To Lose Hope, is To Give Up

Disclaimer:

The characters, places, and events are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit was or will be made from this story. It was written solely for entertainment.

 Author’s note:

Hello, I´m still new to this site and this is only my second try at fanfic, this time with a longer chapter-story. Don´t flame me, English isn´t my first language. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. Many thanks to my wonderful beta Erulisse. Lai

 Summary:

Great despair settles over the peaceful valley of Rivendell, as a tragedy strikes the Last Homely House and leaves the Lord of Imladris badly wounded.....

Rating:

PG-13

Title:

“To Lose Hope Is To Give Up”

 Author:

 Laikwalâssê

His last waking thought was about his beloved. He whispered, ‘I’m sorry. I love you Celebrían.’

Chapter 4: Desperation

Glorfindel reached the healing wing, quickly pushing the door open with his boot and stepping inside. Since he had been holding his breath while he was in the corridor, he tried to take a careful breath in the chamber, but the air was much too hot to inhale and he coughed instantly.

Closing the door to block further smoke and heat from the corridor, he turned to observe the examination room and swallowed. The once tidy wing was unrecognizable. Shelves and chests were turned over, the floor was covered with debris, and the curtains and covers, easy prey for the flames, were alight. Wiping the tears that blurred his vision, he carefully set one foot in front of the other and searched the floor. The air was shimmering and the walls seemed to no longer be made from solid material.

“Arahel?” he tried to call out loudly, but grimaced as he heard the rasping sound leaving him, a sound that would not be able to overcome the din the fire created. The child would not be able to hear him, even if he was able to hear at all. Nonetheless, he moved from bed to bed and looked under tables and chests, ever calling for the boy. He carefully moved items on the floor aside with his boot to identify them and make sure no body was lying there, since his eyes were not of much use in the smoke covered air.

After what seemed like an eternity to him, he turned, not able to withstand the heat any longer. His skin felt on fire, his lungs hurt with every intake of breath and his eyes burned. He was no healer, but even he knew that he must leave this poisoned air soon, otherwise his body would take great damage with no chance of recovery. Fleetingly he wondered if a child, a human child at that, could possibly have survived this inferno for so long.

Having searched the whole area as thoroughly as possible, he was certain now that the boy was not here, and that the time period they had agreed on was nearly done. With a last look around, he headed toward the door and braced himself to open it. Shielding his face with the sleeve of his shirt he pulled the door open and was instantly pushed back by the wave of heat and smoke that raced toward him. Regaining his balance and gathering all his strength he closed his eyes, stepped into the corridor, and ran back the way he had come.

…………………………………………………………

Quickly crossing the dining rooms, Erestor reached the kitchen and shoved the heavy door open. He cried out as a gush of fire engulfed him causing his skin instantly to blister. He quickly stepped behind the kitchen door and leaned against the wall until the pent-up heat had levelled out.

`This must be where the fire had started`, he thought. The room’s interior was there no longer and the room was destroyed. If Arahel had tried to hide in here then he was long dead, and Erestor knew if he did not leave immediately, he would share the boy´s fate.

Painfully coughing and with a heavy heart he stepped back into the dining rooms, knowing that he was running out of time. However, as he ran past the slightly open door to a store room used by the kitchen staff, something caught his attention and he stopped, trying to push the door open further. He managed to budge it only a few inches because something was blocking it from the inside.

His heartbeat quickened in the hope that he had found someone after all this time. He sank to his knees and groped blindly around the door, his eyes watering too much to allow him to see. As his fingers touched something soft he cried out in joy or would have if his perched throat had allowed such a sound. Ignoring the pain racing through his body, he leaned his full weight against the door and managed to open it enough to squeeze around.

Quickly grabbing the body lying there, he emerged from the little room and was greatly relieved to see that he held Arahel in his arms. His joy quickly vanished, though, as he saw the state of the little boy. Perhaps all their effort would be for naught in the end. He did not have the time now, however, to determine if the limp and motionless body he carried was alive or dead. Covering the boy with a piece of table linen he took from a pile in the storeroom, he raced out of the room and into the corridor toward their agreed meeting point.

………………………………………………….

