Nasyalossë by Lovimmy3365  

Snowmelt

Erestor battles at the gates of Imlardis. He is fairly sure he will not survive.

The snow was as still as the waters of Cuiviénen when Erestorⁱ woke beneath the stars, the same as he had so, so long ago. Indeed, it was night, as it always had been in those days after the great lamps and before any had seen the sun. In those days, Middle Earth was ever dark, far from the light of the trees of Valinor. Oromë named them Eldar, for they loved the light of the stars, and yet was it not those who stayed who loved the stars above all? They needed no lamp, no tree, no light other than those gentle eyes of Varda, who they called many eyed. Even as the shadow of the Dark One crept, he could not reach the stars.

Erestor lay up against a tree, brown washed to black in the wet of the snow. The black disc of the new moon sailed across the dark sky. Erestor wished it were gone. He had no need to look into dark eyes any longer.

He was dying.

Nobody knew what became of the young ringbearer, except that Mirkwood had fallen, Thranduil coming with all his host to Imladris. A few days later, Oromis returned, reborn in white without the pale-bone taint of Saruman. Then, Galadriel and her warriors, her husband slain in battle. Elrond and the other two bearers of Celebrimbor's rings held their fortress against the Enemy's forces. They were long and sickly months, then. Galadriel and Oromis were unwell from the strain, requiring rest and much fortitude. There was much, then, to say of Elrond. His peredhel nature caused him to suffer much at the barrier's behest. He scarcely left his bed, let alone his chambers, while his apprentices attended him.

Elrond would not hear of Erestor coming to change his bed-sheets. Even his own sons were all but forbidden from entering. Arwen left to assist the battles beyond the girdle of Imladris in an echo of her great ancestor. Elladan and Elrohir were constantly on horseback, messengers and warriors both in the fight. Glorfindel brought to wield Êgmerilⁱⁱ again. Erestor, normally a mere keeper of records, was called upon to defend the front against a legion of Orcs, dark twisted things which only grew more monstrous as they mutated and ate each other alive.

The Orcs, they were easy to slay, stronger than Men but weaker than Eldar. Their armor was forged crude and brittle, and they did not have the grace of an Elda. They could be cut down with arrows or swords, but their strength came in their great number. One Elda could not withstand ten Orcs, let alone hundreds. Hundreds there were. With the Orcs came the wolves, the goblins, the other strange twisted things that the Moringotto forged. Shifting beings with no eyes, or otherwise too many. The darkness made manifest with black breath and the chill of an empty hröa. The chill, too, was overpowered by light and heat. Those creatures named balrog—valarauka—that were once dancers of Varda and sisters of Arienⁱⁱⁱ. The Enemy tired of sending fodder, then.

Erestor could do nothing but fight. He remembered very little, the only thought in his mind of his next strike, the dodge. Years of peace had not left him clumsy in the way it did to Men. He fought, possessed only that if he died, he should have no glimmer of hope. Would Mandos take the fëa of one who had never touched Aman's soil? Then, he dismissed it. If he should die there would be worse fates for those of the secondborn races.

The balrog—Erestor had not known its name—fought fiercely. The Enemy's darkness was so strong, and Erestor faltered. It was days of fighting, running. Once or twice the lash of heat made him stumble. Finally, the balrog caught him unawares and struck with the cord of its whip. Erestor had dropped his sword a few paces back, and wished against wishing that he had not. Instead, he caught the burning whip on instinct, holding fast with both hands.

There was no time. Erestor yanked with all the strength in him, trying to disarm the balrog or pull it closer so his allies could strike—

But when he looked, he was the only one left.

The pain in his hands quickly vanished, the nerves burned to nothing until he could feel nothing. Still he pulled. The balrog leered down at him, but its eyes widened as he began, bit by bit, to succeed. It stumbled, fell to one knee, and then onto its chest, both hands still wrapped around its whip. Erestor looked upon it. He was sure he looked absolutely mad.

"You shall not reach them," Erestor said. He did not stop to cough at the dry heat before him, though he was sorely tempted to do so. He could taste the flesh burning from his arms. "You shall not reach them."

