Good Friend

Author's Note: un-beta'ed, all mistakes are mine ;)

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Chapter 1

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FA 506, the wilds of West Beleriand


The darkness around him seeped into his clothing, onto his skin. He was as a wraith; deadly, calculating, patient. His chest rose and fell slowly with the smooth intake and exhales of his breath. Dark eyes scanned the surrounding woods, moonlight helped tree limbs cast shadows and block his vision, he would need to rely on his senses and trust in his own instincts.

A silver tipped arrow notched between his fingers, its familiar feel and weight affirmed his self assurance. With a release of his fingers the arrow flew, deadly in its aim. In the silvery moonlit beams the buck startled, staggered in its attempt of escape, then fell over as its legs buckled. Quickly he made it to his feet, rushed through the bushes he had been using as cover and approached the wounded beast. It was not yet dead, the beast would suffer if he did not put it out of its misery. Whispering his lament that its fae would be accepted into the arms of Yavanna once more, he drew his dagger and thrust it into the beast’s neck. Warm blood tingled his fingers tips in the cold night air, the buck gave a final shudder and became still.

With a sigh he pulled the blade from the buck’s neck and wiped the warm blood on a cloth he reserved for occasions such as this. From behind him he heard the sound of his company emerging from the tree limbs and bushes they had concealed themselves in as well.

“T’was a swift death. It has been accepted into kinder arms, mellonamin.” A strong hand gripped his shoulder, the gesture helped to calm him. He turned his head and looked into his friend’s face, regretful as well. No matter how long the Edhil walked this earth, killing an animal for food, though necessary, would always hold some sadness.

“Aye, t’was. Let us get back to the camp before the wolves catch its scent,” he said as he motioned for two closest cloaked figures to carry the buck back to their camp.

His friend regarded him closely as he ran a weary hand down his face and brushed slightly damp blonde locks off of his neck. “What is it?”

“Nothing, you just look tired. Glorfindel, when was the last time you slept?”

“I slept last night. Ai, don't give me that look, I did! Just not well.”

The other drew the hood of his cloak back to rub the back of his head without the hindrance of cloth; the normally auburn strands seemed an earthy black in the night.

“Ai, nor I. We both need sleep this night. We shall reach the citadel within a day and as close as we are to the cities, darkness still roams. Tuor needs us well rested, we must be presentable for his sake.” The brunette laughed shortly as Glorfindel smirked and rolled his eyes. “’Tis not everyday we get to escort a ranger into the wilds and present him as our prince once back into civilization.”

Glorfindel laughed aloud at that thought. The fact that Turgon's only daughter, Idril, had taken a mortal man as her spouse would always be a jest amoungst those who knew them best.

Naught a few short years prior, a human by the name of Tuor had traveled to the once kingdom of Glorfindel’s king, Turgon. Nevrast was in the northwest boundaries of Beleriand off of the coast and were under the watchful and relative safety of the Vala Ulmo. Unfortunately these were dark days. In the year 50 of the First Age Ulmo had relocated Turgon and his cousin, Finrod, within the hidden valley of Tumladen. Finrod had founded his city in the Pass of Sirion while Turgon made his home within the Encircling Mountains and hence forth named the city Gondolin. Ulmo had led them to the “Hidden City” for the elves safety, so far it had worked, few knew how to find Gondolin without prior knowledge or having a guide. Tuor himself had come into contact with Voronwë, an elf of Gondolin, while in Nevrast and thus had been led by the elf into the Hidden City as a messenger of Ulmo.

Hidden. Safe.

The fair realm that was Doriath could not boast such a claim any longer, it was destroyed in every sense of the word, all for greed and vengeance. For the Silmarils.

The Silmarils, created by Feanor himself, had once brought light and happiness to the elves of the blessed lands, Now that they had been stolen and lost all about Middle-Earth, they were a reason to fear and things to protect. No matter the price.

