Fic:Worth Waiting For - part 2
Dec. 23rd, 2007 10:50 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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tolkien_slashy_swapsTitle: Worth Waiting For (2/4)
Author: Aglarien
Beta: Erviniae
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rúmil/Erestor
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Not mine, with the exception, as always, of the cat. The great Master Tolkien’s estate owns everything else. I promise to return his elves when I’m done playing with them.
Request: I love Erestor. Please don't put two warriors or two scribes together. I'd like a small sweet scribe and a tall strong warrior. I also like librarian/Rúmil. I'd like the story to start with a bit of angst and *maybe* develop into a hurt/comfort story, but that's not a necessity.
Summary: Erestor finally finds an unexpected love that was worth waiting for.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2007 Slashy Santa Fic Swap. Erestor, being the efficient chief counselor that he is, didn’t want to totally cooperate and be an ordinary scribe or librarian, but he is small and awfully sweet, and isn’t a warrior. I hope it pleases. My special thanks to Tena, Phyncke and Chaotic Binky for their help with the plot, and to Chaotic Binky for her invaluable help with injuries, especially head injuries, symptoms, and healing.
For Mi-Chan.
Timeline: 130 T.A.
Late in the following day they passed where the silver waters of the fair Nimrodel began her trek across the Misty Mountains, and the two Elves passed out of Lórien, still following the Celebrant along the base of the mountains. Days passed, and they crossed the Misty Mountains through the Redhorn Pass, nestled among the three tall peaks called Caradhras, Celebdil and Fanuidhol.
As each day passed, the Elves shared more and grew fonder of each other, each finding in his companion a complement to his own nature. They talked often of books, which both loved, albeit Erestor more than Rúmil, and shared their favorite stories and poems. Both shared a love of chess, and they frequently played together, with the game board only in their minds, and telling each other their moves. As a light snow fell in the western foothills, they lay side-by-side, sharing warmth in a cold, stony shelter before a small fire. The horses stood close together in the narrow cave, resting from their long trek across the mountains, and sharing the warmth of the fire.
“It is good to be out of the high mountains,” Rúmil said in a quiet voice. “I feared the snow would start before we were through.”
Erestor nodded, and then winced and sat up from his bed roll, pulling his hair up from his neck, and trying to untangle a strand that had managed to creep inside his tunic and wind itself around the chain he wore beneath his garments. He had nearly decided to cut the offending piece of his hair away when Rúmil again spoke softly.
“Would you like me to help you with that?”
With a grateful smile, Erestor turned toward his companion and bent his head low, allowing Rúmil access to his neck. “I fear we shall have to cut the hair. It seems to be well and truly entangled.”
“Perhaps not,” Rúmil said, working the hair from the intricate chain with nimble fingers. “Or at least not much of it.” Freeing all but a few strands of the ebon mane from the links, he finally had to grasp the hair near Erestor’s head to keep it from hurting the Elf and pulled it away from the chain, leaving the remainder twisted around the silver. “What is it that you wear on this chain?” he asked. As he pulled away the remnants of broken hair, he realized the chain was crafted of unbreakable mithril.
“It was a gift from my brother who raised me, long ago,” Erestor said. “It is precious to me because it is all I have left of him. I would take it off, but I fear its loss if I do.” When Rúmil was finished, Erestor sat up and pulled the pendant out from inside the front of his tunic, holding it toward the firelight for the Galadhel to see. “You see, it used to be a brooch for a cloak, but I had it molded onto this mithril chain which has no clasp, for safekeeping.
Rúmil looked at the pendant as it shimmered in the firelight, and could not help but exclaim at its perfection. Silver, crafted in the form of flowing water, shimmered with clear white diamonds. “You do well to protect it so, Erestor!” he said. “It is truly a thing of beauty. What does it signify?”
Erestor looked at the pendant, running a finger over it lightly. “It is water flowing from a fountain,” he said. “It was a gift from him when I reached my majority.”
What happened to him?” Rúmil asked gently.
Erestor’s eyes grew sad. “He was killed in battle, as was his mate.”
“I am sorry, Erestor. I did not mean to bring back a sad memory.”
“You did not bring it back, Rúmil, for it is never gone from me, no matter how many years have passed. I watched them die. That is why I told you, if you were to lose one of your brothers, you would go on. I will not dishonor their memory, just as you could never dishonor your brothers’.”
~~~*~~~
Erestor woke before the dawn had broken, perhaps from the stirring of the horses or the crack of a frozen tree branch. It was not surprising that the Galadhel still slept; Rumil had rested little during their crossing of the Misty Mountains, insisting on taking most of the watches himself and allowing Erestor to sleep. Now that they were safely sheltered in the cave with the horses for the night, the younger Elf was able to relax his guard and find his rest.
The light of the half moon filtered softly into their cave, and Erestor watched the strong Galadhel as he slept. Rúmil’s face was softened in his reverie, his eyes half-closed, and his roseate lips gently parted. Light golden hair spread over the folded cloak he used for a pillow. The Elf was beautiful, Erestor thought, and then his heart skipped a beat and his breath caught in his throat. With the surety of his Elven nature and the wisdom of his long years, Erestor knew. There was no doubt in his heart. He loved Rúmil, and not as he had loved his king. This was no brotherly love. It was the love that was reserved for the one Elf who would complete his spirit; the other half of his soul.
~~~*~~~
Three weeks after starting out, they had passed the Hollin Ridge and were just two or three days from the borders of Imladris when the unexpected happened. In the early morning, they were crossing a rocky stretch of land with many loose stones at a goodly pace since they wanted to find more hospitable land, when suddenly one of the hooves of Erestor’s horse slid sideways. The animal struggled to recover its balance, and the librarian was thrown onto the uneven ground. As Erestor’s head cracked on one sharp stone, another jagged rock cut into his side.
