And here we are! Day 16, and we're caught up! Please forgive any typos, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Chapter Sixteen: In the Houses of Healing

There were birds singing, and Fíli was suspended in warm, dark nothingness. All that existed was the sound; light and beautiful and calming as a lullaby. Then, slowly, he became aware of his body. He could feel every part, every cell, and he could feel something beneath him, grounding him. It drew him down from the nothingness, and he felt a dull, aching pain in his chest. The void around him seemed to grow lighter, and he noticed an unfamiliar scent of foreign flowers.

Bag End. That was where he must be. There were birds singing, the scent of flowers, and he rarely woke to such delicate beauty in Erebor.

Wondering vaguely why it was taking him so long to wake up, Fíli savoured a deep breath, and let his eyes continue to rest. He could tell now that his bedroom curtains were open, for that was why it seemed lighter even beneath his eyelids, and that meant that it was time to start the day.

Fíli was not quite ready to start the day. The soft nothingness he had awoken to was still clinging to him, and he did not want to leave it just yet. It was stronger than sleep, and a thousand times more satisfying, and he longed to return, if only for a moment.

His ears were harder to command to rest, and they picked up the sound of someone sniffing. The last remnants of the nothingness dripped away, and Fíli sighed again.

Opening his eyes, he blinked a few times. Then, when he saw the ceiling, he blinked again. Beams? Why were there dark wooden beams on a high, flat ceiling in Bag End? That was not right at all…

A sense of dread took seed in Fíli's stomach, growing like a vine up through to his throat to choke him. Something had happened, something bad. Where was he?

There was a sharp intake of breath from his right. "Fíli?"

Kíli. Fíli turned his head to the side, smiling slightly at the sight of his brother – though he noted it looked like Kíli had not seen a comb in weeks. "That's my name…" his voice was more of rasp, but it was not painful. In fact, save the dull throb of his shoulder, he felt no pain at all. The dread slipped off him, like water trickling harmlessly of stone. "Where are we?"

"Rivendell," Kíli said, a haunted darkness in his eyes. His face was almost level with Fíli's – he had to be kneeling by the bed, and there was such pain on his face that Fíli's heart hurt. ""We made it, though we worried for a time that you wouldn't."

As if struck by a fist to the face, Fíli remembered. Riding from the Shire, from Bree, Weathertop, the Ringwraiths – it all came back to him like a long-forgotten nightmare. He remembered the blade diving deep into his chest, and he touched that soft, white bandage that covered it. He should be in more pain, surely, but then he remembered the wonders of elven pain tonics, and things began to make more sense.

Including the fear of his little brother. He reached out, surprised by how easy it was, and took Kíli's hand. "I'm sorry I worried you." After a long moment, he spoke again. "Rivendell? I cannot remember reaching Rivendell…"

"You were unconscious," murmured Kíli, running his fingers through Fíli's hair. Then, he closed his eyes. "You kept drifting towards waking, but you… You didn't. You just kept getting trapped in nightmares, we could not wake you. But we rode as fast as we could. A couple of Nazgûl caught up with us at the Bruinen, and you grew colder then, but something Gandalf or the Elves did sent the river into a frenzy, and they were swept away downstream. It wasn't until we got here that you seemed able to truly rest. Elrond put you into a deeper sleep – he said you'd heal sooner that way."

Recollections of nightmares poked at Fíli's mind, but they did not seem very frightening in the light of day. He experimented with moving his chest, rolling his shoulders. The pain grew a little sharper, but it was bearable. "He was right, it seems. I feel quite well."

Kíli dropped his face onto the bed, and Fíli reached out to stroke his hair. After a moment, Kíli looked up, propping his chin up on the bed. "I'm… I – I love you, Fee."

Fíli's heart fell. There were tears in Kíli's eyes, and clinging to his lashes, and he looked almost grey. Yet relieved. He looked so relieved. Fíli swallowed. "That bad?"

For a moment, Kíli hesitated, his eyebrows knitting together. Fíli reached for his brother's hand, and Kíli gripped it like a lifeline. Then, he began to speak very slowly. "It was a Morgul Blade. Like the one that stabbed Bilbo in the Battle of Five Armies. But it hit, it hit your throat. From the inside, you were choking, I saw you – And one of your major arteries was nicked. You, it… Gandalf… he did not think he would be able to save you. I thought I was going to lose you, Fee. It, it felt like I knew you were going to, to-" He broke off with a sob, burying his face on the mattress again.

