Chapter 17 - I am hibernating

Glorfindel's closest friends were the ones who witnessed first hand how what befell Mila slowly ate away at the balrog slayer's spirit, day by day. Seeing how devastated the golden one had become, Elladan more than once offered to assume Captain's position in his stead. But despite all that, Glorfindel was still every bit a loyal and noble warrior that cared deeply for Rivendell. Despite Mila's ailment, he would still take the burden of the Captain and dutifully attend to his job. Now more than ever, when Rivendell and its protectors truly needed his leadership & expertise.

Lord Elrond shook his head at his oldest son, who seemed to want to offer his help as Captain to Glorfindel again as they watched the balrog slayer left Elrond's study room after his report, his expression stoic and unfeeling, betraying the grief and worry in his eyes.

Glorfindel needed this, said Lord Elrond to Elladan through their familial bond. This is what he knows best. The only control he has, for what befell his bride was something beyond his power. Nor mine.

Elladan's face fell in deep sympathy for Glorfindel. He too knew that even after his father's intervention, his magic could only do so much as slow down the poison, bidding her more time as they hope that her body would fight the poison and prevail in the end.

Elrohir watched as his ada brought his hand and studied Vilya, the ring of power on his finger with troubled eyes.

"You did what you could, adar," comforted Elrohir to his father. Lord Elrond only smiled softly at his sons, yet his expression were still downcast as he looked back at his ring.

"If only my magic is strong enough..." Elrond trailed.

"You did enough. You gave us hope, adar," said Elladan with wistfulness in his tone, "Had it not for your magic, she would have been taken away from us that day she received that injury. But now, weak as she may be, she is still fighting."

A small, poignant smile played across Elrohir's face. "And turned out, what a fighter she was," Elrohir said with much fondness on his expression, having known the whole truth from Elladan through their twins bond two weeks ago. Elrohir, despite being the one who also treated her throughout the time she was unconscious, had grown to miss her dearly.

A sad frown formed between Elladan's brows as he felt his twin's thoughts of her. "I missed her too, Ro."

"I can't wait for her to wake up so we can tease her endlessly," sighed Elrohir, gaining a poignant smile from his brother.

"I missed her honey cake," Lord Elrond chirped, though troubled, his eyes held his sons with a bit of playfulness that he hoped would lightened their spirits. The twins exchanged small smiles with their adar.

After a long moment of silence, Elladan voiced his question to his brother. "How does she fare?"

"She remains unconscious. Delirious at most," Elrohir said with a frown on his fair face, "We try to get her to take as much as healing potion as possible when she can. She swallows so little, for her conscious moments were rare and brief."

"And Glorfindel?" asked Lord Elrond.

"If he's not out on duty, he would sit by her side, keeping vigil for her," Elrohir answered.

"Despite keeping his duties, Glorfindel seemed to have lost his head," Elladan further informed, "He exacts unnecessary violence when killing orcs at the border ever since the breach. Beheading the creatures even after his deadly strikes. His rage unsettles the guards, even Variel, who most of the time showed little self restrain on the field. Out there, he no longer shows control. Only vengeance."

This troubled Elrond and Elrohir.

"I also fear for his wellbeing," Elrohir added, "He's barely eating. He doesn't sleep. All he does day in and out is watching Mila. I fear if this continues he would wither from the inside. He's destroying himself."

Glorfindel did hit rock bottom.

Silently drowning in despair, he would keep his eyes on his sleeping bride. So fair she was to his eyes, yet death festered on her body that it made her skin so sallow and pale. The shadow under her eyes deepened, sunken as if she was being drained of life from within.

On brief occasions in which she opened her eyes, her gaze were empty and blank. At that moment, Elrohir or healer on standby would hastily open her mouth to make her drink healing potions, and Glorfindel would fight himself from breaking down upon seeing her choke helplessly on the medicine, as if begging them to stop, only to later slip back to unconsciousness with the healer's hand still on her jaw.

Once the healer leave, his unfeeling mask fell and Glorfindel would sank on his chair with his hands grasping his head roughly, breathing raggedly as he felt his chest shook with rage and a maddening despair.

Fight this, Mila, he beseeched her down their marriage bond, helpless as he was met with silence from her end. Come back to me, my little wildflower.

Please.

Please, little one.

Everytime, Glorfindel held on to the hope of receiving that usual playful tug from her through their bond; or her teasing giggle; her witty, suggestive remarks that would both frustrate and amuse him especially when delivered during an important council meeting. Yet he received none.

Glorfindel was angry. At the world. At himself. He was even angry at Mila for saving his life. But his anger would always turn into grief and shame whenever he looked upon her peaceful, innocent sleeping face. Grief stricken, the elf warrior would then take her hand and trailed kisses on her skin reverently as if to ask for her forgiveness.

