Chapter Nine: Running
Rasaras loved to run. He loved the sun on his face, the wind rushing through his hair, his feet barely touching the ground with each step. It was a feeling of freedom, as if he was a being unbound to earth or sky. But today, he felt differently.
He felt as if he was running away from something. He knew that he was not, that he was just obeying Glorfindel's command. He knew that what he was doing was as important as what Glorfindel was doing. But that could not change the feeling of guilt that lodged in his mind: a kind of shame, as if he was doing something wrong by running home.
He came to a stop by one of the trees. Its branches rose high above the forest floor, every twig and limb dusted with snow. Here and there, birds were perched on the branches. None of the feathered creatures seemed disturbed by Rasaras's presence.
He sighed as soon as he had caught his breath. This area of the forest was so peaceful and calm. The wind had become stronger, but at least it was blowing toward Imladris rather than the other direction. The snow did not bother the little birds—they darted around the branches and called to one another, as if neither blizzards nor Númenóreans meant anything to them.
Through the thick growth of trees, he could see a single doe moving silently across the snow. She paused and gazed up at Rasaras, taking him in with her deep black eyes. She gingerly approached him, her large oval ears swiveling back and forth as if she was cautious of some danger. He stood as still as he could.
She stepped right up to him and sniffed delicately at his broken arm, as if to try to understand why it was hanging in a splint. Apparently the only Elves she had ever seen were perfectly healthy, and an injured Elf was something new and disturbing to her. He smiled to reassure her that all was well.
Suddenly her ears pricked and she darted in the other direction, her white tail sticking straight up like a warning flag. The birds screeched and nearly ran into one another in their rush to fly away as quickly as they could. A short howl echoed in the forest behind Rasaras.
His heart leaped into his throat. Wolves!
If he ran to escape, he would not leave a clear enough trail for Glorfindel and Erestor without leaving a trail that was also clear enough for the hunting wolves. If he stayed, the wolves would simply attack him. He had only one solution.
He jumped as high as he could and clutched at the lowest branch of the tree with his good arm. With one arm broken and hanging useless in a splint, he realized that he might have trouble getting up the tree. He tried to swing himself toward the trunk, so that somehow he could wrap his legs around the brach and twist himself onto it. It was a difficult maneuver, but it was less painful than meeting death at the hands of the ravenous predators.
He had just managed to balance himself on the branch when the wolves burst into view. They circled the tree, sniffing greedily, and tried to leap at him. The leader of the pack snarled at Rasaras, its yellow eyes burning with hunger.
Rasaras shrank against the trunk of the tree. He wished that his arm was not broken—he could easily defeat the wolves if he had the use of his bow!
Suddenly the lead wolf stopped and sniffed the air. It gave a few short barks to its pack and then ran off in the other direction.
Rasaras frowned with confusion. Why did the wolves just leave? They were thin and mean with hunger; why did they simply leave him in the tree?
Then it hit him. The wind was blowing toward Imladris. It carried the scent of everything behind Rasaras to the wolves.
The wolves had picked up the scent of Glorfindel and Erestor.
Snow swirled around Glorfindel's head, tugging his hood in every direction. It was only a light snowfall, but the wind was strong enough to unnerve him. Súlfëa plodded on through the drifts, doggedly refusing to give up.
He glanced down at Erestor, who had awoken after a few hours of restless sleep. The advisor was wrapped in his warmest cloak, but he was shaking and shivering so hard that his teeth chattered. Glorfindel frowned—Elves were not supposed to feel the cold, only mortals did. But there was no doubt that Erestor was cold. His lips even had a blue sheen.
Glorfindel bent so that he could speak to Erestor without shouting. "Are you all right?"
The blue eyes found his, vibrant with fear. "Cold," Erestor gasped between shivers.
Glorfindel hesitated. He could not just give Erestor his own cloak; he was wearing it, and he had no desire to let wet snow seep in through his tunic. But he could not just leave things as they were—if Erestor was shivering with the cold, something was very wrong with him. He had to keep him warm.
"Lean back," Glorfindel said. The advisor looked confused, but he obeyed. Glorfindel reached on either side for his cloak and wrapped the thick fabric around both himself and Erestor like a blanket, his arms crossed in the front.
Erestor shuddered and closed his eyes, huddling into the offered warmth. "Thank you."
Glorfindel smiled. "You're welcome." Then he frowned. It seemed like Erestor was all skin and bones wrapped in layers of cloth. No wonder he felt the cold; he was practically emaciated. He looked like he was wasting away with grief and injury and despair.
