

"My lord, Githran has been slain. I saw his body, limbs outstretched upon the ground. I thought he was alive, for I saw no blood, however, upon stepping closer, I found he had been shot from behind," responded the elf, voice in sorrow and fear, "I am sorry, captain."

"Be sorry only that you wasted the time of my troops and me. Now, get into the boat so that we may leave!" Glorfindel ordered strictly. He was heavily disappointed and dismayed. Never once had he left a soldier to the wilderness and o! he made a promise to himself he would never do it again. The raiding party paddled slowly through the serene water. Whether it was a wounded body or wounded spirits, Glorfindel did not know. He decided not to urge them forward when it was not necessary, for they were already fell of heart. It was better, he agreed, to keep those who are able-bodied well, than cause further wounded ones.

They traveled at a slow pace, though steadily. By nightfall, yonder looked Glorfindel, only to find lightening in the distance. Even in the darkest hours of night, he could see the clouds mold themselves and consume the sky. A heavy downpour came at little past midnight as far as he could ponder. He pulled what little materials and cloaks he could find over the wounded especially, and if there were any remaining, gave them to the soldiers. And the rain fell hard, yet neither wind nor lightening progressed any farther. It was only rain that beckoned them to paddle no more.

"Lord Glorfindel!" An Elf called. His voice was carried by the harshness of the wind. "The rainfall is far too difficult to paddle against. I fear we must make rest."

"Indeed. Then so be it. Aniolad, give me what rope we have. We must secure the boats, lest we become separated in this harsh weather!" Called he. The rain, with the addition of distance, made it difficult to hear. Nonetheless, yonder, he could still make out just enough of the first boat to throw the rope across. The Elf lord pulled on it, securing the tightness of the rope. Thusly, he threw it to the third boat and did the same.

He called: "Now, both boats must bound the rope to a tree. Make haste!" The soldiers surrounding him, fell of sorrow and lacking hope, pulled the cloak over one another, including the captain, and attempted to get as much sleep as possible, though they were wet and numb.

At the break of dawn, the storm had indeed subsided, leaving the day fresh and new. Glorfindel could clearly see the last of the darkened clouds in the distance, wandering off to cause turmoil once again. He was thankful that was the last of it, for neither his party nor him could withstand their sorrow personified one more time. Was it the respect his had for Lord Elrond or the respect he had for himself that led him to continue he did not know.

The weather was still quite chilly, being it the early months of spring. As the soldiers awoke from their joyless sleep, he signaled for the elves to untie the rope so that they may be on their way. This time, they traveled with great speed. The soldiers were rather gladdened at the sight of the new morning. It held no death, which was rare. However, near mid-day, an elf soldier saw in the great distance a darkened cloud, which progressed at a harsh speed toward them. Glorfindel had decided upon himself to be prepared. Yonder, he could vaguely see a small expanse connected to more land which led to the rolling hills he had seen the entire journey.

"Lord, the storm is approaching very rapidly. Shall we make camp? Lest, we shall endure the same fate as last night and abide this harshness!" Called a strong voice from the first boat.

The Elf lord pulled the last of the rope, which remarkably, was still damp and said thusly: "Indeed. You there, bound your boat to the tree so we may reach land."

As this was done, the early stages of the storm were visible in the distance. The thunder was quite doughty, and before it raged, came the lightning. Glorfindel felt the boats moving at a slower pace toward the retreat. The air smelled strongly of rain already. The drear sight of the trees, which lay nearly bare and forsaken, was chilling. Even now, everything was hauntingly serene and silence. Not an Elf or fragment of nature dared stir.

And followed the serenity came the rain. It fell unkindly, reaching every corner of their sight, it seemed. Glorfindel had ordered to grab all the wares from the boats and guide the boats to shore. The wounded soldiers were half-unconsciously following him, dizzied and stumbling even on flat ground. He also ordered the Elves to search for any sign of a forlorn cave. It would serve as shelter.

"In this ill weather, I have come across a cave! Make haste! Come!" They heard. The wounded still continued to guide the wounded, while the able-bodied brang the things from the boats. Glorfindel wore the face of gloominess and misfortune, as though he had given up hope. Shall we ever escape this horrid storms and finally arrive hither to Rivendell? He questioned himself time upon time.

The cave was indeed forsaken. It seemed as though it had never been touched and very well may have not. The soldiers walked inside carefully, being as there was not a single lantern lit. It was large enough to only fit the small party of elves and nothing more, thankfully. The captain decreed for the few blankets they had to be spread out across the hard cave floor and the remaining lanterns to be lit. However, there were only two blankets and one lantern to be the victim of use. Glorfindel silently swore at this grave misfortune but concluded it could be worse. Finally, this was done and by the time it was, the harsh rumbling of the storm seemed like it was overhead their very cave. From their restricted sight, they saw the waves class against the boats, each worrying they would be only jetsam by the time the storm was over. The lee served as an especially shielding haven, they confessed.

