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Dark Memories: Shadows of the Past
by: DLR 2002

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The Foothills of Mt. Orodruin

S.A. 3441

Chapter 39

Glorfindel scratched the bites on his arms.  His face took on an almost euphoric expression as his fingernails dug into his irritated flesh.

Elrond did not look up from the shirt he was repairing with needle and thread.  "You make matters worse, you know, doing that."

"I . . . care . . . not . . ." Glorfindel said through gritted teeth as he began an assault on his neck.  "Where are they coming from?  They were never this bad before."

Elrond sighed.  "It has been a damp spring, which encourages breeding.  Allow me to make a poultice for you."

"Do not even consider it," said Glorfindel.  "I refuse to cover myself with any of your smelly concoctions."  He paused and scowled at Elrond.  "Why do they bother me and not you?"

"They dislike another smelly concoction which you have also refused to use." Elrond smiled.  "Which is preferable, a slight odor or unbearable itchy swellings?"

"Scratching," moaned his friend, reaching under his shirt. "I prefer to scratch."

Elrond looked with dismay at his own shirt which he held in his hands.  "I am actually repairing the repairs at this point," he muttered.   After six years of constant wear, there was little left of the original fabric throughout all of his clothing.

Gil-galad's predictions about the decay of the supply lines had proved accurate, very little made its way through these days, just barely what was necessary to survive.

In all this time that they had been here, there had been no real battle besides the first one, which had driven Sauron to take refuge in his tower, with the allies camped around him waiting, fighting the little battles, skirmish after skirmish.  Fight a little, run away, fight again another day.

Elrond tucked his shirt away with a sigh and gave his friend a pity-filled look.  "Poultice," he recommended with a nod.

"Never," whispered Glorfindel with tears in his eyes.

"And you name me stubborn."  Elrond rose.  "I need to stretch my legs, you think on it while I am gone."

Glorfindel made a noise that sounded distinctly like a whimper as Elrond walked away.

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The armies of men and elves sweltered beneath the burning heat of Anar in her favorite season.  The air was close, the smoke and fires of the Black Land adding to the unbearable quality of the atmosphere.

Elrond walked quietly through the estolad,* unseeing, his inner thoughts occupying his conscious mind.  It was some time before he noticed that his feet had taken him into the heart of the army of Gondor.  He became aware suddenly as he found himself stared at from all directions.

Elrond snorted to himself.  One would think that six years of fighting side by side would have rid the Atani of their combination of fascination and distrust of the Eldar.  He sighed and redirected himself towards Elendil's tent, intending to relay messages Gil-galad had charged him with earlier.

He sighed again as the sentry informed him that Elendil was gone for the day, visiting outposts.  Someone would have to receive the messages and Elrond's lips tightened as he approached Isildur's tent.  There was no guard.

"Isildur," Elrond called as he pulled open the tent flap, and then stepped hurriedly back as he realized the man was not alone.  "Isildur," he repeated, a bit louder as he rolled his eyes.

"What ever it may be, it can wait until I am finished," a muffled voice replied.

"Finish, then," said Elrond and he stepped back a pace out of earshot.  About ten minutes passed before the tent flap moved again.  A young human female, very disheveled and dirty looking, emerged, gathered up her skirts and ran off quickly.  She was followed shortly by Isildur, boots in hand.  He proceeded to sit and put them on, beneath Elrond's somewhat disapproving gaze.

Isildur snorted.  "A man has his needs, you know," he said.  "Although your means of satisfying them may be a bit different than mine."   Elrond gave him a puzzled look but remained silent.

His boots on, Isildur stood.  "I would have invited you to join us, she had more than enough to go around," he jested with a sneer, "but I recollected your preference and I had no wish to watch my backside."

Elrond stared at him, open-mouthed.  "My preference?" he finally managed to choke out.   "Are you speaking of . . .?  I am betrothed in marriage, as you well know."

Isildur laughed.  "And quite a lengthy engagement, too, I understand.  A political marriage, so they say, to unite Lothlórien and Imladris?"

Elrond was beyond speechless.  Isildur prodded him in the ribs.  "You need not make pretense with me; Gil-galad has discussed it openly."

"Gil-galad?" Elrond whispered.

"Aye, indeed," Isildur said with a curl of his lip.  "He confessed the truth about the two of you a while back." He raised his eyebrows at Elrond.  "So what happened there, a little lover's spat?" He smirked.  "Nay, do not answer.  I must say, I find the whole idea a bit revolting, but since the males of your species are prettier than most of our females, I imagine it makes no difference to you.

"Come to think of it, though, if someone like Glorfindel was the only warm body available, he's got a appealing enough face, and a tight place to squeeze into, he might do in a pinch,"  Isildur laughed again, pausing.  "As long as you hold your own in battle, I can overlook a few freaks."

Elrond closed his eyes.  With a supreme amount of self control, he managed to stop himself from slaying the man standing in front of him.  "Please excuse me," he said with great strain in his voice as he walked away.

Now it was Isildur's turn to stare.  "Oy!" he called out, perplexed.  "So why did you seek me out?"  He got no answer from Elrond.  "Bunch of bloody pansies," he muttered.

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Elrond walked without seeing once again, but his feet knew this time where to take him, knew where he needed to go.

To Gil-galad.

The high king was in his tent with Lindir attending him when Elrond entered without ceremony.  "Leave us," Gil-galad instructed his servant when he saw the look on Elrond's face.  He sighed.  "What is it now?"