Glorfindel drew his arms tighter around the bony shoulders. No one in his company or under his care was going to die of depression. It was an absurd waste of life. Erestor deserved better than that.
"I did not bring you all this way so that you could die," he said in Erestor's ear. "I can tell you that Mandos is not merciful to those who die such pitiful deaths."
Erestor gave a mirthless chuckle. "What about those who live such pitiful lives that everyone would be better off if they were dead?"
"I have yet to meet anyone like that," said Glorfindel, but his heart sank. So that was the root of the problem. He had said terrible things without thinking, and Erestor had listened. Valar, he had thought that all that animosity was behind them!
Erestor did not argue, but his eyes were filled with doubt. He shivered.
There was something wrong. Erestor could not put his finger on whatever it was, but he could feel it. His mind was not very clear, and the fact that not even Glorfindel's thick cloak could keep him warm was alarming, but everything else was overrided with the intense feeling that something was dreadfully wrong.
The dream from the night before continued to haunt him. Faces he knew from years ago had surrounded him, and familiar voices had screamed his name—some in fury, some in desperation. Even now, when he was awake, he could constantly see the faces out of the corner of his eye.
He turned to look behind him. "Glorfindel? Do you think we are being followed?"
Glorfindel frowned. "Followed? No, why do you think that?"
"There are faces in the forest. Can you not see them? They peek out from behind the trees and watch us pass."
Glorfindel looked around, then down at Erestor. His eyes were wide, and he looked disturbed. "Are you feeling all right, Erestor?" He pulled off his glove and then put it to Erestor's face, as if to see whether or not he had a fever. "You're hallucinating."
Erestor slapped the hand away in frustration. "Stop making a jest of it, Glorfindel. I am being serious. Something is wrong, I know it. I think perhaps we are being followed."
"I am certainly being serious. There is something wrong. Are you sure that you feel all right?"
"Yes, I am sure!" tossed back Erestor with disgust, choosing to ignore the fact that his headache had returned in full force. "Listen to me! There is something wrong here. I know it beyond any shadow of doubt."
Glorfindel hesitated. His face was full of sympathy and worry. "I—I will keep an eye out, Erestor." He gave a short, nervous laugh. "I have certainly learned not to ignore you."
Erestor wanted to scream with frustration. His thoughts would not stay in order, he had a feeling of impending doom, he was seeing faces behind the trees that Glorfindel dismissed as fancies, and now Glorfindel was patronizing him!
Suddenly he heard a faint howling noise. He turned to Glorfindel. "There, did you hear that?"
Glorfindel's expression had turned from concern to wariness. "Yes. It sounds like wolves."
Another howl sounded, much closer than the first. Súlfëa gave a short whinny of fear. Her ears pricked.
Erestor felt Glorfindel's grip tighten. The Vanya had kept an arm around his waist as they rode, to make sure that Erestor did not fall off since he was usually asleep. It was a measure of precaution that Erestor had resented at first, since prolonged physical contact tended to irritate him, but he had since then grudgingly accepted it as a necessity. Glorfindel's eyes narrowed and he glanced around the forest.
The warrior's voice dropped to a whisper. "They are nearer than I thought. If they come any closer, we will make a break for the river. If I give Súlfëa the command, I will need you to hold on as tightly as you can." He glanced down at Súlfëa. "Let us hope that you can live up to your name, Windspirit," he murmured to the terrified mare.
Wild gray creatures burst out of the forest. Glorfindel shoved Erestor down against the horse's neck as one of the wolves flew right over them. Sharp howls and barks drowned out Súlfëa's screamlike neigh, and she took off at a dead gallop before Glorfindel could even give the command.
"Ride on!" urged Glorfindel. He leaned forward, so close that Erestor could almost hear both of their heartbeats. The wolves ran along beside them, their eyes furious with hunger. Several of the beasts were foaming at the mouth. Erestor nearly felt sick to his stomach as one jawed muzzle came so near his face that he could smell the rancid breath.
The wind tore at the riders. Branches slashed at their faces as they passed by too quickly to avoid them.
Suddenly Glorfindel tensed. "Hold on!" he said in Erestor's ear, then hunched over him with an arm around his head.
Erestor felt the sharp impact as Súlfëa landed a tremendous jump, then heard an all-too-familiar cracking sound beneath the flying hooves. They had reached the river, but the ice was still too thin to bear the weight of a horse and two full-grown riders.
Súlfëa galloped onward. The strong wind had blown away much of the snow here, so it was easier for her to run, but the ice was cracking right under her.
The barks of the wolves suddenly changed into shrill cries of terror. The river shattered under the gray paws. Sounds of splashing and struggling echoed behind them, then faded into nothing.
