Hi people around the world!

First of all I want to thank Celridel for her immense help being the beta of this story as well as I want to thank d'elfe, Ducking Cute and Backstreet Girl for their encouraging and helping reviews.

So now, the terrible moment when Death separates the lovers until the first year of the Fourth Age will happen.

Waiting for your reviews, guys!


Chapter 70: The Sun Cannot Fall from the Sky

The Balrog's dark fire lit the cliff walls, and the shadows of the Orcs were huge and monstrous. Snow was coming again, a heavy fall of thick white flakes, and the narrow path was slick with ice. The wind ran a gauntlet through the stones, shrieking like a harpy.

Laura looked at Glorfindel, love intense and painful in her heart. You are my sun, she thought wildly.

Glorfindel smiled at her. His face was weary beyond exhaustion, and his long hair was matted with blood. "The odds are not quite in our favor, but gods favor children and fools."

His sword glinted in the Balrog's flame and Laura looked at his eyes. She knew how to read a man's eyes, and she clearly saw desperation.

The Orcs came first, expendable pawns thrown at the warriors to weaken them.

Laura fought with her back to the wall, a murderous black shadow, dealing out death. Once, she slipped on the ice, landing hard on her back, and an Orc axe slammed into her shoulder, sending a blaze of pain down. She brought her legs up in a vicious kick, sending her claws through its eyes. But before she could regain her feet, something huge fell on her, an avalanche of teeth and claws and black fur. Her chest was crushed, her arms pinned to the side, she stared into pale green eyes and a mouth crowded with pointed, bone-white fangs. It nuzzled her neck in a mummery of a playful dog, preparing to rip her throat out.

Then more weight was on her, a feather's touch away from shattering her bones. The werewolf screamed.

Gathering all her strength, she rolled out from under its corpse. Glorfindel was standing on top of it, struggling to pull his sword from the werewolf's huge neck.

He was not looking at her, but past her, and his frantic efforts redoubled.

Laura turned. She saw a great shadow, and in that shadow was a form of darkness and fire, of man-shape yet greater, and a power and terror seemed to go before it. It spread its wings in a rush of thunder and red flames leaped around it.

She felt her mouth go dry with sudden terror as the furnace-fire of its yellow eyes pierced her.

Then she was swept aside into the cliff face with crushing force. The Balrog's sword took fire, red, yellow, orange, painting the night with harsh hues.

It raised its sword with both hands and brought the flaming blade crashing down with all its might.

Glorfindel spun aside even as the rock he was standing on shattered into dust. Splinters of rock and ice flew.

In the wavering firelight there was a greatness to Glorfindel, and a goodness as well, and he stood like a monument of some ancient king of stone.

But his hands were empty.

The Balrog did not hesitate. With a cry that made stones fall from the cliffs above, it came onto Glorfindel, sword raised to cleave the Elf in half. Glorfindel leapt to meet its rush, sliding under the flaming blade, the glint of steel in his hand. He thrust up and pierced the Balrog's belly, twisting it deep into the demon's flesh, and the Balrog screamed, a wordless, trenchant sound that cut through sanity like a blade through silk.

Glorfindel skidded backwards, his hands going to his ears, his face twisted with pain. The demon teetered on the edge of echoing nothingness. A gust of wind blew against, and it fell over, down, down, down, down. But even as it fell, it wrapped its hands around Glorfindel's blowing hair.

Laura screamed in helpless, empty-handed anguish, her fingers brushing only the tips of his. And then the two were far out of reach, plummeting down into the yawning emptiness of the abyss.

"D'or!" she shrieked, and the wind carried her words. "D'or!" Those would be the last words Glorfindel would hear from his beloved Mánya for Three Ages.


Lord Glorfindel's POV

'Ai! Mánya, I failed! This is done. Even if the Guardian lets me from his Halls, I will return to Valinor. And you can never come…..

Why didn't I realize before that I loved you? Why was I so blind? Why did I want to deny it? If we had accepted our truth earlier, we would have had so many more happy days.

But I assure you that I will never forget you, nor will I go on with my life without you. I will not leave the Halls of Mandos until Arda is unmarred again, because if I return and you are not there ... what use is life to me?

I love you Laura Kinney, I love you my beautiful Anvanya, I love you my beloved Wandering Star! Now and always!


She heard footsteps behind her but did not care. They could imprison her, kill her...she had lived too long anyways.

There was only one thing they could not do.

"Don't take my necklace," she said, kneeling on the edge of the abyss. The wind beat the snow into swirling ribbons of white. "Glorfindel made me this.

"You will keep your necklace."

The voice filtered as if from very far away. Someone was taking her under the arms and lifting her to her feet, guiding her to some other place with a hand on her back.

The tears burned like vinegar as they ran down her cheeks.

At some point, different hands were on her shoulders and a voice was saying, "Lay the stone, Laura. Lay the stone."

The words lay in her mind like an oil skim on water. She took the stone that was handed to her and laid it on the mound.

Snow whistled around her.

She noted it was a poorly built mound, hastily erected and the stones did not fit together.

She wondered who they were burying.

Then she saw Idril spread a cloak over the cairn. It was shredded and blood-stained, but she could still see the celandine flowers winding their way across the white mantle.

D'or, she thought wildly. Give him his cloak, he'll be so cold. And then she thought, Why are they burying him? You don't bury the sun.

"Come, we must leave." It was Idril's voice that spoke to her now, Idril who was pale and beautiful and bloodied, ghosts of tears carved into her marble cheeks.

"Yes," Laura whispered. "At some point, we all must leave."


Waiting for your reviews, guys!