Rumil threw himself off of his horse and skidded over the lose rocks to the fallen Elf. Erestor was still and silent, the blood pouring from this head wound pooling in stark crimson over the stones. Pressing his hand over the back of Erestor’s head trying to stop the bleeding, and pulling the injured Elf’s upper body onto his lap, he looked at the pale Elf, barely discerning shallow breathing. Raising his eyes to the heavens, he screamed, “No! Námo! You shall not have him! You cannot take him! Do you not know that I love him? Please, my Lord! Do not take him away!”
The Galadhel lowered his head to Erestor’s chest, oblivious to the tears that fell from his eyes, and a deep, echoing voice that was not his own spoke loudly in his mind, “Then save him.”
Rúmil’s years of serving on the borders of the Golden Wood and caring for wounded guards came to his aid, and he whistled to his horse to come near while gently laying Erestor on the ground. Rising, he hurriedly searched his bags and brought out water to cleanse, herbs to help heal, and bandages to staunch the flow of blood.
It was finally after the head wound was bandaged and the bleeding slowed that he saw the blood on Erestor’s tunic. With a gasp, he turned the injured Elf and lifted Erestor’s tunic and shirt, uncovering the gaping wound in his side. The wound was thankfully shallow and no longer bleeding profusely, so Rúmil cleaned it and bound it tightly with herbs to prevent infection. The wounds bandaged, his gentle hands searched the remainder of Erestor’s body for injury, and found none.
Taking a clean bandage, Rúmil poured clear water over it and gently drew it over Erestor’s face, wiping away the dust of travel and spots of blood that his fingers had placed there, and all the while speaking in a gentle, low voice to his companion. “Please, Erestor, wake. Wake and speak to me and tell me you are not seriously hurt. I cannot bear to lose you. If I do I fear I will shortly follow you. I could not help falling in love with you. All those years I watched you….and loved you. Do not leave me.”
Erestor did not wake, but a low moan left his throat and his fingers clutched at Rúmil’s tunic. Listening to the librarian’s breathing, Rúmil realized that Erestor was no longer breathing shallowly. His breaths were deeper, and the Galadhel’s hope was kindled.
“I have to get you out of here and to Imladris,” Rúmil said, his fingers now gently stroking Erestor’s temple. “I have done what I can, but I am no healer. I have to get you to Elrond. Stay with me, Erestor. Do not leave me. I will stay by your side until you are well again. This I promise you.” Lifting the unconscious Elf into his arms, he quietly spoke to his horse, and the animal folded its long legs beneath him and knelt on the rocky ground. Once Rúmil had mounted with the injured Elf, the horse carefully rose to its legs. The Galadhel called to the other two horses to follow, and they slowly resumed their journey across the rocky ground.
“I have to get you to a more hospitable place to rest for the night, Erestor, and I do not know the way as you do. But I know the Bruinen River is to the west, so we will go to the river and follow it north to Imladris. I do not know if there is a faster way to get you to Elrond, but I cannot risk getting lost.” Rúmil kept up the quiet chatter, hoping it would somehow help Erestor regain consciousness and come back to him. Every so often, the injured Elf would moan pitifully, and it tore at Rúmil’s heart, but Erestor did not wake.
The rocky ground finally turned into open grasslands. Rúmil urged the horses faster, not knowing how far away the Bruinen was, and hoping to reach it before nightfall. He had used most of their fresh water taking care of Erestor and cleaning the blood off his own hands, and he had no idea where else to find water. Holding Erestor tightly against his body, they crossed the grassland swiftly. Gradually, the landscape changed to brush and trees which became denser as they traveled, telling the Galadhel that the river was close. Clearing a rise, the river came into sight, and Rúmil breathed a sigh of relief.
“We have found the river, Erestor,” Rúmil said softly. “We will stop along its banks and rest, as it is nearly nightfall. After I get you resting comfortably, I will fill our water skins and prepare a healing tea for you. I will make you a bed of soft leaves. Does that sound all right?”
When the banks of the river were reached, Rúmil found a grove, well protected by trees, and carefully wrapped Erestor in their cloaks and laid him on the ground. He built a bed of soft leaves, branches, and their bedrolls; and carefully moved Erestor to it, once again covering him with their cloaks to keep him warm. He quickly refilled the water skins and set to work building a fire to prepare a healing tea in the hope that Erestor would awaken. While the water heated, he carefully sorted out his supply of healing herbs to have them ready. He may not be a healer, but as a Marchwarden he knew the herb lore for treating injuries and lessening pain.
Erestor awoke to the most excruciating pain he had ever felt. Rivers of torment surged through his head, and he moaned in distress. In an agony of confusion, he had no idea where he was and what had happened to him. Laboring to open his eyes a crack, he caught a glimpse of golden hair before the fading sun’s light forced them closed again. “Glorfindel,” he whispered brokenly. “Pain…so much pain.”
“Erestor, it is I, Rúmil,” the Marchwarden said softly. “You fell and hit your head and cut your side. Where is your pain greatest?”
“My head…it hurts so much.” Erestor mumbled. “Glorfindel….I feel sick…” The Elf groaned.
“Erestor, can you drink some tea? It will help with your pain.” Rúmil carefully lifted the librarian and put the cup to his lips. Erestor swallowed reflexively, but then gagged, and let out a sob. “Glorfindel….”
Rúmil realized that the Elf was at the least badly concussed and probably experiencing extreme nausea as well as the blinding pain in his head. He was confused and had mistaken him for Glorfindel, not remembering where he was. He quickly reached for a pinch of herbs and gently placed them in Erestor’s mouth. “Chew, Erestor. Chew on the herbs. It will ease your pain and help you rest.”
Once again Erestor’s actions were simply from reflex and he chewed the herbs and swallowed. “Glorfindel…help me. Hurts…sick…so tired….,” he mumbled.