Rasaras came to a complete stop as he reached the crest of the hill. Snow covered the valley of Imladris and lay on the roof of the House of Elrond like a thick white blanket. The windows allowed glimpses of warm fires inside, and Rasaras could hear the sound of pipes and merry voices.
He felt like bursting into tears. At last he was home.
Fire seemed to pour into his tired muscles as he flew over the hill and ran toward the gleaming house. The wind was at his back, as if propelling him toward the valley by its own will.
Snowflakes caught in the braids of his pale blond hair. His broken arm burned with pain.
He kept running.
The corner of his cloak caught on an outcropping of rock and tore, leaving a shred of dark green cloth. His boots felt like stones tied to his feet.
He kept running.
Surprised voices greeted him as he neared the main house. He did not recognize any of the faces, but one of the Elves was wearing a healer's robes. Rasaras stumbled over to him.
"Master Healer!" he called. "You must make ready!"
The Elf's strong arms reached out to him, as if to hold him up. "Rasaras Eltatharion?"
Voices surrounded Rasaras's head like tittering birds.
"Were you not one of the delegates to Mithlond?"
"Why are you back so soon?"
"Where are the others?"
The healer shooed the chattering Elves away. "Please, everyone, make room! Can you not see that the boy is injured?" The dark-haired healer grasped Rasaras's shoulders and led him down the hall to the healing wing.
They met Lord Elrond in the hall. The Elf-lord looked at Rasaras and the healer with surprise.
"Mírhael? Who is this?"
Rasaras glanced up at Lord Elrond. "Rasaras Eltatharion, milord. I bring word from Lord Glorfindel."
Lord Elrond quickly opened the door to the healing chambers and ushered Rasaras and Mírhael inside. "Lord Glorfindel?"
Rasaras nodded. Mist was beginning to gather before his eyes, and the pain in his arm had increased tenfold. "He says to make ready for his and Master Erestor's arrival. Master Erestor is badly hurt and in need of healing."
Lord Elrond's eyebrows flew up to his hairline. "What about Captain Belegon, Malchathol, and Arandur?"
He swallowed and looked straight up at the Elf-lord with the last of his failing strength. "They are dead."
Mírhael barely managed to catch him as he dropped, unconscious, to the floor.
Glorfindel gazed up at the thick gray clouds with apprehension. Their problems were not over yet. They were now only several hours' hard ride from Imladris, but there was another blizzard brewing.
He shook his head and walked over to where Erestor still slept. After the incident with the wolves, Glorfindel had decided to stop and rest rather than ride any longer. Erestor had looked dangerously pale, and he was still cold. Not to mention the fact that he was hallucinating. Glorfindel vowed to himself that from now on, he would not give anyone any kind of medicine until he knew exactly how much was necessary!
"Erestor," he called gently, nudging the sleeping advisor. "Wake up. It's time to go."
He turned and began loading their belongings onto Súlfëa. The mare had rested and fully recovered from their strenuous ride. It was as if she could sense that they were drawing near to her home, and she was eager to rest in the stables. He tied on the last satchel and then turned around to see Erestor still asleep under the tree.
"Erestor, come on," he called. "We do not have time to wait. There is another snowstorm on the way, and if we hurry, we might make it to Imladris before it hits. We are only a day away."
Erestor still did not get up.
Glorfindel huffed and walked over. Of all the times for Erestor to sleep in! "Enough dawdling. This is no time to be contrary."
No answer.
Something was not right. Glorfindel reached for Erestor's uninjured shoulder and gave it a firm shake. "Erestor. Wake up. It's time to leave."
No response.
A cold feeling of panic ran up Glorfindel's spine as he crouched beside the advisor and picked him up to a semi-sitting position. "Erestor? Answer me!" He shook the Noldo as hard as he could. "Wake up! By the Valar, Erestor, wake up!"
The closed eyelids did not even flutter.
Glorfindel grabbed for his left wrist. "We're so close to home! Come on, don't give up now!" He held his fingers to the blue-veined skin. Erestor's hand was so cold.
Seconds ticked by like hours as Glorfindel breathlessly waited. Finally he detected a faint pulse. It was far too weak and slow, but it was there.
He closed his eyes and let out a relieved breath, allowing his face to fall forward and come to rest on the dark hair. "Don't scare me like that," he said, his voice faltering.
Glorfindel glanced over him, then groaned aloud as he saw the source of the problem. The strenuous, jarring ride had reopened the shoulder cut, and it was bleeding again. Whether or not the stitches had torn, Glorfindel had no idea, but the blood had already soaked through the bandage and was beginning to show through the dark tunic.