Elrond clenched his teeth. "Pardon me; apparently I am an annoyance to you?" 

The high king closed his eyes.  "Let us just say that I have become very familiar with that expression you are sporting."

Elrond shook his head and laughed sardonically.  "It appears you are tired of me altogether at this point and wish I would just go away.  You have no remorse, really, do you?  All of this atonement, all of this retribution, all of this self flagellation, is just a lie, a proper façade, is it not?"

"Do you wish to drop these so-called façades?" asked Gil-galad.  "Do you look for honesty?  I have no problem giving you that, whether you can accept it is another matter."

Elrond looked at him with incredulity.  "You will answer with honesty, any question I put to you?"

"I will," returned his cousin, "to the best of my ability."

"I have just come from Isildur," related Elrond.  "He tells me that you have publicly stated that you and I were once lovers."

Gil-galad shrugged.  "This is true, I have stated it, and we were, at one time."

Elrond's jaw dropped.  "Sexually intimate, yes, I will concede that, but lovers?  This is how you look back at it?"

"You being underage at the time does not alter facts."

Elrond closed his eyes.  "What you did to me, what passed between us, it was wrong, it was not love, it never should have happened."

"Certain aspects of it, yes, I regret the hurt it caused you."

"Certain aspects?" repeated Elrond with surprise.  "Are you saying you would travel the same path again if you could but change a few minor things?"

"That last time, bringing Iraldë in, I would change that," responded the high king. "I never meant for you to suffer any injury."

Elrond regarded him with disbelief.  "That is your only regret?" 

Gil-galad sighed.  "I should possibly have waited a few years until you were older, is this what you wish to hear?"

Elrond looked at him in silence for a moment.  "I have known you for more than three thousand years, yet I do not know you at all.  When this began, you seemed oblivious to all but your own pleasure.  Later years, when I did not remember, you were very contrite, falling all over yourself with remorse.  It was quite puzzling at the time." 

He paused and frowned.  "Now, it seems with each passing year, you digress back to your earlier attitudes, which puzzles me as well."

"The shock of seeing you bleeding combined with the trauma of your memory loss disturbed me greatly," admitted Gil-galad.  "I deeply regret matters coming to that point and I tried very hard to make amends. I was sorry then, and I am sorry now for that part."  He closed his eyes a moment before continuing.

"You asked for honesty and I will give it to you.  I have lived with the memory of this two thousand years longer than you have.  I have lived with the disdain of my peers and the disgust of my servants and subjects.

"I made every effort to atone in early years, to make it up to you, to redeem myself.  It has been especially difficult these last thousand years since the return of your memory, for now I live with your hatred as well."

He reflected for a moment.  "That is the heart of it, possibly.  For the first two thousand years my actions earned your love and esteem, the next thousand years, nothing I did pleased you.  Every action I took, every word I spoke only served to increase your hatred of me.  Hatred so deep, I feel at times I cannot live with it anymore," he added in a whisper.  "Is that what would make you happy?  Is that what you wish for, ultimately?  My death?"  Gil-galad snorted.  "Somehow, I do not think even that would satisfy you. 

"What in Mandos name did I do that was so terrible that I deserve this endless punishment?  It has been three thousand years, it wears thin," he said with some heat, gripping Elrond's shoulders.  "Enough is enough; will you never let it go?"

Elrond regarded him with shocked eyes, as all the blood drained out of his face.  "How dare you," he whispered, his voice shaking.  "How dare you imply that this has been worse for you than it has for me?  How dare you show any resentment to me?  You wish to know why the punishment is endless?  Because you learn nothing from it.  You talk about remorse?  You feel remorse only when it is convenient for you, only when it is easy.  When it becomes difficult, then the penance should be over, you have suffered enough. 

"What do you know of suffering?  You cannot bear it any longer?  You should try bearing some of what I have had to bear.  You want to die?  Then do so and be done with it.  Perhaps Mandos himself can finally teach you something about atonement in the next three thousand years."

Elrond shook himself free of Gil-galad's grasp.  "How can I possibly let it go and forgive you, when you have no wish to be forgiven?" he whispered with angry tears in his eyes.  He turned and left the tent without another word.

Gil-galad stared after him blankly for a long while, completely oblivious of the drops of moisture making small intricate rivulets down the front of his armor.

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Círdan looked at the ring in his hand with something resembling horror.  He stretched his arm back toward the high king who held his palm outward in refusal.

"You will do this favor for me," said Gil-galad, "please, I beg of you."

"But why, Ereinion?"  whispered Círdan with amazement.  "Why do you fear to keep it?"

"My fear is that it will fall into the hands of the Enemy if it remains with me," explained Gil-galad.  "I do not fear it on its own merits, and there is no reason you should either.  Do not wield it, just keep it safe."

Círdan sighed.  "As you wish, but you are taking it back at the first opportunity."

"Agreed," said the high king, gripping his shoulder.  "I thank thee; it is one less worry on my mind."

Círdan looked into his eyes.  "This is the end, is it not?  Everything comes to a conclusion, ere long?"

"All signs point in that direction," replied Gil-galad. "We will see major conflict very shortly."

Círdan almost smiled.  "It is about time, really.  We have been practicing six years, I think we are ready."

"Yes," whispered Gil-galad, his thoughts far away.  "Indeed, I think I am ready."

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*Encampment