Chapter 16 - Pick my mind, peasants

For a moment as Glorfindel held Mila's unconscious body in his arms, he thought he was back in the limbo, replaying the worst moment of his life over and over and over again.

Despair and fear gnawed at the elf warrior's heart as he rode as fast as he could towards the Houses of Healing, desperate to save his beloved bride's life.

Upon arrival, he saw that Elrond was already standing at the entrance with two of his trusted healers.

"An orc stabbed her on the back with a poisoned blade," Glorfindel briefed him with tremble in his voice as he cradled her limp body in his arms and towards the nearest bed.

"Lay her on her front," instructed the lord of Imladris. Glorfindel did so with care, noting how washed out her skin was, void of the warmth that usually bestowed her pretty face. The sight ever broke his heart. He was forced to let her go when one of the healer asked him to give them some space to work.

Glorfindel watched with helplessness as they closed the white curtain, shielding his eyes from her still form. The golden haired elf remained where he stand, unmoving, feeling as if someone had taken away his soul from him. At last, he turned around, his feet carried him outside just at the entrance of the infirmary. The golden haired elf stared emptily at the sky as the sun began to set; hardening the graceful plane of his face. Even the sunset, beautiful yet poignant, reminded him of his sweet Mila, how she stared at him with her big, dark eyes that day by the river after their first kiss the night before.

He felt his heart on his throat, breath shaky as he replayed the moment she was attacked. Scarlet blood pooled beneath her on the ground, widening as she bled, as if it was a living thing, moving away as if to frame her frail form as she laid on the ground, choking. Tormented with the memory, he realized that she was there when he needed her, and he wasn't when she did.

Uncharacteristically, the elf bellowed in rage and threw his powerful fist at the wall, loathing himself for failing her. For letting such monstrosity befell her. When his eyes caught the sight that his hands still marred with the color of her blood, the elf stopped. In place of rage, grief and fear took place in his chest.

Strength left him. Glorfindel sat weakly on top of the stairs that led to the infirmary as the image of her sweet smile haunted him. Staring at the blood in his hands, he wondered if he was ever going to see her smile again. He prayed to Eru that he still got that chance. He prayed for more time with her.

Elladan came running towards the infirmary as soon as he heard word that his little friend was one amongst the victims who sustained a mortal injury. The dark haired elf leapt over two stairs at once when he saw Glorfindel.

The young lord of Rivendell paused when he saw the dark look on the usually composed face that belonged to the balrog slayer. Having studied healing arts and magic under his father's tutelage, Elladan could see the general idea of how bad Mila must had gotten injured just from the look of the blood that marred Glorfindel's hand. Elladan's keen eyes noted similar shade of red on a wall near him that was bent inside from a forceful punch; it only confirmed how bad Mila's situation right now, for Elladan had never seen Glorfindel lost his head before, even in the most dire situations.

The oldest son of Elrond sat next to the brooding elf quietly, waiting with him, knowing that from the hardness on Glorfindel's expression, he would not appreciate nor accept comfort.

They sat there for hours in complete silence, well until the stars began shining brightly on the sky before them.

Sound of arguments from inside the infirmary reached their ears. The two warrior elves stood on their feet and entered, finding Elrond arguing with his healers, while Mila's unconscious form still lying on the bed.

"...can't spend your magic on one human while the rest of Rivendell fought for the incoming darkness trying to invade our lands-"

"-who's to say that one life is less than two, or three, or more lives?"

"My lord, you need to reserve your power. Rivendell is on a brink of destruction and we need you now more than ever..."

Glorfindel's fist tightened on his sides. When the healers saw the elf warrior's darkened expression, their arguments died down. The golden haired elf moved his eyes towards Elrond, who was watching Mila with a torn, yet fond look on his expression; his thousand years eyes filled with sympathy as he looked at Mila.

"Save her." Glorfindel's voice came out surprisingly even as he looked at the blood seeping through the fresh white bandage on his wife's back. "You owe her that much."

That got Elrond's attention. The lord of Rivendell didn't quite understand the meaning of Glorfindel's latter words. Glorfindel understood the dilemma that Elrond had to face as the lord of Rivendell. Between saving the life of one person or protecting the land-but this was Mila. His sweet, sweet Mila-and Glorfindel was ready to give him the hard truth just to push his old friend into saving the love of his life.

Glorfindel walked past the healers and took a seat by her bed, gently taking her cold hand in his. As he caressed the skin of her smaller hand with his thumb, the ancient elf warrior lifted his other hand to Elrond in an invitation.

