Chapter Twelve: Moving On
The voices. They refused to go away.
Erestor had been hearing the voices for days. Ever since Glorfindel had given him all those doses of the herbal remedy, he had been having odd dreams and hallucinations, mostly consisting of faces and voices that he remembered from the past. His brother's angry face when Erestor misbehaved as a child. His mother's shocked cry when she heard that her husband had died. His sister's world-weary expression when she told him that she was leaving for Valinor. Glorfindel's irate glare during their argument. The shock on Belegon's face as Morazôn grabbed him from behind with a knife in his hand…
The faces were always horrifying, but it was the voices that bothered him the most.
Erestor had learned how to deal with the faces. All he had to do was close his eyes to them and think of other things, and the faces would leave him alone. It was the voices that he could not escape. No matter how hard he tried to ignore them, they echoed around him. Most called his name, but some just screamed in wordless horror. Erestor could not block out the voices.
It was like living in a nightmare for days.
He knew that nothing that he saw or heard was real, but that did little to help him. The voices were so realistic. And unlike what happened in a nightmare, Erestor was unable to wake himself up. He was frightened—no, he corrected himself, not frightened. Terrified.
Suddenly one voice seemed to shatter through the others.
Erestor, it said. Hear me. Hear my voice.
Erestor could not answer the voice, because he was unable to speak, but he listened intently. There was something different about this voice.
Come back to the light.
Light? There was no light that Erestor could see. He feared that if there was light, then it would be streaming from the entryway to the Halls of Mandos; now that he thought about it seriously, he did not really want to die. There was still work to be done, duty to be accomplished. And if what Glorfindel had said was true, then Mandos would hardly be happy to see him.
Do not drown yourself in grief, the voice continued. Come back to us.
The more Erestor concentrated on this voice, the more he noticed that the other voices seemed to lose volume. They began to fade. Elated, Erestor bent all his concentration on that one voice, listening to it with every fiber of his being. There was something familiar about it.
Erestor, it said, speaking his name so differently than the other voices. Come back to us.
And then suddenly he was aware.
He was aware of many things… more than just voices. There were other sounds. A fire crackling. People breathing. A door opening, and hurried footsteps. He could feel hands on his face—one palm on each side. The hands felt so warm.
"Erestor?" There was the voice again—but this time he heard it with his own two ears, and not the dark senses of some nightmarish dream. He could not immediately place it, but it was extremely familiar. He ventured a guess…
"Glorfindel?" he asked, his voice faltering in his dry mouth. How long had it been since he had had a drink of water?
The hands on his face moved to check his pulse, but suddenly he was aware of a third hand, this one just barely touching his face, to judge his temperature.
"I'm right here, Erestor," said a voice different from the first. It was thick with relief. "Can you open your eyes?"
Erestor tried to swallow, but it seemed as if his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. "Water…"
The second voice—he could tell now that it was Glorfindel—laughed. "I'm your friend, not your servant," he said. But then Erestor felt the rim of a small cup pressed to his lips and someone holding up his head to keep him from choking. Whatever was in the cup had a bitter taste, but he was too thirsty to care.
"Slowly, now," said the first voice. Erestor's clearing mind was able to identify it as Lord Elrond.
Finally the empty cup was taken away, and a satisfied sigh escaped him as his head settled back into the soft pillow. So he was in the healing chambers. How had he come to be here? How long had he been unconscious?
"Can you open your eyes?" asked Lord Elrond, repeating Glorfindel's question from before. "The light is dim."
Even if Erestor had wanted to resist, he could not refuse Lord Elrond's voice. He had followed those gently spoken commands from darkness to light, and he would not stop now. He slowly opened his eyes, giving them time to adjust.
The room was indeed dimly lit. The only light came from the fire in the hearth and a brilliant sunset outside the window. There were faces as well as voices now—but these faces were hardly terrifying.
Lord Elrond smiled, relief and gladness twinkling in his deep silver eyes. "Welcome home," he said.
