Eternal bonds
Elros urged his mare into a frantic gallop, the towering trees ahead looming like ancient guardians. The world around him blurred as he raced forward, heart pounding, each hoofbeat a desperate prayer for hope. Beside him, Anárion was growing increasingly pale, the large gash on his stomach bleeding profusely. Just moments before, they had emerged from the chaos of the War of the Last Alliance, a brutal conflict that had left countless lives shattered. Elros’s heart had plummeted when he found his best friend among the fallen. Overcome with heartbreak, he had thrown himself over Anárion's still body, his elven ears catching the faintest whisper of a heartbeat, fragile yet persistent.
In that instant, instinct surged within him. Without a second thought, Elros had hoisted Anárion onto his mare and fled the scene, desperation driving him forward. To anyone who wasn’t an elf, it would seem as though he had grabbed his friend’s body and run off. However, the elves knew better.
He was riding to the Sleeper’s Forest
Now, with each stride, hope flickered in his chest like a candle fighting against the wind. The air crackled with urgency and fear. Please, let him live. Let him hold on. The weight of Anárion’s life pressed down on Elros like an unbearable burden, each passing moment heightening the anxiety gnawing at him. He could almost envision the heart of the forest ahead, the sacred space where healing could take place, a place whispered about in ancient tales. He had to reach it.
With each galloping stride, Elros’s desperation surged, his thoughts a whirlwind of fear and hope. The only destination that filled his heart with the possibility of salvation was the legendary Sleepers Forest. The whispers of ancient lore told of the Sleeper; a being of immense power capable of mending not only the flesh but also the spirit. Elros’s mind raced, envisioning the ethereal barrier that marked the forest’s entrance, a shimmering promise of life amid death, a place where the world itself seemed to breathe with magic.
As he navigated the familiar terrain, the dense canopy overhead began to thicken, the trees towering like sentinels. He urged his mare onward, driven by the image of Anárion’s face, once filled with laughter and light, now pale and fading. Each moment counted; he could almost hear the ticking of time slipping away like sand through his fingers.
Memories of the last time he had entered Sleepers Forest flooded his mind, the overwhelming sense of calm that had enveloped him, the vibrant energy that pulsed in the air, and the miraculous healing that had restored Maedhros to his former self. If the forest could revive Maedhros, then surely it could do the same for Anárion. Elros’s heart surged with a flicker of hope as he envisioned the ethereal barrier that marked the forest’s threshold, shimmering with life.
“Hold on, Anárion!” he urged, his voice thick with emotion. “Just a little longer.”
Elros pushed his mare to her limits, his surroundings becoming a blur of green and brown as he focused solely on the path ahead. The air grew thick with the earthy scent of damp soil and vibrant greenery, wrapping around him like a comforting embrace, urging him onward. The rhythmic thudding of hooves against the forest floor resonated in his ears, drowning out the pain of loss and the horrors of the battlefield left behind.
As he galloped deeper into the forest, the atmosphere shifted; a sense of anticipation thrummed through the air. He could almost feel the magic calling to him, beckoning him closer to the heart of the forest where the Sleeper resided. The hope blossoming within him was fragile, yet unyielding. With each beat of his heart, he clung to the possibility that he could save his friend, that the ancient magic of the Sleeper could pull Anárion back from the brink of darkness.
And then, at long last, he spotted the shimmering barrier of Sleepers Forest, glowing like liquid light—a gateway to healing and hope. With renewed determination, Elros urged his mare forward, racing toward the shimmering promise that lay ahead.
Although it had been eons since he had last visited, the memories flooded back as if it were yesterday. He could still see himself and his brother, laughter echoing through the trees as they played with Nimheil, the magnificent stag whose ethereal presence had once filled their hearts with joy. Those innocent days now felt like a distant dream, overshadowed by the grim reality he faced.
He urged his mare through the barrier, heart pounding as they sped toward the clearing that housed the Sleeper. The air grew heavy with magic, the scent of damp earth and vibrant greenery enveloping him like a forgotten lullaby, urging him onward.
