Glorfindel Unleashed

Title : 'Glorfindel Unleashed', 14/16
Author: Eawen Penallion
Type: FPS
Beta: Most excellent Nienna, so encouraging!
Disclaimer: all rights to the characters belong to JRR
Tolkien - I'm only playing with them.
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor in later chapters
Warnings: M/M, implied child abuse, angst, character
death


Summary : When Glorfindel becomes a child's protector,
he does not realise what Erestor will be to him when
he reaches majority. Can love survive the trials of
death and destiny?

Author's notes: see end of this chapter.


Chapter 14

T.A. 1409

Imladris was preparing for war. Glorfindel, seneschal of Rivendell, looked down from his vantage point at the bustling forecourt, watching as the warhorses were brought forth from the stable yard, seeing elves in bright armour preparing for combat. Saddlebags were lifted and placed behind the leather saddles, so unfamiliar in calmer days but so necessary as an aid to grip the horse when letting fly with sword or arrow in the midst of battle. The long curved swords were lashed to the forward straps, the dark wood bows to the rear, and quivers of arrows hanging next to them. Above natunatural noise of whinnies and snorts from the patient beasts came the clamour of instructions of the troop commanders, the cries of the supply masters and the orders of his captain, Andrann.

Glorfindel grinned as he saw the twin princes align themselves with his captain, for Elladan and Elrohir had a strong warrior bond to the capable elleth since the first years following their majority. Glorfindel did not know the particulars, nor did he wish to, but he did know that it had involved false presumption on the twins' part, with sensual, bawdy correction by the experienced elleth. Once, when asked about it, Andrann had coloured and had muttered something about being the 'spicy meat between two slices of freshly-hewn bread'. Since that time the three had ever joined as a favoured team on patrol, even if Andrann was the titular leader.

Glorfindel's smile faltered as he thought back to the events leading to this morning; events precipitated by the return in 1050 of Sauron the Necromancer to Dol Guldur; and of one of his servants to the wintry lands to the North, the one now known as the Witch-King of Angmar. In the year 1300 of this Third Age he had appeared and had established the stronghold of Angmar on the northernmost peak of Carn Dûm, in the divided realm of Arnor. Glorfindel shook his head at thck ock of foresight of the Dúnedain, those remnants of the proud race of fallen Númenor. In 861, following the death of King Eärendur, his dissenting sons had divided the one kingdom into three, the realms of Arthedain, Cardolan and Rhudaur. Thus divided, the strength of men had also faded for the division was too deep and acrimonious to ever recombine against a common enemy from without. The creatures of Sauron were thus seen to roam over the Misty Mountains, and orcs had come down as far as Bree and then - Glorfindel shuddered when he remembered the first time that he had killed an orc in this reborn life. They had returned, the evil creatures he had fought against four thousand years ago. The remembrance of the stench almost made him gag, here on the balcony overlooking the courtyard of Rivendell. From that day on he had increased the numbers in the guard and his patrols were ever vigilant, encountering and destroying any incursions against the boundaries of his protectorate.

Glorfindel and Imladris had thus far been able to resist against the besieging forces, augmented by Galadhrim sent from Lórien. The Dúnedain had not. The race had diminished; the direct line of Isildur was broken in Cardolan and Rhudaur. King Argeleb of Arthedain had thus claimed kingship over all three nations but Rhudaur had resisted, being threatened themselves by the Hillmen, allies to Angmar. They slew King Argeleb and only his son, Arveleg, in union with the fellow Dúnedain of Cardolan and a force from Lindon, had held the line, driving back from Rhudaur the invading hordes of Hillmen. This defensive line included the Weather Hills, protecting the disputed Númenorean fort of Amon Sûl and the palantir therein. The line was drawn, but it also drew the greedy eyes of Angmar to the hidden elven refuge of Imladris, and their forces had besieged Rivendell for the past thirty years.

Glorfindel glowered in rage when he remembered all the injuries his troops had taken in the violent clashes - and all the deaths. Elves had fallen in defence of their home and each loss had been as a knife thrust into the hearts of Glorfindel and Elrond. Glorfindel clenched his fist in anger - then winced as the pain from his broken forearm lanced upwards to his shoulder. Imladris prepared for war - and Glorfindel could not go with them. He recalled the events of two days past...
.....