The soft snow made a crunching sound under Rasaras's booted feet. The entire valley was blanketed with it, creating a strange landscape in shades of pale gray, broken only by the sharp colors of the bare trees and evergreens. The birds were quiet, and the only sound was that of Rasaras and Eltathar stepping on the snow. They barely left footprints.
When they reached the top of the ridge, Rasaras stopped.
Ahead of him, Eltathar turned around, frowning. "Is there something wrong, Rasaras?" he asked, his voice thick with concern. "Is your arm bothering you?"
Rasaras shook his head. "No, it isn't that." He touched the limb. "It doesn't really hurt very much."
Eltathar tilted his head slightly to one side. "Then what is it?"
A slow smile found its way onto the young archer's face, and it gradually deepened to a grin. "I'm home. I'm really home." He gave a short laugh. He had waited so long to be home, really home, and now that it was almost here, he could hardly believe it.
His father smiled as well, even though he still looked confused. "Well, you are that." He walked back to where Rasaras stood and put an arm around his shoulders, to lead him on. "Your mother is going to be very glad to see you. And Alphien will be too."
"Has she had her begetting-day party yet?"
Eltathar shook his head. "We had planned it for tomorrow, but if you would rather have peace and quiet, then I think that we could postpone…"
"Oh, no, don't do that," said Rasaras, shaking his head vigorously. "If I had wanted peace and quiet, I would have stayed with Lord Elrond."
"Very well." Then Eltathar smiled. "She will be glad to know that you can be at her party after all."
"Well, I'm glad that someone is better off after all this," said Rasaras darkly. He shuddered as he remembered the pale, drawn face of Malchathol's wife. She had come to talk to him, as if he could help her make sense of what had happened to her husband, but in the end he was not sure how much good he had been. All he had done was tell her how bravely Malchathol had died, sounding the alarm to warn them, and then sit and listen to her talk until Lord Elrond came to tell her that her daughter was waiting for her. Rasaras felt terrible for both her and Malchathol's daughter, but there was little he could do.
"It was not your fault," Eltathar said suddenly.
He glanced up at his father, startled. "What?"
Eltathar stepped over a half-buried branch that stuck out of the snow like a tattered flag. "What happened in the wilds. It was not your fault."
Rasaras sighed. "I know. Lord Elrond said the same thing, and Glorfindel too, when he came to see me."
The older Elf shot him a sideways glance. "Do you believe it?"
Rasaras watched a few flakes of fluffy snow drop from one of the branches of a tree. "I want to."
"Then believe it," said Eltathar firmly. "Do not overestimate yourself. I know that you are a skilled warrior, an exceptionally skilled warrior, but you are neither Tulkas nor Ilúvatar. No one expected you to be able to single-handedly fight off every enemy that your group faced. You actually performed far better than anyone believed you could, and I have heard no end of praise of your skill." He stopped, touching Rasaras's shoulder to make him stop as well, and then he tilted Rasaras's chin upward so that they were looking eye to eye. "Do not blame yourself for events that you could neither prevent nor change," he said, his voice gentle and quiet. "You are one Elf, Rasaras. What has already happened cannot be undone, but you can still learn from it, and learn to look at it as you should."
Rasaras sighed, looking down at his father's hand. "I wish they had come back."
"So do I."
"I suppose…" Rasaras's voice trailed off. He shuffled his feet in the snow. "I just feel like a failure." He almost felt ashamed to admit it, but it was the truth. Ever since he had talked to Malchathol's wife, he had felt so guilty. He had returned; Malchathol had not. He should have done more. Perhaps if he had, then Malchathol and Arandur and Captain Belegon might have lived.
"Listen to me, Rasaras Eltatharion," said his father, the voice breaking through the dark thoughts like a sword. Rasaras glanced up, startled, to see that Eltathar's eyes were as hard as chips of stone, and they held a dangerous spark. "Do not dare repeat that in my presence. No one, no one, will ever call my son a failure. You did well. You helped to defeat your enemy, and you were directly responsible for saving Master Erestor's life. You braved blizzards and wild animals to bring back your message, and now you are coming home, to rest and recover. You are not giving up your position as a warrior, and you are not a failure."