Erestor pulled at the whip once again, and it slipped from the balrog's hands. Erestor's own were fused to the molten cord. He leaned back, lashing it above his head once or twice to build up momentum, and strangled the balrog about its neck. Erestor still stood, his feet planted, and pulled, stepping back. He panted at the strain. His muscles were almost popping at the ligaments, pulling out of their sockets, but still he pulled. The balrog coughed, and kept coughing as its noose was pulled tighter. Erestor could not falter, though his mind was narrowed to nothing by exhaustion. He could not falter. The bodies of his comrades lay around them, burning back into soil under the balrog's flame.

Erestor thought the flame may be dissolving. The balrog quenching at the lack of air. Indeed, the light went out, and the smoke lessened, but Erestor stood alone. The gates were defended. They sung, encircled with three fëar that lashed the girdle to a frenzy—

Until the fëa as kind as summer went out.

Erestor fell to his knees. He could not feel his hands, his arms. In a moment, his vision was gone, replaced by something more nameless than darkness. Exhaustion dragged him to that pit, and grief and anger if he could feel such things in death. Surely, he would perish. Elrond was gone, that much was clear, gone to the halls of Mandos where they stood across the sea. The stronghold stood. The Men, Dwarves, and Hobbits inside may yet live. Erestor had done it. Now he may rest.

He did not know his fate. He had been born on the starlit shore. He had never seen that distant shore of Aman, there was no light of the trees in his eyes. Mandos had never seen his fëa. Likely he never would. Perhaps he would go where the Men went, sharing in their gift though he was Eldar. Perhaps he would go to nothing. Perhaps a third fate yet awaited him. He remembered long ages of happiness, sorrow, and peace broken by momentary battles. The contentment of his life long outweighed the sorrows when he cared to look.

As his thoughts slipped away, he grew cold. Colder and colder. And then the darkness beyond his eyelids gave way to light. Erestor opened them to snow. Endless fields of snow, nestled between the pointed bristles of pine and evergreen. The balrog had quenched so fiercely that it had burned itself into frost, it seemed. Erestor gazed at where he had seen the gate of Imladris, reaching his fëa to the girdle, trying to sense if it still stood. Nothing. There was nothing.

Erestor cried out in despair, his voice broken by the flame he had faced. He crawled to where the gate had been, ignoring the jolts from his hands as they fell upon the earth. It did not matter. In the end, the gate had burned. The girdle of Imladris had fallen. His charges had died. He collapsed and pushed himself up against a tree. The sun was setting, falling beneath the sea of snow. Erestor sat vigil.

The snow stayed as still as the waters of Cuiviénen.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you so much for reading! If you would like any additional warnings to be added, please let me know because I am new to posting to this site.

This first chapter is a bit of an introduction to the piece and doesn't contain a lot of time travel action. 

i From what I can tell, the closest root word for Erestor's name would come from reste- (v. "To help") or resta (n. "help"), which also has the implication of healing (related to the word athelas. I worked backwards from that in roughly this order: Erestor -> Ehaþar -> Enílëkaro -> Endilākar

• Endilākar (Primitive Quendian): comes from ndilā "to love/be devoted to" + kar "to do/to make"
• Enílëkaro (early/middle Quenya): comes from nílë "to be helpful/to care for" kar "to do/to make" + ro "masculine ending, used (from what I can tell) in Noldorian Quenya"
• Ehaþar (late/middle Quenya): Comes from haþa "to be helpful/to care for" + kar "to do/to make" 
• Erestor (late Quenya/Sindarin, styled in Sindarin due to Elu Thingol's Quenya ban): Comes from reste "to help" ('or' being the derivative of 'kar' as it changed over time (which I just made up lol))

ii Egmeril is the name of Glorfindel's sword borrowed from Makaria's delightful crossover, which is linked in inspirations. 

• Êgmeril (Sindarin): rose-thorn; Comes from êg [îg] "thorn" + meril "rose" (as far as I can tell)

iii The origin of the Balrogs is never quite explained except that Melkor "seduced" them to his side during the original marring of Arda. As such, much like many other fallen Maiar, I pictured them as servants of Varda and maybe even the fallen sisters of Arien, who flies the Sun.