Lord Elrond, being the wisest and one of the oldest amongst them besides Glorfindel, was the only one who first understood what that gesture meant.

"Sanwë-Latya?" questioned Elrond in Quenya, his intelligent eyes bewildered.

"The Thought Opening will show you the truth," replied Glorfindel with determination in his striking blue eyes, "Search her, that there will be no more doubt in your heart for saving my bride."

As the Lord of Imladris took his invitation and grabbed at his waiting hand, Elladan, catching up to what Glorfindel had in mind, quickly reached his hand and touched the balrog slayer's shoulder, just in time for him to feel his mind's eye entered the mind of someone else.

***

I'm tired of being pure, and not chased

The vibrant sound of jazz music suddenly livened up the previously quiet, sweet piano tunes. Her singing voice was lovely and melodious as she turned around to face the crowd in the 1840's themed cafe. This was the only time in Mila's life that she was not invisible, where people respected her for her talent and not her outer appearances. She was free to express herself without the care of the world. Mila gave her audience a devious smile, her expression matching the playful theme of the song she sang.

Like something that seeks its level
I wanna go to the devil
I wanna be wicked, I wanna tell lies
I wanna be mean, and throw mud pies

The words rolled off her lips as though she had known them her whole life. The crowd sat mystified by her full bodied voice as she sang the words they knew only so well. She had an irresistibly cunning, sly look on her face, her expression and body language playful, naughty as a Cheshire's cat matching the mood of the song that she performed to the crowd.

In the theater, I want to change my seat
Just so I can step on everybody's feet

I wanna be evil, I wanna hurt flies
I wanna sing songs, like the guy who cri-i- i- i-i- ies

The crowd laughed, entertained by such a good, merry jazz music and her rather dramatic performance. The evening faded into a swirl of color. By this time, the mortal woman had stolen the crowd's attention who had began to sing along with her from their seats, or tapped their shoes at the tune.

She sang her heart out, letting out the inner sly cat within her for all to see.

I wanna be horrid, I wanna drink booze
And whatever I've got, I'm eager to lose

I wanna be evil, little evil me
Just as mean and evil
As I can be!

The music had come to its climax, the sound and her presence filling in the atmosphere with such fun and playful emotions as she finished her song with a high note. Mila gave a crooked, seductive smile to her audience and a feline 'Meow' to end her performance.

The person who came out of the cafe, counting her performance fee was a different girl from the one who stood at the stage earlier. Mila put on her hoodie over her t-shirt and fixed her baseball cap before slinging her bag over her shoulder as she made her way home.

Her mother, which shared her honey skin color greeted her with a warm embrace as she arrived, and Mila squeezed her back, smiling like a spoiled little girl at her mama. Upon closer inspection at the older lady, the elves who sifted through her memory knew that death festered in the body of Mila's mother.

"I bought the pills," Mila said with a cheerful smile for the sake of her mother, despite how it broke her heart everytime she saw her mother's form so wilted and pale from her ailment.

"Mila!" gasped the older woman, "How?"

"I took second job. It pays well, and I'm having so much fun doing it," beamed Mila, "Soon, you'll get better, then we'll collect enough money and open that bakery, yes?"

The scene changed.

Mila was standing alone, dressed in black as she watched her mother's burial. Her shoulders sagged and her expression dead, betraying the grief and the loss in her wet eyes. The sky grey and gloomy as it rained, as if crying along with her.

The mortal woman walked aimlessly for hours in the city of steel and light. Still garbed in black, Mila didn't know how to continue with her life without her mother. Her rock. As she waited at the sides of the road, a guy bumped into her. Mila got shoved forward and fell to the ground in the midst of busy traffic. When she looked up, bright white light shone before her as the bypassers began to cry to her in warning. Mila squinted at the bright light, her hand shielding her eyes from the stark contrast before her.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself standing in the Hall of Waiting. Someone with an inhuman, almost god-like voice asked her if she would like another chance, or pass peacefully to where she belonged. Mila chose life. She chose to have a purpose.

Elladan watched the scene that he full well knew as it unfold before his eyes. The half dead mortal woman lay limp in his arms as he and Elrohir rescued her. The days they spent nursing her back to life. How she befriended them and treated them not seriously. Truly, the mortal woman had sneaked up on them and managed to warm and steal the twins' hearts. Though born out of pity, their relationship grew into friendship, and before they know it, she was already like a kin to them.

