The Closest To Heaven

Author’s Note: The Lord of the Rings and all associated characters are property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his estate. I have made no profit from this story, other than the enjoyment I’ve experienced while writing it.

A little interesting note about this story: I was actually asleep when this idea came to me. I was dreaming. Ha! *snort* that was bad… anyway, yes; this story is based off of an extremely realistic dream I had. And this is why we never stare at posters with Elrond on them before you go to sleep.




Elrond could find no rest that night. The tension in the air was so thick that he could have sliced it with his sword, which was still sheathed at his hip and knocked against his armor as he walked about the edge of the camp that night.

The Siege of Barad-Dûr had been going on for nearly a decade now. Both sides were restless, and Elrond could feel as though the war was about to hit its climax at any moment.

The half-elven lord sighed as he walked along the bottom of a high bluff, knowing that legions of Orcs lay on the other side, waiting to attack at any moment. Elrond placed his hand on his sword warily as he thought it.

“Elrond!” A voice called.

The dark-haired elf lord whirled around, clutching his sword in his fist as he turned to face whom had called him. Behind him was a noble looking elf, a spear in one hand, and the other raised in greeting.

“Lord Gil-Galad!” Elrond said in a relieved voice as he loosed his grip on his sword and bowed as the High King of the Noldor approached him.

“My friend, have I not told you that you do not need to address me so formally?” Gil-Galad chuckled as he put his hand on Elrond’s back.

“You have, my friend. Many times.” Elrond said, smiling. Gil-Galad shook his head, knowing that he would never stop his friend from addressing him formally. The High King knew of Elrond’s great reverence for him. He could see it in his eyes.

“What are you doing out so late this night?” Gil-Galad asked, walking forward. Elrond strode with him.

“I cannot rest. There is a shadow in my mind that unnerves me.” The Lord of Imladris said.

“Aye, as it is with me.” Gil-Galad sighed. “We are on the brink of something, Elrond. My heart is screaming it at me.”

“It feels like the end.” Elrond said, the anxiousness thick in his words.

“The end of what?” Gil-Galad asked.

“This war, and the end of many lives.”

Gil-Galad stopped and turned to look into Elrond’s eyes. He could see the deep worry that had a grip on his friend’s soul. Gil-Galad had felt the same doom sitting upon his shoulders as well. He had often dreamed of it – he had seen what the future held, and he was no part of it. He wondered if Elrond had experienced the same haunting images.

He put his hand on Elrond’s shoulder and smiled reassuringly. “Do not grieve for what has not yet come to pass. Live, and believe that there will be life, and there will be.”

Elrond looked at his dearest friend and could not help but feel safe. Gil-Galad was like a father to him, and though Elrond was old enough to know reality from an attempt of assurance, Gil-Galad’s words always calmed him. Around the High King, Elrond felt as though nothing could go wrong.

But he was sadly mistaken.

Just as Elrond’s lips had begun to curl in a smile, an arrow whizzed through the air and hit the ground near his feet. Immediately, he drew his sword. Gil-Galad clutched Aiglos, his spear, and ran towards the camp.

“Tangado a dagor!” Gil-Galad cried. “We’re under attack!”

Elrond took off sprinting towards the tents. “Awaken, awaken! Fell creatures are upon us!” Suddenly, men and elves sprung up with weapons in hand. Elrond stopped as they rushed forward to meet their enemy. For the first time, he turned around to see the legions of Orcs that faced them.

In his long years of life, Elrond had never seen so many Orcs. They poured over the bluffs like water over sand. There was no time to assemble into rank, or to even think of a battle plan, just time to act. In the distance, he could hear Gil-Galad calling out orders.

“Hold your ground! Fight!” He cried as he drove Aiglos into the chest of an Orc.

Elrond sprung forward into battle, fighting his way to where Gil-Galad fought. It was difficult to reach his friend in any timely manner; the Orcs that stood between them were many and vicious. The Lord of Imladris slashed and cut his way through the swamp of Orcs, sensing urgency. He didn’t know why, but he felt the need to be near Gil-Galad.

Suddenly, a rain of arrows fell down on the battle. There were Orcs high on the bluff shooting down on the Elves and Men. Elrond saw Gil-Galad turn to face the archers and pointed his spear.

“Take them down! Take them down!” Gil-Galad commanded. And then, to Elrond’s horror, he saw an arrow shoot forward and penetrate the High King’s armor and hit him in the heart.

