Chapter 23 - "Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?" (Shakespeare; As You Like It)
NOTICE: You may have gotten notifications about me updating various chapters. This was me removing any borderline-coarse language, wanting to make this story appropriate for all ages. :) I also removed the use of the word "god", as a religious person I became uncomfortable with the blasé use of the word and felt I should change it. Thanks for your patience guys!
UPDATE: I have since returned to this chapter and made a few small alterations to the final scene - this pertains to Elanor and Glorfindel's farewell. I would recommend you read it as it is integral to the furthering of the tale.
Elanor was lost in a delirium of exhaustion by the company trotted into the valley of Harrowdale the following evening. Eärendur had conceded his position as her escort to Glorfindel and Legolas, who rode on either side of her.
She was too tired to notice.
Her mind felt leaden with the quantity of thoughts which besieged it. She had innumerable questions concerning the future, but was so consumed by staying on Fundanár's back that she could not spare any energy to ask Glorfindel.
Or thank him.
Beyond saving Boromir, she had little advice to offer concerning the quest. Everything else she believed had to remain as it was to ensure the quest would succeed.
I hope Aragorn can live up to the book, and manage the rest… I have no idea what to do if he doesn't…
Yeah, and you'd better hope that Boromir's survival doesn't cause horrible knots in the storyline! What if he refuses to give up the throne to Aragorn?
Well what if his survival means Faramir doesn't have to go through his near-death experience?
And if Denethor lives?
…then that could get messy… oh, why didn't I think of that…
She shook her head, trying to clear it. A headache throbbed painfully at the nape of her neck, and her vision felt foggy. She had reached a state of tiredness where she no longer cared where she slept, or if she slept at all.
"We approach Dunharrow," Glorfindel called to her from out of the darkness.
Thank goodness… though I don't know if I ought to be glad or not…
As best as Elanor remembered—which, she was forced to admit, was not very well at present—Dunharrow was the place with the high cliff and winding pathway.
She was not disappointed.
It was not long before the company slowed, and began the painstaking climb to the cliffside haven of Dunharrow. It was full dark, and yet fairly early in the evening when they reached the top of cliff. It appeared that at the head of the path was a large grassy meadow, and lines of white tents glowed dully in the moonlight.
The following day, Elanor might recall vague images of the dark camp, of falling from Fundanár's back into Glorfindel's arms, and being laid gently upon a soft bed. That night, however, she passed into oblivion before she could process any of the things she wanted to say or do.
Elanor drifted out of sleep with blissful slowness.
She was curled up on her right side, wrapped in a snug pile of furs and blankets. Her cheek was pressed against something pleasantly soft, and for once she could not feel a multitude of stones and tussocks pressing into her arm and side.
She breathed deeply and pressed her eyes closed.
If I could forget that this bed is slightly harder… and that it doesn't smell like this… and I don't hear the sound of canvas flapping… I could be at home…
Where is home, Elanor?
In Riv— …gee thanks, that ruined it.
Sighing forcefully, Elanor opened her eyes.
She was lying within a fairly large tent, not the pitiful triangle affairs she had grown accustomed to seeing. This was rather like the airy tents that the various families had used whilst camping at the medieval festival back home…
Enough. You have plenty to worry about without letting yourself fall into Homesickness: Round Two!
She sat up, wincing as she did so. Every part of her body throbbed from days of exertion, but she found she was able to observe her surroundings.
The tent stood upon the grass, but the floor was largely covered with rugs and furs. She was not sleeping on the ground, as she had first supposed, but upon a kind of cot or camp-bed. There were several chairs resting precariously upon the uneven "floor", and there was even a small wash-basin in one corner.
Well the Rohirrim certainly know how to camp…
The entrance to her tent hung closed, though as Elanor watched it a gentle breeze tickled the flap. She glimpsed the grey sky between the white folds.
Oh dear, it's still early…
Part of Elanor wanted to curl back up into a ball and sleep the day away, but she could not put aside a niggling feeling that she ought to get up. She was dressed in the clothes she had put on in the Hornburg, and her stomach was gnawingly empty. With a start, she realised that she had neglected to eat dinner the night before. Steeling herself, Elanor rolled forward until she was kneeling on the cot. Her legs throbbed, pain lacing up and down her thighs, hamstrings, and glutes. She hoped she would be able to walk.
Shifting her feet around to the right, she manoeuvred herself until she sat upon the edge of the cot. Her backside felt as if she were sitting on a bed of rocks. She screwed up her face and eased herself onto her feet.
Her legs were unsteady, but they held.
Elanor took a few experimental steps, bending over and lunging forward on both legs to loosen her knotted muscles. She noted that her boots sat at the end of her bed, and she attempted to tug them onto her feet.
