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Gil-Estel  by Mirach

October 2nd, 2986 T. A.

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The clash of steel. The cries of battle. Whining of horses. That is what I hear from the mountains today. I recognize the voices of Elladan and Elrohir in the turmoil. My grandsons have met the orcs… They are near! Near the place... The orcs returned in their own tracks, and my grandsons followed. The orcs led them to you! Soon they will find you. Finally! Finally! I’m thankful that no cloud veils my sight of them for a while. My heart beats quicker in anticipation. Watching them brings memories of my own battles and the taste of blood in my mouth, and the song of swords ringing in my ears, with its own deadly melody, the feeling of the enemy’s life on the edge of my blade.... They move like dancers in a dance of deadly passion. They lose themselves in the battle, and their swords are covered in orc blood. They raven hair flows around them as they move swiftly and graciously, not like two fighters, but like one fighter with two bodies. I am proud of them. It feels like satisfaction, to watch the orcs that hurt you being slain.

But my sight does not dwell on the battlefield for long. It flies to you…and suddenly my heart sinks. Those few steps. They were too much… You didn’t have the strength to make them anymore. You will not have it. You hear the battle, you want to get there, but you barely have the strength to lift your head… You want to call, but your voice is so hoarse that barely a sound comes out of your mouth, and you grimace in pain as it strains your raw throat. Yet you try, again and again, until you have no strength anymore. Then you rest your forehead on the hard stones, and tears of despair flow down your cheeks. I wish I could wipe them away gently… The hope that I saw in your eyes. It is fulfilled. You knew that they will come. They are so close. And yet they do not see you, do not hear your silent pleas…

The last orc is slain. They wipe their swords with a grim expression of satisfaction and vengeance, tall and proud like elven kings of old, victorious. They survey the battlefield with keen sight, looking for signs of life to end. Look further, my grandsons! Look for the signs of life to preserve! Go higher into the valley, and behind that boulder you will find a waning life that is more valuable then hundreds of slain orcs! Elladan, no! Do not turn away! Do not leave, Elrohir! You are the hope that he saw in my light! You cannot turn away!

***

They left. And with them went the spark in your eyes. You know that nobody will help you now. You do not fight anymore. You wait for death… The rain has washed the tears of despair away. Your face is calm now, peaceful. Long have you walked with the hope in heart, but now you came to its end, and see no more paths before you. You look at the majestic mountains; you drink the sight – like the last one that you will ever see… High among the proud peaks, it seems that you are closer to the sky, and the clouds are your soft sheets. I feel a lump in my throat. Aye, it is a good place to die…

Your eyes turn to the sky. I know what you seek. I am here… You are not alone. I will not leave you. You want to see the light until the very last moment. You lay in darkness and despair, but darkness has no hold over you – you look to the light. And it is the only thing that I can give you to ease your passing. My light shines for you today, and you follow it with extinguishing sight until it disappears from the morning sky. My heart is heavy; I want to dull the light, and mourn: not for a line ended, but for you, you alone… But I cannot mourn yet. I must shine as brightly as never before. For you….

Sleep my son. Sleep… In sleep, you do not feel the pain and the cold. In sleep you are free, and your spirit can tread the hidden paths of dreams that take you to the hospitable lights of Rivendell, or to the golden woods of Lothlórien. May they take you to the white towers of Gondor in the times of their greatest glory, when the fountains sang in the shadow of the White Tree in its full blossom. May they take you to the Mouth of Sirion, fresh and green as I have seen it in my youth, when the river sang to me about the Sea and the distant lands to the West. May your spirit come to me in your dreams, and I will hold it close to my heart, and I will show you the most beautiful country where my ship has its haven, where the air is clear and sweet music resonates in every fiber of the land. I wish you could see it in a dream, I wish you could see the white shores with strands of diamonds, and the peaks of Pelóri, reaching to the heavens, lit by the light of rising Sun…

Sleep, my son… When you wake, the pain will pass, and soft breeze will soothe your tired eyelids. When you wake, you will be free…





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