3441, Second Age. The Bruinen Valley
The long line of the elven army stretched for
seemingly endless miles. Wagons full of wounded were heavily guarded against
attacks from fleeing orcs and Southrons. A few men traveled with the elves,
though most had stayed with Isildur's companies. The survivors were glad to
be getting away from the plain and with each mile, their spirits rose.
At night, as they sat around campfires, they would sing and sometimes dance.
Elrond sat with parchment in hand, drawing and redrawing plans for his new
home. While the house he built before the final campaign was serviceable,
he wanted more. He wanted his home in the hidden valley to unequalled anywhere.
Not only was he building a home, but he was also designing a refuge.
Erestor spent his free time beside Lindir. The young elf had not regained consciousness and his body was growing thinner daily. Elrond tended to him personally, but looking in to his eyes, you could see he had little hope left for Lindir.
At last, they reached the hidden valley and the long line of marchers and horses and wagons began the descent along the steep cliffs. The Bruinen River skipped over rocks and boulders and sprayed clear water at the refugees while rainbows danced in the cool breeze. Elrond breathed deeply of the clean air. He had come home at last and he knew his decision not to return to Lindon was a wise one. Perhaps the elves would be without a strong leader, but he knew in his heart that the elves would fade from Middle Earth.
At last in Imladris, Elrond directed the healers to erect tents for the wounded while Glorfindel was given the unenviable task of bivouacking the swollen ranks. Erestor divided his time between his duties as Elrond's counselor and watching over Lindir.
Gildor retained his position as aide and spent his days moving from group to group, acting as a messenger or walking with a string in hand as Elrond marked off this location or that as a building site. He watched as Elrond exhausted himself. The lord never stopped moving, never sat still.
And through it all, Lindir slept the sleep of the dead. His body grew thin and wasted and his complexion turned from waxy to gray. Erestor frequently spent his nights on a stool holding the still hands and talking to Lindir. Often, Gildor was seen at his side. The guilt rising in the young one was like a flood. Soon, he knew he would drown.
Nor was his emotional state unnoticed. One day, near the fourth week in the valley, Elrond came to sit with Gildor in the healer's tent. He was dusty and muddy from working on the foundations of what was to become the healer's houses. He checked on Lindir and then Gildor. His concern for both grew daily. Gildor was hale and completely recovered from his wound, yet his weight dropped and his face was pale with strain. "Gildor," Elrond began. "I am as concerned about you as I am about Lindir."
Gildor dragged his eyes away from his friend's haggard face. "Why does he not awaken?"
Elrond looked down for a moment. "I fear he will not, Gildor. I am sorry. The injury to his head is great and that is why he sleeps, but while he sleeps and heals, his body starves. There is nothing we can do for him anymore. If he doesn't wake up, he will die of starvation. Not even elves can last forever without sustenance."
Gildor blinked back his tears. He had dreaded hearing the final condemnation of his friend, although he knew the words would come eventually. "Does Erestor know?"
"Aye, I have told him." Elrond reached over and clasped Gildor's hand. "I know you and he were close."
"He confessed." Gildor began and then stopped. Elrond did not need to know the secrets of his heart, yet his burden was so great that he felt he would crumble beneath the weight.
"He confessed what?" Elrond inquired.
"He said he loved me, the night before the battle, but I do not love him. Not in that way. Now, he is .. and .."
"And it is not your fault. You did not strike the blow to his head. You are not to blame for not loving him the way he loves you. He understood, I am sure."
Gildor nodded blindly as tears splashed on his hands. "I want him to awaken."
"As do we all, Gildor." Elrond looked up as Erestor at last entered the tent. "We should decide soon," he said to his aide in a cryptic tone.
Erestor's dark eyes darted from Elrond to Lindir. "I know that you speak logically, my lord, but I cannot bear to think of it."
"I know this is difficult. Yet, watching him suffer so is easier?"
Gildor frowned as he felt like there was a conversation within a conversation and he had no idea what either was about. "What do you intend for Lindir?"
"He is dying, Gildor," Elrond said. "His death is slow, but irrevocable. I have considered hastening his end so that he suffers no more."
"No!" Gildor leapt to his feet and glared at Elrond. Suddenly, the lord seemed less noble. "You cannot mean to murder him."
"Murder? Nay, Gildor, do not speak to me of murder. He is gone, young one, and only his body remains. Do you condemn him to this slow, agonizing death?"