The most recent clash had taken place during Glorfindel's watch as he and his patrol had guarded the most northern borders. A large band of orcs and hillmen had crashed down upon them as they entered a narrow passage in the hills. Scouts had gone ahead so they were not without warning. The battle was fierce and Glorfindel had, as usual, thrust himself into the middle of the fray, sword whirling and hacking down upon the foe from the imposing height of Asfaloth's back. He was staunch and swift in his attack, spurring on his troops - then an orc arrow struck the stallion side-on, causing the poor beast to stumble and fall. Glorfindel was thrown, crashing onto his sword arm, breaking it in two places. The adrenaline rampant within him, and the need to repel the attack, kept the reborn lord upon his feet, wielding the broadsword with his less-favoured hand with a greater accuracy than any lesser warrior could have managed. Rough splinting had supported the arm until their return to Imladris, though Glorfindel had to use the horse of one of his fallen troopers as Asfaloth's injury had precluded his being ridden.

Erestor had flown down to the courtyard on their arrival, for he had seen only the riderless Asfaloth at first, and his heart had clenched in unspoken fear. It was only when he had reached the yard and had seen Glorfindel dismounting painfully from his borrowed horse that the dark advisor could be consoled.

"Ai Glorfindel, your timing could not have been worse," Elrond had mourned as he examined the broken arm in a room in the Halls of Healing. "For we have received envoys from both Círdan and from Arthedain. The forces of Angmar have massed and attacked Amon Sûl. They passed through Cardolan, razing the country to the ground and devastating the Dúnedain. Those remnants now seek refuge in the Barrow-Downs and in the Old Forest. Arveleg is slain and only by the fortitude of the remaining men was the palantir saved."

Glorfindel had hissed as the arm was set, then nodding in regret.

"The news is grave indeed. When Rhudaur fell we lost a lot of ground to the dark forces. To lose Amon Sûl... I presume that we will go to their aid? Send a stout force?"

"Yes." This had come from Erestor, who had remained at his beloved's side during his treatment at the healer's hands. "The Lord and Lady of Lothlórien have sent more Galadhrim to reinforce the troops already here. We will be ready to ride within two days."

Glorfindel had looked at Erestor with wide eyes, surprised at the speed of the preparations. Erestor's eyes were shielded and Glorfindel became suspicious. What had Erestor to hide? They had remained so close since the time of Díwen's visit, though of course they had not consummated their renewed relationship. He had looked at Elrond, who had finished binding his arm.

"I hope that support is strong, for although I can use either hand to wield a sword, I do prefer both."

Elrond had looked alarmed, then he had turned to a sniggering Erestor.

"All right, I concede - you *do* know him well enough to predict his actions." The elf lord had turned back to his seneschal, who was bewildered by the exchange. The infamous eyebrow had risen. "Glorfindel, there is *no* possibility of your leading this campaign. Even with the speed of elven healing, that arm will not mend to any extent for at least three weeks. No, you are staying here, meldir."

Glorfindel had exploded. "Then who will lead the troops? Andrann? She is good - very good - bhe whe warriors need a lord to lead them. They need someone to inspire them, someone with experience. Someone who has faced the dark forces before and defeated them!"

Elrond stood patiently, letting the golden lord run his course. Erestor had foretold this precise reaction from Glorfindel and had counselled Elrond to allow Glorfindel a chance to rant. Now it was his turn to speak.

"They will have their lord, Glorfindel. *I* will lead them. As a veteran of many wars and as Gil-galad's former herald, I cannot be thought of as unqualified, can I?"

Glorfindel had been at a loss for words. No, Elrond was certainly not unqualified. In fact, he was the ideal elf to lead this mission - but pride would not let Glorfindel admit this.

"It is too dangerous!" he had expostulated. "You are ruler of Imladris, and all of Elvendom looks to you as a leader in the fight against the darkness - but from here, not getting yourself killed on a battlefield. You need someone beside you as your protector. I should be there!"

Elrond had looked odd at that moment, had lifted his head and looked directly at Erestor, a questioning gleam in his eye. Glorfindel turned and looked at his meleth. Erestor sighed.

"He will not be alone, Glorfindel. I am going with them."

"And *that* is supposed to make me feel better?" Glorfindel had regretted the words as soon as they had left his mouth for immediately Erestor had paled, then coloured, a shuttered look on his face. Without a word the dark elf had turned and marched from the room.

"Ah, blast it!" Glorfindel had made to rise but Elrond had tried to stop him.

"Where do you think you are going?" he had snapped. "That arm is broken and you have to rest to give it a chance to heal."

