A/N: Sadly this will be the last one for a little bit. Hopefully not months and months. I am working on the next chapter, and a good deal of it is written. It's just not done yet. I'd like to get Chapter 17 done by Christmas, but I have a lot on my plate, so please don't be too mad if I don't get it out by then. If I don't see you before then, please have a very lovely holiday. Enjoy!
Chapter 16: The Walking Wounded
Bernard shifted nervously on his feet. He knew he had made a colossal mistake. Clarity had hit him over the head in a big way, and he only hoped it was not too late to make things right with Lydia. Standing before the closed door of the infirmary, he also hoped it was not too early. He would not have put it past Orëna to chuck him out into the snow for waking her patients before they were good and ready for it. A voice in his head that sounded rather irritatingly like Quinton said,
"You've waited this long, just get on with it already!"
Bernard growled at the voice and at himself then raised his hand and knocked on the door. He had not had a chance to lower his fist when the door swung open just a few inches. Orëna's bearded face poked out of the opening and surveyed him critically.
"Is-"
"She's gone."
"What?!"
Gone could mean a lot of things, and Bernard had barely begun to wonder which one she meant when Orëna shushed him severely. Checking to see that he hadn't woken anyone, she fixed him with a stern eye.
"She left early this morning, at first light."
"So she's okay?"
"As well as can be expected," said Orëna, leaning against the door frame. "Her ribs aren't up to another round, and if she gets hit there again, she'll be in trouble, but she's on her feet and won't be kept here."
The ordinarily raucously cheerful Orëna once again spoke to him with rough brusqueness. And once again seeing him stricken, she softened her gaze and her tone just slightly and said "You may find her out on the grounds. She'll want to pay her respects."
Bernard nodded. The door began to close again, and he let out a quick "Thank you!" before it shut completely.
The thought occurred to him as he walked out onto the grounds that perhaps he should have offered his condolences to her. But he could think of nothing more than getting down to Lydia, finding her, and saying….what? He wasn't sure. How could he console her in her grief when he had done his own part to contribute to it? Apologies seemed hollow in the wake of what had happened. All he could hope for now was that when the time came, when he did find her, that she would allow him to speak and that when he did so the right words would come out of his mouth. Unfortunately, he thought, that was seldom the case. He really had made a mess of things.
Bernard tried to avoid approaching the wood elves. He had avoided them plenty before, finding them strange and repellent, like an invasive species. But now, as they walked about, pale and quiet, he did not want to intrude upon their grief. Unfortunately he had no choice. None of his own elves had seen Lydia that morning, at least not since she had ventured outside. He found a wood elf outside, helping to clean up the wreckage of a cottage. The wood elf moved gingerly, but he bore no other sign or blemish of injury. Once Bernard explained himself, the wood elf nodded grimly and pointed to a secluded area far away from the village. It had not snowed at all that morning, and a pair of tracks of light footfalls led away toward the cliffs. Wondering what on earth Lydia could be doing there, Bernard wrapped his duster more firmly around himself and followed them.
Lydia wrapped her cloak around herself as she walked across the snow. The pain in her ribs was gone, but the healers could do nothing for the deep ache that had settled on her heart. She had not seen Bernard since they had parted company before the battle, and she could not decide if she felt upset or relieved. In any case, their seemingly broken friendship seemed trivial as she walked across the snowy plain and toward the cliffs where she knew she would find Elrodan's grave. She reached the cave and saw the tomb, carved and built in bricks of ice, a cold and quiet resting place. In front of it, standing where he had since he had constructed it, was Gilrohir. As Lydia approached, he made no sign that he had noticed her presence. After a long silence, at last he spoke to her.
"What are you doing here, Minariel?"
"I have come to pay my respects. Gilrohir, I am sorry."
"Sorry? Sorry for what?"
"For your loss. For the loss we all feel. Elrodan was my friend."
"Oh? And are you responsible for this loss?"
Gilrohir's voice, spoken in his own tongue, was low and quiet, almost a whisper, but it grew more sinister with every word, like a snake slithering toward a mouse.
"Gilrohir-"
"Did you cower before those monstrosities? Did you confront them head on? Did you fail in what you were trained to do? Was he forced to save you, my apprentice? Is that why he is dead?!"
Gilrohir's voice had risen in an uncomfortable crescendo as he had spoken. Shaking himself almost imperceptibly, he restrained himself once more and returned his voice to a deadly whisper.
"My soldiers will not tell me of what occurred yesterday. Somehow none of them saw what happened just before Elrodan's death. Tell me, how can a party of such perceptive elves have seen nothing? That is the true mystery. Unless they are shielding someone from my wrath."