"I will not allow you to do this," Gildor hissed through clenched teeth. His hand crept to his side where his sword was sheathed.
"Peace, Gildor," Erestor raised his hand and touched Gildor lightly on the shoulder in warning. "Think before you act. The decision has not been made, but it something that we, as his friends, should consider."
Gildor stared at Elrond as if he'd never seen
him before. All his noble ideas about his lord crumbled to ash and he felt
as though someone had ripped his heart from his chest. That Elrond could discuss
ending Lindir's life so casually was beyond Gildor's comprehension.
"You could not be his friends if you consider this act."
"I am a healer as well as a friend, Gildor," warned Elrond. He had no real fear of Gildor's sword but did not wish a confrontation. "I speak as both. Will you not listen?"
"No, I will not hear your lies. He will recover."
Erestor and Elrond exchanged glances and the elder slowly rose from his stool. "I will leave you now to go and freshen up. I have had a long day and would like to get some rest. Perhaps, after you have thought about this for a while, you will understand, Gildor. Try to get some rest yourself."
Gildor said nothing as Elrond left the tent. He seated himself at the foot of Lindir's cot and stroked the pale cheek. He could not believe they were discussing Lindir as if he were nothing. "You should be ashamed, Erestor. If you loved him you would not allow Lord Elrond to even think of this."
"If I loved him?" Erestor's fine dark brow arched. "If you were his friend, you would see how he suffers. His body wastes away while his mind roams the Halls of Mandos. He is neither dead nor alive, but somewhere in between. Who are you to keep him here longer than is necessary? If you love him, Gildor, release him."
"How noble of you, Erestor," Gildor got up and his legs shook so that he could hardly stand. When Erestor would have helped him, he snarled. "Get away from me."
Gildor staggered from the tent, his eyes blind with tears. He turned his feet away from the rambling structure of the house and went among the open fields. He tripped in the darkness over a stake marking the boundary of a garden Elrond wanted planted and lay face down in the dirt. Warm hands traveled along his back as he sobbed, soothing him gently.
"He would kill him," sobbed Gildor in between gulps. "Lord Elrond would kill my poor Lindir. He should not even consider it. But what if he is right? What if Lindir is dying and nothing will help him? How am I to sit and watch the life leave his body at last? I cannot, I know I am selfish for my feelings, but I cannot."
The hands rubbing his back never did not stop their circular movement nor did anyone speak. Slowly Gildor's sobs abated and he hiccoughed once or twice. His eyes drifted shut as the soothing ministrations continued on his back. He relaxed into the massage and let his mind drift. He sank in to reverie.
When at last Gildor slept, Elrond rose tiredly to his feet and dropped his cloak over the prone elf. "Set someone to watch over him, please, Glorfindel." Elrond spoke tiredly. The emotional strain was overwhelming and he had no one to turn to. He felt so alone and desperate and he was not used to feeling helpless. Yet, there it was, his own helplessness. Not only could he not save Lindir, he could not help Gildor. He could not save Gil-Galad and he could not prevent Isildur from taking the one ring. What good was he as a lord, never mind a king? He may have been the hereditary ruler, but he felt like an elfling playing at being an adult.
"I will stay with him. Go and rest, my friend. He will be alright here under the stars."
"Thank you, Glorfindel."
Dawn found Elrond busy in his laboratory mixing potions. One in particular weighed heavily on his mind as he stirred the ingredients together. He knew that only a few drops would suffice and Lindir's pain would be at an end. He stared down at his hands as they held the mortar and pestle. They were the hands of a warrior and had taken lives in battle. They were the hands of a healer and hand brought life in to the world. Could they also be the hands of a murderer?
Glorfindel watched the servant run across the dew damp grass and climbed to his feet. He had not slept, but sat all night, as Elrond had bid, keeping watch over young Gildor. He felt sorry for the elf, just as he felt sorry for Erestor. Lindir was a handsome youth and his contagious laughter would be missed. He did not envy Elrond at all, for he knew the decision was a hard one and he knew that the noble would forever bear the emotional scars of taking Lindir's life. When the servant reached him, he placed his fingertips to his lips. "What is it?" he whispered.
"A messenger has come from Lindon, my lord. Young Gildor's father is ill and his mother has sent for him."
"See that the messenger is fed and has a place to rest. I will wake Gildor and give him the news." Glorfindel turned to his charge and waited until the servant was well away. He could not believe the gods had so much hatred for one so young, but apparently they did. Gently he woke Gildor and gave the startled elf the grim news.