Glorfindel shook his head. "My arm hurts, but not as much as Erestor's heart. We have been reconciled for so long, Elrond, and I have jeopardised it by my foolish words. I will not risk a rift between us, not e ise is determined to ek upk upon this dangerous path."

Elrond did not resist and had helped the golden lord to rise from his sickbed and go to his love. Erestor had not gone far. Glorfindel found him staring out of a window at the end of a corridor, wrapped tightly in his dark red robe. Glorfindel had, thank the Valar, persuaded him out of the gloomy blacks into less sombre colours, ones that enhanced his dark beauty. The elf lord now laid his hand upon Erestor's shoulder.

"I am sorry, pen-neth, " he had whispered contritely. "I did not mean to imply that I did not trust you, nor that I had no faith in your abilities. It is just that I love you so, and I cannot bear the thought that you will ride to war without me at your side to protect you."

Erestor had turned his head, kissing Glorfindel's hand and covering it with his own.

"I know, Glorfindel. And now you know how *I* feel every time that you leave on patrol or on a mission. I shake with fear each time that you ride, and I tremble with relief when you return. Today, when I saw Asfaloth without a rider...Ai, hir nîn, my heart stopped beating until I spotted your golden head further back in the patrol. Yet now I must do my duty, and I grieve for you, for I know how you feel."

Glorfindel had turned the advisor, had held him against his breast with his one good hand. He had kissed the beloved brow.

"Just promise that you will return to me, safe and whole, meleth-nîn. Promise that you will return."

"I will, Glorfindel, I promise."

.......

And now he stood, overlooking this courtyard, for once the observer, and it hurt. He was the seneschal, the lord to these troops and he felt that he was letting them down by not being with them. In his gloomy ponderings he did not notice the new arrivals.

"It is hard, is it not, Glorfindel?" said the gentle voice. "To see those we love prepare for battle, and to know that we can not, should not restrain them?"

Glorfindel turned and bowed to Celebrían, accompanied by Arwen. They had come to watch the leave taking and in their compassionate eyes Glorfindel saw the hurt that they too felt. "Aye, it is more so for you, my lady. You see your husband and sons go to war, whereas I only have..."

He trailed off, barely able to think of his beloved's name, never mind articulate it. He had never thought that he would be the one left behind. His eyes searched the yard once more, finally falling upon the one who held his heart. Celebrían knew, of course, to whom he referred.

"I have faith in my husband, as you should have in Erestor. Elrond has praised Erestor's skills as a warrior many times to me. They will protect each other."

Glorfindel nodded, not wanting to speak further. His farewells to Erestor had been said this morning, in the quietness of Erestor's office. He had nearly repented of his vow, had so nearly gone to the dark elf's chambers during the night, but Erestor had forestalled his thoughts before retiring the night before. He had spoken of their duty, and Glorfindel had seen the wisdom in his words. Yet, in that office, he had folded Erestor in his arms and had kissed him with all the power of his love and devotion, pouring into the kiss the enduring passion of ages past. When Erestor returned, Glorfindel did not know if he would still be able to hold back all the emotions he sought to bestow on his beautiful, wonderful pen-neth.

The order to mount had been given, and once more Glorfindel's eyes were trained on that raven head. The dark elf turned in the saddle, and saw Glorfindel and he smiled. A brilliant smile, one meant for him alone. Then they were gone.

The weeks that followed went slowly, and each approaching horse, each striding messenger, was greeted by an urgent enquiry from a golden-haired lord. News filtered in slowly, speaking of successes and falls, yet the positive seemed to prevail until finally, the troops came home, tired, ragged, yet flush with victory. The joined forces of the elves of Lindon, Rivendell and Lórien had fought alongside the remaining Dúnedain, repelling the enemy from Fornost and the North Downs. Some of the faithful Dúnedain of Cardolan had also held out in Tyrn Gorthad, the Barrow-Downs, and in the nearby Forest. They had not defeated Angmar, but had subdued it so that, at least for the time being, there was peace returned to the northern realms of Men.

And when a weary raven-haired elf dismounted, it was into the welcome and healed arms of his golden lord.

