Resurrection 33

Resurrection

Part 33

Posted: January 26, 2007
Title: Resurrection
Author: Larien Elengasse

Summary: Oropher falls and those left at home worry for their loved ones; a homecoming in Greenwood.

*****

"You are bleeding," Glorfindel said softly as he knelt beside Thranduil. The prince's hand was bloody - the Valar only knew how many arrows had left his bow that day. He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, then reached for his flask. He poured water over the prince's hand and then began bandaging it.

"I cannot believe it," Thranduil said, staring vacantly into the darkness. "Why?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "I know not why, my prince, I only know that my heart grieves alongside your own."

"Foolish, stubborn elf," Thranduil murmured. "He never listened, he never heeded anyone's advice..."

"Your father was proud, and he had a right to be. He proved himself long ago."

"That pride has put him in a shallow, murky grave and has left me to lead what remains of our warriors."

Glorfindel placed his hand upon Thranduil's shoulder. "You are king now, but tonight you can still be just a son who grieves his father. Use this time to grieve, my lord, and tomorrow, we will stand beside you as king." He made to rise when Thranduil caught his wrist.

"I do not want to be alone."

"Then I shall stay with you, my lord," Glorfindel replied, and then sat down on the ground next to Thranduil.

* * * *

At first, they received regular word of the progress of the Last Alliance, but as the siege intensified, it became increasingly difficult for messengers to ride the dangerous routes between Gondor, Lórien, Lindon, and Imladris. Erestor kept communications open between himself and his peers in the other Elven colonies, and deep inside the lower levels of the Last Homely House, stores were already prepared in case they needed to evacuate.

Celebrían had taken over the everyday duties of running the household, leaving Erestor free to spend his time on political matters; Lindir in turn, took over the running of the library while Erestor was otherwise occupied. They all tried to assure that things went on as if there were no war waging in the East: gardens and flocks were tended, laundry was done, chambers were cleaned, and manuscripts were copied. On the surface, it was as if nothing were different.

One day, Erestor appeared in the doorway to his office in the library, holding a post in his hand and looking pale. Lindir set down his quill, his hands beginning to tremble as he looked into Erestor's eyes. "Who?" he asked, knowing someone had fallen.

"Oropher," Erestor replied softly. "Along with nearly two-thirds of the Greenwood regiment. He broke ranks with his warriors and led a charge upon the gate. They were turned back and driven into the marshes where they were slaughtered."

Lindir dug his fingers into the desktop. "And Thranduil?"

"He survives. He was leading the archers on a nearby hill, providing cover for the front line. It was not in vain, the attack allowed the Alliance to break the gates; they have entered Mordor."

Lindir placed his hand over his heart and murmured a soft thanks to the Valar, then immediately he felt pain for his friend. "Dear Thranduil," he whispered. "And Glorfindel must be greatly grieved."

"Aye, they were close; I am sure he feels the loss most acutely. We can only pray that Oropher will be the last to fall, but my heart tells me it will be otherwise."

"So many have already fallen," Lindir murmured.

"Celebrían has suggested a vigil this eve. Would you compose something for it?"

"Of course. I will do my best to honor those who have died for us."

Erestor nodded. "It will be fitting and beautiful; I am sure of it." He turned and left Lindir to his work, his own heart torn between relief that it was none of their own kindred and sorrow for the folk of Greenwood.

* * * *

Ten years. It was an interminably long time to wait when one was in love. As the frequency of letters from the front decreased, worry for their friends and loved ones increased. It was a stormy day when Erestor received the last post he would receive from the East. Dark clouds were hugging the mountaintops and a cold wind blew snow from their peaks.

Slowly, he broke the wax seal that bore Elrond's insignia, then he opened the letter and read. Celebrían and Lindir both sat across the table from him; they both held letters in their hands, and two more lay on the table in front of Erestor; one bore Glorfindel's insignia, and the other bore Gildor's. However, the date on these three was earlier than the one Erestor held, so they all feared to open them until they knew the ultimate fate of the battle.

A change had come; they all felt it. Whether it was ill or no, they could not decide, but they knew that it was spelled out in the letter Erestor held. They watched as his expression clouded and tears welled in his eyes. Celebrían reached for Lindir's hand beneath the table and squeezed it; Lindir felt his heart stop in his chest.