Fíli took a deep breath and prodded again at the clean bandages on his chest. Again, he felt no more than a dull ache – surely not the sort of pain you would associate with being stabbed by a Morgul blade. He had never felt so lucky in his life.

Except for when he found Kíli alive in the Shire.

"Hey, hey now, Kíli, don't cry," he murmured, rolling over so that he could stroke Kíli's hair without releasing his hand. "It's alright. I'm alright. I'm not going to die. Not now. I'm here. It's alright now, nadadith."

Kíli glanced up, his lower lip wobbling like it had when he was a child. Blotchy tear stains were bringing some colour to his face, and he looked as if he did not have the strength to hope that his brother was not on his deathbed anymore.

"Truly," Fíli said, "I feel fine. Wonderful, if you consider the circumstances. Come, Kee, out of the two of us, who lies about injuries more?"

Kíli snorted, and wiped his nose with his sleeve. "That's not funny, Fíli. Or fair. I've got better."

"I know. I'm proud of you." Fíli smiled. But then, an awful thought came to mind. "Are you hurt, Kíli?"

"No," he said, shaking his head slowly. "I'm not hurt. Amad and Bilbo are alright, too," he added, answering Fíli's unspoken question. "Gandalf is resting. He has been for three days."

"Three days?"

Kíli shrugged, looking rather worried. "I know as much as you, really."

"Where is everyone?" Fíli wondered aloud, looking around the room.

"At dinner, I think. I'm not sure," Kíli said. "The elves have been making sure we take turns to eat, and sleep."

"Don't think they've had much of an impact on you," Fíli said, poking gently at the bags beneath Kíli's eyes. His brother shrugged.

"Trying to, then. And the others got here yesterday."

Warmth filled Fíli immediately, as if he had just sunk into a beautiful bath. "Really? Are they alright?"

"Aye. They had some trouble with a couple of orcs, but from what I heard Aragorn took out most of them. We lost Bali, though."

Fíli's heart sank a little. "By Durin… I don't want to be the one to tell Frerin."

"Me neither," muttered Kíli.

With a sigh, Fíli tried to sit up, but Kíli shook his head.

"No, Fee, don't. You should lie back down. I wasn't supposed to keep you talking or worrying, if you woke up."

"You're doing all the worrying for me," Fíli replied, though he was still concerned about the wizard. In truth, he had been since Gandalf reached Bag End – he was clearly far from well, and Fíli hoped that the wizard had not suffered too much from healing him.

"I don't care," said Kíli seriously.

"Really, Kíli," Fíli laughed, messing his brother's hair. "I feel fine. There's scarce any pain, and I feel rested now, more so than I have since we left the Shire."

"You almost died, Fee. It was a matter of seconds, of fractions of an inch. Do me a favour, nadad, listen to Lord Elrond," Kíli's voice was sombre and small, and his lower lip was quaking again. "Please, don't make it worse."

"Alright," Fíli said, lying back down for his brother's sake, though he thought it rather unnecessary. "It's alright now, Kíli." Kíli's teeth ground together, and Fíli continued. "I mean, yes, our father has the Ring of Power, I have an injury and our wizard is tired, but other than that-"

Luckily, Kíli laughed. Fíli knew that his attempts at humour could easily go the wrong way with Kíli in such a state. Not that he blamed him. If it had been Kíli that had been struck, if he had watched his baby brother choke on his own blood –

No. If that had happened, Fíli would be far worse than his brave little Kíli was. Despite his silent order, his imagination showed him the image anyway. Kíli, in Bilbo's arms, bleeding and choking and dying. Then, when he tried to banish the scene he saw its reflection. He saw himself, as if from Kíli's eyes, in the same position.

A shudder ran down Fíli's spine, and he had the odd sensation that his panic was being muted along with his pain. He had felt something like it before, in Rivendell; the dulling of fear and grief. This felt a little different. Every time fear or dismay crept towards his mind they were brushed off, like a cobweb on one of Bilbo's prize ornaments. He simply could not panic.

Not that he was complaining.

"Fíli?"

