Sedilwen stood silently on the deck of the white ship – looking over the ocean and scanning the horizon. The wind buffeted around her, lifting her hair and causing it to fly randomly in the air. Feeling a presence, she turned and looked up into the smile of the blond elf, Lord Elrond's captain.
"You are spending too much time here, Sedilwen. Are you well?" he asked gently.
"Aye, Glorfindel, I am. I am lost in my memories, nothing more. It has been a long time for me, my friend. My perception of time is different than yours."
Glorfindel considered the mystery that surrounded his friend. She was an enigma. He knew from Elrond and Erestor that she was of Arda remade, but he didn't know the details, and had only asked once. He waited patiently and was rewarded when she continued.
"I remember coming to Arda, my death, and the acceptance that the elves have given me. At one point, I did not believe in such fantasy stories, and yet, for the many yeni, I have lived in them. It is amazing to me that I was given this chance by the Valar."
"Ah, the sea brings about this time of reminiscence. We have spoken many times of your life, but I have never asked you one question. Why Erestor? Why do you hold such loyalty and allegiance to him? Why have you protected him, oft times with your own life?"
"Are you really sure that you want to know that answer, Mellon-nin? Sometimes things are better left unspoken," she answered quietly.
"Do you love him?" His question stretched into a long uncomfortable silence. Sedilwen looked up at him and saw the tenseness of his jaw. Dear Valar, he was worried about this, but it didn't feel like jealousy. Concern?
"With my heart and soul, but not for the reasons that most would think," she finally offered, breaking the silence.
"Then how?" he asked quietly, patiently trying to understand her allegiance.
"He is my brother."
The words struck his heart with simplicity. He looked at her, his mouth agape at her confession. By the Valar, he could see the resemblance and suddenly everything became clear to him. Her quietness, reluctance to socialize, affinity for books, ability to argue even a warg out of a fresh kill; everything. She was a female Erestor. The Valar truly had a sense of humor.
"Sedilwen, you have never told me your story about how you came to Arda. I once asked Erestor and Elrond, but both told me that it was your story to tell. Would you share it now with me?"
She looked up at him and stared at his blue – gray eyes. They were so intense, yet full of curiosity. Smiling, she shook her head. "Glorfindel, my life started with my death. I was in a battle – in the far distant future, where the age of man was at peril. I remember hearing the words, 'Corpsman up.' This is the battle cry for healers to assist warriors that are wounded…"
"Corpsman, Up!" The words resounded in Kate's ears. She glanced in the direction and saw one of the marines laying on the battlefield…his hands covering his abdomen and his moans coming toward her over the metallic rhythm of rifle fire.
This was not what it was supposed to be like…the reserves were, well…they were supposed to be an easy way to make money and go to school…they weren't supposed to take someone, anyone, to the hell of a battlefield. Never in a million years had she anticipated that she would actually have to do anything outside of drills. She shook her head…yep, one weekend a month and two weeks out of a year…um hmm…the recruiter was a lying piece of bovine excrement…but in all actuality, she did know it was a possibility…she wasn't that naïve…but the probability had seemed low when she signed on. Kate, what have you gotten yourself into?
Shifting her attention back to the scene in front of her, she crept low to the man on the ground…her desert camos helping her to blend with the sand…not that it much mattered…anything that was laying on the ground was an easy target…the open desert offered little protection from stray bullets, creepy crawlies with stingers, and IEDs. One never knew what surprises the sand held.
She looked down into the man's eyes and was surprised at the depth and color that stared back at her. They were blue, like her own… "Ma'am…Leave me, Ma'am. It's too late for me," he whispered.
"Nonsense, marine…it is never too late. Let's see what you caught out here…perhaps a nasty little round?" Kate cut the material away from his abdomen and noted that the entry wound was small. There wasn't much blood, but his stomach was starting to distend. "Yep, stay with me, marine…you win the prize for catching the round of the day." Kate looked at him and saw him try to smile at her poor attempts at battlefield humor. She pulled out an auto syringe and hit him with a round of morphine before she attempted to move him back to the safety of her small trench. When his eyes glazed over, she knew that the painkiller was working; and she slowly began the long pull backwards.
