Anor and Ithil by Haeron

Chapter 13

TA3018

A dull and shrill and terrible incongruous noise filled the aching space of Erestor’s head. He was crawling again through the leaves but this time it was taking him so much longer, and he knew not if it was because he were injured or it time itself had fallen to the same ruin. The leaves stuck to his palm. His heartbeats slowed. He put one hand in front of the other and willed his body to follow, but he was tired.

Erestor dreaded to think how long he had lain unconscious. The forest was desolate now and the dusk peeped through the thin spaces between the trees. A lot of bodies there were on the floor, staring outwards with eyes glassy and bright still. The wildmen had moved on, no doubt picking clean the corpses for any treasures first. The elves that survived had moved on too. Erestor was alone. He and Glorfindel were the only ones living; it was a fragile thought. Erestor’s sob was a dry choke. He pulled himself through the foliage to Glorfindel’s body and prayed that the slight movement he saw was indeed the rising and falling of a breathing chest.

Where were their kin? Had they returned to Rivendell? Would they bring aid, or would they avoid this deathly place forever more? They were questions for a scholar, and most basic indeed were always the questions that burned most intently for want of an answer that did not always exist. Yet there were questions Erestor did not dare ask, not even to himself; what was going to happen next?

His elbows screamed their reluctance to move. His shoulder screamed where it had been pierced. Erestor wanted to scream, but knew his throat would not be able to make the sound; there did not seem to be enough life in him to give voice to such.

As he drew nigh to Glorfindel, Erestor saw that he was not awake, or that if he was he was barely aware of ought going on. Both possibilities were cruel blessings, come too late to be appreciated. Erestor both prayed to and cursed the Valar and positioned himself uncomfortably to loom over the crumpled golden figure. A drop of blood dripped of Erestor’s nose and landed upon Glorfindel’s cheek.

He quickly wiped it away.

Erestor touched his cold face, stroked his jawline; wished for blue eyes to meet his again. He kissed Glorfindel, his lips were cold, and the kiss turned to a sob. Erestor lifted himself with heavy heart. He brushed the back of his fingers across an icy cheek.

‘We have to go,’ his voice cracked, but Glorfindel awakened at the sound, slowly.

It was getting cold. The night was drawing in fast around them and they would both be so cold ere midnight fell.

‘Erestor, I’m...’

Glorfindel could not finish his sentence. His eyes blinked to focus. What was he exactly? Erestor forced a smiled that wounded more than the blade through his shoulder.

‘You’re fine.’ He wasn’t. ‘We need to go,’

Glorfindel closed his eyes again, as often he did when they had lain in their bed together and the dawn came too early for his liking. They would doze for hours, closely woven in limb and heart. He looked peaceful, and dread was rife in Erestor for he knew what it meant. Glorfindel swallowed. Did he not want to leave? Could he leave if he wished to?

Erestor lifted his head but saw only treetops, darkening. He would have begged for the sight of a star, a lone point of light to warm the skin and heart.

We are dying, and the Valar watch unseen.