Beyond Canon
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Erestor came home at midday to retrieve his fiddle, only to find Glorfindel reclined on the couch with his arm over his eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Not particularly. I came up here after breakfast and I nearly did not make it.” Speaking the few sentences he had put a strain on Glorfindel’s breathing, making it sound as if he had just finished running a marathon. “How.. was the... audition?”

“Fine, I think it went well. I will know in a few days. What happened to you?” Erestor crouched down beside Glorfindel and quickly glanced at him. “Have you been up here ever since this morning?”

Glorfindel nodded, swallowed, and gasped for air. “It feels... maybe I pulled a muscle or something. No one... has been home. Just... been resting.”

“Stay right here. I am going to find a healer.” Gently, Erestor touched Glorfindel’s arm, and then stood up and hurried out of the room. He returned twenty minutes later with one of the healers from Ecthelion’s house, which was closest to the tower. “I tried to find Ithileth, but she was out. This is Eladion.”

Eladion gave a curt nod to Glorfindel before kneeling down beside the couch. “Remove your shirt, please,” he said as he brought an auscultation device out of his bag.

With some amount of difficulty, Glorfindel managed to sit up and pull his shirt over his head. He tossed it onto the cushion beside him as the healer pressed one of the open funnels against Glorfindel’s chest. “Should I lie down again?”

“No, sit up straight, and breathe deeply.” The trumpet shaped instrument was moved from spot to spot, and the healer frowned often. “Any pain?”

“A little soreness, ever since the war. I broke a few ribs and, well, you can see what happened to my face.”

“Which side did you have the injury?” asked Eladion.

Glorfindel touched his left side. “These three. I probably cracked a few others, too.”

Practiced fingers danced across Glorfindel’s chest and abdomen, checking for anything unusual. A few times, the healer would touch upon one of the sensitive injuries, and Glorfindel would sharply take in a breath. The healer’s frown deepened as he probed one spot in particular.

“These bones did not knit together well. You were moved multiple times during the healing process?”

“Yes,” said Glorfindel. “I was moved from the battlefield, and then back here. I spent some time in Lord Salgant’s house, but there were events I had to attend. I had to walk here a few times, and I do not think I had quite mended yet at that point.”

“No, I doubt you had.” Eladion pressed a bit harder on one particular spot. “Try taking a deep breath.”

Glorfindel began to do as he was told, but halfway through he suddenly gasped like a fish pulled from the water. “Sorry,” he apologized. He sat back as the healer moved away, and then took a number of quick shallow breaths to get his breathing back to normal.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” The healer picked up Glorfindel’s shirt and set it aside, then sat down beside him. “I am the one who must offer my condolences, for there is grave news to give you.” Eladion placed his hand upon Glorfindel’s and said, “When you were healing, as I said, your body did not manage to fix itself very well. Your ribs are not aligned, and where they fused together again there is quite a lot of extra mending.”

“I do not quite follow you,” said Glorfindel.

The healer held his hands out in front of him, fingers splayed. “Let us pretend that this is one of your ribs, where the break occurred. First, it tried to heal like this, the correct way,” he said, sliding his hands together so that his fingers were interlocking. “But you moved, and this happened.” He shifted his fingers, making it uneven. “So to compensate, your body did this.” He used his thumbs to fill in the gaps on either side. “Now, you have a lump where it healed together instead of just two parts fitting back together. It would be as if a blacksmith fixed a sword not by soldering the two broken pieces, but by joining them with a lump of molten metal. You fixed the problem: The two halves are whole again. Unfortunately, the second way is not very useful.”

“Is it going to correct itself?” asked Erestor.

Eladion sighed. “It might. However, the greater risk is that there are three such masses, and they are taking up space inside where other things are – namely, your lung is rubbing against them each and every time you breathe. Before your body would have time to dissolve or erode the excess bone, you will probably tear your lung.”

“And... then what?” Glorfindel looked from the healer, and then to Erestor, who had both gone silent. “Oh. I see.” He took a deep breath, but slowly, and let it out just as slowly. “How much... time do I have?”

“If things go well, you could live another sixty or seventy years quite easily. If things went very well, another hundred, perhaps a hundred and fifty.” The healer began to repack his bag. “Do you participate in a lot of physical activities?”

“I train my soldiers, and my horses.”

“If you want to live longer, then you should find someone else to do those things. Relax and rest, and do not exert yourself more than you have to. You should also avoid clothing that fits too tightly, and most definitely avoid wearing armor unless you absolutely must. Avoid the extreme heat and extreme cold; especially the cold. You will not feel it affecting you, but it will be affecting you.” As he stood up, Eladion bowed his head. “I would not be offended if you gained a second opinion on your condition, however, do know this: There are some in my profession who will tell you what you want to hear, and others, such as myself, who will tell you what you should hear.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” said Glorfindel. “You may forward your bill to either myself or my secretary at my stables and it will be promptly taken care of.”

