They sat in the back of a dimly lit pub, ignored by the other patrons. The staff only occasionally checked their progress, bringing an extra bottle of wine when the first became low.
It was an irregularly kept appointment; an ironic coincidence that so many fateful events should occur upon the same day. Each had their own dreadful experience and mental demons to battle, but it seemed a little easier to know that there was someone close by to call upon on the worst days. When they were in Middle-earth, it was she who comforted him when he felt too ashamed to seek out anyone else. Who better to come to in the middle of the night when dreams turned to nightmares than one who had mothered three children who had undoubtedly been afraid of monsters in closets and under the bed? How different was a boogieman from a balrog, anyhow?
It was only briefly that he was able to return the favor, to one too set upon protecting her own family to divulge the events of her capture. He became her confidant for those dark months spent in Imladris and Mithlond, and once again offered an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry upon, for still there were things she could not bring herself to tell her husband or mother.
So they sat, here now for the fifty-first or fifty-second time, while so many others were joyously celebrating the holiday – including their spouses. It had once been attempted, to have their partners accompany them, but it only brought about an uncomfortable silence until someone finally suggested that it was not wrong for everyone to spend the day as each desired, and so now it continued for the most part. There were those years when something else came up for one or the other, or both, and that was that. Neither tried to make it seem as if it was all that important of a day, all that significant of an event, which each had endured.
But, everyone who knew them, knew it was.
“Should we order food?” Celebrian peered around her companion to see the menu written upon the board near the bar. “I know Elrond will eat at the festival with my parents.”
Glorfindel discretely retrieved a pair of spectacles from his pocket, and used them as quickly as possible to skim through the list of specialties posted at the table, in hopes no one would notice them. “Duck sounds good. I am tired of venison.” He folded the temples back almost simultaneously and hid the glasses away again. The subject was nearly inevitable, so he approached it first. “I hardly slept last night.”
“Neither did I.”
“I think I woke up four, maybe five times before I finally decided to stop trying.”
Celebrian nodded. “I was just restless the whole night. I think I might have kicked Elrond more than once on accident,” she admitted. “Thought he was an orc or something. I suppose it was his snoring.” She tried to smile a little, like it was a joke, but failed.
“Right.” Glorfindel swirled the wine around his glass. “Do you ever wish you could go back? Change something about it all?”
“You mean... go through Moria instead of taking Redhorn?”
“Or... delay your travel by a week, or take a larger escort. Anything like that.”
“Sure... I think about it... now and then.” Celebrian gulped from her goblet. “You?”
“All the time.” Glorfindel leaned forward across the table a little, just in case any empty ears were nearby. “I just... I have no idea what I would have changed.”
“You had to make very fast decisions,” said Celebrian in Glorfindel’s defense. “I could have just planned better.”
“No one can plan for orcs,” Glorfindel reminded her.
“I know. Still... if I had inherited my mother’s qualities, then perhaps I might have foreseen the future. I could have done something differently, and might have been there when I was needed,” reflected Celebrian. “I would have liked to have met Estel. From what you tell me, he was a good match for Arwen. I would have liked to... well, I did say good-bye, but I thought that was more ‘until next time’. At least I am not mourning the loss of three children.” Celebrian removed a handkerchief that was tucked in the bosom of her dress and dabbed the corners of her eyes with it. “It is good that their father was there for them. He wanted to accompany me to Valinor, you know.”
“No... no, I did not know that,” admitted Glorfindel. “Why did he not?”
“I told him to stay. My mother was always so adamant that his fate was wound about the fate of the one ring in some way, that I could not be selfish as I wished to be. So he stayed, and I endured it. With both endured it. As welcoming as my grandparents and uncle were when I arrived, it was not the same as if Elrond had been here with me. I felt like a child again, relearning so many things.”
“Like what?” Glorfindel hoped his curiosity was not indecent.
If it was, Celebrian still indulged him. “For many years, I could not stand anyone’s touch. It brought to my mind too many memories, still raw and undesirable. I recall the first time I welcomed an embrace – I spent the first two decades here in a dreamlike state, too numb to be of use or even to care. Reality just hit one night in the middle of dinner, and I suddenly found myself weeping for no other reason than to cleanse myself of the horrors and humiliation I had bottled up inside. Uncle Finrod escorted me from the table and to my room, where he could easily have left me. Instead, he sat beside me for hours, and held me, and listened to my unintelligible babblings. Only after that was I able to begin the process of healing.”
“For me that moment happened here as well, but not in the company of the corporeal. I did my weeping at the feet of Namo, and before Nienna, and while they attempted comfort in their own ways, I was... so alone, at a time when I most needed someone.”
Celebrian knowingly reached across the table and took hold of Glorfindel’s hands in her own. “It may be a little late in coming, but know that I am always here for you, if you should need me.”
Glorfindel reversed the position of their hands, gave hers a thankful squeeze, and then lifted them to kiss the back of them. “One day, I am going to allow you to make good upon that offer.”
“I know.”
A barmaid wandered by, and they waved her over to order before once again resuming their conversation. “I think I know what I would do differently,” decided Celebrian. Glorfindel nodded for her to continue. “I would have traveled alone.”
Glorfindel furrowed his brow. “That would have put you in greater peril.”
“There was greater interest in my capture than in my death,” stated Celebrian. “If I had gone alone, my escort would have survived. Four ladies in waiting, two minstrels, one page, one scribe, and sixteen guards. All dead on my account.”
“So, you would not change your own path, but rather, you would strive to change theirs.”
“Exactly.”
Glorfindel pondered this a little while as food was set upon the table. Celebrian poked at hers with a knife, but Glorfindel still concentrated upon his wine. “How ironic that you should wish to repeal your decision and make a choice similar to mine, while I have imagined ways I might have done things differently.”
“What would you have changed?” asked Celebrian.
“I certainly think I would have called upon others to aid me! Fighting a balrog on your own is as good as suicide.”
Celebrian set the knife down. “You provided a focused distraction. Too many soldiers might have caused the beast to go after the fleeing masses.”
“True. On the other hand, a larger force might have felled the beast faster.”
“Pretend that was the past. You survived Gondolin. What would you have done? Where would fate have taken you?” asked Celebrian.
These new questions took Glorfindel longer to answer. “So much of what I became was because of what happened in Gondolin. I doubt I would have had half the future success I did. Certainly the Witch-king would not have been frightened away by just any Elf, and I am not sure I could have fought the nazgul when I encountered them as I had.”
“So there was some merit in your experiences, despite the darkness you have yet to overcome.”
“I would agree with that statement,” said Glorfindel. “Still, it does not stop me from flirting with the idea of an ideal life. I must say, though,” he added as Celebrian pushed away the plate of uneaten food, “you are so much braver than I am.”
“Only because I was not forced to face death.”
“Some might say your fate was worse than death.”
A distant gaze washed over Celebrian’s eyes. “Given the choice, would you trade your fate for mine?”
Tears welled up in both pairs of eyes. Few had asked details of the incident Celebrian had endured, and fewer still received answers. Only her confidant had ever been given the full account. “Did I not just say you were the braver between us?”
Story Notes:
Written for B2MEM 2010 - Doors of Night: Your character has a chance to change a single event in his or her past, but doing such will forever alter the future. What will your character choose? What would they change, if anything? And how do you think his or her future would change?