"Gilrohir, I-"
Gilrohir's face contorted into rage, and suddenly he was shouting.
"I told Lady Varda! I told her when we began that this was a mistake, that you would never be ready! I have been made to sacrifice my years and my blood to make you ready. To find and save this wretched place. And now I have sacrificed Elrodan. What a wonderful trade! And you tell me you are sorry."
"I-"
"Leave my sight!"
"Hey!"
Both wood elves turned and found Bernard standing nearby. Gilrohir gave him only a fleeting glance before returning his stare to Lydia, his face like jagged stone. Straightening her spine as best she could, Lydia turned and fled the cave.
"Lydia-"
Bernard tried in vain to speak to her, but she walked passed him without so much as looking at him. Anger roared to life inside him, and he turned his attention to Gilrohir. How often had he watched Lydia get pummeled, pushed, and thrown to the ground, all with this golden-haired drill sergeant screaming in her face, all in the name of "training?" And all the while, Bernard had said and done nothing. It stopped now.
"Don't talk to her like that."
The elf captain wheeled around to face him. A series of emotions passed over his normally inscrutable face, until it settled on deadly arctic fury, and as he began to stalk slowly out of the cave toward him like an enraged panther, Bernard wondered suddenly if he had chosen the wrong battle.
"Talk to her like what, pray tell me? How should I not speak to her, sir?" said Gilrohir disdainfully. "You don't know, do you? You do not have the slightest idea what I've said to her."
"I-"
"You've forgotten your own mother's tongue, haven't you? So please, tell me, what exactly should I not have said to Minariel?"
"Her name is Lydia, and I've seen how you talk to her. You push her around, and you push her too hard, and I don't like it."
"You? You do not like how I speak to her? You, who have barely spoken a word to her since we arrived, presume to tell me how to speak to my subordinate? You who have never known the terror of battle, who cowers away in hiding with your home in peril, you presume to tell me how to train my soldiers?"
"She's not a-"
"-How to prepare them for war?"
Bernard was suddenly overcome by the feeling that he had misread something major, but he could not quite put his finger on what it was. It hardly mattered, because Gilrohir had not finished. The captain looked at Bernard now in unmasked disgust.
"You unbruised youth! Do you think you are protecting something that belongs to you? You know nothing of loss. You've forgotten your home, your language, your family. How can you feel their absence when you don't even remember their names? You have been afforded something so precious, and you waste it. Do you think Lady Varda will give me back what was taken from me? Do you think my loyalty and sacrifice have made me worthy of such generosity in her eyes? I am only a soldier, as was he, a pawn in her game. And we are not given second chances. So perhaps when you are looking to condemn someone for mistreating Minariel, you should look within yourself first."
"You don't know anything about me," said Bernard hotly. "If I've lost Lydia, it's because you and your people are trying to turn her into something she's not. You're trying to turn her into you."
"There are worse things to turn into, I assure you," said Gilrohir coldly.
Bernard, confused by this response, blinked at Gilrohir for a moment.
"I-just leave her alone."
Gilrohir stared at him for a few moments, dark fury still in his eyes. When Bernard did not break his gaze, but continued to stare at him in undisguised bewilderment, the elf-soldier gave a sardonic bow.
"As you wish. Sir."
The elf captain gave a sardonic bow then retreated back into the cave that held Elrodan's grave. Bernard watched him go in undisguised bewilderment. He was no longer sure what to make of Gilrohir. Moments ago, he would not have put it past the authoritative wood elf to sternly order Lydia fired out of a cannon in the name of readying her for the battlefield, nor would he have put it past Lydia to quietly obey. Gilrohir was mourning, of course. His relationship with the soft-hearted Elrodan was a mystery all on its own, but the turn his rant had taken seemed not to simply be the angry tirade of the recently bereaved. All Bernard could truly fathom was that he had just been firmly reprimanded by seemingly the least likely person imaginable for the least likely offense. He watched Gilrohir disappear into his wounded solitude for a few moments, then shook his head and made his way back to the village, hoping to find Lydia there.
Lydia was good at hiding, but not quite good enough. Either that, or perhaps she, in her own aching way, hoped he would find her. It did not take him long. He followed the light footprints again and found that Lydia had not gone back inside, but instead had lingered out in the cold, sheltered in the dark isolation behind a row of cottages. An overturned feeding trough sat in the snow, and Bernard found her perched upon it, staring out into a paddock full of grazing horses and reindeer. Tears fell down her face, but other than the occasional shudder of her breathing, she made no noise.
