Chapter 12: ground, we are not supposed to give up

The twin brothers were witnessing a battle they could neither participate in nor influence. In fact they dared not, yet their wish to do so was nearly overwhelming.

The older twin channelled all the support he was able to give to the healer. Elrohir stood guard over Glorfindel and to warn his father of any unexpected threats that he did not recognize. This was all they could do. Through their mental connection with their father and their natural bond as kin, they experienced all the Elf-lord did.

They could provide support but not intervene should anything go awry. They were forced into the role of bystanders, unable to act as participants.

They had strong confidence in their father’s power enhanced by Vilya but hard-learned experience had told them to always consider the possibility of failure. The power of a Nazgûl could not be underestimated and the Elf-lord’s endurance had its limits.

When the healer let out a cry of surprise, the brothers increased their support until they were on the verge of collapse themselves. They realized that if this battle was not ended soon it would result in a tragedy.

……………………………..

Erestor, still hovering in the corner of the room, whirled around at the cry from his Lord. The ring’s light was now blinding causing him to avert his eyes. Directing his gaze at the twin brothers instead, he narrowed his eyes. Something important must have happened. The postures of the two young elves had stiffened even more and sweat was running down their faces.

The Elf-lord’s body was now shaking with the effort. How long could this go on? Erestor had no extraordinary mental power but he was always good at judging situations quickly and accurately. And, should he give a guess now, he expected that all three peredhil were near a mental breakdown.

Before he could end his thought it happened. His Lord’s body jerked and began to tip from the bed. He sprang forward but the brothers were faster. As lifeless as they had appeared earlier, they were quick now. While Elrohir managed to catch the limp body of his father just in time, Elladan was there to grasp the legs and together they laid Elrond on the bed next to Glorfindel. The glow of the ring had vanished entirely. The jewel had become invisible like before.

For several moments the brothers remained perched at the bed’s edge too exhausted to move. Their hands shook badly and their breaths came in ragged gasps.

Slowly Erestor walked up next to the beds. The healer was lying pale and unconscious, Glorfindel fared little better. The councillor was still deeply troubled about the fact that one of the highest ranking elves in Imladris had been possessed by the will of one of Sauron’s minions.

This should not have happened. How had they all failed to recognize that the Nazgûl still had a hold of the warrior’s mind? How much information had already been transferred?

Erestor was not sure how any information would be exchanged. Had the Nazgûl claimed back his wraith-form and returned to Mordor to report, or could the Dark Lord just gather the needed information directly at any time?

The dark haired Elf-lord shuddered. If the latter was the case then their haven was no longer safe. He took another step closer to study the face of his old friend. Glorfindel, who had always done all that was possible to protect the descendants of his King, had now become their greatest threat.

Taking a deep breath he turned and retrieved an object from the corner of the room that the other occupants had so far failed to notice. When he returned to the bed Glorfindel was occupying he unsheathed a sword.

Two heads snapped up at the sound and two pairs of eyes looked at him incredulously. The brothers stared at the weapon in the hand of the councillor uncomprehendingly.

“Erestor, what…?” Elladan queried and sprang to his feet all weariness forgotten. Elrohir was not a second behind. Had the situation not been this dire Erestor would have been amused.

The twin brothers took a defensive stance in front of their father’s bed while directing an uneasy gaze at the golden warrior, knowing that they could not protect both Elf-lords at once.

Erestor sighed observing this. They would hardy be a match for him anyway, yet he was proud at the boys for their protectiveness and saddened that they acted without reflecting first. Had they so little faith in him?

The councillor could almost see the mind working behind the older twin’s brow. Only the missing understanding held him back so far.

However he did not have to wait long. “Erestor, what is the meaning of this?” a low voice demanded; yet it was not Elladan but his brother. The younger twin had placed a restrictive hand on his brother’s arm.

The dark haired advisor took a deep breath. “Elladan, Elrohir, I do not desire to let any harm come to any of you or….”  

“Your sword however indicates otherwise!” Elladan interrupted vehemently while stepping closer despite the vice grip his twin had on his arm.

Unimpressed by the dark glare from the younger elf Erestor continued. “…. Or to this valley.” He finished and inclined his head toward the still unconscious warrior.

Elladan stopped his advance when realization hit him. With shock he looked at the warrior on the bed. Was Glorfindel still under control of the Nazgûl? Had his father failed to remove the evil presence?

The gasp behind him indicated that Elrohir had come to the same insight. If their father had failed then Glorfindel would still be a threat to all residing in Imladris.

Erestor had realized it and acted upon the threat.

“You can lower your sword, Erestor. That threat is no longer present.”

This time three dark haired heads turned in surprise. Elrond was just moving into a seated position. He observed the tense scene with a frown, but he quickly assessed the situation and acted to diffuse it.

Reluctantly dragging their gaze from the still poised weapon, the twins turned around to help their father sit up. The Elf-lord’s eyes however were still trained on the sword.

Erestor returned the gaze evenly. He knew his duty. Until the Master of Imladris ordered him otherwise and before he was convinced that the order was sound he would not give up his defensive position; even if it taxed his feelings to threaten elves most dear to him. But misplaced feelings could lead to failure and failure could be deadly.