The storm seemed to linger on for hours upon hours.

"My lord, how long do you deem this ill weather shall linger?" Asked a soldier.

"I suppose until dusk, perhaps longer. It does not seem as though it shall subside. All in favour of tarrying here tonight, say 'aye'," said he.

And throughout the small cave, an 'aye' came from every Elf, whether wounded or no. It was agreed upon that no one wanted to face another storm, if it should come. In addition, no soldiers had rested in days as peacefully as such. Glorfindel, seeing as tales of bravery and gallantry were not yet spoken of, removed the large sheath, pulled out the few arrows which remained and counted them. Four. There were but four to defend himself with if, by chance, another onslaught would come to pass. There was no use trying to make new ones, for the remainder of the feathers used to make them had been lost in the fighting. If neither rain nor orc raids came to pass, the captain recollected the journey home would take as long as two weeks. And this was only if the circumstances were favourable, however, upon the two days in which they had journeyed already, they had not been.

"O! how I covet the majesty of Rivendell," said an Elf, "And to see the high terraces or even the setting sun through the arch-windows would amount to any glory this whole journey put together would be!"

Glorfindel turned to the soldier, who was kneeling against a wall of the cave, "Indeed. But we should not let what we want conceal what we have."

"Lord Glorfindel, we are not wishing of things amiss, but giving ourselves hope!" He called once more, in a slightly harsher tone. "And pray, if we do not provide hope, than we are fated to remain gloomy and dreary as you-"

"Ealilid! Silence yourself, please," called another Elf. Glorfindel sat staring at them though not angrily but in pity for himself. He looked away, and no longer satisfied with sitting, rose from the floor and paced toward the entrance. The elf lord's head was hung low and saddened by the fact that the truth had spilled from one's lips. It was no longer shrouded in his dismal mind. And in his glowing blonde hair was matted against the tunic and skin harshly pale with no marks except those of swords. His leggings and tunic were slightly torn in places, though none of which revealing enough. But through the distinction if his eyes could one see the true torture bestowed upon him, his company, and all he wept for. The captain's comrades sat with a slight pain of guiltiness. Each was huddled around an invisible fire, which did not seem to warm them.

Paldun, the soldier who had bluntly silenced Ealilid, spoke thusly: "We are all tired and filled with frustration. Let us go to sleep!"

"No, I refuse to let this matter go untouched. Glorfindel, I am heavily sorry for saying what I had said, though, I must confess, it is true," Ealilid said with perhaps too much sympathy. "We are beings that strive to remain happy. It is the bliss and joy of our lives and existence that keeps us alive. It is as though we are only alive because we choose to be. My lord, it is wholly acknowledged that, we can indeed die of broken hearts. And love for your comrades, love for your king, or love for yourself can be shattered in an instant. Or, in your case, Lord Glorfindel, over the centuries."

No one dared speak. The silence was long, almost deathly save the thick sound of thunder and rain.

At last, the captain turned around and spoke calmly: "And you think that I am not aware of it? It is a harsh fate the Valar have bestowed upon us. Men, dwarves, and even hobbits must not abide by this ill doom. I very well know that our very lives depend on the amount of sorrow present in them. Fate is an enormously hard thing to break, as you all well know." His face was grave, and shadowed by the dim flame and cave walls. "And I am not about to go and thusly break my own because of petty worries and complaints! I have learned that my life, akin to yours as well, is difficult and shan't stray from difficult until our last breath. I do not weep for myself and my single fate, but instead for those who do not realize their own." He suddenly seized his arrows from the still ground and said thusly: "Now, I think we shall all take Paldun's advice into consideration and go to sleep. I am weary of such debating after a long days journey, and erstwhile fighting." They all agreed with them. The sound of rain came down lighter as the night grew on, more gentle, as though the heaviest part was done and over with and there was nothing but happiness to be accounted for.

When morning broke, there was nothing but the sweet-smelling dew and gentle water to remind them of the horrible storm the night before. The boats were furthermore there, rocking serenely to the gentle ripples of the water. The crest of the rolling hills yonder where shaded by nothing save the warm rays of the sun. Despite the cold and harsh storm, Glorfindel and his party was certainly sure the last of the fierce storm was finally at rest. Hence, a long day's journey was at hand. There would be no interruptions and no retreats to caves.

The final soldiers woke up when it was still chilly. Thusly, they departed westward and to the kingdom of Rivendell.

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