The healer looked up, and there was a great deal of sadness in his eyes. “Lord Glorfindel, I cannot charge for a diagnosis such as this one.” He walked to the door, which Erestor came over to open for him. “Good day, m’lords.”

After the healer left, Erestor closed and locked the door, and then came back to the couch. Glorfindel had lowered himself back down onto it, and was on his back staring up at the ceiling when Erestor knelt down on the floor in front of him. “Should I ask Ithileth to come by after supper tonight?” Glorfindel shook his head at Erestor’s question. “Can I get anything for you?”

Again, Glorfindel shook his head. “I just need a little time to think about this.”

Erestor nodded. “I will be just over at the desk, if you need anything.” With his fiddle at the door forgotten, Erestor set to responding to some of the letters that had begun to pile up on his desk.

Glorfindel stretched out on the couch. He was numb, and disbelieving. The words had yet to really fully impact him. He fluffed up the pillow and curled up on his right side, finding it hurt him far less to lie on than his left side or his back. “Erestor?”

“Yes? What do you need?”

“I was wondering... when you lived in Valinor, did you see the Halls of Mandos?”

“I saw them from the outside, but the only way you can see the inside... Glorfindel, he might be in error. It might be temporary. It is still early; you are still healing. You may get better.”

“Then again, I might not.” Glorfindel played with one of the tassels that hung from a corner of the pillow. “What is it like by Mandos?”

Erestor set down his quill and folded his hands. “It is a very peaceful place. There is a calm throughout the area. The Lady Nienna comforts those who dwell in her brother’s domain, and she tends to the area around the opening of the cave that leads to the halls.”

“Did you ever meet Namo?”

“I did,” stated Erestor. “He was... very kind to me,” he recalled. “In those days, there was no death. I suspect now he spends much more time in his halls.”

“When I die, will I go there right away?”

“Glorfindel! Do not say that!”

“Erestor, will you answer my question, please?”

The dark elf stood up and went to the bookshelf. His fingers moved idly across the spines until he found the one he wanted, and he pulled it out of the case. “If you want to know about that sort of thing, then you might want to read this. It was written by a good friend of mine; Oropher, the King of Greenwood. Laiqalasse is his grandson, so he is another person you might want to speak with on the topic.”

Glorfindel accepted the book that was handed to him. “Perhaps I will talk to him later.” After examining the table of contents and flipping through the volume, Glorfindel set it down on the floor next to the couch. “I suppose, in some ways, I should be thankful. I have the chance to tie up loose ends and get things in order here, which is more than the ones who died on the battlefield had. In reality, I should already be in Mandos’ Halls.”

“Sixty years is a long time. There is a good chance that in that time there might be some sort of advances that could aid your condition,” suggested Erestor. He pulled up a chair to the side of the couch and sat down. Placing his fingers on Glorfindel’s temples, he started to massage his friend’s head in hopes of relaxing him. “The healer could always be wrong.”

“Something tells me he was not.” Glorfindel looked up and said, “Do not ask how I know this, for I simply do, but I am not going to make it even sixty years.”

“Glorfindel...”

“It just seems too far away. I just have this feeling...” Glorfindel closed his eyes, his breathing slowing while Erestor rubbed his head. The pressure in his chest and head ebbed away. It was a lovely moment, and one Glorfindel would not soon, or ever, forget. His mind wandered and recalled the first time he had met Erestor. It was Ecthelion who had introduced them. Glorfindel smiled as he replayed the scene. Many other memories flashed in his mind. Memories warped into dreams, impossible dreams, and Glorfindel shook himself out of his reverie. Bringing himself back to reality, he said, “Tauniel wants to have a baby.”

“Really? I never took her to be the motherly type. What did you tell her?” Erestor worked his way down so that he was now massaging Glorfindel’s shoulders.

“I told her I would think about it. If I really do have sixty years... I guess, well, I had better make up my mind now about it. I should really have an heir, and she really wants an elfling.”

“It would be a big responsibility,” said Erestor. “However, I do think you would make a very good father. You would have one very lucky little elfling, that is for certain.” Erestor waited for a reply, but Glorfindel had dozed off. “Probably for the best. Good luck with your decision.” He pulled a quilt off the back of the couch and covered Glorfindel with it, kissed his forehead, and sat back down to watch over his friend for the rest of the afternoon.


-- end of book three --
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