Decisions In The Mist

Posted: May 2003
Type: FCS
Author's Name: Kharessa Bloodrose
Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor
Rating: R for violent imagery
Summary: Erestor panics, and Glorfindel has issues. Thinking takes place and decisions are reached.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or settings, and I am making no profit from the writing and sharing of this story.
Warnings: Violent imagery, more angst than usual
Author's Notes: Thanks to Pira, Alex, and Tessie for feedback and commentary.

*****

He was still, too still beneath the counterpane, utterly motionless in a way that denied his defining vibrancy. Erestor sat shakily on the bed beside him, stared in confusion at Glorfindel's face, at his closed eyes. Glorfindel's eyes were never closed except in dramatic expression or in the heat of passion. Certainly he never laid so still, so silently, with his eyes shut. He never looked so pale, so small, so vulnerable. His skin never felt cold to the touch.

"Celebrian said he would recover." Erestor said, struggling to keep his tone even and calm, refusing to make his words a question. He did not turn to face Elrond, but continued to stare into his lover's face.

"In truth, I don't understand why he was effected so strongly as he was. The poison was not particularly powerful. The wound was an ugly one and painful, but even so he should heal."

"Should."

Elrond sighed. "Something more seems to be working in him than his injury and orcish poison. I would not normally ask such a personal question, Erestor, but-

"Aye, I know." Erestor said shortly. "I understand. Is there anything else you can do for him?"

"Not at this time." Elrond gripped Erestor's shoulder, squeezed. "I will leave you with him. If you need anything at all, ring the bell on the table."

The elf lord left, and Erestor still did not look up, did not say any further words of thanks or farewell. Glorfindel lay in a pool of sunlight under the quilt that should have been too hot on this summer day. No sweat stood on his brow, however, nor did he move to kick away the counterpane in his healing sleep. Tears shimmered in Erestor's eyes as he skated his fingertips over the embroidered birds and flowers. It was a quilt that Glorfindel would have approved of, a pretty piece of rubbish.

"I did not want you like this; this is not what I meant." He said to the voiceless Glorfindel who was present but as unable to argue against his words as the ghost Glorfindel he had attacked in his office. "Come back."

*****

The fog swirling about him was gray, comfortably cool, soothingly concealing. He saw nothing through it and was unseen, but there was no terror in for him. Glorfindel knew what lay beyond this fog, knew that the realm of Mandos was close. It was not the dreary place that others described; he knew because he had been there.

There were no landmarks to guide him, but he knew with unerring instinct in which direction to turn if he wished to leave Imladris behind him forever, which way to turn if he wished to return to his pain racked body. In the fog those choices did not seem personal or of much import. Everything was comfortably distant, his life and options lying before him, waiting for him to choose with flat, impartial patience.

There had been no such choices the first time he had found himself here. That had been a swift journey, not so much a matter of conscious movement as propulsion into the Halls of Mandos. There had been no body to return to, nothing that could have sustained life.

It was not something he spoke of, not to his friends, not to his lovers. He remembered it well enough without speaking of it, better than he wanted to remember it. The fog had been a relief and a blessing after the flames, the nauseating scent of burning hair and flesh, excruciating, searing pain beyond which he had been able to hear his own screams spiraling upwards into a final crescendo of tortured agony until even his voice had been burnt away. If he had been offered a choice at the merciful moment of his death he would have refused to return, knew in his heart that he would have dropped to his knees in the veiling fog and begged abjectly, all dignity and pride forgotten, if his immediate return had been demanded.

How could one talk about something like that to another person? How do you conversationally speak of dying in flames, dying screaming, dying with all thought of dignity and purpose driven from one's mind by fiery torment? How could he look at Erestor and say, "I never would have known you if the offer to return me to Arda had come sooner. Even if I knew then what I know now I wouldn't have returned. Not for you, not for anyone. Furthermore, if I had it to do all over again, I'd run and never look back, and to hell with my vows and promises."

Erestor… Glorfindel allowed his thoughts to drift away from memories of fire and torment, shame and despair. That was not relevant, but Erestor was his lover now, his sweet one who didn't need his care. He closed his eyes, ethereal face briefly matching that of his physical body's as he rocked in the mist. There was more room for perspective here; he'd learned that in Mandos. Erestor had not meant that he did not want to be cared about, and he supposed that he should have had enough sense to know that. Erestor hadn't wanted to be suffocated, to be taken care of as if he were incapable of doing so for himself.