"The battle is done," Erestor said softly. "Sauron has been defeated but not destroyed; his tower has suffered great damage but the foundation remains." He drew a deep breath and continued. "Elrond, Celeborn, Thranduil, Círdan, and Amroth survive, as do Glorfindel, Gildor, and Isildur, Son of Elendil. However, Elendil, Anárion, Amdír and Gil-galad have fallen."

Lindir and Celebrían both gasped and clasped their mouths.

"Our king has fallen," Erestor said so softly that his voice was barely a whisper. "They will return via the road from Gondor. Elrond will accompany Gil-galad's body back to Lindon, where there will be a state funeral. He requests that we join him; Gildor will provide us with an escort upon his return. Glorfindel will accompany Elrond to Lindon, then return with him to Imladris after the funeral rites."

Lindir closed his eyes and murmured a prayer to the Valar for all the lost yet valiant souls who had perished.

"We will sing their souls to the heavens this night," Celebrían whispered, "then we will prepare to welcome our warriors home."

Erestor nodded then watched as they departed the council chamber hand in hand. As the door closed behind them, he picked up two letters addressed to him personally: one was from Glorfindel, and one was from Gildor. He opened the letter from Gildor first:

"My dearest Erestor,

It is with sadness that I write this letter. I have witnessed our king's fall and the weakness that resides in men's hearts. I am returning to you soon and will take you, Lindir, and Celebrían to Lindon where our king will be buried. This has been my last battle; I find I have no more stomach for death or for war. I look forward to seeing you upon my return. Knowing you have been safe has sustained me through many a long, cold night.

With love,

Gildor"

Erestor wiped at the tears that were falling down his cheeks. Gildor sounded so broken, so tired, hopeless. It broke his heart to read those words upon the page. He sat for a long while, staring into the gathering darkness, then he lit a small lantern and opened Glorfindel's letter.

"My raven,

So many good souls have left this earth in these long years. I know now what Namó meant so many years ago when he told me that Lindir's life was in exchange for another; Gil-galad has fallen and I was powerless to prevent it or to bring him back. Were it not for Gildor, I would not be writing this letter, for your lover risked his life more than once to safeguard mine and his friendship has kept me strong in the face of what seemed to be insurmountable odds. I am forever in his debt. My words to you upon my departure have never been more true than they are in this moment - I love you, with all of my heart; but I cannot be the cause of pain for Gildor, I cannot betray his trust and his friendship. I know not how I will be able to be near you and love you so much, but I cannot hurt him. I understand what you said to me when we last talked of this; I understand now why you stood by him and denied yourself, and me, the easier comfort of our love.

I will see you again soon, and that brings me joy; but I will never again succumb to the temptation of holding you in my arms. I hope this letter finds you hale, even if grieved. I look forward to seeing you soon.

Glorfindel"

Erestor laid the letter down, and then laid his head upon his folded arms. Tears flowed freely from his eyes even as he thanked the Valar that so many he cared about still lived.

* * * *

Thranduil rode into the glade where his people had lived for years uncounted. His mother, who was pale in her grief, stood beside his wife, and there between them was his son. Legolas had grown so much; he was tall, and fair. He was no longer the impish, wavy-haired elfling who had called him ada and clung to his neck before he left. He was a tall, elegant prince, with hair straight as an arrow and as golden as the summer sun.

Legolas smiled and called, "Adar!" then left his mother's side, running toward him. He quickly dismounted and took his son up in his arms. He no longer needed to stoop to look into his eyes, he need only look down; Legolas reached his shoulder, he was so tall. "Oh, my Greenleaf," he murmured, holding tight to his son. "I have missed you."

"I am so glad you returned," Legolas breathed. "I told everyone you would; I told them you promised."

He reached out and his wife stepped forward, taking his hand and joining in the embrace. "Welcome home, my husband," she said softly. "We have missed you."

He held on to both of them for a long time; it did not seem real after all he had been through. Was it possible that his home was unchanged? Nay, it had changed. It looked the same but its people did not. They were pale and weary from grief and waiting, and they looked worried about their uncertain future. He released his wife and child, and then strode to where his mother stood. He took her frail form in his arms and held her gently.

"I am sorry, Naneth," he whispered. "I tried to save him..."

"I know you did, my son," she replied.

He held her long as tears fell from his eyes. He may be king now, but a grieving son still needed his mother.

*****

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