“I do not think we are far from Imladris, Erestor. Rest. Sleep.” Rúmil’s fingers stroked Erestor’s brow, and the librarian fell into a deep sleep. “I have to get you to Elrond, Erestor,” he whispered. “Please stay with me. Do not leave me.” While Erestor slept, the Galadhel gently changed the bandages on Erestor’s head and side, bathing the wounds and applying fresh herbs.
Rúmil lay beside Erestor through the night, holding him to keep the injured Elf warm. He stroked Erestor’s brow and spoke to him softly, all the while beseeching the Valar to spare the Elf he loved.
At dawn’s light, Rúmil once again set Erestor before him on the horse, holding him in his arms, and urged the horses into a run. The injured Elf was still deeply asleep, but it was not a healing sleep: Rúmil knew it was from his head injury. He traveled as fast as he could, stopping only for as long as the horses need to rest. He did not spare a thought for his own comfort or hunger – the only thing that mattered was getting Erestor to Imladris and Elrond. The whole day he kept speaking softly to Erestor, begging him to stay. Erestor’s only responses were pitiful moans that tore at Rúmil’s heart and the mumbling of Glorfindel’s name.
When the Ford of the Bruinen and its Elven guards were sighted at sunset, Rúmil nearly cried in relief. Refusing to relinquish his burden, the border guards gave the Galadhel a fresh horse, keeping Rúmil’s and Erestor’s mounts and the pack horse to care for them. They hurried him to Elrond with four guards to guide the way. As they neared the Last Homely House and passed a guard station, a bell tolled by the Elves at the post announced the coming of wounded. By the time they reached the courtyard, Lord Elrond himself stood at the bottom of the steps, awaiting their arrival.
“Please, my Lord,” Rúmil said, trying to catch his breath. “Erestor was thrown from his horse and his head is injured.” Lowering the librarian into Elrond’s arms, he said, “He awoke once but did not know me.”
“When did this happen?” Elrond asked, laying Erestor on the litter that the healers had arrived with. Seeing Erestor injured had shocked him to the core, but he was a healer first, and he put his personal feelings aside.
“Nearly two days ago,” Rúmil said, dismounting and hurrying after Elrond and the healers as they carried Erestor into the Healing Hall.
“When did he wake?” Elrond asked.
“Last night for a short time. He was in great pain, and I tried to give him some tea made with herbs for his pain, but he gagged on it,” Rúmil replied. “He has slept much of the time since, but moans in his sleep and calls for Glorfindel.”
They had reached the Healing Halls and Erestor was placed on a bed in a separate room. Elrond removed the bandage on Erestor’s head and asked, “Has he any other injuries?”
“His side was cut by a sharp rock, but it is not deep and looked to be healing when I changed the bandage last night,” Rúmil said. “Please, my Lord, can you help him?”
Elrond looked up at the Galadhel. “You are Rúmil, are you not?” At Rúmil’s nod, he said, “I will do everything in my power to help him, Rúmil. Erestor is very dear to me.”
“As he is to me, my Lord,” Rúmil whispered, reaching to take one of Erestor’s hands and holding it in his own. “He cannot leave us.”
Elrond spared Rúmil another glance, looking at him curiously and wondering for a brief moment what his relationship was with Erestor, before turning his full attention back to the injured Elf. Rúmil was forced to relinquish Erestor’s hand when the Elf’s travel stained garments were removed and Elrond searched for more injuries. The Elf-lord winced at the cut in Erestor’s side and the multitude of bruises from his fall. “He did not complain of pain elsewhere?” Elrond asked.
“Only his head, and he said he felt sick. I did not know he had so many bruises,” Rúmil replied guiltily. Wanting to hold Erestor’s hand again, he wished he had not had to step back out of the way for Elrond to work.
“There was nothing you could have done for the bruises, Rúmil,” Elrond said kindly. “It was more important that you brought him here quickly, and you cared for the wounds well.” When healers came with water to bathe Erestor, Elrond took the bowl from them and gently washed and dried his friend’s body himself before clothing him in a warm sleeping robe, making sure that the smaller Elf’s pendant was safely under the robe. “From what you tell me, Erestor’s head – inside – is bruised from his fall. There is little we can do for him except to try and ease his pain and nausea. I believe he will heal, although it will take many days, and we must watch him carefully. He will sleep very deeply much of the time, and even after he begins to heal and is more awake, he will feel very sick and still be in pain.” He ordered the healers to extinguish most of the lanterns in the room to spare Erestor from the pain the light would cause, and then resting his hands on Erestor’s head for long moments, he gently soothed the Elf’s temples and brow. “Erestor, wake now. It is Elrond. Erestor, come back to us and open your eyes. Wake now.”
Erestor moaned. Someone was calling him to wake, and waking meant a return to the pain. But the voice was persistent. With another moan, he opened his eyes slightly, and then closed them again.
“Good,” Elrond said, taking a cup from one of the healers. Lifting Erestor slightly and holding the cup to the injured Elf’s lips, he said quietly, “Drink, Gwador. You are in Imladris. Rúmil has brought you to us and we will care for you. Sip the tea slowly. It will ease your pain and stomach so you can rest.”
Rúmil was amazed to hear Elrond call Erestor ‘sworn-brother’, but when the injured Elf responded to the Elf-lord’s words, he inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, and he watched as the librarian drank. It was obvious that Erestor and Elrond were closer than he had realized. He was approaching Erestor’s bed once again when a tall, commanding figure entered the room. He was travel-stained, with a long sword belted at his waist, and wore a great cloak over his armor.
“Elrond, I have only returned and was told about Erestor,” Glorfindel said softly, seeing the state that Erestor was in. “How bad is he,” he whispered, fear showing in his eyes.
“He is very injured, but I believe he will heal in time. He was thrown from his horse two days ago, but the good Marchwarden brought him home to us. Rúmil says he has been calling for you,” Elrond whispered. He set the drained cup aside and laid Erestor back down on the bed again. “Glorfindel is here, Gwador.”