"Oh, sorry," Fíli gave his brother a sheepish look. "You weren't talking, were you? Got caught up in my own thoughts."

"I wasn't talking," Kíli paused, his fingers shifting to grip Fíli's more tightly. "What were you thinking about?"

Fíli chose his words carefully. "How lucky we are to be in Rivendell."

"Nothing worse?"

"Not at all." Fíli frowned at the crease between his brother's eyebrows. "Why don't you believe me?"

It was Kíli's turn to look sheepish, though he was serious when he spoke. "Morgul blades and Nazgûl… Lord Elrond said that they can cause more than nightmares, that they can bring terrors at all times of day – he gave you a draught but said to keep an eye…"

"Ah. Well, you can step down from watch duty, it seems to be working perfectly. I was actually musing over why I was unable to properly panic about anything. You should try some, brother, it's lovely."

Kíli smiled weakly. "I might, now. I did not want to earlier, in case, in case I missed-"

"There's nothing to miss," Fíli promised, flicking Kíli's nose. "I am fine. You, on the other hand, look like you have been missing something else of great importance. Sleep."

Before Kíli could answer, there was a muffled knock on the door, and a furious whisper. "Kíli Baggins!"

A look of guilt passed over Kíli's face, and he seemed to shrink into the mattress. "Come in!" he called.

Immediately, Frodo and Pippin peeked around the door, furious faces melting into smiles when they saw that Fíli's eyes were open.

"Fíli!" Pippin gasped, falling over his feet to get to the dwarves. Frodo was no less hasty, and all but collapsed against the side of Fíli's bed with a cry.

"You're awake!"

"Hello, boys," Fíli chuckled, slowly ruffling Frodo's hair and then poking Pippin's nose.

"How are you feeling?" asked Frodo, with an anxious glance to Kíli.

"Well," said Fíli firmly, taking Frodo's hand. "Look at me, Frodo. I am fine."

The young hobbit sagged with relief, his lips pulling into a smile that did not survive his sentence. "We were so worried – when we heard what happened…"

"Aye, it was horrible," Fíli nodded, keeping his voice matter-of-fact, "and I've heard I was very lucky."

Kíli made a quiet scoffing noise in the back of his throat. "That's an understatement."

"Perhaps," said Fíli, "but nevertheless, I feel alright now. Very little pain, and I am very comfortable. So – why were you whispering so angrily at this lump through the door?" He reached out and slapped Kíli's hand, though he let his fingers linger on his brother's skin for a long moment. Anything to chase the sorrow from Kíli's eyes.

Frodo put his hands on his hips and raised his eyebrows at Kíli. "Because he was supposed to come for tea an hour ago, and he hasn't eaten all day."

"That's not true," protested Kíli softly, looking almost beseechingly at Fíli. "When Lord Elrond came to check in he had someone bring me something."

"A few biscuits and some cheese does not a dinner make," Pippin said wisely. The youngest of their hobbits had already made himself comfortable sitting on the bed beside Fíli. "Besides, the longer we waited for you, the longer Bilbo made us wait."

"Wait for what?" Fíli said, frowning at Kíli to show his disapproval even as he looked back to Pippin.

"The elves won't let us all in to see you at once." Pippin's scowl told Fíli exactly how the hobbit felt about that. "So, Bilbo drew up a rota, and it's our turn now but he was hoping Kíli'd have the brains to come down unprompted. A stupid hope. Even I knew that was wishful thinking."

Fíli stared at his younger brother, eyebrows raised, but Kíli met his glance with equal strength.

"I made a promise, Fíli. I do not intend to break it."

It took him less than a second to know what Kíli was referring to, and when it did, guilt charged into Fíli's stomach. Kíli must have thought history was repeating itself – Fíli injured, on death's door, saved in an elven hall.

Finishing his story, the awful horror that was now his, Fíli looked to his brother, though he did not know what Kíli could do.

"It's over," Kíli whispered, looking as if he was about to throw up. "It's over now, you're safe…"He was fidgeting, his chest rising and falling faster even than Fíli's, and then he stood up, and turned toward the door. Fíli's lungs collapsed in on his heart.

Leaving? Kíli, leaving? Why, why would he do that?