****

The centuries rolled on and Rivendell still stood vigilant against the darkness. Yet it was another insidious darkness that next took its toll on the realms of Men. In 1636 a plague was sweeping Middle Earth. It had started in the lands of the Easterlings, and had been carried south by those who foolishly thought that flight would defeat it. Gondor had been ravaged and it had thence spread north through Eriador. Cardolan had been devastated, the last of the faithful Dúnedain succumbing to disease as they had not done to the dark forces. Thus the malign spirits of Angmar and Rhudaur had found free reign amongst the Barrow-Downs, imbuing that hallowed place with an evil that had not been there before.

Imladris had been inundated with requests for aid, and Elrond of course had pledged his help where he could. He first, however, had to get past the two elves guarding the entrance to the Halls of Healing.

"Really, Glorfindel, how am I supposed to help the sick if you will not let me in? There are humans and periannath who need me!"

The seneschal growled, his folded arms and firm stance gave warning of the unlikelihood of any movement away from the door. Andrann looked up at her commander in concern, perhaps wondering if a wild beast had taken over his fëa.

"This plague is affecting all creatures but elves, Elrond - but no one has said what effect it has on the half-elven. So until it has run its course, the Peredhil are excluded from these rooms. It is for your own safety, mellon-nîn."

Elrond snorted in exasperation, yet somewhat soothed by the golden lord's genuine concern for him. "I made my Choice two Ages ago, Glorfindel. I am of the Firstborn, and when I chose that path I was endowed with all the gifts of the Eldar, including that of immunity to disease. Have you ever known me to take even a cold, meldir?"

Glorfindel had to concede that he hadn't, but as yet Elrond's children had not made their choice. Finally it was decided that though Elrond could pass, the children could not.

And so it was that the elves of Imladris played their small part in aiding the stricken realms of Middle Earth.

****

By the year 1974, the Witch-king was rising to power once more. In the depths of winter the evil lord had unexpectedly sent a force down upon Arthedain, capturing its main city of Fornost and driving the remaining Dúnedain over the River Lune. The princes of Arthedain were amongst the fleeing humans, but their father King Arvedui held out with his remaining guards upon the North Downs until they were finally driven to flight. For a while the King and his men hid in the tunnels of the old-dwarf mines near the far end of the Mountains, but he was driven by hunger to seek the help of the Lossoth, a strange people who lived in the snowbound wastes of Forochel. They had pity for Arvedui and his men and gave them what they could in the way of food and shelter and thus the humans waited, praying for help to come.

The help came, in the form of a ship sent by Círdan on hearing of his plight, but the ship foundered on its return journey and the King and his men perished in the freezing, ice-ridden seas, along with the two palantiri he had in his possession. The men of Lossoth had counselled the king not to sail, but he had declined their advice, giving instead into their keeping a ring of his house, and thus the Ring of Barahir was saved for future generations.

Arvedui may have perished, yet before his death he had set in motion a reunion with his kin of the south. On the death of Gondor's king Ondoher, a direct descendant of Anarion and Elendil, and his childless sons, Arvedui had placed a claim to the throne of Gondor. This had been rejected and the crown was granted to Eärnil, who was of the royal house. Eärnil held no grudge against Arvedui, but had sent messages of friendship and promise of aid in need to his northern kin. Thus when word came to Gondor of the attacks of the Witch-king and the invasion of Arthedain, Eärnil sent his son Eärnur north with a fleet, to aid Arvedui. They arrived too late, for Arthedain had fallen and Arvedui was dead.

The arrival in 1975 of the Prince of the Southern Kingdom brought great wonder to the Grey Havens, for their ships were many and great in draught, and took up all the berths available. Great praise too there was for the tall and fair riders of horses of unparalleled strength and beauty from the land of Rhovanion. Círdan greeted them with great joy, and they sent out riders throughout Lindon and Arnor, calling all who would come to aid in the upcoming battle against the Witch-king and his evil forces of Angmar, now resident in the city of Fornost.

And Glorfindel of Rivendell heard that call.

Imladris prepared for war once more, and this time it was Glorfindel who would lead them. He brooked no opposition from Elrond and for once, Elrond gave him none.

"I have had no foresight, meldir, yet in my heart I know that this is right. You are the one to lead the elves of Imladris into battle, Glorfindel. All aid will be given unto you."

Glorfindel bowed, hand upon heart. "I will serve you and our people to the best of my ability, my lord. I will not leave Imladris unprotected though. There will be a strforcforce left to patrol our borders. I wish to take Andrann as my second-in-command."