Was I doing that? Glorfindel asked himself, mildly curious. He didn't think so, even in the distancing fog it did not seem to him that he had doubted Erestor's competency. –I enjoyed caring for you because I love you.- He thought simply, and nodded to himself at the thought's accuracy. –I did not always do well or act sensibly, but my heart was in the right place. Why do you doubt me?-

There was no answer, and Glorfindel knew there would be none. He could know himself here, understand his motivations and actions, but Erestor could not cross the barrier of mist to make himself understood. Still he remained seated, thinking, rocking, head bowed in the featureless swirl of gray.

He thought of Erestor, conjured an image of him in his mind. He saw him in the way that he remembered him best, slender form draped in burgundy and green, authoritative, stern in his beauty. He thought of his eyes, dark chocolate that could be cold or warm and limpid, narrowed in humor or simmering anger. Erestor's features were delicate verging on feminine, but after their first few encounters he had never mistaken the one in his arms for a she elf, never wished to turn Erestor into a creature such as Elralinde however similar they might be in looks and temperament. He loved his Erestor who was all intelligence and soft lips, up tilted chin and kissable lips, warm in his arms and undefeatable on the intellectual battle ground. One at whose feet he could kneel or whom he could gather into his arms.

-You say that I demand your surrender, but it seems to me that it is you who want mine, my love.- He whispered voicelessly. In the fog it did not seem such a terrible thing to give himself over, to let go of Glorfindel of Gondolin, Glorfindel the balrog slayer, Glorfindel of Imladris to become Erestor's Glorfindel. He had been living with the knowledge that surrender and flight were no strangers to his character for many long centuries though none knew this but himself. What was another surrender an outward one? He could return to Imladris if he wished, give Erestor what he wanted, and that would be the end of it. An easy solution.

He felt a ghost of despair as he rose to his feet, a sense of cold wind blowing through him, inside of him. No tears could be shed in this place of shifting light and darkness, no emotion could be felt strongly enough to engender tears. Glorfindel wondered if their were silver trails on his pale cheeks back in the healing rooms, wondered if Erestor had come to his bedside, wondered if Erestor would wipe the tears from his eyes.

*****

Day had passed, then night, and another day. Erestor remained at Glorfindel's bedside, held him in his arms when the need for sleep overcame him. Elrond came at regular intervals to check his wound, and though the elf lord had tried to usher Erestor out of the room when bandages needed to be changed the chief advisor refused to be shut out. Instead he watched, forced himself to look at the damage that could be inflicted by a barbed arrow shot into abdominal muscles. His expression remained smooth and calm through out, but his hands would draw up inside of his sleeves, clench into fists that left crescents of blood on his palms.

"The last thing I said to him before he left was that I didn't need his care, that I was not his possession." Erestor said, apropos of nothing, and Elrond nodded. He was not fooled by the off hand tone, nor by the advisor's calm demeanor.

"You will have a chance to speak to him again."

"I hope so, Elrond."

They spoke no further, and when Elrond left Erestor again laid down by Glorfindel's side. Watched the late afternoon shadows lengthen on the wall, darken, become a concealing cloak. Wept. He did not see the glimmer of tears at the rim of Glorfindel's lashes, did not witness the silent slide of salty wetness from the corners of closed eyes to golden hair. Almost didn't feel the slight shifting of the body in his arms a few moments later.

"Glorfindel?" He whispered hopefully, and was rewarded with a soft sigh. "Glorfindel, please, are you well, tell me you've returned?"

"I am here, Erestor." His words were weak, barely audible. "Hurts."

"I know, I'm sorry." Erestor sat up carefully, reached for the cup of tea liberally laced with pain killers that he kept by the bedside. "Let me help you drink this."

It was not an easy task. Glorfindel could not sit up, and Erestor's hands shook badly. He could not stem the flow of frightened, shamed tears as he tried to assist the helpless warrior, felt a stab of self loathing as he saw Glorfindel settled back, uncomplaining of the liquid that had spilled on his chin and loose bed shirt.

"I'm sorry, Erestor."

"No, Glorfindel, hush. You have nothing to be sorry for." He lay down beside him once more, wiped Glorfindel's face with the sleeve of his own shirt. "You should feel some relief soon."

Glorfindel made no reply, and when Erestor turned to face him fully he saw that the warrior was asleep once more. His eyes were closed, but his flesh was warm. He sighed in relief as he nestled beside him, exhausted and utterly unable to sleep. Watched the darkness on the wall and commenced waiting once more.

*****

Part 13

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