This is worse than a session at the gym…
She grimaced. It had been a long time since she had thought of her membership at the 24-hour gym back home. Clenching her jaw to stifle memories, Elanor pushed aside the tent flap and stepped outside.
The meadow in which her tent was pitched was still dim, as the sun had not yet arced above the looming mountains. Considering that it was before dawn, there was a surprising amount of activity within the camp. Many horses were tied to picket lines, and there were several rows of tents. Soldiers and grey-cloaked Rangers were moving about purposefully. It was deja vu, being so similar to the medieval festival her family had attended.
Elanor took a deep breath. She could remember nothing from the night before, and her stomach tightened.
What if they left without telling me?
She was adamant that she would not go with them to intercept the Corsair ships, and walk the Paths of the Dead. But the thought that they might depart without informing her smarted painfully.
Hurrying forward, Elanor angled towards what she believed to be the centre of the campsite. She was not disappointed. As she rounded a row of tents, she strode headlong into a small cluster of familiar faces. They were abruptly silent, and all seemed surprised at her appearance.
"Elanor," smiled Legolas, smoothing the tension, "we were just speaking of waking you."
She gave him a tight smile in response, eyes flicking between the faces of the group before her. Elladan and Elrohir were silent, and even the elder twin looked grim and stern. Aragorn was flanked by Halbarad, both grey-faced and weary, whilst only Glorfindel and Legolas maintained a semblance of their usual selves. Several of the Rohirrim loitered nearby, apparently in conversation but sending frequent and furtive glances towards the mixed group.
"Good morning, Elanor," nodded Aragorn, in his slow, courteous voice. She responded in kind, and for a moment the silence was broken by murmured greetings. Elanor realised then that she had marched in during a conversation, and felt her cheeks redden a little. The uncertainty in the air was palpable. After an awkward pause, Aragorn spoke again.
"Prepare to depart; we cannot linger long, for my heart forebodes that haste is needed."
The company gave varied gestures of acquiescence, and melted away to do as he bid. When she glanced around, even the Rohirric soldiers had made themselves scarce. Only Elladan and Elrohir remained, and moved to speak with her.
"I believe you are not unfamiliar with the current state of things," began Elrohir, "and from Legolas' words I have gathered that you do not wish to travel further with us, nethig."
Elanor's heart faltered, but she shook her head. "No. I don't want to say goodbye, but I doubt I would fare well in a battle." She glanced at Elladan, who gave her a half-smile.
"That is wise." Elrohir sighed, his creased brow reminding her so much of Elrond that she felt her stomach lurch. "We have doubts in leaving you, but Aragorn has spoken of you to Lady Éowyn. She will take you whither she goes, and we entrust you to her keeping."
Oh goodness, that couldn't go wrong at all!
Elrohir must've noticed the expression on her face, for her frowned slightly. "The future is uncertain, for your foresight can no longer be relied upon. Be on your guard, nethig, and do not do anything rash." He gave her a sad smile at the end, and reached out to brush her cheek with his hand. Elanor nodded.
"I will do my best, Elrohir."
Elladan clasped her shoulders then, turning her so she looked directly into his fathomless grey eyes.
"We will come back to you, Ellie—you said so yourself. And we expect to see you in Minas Tirith to celebrate our victory ere long," he said, smiling playfully and squeezing her arm.
"I look forward to it," she managed, forcing the words to sound hopeful and assured. Elladan embraced her, before stepping back and allowing Elrohir to do the same.
"Now come, for you shall farewell the rest of the party in due form, as the Lady Éowyn shall," the younger twin said, slipping an arm around her shoulders. Elladan followed on her other side, and they soon came upon the familiar sight of thirty men in grey cloaks. At their head Elanor saw Aragorn, an inch or two above all the others, and Legolas and Glorfindel nearby. Whilst she was affectionate with her Elvish foster-family in private, Elanor had come to realise that such demonstrative behaviour was not appropriate in public. It had not taken long to realise her display at the Fellowship's departure was considered exceedingly forward.
As such, Elrohir gently removed his arm from about her. Elladan squeezed her hand briefly, and with several sad looks they moved to join the company.
Feeling rather like a lost child, Elanor walked slowly past the Rangers, receiving several grim nods of greeting and farewell. She could see a golden head speaking to Aragorn, and presumed this to be Éowyn.
I'm finally going to meet her, and I find myself "in her keeping". Goodness, Elladan and Elrohir would never have done that if I'd told them all of the antics that she gets up to!
Before she reached Aragorn and his almost-love-interest, however, Elanor felt a gentle touch on her arm. She jumped. Her body was still tense from days of riding and stress, and she spun around to find the one who touched her.
Eärendur smiled apologetically, and Elanor could have slapped herself for her reaction.
He seemed to remember his manners then, and bowed formally.