"And I am going too." The voice was soft yet determined, and Glorfindel and Elrond turned to face the door, where Erestor stood. "I am going too," he repeated, a hand raised to stave off any opposition from his golden lord. "As I protected Elrond in our previous campaign, so I will act as your aide-de-camp. I know the territory and I know the foe - you will not find me a burden, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel looked at his dark love bleakly. "Ai, meleth. You will only serve me as a distraction, I fear, and take my mind away from my sword and to my destruction. I would fight better knowing that you were safe."

Erestor shook his head, reaching up to cup that firm cheek. "You have said those words to me once before, hir nîn, but then I was a spoilt and untried child. I am a warrior, tried and tested. I will not allow you to go without me. I am a warrior," he repeated. The strength in that voice would allow no dissent, so when the warriors of Imladris mounted their horses in the courtyard for the second time in a millennia, the golden hair of the seneschal of Rivendell was joined with the sable tresses of Imladris' counsellor.

The road north was long and hard, and Glorfindel and Erestor felt reassured by their mounts, for Asfaloth and Hirnîn were direct descendants of those two stallions who had graced the stables of Imladris on Glorfindel's return. In each generation of each line, there had been a colt born who had carried the colour, stature and nobility of its sire and the seneschal and counsellor had continued the tradition of repeating the name of their favoured horse. When asked about it by the young twins once, Glorfindel had smiled when he heard Erestor's answer - "We choose the same name, pin-nith, because Glorfindel and I are too old and too lazy to remember any other names!"

In this remembrance he turned to smile once more at the elf riding by his side. Although his love for the dark elf never wavered, at times they seemed especially close. There was a - foresight - in this moment, a feeling of destiny in this quest. He felt a great need to peruse the features, the beautiful sculpted outlines of his love, to memorise them forever. The fine straight nose, the arched eyebrows and those eyes... The eyes turned to him at that moment, a query in them, but he could only stare at the chocolate-brown pools and he felt as if he were drowning in their sweet depths.

"Glorfindel?" Erestor reached out to take his hand, and Glorfindel gently squeezed it.

"I love you, Erestor. Always remember that. I love you - forever."

Erestor's heart lurched at those words and he opened his mouth as if to question him but Glorfindel just shook his head and relapsed into silence.

The road was long but the elves were swift in their passage. As they drew nearer to the battlefield news came to them through outriders, news of the Witch-king's arrogance in his plans. He did not fear the approaching armies but had left his stronghold within Fornost and was riding forth to meet them, no doubt thinking that, as before, he would sweep them into the river Lune. Glorfindel's jaw clenched, and Erestor could see the tension and passion build up in the golden warrior. Always Glorfindel had shone in battle, always he had seen the battle lust arise in him. The anger at the presumption of this creature of Sauron was fermenting in the re-born warrior. The Witch-king would regret his arrogance this day.

As the host from Rivendell crested the rise they saw the action laid out before them. The Host of the West, led by Eärnur and Círdan, had swept out of the Hills of Evendim and now fought the black hordes upon the vast plain which lay between Nenuial and the north Downs, the same downs where King Arvedui had stood but the year before. The Witch-king was not in control this time. Already the Host of the West had driven back the orc army, with its support of wargs and trolls - the forces of Angmar were giving way and retreating towards their own home in the hills of Carn Dûm. The cavalry of Gondor would not allow them leave, and had chased them with a speed that made fear course through the dark creatures.

Glorfindel gave the signal, and raised such a battle cry as had never been heard on Middle Earth. The forces of Rivendell swept down the slopes onto the retreating hordes, cutting a swathe in the black ranks. Black blood spilled all about them as white arrows flew through the air from the archers of the Periannath of the Shire, finding their marks in the twisted remnants of tord, ed, elf-spawned orcs. A sadness always echoed through Erestor at these times, knowing that at the dawn of time his brothers had been taken and tortured to produce these vile creatures. Although these orcs were now truly beasts of the dark, yet somewhere within him the dark-haired elf could always find a prayer of regret for the damned souls who had been twisted into these forms. His twin blades raised, Erestor swung, decapitating the orcs clustering about Hirnîn, cutting a path through the vile forms. He could hear the screams of orcs, men and elves, yet it seemed that the blackness lessened under the onslaught of shining mail.

Always he took a moment in twenty to feel the whereabouts of Glorfindel through their special bond, and always he felt the bond pulse with life. It had become second nature to him and he did not need to look to know that his lord was safe. It was at one of these moments that Erestor faltered, feeling not a fracture in that bond, but a threat. Breaking off from his attacks, he looked around frantically for Glorfindel. His love was in the midst of his own battle but - oh gods - a troll approached him from his blindside, and that enormous hand was lifting a giant mace, ready to crash down on the unsuspecting lord. He did not think, but reacted instantly. Spurring hard into Hirnîn's flanks, he rode straight at the monstrous beast.