Then come the new scene that none of them but Glorfindel knew-the Fellowship of the Ring. Of hobbits, elf, men and dwarf uniting forces to an oath of secrecy to destroy the One Ring that belonged to Sauron. This particular divergent in the memory confused both Elrond and Elrohir, but they kept watch, eager to understand. Mila followed her own path; a different quest to retrieve the essence of Varda. Lord Elrond appointed Glorfindel to aid her in her journey.

The elf prince, Legolas, was quick to find her so dear that he fell in love with the mortal woman despite the risk of inevitable tragedy that would befall the love between a mortal and immortal. So in love with her vibrant soul, he wished to come with her on her journey. Yet armed with her prophetic knowledge, Mila forbid him to come, though they promised each other to meet again.

Glorfindel looked away from her memory when he saw the prince kissed her at their parting.

The scene changed.

Before their eyes, Rivendell was fallen. The smell of death reeked the air; the cries of grief and despair of their people filled the atmosphere. So many lives were taken by such forces of darkness, in the likes that the elves had never seen before. If there were anyone left behind, they would fight till their last breath, or they would succumb to the decaying of their soul, consumed with grief.

Elladan watched himself pulling his sister's arms, unrelentingly, refusing to let the orcs take her. His party was murdered, none left alive but him and Arwen. He saw with his own eyes how his grip on her arms had badly scratched Arwen's delicate skin, drawing her blood, but he was adamant not to let his sister fall to an unspeakable fate in the hands of the filthy orcs. Through her pain, Arwen cried hysterically, begged him not to let go.

A morgul blade penetrated his chest, and Arwen's scream filled the air with horror and agony as she watched her brother's death before her eyes. Falling into the hands of the orcs, Arwen succumbed to grief and torment.

The scene changed.

Mila was on her journey, and Glorfindel, after his solemn oath, had become her loyal protector and confidant. What surprised the balrog slayer, beyond his oath, the small mortal woman had managed to sneak up on the soft spot of his dormant heart. The warmth of her friendship and her lively spirit caused her to become so dear in his heart, that he would give his eternal soul just to give her a chance to finish her quest and live.

Having lived in both the Seen and the Unseen, Glorfindel possessed the gift of sight that enabled him to see past Saruman's witchery upon Mila. Though succeeding in waking Mila from the cursed trance that trapped her in the limbo, there was always a price to pay for breaking such dark magic. Bidding his goodbye to her, he pushed her consciousness out of the limbo, while he remained trapped, a prisoner to his own body for eternity.

Without the essence of his mind, the golden warrior's body was but an empty vessel, fated to fade and decay with time in this broken world they lived in.

When Mila opened her eyes to the reality, and saw Glorfindel's strong yet stoic form sat on the ground next to her. His striking blue eyes were opened, yet empty, as if void of life and detached from the world. Bile began to rise up to her throat in fear.

"Glorfindel!" cried Mila as she cupped his fair face. The girl called out to him in vain. When she resorted to give his shoulder a shake, tears started to leak from her dark eyes when his upper body swayed that he fell flat to the ground.

"No!!"

Mila let a loud, anguished cry out as she reached for her dear friend, realizing what he had done for her sake. Her shoulders shook in great distress as she held him and cupped his fair face. She pressed herself to his chest, crying incessantly and begging him to return to her with no avail.

"Wake up, Glorfindel. Come back to me."

"I beg you. I need you."

"Why for me? Why did you do this?"

"Please don't leave me alone."

"I'm so sorry. This is my fault; you don't deserve this."

Glorfindel watched the memory unfold, even unknown to him beforehand, his heart stricken with deep remorse and melancholy as he heard her wail of despair for him.

She blamed herself.

Mila laid there on the ground over his empty vessel for hours, tears spilled from her beautiful dark eyes unceasingly, mourning for him until the poor mortal girl finally fell asleep to his cold chest in exhaustion and grief.

Eventually, she knew she had to let him go. She brought him a bouquet of small wildflowers that she gathered nearby, tied together with her leather hair band. With utmost gentleness and care, Mila placed the weight of his sword on top of his chest, crossing his hands against the hilt of the sword. Mila slipped the flowers between his hands with yet another anguished sobs. Then with a reluctant farewell, Mila cupped his jaw and placed a kiss on top of her friend's head, knowing that it would be the last she look upon the graceful plane of his face. With what strength left in her heavy heart, she got up and dragged her feet, one step at a time, and continued her quest, glancing over her shoulder as she looked her last upon Glorfindel's still form in her memory.