He received none as well.

The sun set and rose before him, day by day, bringing its new perils, yet the golden warrior rose and did his duties akin to a mindless beast. Numb whenever he wasn't near her. Suffocating when he was. The only time he would let himself feel was when he was out there, rallying his men to hunt for orcs that dared near their border, hatred consumed his being, even more so than his own hatred against himself.

Variel flinched, the hair behind her neck stood up when she saw her captain cleaved the last of the orcs before them with his broad sword, violently decapitating the dark creature's body into two.

"Captain."

Variel swallowed her fear as she saw the pure, unadulterated bloodlust in Glorfindel's trapping blue eyes as he glanced at her.

"Rubin?" he inquired with an eerie even tone and a stony expression as he wiped the black blood of the cursed creature against his arm braces. "What news of the western border?"

She cleared her throat, broadening her shoulders. "They killed ninety seven orcs and piled their carcasses by the river," said the female warrior elf with slight tremble in her voice.

"Burn them," he muttered. "And Talorion?"

"No word yet. They are still chasing the ones fleeing to the east."

Glorfindel put his index finger and his thumb on the side of his mouth and whistled, signaling his men to gather.

"Let's follow them," said Glorfindel curtly as he made his way to the east, ready to rally his men to kill more orcs. Variel quickly stopped him.

"Lord Elrohir send word that Mila has awakened," the she elf informed.

Sobriety seemed to return to his dead eyes as soon as his beloved's name entered his ears. He stared at Variel.

"Go to your bride. We can handle the eastern border," she said with a bow of her head.

Glorfindel nodded, despite the spark in his eyes earlier, his expression still grim as he regarded his friend and comrade. "Have Lord Elladan assumed my place until I get back. Post some men and a scout onward from this side of the border, lest more orcs come this way."

"Consider it done, captain."

***

Glorfindel arrived to a slow jog as he entered the infirmary. Mila was now laying on her side, her expression exhausted. When her bleary dark eyes met Glorfindel's bright blue ones, her weak smile bloomed on her pale face.

"Mila," breathed Glorfindel with an immense relief as he knelt on one knee by her side. He caressed the side of her face, his touch gentle and wary. She noted how his jeweled eyes swam with sadness and worry as he studied her.

"Hi."

The golden one noted her weak, harsh voice as she greeted him. He had never heard her sound so small before. So fragile.

I miss you, she said through their bond.

Glorfindel ever so gently placed a kiss on top of her forehead, her skin cold and clammy. He then pressed their foreheads together, murmuring softly to her. "I missed you more, my sweet Mila."

His nickname for her brought a small smile to her face. Elrohir who was standing behind them couldn't help but smile at their exchange, feeling a big portion of heaviness lifted off of his chest when he finally saw Mila awake and for once, alert. He cleared his throat after a much needed moment.

"Now if you two lovebirds are done ogling into each other's eyes, I would suggest that Mila starts eating soon before resting again," he said lightly, and for the first in a long time, Elrohir got to see Glorfindel sincere smile again as he looked at him and his wife. "Ilya has prepared a delicious chicken broth for you to chomp. Let's get you up to a sitting position, shall we?"

Elrohir nodded at Glorfindel, signaling him to move her as the youngest twin kept watch nearby. "Mind her back, Glorfindel."

Her limbs felt like lead. With effort she slung her free arm around her husband's neck and clutched at the collar of his tunic. Burying her face on Glorfindel's shoulder, she winced as he slid his right arm from under her hip and slightly dragged her body up to a sitting position.

Despite his conscious effort to lift her with as much gentleness as he could muster while minding her back, it didn't escape him that her body tensed as soon as he lifted the weight of her upper body up. When he pulled away slightly to study her, Mila was closing her eyes, her brows furrowed slightly as she held the shooting pain up her back. Only when the pain was subdued to a dull ache then she opened her dark eyes, and for his sake, offered him a tight smile.

"Good?" Glorfindel asked, searching her face. She nodded.

A lie, Glorfindel noted. He could only watch helplessly when she squeezed his arm in hers as if to comfort him, while he could see the pain wracked her body that she was trembling slightly. He felt her small hands clutched tightly as the back of his tunic for leverage as she rested her weight on his form.

"I'd give you more of the painkiller, but then it would put you to sleep," Elrohir commented as his keen eyes observed her movement since the beginning. "You should eat first."

Elrohir placed a tray with the soup bowl next to the nightstand within the reach of Glorfindel's arm, knowing that the elf was capable, and in fact, needed to care for his wife himself. The golden haired elf had his left arm behind her shoulders, supporting her weight, while his right hand spooned the content of the bowl.

Mila couldn't help but being amused when she saw Glorfindel brought to spoon close to his lips and blew gently on the hot soup as if to cool it before offering it to her. She felt like a child.