Glorfindel did not hear the commotion behind him, but could see Elrohir nearby, rising up in his stirrups in alarm. Turning in his saddle, he was just in time to see the mace swinging down not upon him, but pounding into a figure interposed between the weapon and his body - Erestor. Glorfindel screamed as Erestor's body flew from the saddle, hit as a ball in a child's game, bouncing to earth amidst the torn bodies on the rocky ground. The horse that had been beneath him was dead, its skull crushed by the force of the blow. Time slowed, crawled and he looked as the foul troll stood, a satisfied smirk on its otherwise vacuous face. Glorfindel rose, his sword circling through the air and in one motion sliced through the thick hide, cutting the beast wide open. A stunned look crossed the face of the troll, as its bodymplempled to the ground in two pieces. Glorfindel took no notice but flung himself from Asfaloth's back, speeding to where his fallen love lay.

"Erestor!"

Elrohir reached Erestor at the same time, falling to his knees at the advisor's side with tears pouring down his face. He held a hysterical Glorfindel back from his love, crying out a warning to him.

"Do not touch him! See, Glorfindel, he yet breathes, but he may be badly hurt! Let me examine him as best I can." Quickly he ran his hands over the crumpled form, seeing blood pouring from a head wound, feeling for broken limbs. Glorfindel grabbed one of Erestor's hands and stroked it, crying copiously, begging his loved one to wake.

"Don't die, pen-neth! I need you! Melin le, Erestor!"

He shook in terror of losing him, losing his little Erestor as the youth had lost him. He now knew the pain, the horror Erestor must have felt in seeing him die. Was it always going to be this way? Had the Valar brought him back only to torment him? Was this his punishment again, for his attempted suicide?

Andrann by this time had arrived, and tried to pull the elf lord to his feet, shouting out the need his men had for him. Elrohir nodded, gesturing to the unconscious Erestor, feeling the press of bodies, the wrath of war coursing around their position.

"I cannot swear fully, but although I can feel some broken ribs, I think the head wound is more a surface cut. Go, Glorfindel. I will gather some men and take him to a place of safety. There are healers with us. I will not let him die, meldir. You are needed on the battlefield. Your men need you, Glorfindel of Rivendell!"

This last cut through the shock and terror of loss, and Glorfindel nodded, acknowledging his duty. Always his duty. His hated duty. One last look to reassure himself that Elrohir would look after his dark love, then he swung upon Asfaloth's back, rage filling him once more. This time it was personal.

The battle had continued around them as Glorfindel swung back into the fray. From the cries around him it was evident that the alliance of elves and men was triumphant. The black creatures were scuttling away, trying to fly beyond the reaches of the swinging weapons which cut them down. Dusk was upon them, and these beasts which so hated the light were now frantic to reach the shadows and escape to safety. A shout went up, and Glorfindel's heart lurched in cold dread. Upon the rise, the Witch-king himself had now appeared. Immediately Glorfindel knew him, this creature in black robes and black helm masking his face, seated astride a black destrier. Glorfindel knew him, and hated him, for this was an Úlairi, a Nazgûl, one of the fallen kings of men; one of the weakened leaders who had fallen prey to greed and the magical rings wrought by Sauron the Deceiver. And now a man rode up to face him, to face down this foul servant of the servant of Morgoth. Prince Eärnur, stout of heart though foolish to think he could prevail against the evil emanating from the Nazgûl, was urging his horse forward to challenge the foul creature, a fierce cry emanating from his throat. Eärnur's heart may have been strong, but the horse he rode was not, and it shied away, fleeing from the evil therein. And the Witch-king laughed, a cry that pounded fear into the hearts of all who heard it.

Save Glorfindel.

In his heart rose anger and rage beyond any that the elf lord had experienced before. A power began to flow through him as he dwelt on the horror and devastation this creature before him had wrought upon the realms of men, upon elves - upon Erestor. Now, knowing that his love lay injured, perhaps dying behind him, Glorfindel rose up in his stirrups and pressed forward, meaning to meet the Nazgûl in full battle. Asfaloth was no human-bred horse, but had the heart and soul of a Meara, and did not shy from the charge but instead brought Glorfindel forth in all his majesty.

