gondolin_noble | (no subject)

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It's a peaceful evening in the valley - maybe a little too quiet, with Celebrian and her two sons gone to see her parents in Lothlorien. Now that the sons are both well-grown and trained to Glorfindel's standards, he felt comfortable letting them take command of the guard on that particular journey.

It helps that he's personally been over that pass quite a few times this season, and hasn't found any signs of trouble. Not that he'll ever tell the twins that, of course.

Still, it's a very nice evening, a good one to sit with a book and listen to the water (and the never-ending minstrels).

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"Or when you wake up." Glorfindel suggests, with deceptive mildness.

He almost saw an end to his oath today. He perhaps can be forgiven for a tiny bit of overprotectiveness.

Or a whole heck of a lot of overprotectiveness, because that's what's coming.

"I can't sleep,"comes the reply.
Either he is too distraught and exhausted to see beyond the deceptive mildness. Or he ignores it.

"You must." His voice is soft, but inexorable. It's the voice some of the younger guards call 'the voice of doom', which usually makes Glorfindel roll his eyes and find something unpleasant for them to do. "If you collapse, you will only be creating more work for the healers, and they won't let you come near her, you know they won't - they would fear you would give too much of yourself away. I will watch her, while you sleep, and you needn't go far - there's an empty bed in the next room."

He pauses, and then adds, softly:

"Or have I lost your faith in this?"

"No," Elrond says, closing his eyes.
"But she will -" His voice breaks.

"She stands upon a knife's edge - your pain may hinder just as much as your love will aid, Elrond." He reminds his lord, gently. "Regain some of your own strength so you can help bring her back to us."

Elrond sighs, and bows his head, his hair shrouding his face.
He looks like he can hardly stay on his feet.

He steps forward cautiously - he has already fought the twins down today, he has no desire to do the same for their father.

If anything, because Elrond hits harder.

"Come sleep, mellon. One watch only - You have my word I won't let them keep you away after."

"On a pallet, in her room," Elrond replies. Slowly.
"I can't - she is slipping away, Glorfindel. I have to be near her."

He knows Glorfindel has a different perspective, but he has an Elros shaped hole in his life. Partings are very difficult for him.

And he is failing her. He should be able to make this better.

"And you will rest? Truly rest - I will know it if you will not." Glorfindel bargains, raising an eyebrow.

"I will close my eyes."

Counter offer.

"Two watches then, but I will rouse you if anything changes, for good or ill." Glorfindel would have considerably less patience if he didn't know Elrond, and if he didn't love Celebrian.

He nods. Silently.

Accepting it, because he can feel the distance from the world brought about by exhaustion.
And because he trusts Glorfindel to keep his word.

Grateful this will not become a battle, Glorfindel steps forward to guide Elrond back inside. The healers watching over Celebrian look ready to gear up for another fight, but now that he has a path that he deems acceptable, Glorfindel is implacable.

Eventually a bed is found and brought in, and Glorfindel practically stands over Elrond until he is in it.

He lies down, his face turned toward Celebrian's bed, one hand next to it, Palm up.
Ready to hold her hand if she needs him to.
Wants him to.

His eyes drift shut.

Glorfindel takes a seat near Celebrian and does his best impression of a great golden ornery elvish mule, forcing the healers to leave Elrond be and work around the pair of them.

The healers, being well used to this mood from Glorfindel, don't pay him much mind at all. They're just thankful they don't have to treat him at the moment.

Little changes through the long watches of the night, but Glorfindel doesn't mind.

At some point Elrond opens his eyes, but he stays so still that the healers at least do not notice.

He listens to her. Her breathing.
And there are tears in his eyes.

It is near time that he'd rouse Elrond anyway, but when Celebrian shifts, so does he - forcibly rousting his lord from his bed and lending what strength he can to make sure Elrond is alert and coherent.

He accepts the offered help and gets up.

Going to Celebrian's bedside, he leans lightly on Glorfindel. But the last steps, he takes alone. And when Elrond speaks, you would have to know him well to tell that anything is amiss at all.

"Little bird. I am here."
Elves are private creatures. Normally, he wouldn't use such an intimate pet name in mixed company.

If it's any consolation, the healers don't get to hang around very long - they're herded out by a very persistent and increasingly insistent Glorfindel, who can't see how five minutes without a whole pack hovering around could be all that detrimental.

He then firmly plants himself in the doorway with the attitude of one prepared to take on all comers, from hobbit to vala and any in between.

Elrond speaks with Celebrian, holding her hand.
She weeps.

He strokes her hair.

She grows quiet again after a while, and he stays in place, speaking to her. Softly, softly.

After a time Glorfindel and the healers come to an understanding, and they take themselves off for a time. They'll be back, of course - they're needed, but they can give the lord and lady of the house some peace.

Glorfindel finds himself a quiet corner to stash himself in - he's tired, and it has been a long day.

There is a calm spreading in the room.

It might be Elrond doing - something.

Soothing, calming. Comforting.

Glorfindel almost allows himself to be lulled to sleep by it - comfort and calm are in short supply. But he knows how tired Elrond is, and how sorely injured - part of his (admittedly often self-imposed) duties as protector is protecting Elrond from himself.

And from that thrice-damned ring.

Wincing as he forces muscles that have gone stiff to move he pulls himself out of his chair, going to Elrond's side.

Celebrian is sleeping.
Elrond is looking at her with all the pain in his eyes he had to hide whoe she was still awake.

"She wants to travel West," he says, his voice barely calm. "I cannot heal a wounded Fëa."

The physical wounds may be fading quickly , but they are not what pains her. Nor him, even if one of the bandages have grown darkly crimson.

She wants to leave.
She ought to leave.
She must.
- but ...

"She will find healing there." It isn't said as a platitude, but as a certainty - this is something he knows and has experienced. "But no decisions must be made in this moment."

A wave of his hand allows the healers back in, and he makes sure with a very pointed look that at least a couple of them are coming for Elrond instead of Celebrian.