Upon arrival, he hastily pulled Anárion off his horse, adrenaline surging through his veins. But then, like a cold wave crashing over him, the realization struck with brutal clarity: the only time the Sleeper was known to heal was at night when no one was conscious.
It wasn’t night.
And he had too much adrenaline coursing through him to even consider falling asleep.
Despair clawed at his throat as he looked at Anárion’s pale face, so still and lifeless against the vibrant backdrop of the forest. The flickering hope that had driven him to this sacred place began to dim, and panic surged within him. He could feel the weight of time pressing down, threatening to extinguish the flicker of hope that remained. Would he really lose his friend, just when he had reached the sanctuary meant to save him?
He burst into tears, curling around his friend, his light. Sobs wracked his body as he poured out his heart, each cry echoing the despair that enveloped him. He had planned to confess his love after the rebuilding from the war, but now, with Anárion lying so still, it felt like as good a time as any.
“I love you,” he whispered into Anárion’s ear, his voice trembling with desperation. He closed his eyes, repeating the words over and over, as if willing the universe to deliver a response, to breathe life back into his friend.
And then, against the suffocating silence, a weak voice emerged, “Me too.” The fragile words barely broke through the haze of anguish before Anárion’s eyelids fluttered shut. Panic seized Elros, and he gasped, urging him to keep them open, but Anárion managed a soft, breathless laugh before surrendering to the darkness.
Out of the corner of his eye, Elros caught a glimmer, his hope. The glowing form of Nimheil, the magnificent stag, approached with an ethereal grace, its presence imbued with serenity as it moved silently through the forest.
Elros’s heart lifted momentarily, only to plummet again as reality crashed back, Nimheil was known to heal mental wounds. What good could this gentle spirit do now? He cried out, his sorrow magnified as he felt Anárion’s heartbeat falter and fade.
But then, to his astonishment, the beautiful stag nudged him, urging him toward the Sleeper.
“Huh?” In a split-second decision, Elros hoisted Anárion’s limp body and carried him toward the Sleeper, confusion swirling in his mind. He laid Anárion next to the ethereal being and turned back to Nimheil, bewildered.
“He’s dead, what can I do? What should I do?” His voice trembled with sorrow, thick with the weight of helplessness. Nimheil, with a gentle insistence, grasped the Sleeper’s sleeve and guided it to Anárion’s face, then gestured toward Elros’s belt.
“What? I only have a couple of arrows, tonic, and… my dagger.” He stared at Nimheil in shock as the stag bowed its head and pointed toward the hand resting beside Anárion’s face. The realization dawned upon him.
“Are you sure? Will they be, okay?” When Nimheil nodded, Elros scrambled over, heart racing. After a brief moment of hesitation, he lifted the Sleeper as gently as he could, positioning him to ensure minimal disruption before drawing a line across his hand with his dagger.
Only a couple of drops of blood emerged, but it was enough. The crimson liquid dripped into Anárion’s mouth, a lifeline that Elros desperately hoped would pull him back from the brink. He carefully laid the Sleeper’s hand back down and cleaned it off before pressing his ear against Anárion’s chest, fear gnawing at his insides.
Silence.
Despair threatened to overwhelm him when suddenly, there it was, a heartbeat! He gasped, tears streaming down his face. Anárion was alive!
Elros pulled his friend close, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re alive!” he shouted, joy bubbling over as he peppered Anárion’s cheeks with kisses, laughter mingling with tears. But then, abruptly, he stopped, confusion etching itself into Anárion’s features.
“What?” Anárion asked, blinking in bewilderment as he felt Elros’ gentle touch on his ears.
“You’re an elf?” Elros exclaimed, disbelief coursing through him.
“HUH?!” Anárion's hands flew to his hair, fingers splayed in disbelief as he felt the familiar leaf-shaped ears that marked him as one of their kind. The revelation crashed over him like a wave, his heart pounding in rhythm with the newfound truth.