The light that shone from the Golden Lord was bright and pure, and was born of the grace imbued him by the Valar upon his rebirth. He stood tall in the saddle, raising his broadsword high, and a flame shot through the weapon, setting it ablaze with white fire. White light shone from his sapphire orbs as Glorfindel fulfilled his destiny. Glorfindel, seneschal of Rivendell. Glorfindel, Lord of the Golden Flower. Glorfindel, Re-Born Warrior of Gondolin.

Glorfindel Unleashed.

"Hear me, thou spawn of evil! Know now, this day, that thou and thy evil master will *never* prevail within this world. Ultimately your reign will fall, and you will be cast down lower than the stones and rocks that abound this place. For we are the Children of Ilúvatar, Eldar and Edain, true children of the creator of Arda, and thou art but the misbegotten slave of his fallen servant. We will *always* stand against thee, we will *always* hold back the dark. For darkness is but the absence of light and behold, we shall bring the light, and there will be nowhere left to hide!"

At that the Witch-king was filled with fear, seeing in this mighty elf-lord the power and light of the Valar, and with a cry he turned his beast and fled the field into the looming dark, bringing his cringing minions to despair. When Eärnur would have pursued Glorfindel held him back. White light still shone from his unseeing eyes, and his voice resounded with the force of the Blessed Ones.

"Do not pursue him! He will not return to this land. Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of man will he fall."

The prince had to obey, for the elf before him was no elf at this moment but the Vessel of the Valar, and Glorfindel carried within him the power of the faithful of Ilúvatar. Eärnur, though, felt strongly his disgrace and swore to be avenged upon the Witch-king - but that battle was for the future.

This battle was over and the forces of elves and men cleared the field of the remnants of the crushed forces of the Nazgûl. Yet Glorfindel could not leave, could not return to his love, for he needed to meet with the leaders of the other armies, to ensure that all duties were fulfilled. Eärnur glowered in his anger against the reborn lord.

"I could have taken him! It was my right to kill him."

Glorfindel looked straight at the man. Though his sapphire eyes had regained their original hue, he still felt the presence of the Valar within him. He shook his head slowly.

"You could not have killed him, hir nîn. There was no one on this field today who could have killed the Nazgûl, not even I. Do not take more sorrow on your soul, Prince Eärnur. There has been too much death and destruction within this realm. Too many injured, dying..."

The pain was obvious in Glorfindel's voice and Círdan reached to grasp his arm in alarm.

" Mellon-nîn, do not tell me... Ai, is Erestor...?"

Glorfindel shook his head, unable to articulate his fears. "He took a blow meant for me. He sacrificed himself for me. Elrohir was with him. I know not if he still lives..." The tears began to flow and the depth of the love that had spanned millennia humbled the human prince. Círdan patted Glorfindel helplessly.

"I have no words to say, meldir, save that my prayers are with you both. I will delay you no longer except to ask a boon. Arvedui's son, Aranarth, has said that he will not take up his crown and rule from Fornost, for the Dúnedain are now too few in number. He has taken the title of Chieftain and will lead his people in exile. Yet he has a young son, and he longs to find for him a place of safety. Will Elrond accept Arahael as a fosterling in Imladris? For there too we must deposit the heirlooms of the realm of Arnor; the ring of Barahir; the star of Elendil; the sceptre of Annúminas - and the shards of Narsil, the sword that cut the One Ring from Sauron's hand."

Glorfindel bowed his head, feeling the weight of history and the heaviness of his fears bear down upon his now drained body.

"Never will Elrond of Imladris refuse succour to the descendants of his brother. I will take the child and the heirlooms of which you spoke. They will find a home in Rivendell for as long as they wish, and perhaps one day a King of Arnor will rise again."

They would delay Glorfindel no longer and, with a last embrace, Círdan sent him back to his warriors, back to Elrohir - and back to Erestor. Wherever crowds stood in his path they parted, both elves and men bowing acknowledgement of the grace of this servant of Valinor. Yet Glorfindel could pay them no heed. Instead he focused only on his bond with his soulmate, and despaired to feel the weakness of the pulse of life. It was so weak at times that he wondered if it was only an echo or a wishful thought, and that perhaps in truth Erestor was gone. Tears rolled down his anguished face without heed as he trod across that plain, until at last he stood outside the healing tent, which was guarded by Andrann.