Erestor moaned and reached out an arm, before letting it fall again to the bed, the weight of his own limb too heavy to hold. Glorfindel would take the pain away and make everything better. He always did.
Glorfindel moved to the opposite side of the bed from Elrond and sat down on the edge. Taking Erestor very gently in his arms, he said, “I am here now.” Slowly, he kissed Erestor on the brow and then on each cheek, before finally bestowing a chaste kiss to his lips. “You are safe in Imladris now, dear one, and we will take care of you.”
“Glorfindel,” Erestor moaned. “Hurts…”
Imladris’ captain looked at Elrond pleadingly.
Rúmil’s heart twisted in his chest when he saw how lovingly Glorfindel embraced Erestor and kissed him. He had fallen in love with an Elf who already had a lover.
“The tea he drank will ease his pain, Glorfindel. He needs to sleep.”
Glorfindel once again kissed Erestor’s brow and face, and said softly, “The pain will ease, dear one. You must sleep now. Sleep…sleep. We will be here, watching over you.”
“Sleep, Gwador. I will watch over you. You are safe now,” Elrond whispered.
Erestor moaned, but felt Glorfindel’s arms still around him. He felt warm…Glorfindel always made him feel warm and safe. He heard Elrond, and felt the healer’s soothing touch on his brow. But something was missing – someone was missing.
“May I stay and sit with him, my Lord?” Rúmil asked quietly. Even though he saw how Glorfindel loved Erestor, the Marchwarden would not leave the smaller Elf’s side.
Erestor’s last thought as he drifted off into sleep was, ‘That is the voice.’
Elrond looked at Rúmil and said quietly, “You care for him greatly.”
“I do, and I gave him my word I would not leave his side, my Lord.”
“When did you last eat or rest, Rúmil?” Elrond asked.
Rúmil shook his head. “I do not remember – two days perhaps? It matters not.”
“It does matter, Rúmil. You will do Erestor no good if you starve yourself. Glorfindel has just returned from patrol and you both need to eat and bathe. He will take you to my Seneschal, who will show you to your rooms. I must return to my wife soon, for her time is near, but I will stay with Erestor until you return.”
“I can eat here as well, my Lord. Please let me stay with him,” Rúmil whispered. “I do not wish to leave him.”
Glorfindel looked at Rúmil’s blood-stained clothing, and then looked at Elrond. Giving an imperceptible nod, he said, “Elrond, I will take Rumil to Lindir and make sure he has a meal and fresh clothing. When we have both eaten and bathed, we will return here to relieve you and watch over Erestor.” He slowly removed his arms from about the injured Elf and settled Erestor on the bed, tucking the blankets around him. “Come with me, Rúmil.”
Rúmil knew he had to obey his superiors in this valley, and reluctantly followed Glorfindel out of the Healing Hall and into the main house, where Lindir stood awaiting them. Once they had answered the seneschal’s most urgent questions about Erestor’s condition and the captain had made his requests, Glorfindel departed for his rooms, promising to call for Rúmil in an hour’s time, and Lindir escorted the Marchwarden to his rooms.
Rúmil thought the rooms far too grand for him, but as they were the ones assigned to him by the seneschal, he kept the thought to himself. The seneschal had already anticipated all of his needs, and a meal sat waiting for him on the table before a warmly burning fire in the small sitting room. Clean tunic, leggings and a warm cloak lay on the bed in the large bedroom, and a bath was already partially drawn for him in the bathroom. There was even a hair brush and comb lying on the dressing table in the bedroom, for which Rúmil was grateful. In his haste to get Erestor to Elrond, he had left all of his belongings behind on the horses with the border guards.
Lindir showed him how to add hot water to the bath from the taps, and said, “I must check on my Lady since Elrond is with Erestor. If you need anything at all, just find a passing servant and they will assist you. Welcome to Imladris, Rúmil, and thank you for bringing Lord Erestor home.”
Rúmil thanked the seneschal as Lindir hurried away, only afterwards realizing that Lindir had referred to Erestor as ‘Lord’. It was another piece in what was becoming a massive puzzle, but one he could not solve on his own. Setting the puzzle aside in the back of his mind for the time being, he decided to bathe before eating. He added hot water and scented oil to the water already in the bath, stripped off his bloody clothing, and sank into the warm pool. Worry about Erestor kept him from enjoying the bath as he normally would, and he quickly washed his hair and body and left the bath. After towel drying and brushing his hair, and dressing in the clean, borrowed clothing, he wolfed down his meal, realizing how hungry he was for the first time in two days.
There was still time before Glorfindel was due to arrive and he paced back and forth across the sitting room, trying to deal with his confused emotions. It was clear that Glorfindel loved Erestor deeply. If Erestor and Glorfindel were lovers, then he had never had a chance with the Elf. Perhaps that was why Erestor had spurned any advance made to him in Lothlórien? Could they even be bonded? But no, that did not make sense. Erestor’s words, ‘Like you, I have yet to meet the one, Rúmil,’ came back to him in a rush, making the Marchwarden even more confused. Only one thing remained: he would have to ask Glorfindel himself when the right time presented himself. For now, he would stay with Erestor and simply love him, whether or not that love could ever be returned. He loved the small Elf too much to want anything but Erestor’s happiness. He had fallen in love with the little librarian even before he knew him well, and had loved him for a hundred years. There was nothing that would make that love change; it could only grow stronger. It simply was.
Moments later, Glorfindel knocked on his door and called out to him. Rúmil grabbed the clean cloak Lindir had left for him and opened the door to join the captain. Glorfindel had also changed into tunic and leggings, and wore a warm cloak, for winter would soon be upon them and the nights were cold. Just because Elves did not feel the cold the same as Men did not mean they did not need protection from it. Together they walked silently to the Healing Hall.