The scene changed. From here on out, none of the elves knew what they were going to see next, what would be Mila's strongest memory of her past.

Her loud cry pierced the air, echoing across the emptiness of Saruman's dark tower. Mila was held captive, in chains, as Saruman tortured her for informations. The sounds of her ankle bone breaking cracked in their ears as the mortal woman pitifully screamed with torment. The last ministration Saruman inflicted upon her proved to be too much for the girl, for after her long cry, she fell immediately into unconsciousness.

"Weak. Useless," cursed Saruman. The corrupted wizard turn to the Uruk leader, "Post someone at the entrance. When she wakes, I shall come back and pick her little by little until she tells us what she knows."

Fortune fell upon her. After hours trying, she managed to pick the lock to the chain that was on her feet with a hair pin she had on her hair. Quietly, despite her crushed ankle, Mila dragged her body on the cold, dark marble floor towards the open balcony of the tower. She dared a look towards the unbelievable fall below the tower, her form shaking with both dread and the harsh wind that blew against her frail form. The sounds of orcs and uruks alike approaching-she'd been made.

"You have nowhere to go, hybrid," growled the orcs menacingly, followed with howls of monstrous laughter from the cursed creatures.

"You'll never get anything from me," Mila said with determination behind those fearful, tear stricken eyes. Her face was almost white with lack of nourishment and pain, yet there was defiance in her dark eyes. She spat. "I'd die first."

Watching with horror, Glorfindel was helpless, unable to scream even if he wanted to when she threw herself to the abyss below the towering peak of Orthanc. Her loud, pierced scream sounded throughout the air hauntingly, followed with a sound of a mighty flapping wings that belonged to Gwaihir the Windlord, the great eagle of Valinor. The massive eagle took a sharp dive only to soar later, carrying the unconscious girl between its mighty talons, away from the cursed place, saving her from certain death.

The scene changed.

Mila dropped to the ground where the Lady of Light lay on top of the pool of her blood that marred her white elven dress. The luminous glow that would usually bestowed upon the elf dimmed, as was the life of Eldar in her worldly body.

Mila struggled with no avail to stop the elf's bleeding. Lady Galadriel caught her hand, stopping her, and the mortal woman was no longer able to stop her tears from falling. The elf held her hand in her bloodied one.

"It was never my fate to wield the star. It was yours, little one," she said with a weak, melodious voice, and Mila shook her head frantically in denial, "It is unfair, but the road ahead is yours only to take."

"I can't! I don't know how to do that and I don't have the power! It has to be you!" Mila cried in horror, terrified. "This can't end like this!"

"If you can't, then no one can," Galadriel murmured, her voice tinged with exhaustion as her fea began to leave her worldly body. The lady of light carried her last words with her last breath, "You must set Varda free."

The scene changed.

Mila found the star. Even only in memory, the star of Varda was undoubtedly most beautiful, one of the reason why it was coveted and long searched by the dark forces in Arda, other than for the cosmic power it possess.

Cornered, battered and left with no strength nor hope left in her, Mila still had the glint of determination behind the despair and hopelessness in her eyes.

Against all judgments and sound mind, the girl did the unthinkable. Whether out of desperation, or insanity from the cruel fate that befell her, Mila took the star and swallowed it; her eyes wild with hatred when she stared at Saruman and the undead kings of men.

She ate a star, Elrond thought with bafflement, a sentiment that was shared among Glorfindel and Elladan who were currently sifting through her memory through the Sanwë Latya.

They watched as her human body broke, the blinding light of Varda escaping through the cracks of the vessel of her fragile human body, burning her alive. Mila let out her last living moments in the past reality with a kind of pain unimaginable to them. The sound of her screams were nothing like the elves ever had before. It was the sound that only people being burned alive could make.

The star shot up to the night sky, thundering like a lightning with a deafening sound and heat.

The scene changed abruptly. Mila was but a spirit, her fea wrapped in starlight as she conversed with Varda. The vala was awakened. The sphere below them, was Arda, standing beyond the plane of the existence, out of time and space.

With Varda awaken from her slumber, Frodo managed to destroy the cursed one ring, and the war against Sauron was won at the Black Gate. Despite the victory, Mila saw nothing good out of it, so when Varda granted her a wish, she asked for a world without Sauron. The vala then reached her hand up to the sky and placed the Star of Earendil on Mila's palm-a silmaril, realized the elves-and blessed Mila with a kiss on her temple as she bid her goodbye.

The scene changed.

