Review responses:
Cantora: Fluffy?! Buah, Fluffy is a fruitcake. My lighter will rule the world!
Rochwen: *sigh* For the last time, I am not a sheep!!!!!
Lizz, Rou, Andy: Thank you very much. Ask Figgeh if you want to know how
I thought this up. Fig was a great help to me and still is. *gives thank you taters
to Figgy*
Chapter Twelve
Glorfindel awoke three days after Elrohir had found him in Gilraeth's room on the floor. Early morning was upon Imaldris, and the lands were shrouded in a thick mist that hung low between the trees and hovered above the dew-covered grass. The sunshine had not risen far enough to stream into Glorfindel's quarters in the healing wing. His blue eyes opened to the world once more as his mind slowly came to remember what happened. A quick glance around the room told him of where he was, but how had he gotten there? Where was Gilraeth? Was the boy any better?
Glorfindel's attention snapped to the door as he heard the knob turn. Within a few moments, Elrohir stepped through the door and closed it behind him softly, keeping his eyes averted from the Elven lord. It was almost as if he were afraid that Glorfindel had turned into some mutation during the night and he did not wish to look at him. But it was only the fear that something far, far worse had happened.
But as Elrohir's eyes came to rest upon him, relief flooded through his face as he saw that the Senecshal was awake. Elrohir smiled tiredly, and Glorfindel then noticed that the prince's eyes were worn and burdened, his face unnaturally older, as if he'd aged overnight about 3,000 years.
"Glorfindel . . ." Elrohir trailed off softly, coming over to his bedside. Glorfindel weakly returned the smile as Elrohir sank into a chair next to him.
"Why is the son of the Peredhil so weary?" Glorfindel asked somewhat hoarsely. He cleared his throat and waited for Elrohir's answer.
Elrohir was considering the question carefully, meanwhile. Glorfindel did not need added stress now. He would come to the truth when he was strong enough. Forcing a brighter smile onto his worn face, Elrohir replied, "Tis nothing, Glorfindel. The hours have been late, the nights restless, but soon there should be peace for me again."
Glorfindel looked reprovingly at Elrohir, but did not say he knew otherwise. Instead, he remained silent and settled back into the soft bed with a sigh, resting his eyes. Elrohir slightly arched a brow at the sigh Glorfindel emitted. How had it been meant? Or perhaps a better question was how was he supposed to take that? Was he content? Anxious? Or something else?
Elrohir shook his head and turned in his chair to gaze out at the rising sun. Many thoughts came through his mind as he let it wander. Glorfindel was on the mend, and would soon want to have news of Gilraeth. What could he possibly tell him? The poor pen-neth was no better than before. It had nearly broken his heart once. Elrohir did not want that to ever happen again.
But Glorfindel loved that human child as if he were his own son. Elrohir was not sure on how the boy felt, but watching them together gave him half of a clue about it.
Elrond paced Gilraeth's quarters, occasionally glancing at the still form of the boy who barely clung to life. The Peredhil had to admit it - he never thought Gilraeth would fight for this long. But his strength was fading fast, and he was growing worse. Perhaps not by the day, but it was a sure decline that Elrond only prayed would not lead to his death.
He could not lose this child. He had lost his own because he was too late, and now even he had not the skill to heal the human entirely. Elrond could not lose Gilraeth. He would not allow it to happen.
As the thought flitted across his mind, a sarcastic voice sneered in the back of his head, "And how are you going to prevent it? Do you think you hold that authority?"
Stopping in the middle of the room, Elrond closed his eyes and clenched his fists, trying to gain composure over himself. He could not lose control over his own mind. He had to maintain a level head and stay focused on getting the pen-neth well again. Anger coursed through him as freely as his blood ran through his veins. Anger for himself. Anger for Elbereth and the Valar for keeping him like this for so long. He even held anger for those who did not deserve it.
Elrond longed to run around screaming, flailing, throwing everything he could find. He wanted to strike something, anything, again and again. He just wanted to lose his mind if only for a few moments of unbridled anger and distress. But he couldn't. He was lord of Imaldris. His people looked to him for leadership and strength. He could not fail them, not even for an instant.
But it did not resolve his anger. Looking up at the ceiling and seething harshly, he breathed, "Good Elbereth, hasn't he suffered enough?! He is only a child! A child! And still he lies on the brink of death!"
Talking out loud seemed to help Elrond a bit, and so he kept going after a short pause to look at the boy.
"We need him back, do you hear me? Glorfindel needs him! Elrohir needs him! I need him! Gilraeth must live! Without him, Glorfindel will die! He'll die, you fools! You great fools of misfortune!"
A low moan caught Elrond's next words in his throat as he quickly turned to face the bed. For a moment, it was tensely silent. Elrond did not dare to breathe nor move. Gilraeth uttered another small groan before his eyes fluttered and finally . . . finally opened. Gilraeth stirred and weakly lifted his head. His vision was blurred, and so he could not clearly see who stood in his room. He only murmured the name of the one he most desperately wanted to see.
"Glorfindel . . . Glorfindel . . ."