Glorfindel was the first to arrive at the agreed-upon location, and he looked anxiously around. Where were Elrond and Erestor? Had he missed them or had they yet to arrive? With watering eyes he tried to see in the gloom surrounding him, but it was futile. The smoke was so thick now that he couldn’t see the end of his outstretched hand. With a sinking heart he knew that he could do nothing to aid the other two Elf-Lords. He was barely able to hold himself upright and with every passing minute, his chances of leaving here alive grew less.

Just then, he saw a figure staggering toward him, clutching a bundle to his chest that could only be the missing boy. Seconds later, Erestor nearly bumped into him, barely able to hold himself upright, and as he looked at his friend, Glorfindel paled. The dark haired elf´s skin was angry red and covered with blisters and his eyes were nearly swollen shut.

Glorfindel quickly grabbed his friend’s arm to steady him, and Erestor leaned against him briefly, burying his burning face in the other´s shirt. As Erestor regained his balance somewhat, he looked up with a thankful nod and Glorfindel saw from his frightened expression that his own appearance must not be much better.

“Where is Elrond?” Erestor croaked, looking around frantically.

Shaking his head, Glorfindel lowered his eyes.  “He´s not here yet. You take the boy out of here. I will look for him.”

Erestor stared back at the golden warrior in disbelief. Surely, he could not be serious? But what other choice was left to them? As Glorfindel shoved him toward the entrance, Erestor obliged, knowing that this was the boy´s only chance of survival, if the child was alive at all.

Lowering his head, he clutched the boy tighter and turned toward the main hall, knowing that if fate were cruel this day, he would lose two of his dearest friends at once. As he started to run, he blocked such thoughts from his mind, focusing only on reaching the main door and never looking back. With every step, he tried to inhale, but the air was too thick and poisonous to support his lungs. He was so tired, so exhausted. Still he continued on.

Finally he reached the main hall and the heat lessened a little. Knowing that the front door must be near, he pushed his body with his last reserves to go on, pressing the little boy close to his chest. But his way seemed to stretch on endlessly. Where was the door? It must be there, his mind told him, and again he forced himself to go on. Suddenly all seemed to move in slow motion. He no longer felt the pain, he no longer heard anything and he walked on clouds. This was the end. He could go no further, his strength was spent. And then, he felt it. With his last conscious thought he reached out to open the front door, never aware that the handle was glowing, and stepped outside.

………………………………………………………..

When Erestor was out of sight Glorfindel ran down the corridor in the direction that Elrond had gone. If it was the will of the Valar for him to die here this day, then so be it, but he would not give up without knowing what had happened to his friend and Lord. Nearing the very end of his endurance, he stumbled forward, driven only by sheer will and fear for his friend. No longer able to form a coherent thought, Glorfindel nearly despaired as he reached the boy´s room and could find no trace of the dark haired elf.

His body ached beyond description now, and Glorfindel slid down the doorframe, ready to embrace the darkness that beckoned him. As his knees hit the floor he tumbled forward and his fingers touched something soft lying only a few inches beside him. His heartbeat quickened as he felt that it was indeed a body, and he knew he had found the missing Elf-Lord. To his shock his searching hands discovered something heavy lying across the motionless body trapping it effectively. It must be some piece from the ceiling. Summoning all his remaining strength he shoved the wooden beam aside and carefully turned his friend over. More feeling than seeing he detected that the left side of Elrond’s face was covered in blood from a head wound right above his temple. Coughing again violently, he ripped a piece of cloth from his tunic and secured it tightly around the dark haired elf’s head to staunch the bleeding and protect the wound.

As the support beams of the house begun to shift dangerously, Glorfindel recognized with horror that the flames had consumed most of the ceiling now and it threatened to come down at any minute. He had no more time to care for his friend’s injuries; they had to leave at once. Carefully lifting the unconscious Elf-Lord, he tried to return the way he had come, but as he reached the main corridor, Glorfindel´s heart missed a beat.

The way he had come was no longer there.  Everything was in motion; the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. Glorfindel could only see an all-consuming wall of destruction rushing toward them.

Clutching the Elf-Lord tighter to his chest, he tensed his muscles and began to run. Like a machine he charged forward, never looking to the left or right and desperately hoping that the ceiling would hold a few minutes longer. His body ached, he felt he could no longer breathe, and his eyes were swollen shut. He had lost all sense of direction and time.

Never knowing how he found his way, or who had guided him, he finally stumbled out of the burning house. He did not feel the gentle hands that held him and relieved him of his burden; he welcomed the pain-free blackness that took him instantly.

To be continued……………………..