"Where is the messenger now?"
"He is being fed, go and gather what you need. I will tell Lord Elrond of your departure."
"I thank you, Glorfindel," Gildor wrapped himself tightly in the cloak and sprinted for his rooms in the main house while Glorfindel went in search of Elrond.
Gildor reached his rooms and threw his clothing in to a sack and snatched up his riding boots. He would beg for a fast horse and promise to return it as soon as possible. He wanted to say good-bye to Lindir, too, so he dashed from his room and raced to the tent. Inside, he saw Erestor, still seated atop the stool and still holding Lindir's hands. Gildor blushed as he recalled his harsh words.
Erestor looked up and frowned. "What news, Gildor?"
"A messenger just arrived with word that my father is ill. I am returning to Lindon. I wanted to come and say good-bye to Lindir. And to tell you I am sorry for my harsh words."
"I know you are upset, Gildor." Erestor rose. "I will leave you alone with him for a moment."
He left and Gildor knelt by the bed. "Lindir, if you can hear me, I am sorry. I wish you would wake, but Lord Elrond does not believe you will. I cannot stay and be with you. I wish I could, but I must return to Lindon. I am sorry, for not loving you the way you wanted. I shall miss you." He leaned forward and kissed Lindir's cool cheek. "Farewell."
Glorfindel found Elrond in his laboratory mixing noxious potions. He studied Elrond for a moment from the doorway. His friend looked haggard and worn. Their time now should be joyous, not sorrowful. They had won the battle against Sauron. There should be singing and dancing every day and evening. Elrond smiled too rarely any more. He pushed his way from the door. "A messenger from Lindon brings news of Gildor's family. His father is ill and his mother wishes his presence."
"Of course. Have you told him?" Elrond placed the ceramic bowl on the counter and dusted his hands.
"Aye, he has heard the news. I sent him off to pack. I thought you should see him off."
Elrond's brows drew down. "I would rather not. We did not part on the best of terms last eve."
"Did you not? When I saw you part, you were swaying from exhaustion and young Gildor lay prone in the grass, fast asleep after a massage from talented hands."
"I have made the potion for Lindir, but Erestor and I have not yet committed ourselves." Elrond walked towards the door. "I do not recall a more difficult decision."
"There have been many such decisions, Elrond, this one sticks out because Lindir is so young."
"Are you so jaded, warrior?"
"Nay. I am not jaded; I am practical. Lindir cannot be helped and I must save my energy for those who can. As should you."
"Have someone bring a horse for Gildor. He will reach Lindon much sooner if he rides," Elrond changed the subject.
Glorfindel bowed and made his way to the stables in search of the mount Gildor rode to Dagorlad.
Elrond turned towards the healer's tent. Instinctively he knew Gildor would go there one final time before his departure. He watched as the young elf exited. His shoulders were slumped and he worried his lower lip. Elrond hurried up to him.
"My lord," said Gildor watching his lord approach. "I was coming to search for you. My mother has sent a messenger from Lindon concerning my father."
"I have already been informed, Gildor. Glorfindel is getting you a horse. Ride swiftly and safely." Elrond clapped the younger elf on the shoulder. "You service to Gil-Galad will long be remembered."
"You speak as though I will not come back." Gildor frowned.
"You have a long road ahead of you, Gildor. I do not know where your feet will take you, but I know that you must travel the path fate sets out before you."
"And Lindir? What will become of him?"
"We will continue to do all that we can for the moment. In the end, I suppose the decision will fall to Erestor and me. You are not responsible, Gildor, for any of this. Do not take this burden on the road with you."
The messenger came from the kitchens with a loaf of wheat bread in one hand and a mug of cold, clear water in the other. "Gildor Inglorion?"
"I am he. What news of my father?"
"His illness is grave and if you wish to see him, you should ride at once."
"Then let him away," Glorfindel brought a gray mare around. "Go with speed, Gildor."
Gildor mounted his horse while the messenger climbed aboard his own mount. Side by side they fled the courtyard. Gildor did not look back.
"Lord Elrond?" Erestor stood outside the tent with his hands folded inside his sleeves. "Come."
Alarmed, Elrond entered the tent with Glorfindel hard on his heels. He stopped beside Faelon, just at the foot of Lindir's cot. "How long has he been like this?"
"A few moments, since Gildor came." Answered Faelon.
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