Bernard sat down on the trough beside her. Lydia stiffened slightly but did not look up or speak. After a moment, when she made no move to acknowledge his presence, he scooched closer to her and nudged her with his elbow. Her head turned, and she looked in the opposite direction as him. A low sob escaped her. He placed a shaky hand on her shoulder as if to say that no matter how long it took her, he would not leave until she was ready to talk. He was done running away.
"I suppose you heard all of that?"
"Yeah," he admitted. "But if it makes you feel any better, I didn't understand a word of it."
A few more tears fell from her eyes, and together with the silence, they told Bernard quite clearly that it did not. In fact, he feared if he were not very careful in the next few moments, he might somehow made everything worse. Bernard looked at his hands soberly.
"You could have died yesterday," he said quietly.
"Bernard-"
"Please let me finish. I'm sorry, Lydia. I'm sorry about Elrodan. And Gilrohir. And I'm sorry about how I've been acting and how I've been treating you."
"Why?" asked Lydia, stubbornly keeping her gaze on the paddock. "We were never betrothed. We were never even properly courting. You don't owe me anything."
"Yes, I do," Bernard insisted. "I owe you an apology and my thanks. I never had a chance to tell you, but you were right. All those years ago. You helped me see that things needed to change. Then you gave your life trying to make it happen. You helped make the Pole a better place, and I never thanked you for that."
Lydia gave a tearful nod but did not speak. Silence hung between them for several moments and soon became unbearable.
"Please say something," begged Bernard.
A slight tilt of her head was the only acknowledgement that she had even heard him, and Lydia remained silent a few moments more. But Bernard was full of patience now and waited for her to collect her thoughts.
"I miss Elrodan," she began at last, her voice thick with grief that threatened to break his heart. "He was always so kind to me. I don't belong anywhere. The human world isn't the place I left. It moved on without me. And I don't know that I will ever truly belong with the wood elves. But he always treated me like I was one of them."
Tears ran silently down her face, silent as their conversation.
"I know where you belong," said Bernard finally. "Here. With me."
Lydia looked toward him speechless. Bernard closed his eyes and took a nervous breath.
"I haven't had an opportunity-" he stopped himself before the lie left his lips. "No. That's not true. I have had too many opportunities."
Bernard shook his head trying to force the jumbled tangle of thoughts to form a straight line.
"I don't know what's going to happen to us. Maybe this stupid war will be the end of all of us. Or maybe I'll wake up tomorrow, and this will all be a terrible dream. But I don't want to wait until one of us is on our deathbed again to tell you how much I love you."
Lydia stared, dumbfounded.
"And Lydia I've been acting like an idiot. I'm so sorry."
"Say it again."
"I'm sorry?"
"No. Not that."
Her eyes finally met his properly, strongly. They no longer looked as though they were made of steel or stone. They were that bright pearlescent grey he remembered. Bernard put his hand on her face and found it dry, her tears crystallized in the cold.
"I love you. I should have said it a long time ago. And whatever happens next, I'm here, and I won't shut you out again. I promise. Think maybe we could start over?"
"No," said Lydia. Bernard's face and heart began to drop until he noticed the coy gleam in her eyes. "I'd rather pick up where we left off."
Her hand touched his face. Their lips touched. It was not the light kiss of before, a soft flutter after giving in to the pull of magnetism. Bernard could not speak for Lydia, but now that he was kissing her, he felt like a fool for not doing it sooner and intended to spend a lot of time in the future doing it. Her hand grasped the back of his hair and pulled him closer. Bernard let his hands wrap themselves around her waist. They kissed like they were drowning.
Finally they pulled apart breathless. Their foreheads pressed together. Her fingers combed through his curly hair.
"I know we're not okay," he said slowly. "But will we be? I mean, assuming we don't die?"
"Yes. Yes it's alright."
"We never talked. We should have. Tell me anything. Or everything. Tell me about Elbereth. Or we can talk about Elrodan, if you want."
"Well, there is something I wanted to ask."
"Anything."
"My uncle? What happened to him?"
A weight dropped into the pit of Bernard's stomach, and he felt like a fool all over again. Of course she would want to know what had become of William Hightower, her only then-living relative and the man who had raised her. The man she had loved to trust with all their fates'.
"Well," Bernard began slowly. "After you-after it was over, we came here, like we planned. I told him everything, and he agreed to take over. He did it for you. He was a good Santa. I didn't really know what to do, you know, after. We thought you died, and he ended up comforting me. I always felt bad about that. I had never lost anyone before, not that I know of. He was kind to me. To all of us."