"Kíli, no!" Fíli sobbed, reaching out for Kíli, who flinched away. He gasped, terror and heartache and confusion taking what breath he had away. "Please, please don't leave me! Please, Kíli I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't leave me, please, please, please-"

"Stop!" Kíli cried, shaking from head to toe. He was crying, tears streaming, and he took another stumbling step towards the door.

He had said too much – Fíli had given Kíli too many details, too much to fear. He had put his brother through the very grief he had felt when they lost Kíli, all those years ago. The grief he had never, ever wanted his little Kíli to feel. And now Kíli would leave him alone, alone and afraid and –

"I'm sorry," Fíli begged, stretching out his hand. "Please, please Kíli, don't leave me!"

"No," Kíli swallowed, shaking his head. "No, Fíli. No. You do have nothing to be sorry for."

"Please," the whisper was so broken Fíli wondered if it had reached his brother's ears. "Please, Kee…"

"I'm not going anywhere," Kíli replied shakily. "I won't leave you, Fíli. I won't leave, I promise."

Fíli whimpered in relief. "You promise?"

"I swear," Kíli stumbled back, falling onto the bed wrapping his arms around Fíli. Within a heartbeat, Fíli felt safe, safe and loved and protected. He did not care that his injuries screamed at the contact. He could breathe. "Fee, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Fíli, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"What for?" Fíli's mumble was muffled by Kíli's chest.

"I left," Kíli sobbed, tightening his grip on his brother. "I couldn't, I couldn't stand it, you looked so, you looked like you were dead and I was so sure I'd lost you and I just, I couldn't take it so I left, I left you, I'm sorry! Fee, I'm so, so, sorry!"

Fíli stiffened for a moment. He had put Kíli through the grief of losing a brother. The very worst thing he could do. He strengthened his embrace with all the strength that he had.

"I love you, Kíli."

Kíli sobbed. "I love you too, Fíli. I love you so much, I'm so sorry!"

"Don't be," Fíli said. "I understand."

With a soft keen, Kíli shifted and Fíli's heart jolted. His fingers tightened, and Kíli made a soft, shushing noise.

"I'm not leaving," he promised. "I swear to you, Fíli, I won't! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I won't leave you again. Not ever."

There was only one word that Fíli had the strength to say. "Good."

Fíli took a long, deep breath. He was not there now. That torture had passed long ago, and he was not afraid now. But he had put Kíli through that again. He had forced Kíli to relive those dark days while he waited to see if Fíli would even survive.

"That promise," said Fíli softly, "was made a long time ago. And I believe I made the same promise once myself."

"More than once," replied Kíli.

"But I am awake now," Fíli said, taking Kíli's hand and squeezing it. "And I give my permission – and my order – for you to go and get some hot supper into your belly. And some sleep – whatever it takes for you to get it. If that means kipping on the end of my bed, so be it, but I don't want to see you until you've eaten."

With a sigh, Kíli nodded slowly. "Very well. I'll be back later." Standing up, Kíli headed to the door, only to pause and point at Frodo and Pippin. "Don't you worry him, or weary him, or wear him out."

"We won't," Frodo promised, an unusual solemn look in his eyes. Pippin nodded in agreement, and Kíli ducked out of the room.

"What promise are you talking about?"

"Pippin!" Frodo admonished, scowling. "That's private."

Fíli smiled. A pleasant sleepiness was beginning to creep up on him. "Ah, don't fight lads. Close your mouth, Pip, you'll catch a fly. Again. Long ago, now, Kíli and I promised each other never to abandon each other."

"He'd hardly be abandoning you," scoffed Pippin. "It's supper!"

"I know that, but Kíli thinks in funny ways sometimes."

For a long while, there was silence, and it was very comfortable. Fíli loved each and every one of his hobbits and dwarven relations fiercely and deeply, but of all the young ones he was closest with Frodo and Pippin.

He had come to see Frodo as a little brother, and he was often the youngest Baggins' first confidant. As for Pippin, well… Fíli had been Pippin's favourite since day one. Sometimes, when Pippin was tired, Fíli would catch him referring to 'my Fíli.' It was a name and a title all in one, and Fíli was proud to bear it. It reminded him of Kíli saying 'my Bilbo.'

Unsurprisingly, it was Pippin that broke the silence. However, the words were not what Fíli had expected. "Fíli, are… are you really alright? Or are you just saying that to make us feel better?"