Tbc…
Author: Aglarien
Beta: Erviniae
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rúmil/Erestor
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Not mine, with the exception, as always, of the cat. The great Master Tolkien’s estate owns everything else. I promise to return his elves when I’m done playing with them.
Request: I love Erestor. Please don't put two warriors or two scribes together. I'd like a small sweet scribe and a tall strong warrior. I also like librarian/Rúmil. I'd like the story to start with a bit of angst and *maybe* develop into a hurt/comfort story, but that's not a necessity.
Summary: Erestor finally finds an unexpected love that was worth waiting for.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2007 Slashy Santa Fic Swap. Erestor, being the efficient chief counselor that he is, didn’t want to totally cooperate and be an ordinary scribe or librarian, but he is small and awfully sweet, and isn’t a warrior. I hope it pleases. My special thanks to Tena, Phyncke and Chaotic Binky for their help with the plot, and to Chaotic Binky for her invaluable help with injuries, especially head injuries, symptoms, and healing.
For Mi-Chan.
Timeline: 130 T.A.
Late in the following day they passed where the silver waters of the fair Nimrodel began her trek across the Misty Mountains, and the two Elves passed out of Lórien, still following the Celebrant along the base of the mountains. Days passed, and they crossed the Misty Mountains through the Redhorn Pass, nestled among the three tall peaks called Caradhras, Celebdil and Fanuidhol.
As each day passed, the Elves shared more and grew fonder of each other, each finding in his companion a complement to his own nature. They talked often of books, which both loved, albeit Erestor more than Rúmil, and shared their favorite stories and poems. Both shared a love of chess, and they frequently played together, with the game board only in their minds, and telling each other their moves. As a light snow fell in the western foothills, they lay side-by-side, sharing warmth in a cold, stony shelter before a small fire. The horses stood close together in the narrow cave, resting from their long trek across the mountains, and sharing the warmth of the fire.
“It is good to be out of the high mountains,” Rúmil said in a quiet voice. “I feared the snow would start before we were through.”
Erestor nodded, and then winced and sat up from his bed roll, pulling his hair up from his neck, and trying to untangle a strand that had managed to creep inside his tunic and wind itself around the chain he wore beneath his garments. He had nearly decided to cut the offending piece of his hair away when Rúmil again spoke softly.
“Would you like me to help you with that?”
With a grateful smile, Erestor turned toward his companion and bent his head low, allowing Rúmil access to his neck. “I fear we shall have to cut the hair. It seems to be well and truly entangled.”
“Perhaps not,” Rúmil said, working the hair from the intricate chain with nimble fingers. “Or at least not much of it.” Freeing all but a few strands of the ebon mane from the links, he finally had to grasp the hair near Erestor’s head to keep it from hurting the Elf and pulled it away from the chain, leaving the remainder twisted around the silver. “What is it that you wear on this chain?” he asked. As he pulled away the remnants of broken hair, he realized the chain was crafted of unbreakable mithril.
“It was a gift from my brother who raised me, long ago,” Erestor said. “It is precious to me because it is all I have left of him. I would take it off, but I fear its loss if I do.” When Rúmil was finished, Erestor sat up and pulled the pendant out from inside the front of his tunic, holding it toward the firelight for the Galadhel to see. “You see, it used to be a brooch for a cloak, but I had it molded onto this mithril chain which has no clasp, for safekeeping.
Rúmil looked at the pendant as it shimmered in the firelight, and could not help but exclaim at its perfection. Silver, crafted in the form of flowing water, shimmered with clear white diamonds. “You do well to protect it so, Erestor!” he said. “It is truly a thing of beauty. What does it signify?”
Erestor looked at the pendant, running a finger over it lightly. “It is water flowing from a fountain,” he said. “It was a gift from him when I reached my majority.”
What happened to him?” Rúmil asked gently.
Erestor’s eyes grew sad. “He was killed in battle, as was his mate.”
“I am sorry, Erestor. I did not mean to bring back a sad memory.”
“You did not bring it back, Rúmil, for it is never gone from me, no matter how many years have passed. I watched them die. That is why I told you, if you were to lose one of your brothers, you would go on. I will not dishonor their memory, just as you could never dishonor your brothers’.”
~~~*~~~
Erestor woke before the dawn had broken, perhaps from the stirring of the horses or the crack of a frozen tree branch. It was not surprising that the Galadhel still slept; Rumil had rested little during their crossing of the Misty Mountains, insisting on taking most of the watches himself and allowing Erestor to sleep. Now that they were safely sheltered in the cave with the horses for the night, the younger Elf was able to relax his guard and find his rest.
The light of the half moon filtered softly into their cave, and Erestor watched the strong Galadhel as he slept. Rúmil’s face was softened in his reverie, his eyes half-closed, and his roseate lips gently parted. Light golden hair spread over the folded cloak he used for a pillow. The Elf was beautiful, Erestor thought, and then his heart skipped a beat and his breath caught in his throat. With the surety of his Elven nature and the wisdom of his long years, Erestor knew. There was no doubt in his heart. He loved Rúmil, and not as he had loved his king. This was no brotherly love. It was the love that was reserved for the one Elf who would complete his spirit; the other half of his soul.
~~~*~~~
Three weeks after starting out, they had passed the Hollin Ridge and were just two or three days from the borders of Imladris when the unexpected happened. In the early morning, they were crossing a rocky stretch of land with many loose stones at a goodly pace since they wanted to find more hospitable land, when suddenly one of the hooves of Erestor’s horse slid sideways. The animal struggled to recover its balance, and the librarian was thrown onto the uneven ground. As Erestor’s head cracked on one sharp stone, another jagged rock cut into his side.