"He spent the rest of his life believing me dead all while I was safe in Elbereth and didn't even remember him," said Lydia morosely. "Was he happy?"
"I think so. He did the job well, but I think you dying made a light go out in him somewhere. He did marry though. She seemed to bring some happiness into his life. I wish I could say I took care of him, but the truth was, he took care of me. Of all of us."
Lydia smiled a little, and the air seemed a little lighter.
"Thank you. I miss him," she said, smiling sadly. Then she looked sharply at him and tilted her head. "Is that not his duster?"
Bernard looked down at himself, then a memory dislodged itself like a rock tumbling loose from a quarry.
"Yeah, yeah, it was. He gave it to me that night to keep warm. He told me to keep it. He said he wouldn't be needing it anymore. I forgot out that." Bernard found himself sharing that same sad smile. "He was a good man."
"Yes, he was. And now he's gone. Just like Elrodan."
A flood gate had opened within Lydia. Since he had reopened his heart to her minutes ago, she latched onto their friendship like a life preserver. Even as the cold settled onto them, they talked for hours. Bernard told her about meeting Scott and his son, Charlie, about Quinton's latest projects and Curtis's latest shenanigans. Mostly though, he stayed quiet and allowed Lydia to tell him about Elbereth. Now that she was not making a frantic attempt to explain to him how she had gone from her grave to his bedroom, the anecdotes came easier. The way she described the forestland made it seem like a magical dreamscape. Occasionally while telling a story, her voice would drift away, and he knew that Elrodan's name had come up. Yet with each story she told, his name fell easily from her lips, until soon she could say it with a smile.
Night fell. In spite of the resilience to the cold that had been born from their love and the relief that the impasse between them had been broken, Bernard was starting to lose the feeling in his toes.
"There's going to be so much gossip," he said as they stood.
"Can anyone keep a secret here?"
"Nope. Not really. Not with ears like ours. Yours are quite fetching, by the way. I don't think I've said so."
Lydia gave a light laugh, and Bernard's heart clenched a little. It had been far too long since he had heard that sound.
"No really," he said seriously. "The wood elf look, it suits you. And for what it's worth, I think your uncle would be very proud of you. I think he'd be happy that you're an elf now. I know I am."
Tears filled Lydia's eyes, mingling with joy and grief as she smiled and managed a quiet, "Thank you."
Hand in hand, they made their way back inside. Some of the elves had already begun twisting in their seats at the sight of them together. And not just the young workers. A few wood elves began shamelessly whispering back and forth like teenagers in a high school cafeteria. Lydia watched them in consternation.
"Hey," said Bernard, gently nudging her side. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes," said Lydia without hesitation.
Bernard took her hand, and she allowed him to lead her to the top balcony. He did not speak or in any way indicate he had a speech to make. Instead he simply pulled Lydia in and kissed her deeply. A collective gasp reverberated across the room. Bernard pulled away and saw Lydia staring at him quite shellshocked. Bernard shrugged.
"Might as well confirm what they already suspect."
"Fair enough."
Except now that he'd gotten started on the project, Bernard found he didn't want to stop. The bright look in Lydia's eyes told him the feeling was entirely mutual. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and they kissed again. They might have become more enthusiastic about it, had they not been interrupted by a loud chorus from the factory floor as all the young elves called out at once.
"AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!"
Lydia pulled back and laughed, prompting Bernard to let out a loud groan and roll his eyes.
"You can't be like that," said Lydia, laughing even harder. "This was your idea."
"Yeah, yeah, take their side. Back to work everyone!"
He took Lydia by the hand.
"Come on. Let's find somewhere a little less public."
Hand in hand, they went away with a little more joy and a less sorrow in their hearts than they had had in the morning. Whatever tomorrow or the coming weeks might bring, they could face it more bravely, knowing they had each other. And whatever shadow or wicked brightness lurked outside were distant things. For a time, in any case.
A/N: I made a joke to my beta reader that I'm a massive tease in these fics, because I made you wait until the 16th chapter to let them kiss in the first story, then made you wait until the 16th chapter to let them kiss in the sequel. I was mostly exaggerating, because I didn't intend it to take this many chapters for them to properly reconcile, but then I went back and checked and found, I was absolutely right! Their first kiss in In the Silence was in the 16th chapter. Here's to accidental parallels, I guess.
Chapter Title from "Walter Reed" by Michael Penn
And because I somehow forgot to put this at the end of the last chapter, the titles for chapters 11, 13, 14, 15, and 16 all come from the song "Danny Boy."
Have a wonderful week, and I'll see you when I see you.