“We can be together. No worries about death when we are both eternal,” Elros said wistfully, his voice trembling with a mix of joy and relief. He bowed his head in thanks to the Sleeper, overwhelmed by gratitude for this miraculous gift that had transcended the darkest moments of their lives. Anárion, still dazed and bewildered, felt a surge of warmth wash over him, igniting a flicker of hope in his heart.
With an urgency that coursed through him, Elros pulled Anárion up onto his mare, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him. The world around them seemed to shimmer with newfound possibilities as they set off together.
They rode toward Himring, the fortress with its towering walls standing strong against the trials of the past that he now was happy to call his home. The air was crisp with the scent of pine, and the path was lined with the vibrant greens of the forest, but Elros could hardly notice. His heart raced, pounding with excitement and disbelief.
He urged his mare onward, the rhythmic thud of hooves echoing in his ears as they galloped through the trees. The landscape blurred around them, a beautiful tapestry of life and rebirth that mirrored his own joy. He needed to share this miraculous turn of fate with his Ardas, Fingon and Maedhros, and his brother. This should be impossible! And yet, here they were, defying the very essence of mortality.
As they approached the fortress, the grand structure loomed ahead, its stone walls bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. The gatehouse, adorned with intricate carvings that told the tales of their ancestors, stood open, welcoming them back home.
The moment they crossed the threshold, a sense of belonging enveloped Elros, a feeling he had longed for during the chaos of war and the loss that had weighed heavily on his heart. He guided the mare to the stables, where familiar faces greeted them with expressions of shock and joy.
“Elros! Anárion!” A voice rang out, and Elros turned to see his brother sprinting toward them, eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and elation.
“Is it really you?” Elrond breathed, his gaze darting between the two of them.
“Yes! We’re back!” Elros exclaimed, hopping off the mare and pulling Elrond into a fierce embrace, the warmth of family wrapping around him like a cloak.
“But… Anárion?” Elrond's voice wavered, the realization sinking in as he stepped back to look at Anárion.
“It’s true,” Anárion said, his voice stronger now, filled with a newfound certainty. “I’m alive. I’m… an elf.”
Gasps rippled through the gathered elves, and Elrond’s eyes shone with wonder as he regarded Anárion, processing the incredible truth. “How? What happened?”
Elros stepped forward, urgency lighting his eyes. “The Sleeper—he saved him! I couldn’t just let him go. I had to do something, and Nimheil guided me. I thought I had lost him forever, but now…”
As Elros spoke, he glanced around, searching for Maedhros and Fingon. Their presence was a comfort he craved, the solidity of their bond grounding him amidst the whirlwind of emotions. He caught sight of Maedhros striding toward them, his tall figure radiating strength and determination. The moment their eyes met, a flicker of recognition ignited, and Maedhros broke into a sprint, closing the distance between them.
“Son! What has happened?” Maedhros demanded, his voice filled with a mix of concern and relief.
“Elros! I am so sorry about Anárion!” Fingon’s voice followed closely, and the next moment, he was at Elros’s side, his expression a blend of worry and joy. “Are you alright?”
Elros took a breath, ready to share the miracle that had unfolded. “I’m fine! Anárion is alive, and he’s… he’s one of us!”
“What do you mean?” Fingon asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“His ears! He’s an elf now,” Elros explained, excitement bubbling in his chest. “He was dying, but the Sleeper… he saved him!”
Maedhros and Fingon exchanged astonished glances, shock reverberating through the group. The air crackled with the magnitude of the revelation, and as they processed the implications, joy and wonder began to seep in, filling the space with warmth.
“This is… extraordinary,” Fingon finally said, his voice thick with emotion. “Truly a miracle.”
Anárion, feeling the weight of their gazes, stepped forward, his heart swelling with newfound courage. “I don’t know how it happened, but I’m here, and I’m alive. I want to be part of this family.”
With that, a chorus of cheers erupted from the gathered elves, their voices rising in celebration of life, love, and the bonds that had transcended even death itself. Elros beamed, his heart swelling with joy as he embraced his friends and family, the warmth of their connection wrapping around him like a shield against the darkness of the past.
In that moment, amidst laughter and tears of joy, Elros knew that whatever trials lay ahead, they would face them together.