Mila (A Glorfindel Fanfiction)

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.