Fili smiled, taking Pippin's hand. "Ah, Pippin. I'm fine. I told no lies, I feel very little pain. Except in my neck when I look up at you like this."

Pippin did not smile. He simply hung his head, and kept his eyes on the bandage poking out from the top of Fíli's nightshirt.

Sighing, Fíli turned his head to look at Frodo. The young hobbit's eyes were also fixed on the wound, and he looked even grimmer than Pippin. "What's on your mind, then?"

"I," Frodo swallowed, and then looked down at his hands. "I cannot help but think it should've been me."

Fíli's heart went cold. "I beg your pardon?"

"I should've been there, I should've helped, it should've been-"

"Frodo Baggins," Fíli lowered his voice, grabbing hand and forcing him to meet his eyes. "don't you ever, ever say that again. Do you hear me? This was my choice, and my burden to bear. I am glad you were not there. It is not something that I would want you to see, let alone feel."

"I should have had a choice, too," Frodo croaked, looking more and more like a frightened child. "I, I am an adult, I could have…"

"No," Fíli shook his head, pulling the young hobbit down onto the bed. "You listen to me, you take that guilt and you let it go. It is not yours to carry, nadadith. Let it go."

Dropping his head with watering eyes, Frodo nodded.

"Now," Fíli said firmly, "I meant what I said – I am going to get a crick in my neck looking up like this. Do an injured dwarf a favour and lie down."

Finally, his boys cracked small smiles, and laid down on either side of him. Fíli put his arms around them and let them snuggle up the way that they would when they were children.

Or drunk. Or on the road.

Or sleepy.

Thorin had often complained about the impression that it left upon visiting nobles to see snoozing piles of princes, lords and ladies, but there was no place as safe or as comfortable as the arms of your loved ones. At least, that is what Fíli thought.

"Fíli?" Pippin murmured.

"Mm?"

"I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," Fíli closed his eyes. "And I am glad that you are here. Kíli said you'd had trouble with orcs?"

"Just a little," Frodo said. "Enough to scare us, not enough to hurt us."

"Good," Fíli paused, and then yawned.

Frodo sat up anxiously. "Do you need more sleep?"

"You only just woke up!" Pippin cried.

"I am a little tired," Fíli admitted, tugging Frodo back down. "Healing and potions can do that to you."

"Do," Frodo looked as though his words tasted sour, "do you want us to leave you?"

Before Fíli could reply, Pippin snorted. "Well, I'm not going anywhere, whether you want me to or not. And that is that."

"I think your question has been answered," drawled Fíli, and then his smile softened. "But I would not wish you to leave, in any case. You may stay as long as you are willing. Besides, I do not think I could sleep just yet. Some stories, or some songs might do me good."

Immediately, the two boys began to bicker about who had a better tale to tell, and Fíli felt relief sink into his bones. Just as he had hoped, the stories that Frodo and Pippin began to tell took their minds back to happier times and lighter days, and Fíli felt his own heart lighten all the more for hearing them. Finally, though he could barely keep his eyes open.

"Good," he yawned, "good story, Pippin. Your turn Frodo."

The young hobbit snorted softly. "You look like you need a lullaby, not a story."

"Go on then," Fíli grinned, closing his eyes. "Durin knows I have sung you enough in my time."

Frodo rolled his eyes, but he was a Baggins through and through, and just as it was with Kíli and Bilbo, it was not difficult to coax the lad into singing.

"The old man had a daughter fair

Scarce in her tweens when summons came

Bidding her father take up arms

And follow the army away.

She watched him take with shaking arms

His worn cloak and rusting sword

And she begged him not to go,

To die at the whim of a lord."

By the end of the first verse, Fíli was snoozing, and Pippin's eyes closed halfway through the song. Though Frodo sang to the end, he was soon coaxed into sleep, the feeling of Fíli's chest rising and falling against his cheek the only lullaby that he needed. Neither Frodo nor Pippin had slept more than a few hours since the orc attack, and not at all since they discovered what had happened on Weathertop.

Pippin wanted to sleep, badly, but he had a job to do. A job that his heart would not let him rest from. He propped open his weary eyes, and he set up his watch.

His watch on Fíli's breathing.