"Lady Elanor," he said.
"Eärendur," she replied, curtseying and hoping the pain did not show on her face. Her legs still ached.
"You do not journey on with us?" the Ranger asked, hope mingled with concern.
"No; my brothers deemed it safer that I remain in Dunharrow, in the Lady Éowyn's company," she responded, eyes down. She liked the young man, not yet worn down by the cares of the world. He was less reserved than the others, and still laughed and smiled readily.
At the rate I collect people, I'm going to be missing and worrying about half of Middle Earth before this war is over! So many friends, and so much fighting.
She glanced up again, studying his grey eyes and handsome face.
Likelihood is, he'll die too.
"I am glad you will remain where it is safe," Eärendur said. "I shall miss your company on the road, however; you made bearable many a long hour in the saddle."
"As you did for me," she smiled, pushing away the thoughts which came unbidden of still pale faces, of Elladan and Elrohir, Legolas and Glorfindel…
Eärendur's gaze flickered to those standing nearby for an instant. Then, gently, he reached out and took her hand. Elanor breathed in sharply as he looked down upon her, an intensity in his face she had not observed before.
"I shall see you when I return, Lady Elanor, will I not?" he asked, voice low and almost… tender.
…he doesn't… surely… does he mean…
"I—I believe so," she stammered, wondering if she was reading too much into the quiet question. "I will see you all after the war is over, I suppose. Why do you ask?"
He gave a short bark of laughter, drawing the eyes of several of the others. Elanor flushed under their scrutiny, acutely conscious of the warmth of Eärendur's hand around her own.
"Do you not know, Elanor of Imladris?" he asked, drawing her eyes back to his.
Not until about ten seconds ago I didn't!
"Eärendur—"
"I do not ask for a pledge, lady; save only that you will consent to speak with me after all is said and done."
"I do not know what Elrond—"
The creasing of his brow cut her off, and he released her hand as if it were hot iron. For a second his voice bordered on anger, veined with bitterness. "I perceive your meaning, my lady. Elrond Peredhel should not wish his daughter bound in troth to one so lowly as myself. I shall trouble you no more."
He was just beginning to bow and leave when Elanor reached out and clasped his arm. She was full of bewilderment and confusion, but would not see her friend leave in high dudgeon.
"Eärendur, no! Of course not. I am not Elrond's real daughter, but an adan, and a lowly one at that. I merely meant to say that I do not know what Elrond has planned for me, if all should go well; I cannot remain in his household forever, and he may see fit to send me elsewhere." She finished slowly, swatting away painful thoughts of her Australian home that mingled confusingly with this new development.
Eärendur… has a crush on me?
If kissing Boromir was bad, having one of the Dúnedain fall in love with you has to be worse! How could this happen? I have Tim! I'm in love with Tim!
And if you never get back to him?
Then I'll love him to the day I die.
The other Rangers had ceased to pay attention to the two young people, deep in conversation, for which Elanor was profoundly glad. Eärendur's eyes were downcast, but she squeezed his arm once more, willing him to look up. She had no idea what she would say to the soft-hearted young Ranger later, for she couldn't tell him the truth about her boyfriend from back home, at least not now.
Still, you can deal with that later. For now… is it wrong for him to hope? I can always tell him 'no' when he's not heading into battle, with death looming above his head!
"Do not jest or speak falsely, Elanor," said Eärendur, finally, running his thumb across his own work-worn palm. "If you are dismayed by what I have asked, speak plainly and say as much, for I would not foster hope where there is none."
Now's your chance—put him off!
Instead she smiled gently. "Eärendur."
He looked up, hope upon his features. "Elanor?"
Elanor hesitated, and gave a brief nod.
You fool! Now you've got to tell him later that you lied to him!
He looks like a lost puppy, alright? How on earth do you expect me to say no to someone as young and sweet-looking as him?!
"Elanor," he said again, gently. He lifted one hand as if to touch her face, but seemed to think better of it. "I have not laid eyes upon any fairer than thee. Were the world a kinder place, I should not be speaking of such things to you on the eve of battle, but such it is. I am yet young by the standards of my race, and though you have not the longevity of my people, still I would make you my wife if you heart is as mine."
Is this a proposal?
"But alas," he continued, glancing about, "our time is short, and I have allowed my thoughts to wander. I do not ask for an answer now, though your words bring me hope." He smiled, and it was an expression of such tender affection that Elanor felt panic rise within her.
Forcing it down, she returned the gesture and glanced down at her toes.
"I am most flattered, Eärendur," she responded quietly, feeling that at least that much was true. "As you say; time is short and now is neither the time nor place." Elanor hesitated, desperately hoping she didn't say too much or too little and mess the whole thing up.