A very spoiled child.

Glorfindel raised a neat eyebrow at her. "Open," he told her with the spoon in his hand, waiting for her.

If Mila could blush, she would have been red all the way to her toes, for his gentle order reminded her of their intimate moments together in their bed, when he would demand her to spread her legs for him. The mortal woman glanced at Elrohir who stood just a distance away from them. The youngest twin rolled his eyes.

"I know when I am unwanted, even in my own house," he grumbled, feigning annoyance, though the amused smile in his eyes betrayed him. He made a move to turn, giving the two lovers some space, "I'll be around when I'm needed."

Glorfindel and Mila exchanged mild amused smiles when Elrohir left the scene. The handsome elf gave her a small, alluring smile–the one she knew he reserved only for her–as she moved the spoon in his hand. "Don't make me repeat myself," he taunted her with his honeyed voice, smirking knowingly at Mila's thought earlier.

The mortal woman opened her mouth obediently, holding her bashful smile. Pleased, Glorfindel fed her patiently, making her blush inwardly.

"I'm sorry you have to do this," Mila commented between her meals.

"Nonsense," Glorfindel replied with an easy smile as he placed the spoon on her soft lips, feeding her gently. "I quite enjoy this. Someday, you might as well return the favor."

Mila chuckled softly, unable to picture a mighty warrior like Glorfindel being bedridden, a jelly like her. "I can't imagine you being so helpless, a fine warrior such as you."

"Who says I need to be helpless to feed on you?"

Mila whimpered softly at the innuendo that escaped his shapely lips, making Glorfindel looked rather pleased with himself. She cursed the fact that she was unable to take up on his unspoken challenge to her.

"Tease," she pouted, making Glorfindel chuckle lowly. Mila's mind played at the idea of her usually controlled husband. She wondered if he'd like it if for once, he let her have control over him.

The image of him smirking seductively at her entered her mind's eye; his hands bound to the bed post by elven rope, and Mila is free to explore his naked body all she wants and do to him as she pleases. She would take her time with him and–

Glorfindel spilled the content of the spoon in his usually steady hand on the ground. Mila saw pink tinted his ears when he looked at her rather accusingly.

"Glorfindel! Are you blushing?" she giggled softly, "That would teach you not to peer into my mind."

Glorfindel clicked his tongue, keeping his composure as he take another spoon from the bowl. "You are not well, my naughty cat. I don't think you get to tie me up anytime soon."

Mila refused the spoon in front of him to look at his face. "Does that mean you would let me do that to you?"

Glorfindel studied her face with a hum, his eyes held mischief in it. "Being tied up goes against my every instinct," he pondered, placing the spoon back on the bowl and focused all his attention on her, "But perhaps, in retrospect, being with you has rendered me helpless. In every way imaginable, Mila," he said with a smile, though the sadness in his eyes apparent, "So why not? At least this time, I'll submit to you willingly." Glorfindel snaked his right arm around her waist, holding her as he gazed at her, captivating her with his eyes. "On one condition. Get well and be healthy for me, my little wildflower."

Her heart thrummed with the timbre of his deep, lover voice. She nodded and leaned up her face, and Glorfindel instinctively leaned closer, their lips brushed softly, stroking gently against the other, relishing each other. They broke the affectionate kiss with a smack of their lips, before Glorfindel placed a sweet kiss on her cheek. On her temple. On her nose. The edge of her lips. Her chin. Mila chuckled breathlessly at the way he adorably attacked her face with his dangerous lips.

Returning to the task at hand, Mila opened her mouth again, forcing herself to swallow the food Glorfindel offered. Not just for his sake, but for herself. Despite the easy smile that played on the elf's smile, she found his eyes swimming with worry, albeit with a bit of relief now when he looked at her.

Their quiet conversation soon died down, as Glorfindel sensed her fatigue returning. Mila only managed to eat half of her meal despite her effort, and quietly apologized with her eyes when she could no longer take the food he offered so patiently for her. Glorfindel smiled wistfully in understanding and kissed her cheek before putting down the spoon on the tray. By the time he looked back at her face, his sweet wife's eyes were mere slits, her weight fully rested on his steadying arm.

Upon the balrog slayer's call, Elrohir came back into the infirmary and gently tapped on Mila's cheek, waking her. The smell of pungent yet fresh herbal concoction entered her nose. Mila wanted to ask if she could just get back to sleep, but she felt so exhausted, even just to speak. The heartbreaking blend of worry and sadness in Glorfindel's expression returned when he looked at her, that Mila had no heart to refuse the potion Elrohir offered to her lips.

She braved a few sips of the potion, before finding the world began to swirl in a blur and darkness overtook her again.

***