Mila (A Glorfindel Fanfiction)

I be slurring

Sounds of faint incoherent words escaped Mila's lips as her dull eyes fixed at nothing in particular at the ceiling of the infirmary. Glorfindel stroke her forehead comfortingly, noting that her usually glowing hair was now seemed lackluster from her ailment. Her complexion, though had gotten better yesterday, now appeared pallid and waxy.

"I don't understand. She had been better yesterday," Glorfindel glanced at Elrond with an unsettleness, perplexed. "Why is she suddenly collapsing like this?"

With skillful hands, the lord of Rivendell turned her body sideways and worked to undo the bandage at her back; his expression troubled upon seeing the still blackened veins around the stitches. "Her body hasn't fully flushed the poison out of her system," he said grimly.

Glorfindel frowned. "Can you do anything?"

"My magic only slows the poison. To this day, we have no antidote for this particular orcish poison," explained Lord Elrond, "What we can do is manage the symptoms and keep her comfortable. Watch her nutrition intake and make sure that she keeps taking the athelas brew," the dark haired elf said with sympathy in his troubled eyes as he studied her wound. "Aside from that, we keep hope and pray that what I did is enough to give her body time to heal itself."

Glorfindel's eyes stung at hearing the defeat in his friend's voice. If the lord of Rivendell, the best healer that Arda had to date was unable to help her, then...

The golden one placed his hand on his forehead, closing his eyes as he took a deep, shaky breath. Fighting with himself again, Glorfindel put on his mask of impassiveness while he struggled not to crash mentally-just like the way hope threatened to be crushed violently again in his heart. Looking back, the elf warrior preferred to face the wrath of a balrog than to feel this way. This... powerless.

No. Mila is strong.

He slid his hand down to his mouth as he helplessly watched Elrond changing her bandage. Another healer came back and forth bringing crushed athelas plant and put it on top of her wound.

Glorfindel felt useless and utterly lost when he saw the blackened veins around her stitches. Morose. He didn't know what to do with himself as he watched her small frame laying there on her bed, fighting for her life. Crestfallen and guilt-ridden, the elf warrior almost didn't have the energy to get up from his chair to leave her for his duty.

"I beg of you, Glorfindel," a male voice from beside him sounded as the golden warrior held her small, delicate hand in his own, his thumb caressing her skin lovingly. Elladan continued. "Let me assume captaincy. Be with your wife."

None of them knew what tomorrow brings; whether Mila survive this or not, for while her condition seemed to improve yesterday, today proved to be otherwise, and that the poison still festered in her body. Glorfindel swallowed his terror upon seeing the eyes of Elladan; of the unspoken truth written in those steely grey eyes.

There is still hope left. She may live. But it doesn't negate the possibility that you could also lose her today. Or tomorrow. Next week- or on any given dark moments that may sneak up on us. What if she's gone, and you're not there with her?

The bitter realization hit him hard like a boulder; its weight crushing him that he felt as if he was on the brink of utter destruction. One more push, one more nudge, and he would be shattered to pieces. He didn't know how or even have the strength to bear such sorrowful possibility. Mila was his world now, and the elf didn't know how he could live without her.

Elladan took his silence and lack of argument as an approval. The oldest son of Elrond placed a hand on Glorfindel's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze before leaving the premises to perform the captain duty in his stead.