She looked up at his face, feeling a pang of remorse at the hope and delight written about his grey eyes. She was just bracing herself to utter a non-committal response, when the words stuck in her throat like wads of cotton wool.
"Be safe, and come back," was all she managed, half-choked with emotion.
Well done Elanor, you just told him you liked him as much as he likes you! rejoined her inner voice, as Eärendur smiled broadly and took her hand for the second time.
He's so sweet! What else did you expect me to do?!
"You have made my heart glad," he said, squeezing her fingers. "And I beg that you not endanger yourself in any fashion. I will return, and I would not wish to find—" He broke off and shook his head, dismissing the notion.
Eyes straying, Elanor noticed the approach of one of Eärendur's friends and swiftly disentangled her hand from his. The Ranger turned, and, with surprising tact, concluded his profession of love with a nod.
"Be safe, Lady Elanor."
Eärendur's friend—the one Elanor had encountered in the tree all those days ago—was desperately trying to suppress a smirk. Feeling alarmed at the gossip that would likely fly about the company, she blushed and curtseyed to the pair. Both men nodded—though Eärendur was still grinning stupidly—and melded back into the crowd of grey-cloaked Rangers.
Elanor exhaled heavily, her face hot and her insides turned all aflutter. Before anyone else could notice her discomfort, she continued past the company to the head of the group, where Aragorn and Lady Éowyn were still conversing.
Despite her own flustered state, Elanor was immediately aware of a feeling of tension as she approached the two figures. She padded slowly forward, standing beside Glorfindel, who barely spared her a glance. Several metres away was Aragorn, his back to them. Past his mighty frame, Elanor glimpsed a beautiful woman with long golden hair, her face twisted in distress and tears upon her cheeks.
"Aragorn, wilt thou go?" she asked, in a voice clear and lilting.
"I will," replied the Ranger.
"Then wilt thou not let me ride with this company, as I have asked?"
Oh goodness, more angst. Of all the things to happen today, it has to be the moment Éowyn gets all up-in-arms because Aragorn doesn't love her…
At the woman's request, Elanor felt Glorfindel stiffen beside her. She knew the Elf would resist the presence of a woman, for some part of him still ached at the Fall of Gondolin. The fact that she was there herself concerned him—he had confided as much to her in the earlier stages of the previous night's ride, before she passed into delirium.
"I will not, lady," came Aragorn's gentle reply. "For that I could not grant without leave of the king and of your brother; and they will not return until tomorrow. But I count now every hour, indeed every minute. Farewell!"
Then she fell to her knees, saying: "I beg thee!"
"Nay, lady," Aragorn said, taking her by the hand and raising her to her feet. He kissed her hand then, and Elanor looked away. The tall man longed for Arwen, though he put the pain aside in favour of duty, and displayed a quiet courtesy to all.
As you long for Tim, and Eärendur longs for you…
"Why does the world have to be so complicated," she sighed, under her breath. Glorfindel's sharp ear must have caught the utterance, and he turned to face her.
"For the path we tread is neither broad nor straight, Elanor."
She laughed a little.
"Oh, but I wish it was!"
He nodded, mirth fading. "I also wish as much."
Realising that Aragorn was about to depart, for he moved swiftly to his horse, Elanor stirred herself to action.
"Glorfindel, I never thanked you for all you did," she whispered quickly. "Especially with Boromir. I am relieved to have been able to change that much of the story, at the least." She gave him a watery smile, feeling her thanks was woefully inadequate. "Even if I shall be left on the brink of adventure for the rest."
The Elf nodded, reading the deep sincerity in her eyes despite her lack of eloquence. "You are welcome, Elanor. Did I not say I could not refuse aught that you asked of me?" His eyes were startlingly blue, painfully reminiscent of her boyfriend.
Oh gosh, Tim… if I had to be loved by anyone in Arda, it would be Glorfindel, and not Eärendur. Glorfindel knows the truth about where I come from, and has seen me at my best and worst.
And he's as perfectly handsome as one could get…
But I love Tim!
And Glorfindel could never have feelings for me; he is an Elf, and I am a Human. Even were I born and bred in Middle Earth, such a thing would never work.
Realising the need for haste, Glorfindel touched her gently on the shoulder. "I said once you reminded me of the Princess Idril, Elanor; I will say as much again. She was as dear to me as one of my own kin, and so you have become."
Is that a kind way to say, "you're buried six feet under in the friend zone"?
"Thankyou, Glorfindel," Elanor replied, feeling as if she'd had enough startling revelations for one day. "You are like a brother to me as well."
For an instant, the Elf's face was clouded with confusion. Then he nodded and gave her a lingering smile, grasping his horse's reins and mounting with balanced grace.
In a rustling of grey cloaks—the dull colour of the Ranger's garb interrupted occasionally by the lighter weave of Lórien—they were gone.
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