It was funny in a way…he was tall, probably near 7 feet if he were an inch, and had a solid frame, but he was almost too light… and the pulling was fairly easy. She glanced back and saw that she had reached the halfway point. Encouraged, she continued her efforts until she heard the whine of the missile. It was too loud for her comfort…and it was coming closer. Seconds seemed like eternity…and she did in a split second what her instincts told her to do…she rolled onto the marine whose life she was trying to save…
Kate felt a strong shove and heard an explosion, before she knew she was hit. It was strange, but there was no pain…no sensation at all…she just looked down and laughed in shock to see that her feet and legs were doing a curious sort of dance about five feet from her body. She looked at the marine and locked eyes with him before he smiled sadly. "The Valar will guide you." he whispered. And then there was silence, as her eyes closed for the last time on Earth.
Kate heard the sounds of battle raging around her…the cries of anger and screams of pain overwhelmed her. She opened her eyes and saw a surreal picture of a feudal battle, medieval, complete with monsters and warriors…men and something else…beautiful beings that positively glowed with light. She tried to move and found that she was weighted down, covered by a grotesque being that smelled worse than death itself. Its yellow eyes open to a vacant stare, and its rotted moth open in a silent eternal scream…
She looked about and saw many such creatures lying down, and many other creatures…short, stubby little beings with long beards, men, and some of the creatures that seemed to glow. They were all either dead, dying, or too injured to fight any longer. She was sickened by the sheer, utter devastation of life that was before her…her mind began to close down as the reality of where she was and wasn't began to dawn on her. The memories of her recent death flooded over her…and the realization that she was in Hell brought her a strange sense of solace…at least there is an afterlife, and I exist.
Her reflections were cut short when she saw a dark haired warrior fall before her, clutching his abdomen in shock as one of the little stubby beings finished a stroke with a battle-ax from his midsection. She heard the red bearded creature yell in victory, "Elves be damned…the Lord Sauron shall win this day over Gil-Galad and Elendil!" It was amazing to hear the deep Scottish brogue eminating from this ugly little creature as he ran off towards another of the fair beings.
Time seemed to stand still as Kate looked over to the tall being now lying prone on the ground. Her eyes locked with his and he gasped in surprise to see her staring at him. Slowly he shook his head and whispered something incomprehensible. She crawled over to him with a sense of deja vu and reached toward his mid-section. The armor he wore was neatly cleaved in two and she could see his hands holding his mid-section together. Gently she took them in her own and examined the wound…Shaking her head, she knew that this type of wound was not one that he would likely recover from, more than likely he would suffer a slow death. She looked into his eyes and smiled gently to comfort him. Again that feeling of Déjà vu washed over her, it was like she knew this being – but never had she seen him before.
She assessed the situation, realizing in an instant that she didn't have her kit with her…and musing why she would…she was dead after all…people didn't take belongings into the afterlife. Noting that she still wore her uniform, she was surprised to see that she still had her belt kit. Instinctively, she reached down for an auto-syringe and felt the last one slip into her palm. Without a second thought, she activated the syringe and administered the morphine to the being in front of her.
Erestor hissed at the sudden pain in his leg. He didn't understand how or why an elleth would be on the battlefield outside of Mordor, and why she was dressed as an ellon in the strange, light brown clothes. He looked about sadly for his friend, the herald to his king, …and was disappointed and worried that he was no where in sight. The last he knew, the peredhel was focused on fighting Sauron and protecting the Noldor king. He looked back to the elleth and asked her why she was there. When she didn't reply, he tried to move and was rewarded with blurred vision as she gently pushed him down. He watched her as she took out a cloth packet from her pocket, and began to laugh quietly when he saw her remove a needle and thread as she prepared to sew his stomach. I hope she is a good seamstress…
Kate watched as the morphine took hold of this being. She didn't understand him when he spoke to her…the language was musical, but very different from any language she had ever heard. When he started to laugh, she knew that the effects of the drug had reached their peak, and she began to stitch his abdomen. His eyes closed after a few minutes, and he seemed to slip into a deep sleep. Kate knew that the chance of infection was almost 100%, but if they survived this battle, he could be re-opened in better conditions and re-treated as necessary.
Concentrating fully on her patient, Kate was oblivious to the battle around her. She knew that saving this…this being… was imperative. She didn't know or care why, she just knew that it had to be this way. In her thoughts, even Hell had rules. She worked quickly and closed the wound with large clumsy sutures – and then thought about a battlefield dressing. She didn't have anything remotely sterile or appropriate, and so, making a quick decision, she opted to use her BDU jacket. After unhooking her belt, she quickly slipped out of the garment and wrest it into two pieces. The first she turned inside out and folded quickly into a pillow bandage. She did the same with the second and then released the extra length on her webbed belt to accommodate the wider waist of the man / being in front of her. As she finished cinching the belt, she felt an extraordinary pain tear through her right shoulder.