Rumil threw himself off of his horse and skidded over the lose rocks to the fallen Elf. Erestor was still and silent, the blood pouring from this head wound pooling in stark crimson over the stones. Pressing his hand over the back of Erestor’s head trying to stop the bleeding, and pulling the injured Elf’s upper body onto his lap, he looked at the pale Elf, barely discerning shallow breathing. Raising his eyes to the heavens, he screamed, “No! Námo! You shall not have him! You cannot take him! Do you not know that I love him? Please, my Lord! Do not take him away!”
The Galadhel lowered his head to Erestor’s chest, oblivious to the tears that fell from his eyes, and a deep, echoing voice that was not his own spoke loudly in his mind, “Then save him.”
Rúmil’s years of serving on the borders of the Golden Wood and caring for wounded guards came to his aid, and he whistled to his horse to come near while gently laying Erestor on the ground. Rising, he hurriedly searched his bags and brought out water to cleanse, herbs to help heal, and bandages to staunch the flow of blood.
It was finally after the head wound was bandaged and the bleeding slowed that he saw the blood on Erestor’s tunic. With a gasp, he turned the injured Elf and lifted Erestor’s tunic and shirt, uncovering the gaping wound in his side. The wound was thankfully shallow and no longer bleeding profusely, so Rúmil cleaned it and bound it tightly with herbs to prevent infection. The wounds bandaged, his gentle hands searched the remainder of Erestor’s body for injury, and found none.
Taking a clean bandage, Rúmil poured clear water over it and gently drew it over Erestor’s face, wiping away the dust of travel and spots of blood that his fingers had placed there, and all the while speaking in a gentle, low voice to his companion. “Please, Erestor, wake. Wake and speak to me and tell me you are not seriously hurt. I cannot bear to lose you. If I do I fear I will shortly follow you. I could not help falling in love with you. All those years I watched you….and loved you. Do not leave me.”
Erestor did not wake, but a low moan left his throat and his fingers clutched at Rúmil’s tunic. Listening to the librarian’s breathing, Rúmil realized that Erestor was no longer breathing shallowly. His breaths were deeper, and the Galadhel’s hope was kindled.
“I have to get you out of here and to Imladris,” Rúmil said, his fingers now gently stroking Erestor’s temple. “I have done what I can, but I am no healer. I have to get you to Elrond. Stay with me, Erestor. Do not leave me. I will stay by your side until you are well again. This I promise you.” Lifting the unconscious Elf into his arms, he quietly spoke to his horse, and the animal folded its long legs beneath him and knelt on the rocky ground. Once Rúmil had mounted with the injured Elf, the horse carefully rose to its legs. The Galadhel called to the other two horses to follow, and they slowly resumed their journey across the rocky ground.
“I have to get you to a more hospitable place to rest for the night, Erestor, and I do not know the way as you do. But I know the Bruinen River is to the west, so we will go to the river and follow it north to Imladris. I do not know if there is a faster way to get you to Elrond, but I cannot risk getting lost.” Rúmil kept up the quiet chatter, hoping it would somehow help Erestor regain consciousness and come back to him. Every so often, the injured Elf would moan pitifully, and it tore at Rúmil’s heart, but Erestor did not wake.
The rocky ground finally turned into open grasslands. Rúmil urged the horses faster, not knowing how far away the Bruinen was, and hoping to reach it before nightfall. He had used most of their fresh water taking care of Erestor and cleaning the blood off his own hands, and he had no idea where else to find water. Holding Erestor tightly against his body, they crossed the grassland swiftly. Gradually, the landscape changed to brush and trees which became denser as they traveled, telling the Galadhel that the river was close. Clearing a rise, the river came into sight, and Rúmil breathed a sigh of relief.
“We have found the river, Erestor,” Rúmil said softly. “We will stop along its banks and rest, as it is nearly nightfall. After I get you resting comfortably, I will fill our water skins and prepare a healing tea for you. I will make you a bed of soft leaves. Does that sound all right?”
When the banks of the river were reached, Rúmil found a grove, well protected by trees, and carefully wrapped Erestor in their cloaks and laid him on the ground. He built a bed of soft leaves, branches, and their bedrolls; and carefully moved Erestor to it, once again covering him with their cloaks to keep him warm. He quickly refilled the water skins and set to work building a fire to prepare a healing tea in the hope that Erestor would awaken. While the water heated, he carefully sorted out his supply of healing herbs to have them ready. He may not be a healer, but as a Marchwarden he knew the herb lore for treating injuries and lessening pain.
Erestor awoke to the most excruciating pain he had ever felt. Rivers of torment surged through his head, and he moaned in distress. In an agony of confusion, he had no idea where he was and what had happened to him. Laboring to open his eyes a crack, he caught a glimpse of golden hair before the fading sun’s light forced them closed again. “Glorfindel,” he whispered brokenly. “Pain…so much pain.”
“Erestor, it is I, Rúmil,” the Marchwarden said softly. “You fell and hit your head and cut your side. Where is your pain greatest?”
“My head…it hurts so much.” Erestor mumbled. “Glorfindel….I feel sick…” The Elf groaned.
“Erestor, can you drink some tea? It will help with your pain.” Rúmil carefully lifted the librarian and put the cup to his lips. Erestor swallowed reflexively, but then gagged, and let out a sob. “Glorfindel….”
Rúmil realized that the Elf was at the least badly concussed and probably experiencing extreme nausea as well as the blinding pain in his head. He was confused and had mistaken him for Glorfindel, not remembering where he was. He quickly reached for a pinch of herbs and gently placed them in Erestor’s mouth. “Chew, Erestor. Chew on the herbs. It will ease your pain and help you rest.”
Once again Erestor’s actions were simply from reflex and he chewed the herbs and swallowed. “Glorfindel…help me. Hurts…sick…so tired….,” he mumbled.
“I do not think we are far from Imladris, Erestor. Rest. Sleep.” Rúmil’s fingers stroked Erestor’s brow, and the librarian fell into a deep sleep. “I have to get you to Elrond, Erestor,” he whispered. “Please stay with me. Do not leave me.” While Erestor slept, the Galadhel gently changed the bandages on Erestor’s head and side, bathing the wounds and applying fresh herbs.