“NO!” Elrond cried.

Gil-Galad staggered backwards as he felt the full force of the impact. He stared at the arrow, suddenly aware of how fragile life is, and how biting mortality was. It was a great and ponderous thought for an immortal elf.

Time seemed to move at a snail’s pace as Elrond began to shove through the crowd of combatants as he watched Gil-Galad sink to his knees on the ground, staring at the arrow in his chest. Elrond felt as though he couldn’t move fast enough, what were seconds felt like hours as he pushed through to the fallen king.

Finally, he reached Gil-Galad as the High King fell onto his back on the ground.

“My Lord,” Elrond said breathlessly, placing his hand on Gil-Galad’s breastplate, near where the arrow protruded. “Lie still, I can save you,” he said, grabbing for the arrow.

Just as he wrapped his fingers around the shaft of the arrow, Gil-Galad placed his hand on Elrond’s. Elrond looked into the High King’s eyes and saw his life ebbing away. The arrow that had pierced his chest was poisoned, as Orc arrows always were. It was circulating through his body with every breath of air he took.

“Leave it.” Gil-Galad said, pain dripping from his voice. He could feel the pain coursing through his body; he knew that removing the arrow would be useless. Elrond refused to believe it.

“But, my Lord!” Elrond protested. He could feel the tears stinging in his eyes.

“I will pass from this world,” Gil-Galad said painfully. “My time here is ended.”

“My lord, you cannot abandon hope so quickly! I can save you, I can heal this wound - ”

Gil-Galad cut him off with a shake of his head; he did not wish to chase a false hope. His death was imminent. He could not think of any words to say, for the pain was so great. He looked up at Elrond with hurt in his face. He knew what his passing would mean to his dear friend.

“Sooner or later…” Gil-Galad began, “Everyone ends. Whether it is by fading into the forests of the world, passing into the West, or ceasing to breath, we all end.” He said through labored breathing.

Elrond’s eyes released their tears. Never in his life had he ever felt unashamed to shed tears, but today, he let them flow freely over his cheeks without a second thought. He could not imagine life without Gil-Galad. He did not want to.

“What will I do without you?” He asked.

“Do not despair!” Gil-Galad said, forcing a smile. He reached up and put his hand on Elrond’s shoulder, and Elrond placed his hand on Gil-Galad’s, holding it there. “Though my body has come to it’s end, my spirit shall be with you always. You’re stuck with me, Elrond.” He chuckled.

Elrond could not help put smile through his tears. Even at the very end of his life, Gil-Galad offered comforting words in a time of trouble. Elrond wanted to say something, but no words came to mind.

“I wish this was not the end,” Elrond said emotionally.

“Soon you will see, all of your fears will pass away, Elrond. This war will end and a new dawn will begin for Middle Earth. This is not the end.” Gil-Galad said painfully. Elrond could see the life of the High King ebbing away quickly. He gripped his friend’s hand tightly.

“They are calling…from across the shore…” Gil-Galad said, his eyes growing dark. “A pale moon rises…the ships have come to carry me home…”

“Gil-Galad,” Elrond choked through is tears. The High King smiled upon hearing Elrond address him by his name.

“Ná Elbereth veria le, ná elenath dín síla erin rád o chuil lín.” He whispered.

Elrond’s face fell in despair and his tears flowed more freely than before as he realized that these were Gil-Galad’s very last moments.

“I Melain berio le.” Elrond said through is tears.

Gil-Galad closed his eyes as he gave in to his body’s desire to sleep. A serene smile crossed his face as he let his last breaths escape. He felt Elrond squeeze his hand as he slipped from the world.

“All souls pass.” Gil-Galad whispered as he felt his spirit pull free of his body and fly to the Halls of Mandos.

Elrond felt Gil-Galad’s hand go limp under his, and he knew that his friend had passed. He placed the High King’s hand on his breast and squeezed his own eyes shut, letting the last of his tears free.

“Sleep well, dear friend.”

~Tela I


Elvish phrases (Thanks to Arwen-Undomiel.com):
Tangado a dagor! – Prepare for battle!
Ná Elbereth veria le, ná elenath dín síla erin rád o chuil lín. - May Elbereth protect you, may her stars shine on the path of your life.
I Melain berio le - May the Valar keep you