Her Resurrection

chapter 7

I shrugged, pushing a strand of hair out of my eyes. "Why sleep in the middle of the day?"

"That's not what I meant, Esther."

My gaze raised to look at him. Did he suspect anything? I had been dodging them for so long... they would be trying to get answers. My breath quickened in alarm, and I could feel my heart starting to race. He was still looking over the valley, seeming just as calm and collected as always, but at the same time I could detect a slight tension in his shoulders; a tell-tale tilt to his head hinted that he was paying more attention than one would think at first.  

"I suffered from night terrors for many centuries after the fall of Gondolin," He said. "Many nights I would not even go to my room in fear of the dreams that I knew would come."

What?

"It is not something I speak of often, Esther, but would you listen if I told you?"

The carefree man was gone, and in his place was a man that seemed to age before my eyes. His shoulders drooped with an unseen load, and his golden hair dimmed in the sunlight to appear more silver in its shade. His eyes never left the valley, but instead stayed focused on some invisible memory playing in front of him.

Nodding, I wrapped my arms around my legs and pulled them to my chest. He did not say anything at first, but then took a deep breath and began. 

"Millennia ago, there was a city named Gondolin, ruled by the Noldorin Elves that left Valinor and the Valars' rule. I will explain more in detail later," he said when I opened my mouth to question him on the unfamiliar terms. "There I lived in the time when Morgoth led his dark forces against my people, intent on destroying us. When my people fled the city for their lives, Balrogs intercepted them along the mountain paths. They are bigger than a troll, covered in flame and darkness, with a great horned head, and a weapon made of fire."

"Attacking one of them was possibly the most foolish thing I have ever done; but if I had not, then more innocents would have died.  In short, we fought long on the mountainside, before I finally drove a dirk through the beast. In his fall he..." 

He trailed off, and in his eyes I saw everything that he had seen. The story came alive, and I watched as he fought a great horned beast of fire and smoke. Terror was shining in his eyes, and I could almost see the glint of fire. "...He pulled me down with him." 

"Down the mountain?" I questioned softly, unbelieving that he could have survived such an ordeal.  

Silently he sat, until at last he turned his eyes upon me, and in them was something I had never seen before. His once light blue eyes had darkened into a haunted grey, full of suffering and torment and the horror of what his long years had seen. In that moment, I realized just how old he was. The air around us grew heavy with his memories. So heavy in fact, it was almost palpable. This was no fantastical story made up for a child's delight. It was his life, living breathing, and in color.

"I dream often of the flames and the darkness, of the night I died."

Died!?  

"You- but- I'm sorry, but that does not make any sense to me." I stuttered.

He nodded slowly and solemnly. His features twisted into one of sorrow and grief. 

"Why are you telling me this?" I whispered. 

"You have the same look in your eyes that I have seen in my own. Something haunts you, Esther, and what that is I do not know. But I would have you know that you are not alone in your grief."

I did not know what to make of what he was telling me. In fact, I wondered why he was not asking me directly what it was that was bothering me. But at the same time, I was grateful he was merely finding a spot of even ground; finding something we could both relate to and using it. I did not understand exactly what he had been through, and could not even begin to understand it, but I could understand the look of sorrow in his eyes. It was something I was very familiar with.