It had been over a century since Gandalf had visited Ael o Alassë. Of course, it had been a long time since he had been granted the luxury of time to himself, but even before the days grew so hasty and dark he had not returned to the so called 'Pool of Happiness.' He used to visit often, many centuries ago when the days were lighter and Celebrían, wife of Elrond had still dwelt upon the earth.

Hidden in a dell just outside of the heart of Rivendell, Ael o Alassë was a perfectly circular pool of starlit water, surrounded by a ring of pale bark trees with leaves of shining silver. They were akin to the famed mallorn trees of Lothlórien, and had been planted by Lord Elrond around the pool as a gift to his new wife when she first came to Imladris

Whether in the dead of a starless night, or the heat of a cloudless day, the water of the pool sparkled, and the lilies that floated on the surface could be found in no other place on the earth. On the day that he and Celebrían were wed, Lord Elrond had set the first two flowers adrift. They were the silver blue shade of moonlight, and simple in their beauty. Two more of a deeper shade had bloomed when Elladan and Elrohir were born, and the final, midnight blue flower had opened at the birth of Arwen.

One of the silver blue flowers had closed. It still rested on the pool, and did not wither or rot, but its petals had not opened for over four hundred years. They had been closed since Celebrían, in her anguish, crossed the sea to Valinor.

It was then that Gandalf's visits to Ael o Alassë grew more frequent. It was still a place of peace and love, but it was tinted with sorrow, and rarely visited by Elrond's household.

For the first time, Gandalf felt that he truly understood the Lady's decision to leave. When you had been tormented for so long, when you spent all your light just to stay alive, it was easy for a soul to seek solace the world could no longer provide.

Sighing, the wizard lowered his weary body onto the smooth stone at the pool's edge, and eased off his elven slippers. He dipped his lower legs into the cool water, and a little of his tension eased. The water felt wonderful, but gazing at his feet brought no comfort. They were blackened and blistered, and only a few slithers of stark white skin seemed unharmed. He would have thought they were simply filthy, had he not known better.

The day after they arrived in Rivendell, Gandalf had been taken to the baths so that his wounds could be identified and healed. Not that he had needed much convincing – though Gandalf had never been as concerned with cleanliness as elves or hobbits he had been craving a bath for longer than he could remember.

It had taken no less than two hours to scrub away the years upon years of filth that had matted against his skin. Long dried blood had tugged against poorly healed wounds he had forgotten, and he had been forced to change into fresh water when his first bath turned black.

Clearing away the grime had, at first, made Gandalf feel worse. He was forced to agree with the hobbits, for he could clearly see that he was emaciated. There were more wounds than he had expected, from unhealed lacerations from the lashes of Mordor to smaller, infected wounds that had not had time to heal.

However, with Elrond's help, his injuries were now on their way to repair, and he had time to worry about his deeper fear.

Gandalf felt empty.

Never before had he pushed himself to such limits, spent so much power in such a short time, or in such a weakened state, and hopelessness seemed to cling to him like a heavy mist. Empty was the only word that he could conjure to describe how he felt.

The closed petals of a silver-blue lily brushed past his shins, and he took a sharp breath in. The flower floated back towards the centre of the pool and the other lilies.

"May I join you?"

Gandalf jumped, looking up at the elf entering the dell. "Glorfindel," he sighed, unable – and unwilling – to stop a wry smile creeping onto his face. "It's you."

"Indeed," his old friend bowed his head. "I am sorry for startling you, mellon. Ael o Alassë is a place for peace, and should you prefer solitude I shall not be offended."

"By all means, join me," Gandalf said. "I do not mind."

Glorfindel stepped to a nearby stone and sat down, smiling sadly at the wizard. "So, how do you feel?"

Gandalf sighed. "Drained, I suppose, would be the word to use. Or empty."

Speaking of such things with Glorfindel was easier than it was with his mortal friends. They thought him so strong, so infallible, and evidence of the contrary had been known to shake them. But Gandalf had known Glorfindel in Valinor, long before either of them were sent to Middle Earth, and he bore no shame or guilt in confiding in him.

"I am not surprised," Glorfindel said, his eyebrows furrowed. "Your power is not limitless, my friend."

"I know," Gandalf grumbled, though again a smile was called to his face. "That is what I told the Bagginses upon Weathertop."

