Well, it has been a v. long time since I last updated. Too long. XD. (For all of you who don't know what XD mean, turn your head left.) I'm sorry to be keeping anyone who still remotely cares about this fic waiting, but I've been really busy. Please, for the love of your tickets to the TTT Premier, review!
Chapter Two:
When they reached the forlorn campsite, the Elven raiding party decided to stop, foray what they could, and camp there for the night. A thickened smell of blood hung in the air and it was to their dismay in which they found a massacre of dead soldiers at the steep of the hills. As soon as the Lord Glorfindel turned the burning flame of the lantern on the sight, a chill ran up his body. A haunting scene was to behold. They looked around wildly and inhaled deeply to any sort of breath they could find. The camp was indeed deserted. Black, gray, and the green of the grass was the only colours it seemed to hold save the crimson, which had faded, into the grass. Even upon the dead of night, it was still a haunting sight. The drear surrounding of the slain and the thick smell of blood was nothing new to them, though seeing them was an endeavoring task still. And o! he held the light up higher, as a silent form of any sign of life. Though, secretly, he knew there was no vigor left to be found at this camp of men, only blood and death.
Tarried and dismal battle flags were struck into the ground as violently as the bearer had. The hollow wind carried the remaining cloth slightly, and it appeared that was the only other thing moving. Dead bodies, fifty or sixty even, covered the hillside, some with eyes open blankly, never going to shut and resume to felicity. Others were frozen in a gloomy position, pierced with objects, sometimes their own. Other foul stenches lingered in the air. A thickened smell of decaying flesh and sweat added to the putrid scent. Glorfindel and others of his party had to shortly look away. Indeed, they had seen blood and death in this haunting time, though the drear sight of it all was massively disgusting. Something stirred in the captain's stomach, something that made him instantly turn away, as though if he looked away it would all go away. Despite his ill affliction, the dead and the rotting where still there for all to see.
The sharp and outspoken Ealilid broke the heavy silence, "I think, perhaps, out of respect for the dead, we should be on our way. We are of Elven heritage and spoils of war from the slain before us would cost too much to our honour and pride, my friends. My notion is that we return to the boats and find a safer, less," he searched for a word that was neither hateful nor melodramatic, "barbaric sight."
"Indeed," sighed Lord Glorfindel. He bore himself erect once more. His gray eyes steadied on the gross sight, like he could never once take them off, like he was too intrigued by death to see the life of his fellow comrades. And beyond his pride and stiff face lay pity. The captain clenched his teeth together and stepped forward into the ghostly sight. His comrades had left him and returned to the boat, yet he had remained and thus ventured further toward the dead. There also lay tents, only two out of the ten still erect. Each were torn to the point of little comfort, warmth, or protection from the harsh weather which was borne only several months ago. The air was still quite nippy and preserved the disgusting scent.
All was immensely silent as Glorfindel managed to search the bodies for any sign of proof he could bare back to Rivendell as a reminder to his lord Elrond of the massacre near Gondor. Finally, he saw a dagger clenched to a man's hand. Alas! it finally struck Glorfindel that the entire scene seemed to be preserved in all its bloody glory. Each man was precisely where he was when he died. Each movement and pose was ever frozen in horror. He let little time pass. Suddenly, the captain bent down and attempted to move the dagger from a dirty and gory hand. Upon the handle of this specific dagger was the embroidered symbol of Gondor. This would surely make due. He pondered. However, the soldier of Gondor let no part from his dagger, lest his bones in the hand would be broken. So, they were. And whereupon the disgust of this, Glorfindel dropped the dagger in horror, retrieved it quickly, and hastily ran back to the boat, hiding it deeply within his cloak.
The boat traveled another four miles before settling near a shore's brook. Ripples of the water came silently, serenely, and thereafter not a word was spoken. The precise ringlet of the moon shone ever so brightly and made the chance of hope brighter than ever against the darkened sky of small stars.
As the soldiers begun to awake from the early hours of the morning, it was still, indifferently, as cold as a morning borne in spring could be. The captain had completely forgotten of the drear haunted sight, but only remembered when he found the gory dagger within a pocked of his cloak. He studied it carefully, seeing carvings that formed an intricate pattern then wove into a circle. Glorfindel decided upon himself against washing it off, although it was quite disgusting, so Lord Elrond may see the horrors of the last raid.
"Lord Glorfindel, whence have you retrieved that dagger? You had it not before we arrived at the ill sight," Paldun concluded. He was solemnly standing behind the captain, staring at the curious weapon. He continued: "It is not of Elven make. Pray, tell me where you have found that dagger. It is quite beautiful indeed, and I think it may be of Rohan, or a mortal's land, judging from the design." The Elf lord turned to look at him, with dire criticism and said: "Paldun, I found this at the campsite last night. When you had left for the boats, I took this from a man of Gondor," Glorfindel dared not explain what his eyes had witnessed when he stepped farther into the darkness on that dread night. Paldun did not question him beyond, but instead propose to leave.
They were upon their journey again. The heavy hearts of those who had witnessed the chilling sight led the boats to move along tediously. However, once inspired by the thoughts of warm food and bed and forsook the thought of death, the three boats moved along at an impressive speed. The water was greatly still, nothing in the sky save the burning sun, though however high and glorious it seemed, the day was still lifeless. It was a cold spring day where the only thing one being could desire the company of their neighbours and kin. The wounded soldiers were fell of the injuries, yet their spirits were not. Any scent of blood, sweat, or human decay that still lingered was replaced by the fresh smell of the early morning dew and such.