Rasaras swallowed. "Captain Belegon—"
"—is dead, and he died bravely," interrupted Eltathar. "I am grateful to him for what he taught you, and for protecting you during the battle. I honor him as a fallen warrior. But do not blame yourself for his death, Rasaras. He was not your responsibility. None of them were."
There was a short silence while Rasaras attempted to collect his scattered thoughts. "I'm sorry," he finally said.
Eltathar sighed, a sad smile on his face. "I am not angry with you, my Rasaras. I just do not want to see you suffer when you do not have to." He sighed again, then put his arms around Rasaras, drawing him into a hug. "I love you. Nothing will ever change that. I have loved you since the night you were conceived, and you never fail to amaze me with what you have become." He held him for a few more minutes, then reluctantly drew back and gave Rasaras a genuine, if shaky, smile. "But your mother will have my head if we are late, so we had better hurry."
Rasaras nodded, attempting to massage away the twinge of pain in his arm, and they walked on toward the house.
When they reached the cottage, the door was thrown open before they could even knock, and Rasaras was instantly engulfed in his mother's embrace.
"Oh, Rasaras," Aranna breathed. "I was so worried when they said that you had been injured."
"It's only a broken arm, Nana," soothed Rasaras. "I had worse when I fell off my horse when I was learning to shoot from horseback, remember?"
She only shuddered and held him more tightly, then slowly let go. "It's good to have you home."
Rasaras smiled, and was about to say something, when suddenly there was a small cry from the hallway. He turned and saw Alphien running toward him, silver-blond curls bouncing in perfect time with her footsteps.
"Rassa!" she laughed, launching herself into his midsection. "You came!"
He couldn't help but laugh along with her, bending down so that she could hug him properly. "Hello, Allie."
She giggled into his ear. "I knew you would be here for my begetting-day party. Did you bring me anything from Mithlond?"
Rasaras grimaced and shook his head. "Not this time, I'm afraid. We didn't go all the way to Mithlond."
She frowned, but then she suddenly brightened. "Did you see any deer?"
He smiled. Alphien loved deer, and would sometimes stay outside for hours at a time, hoping to see a buck or even a fawn. "As a matter of fact, I did," he said. "She came right up to me and sniffed at my arm."
Alphien's eyes grew wide. "Did she have a fawn with her?"
"Not in the wintertime. Maybe she will have one in the spring, though."
"Will you take me to see her in the spring, Rassa?" begged Alphien. "I want to see her fawn."
He chuckled. "We'll see."
Suddenly Eltathar cleared his throat. "Aranna," he said, loudly enough so that both Rasaras and Alphien paid attention, "is that fish and lemon butter sauce that I smell?"
Alphien let go of Rasaras and attached herself to her father with a little squeal. "I helped make it! Nana let me stir the sauce by myself!"
"Well done, little butterfly," said Eltathar. "Are you going to wash your hands so that you can come enjoy it with us?"
She turned and grabbed Rasaras's hand—the one that was not dangling from the cast—and tried to pull him down the hallway. "Hurry, Rassa! You have to wash your hands too!"
"I'm coming," he laughed. Yes, he was home.
As he followed Alphien down the hallway, he heard his mother talking to his father behind him.
"Is he really going to be all right, Eltathar?" said Aranna, worry in her voice. "He looks so pale, and his face seems so much thinner than…"
Eltathar silenced her with a kiss. "He will be fine. I am sure of it."
And Rasaras could not help but agree with him.
Glorfindel looked out the window and sighed. He felt so frustrated.
Erestor was awake now; he was thankful for that. The advisor was not fully recovered yet, but Elrond seemed pleased with his progress, so it seemed safe to assume that he was finally out of danger. That was a good thing.
Glorfindel sighed again and turned around, back to the fire in the small room. If only Erestor was as glad as everyone else.
