CHAPTER 3

The mountain exploded, sending rivulets of molten stone down the remains of its flanks. Elrond tried to run, but the searing river swept him away, rolling and tossing him in an agony of flame. He could not fight his way free, although he struggled, and it refused to kill him . . . binding him in flame that he could only endure helplessly.

Then, above the sizzle and crack of his own crisping flesh he heard something else . . . a soft and distant melody of sweet voices that stole into his fea, spreading a cooling balm in its wake. Elrond grabbed at the sound, clutching it in clawed fingers and drawing it closer. With each ragged breath he took the song grew nearer. The flames hissed defeat, as fire is quenched by waves upon a shore, the steam of it's passing dissipated by a fresh, clean breeze. Soon he lay, rocked gently on a sea of tranquillity. The song faded, taking with it all else but peace.

When the pain returned it was only the soreness of wounds. It brought with it a different kind of song . . . a lilting murmured duet.

" . . . waking."

"Will he be in pain?"

"Aye. Some . . . rest . . . time. He, at least, we have saved."

Elrond swallowed carefully before attempting to speak. "Gil?"

There was a moment's silence and then, "No. It is Glorfindel," came the soft reply and Elrond felt someone squeeze his hand. Something cool and damp blotted gently at his eyes and Elrond blinked them open in time to see a cloth withdrawn. Glorfindel's face drew into focus, concern melting into a smile. "Would you like a drink?"

Not trusting his voice to reply Elrond nodded, the tinniest tilt of his chin but Glorfindel saw it and slid a hand behind his friend's head as he touched a cup to parched and cracked lips. The cool water slid down his throat, invoking memory of the waterfalls of Imladris on a summer day. When the cup had been drained Elrond finally urged his mouth to speak.

"How long?"

"You have lain unconscious for five days."

Elrond could see his friend watching his face closely for any signs of distress and he tried to put him at ease. "A fever?"

"Aye. Brought on by poison and infection," answered a different voice.

Elrond rolled his head to the side to find a new face . . . no . . . not new. This was the healer of his previous waking, although dressed cleanly now and looking less harassed. At Elrond's unspoken query, the healer introduced himself.

"I am Glinkuil and it is my honour to attend you, Hir Elrond."

Mustering what strength he could, Elrond slid his hand over his heart. "You have my thanks, Glinkuil. I suspect that without your care I would now be pacing the Halls of Mandos." He swallowed, the length of such a speech exhausting him.

Glinkuil merely began adding drops from various bottles and vials into a small, heavily engraved silver cup, mixing them with some white wine. "Many prayed for your healing. I only gave my hands and mind to the task."

"Many indeed. Even Isildur has been asking after you several times a day," added Glorfindel.

His words landed like iced water in Elrond's fea. "He is still here, then?"

Glorfindel obviously sensed his friend's disapproval although not, as yet, the reason for it. "Yes, although he says he waits only for word of you before he must return to Minas Tirith. He seems eager to depart and one can hardly blame him. We all wish to leave this tainted place."

"Word of my living or of my dying I wonder." Elrond grasped Glorfindel's hand more tightly.

"He has taken it, Fin. Or rather, it has taken him. It should have been destroyed but it continues and with it, perhaps our foe." Elrond closed his eyes as weakness overcame him and Glinkuil's soft voice slipped into the shocked silence.

"Enough, Lord Elrond. You must not overtax yourself. Others can deal with such matters. You have not the strength to do so at present."

Before Elrond could protest the silver cup was at his lips and the bitter-laced wine filled his mouth. He swallowed reflexively, his fingers convulsing about Glorfindel's as the other made to rise and leave, anger warring with confusion in his features as Elrond silently bade him stay.

Once the cup was emptied Elrond turned back to his friend. "Fin, it is no longer our task to see the end of this. The world dances to a swifter tune now. Soon will come the Age of Man and our people must fade. Our stately gavotte of life is too slow for mortal blood."

Glorfindel settled upon the stool at Elrond's bedside once more. "Surely not? The existence of the Ring is due partly to our greed after all. We must hold some part in its destruction. It would be the task of just minutes for me to end this, now. I have faced a Balrog . . . this as yet uncrowned mortal kinglet would be easy enough to overcome."

Elrond smiled at his friend's impetuosity. "Have your forgotten" he warned a little breathlessly, "that the Balrog won that battle?"

His question was answered with a snort. "It was at the least a draw. The Balrog died too."

"Nevertheless . . . the task of ridding this land of Sauron's pall no longer falls to elven kind." Elrond found his eyes growing heavy and struggled to push the insidious workings of Glinkuil's herbs aside for a few more precious minutes. He must be sure Glorfindel did not take matters into his hands.

"Fin. You must feel it. The age of the elves is passing. More and more of our people look to the West for peace. When we are gone it will be men who live in this land. It is men who must make it safe for them to do so." His voice grew quieter with each word, as the drugs in his system clamoured for dominance.

Glorfindel sighed in resignation. "We cannot just leave them to their fate. They are not ready to face such a foe alone."

Elrond's thumb rubbed unconsciously at the base of his right third finger. "Not completely alone. Some will stay to help where we can until the end comes, one way or the other." His eyes drifted shut for a moment but with the last of his strength he forced them open. Glorfindel had to lean close to hear his words. "Promise me, Fin. Promise me that you will let this rest for now."

For a moment he thought Glorfindel would not give his word, but finally those piercing blue eyes met his. "You have my promise. But do not expect me to leave you to face this alone. If there is any part to be played by elves in the Ring's destruction I shall be there to fill it."

Elrond's fingers relaxed their grip and his eyelids fluttered shut. On the outward flow of a sigh he whispered, "Thank you, Fin."

TBC

REVIEWERS

Moothril – Glad to find yet another h/c fan out there.

Amelia Rose – Another h/c fan. I never knew there were so many of us out there.

The Oboist in Lorien – Poor Elrond. Vomitting was so undignified.

Emma – Glad you like my writing style. I do try to have my own voice.

Lovethosehobbits – I'm pleased you stopped by. I'm giving the Frodo torture a rest for the moment.

SilverWolf7 – It was part fever dream and part memory. Elrond has had the gift of foresight since a child. And, nope . . . he's not going to get well ANY time soon. ;)

Peleus 15 – I'll try to keep those chappies coming.

Shirebound – I like Fin too. Much better than Old Glory.