Since when do dead people feel pain? She mused. Looking down, she saw the point of an arrow protruding from her upper chest. Amazing… Then her vision dimmed for the second time in one day and she fell forward onto the being she had just saved.
Elrond returned to the camp, exhausted and defeated. His brother's heir had betrayed them all. His King was dead. And he reeked of blood and sweat. Many elves had given their lives this day…for naught. Isildur had failed…he succumbed to the evil of the Ring…Elrond rued the day that he made the promise to his brother…the promise to protect all of Elros' descendents. So great was his anger, had Elrond not made that promise, he would have personally thrown Isildur into the fire of Orodruin. At this moment, he cursed his bittersweet human heritage. And thus, the herald of the Second Age of Arda began with Man's betrayal of the Elves.
Giving into his exhaustion, Elrond sat near one of the boulders and leaned back, slipping almost immediately into reverie. His mind was filled with terrible images of the battle he just finished…he woke when he revisited Gil-Galad's death. His foster father, his King, his friend…the one elf who restored his spirit and gave him life after his keeping with Maglor was slain in battle…for now, his grief overwhelmed him and his relief at waking was short lived. Grimly he watched as survivors were helped or carried into camp. The healers were drenched in blood and seemed to have a vacant look in their eyes. Their patients' misery and pain were reflected in their eyes, and they seemed to move quietly from one elf to the next – rendering what little palliative care they could before the majority passed to Mandos' Halls. One of the healers moved to the newest arrivals and looked upon a dark haired Noldor. He shook his head and began to gesture excitedly to his apprentice as he looked between the Noldor and another elf laying two stretchers away.
Sensing something amiss, Elrond rose wearily and walked slowly to the healers. "My friends, what is this that concerns you?"
"Master Elrond," the healer began, "the Lord Erestor has been gravely injured, but survives because of the efforts of this elfling." Gesturing toward the stretcher that Kate laid upon, the healer continued in amazement. "No one knows who she is or why she was in battle…but all agree that she saved Lord Erestor's life by tending his wounds. When they were found, she was laying on top of him, shielding his body with her own."
Elrond looked at his friend and examined his wound. The Noldor had been gutted from hip bone to hip bone, and sewn with a curious type of thread. He looked in amazement at the stitches and realized that the strange elfling had some training in the healing arts…but his curiosity was piqued by the mystery of how and why she was in the battlefield. Turning toward her, he noted that she was wearing a strange pair of leggings with a tight-fitting, sleeveless under-tunic. Aside from her clothes, he noticed that her hair was strangely fastened to her head and she had ears like his…pointed, but not so distinct as those of the Firstborn. She was lying on her stomach, with an arrow shaft protruding from her shoulder…and her color was an ashen gray. By all measures, Elrond knew that she was fading quickly.
"I will tend to her, Istuil…please get me some yarrow root and water. I want to take the arrow out and clean the injuries on both the youngling and Lord Erestor." Working quickly, he gently rolled her to her side and noted that the arrow had shattered her shoulder. Thanking the Valar for this small blessing, he grabbed the shaft and pushed it quickly through the front. Changing his grip, he snapped the back of the shaft in his hands and quickly pulled the remainder out through the front, then surveyed the damage. Thankfully, this one wasn't poisoned and the wound looked fairly clean. Quickly, he stemmed the flow of blood and examined the damage to the bone, now exposed. Thankfully, it was in three pieces and there were no shards – so healing would be much quicker and she would have full use of her arm later. As he looked down at her, he pondered why one so young was on the battlefield and where she had come from.
Elrond quietly mused on this as he reset the bones into place and cleaned the wound. Carefully he placed her stitches and bandaged her, before he turned his attention to Erestor. Lord Erestor, the young ellon who survived the massacre of his people… the warrior that most ellon feared, laid quietly upon the stretcher, blissfully unaware of his surroundings. Elrond studied the ellon's lack of responses as he removed the bandages, it was almost as if he had been given the crushed sleeping seeds – poppy, as his brother's people called it….but that was impossible out here. Such drugs were long depleted in the great war.
Grimly, he removed the bandage and stared at the stitches across the elf's stomach. Although they were done hurriedly, he could see that they were neat and even… He extended his hand and let his fea "feel" the severity of damage. After a few moments, Elrond decided to leave the wound closed and use their herbs to boost the elf's immunity to infection. Time would tell whether this choice was good, but time was what they all had now that Sauron had been defeated.