He returned to Súlfëa and pulled a fresh bandage out of one of the satchels. He did not have time to restitch the wound, or even carefully rebandage it. A blizzard was brewing, Erestor was bleeding to death, and it was almost nightfall. Time was of the essence. He tied the clean bandage around both the tunic and the shoulder, tightening it to perhaps help stop the bleeding.
He picked up the comatose advisor—a task that was much easier than he was comfortable with—and set him on Súlfëa, then leaped on after him.
"Ride on!" he called to the mare, shifting as he undid the clasp of his gray cloak and wrapped the thick fabric around Erestor.
Glorfindel bent to whisper in the advisor's ear. "Don't give up yet. We're almost home. Hold on." He sighed. "Just hold on."
Snowflakes drifted down around his face. He had never felt so alone.
Author's Notes
I really, truly am working on the sequel to "Afternoon Tea"! There's something about the style that I'm not sure I like. But I am working on it.
Coolio02: Thank you! I'm glad that you're enjoying the story!
Tiryns: Can't kill Erestor, can I? We'll just have to see about all of that… ::snickers:: Sorry this update took a while, but I've been busy with school and writing. Thank you so much for your review!
Sirielle: Happy New Year to you, too! Poland? Wow… that's amazing. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and this one too! I want to keep this story as close to the canon as I can, so I appreciate it when helpful reviewers point things out to me. Thank you!
Avalon Estel: ::shrinks back in fear:: No! Anything but that, Avie! I'll take a sane Glorfindel (or even a slightly mad one) but please, nothing like that! ;) The sequel to "Afternoon Tea" will be up as soon as I know what to do with it. Thanks for your review, and take care!
SilverWolf7: Well, what can I say? I love your story. It's not like anything I've read here, and I'd like to know what happens! If you want, you can send me the troublesome chapter and I'll beta it for you, or you can just post it and redo it later. But you're leaving us hanging! As for the dreams… I often have weird (but not portentous, by any means) dreams myself, and they can be unnerving. Anyway, thanks for your review!
Noldo: Math… shudders I don't like it a bit, I'm afraid. I just dropped my calculus course today. It was just too much. It's so easy to get attached to my characters… it's almost like I feel responsible for them, and it's hard to just let them die. What else can go wrong? You probably didn't want to know, but maybe this chapter answered your question anyway. We rang in 2005 by watching CNN and then going to bed. Very exciting, I assure you. ;) Anyway, thank you for your review and take care! (And I mean that! How is your mother, by the way?)
Ellie in ElfPajamas: Hello! I'm glad you like the story… there just isn't enough good Glorfindel and Erestor non-slash fanfiction these days! I was thinking about the character of both Glorfindel and Erestor, and how different they are to one another, and it struck me that it might have been a little difficult for them in the beginning, since they're such opposites. And then the rest fell into place after that. Thank you for your review!
seeing-spots: I'm updating! I'm updating! Glorfindel really is wonderful when he's concerned for someone else… it's a lot of fun to write him. And wow… I post "Fallen to Ashes," take a break to go eat lunch, and then come back and see your review! You sure know how to brighten my day. That piece was another one that I wasn't sure that I should post, but instead of my sister talking me into it, this time the author Erestor (as opposed to the Elf) assured me that it wasn't really drivel like I thought it was. Writing Silm-fic is almost as fun as writing Glorfindel-and-Erestor-fic. Thank you so much for your reviews, and take care!
Neige: Aw, there's no need to scold Erestor… he can't really do much about it, seeing as he's practically fading. And I'm glad you liked the snoring thing… I know this fic has come to a rather dismal point, but I like to keep some humor in there. Oh, you have to write a paper and do finals? I understand exactly. ::hugs Neige:: Here's a new chapter for you! Thank you so much for your review, and good luck!
mage of the winter: Thank you! It's interesting to write Glorfindel and Erestor as enemies, but fun. Their arguments are very entertaining to write. Yes, Erestor is more than a little defensive of his domain! Glorfindel's feelings about Gondolin will definitely have to be dealt with, won't they… :) Thank you for your review, and I hope you like the rest of the story as well!
EmySumei: Yes, they've come to a bit of an agreement… but now they've run into a few inconveniences. LOL! Yes, Glorfindel is a pretty awful healer… I'm glad he's not my doctor. ::blushes:: Thank you… I guess it's because I read so much, and I tend to unconsciously mimic the style of what I read. What a compliment! Thank you for your review, and take care!
Coming Soon: Chapter Ten: Home
