Resurrection 13

Resurrection

Part 13

Posted: October 27, 2006
Title: Resurrection
Author: Larien Elengasse

Summary: Glorfindel strikes a bargain.

*****

Erestor leaned against the wall in the back of the healer’s chambers. He watched as Elrond and Glorfindel whispered a chant, and two healers, one of them Nestagar - the one who tended to him when he was wounded - worked their skill on Lindir’s pale form. Erestor was trembling, his arms clasped over his chest, his hands gripping his elbows as he gazed on Lindir’s face. It was slack, his skin was pale, and dried blood was spattered on his neck and face.

Glorfindel appeared to be in a trance of some sort, while Elrond continued to repeat an incantation that bound Lindir’s spirit within his body. Erestor jumped when he felt Gildor’s hands upon his shoulders, then he turned, burying his face in the warrior’s shoulder. He felt overwhelmingly guilty. That same afternoon he had felt envious of Lindir, now he stood in the healers’ quarters watching his friend die. Gildor held him tenderly, caressing his hair and rubbing small circles on his back.

“Pray, my friend,” Gildor whispered. “Lindir needs all of our prayers now.”

* * * *

Glorfindel looked around him at the stone walls and floor, at the long fathomless hallways and massive tapestries. He knew well where he was; he had been there before. As Mandos approached, he knelt before the Vala, bowing his head.

“I have come to sue for Lindir’s return, my lord,” he said softly.

“You would have me release him?” Mandos asked.

“Aye. It is within your power.”

“And why should I do such a thing?”

“Because he is not ready, my lord. He is so young; he has been through so much already.”

“You speak as if his existence here would be a punishment. Is it not true he would find peace here, more so than in your world?”

“It is the only world he has ever known, my lord.”

“On whose behalf do you entreat me? The minstrel’s or your own?”

Glorfindel looked up into Mandos’ dark eyes. “Both . . . my own. I ask so little…”

Mandos looked down at the kneeling warrior. “Asking for the return of a fëa that is mine is no small request.”

“Neither is asking one finally at peace to make further sacrifice,” Glorfindel retorted, lowering his eyes in penance for so bold a statement.

Mandos considered Glorfindel’s words. “You speak true. I will grant you this, Glorfindel, but know that I cannot always do such. There will come another time when you want one returned to you; know then what I tell you now – I will not be able do it. That is the payment for what you ask of me. This fëa for another in the future.”

“Whose?”

“The future is not for you to know. Is one fëa worth more than another?”

“This one is, to me.” Glorfindel swallowed; the Vala struck a hard bargain. “I understand, my lord.”

“He is returned.”

* * * *

Lindir mumbled as Glorfindel opened his eyes and returned from his trance. The healers had just finished dressing his wounds and setting the bones in his leg, and Nestagar was mixing a potent brew to ward off infection.

“Sparrow?” Glorfindel whispered.

Lindir blinked and opened his eyes. “Glorfindel,” he breathed. “I had the strangest dream…”

“Ssshh, my love,” Glorfindel murmured. “Be still and rest now; I will hear your dream another time.”

“My shoulder hurts, and so does my leg.”

“Aye, my songbird. Your leg is broken and your shoulder was out of joint. Your injuries have been repaired and Nestagar will give you something for the pain.”

Lindir blinked again as he felt Elrond’s hands slowly running over his shoulder. A warm, almost vibrating sensation washed through his joint, then the Lord of Imladris did the same to his leg. He watched as Elrond rounded the table, standing at its head and looking down into his eyes. He smiled as his lord, who had become like a father to him, smoothed his hair from his face and bent down, placing a soft kiss upon his forehead. “Rest, gentle Lindir, all will be well in a short while.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Lindir whispered, then he closed his eyes and found reverie.

Elrond placed his hand upon Glorfindel’s shoulder. “I do not know how you recalled him, for by rights he should be in Mandos’ Halls. However you did it, I am in your debt. It would have broken my heart to lose him.”

“As it would have broken mine,” Glorfindel murmured.

Erestor stood by, leaning heavily on Gildor’s chest, his head tucked beneath the warrior’s chin, his arms wrapped around his waist.

“Thank the Valar,” Gildor whispered. “He will yet live.” He looked down at the top of Erestor’s head. “Come, my friend. You have been through quite an ordeal, let me take you to your quarters.”

Erestor nodded and allowed Gildor to take him out of the healers’ chambers and toward the main house.

* * * *

Erestor entered his bedchamber with Gildor in tow. Gildor stopped at his door and smiled gently.

“Rest well, Erestor. All things will seem better in the morning.”

Erestor reached out and grasped Gildor’s wrist. “Wait.” Gildor looked at Erestor thoughtfully. “Would you . . . stay with me?”