Mila burst out of the kitchen in Rivendell, her mind reeling with the change which she found herself in. Of the dead elves and friends she thought had died; seeing their laughter as they walked around Rivendell, safe and sound, in a perfect harmony in the blessed realm.

One of her strongest memory was of seeing Glorfindel again in the new reality. Through the Sanwë-Latya, Glorfindel could not only see things from her perspective, but feel the emotions and the feelings that laid deep within her heart. There were happiness, mingled with grief, melancholy and shame when she first look at him at the new reality. He felt her longing for him. Yet with a smile and a soft sniffle, Mila didn't approach him, but left him alone with his comrade, offering a silent prayer to him, one that matched his own when he too saw her again, well and safe.

Be happy, Glorfindel.

The following memories of hers centered around her new life in Rivendell. Around Elrohir, Elladan, Ilya-even Glorfindel.

He watched with a wistful feeling as the memory of her dying on the lake played before them. Of their dance under the stars during the last Winter Solstice celebration. Their playful banter. The sweet delicate moments they shared as friends. Back then, his touches upon her were innocent, yet Glorfindel was blown away by her feelings for him whenever they touched. Whenever they embrace. Whenever he was just as much as leaning closer to her as he spoke.

Mila was now spending hours in the library, her eyes and mind hungrily searching for answers that may spring hope in restoring the power of the three rings. Her dedication went beyond her bodily strength, that as she burned the night oil with her research, she would often find herself falling asleep on the library desk, having exhausted her mind reading.

Elrond recognized that memory when he found Mila and Variel singing a weird song in the library. His keen eyes fleeted over the books and scrolls that laid scattered upon the mortal woman's desk. He thought she was simply bored. He hadn't known that Mila was doing her own strenuous research, looking for answers and clues to save his kin and his elven people.

The lord of Rivendell watched with wistful mind eye as he saw Mila laughed gaily at Variel, his usually tough, seasoned soldier who had apparently lowered her guard with the human, and now was nursing her embarrassment after being found by him singing in the library.

The scenes after that involved more and more of Glorfindel in it.

Their first kiss that night on her balcony. Glorfindel didn't know that she wanted him too. Loved him too, with almost as much fierceness that he loved her.

Almost, because now he knew well how much she loved him, but still he loved her even more.

Their stolen kisses when no one was looking. There was also the moment when Mila had first tell Glorfindel that she loved him, but Glorfindel mentally yanked Lord of Rivendell and his oldest son away from that, and from more of their intimate moments together as husband and wife. The memories around their marriage and union were but a blur before their eyes.

The day of the attack.

Mila and Erussiel fled from the village, yearning for safety at the house of Elrond, only to get stopped by orcs. The two ladies hid behind ruined fruit stall.

Mila's tangible sense of fear and protectiveness radiated off of her in the memory. The woman got up from her hiding place, a bow and an arrow on her hand, her beautiful dark eyes shone with fierce determination and focus. Bravely, the woman pulled her arrow to her cheek, breathing in.

She saved her husband's life.

Having taken down the orc that managed to sneak up behind him, Mila locked eyes with Glorfindel from a distance, smiling lovingly at him, when a shadow passed behind her, and the three elves were pulled out from her memory.

***

The three elves found their consciousness back in the infirmary, by Mila's bed. Glorfindel's shoulder slumped upon the aftermath of entering her mind. He still couldn't believe how much she actually loved him, and how far she would go for him. What she sacrificed. A blend of contradicting emotions hit him in waves: disbelief, anger, pride, guilt, love, despair-and most of all, fear. Fear of losing her, because he knew he'd never love anyone else like he did Mila, and that no one could love him the way she did. And despite knowing that he didn't deserve her love and affection, he knew that he didn't want to lose her–his sole purpose to live.

Lord Elrond looked at the eyes of the healers before him, his jaw set in determination.

"She will live," he declared with finality in his tone, and the healers didn't dare oppose the command in their lord's voice, despite not yet knowing what the ancient elf had gathered during the Sanwë-Latya.

A spark of hope shone in Glorfindel's eyes as he felt Elladan nudged him away from her bed, to give space for Elrond to work. Glorfindel's intense blue eyes met with Elladan's steel grey which still held the same amount of shock in them.

"She will live, for even the valars would know that letting her die would be an utmost unfairness," Elladan said solemnly, "You shall have your bride back, uncle. I have faith in it."

Elladan embraced his teacher, his uncle, a gesture that the warriors seldom shared. Yet at the moment Glorfindel returned it, silently thanking Elladan who lent him strength in his time of need.

***