Despite his initial relief after awakening, Erestor's mood had rapidly descended into one that was absolutely abysmal. He had returned to the same state of maddeningly stoic silence that he had been in shortly before he had fallen unconscious, and no matter how cheerful or pleasant Glorfindel was to him, nothing could wipe the frown off his face.
At first Glorfindel had dismissed it as lingering grief for Belegon. Now he was convinced that Erestor was just sulking.
"You know, Glorfindel," said Erestor suddenly from the bed in the corner of the room, "you do not have to stay if you do not want to. I am fine on my own."
Glorfindel shrugged. "Maybe I want to stay."
Erestor turned back to the wall with an equally dismissive gesture. "Suit yourself."
Glorfindel closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten. Yes, he pitied Erestor. Yes, he wanted to befriend him. Yes, he had spent a lot of time worrying for him, and his perspective had definitely changed. But the fact remained that it was a lot easier to get along with Erestor when the Elf was either sleeping or unconscious.
"The funeral is taking place later on today, you know," said Glorfindel, in an attempt to start a conversation.
That got Erestor's attention. "It is?"
Glorfindel nodded. "Elrond wanted to give the families a few days to mourn on their own before he held it."
Erestor was silent for a few minutes, and at first Glorfindel thought that he was not going to reply, but then he spoke. His voice was quieter than usual. "Lord Elrond would not let me attend, I think."
Glorfindel shrugged. "Perhaps he would. You cannot use crutches, because your broken ankle is on the same side as your hurt shoulder, but perhaps someone could…"
"No," Erestor interrupted. "He would not agree. Surely you can see that."
Glorfindel sighed. "You're probably right." Then a new thought struck him: had it been a close friend of his that had died, and he could not attend the funeral, then at least he would not want to be alone. "Do you want me to stay here?" he asked. "I don't mind."
Erestor shrugged the shoulder that was not bandaged. "I am fine by myself."
"Are you sure? I don't think that Elrond would mind if I…"
"Go to the funeral, Glorfindel." Erestor looked back at him, his face emotionless. "If for no other reason than to comfort the families. You can help them."
"Who will help you?" Glorfindel wanted to ask, but he kept silent. It was obvious from the look on Erestor's face that the subject was closed. He sighed.
"Very well, then." Glorfindel turned and left the room.
Author's Notes
seeing-spots: I'm so mean? Why, thank you! ;) I'm glad that you think this is progressing well… personally, I feel like I'm constantly scrambling to tie together storylines and keep everything together. I hope to see "Grinding Ice" soon! Thank you for your review!
LOTRFaith: Well, I don't do cliffhangers very often, but this chapter was just begging for one. Yes, Rasaras is finally beginning to understand, though he still has a ways to go. Here's your update! ;) Thank you for your review!
EmySumei: Ah, I wondered if someone would question this. Yes, Alkamacar and Caranár are out of my own imagination. I plan on expanding on them at some point, because they're full of possibilities, but for now they're just names. I'm glad that you liked Glorfindel and Elrond! Even though Erestor is my favorite, those two are tied for second place (with Maglor, of course). I think the Elves of Imladris are my favorites as a group… I like to think of them as the Last Hurrah of the Eldar, since everyone else is fading. Thanks for your review!
kenzimone: True, very true. There is something hyper about Glorfindel! I like to think of him as being almost childlike at times—not necessarily childish—but full of that almost youthful innocence that most Elves lost at Cuivénen. And don't worry about my killing off Erestor… I'm not that evil! hugs Erestor And I'm glad that you like Rasaras! He's definitely very brave. Thank you for reviewing!
Mithrilside: Someone who likes cliffhangers! Finally! Everyone else seems to be angry at me; not sure why… ;) Thank you for your compliments, and for your review!
Avalon Estel: Evil? Me? (gives her an innocent face) Whatever do you mean, Avie? But yes, I'm glad that you liked Glorfindel's realizations, as late as they were in coming. And I'm so glad that you like Rasaras! He really is his own character… I'm sitting here trying to decide if there's any character or person that he reminds me of, and I really can't. I'm really proud of him. :) Gracious, something needs to be done about mad Glorfindel! Can't have him threatening the poor innocent authors… ;) Thanks for reviewing!