Rúmil lay beside Erestor through the night, holding him to keep the injured Elf warm. He stroked Erestor’s brow and spoke to him softly, all the while beseeching the Valar to spare the Elf he loved.
At dawn’s light, Rúmil once again set Erestor before him on the horse, holding him in his arms, and urged the horses into a run. The injured Elf was still deeply asleep, but it was not a healing sleep: Rúmil knew it was from his head injury. He traveled as fast as he could, stopping only for as long as the horses need to rest. He did not spare a thought for his own comfort or hunger – the only thing that mattered was getting Erestor to Imladris and Elrond. The whole day he kept speaking softly to Erestor, begging him to stay. Erestor’s only responses were pitiful moans that tore at Rúmil’s heart and the mumbling of Glorfindel’s name.
When the Ford of the Bruinen and its Elven guards were sighted at sunset, Rúmil nearly cried in relief. Refusing to relinquish his burden, the border guards gave the Galadhel a fresh horse, keeping Rúmil’s and Erestor’s mounts and the pack horse to care for them. They hurried him to Elrond with four guards to guide the way. As they neared the Last Homely House and passed a guard station, a bell tolled by the Elves at the post announced the coming of wounded. By the time they reached the courtyard, Lord Elrond himself stood at the bottom of the steps, awaiting their arrival.
“Please, my Lord,” Rúmil said, trying to catch his breath. “Erestor was thrown from his horse and his head is injured.” Lowering the librarian into Elrond’s arms, he said, “He awoke once but did not know me.”
“When did this happen?” Elrond asked, laying Erestor on the litter that the healers had arrived with. Seeing Erestor injured had shocked him to the core, but he was a healer first, and he put his personal feelings aside.
“Nearly two days ago,” Rúmil said, dismounting and hurrying after Elrond and the healers as they carried Erestor into the Healing Hall.
“When did he wake?” Elrond asked.
“Last night for a short time. He was in great pain, and I tried to give him some tea made with herbs for his pain, but he gagged on it,” Rúmil replied. “He has slept much of the time since, but moans in his sleep and calls for Glorfindel.”
They had reached the Healing Halls and Erestor was placed on a bed in a separate room. Elrond removed the bandage on Erestor’s head and asked, “Has he any other injuries?”
“His side was cut by a sharp rock, but it is not deep and looked to be healing when I changed the bandage last night,” Rúmil said. “Please, my Lord, can you help him?”
Elrond looked up at the Galadhel. “You are Rúmil, are you not?” At Rúmil’s nod, he said, “I will do everything in my power to help him, Rúmil. Erestor is very dear to me.”
“As he is to me, my Lord,” Rúmil whispered, reaching to take one of Erestor’s hands and holding it in his own. “He cannot leave us.”
Elrond spared Rúmil another glance, looking at him curiously and wondering for a brief moment what his relationship was with Erestor, before turning his full attention back to the injured Elf. Rúmil was forced to relinquish Erestor’s hand when the Elf’s travel stained garments were removed and Elrond searched for more injuries. The Elf-lord winced at the cut in Erestor’s side and the multitude of bruises from his fall. “He did not complain of pain elsewhere?” Elrond asked.
“Only his head, and he said he felt sick. I did not know he had so many bruises,” Rúmil replied guiltily. Wanting to hold Erestor’s hand again, he wished he had not had to step back out of the way for Elrond to work.
“There was nothing you could have done for the bruises, Rúmil,” Elrond said kindly. “It was more important that you brought him here quickly, and you cared for the wounds well.” When healers came with water to bathe Erestor, Elrond took the bowl from them and gently washed and dried his friend’s body himself before clothing him in a warm sleeping robe, making sure that the smaller Elf’s pendant was safely under the robe. “From what you tell me, Erestor’s head – inside – is bruised from his fall. There is little we can do for him except to try and ease his pain and nausea. I believe he will heal, although it will take many days, and we must watch him carefully. He will sleep very deeply much of the time, and even after he begins to heal and is more awake, he will feel very sick and still be in pain.” He ordered the healers to extinguish most of the lanterns in the room to spare Erestor from the pain the light would cause, and then resting his hands on Erestor’s head for long moments, he gently soothed the Elf’s temples and brow. “Erestor, wake now. It is Elrond. Erestor, come back to us and open your eyes. Wake now.”
Erestor moaned. Someone was calling him to wake, and waking meant a return to the pain. But the voice was persistent. With another moan, he opened his eyes slightly, and then closed them again.
“Good,” Elrond said, taking a cup from one of the healers. Lifting Erestor slightly and holding the cup to the injured Elf’s lips, he said quietly, “Drink, Gwador. You are in Imladris. Rúmil has brought you to us and we will care for you. Sip the tea slowly. It will ease your pain and stomach so you can rest.”
Rúmil was amazed to hear Elrond call Erestor ‘sworn-brother’, but when the injured Elf responded to the Elf-lord’s words, he inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, and he watched as the librarian drank. It was obvious that Erestor and Elrond were closer than he had realized. He was approaching Erestor’s bed once again when a tall, commanding figure entered the room. He was travel-stained, with a long sword belted at his waist, and wore a great cloak over his armor.
“Elrond, I have only returned and was told about Erestor,” Glorfindel said softly, seeing the state that Erestor was in. “How bad is he,” he whispered, fear showing in his eyes.
“He is very injured, but I believe he will heal in time. He was thrown from his horse two days ago, but the good Marchwarden brought him home to us. Rúmil says he has been calling for you,” Elrond whispered. He set the drained cup aside and laid Erestor back down on the bed again. “Glorfindel is here, Gwador.”
Erestor moaned and reached out an arm, before letting it fall again to the bed, the weight of his own limb too heavy to hold. Glorfindel would take the pain away and make everything better. He always did.