Although the day was rather cold and clear, yonder bore a fog. It was a fairly light mist and the elves had little mishap with such a feat. Their eyesight proved excellent and so did their hopes for reaching Rivendell. For in three days, upon good weather and quick traveling, they would arrive near the shore of their beloved Kingdom.
Neither captain nor soldiers spoke during the journey but a small phrase or inquiry for water or their thoughts of home.
Near dusk of the next night, upon a great distance, Glorfindel descried the torches of a welcoming party at hand. The torches were all held together likes little fireflies, swarming around, never staying in the same place longer than an instant. The night was perfectly clear.
"Another mile, I suppose, and we shall be home!" Announce Glorfindel, though wearily. Thusly, the boats were made faster, those who would paddle madly struck the water with the oars. Each furlong guaranteed their hopes of hospitality, pretty maidens, and a feast which did not include only lembas and salty bread and water. They would be free to do as they please until the next campaign would come to pass. As they approached the rather muddy shore of the shore of the outskirts of Rivendell, Glorfindel could distinctively see an elven figure advance toward the three boats. He bore keen, gray eyes and a long, straight nose. The lord's hair was silky black, as ebony as that of a raven, and pulled back were two strands from either side. His forehead seemed slightly too large, features slightly too narrow and precise. He was beautiful, nonetheless. The Lord Elrond was an extremely handsome being, fault permitted. The elf approached and a quicker pace now, grinning. His robe and outer garments were lengthy and rippling as he walked with elegance and primness. Several other elves walked chiefly with him, one other Glorfindel knew well and could easily identify.
"I take great honour in welcoming you back to Rivendell, Lord Glorfindel," explain the lord, "You have fought bravely and rewardingly for yourselves and your kingdom, my friends and comrades. Now, especially, I should think you would want to hear no more talk of your good deeds from me and I think what is truly in order are good baths, a warm bead, and more than you can eat, nay?"
"Oh, please, you are too generous, Elrond. I hope I, on behalf of the soldiers before you, ask, with little greed or pride, if that commodity could be arranged. We have traveled hither from a long seven weeks of battle and harsh campaigning and all that we request now is shelter and generosity, both of which you have kindly supplied," said he. Glorfindel's eyes were sharply and distinctively gladdened by the notion of these things. His eyes were sparkling in fact, under the graveness of the shadow that befell them.
Elrond ordered the party of nearly thirty soldiers to follow him into the kingdom of Rivendell. Also, he requested healers for those severely fell of injuries and wounds, though their spirits were not.
In the earliest hours of the morning, after a long-awaited and blissful repose (or the elven equivalence of such), Glorfindel awoke, refreshed and revieved. The bathing house was quite filled when he arrived. He found the morning more satisfying than he imagined, even in his dreams. Servants of his lord Elrond brought him fresh fruits and small delicacies as such, and especially wine, to help heal the loss of food suffered throughout much of the battles. Though the most satisfying thing he experienced all morning was the sight of his soldiers caught not in a fray, not wounded, but happy.
The bathing house was grand him the captain, everything, anything was. Columns connecting to the majestic roofs and arches embroidered the bathing hall. A light from a large window stirred gently on the waters surface. It was a rectangle building, sweet smell of flowers and fruit there for a all to indulge in. And o! the servants were scurrying back and forth, bringing trays of food and goods to the elves which sat wearied and wounded, but exceptionally blissful. Glorfindel sat in a light milky robe that reached his ankles. The water was elegantly warm, though nothing hot. He sat upon the first of five stairs and embraced in the glory of relaxation, for nothing to this extent of happiness and ease had ever presented itself in the two months of tedious bloodshed.
The reason for the bathing house was not particularly for bathing, but to relax in hot water and be given food straight from the Lord Elrond's kitchen. It was a glorious establishment that served a higher purpose than social gathering. The bathing halls was a statement of the elven custom of no feudal system or classes defined. Every grape and chalice of wine was Elrond's own for the usage of his kingdom and that is a single instance which separated the elves from the humans of Arda.
The sharp glare of Paldun struck him like a whip. The young elven soldier bore himself hither and to the place where Glorfindel resigned. He sat himself down on the first step as well, finger idly swirling within the serene water.
"Did you give our lord Elrond that dagger you found?" He asked. "I thought you would have, seeing as you ventured in the darkness all lone just to recover it, not to mention take it from that Gondor man's very hand!" Paldun's features were greatly handsome, though his eyes were further intense than Glorfindel's own. The circled surrounding the pupil was the darkest blue ever seen since that of the ancient elves, his skin was a creamy colour, marble even, flawless, nose narrow, and lips thin but rich in colour. He never admitted himself handsome, though an exact picture of an ancient Elf was remembered when looking at Paldun. The beauty of the ancient elves and mystery of them was greatly remembered.
"I have not, I confess. Though, I shall," there was something the elf lord was hiding, indeed, Paldun concluded. "Why do you distress yourself over my petty matter?"
"Lord Glorfindel, as much as I give you my high regard and as much as I honour and respect you and your position, I know, surely, you did not venture into that graveyard just to retrieve proof of war," Paldun spilled. His lips were shaking whereupon thus was said.
The sorrowful Elf turned toward him, "Indeed not. But please, I do not wish to further myself in a conversation in a public bathing house. Paldun, my comrade, you know the reason or in time, surely will."
It's just right there. Just, click. Not v. difficult. Just right there. Just a box. Simple click..