BanbieBunny: Wow, I'm glad that you liked it! Yes, I definitely understand what it's like to feel under the weather. You have my sympathies, and I hope you're feeling better now! (You probably are, since it's taken me so long to update, but it really couldn't be helped…) Thank you so much!
kingmaker: I'm glad that you like this story! It's probably the longest one I've ever written (and I'm close to finishing it, which is a feat in and of itself… I'm notorious for starting things and then losing interest in them! But don't worry, this one will be finished.) This story is actually completely separate from Traditional Recipes… Lindir's age is different, for one thing. But the characters are definitely themselves. Yes, I know that some parts of it are very predictable… after all, isn't it said that there are really only five plots, or something like that? But I wanted the story to be as much about the characters and their interactions as it was about what happened. I didn't think it would make sense to have the Orcs attack them, because I wasn't exactly sure where the Orcs were lurking at this point, but I knew that there were some Númenóreans who weren't exactly friendly with the Elves, so I decided to use them. And I'm also glad that you liked "The Endless Sun"! It's not my favorite, but I'm glad that you enjoyed it. Images are fun. And as for "Fallen to Ashes"… that's one of my first forages into serious Fëanorian angst, and I can tell you for sure that you can look for more Maglor in the future. And I'm glad that you liked the way that it was written… when I wrote that piece, it was almost stream-of-consciousness, and I didn't revise it as heavily as I have some. Thank you for all your wonderful reviews!
Neige: Oh, thank you… now I have "Tea and Sympathy" by Jars of Clay running through my head! ;) Well, there you have an example of my dual nature… I decided to experiment with the fine art of dangling readers over cliffs, but I wasn't so mean as to not wish them a happy holiday. As for Erestor dying… he's my favorite character and I love him dearly, so I don't think I'll kill him off now. hugs Erestor Really, I'm not that cruel! I've actually never had a broken arm, so I'm in the dark as to what it's like. I do imagine that it wouldn't be fun, though! Thank you for your review!
French Pony: Wow, thank you! There's always a little moment of shock when one of the authors you most admire reviews your stories! Yes, what I wanted to concentrate on most of all in that story was that even though Maglor and Celegorm were corrupted kinslayers, they were still Elves and they still loved their brothers. Thank you for your review!
Lombadia Greenleaf: Thank you! Yes, that search engine can be frustrating. I find it easier to navigate by guessing who is on whose favorite story list, and checking to see if someone reviewed something… following links instead of that crazy search engine! And I'm glad that you like "Traditional Recipes" as well! Thanks for your review!
Golden Elf: Wow, thanks! Yes, Glorfindel and Elrond definitely have senses of humor.
Ramarama: French? Oh, I can't imagine… I took Spanish, so I left off at past tense. I'm glad you like this! I can't imagine that Glorfindel and Erestor would have been friends right away, since they're so different, but eventually they'll work out their differences. Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Noldo: Ah, no worries. I understand completely about school taking over! That's one of the reasons that this one is taking so long to update. When I'm not working on this story, Traditional Recipes, or my drabbles, then I'm probably doing homework or studying. I'm glad that you like Elrond's impish grin! There's a mischievous Elfling hidden somewhere beneath that impressive-lord-and-healer demeanor; I just know it. And I'm glad that you liked the cliffhanger! It was so much fun to write… ;) I'm glad you couldn't threaten me! You're right about the fact that I'm a girl, and I'm from the US, so there definitely is the issue of the Atlantic. My physical description is about as common as it is boring: shortish, dark hair, pale. Like a million fangirls, except that I'm not one. And because you were so polite with your "please," I give you… an update! ;) Thank you!
Mewissa: Wow, what high praise! I'm so glad that you like this story. Your shameless begging has paid off, I'm happy to say, so here you go. I hope you enjoy this! Thank you so much for your review!