Finally the healer took a deep breath. “Erestor, lower your sword. The Nazgûl is defeated and I removed the presence from Glorfindel’s mind. He’s no longer possessed and no threat to our safety anymore.”

Erestor inclined his head toward his Lord and lowered the weapon, much to the relief of the younger elves; yet he directed a frowning gaze at the still unconscious Troop Commander.

Elrond swung his legs over the side of bed despite the reproachful look from his eldest. He reached out to feel the warrior’s heartbeat. Satisfied to find it regular, even though a bit shallow he met the still questioning eyes of his advisor.

“The Nazgûl is defeated. I made sure he will never bother anyone again….” Erestor narrowed his eyes when his Lord trailed off. He could loudly hear the unsaid “but”.

Obliging the unvoiced question Elrond continued. “However, I was unable to convince Glorfindel to return to us; at least I was wrenched from his mind before I could coax an answer from him.”

Now Erestor brought his sword down and re-sheathed it; accompanied by a relieved sigh from Elrohir. He directed saddened eyes at his friend. Somehow he could understand his decision. Too many tragic events had been raining down on the warrior and even the ever-confident spirit of Glorfindel had its limits.

Glorfindel’s spirit had been assaulted recently, beginning with the deaths of his cousin and his two barely adult sons, killed on their journey toward Imladris not long ago.  This was then followed by the ambush and the deaths of his men, many of them friends of many years including Thalan.  Finally, his friend had experienced the overtaking of his mind by the Nazgul, the minion of the Dark Lord himself.  

One or two of these events would have broken any lesser spirit, but all of them combined could even bring down as bright as sparkling a fëa as Glorfindel’s.

Erestor lowered his head in silent mourning. They had rescued one of his dearest friends from death at the latest minute, only to lose him now to despair. He wondered what would happen to the great warrior. Would his fëa simply depart to the Halls of Mandos or would he remain in his body until it died from lack of use?

Elladan looked aghast at his father. Many questions whirled through his mind but he could not voice any one of them. They had fought valiantly and had yet lost in the end. He felt angry. They had done all they could for the warrior; now Glorfindel had to take the next step.

Like Erestor, Elrohir had hung his head to hide his tears. He had hoped that after rescuing his beloved mentor from bleeding to death and caring for his wounds that he would find the strength to overcome the mental trauma.

Sensing clearly the emotional turmoil from the three elves occupying the room with him Elrond cleared his throat.

“Erestor, Elladan, Elrohir, would you three please leave us alone?” he asked softly but with an undertone all three elves knew all too well. The Lord of Rivendell did not wish to be questioned, at least not now.

Without comment Erestor turned and ushered the twins from the room after they had directed a last look at the pale figure on the bed.

The healer sighed, allowing himself to sink deeper into the mattress finally giving in to his slightly shaking legs. He was in need of some time alone to think undisturbed.

He knew that he did not have the strength to venture into his friend’s mind again to renew his plea for the warrior to return to the world of the living. Yet he knew also that the time to attempt something different was running out.

Like Erestor he wondered what would happen to the warrior. He could already feel the weakening fëa of the elf next to him.

Closing his eyes he sank into a light trance to gather some strength and regain his equilibrium. The fight with the Nazgûl had drained him more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

After half an hour he opened his eyes and rose to sit down next to the warrior. He placed both hands on the elf’s face and again probed the other’s mind. He did not go as deeply as before but it was enough to connect with the fleeing fëa.

Searching and probing, calling and urging, he did not stop until the fëa responded, albeit feebly and unwillingly.

*Glorfindel*, the healer urged. *Tolo dan amen. Henion nír naeth guren lîn. Ú-moe an ngohenad. Lasto beth nîn a tolo dan na galad.*

For long moments the healer waited for an answer. He could sense the fëa struggle and just when he thought the spirit would respond in some way the fëa retreated and broke the connection.

Closing his eyes in defeat the healer withdrew. He had nothing more to give. His reserves were depleted, his resolve was gone, and his hope was shattered.

Knowing that it was a useless gesture, Elrond pulled the coverlet back in place over the warrior’s pale body and rose. Without a look back he tightened the sash around his dressing gown and walked toward the door. His wish for solitude had changed into the desire for company.

Just when his hand reached out for the doorknob, he heard a moan. Lightening fast he whirled around and hastened back to the bed. His heart nearly missed a beat when the blue eyes of his Troop Commander looked back at him.

Swallowing, the healer blinked to make sure he was not imagining the sight. However, before he could react in any way, the golden warrior opened his mouth.

“Elrond, forgive me,” was all he uttered before he closed his eyes again.

The dark haired elf uttered a cry of dismay when he realized that the warrior had already drifted back into a semi-conscious state again without giving him even the slightest chance to say something.

Accepting the repeated defeat the healer reflected on the words just uttered.

Why was Glorfindel requesting forgiveness? Was it to forgive him for nearly drowning in despair but now returning, or rather to forgive him for finally departing?

Elrond prayed for the former.

To be continued……………

A/N

Elvish translations:

Tolo dan amen. Henion nír naeth guren lîn.

Return to us. I understand your heart’s lamentation.

Ú-moe an ngohenad.

There is nothing to forgive. (literally: It is not necessary for forgiving)

Lasto beth nîn a tolo dan na galad.

Hear my call and return to the light.