Cantora: Fluffy?! Buah, Fluffy is a fruitcake. My lighter will rule the world!
Rochwen: *sigh* For the last time, I am not a sheep!!!!!
Lizz, Rou, Andy: Thank you very much. Ask Figgeh if you want to know how
I thought this up. Fig was a great help to me and still is. *gives thank you taters
to Figgy*
Chapter Twelve
Glorfindel awoke three days after Elrohir had found him in Gilraeth's room on the floor. Early morning was upon Imaldris, and the lands were shrouded in a thick mist that hung low between the trees and hovered above the dew-covered grass. The sunshine had not risen far enough to stream into Glorfindel's quarters in the healing wing. His blue eyes opened to the world once more as his mind slowly came to remember what happened. A quick glance around the room told him of where he was, but how had he gotten there? Where was Gilraeth? Was the boy any better?
Glorfindel's attention snapped to the door as he heard the knob turn. Within a few moments, Elrohir stepped through the door and closed it behind him softly, keeping his eyes averted from the Elven lord. It was almost as if he were afraid that Glorfindel had turned into some mutation during the night and he did not wish to look at him. But it was only the fear that something far, far worse had happened.
But as Elrohir's eyes came to rest upon him, relief flooded through his face as he saw that the Senecshal was awake. Elrohir smiled tiredly, and Glorfindel then noticed that the prince's eyes were worn and burdened, his face unnaturally older, as if he'd aged overnight about 3,000 years.
"Glorfindel . . ." Elrohir trailed off softly, coming over to his bedside. Glorfindel weakly returned the smile as Elrohir sank into a chair next to him.
"Why is the son of the Peredhil so weary?" Glorfindel asked somewhat hoarsely. He cleared his throat and waited for Elrohir's answer.
Elrohir was considering the question carefully, meanwhile. Glorfindel did not need added stress now. He would come to the truth when he was strong enough. Forcing a brighter smile onto his worn face, Elrohir replied, "Tis nothing, Glorfindel. The hours have been late, the nights restless, but soon there should be peace for me again."
Glorfindel looked reprovingly at Elrohir, but did not say he knew otherwise. Instead, he remained silent and settled back into the soft bed with a sigh, resting his eyes. Elrohir slightly arched a brow at the sigh Glorfindel emitted. How had it been meant? Or perhaps a better question was how was he supposed to take that? Was he content? Anxious? Or something else?
Elrohir shook his head and turned in his chair to gaze out at the rising sun. Many thoughts came through his mind as he let it wander. Glorfindel was on the mend, and would soon want to have news of Gilraeth. What could he possibly tell him? The poor pen-neth was no better than before. It had nearly broken his heart once. Elrohir did not want that to ever happen again.
But Glorfindel loved that human child as if he were his own son. Elrohir was not sure on how the boy felt, but watching them together gave him half of a clue about it.
Elrond paced Gilraeth's quarters, occasionally glancing at the still form of the boy who barely clung to life. The Peredhil had to admit it - he never thought Gilraeth would fight for this long. But his strength was fading fast, and he was growing worse. Perhaps not by the day, but it was a sure decline that Elrond only prayed would not lead to his death.
He could not lose this child. He had lost his own because he was too late, and now even he had not the skill to heal the human entirely. Elrond could not lose Gilraeth. He would not allow it to happen.
As the thought flitted across his mind, a sarcastic voice sneered in the back of his head, "And how are you going to prevent it? Do you think you hold that authority?"
Stopping in the middle of the room, Elrond closed his eyes and clenched his fists, trying to gain composure over himself. He could not lose control over his own mind. He had to maintain a level head and stay focused on getting the pen-neth well again. Anger coursed through him as freely as his blood ran through his veins. Anger for himself. Anger for Elbereth and the Valar for keeping him like this for so long. He even held anger for those who did not deserve it.
Elrond longed to run around screaming, flailing, throwing everything he could find. He wanted to strike something, anything, again and again. He just wanted to lose his mind if only for a few moments of unbridled anger and distress. But he couldn't. He was lord of Imaldris. His people looked to him for leadership and strength. He could not fail them, not even for an instant.
But it did not resolve his anger. Looking up at the ceiling and seething harshly, he breathed, "Good Elbereth, hasn't he suffered enough?! He is only a child! A child! And still he lies on the brink of death!"
Talking out loud seemed to help Elrond a bit, and so he kept going after a short pause to look at the boy.
"We need him back, do you hear me? Glorfindel needs him! Elrohir needs him! I need him! Gilraeth must live! Without him, Glorfindel will die! He'll die, you fools! You great fools of misfortune!"
A low moan caught Elrond's next words in his throat as he quickly turned to face the bed. For a moment, it was tensely silent. Elrond did not dare to breathe nor move. Gilraeth uttered another small groan before his eyes fluttered and finally . . . finally opened. Gilraeth stirred and weakly lifted his head. His vision was blurred, and so he could not clearly see who stood in his room. He only murmured the name of the one he most desperately wanted to see.
"Glorfindel . . . Glorfindel . . ."