"He is within, my lord," she said, and there was a trembling in that voice which told of her empathy for her beloved commander. "Lords Elrohir and Elladan are with him." She pulled aside the tent flap and Glorfindel entered.

There were many lamps lit, and they shone on the multitude of elves lying within, all having sustained various injuries in the battle. The healers were at work amongst them, but Glorfindel had eyes for only one. Erestor lay on a cot, paler than the snows of winter. His torso was bared and his raven hair was unbound, spread like a velvet cloth over the rough pillow. Black bruising was starting to appear on his face and body, and his ribs were bound. At the strangled cry of the golden lord, Elrohir rose from Erestor's side.

"Glorfindel, do not despair. All is not as ill as it seems," he said quietly, holding the trembling hand of the shaking lord. "We feel that the mace hit him in the same direction that Hirnîn was travelling, therefore his momentum absorbed a lot of the blow. He has cracked many ribs, which is why his breathing is shallow, for the pain must be great. However...as yet he has not regained consciousness, therefore we can risk no herbs to relieve his pain. The bindings are not usual for broken ribs, but it would be best if he were to be returned to my father's care soonest, and so the bindings are to support him when we place him in a wagon." He paused, wondering if Glorfindel had heard a word that he had said, for the sapphire eyes had not wavered from their focus on the dark elf.

"It is not all bad news, Glorfindel," Elrohir urged. "There is no blood on his breath, nor swelling of his belly to indicate bleeding within him. His heart is regular. It is only..." He paused, not sure how to phrase the next part. "He has not woken, Glorfindel, so we do not know if his brain has been affected. See, he sleeps with his eyes closed, yet we cannot tell if it is a healing sleep. Only time will tell us that, mellon-nîn."

Glorfindel nodded, understanding both the comfort and the warning. He knelt beside the cot, taking the small, slender hand of his love, cradling it softly within his own palm. Calloused fingers gently lifted the dark strands away from that fine-boned face.

"Erestor, pen-neth, will you not wake? Will you not look at me with your glorious eyes? I need you, Erestor. Melin le. Please, my love, come back to me."

No one within hearing could hold back the tears at the love and need so evident in the golden lord's plea. Glorfindel would not move from Erestor's side and so Andrann, and the twin Peredhil when they could be spared from the healing tent, took command of the troops of Imladris and prepared them for the long march home.

The night was long and Glorfindel alternated between reflective silence and quiet words, speaking aloud reminiscences of times past, shared times of love and joy with this elf who meant everything to him. It was near dawn when a moan broke from between those rose-red lips. Glorfindel was alert immediately.

"Erestor? Pen-neth?"

The lush dark lashes parted, and the soft brown eyes fell upon the golden lord.

"Glo'fin'l?"

Tears poured from Glorfindel's eyes, tears of happiness and relief that his love was awake, and recognised him. He hurried to reassure the dark elf.

"Hush, pen-neth, you must rest. You are hurt and need to conserve your strength, my love."

Erestor would not be calmed. "You... are not ...hurt? I saw the blow... I saw it start to ...fall..."

"No, pen-neth. You saved me. You saved my life, but I near lost you in return."

Glorfindel pressed the sweet hand to his lips, needing to feel that precious flesh against his own skin. Erestor smiled weakly.

"Then I am... redeemNow Now ... now I may ask... for forgiveness..."

Glorfindel remonstrated with his love. "No, Erestor! There was never need for forgiveness! You did no wrong! I have always loved you, ind-nîn. I always will!"

Erestor did not answer, for he had fallen back into a peaceful rest, a gentle smile curving on his rose-red lips. Elrohir came up behind Glorfindel, beaming with joy at the moment.

"Now we know he will mend, meldir. He will soon be in your arms once more."

"Aye," growled Glorfindel, possessive in his reclaimed love. "I have him, and I will hold him. And no one, be they Valar or not, will ever separate us again!"


Author's Notes:

The premise for this chapter was taken from Appendix A, 'The Lord of the Rings', and the history of the Kings of Arnor and Gondor. I have embellished Glorfindel's role in this chapter for the purpose of my story and placed my own twist on his actions. The speech to the Witch-king is my own work, but the prophecy of Glorfindel is taken direct from the text.


Elvish: (by Nienna and Andrannath)

meldir - friend
meleth - love
pen-neth - little one
hir nîn - my lord
meleth-nîn - my love
mellon-nîn - my friend
pin-nitlittlittle ones.
melin le - I love you
ind-nîn - my heart