"It was bravely done, saving the prince. But it was not particularly wise…"

"I know," Gandalf repeated, his smile disappearing. "But I could not let him die, Glorfindel. Not like that. It was not his time to go."

"Were you not there, it would have been," the elf said gently.

"But I was there!" the wizard's voice grew cross, and he closed his eyes. He sighed, and softened his tone. "I have failed his family too often, my friend. I gave his grandfather up for dead, and was unable to save him when at last I found his prison. I was not there when the dragon came, and I could offer no aid at the Battle of Moria."

"It is not your duty to protect every dwarf in the world," reminded Glorfindel.

"No, but they are my friends." Keeping his eyes closed, Gandalf allowed the darkness to spill from past to present. With any luck, it would drain out of him entirely, and be swallowed by the light of the pool. "When I was in Mordor, they often brought prisoners before me. Dwarves, men, women, elves, even children. I was made to watch their torment, their suffering. Their deaths. It pleased the 'lords' of Mordor to dangle an innocent life before me, one that I could call from the brink of death if I had only my hands. I never had my hands."

Bitterness punctuated his every word, and Glorfindel was silent. A faint breeze blew Gandalf's hair across his face, and he could smell the distant scent of baking. It seemed that the hobbits were in the kitchens again. The thought strengthened his heart a little, and he took the elf's silence as leave to continue.

"I could not save them. Not a single soul. When I escaped, I made my way to the prison, but it was a tomb. Only one had survived, an elfling too tortured to tell me her own name. She perished before we could even leave the cursed tower, and all the comfort I could give her was my hand," he took a deep, steadying breath, and felt tears willing his eyes to open so that they could spill free. "When I saw Fíli on Weathertop, I saw all of them. The ones I could not save. And a dear friend of mine, one of the most kind-hearted and cheerful dwarves I have ever met, was to join them. I could not let that happen, I had to do something."

Eventually, Glorfindel spoke. "I am glad that you did. I said that it was unwise, not that it was wrongfully done. And I am sorry to hear of such suffering, Olórin. For your sake, and for the sake of those less fortunate." Gandalf opened his eyes, and the tears wasted no time in escaping. Glorfindel's own eyes were misted with tears, and he spoke in an even softer tone. "We will mourn with you, if that is what you need. It is no doubt what the poor souls deserve."

Gandalf nodded, and again they fell to silence. Finally, he spoke the question that worried him most. "How long do you suppose I shall be like this? Weakened, powerless..."

"You are not powerless, Olórin, though I know what you mean to say. It will depend, but if you rest and allow your body to recover, your spirit will follow. For you took on five Nazgûl in a weakened state, and then performed a healing ritual that had you transfer your life force to Fíli, when you had so little of it left yourself. You could have died, Olórin. You were lucky to make it to Rivendell – if Elrond had not enchanted the Bruinen already I doubt you'd have escaped the final four wraiths. You were almost as weak as Fíli when you arrived, do not forget that. Allow yourself the time to heal," the elf said firmly. "However, given that you are in Imladris, I think that your recovery will be swift. By the month's end, I do not doubt, you will be just as capable of disturbing the peace as usual."

"The month's end," cursed Gandalf, unable to be amused by Glorfindel's jest. "There is so much to be done!"

"Indeed, but much of it can be done without running around like a battle-crazed dwarf, and we have a reprieve here. For now, Rivendell will hold." Glorfindel's fingers dipped into the water, and traced circles onto its surface. "Heal, rest, and your power will return in full." When Gandalf did not reply, Glorfindel placed a hand on his shoulder. "My dear friend, you have not had a moment of safety or peace in almost a decade. Your hardship is over now, Olórin. You may rest, before the next task begins. Allow us to worry on your behalf in the meantime."

"I will do my best," Gandalf promised, giving another heavy sigh. "But I fear I do not know how to rest, anymore."

"Then it is a good thing we are currently hosting a party of hobbits," said the elf, "for they know better than any how to enjoy life's simple pleasures."

Gandalf smiled.

I hope you enjoyed those chapters! There's slightly less changed in this one, particularly the latter half, as it was one of my favourites first time around. Anyways, do let me know what you think, and I will do my best to see you tomorrow, but until then, take care!