“Of course,” Gildor answered, stepping inside Erestor’s bedchamber. He watched as his friend opened the armoire and handed him a pair of soft sleeping pants.

“They may be a bit too small, but you should find them comfortable.”

Gildor smiled. “I am sure they will be fine, my friend.”

Erestor retrieved a robe for himself and entered his bathing chamber to dress for bed. When he returned, he found Gildor turning down the bed. The Noldo wore nothing but the loaned sleeping pants and his hair was released from the braids he wore earlier. It was strange seeing Gildor this way, and Erestor realized he had never seen the warrior with his hair down. It was a lovely color of pale yellow, like the hue of summer grass, and his eyes were a soft blue, like the waters of the Bruinen where it flowed quietly. Erestor had always known Gildor was handsome, and charming in a roguish sort of way. But standing next to his bed, he saw the warrior in a different light; he was also kind and gentle, as in the way he cared for the injured she-wolf.

It felt a bit awkward, yet Erestor knew he did not want to be alone that night. So, he climbed into the bed and held back the covers for Gildor. As his friend laid down upon his back, Erestor curled next to him, resting his head on Gildor’s shoulder. He closed his eyes and sighed as the warrior gently stroked his hair, and he murmured, “Thank you,” as he drifted into an exhausted sleep.

* * * *

It was early morning when Erestor awoke. He was alone in the bed and unsure as to when Gildor had left. Sitting up, he rubbed his face and looked around the room, the events of the day before returning in a rush to his thoughts. It was strange how just yesterday afternoon his life was uneventful other than an unrequited longing for one whom he had let slip through his fingers. Today, the grim reality of the changing world was hovering on the doorstep to this hidden refuge. Wargs had found them, how long before orcs followed?

He pulled back the covers and slowly left the bed, stretching as he stood. Gildor had been kind enough to stoke the fire, so his bedchamber was warm and comfortable despite the bitter chill of early morning. Anor shone brightly, her rays refracted on the stubbornly clinging snow, causing light to dance across the sheer draperies that covered his windows.

As he stepped inside his bathing chamber, his mind continued to dwell on the events from the day before. Lindir had been on the doorstep of Mandos’ Halls, and somehow he returned; Erestor had a pretty good idea how that happened. After pulling his hair back behind his head and securing it with a thin piece of ribbon, he placed his hands on the sides of the low table that held the bowl and pitcher he used for washing, and gazed into the mirror at his weary reflection. “What price will you pay for such a bargain, Glorfindel?” he murmured. “What promises did you have to make to bring Lindir back?”

He sighed and grasped the handle of the pitcher, carrying it to the tub where he filled it with cold water. Emptying the water into the bowl, he splashed the icy liquid on his face, a sharp gasp escaping him as the cold bit at his skin. It was his morning ritual, meant to steel him for the day ahead, bracing him against the weaker side of his nature. Blindly reaching for a towel, he blotted his face, gooseflesh rising on his chest and arms.

He returned to his bedchamber and opened the armoire, selecting one of many pairs of black velvet leggings, a white undershirt made of crisp linen, and the customary black velvet robe he wore. He dressed in silence, donning socks, the leggings, and undershirt, then pulling on the robe and closing the clasps before taking a brush to his hair and braiding it in his customary fashion, so that his hair was pulled back from his austere face.

He resolved to stop by the infirmary and check on Lindir and the rescued she-wolf before beginning his workday. Slipping on his shoes, he exited his chambers in silence.

* * * *

Glorfindel felt a hand upon his head, stroking his hair, and he woke. His neck was stiff – he had slept on a stool with his head resting on Lindir’s hip all night.

“You should go to our chambers and get some rest, my love,” Lindir murmured. “A stool in the infirmary is no place for you to rest your weary bones.”

“I am loath to leave you,” Glorfindel said. “I doubt I could sleep one wink knowing you are down here alone.”

“I am not alone, and I am well cared for,” Lindir protested. “Besides, I am sure I will be able to return home soon.”

“Aye, very soon, Master Lindir,” Nestagar said as he entered the room. “There has been no sign of fever or infection. It will take a few weeks for the bones in your leg to knit, but there is no reason to think that your recovery will be troublesome.”

“Did you hear that? Nestagar says I will be fine, and I will recover much sooner if I do not have to worry about you.”

Glorfindel smiled. “Worried about me… that is so like you, sparrow, always concerned with the well-being of others.”

“Tell me that you will go to our chambers, take a nice, long, hot bath, and go to bed for a little while. You look so weary.

“Very well, my songbird,” Glorfindel replied. “But I will return soon to see how you are feeling.”

Lindir closed his eyes and smiled as his lover leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you,” he whispered.

“And I love you,” Glorfindel murmured.

*****

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