Part Four: Fall Into Darkness
Elanna was ancient enough to no longer count time in mere days and yet she marked each sunset from the day the Fellowship left Imladris, marked them in the thick parchment pages of her journal, marked them with the emptiness of her work table where she usually had some craft at hand, marked them with the depth of her long memory.
She returned again and again to a map borrowed from Elrond's study, unrolling it across her bed and measuring the distance they might have traveled, if they went this route or that, through sunshine or rain-beleaguered days. She did not sleep but sometimes she dreamed, sitting by the rocky pools where the river bent and twisted; and her dreams were whipped by mountain winds, bitten by stone teeth. Immune to the cold or heat that might surround her, the dreams sent chills rippling across her back.
A word of reassurance from Mithrandir would have been welcome, but no word could be trusted not to endanger the messenger or the Fellowship's quest if by chance it was intercepted; and so she had only her dreams, her map, and her trust in his wisdom.
Glorfindel sat vigil with her, when he wasn't engaged in the stepped-up patrols of the woods and lands surrounding Imladris. She also passed the days by helping those of her people who were leaving to pack and make ready for their journey to the Grey Havens and beyond. Those younger than herself, and most were, sought her description of the city of Alqualonde that would greet them, and the wide green plain beyond the valley.
And so it was on the 21st day, as she closed the lid of a carefully packed trunk, its interior a honeycomb of tubes filled with scrolls and rolled painted canvases, that the Dark consumed her. Blackness covered her eyes in a waking dream, and sound was muffled as if by interminable distance. She could see nothing. Fear pounded in her heart, made her belly liquid. The stench of fire and ash surrounded her and she felt as if she was falling. She threw her hands out to catch herself but they could find no purchase. Falling, falling, she could find no voice to shout, no spark of light to catch hold of.
Thus Glorfindel found her, sprawled on the floor, eyes open but unseeing, mouth wide in a silent scream.
"Glorfindel, tell me again what it was like to go to the Halls of Waiting," Elanna said softly, rolling a goblet between her palms that was filled with red wine, I his /I favorite wine.
They sat together, two ancient Noldor, in the Hall of Fire, a good place to think, and for him, to mend a broken stirrup. She had spent a great deal of time there since word had come from Lothlorien, confirming what her heart already knew: Mithrandir had fallen at the bridge of Khazad-dum, just as she'd foreseen.
A small fire flickered on the hearth, the snap and crackle of it the only sound. It's illumination was scarce more than the misty glow that emanated from their skin.
The elf warrior paused before answering her. "It's a difficult question to answer. There was the balrog, that I remember in every detail, and then…stars--I suppose they were stars--but they were alive. They could have been the Ainur; they were so beautiful. And then I was at peace, a green peace. I…slept…I think that is what it was, from what I have seen of Men doing it. There were no dreams." He shrugged, the broken stirrup forgotten in his lap. "I don't know how much time passed; it seemed I had always been there, and yet I opened my eyes too soon. I saw the stars again, far away in the black of night. I was lying naked alone on the mountainside, near where I'd fought the balrog."
"But why?" she asked intensely, gripping the goblet. "Why you?"
"I do not know. I used to wonder, but I no longer expect to ever know. It is as it is." He reached over and placed his hand on her arm. "But you can't pin your hopes on it happening again. He is gone."
"But he is not one of us, or one of any other race of Middle Earth; he has--had--a mission here. Surely it is incomplete."
"I wish I could give you hope," he said softly. "But I think you would be better off without such falsehood."
The wind sighed through the arches of the windows, fluttering the full sweep of her gown and making the fire gutter. It brought the scent of autumn leaves as they curled inward on themselves and fell from the trees.
Gently, Glorfindel removed the goblet from her grasp to set it on the hearth. She noticed that she had unwittingly bent it out of shape, the bowl compressed into an oval. He got up and stood before her, taking her hands in his and stroking the backs of them with his thumbs. "What I can give you is comfort," he said.
Elanna pulled her hands away, withdrawing them into wide sleeves. "I'm sorry, Glorfindel. My grief is too new. For now, I dwell in memories."
"May you find comfort there then," he said. He withdrew himself and sat back down. "For myself, I shall make ready to ride with the next caravan to the Grey Havens. I would be honored to accompany you, if you will ride with me."
"Not yet. Though I long to return home, I sense there is yet something undone."
He shook his head. "Mithrandir is gone. You must accept it."
"I will stay awhile."
Silently, he picked up his stirrup and finished repairing it. Taking up the bit of worn and split leather he'd replaced, he tossed it into the fire. It twisted and writhed before flaring up along its length. Soon all that was left was ash.