Glorfindel moved to the opposite side of the bed from Elrond and sat down on the edge. Taking Erestor very gently in his arms, he said, “I am here now.” Slowly, he kissed Erestor on the brow and then on each cheek, before finally bestowing a chaste kiss to his lips. “You are safe in Imladris now, dear one, and we will take care of you.”
“Glorfindel,” Erestor moaned. “Hurts…”
Imladris’ captain looked at Elrond pleadingly.
Rúmil’s heart twisted in his chest when he saw how lovingly Glorfindel embraced Erestor and kissed him. He had fallen in love with an Elf who already had a lover.
“The tea he drank will ease his pain, Glorfindel. He needs to sleep.”
Glorfindel once again kissed Erestor’s brow and face, and said softly, “The pain will ease, dear one. You must sleep now. Sleep…sleep. We will be here, watching over you.”
“Sleep, Gwador. I will watch over you. You are safe now,” Elrond whispered.
Erestor moaned, but felt Glorfindel’s arms still around him. He felt warm…Glorfindel always made him feel warm and safe. He heard Elrond, and felt the healer’s soothing touch on his brow. But something was missing – someone was missing.
“May I stay and sit with him, my Lord?” Rúmil asked quietly. Even though he saw how Glorfindel loved Erestor, the Marchwarden would not leave the smaller Elf’s side.
Erestor’s last thought as he drifted off into sleep was, ‘That is the voice.’
Elrond looked at Rúmil and said quietly, “You care for him greatly.”
“I do, and I gave him my word I would not leave his side, my Lord.”
“When did you last eat or rest, Rúmil?” Elrond asked.
Rúmil shook his head. “I do not remember – two days perhaps? It matters not.”
“It does matter, Rúmil. You will do Erestor no good if you starve yourself. Glorfindel has just returned from patrol and you both need to eat and bathe. He will take you to my Seneschal, who will show you to your rooms. I must return to my wife soon, for her time is near, but I will stay with Erestor until you return.”
“I can eat here as well, my Lord. Please let me stay with him,” Rúmil whispered. “I do not wish to leave him.”
Glorfindel looked at Rúmil’s blood-stained clothing, and then looked at Elrond. Giving an imperceptible nod, he said, “Elrond, I will take Rumil to Lindir and make sure he has a meal and fresh clothing. When we have both eaten and bathed, we will return here to relieve you and watch over Erestor.” He slowly removed his arms from about the injured Elf and settled Erestor on the bed, tucking the blankets around him. “Come with me, Rúmil.”
Rúmil knew he had to obey his superiors in this valley, and reluctantly followed Glorfindel out of the Healing Hall and into the main house, where Lindir stood awaiting them. Once they had answered the seneschal’s most urgent questions about Erestor’s condition and the captain had made his requests, Glorfindel departed for his rooms, promising to call for Rúmil in an hour’s time, and Lindir escorted the Marchwarden to his rooms.
Rúmil thought the rooms far too grand for him, but as they were the ones assigned to him by the seneschal, he kept the thought to himself. The seneschal had already anticipated all of his needs, and a meal sat waiting for him on the table before a warmly burning fire in the small sitting room. Clean tunic, leggings and a warm cloak lay on the bed in the large bedroom, and a bath was already partially drawn for him in the bathroom. There was even a hair brush and comb lying on the dressing table in the bedroom, for which Rúmil was grateful. In his haste to get Erestor to Elrond, he had left all of his belongings behind on the horses with the border guards.
Lindir showed him how to add hot water to the bath from the taps, and said, “I must check on my Lady since Elrond is with Erestor. If you need anything at all, just find a passing servant and they will assist you. Welcome to Imladris, Rúmil, and thank you for bringing Lord Erestor home.”
Rúmil thanked the seneschal as Lindir hurried away, only afterwards realizing that Lindir had referred to Erestor as ‘Lord’. It was another piece in what was becoming a massive puzzle, but one he could not solve on his own. Setting the puzzle aside in the back of his mind for the time being, he decided to bathe before eating. He added hot water and scented oil to the water already in the bath, stripped off his bloody clothing, and sank into the warm pool. Worry about Erestor kept him from enjoying the bath as he normally would, and he quickly washed his hair and body and left the bath. After towel drying and brushing his hair, and dressing in the clean, borrowed clothing, he wolfed down his meal, realizing how hungry he was for the first time in two days.
There was still time before Glorfindel was due to arrive and he paced back and forth across the sitting room, trying to deal with his confused emotions. It was clear that Glorfindel loved Erestor deeply. If Erestor and Glorfindel were lovers, then he had never had a chance with the Elf. Perhaps that was why Erestor had spurned any advance made to him in Lothlórien? Could they even be bonded? But no, that did not make sense. Erestor’s words, ‘Like you, I have yet to meet the one, Rúmil,’ came back to him in a rush, making the Marchwarden even more confused. Only one thing remained: he would have to ask Glorfindel himself when the right time presented himself. For now, he would stay with Erestor and simply love him, whether or not that love could ever be returned. He loved the small Elf too much to want anything but Erestor’s happiness. He had fallen in love with the little librarian even before he knew him well, and had loved him for a hundred years. There was nothing that would make that love change; it could only grow stronger. It simply was.
Moments later, Glorfindel knocked on his door and called out to him. Rúmil grabbed the clean cloak Lindir had left for him and opened the door to join the captain. Glorfindel had also changed into tunic and leggings, and wore a warm cloak, for winter would soon be upon them and the nights were cold. Just because Elves did not feel the cold the same as Men did not mean they did not need protection from it. Together they walked silently to the Healing Hall.
Tbc…
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Date: 2008-01-08 04:19 am (UTC)However I will have to do so tomorrow as it is bedtime for Binky lol
*Hugs* Binky xxxxxxx
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Date: 2008-01-09 04:56 am (UTC)