Doriath had faced one hard ship after another in less than a decade’s time. Thingol had been slain, his Maiarin wife had crossed back into the Blessed Lands, with her the Girdle of magic she had placed around the realm to keep it hidden and safe was gone; their daughter and her mortal husband were dead; their son, Dior, had now been slain as well along with his wife. His sons had been taken and abandoned in the wilds of the forest surrounding Menegroth, none had been able to find the children. Dior’s only daughter, Elwing, fled with the precious Silmarils into Sirion. The sons of Feanor had wreaked havoc upon the land of Beleriand thus far in their pursuit of the Silmarils, this time they had suffered a great loss themselves. Three of the sons had been slain, one by Dior’s own hand as he was struck down by them in turn. All of Middle-earth was now warry of Feanor's offspring. They would attack again the question was when.

Finrod’s sister, Galadriel, had been in Gondolin at the time of Doriath’s fall, she was also large reason they were traveling to the Mouth of Sirion. Her love had been in Doriath at the time of its downfall. Galadriel had recently gotten word from Celeborn that he lived and had led several of the refugees to Sirion. She had wept in Turgon’s arms with sorrow mingled joy. Galadriel’s heart was not the only reason, nor had Celeborn been the sole reason, nephew to Elu Thingol himself and cousin of the king of Doriath. All of the lost Edhil were the reason Turgon had sent them. Turgon, Cirdan, and lords that ruled Sirion all felt the great loss, out of respect and a common bond founded in them against Feanor's sons, they had sent large parties to Sirion to help the grieved and lost.

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed his friend staring at him and startled slightly when the brunette waved a hand in front of eyes.

“I am here, Echthelion, forgive me.” He swatted the warm hand away as it came dangerously close to his nose.

Echthelion had seen the troubled look in the blonde’s eyes. So much had happened in the last few months, he was sure that look must have been on his face from time to time.

“What do you think we will find when we arrive?” His mind wandered into places he imagined only in nightmares.

“Pain. Fear. Loss. Confusion. I dare not consider what else.” Glorfindel replied with a furrow in his brow. He was tired, nay, exhausted, mentally and physically. What they would face within two days time was something he was unsure he would be able to understand completely.

“Cirdan has already been to the Mouths, it is likely he may yet still be there when we arrive. Let us hope as I for one do not think I could be of much comfort to those when we have not experienced what they have. I pray that is an experience I will never be able to speak of.” The brunette shook his head at the thought, best to sleep and escape his own fears than dwell on what he could not comprehend.

Glorfindel looked past Ecthelion’s shoulder, he could just make out the figures of his men carrying the buck, they would eat well tonight. He pulled his cloak closer to his frame and made to follow his troops. He grabbed his pack that he had thrown near a tree when the shrill bird call had gone through informing them of a possible threat near by, since it had just been a deer passing quickly they hadn’t had the time to unpack. He and Ecthelion would take separate shifts this night in helping their men keep watch, his watch would be near dawn so he tested patches of grass for softness and decided that one on the outer edges of the camp were rather nice and there he lay his and Ecthelion’s bed rolls. They needed a stream near by if for nothing else but water, unfortunately there was nothing but foliage in this area from what they could determine at night, he pulled out his flask, took a large gulp and proceeded to clean his hands with what was left. There had to be a stream somewhere near by and they would find it in the morning, for now he was tired and getting to sleep was all that crossed his mind.

Ecthelion looked about him and saw Glorfindel had found a good spot for sleeping and had kindly laid his bed roll out not far from his own. The blonde looked weary and it worried him more than he would liked to have admitted. Always a constant source of energy, laughter and having the ability to charm anyone into nearly anything, Glorfindel never looked weary. Slowly he wove his dark hair into a loose plait suitable for leisure. He saw Glorfindel smile good night to him, he waved his good night as the blonde fell onto his side, soon all Ecthelion heard from the his friend’s general direction was soft snores and limbs rustling about. This would not be restful sleep, but it would get him through the day tomorrow.

‘Saes, Manwe, allow the remainder of our venture to be an uneventful one,’ Ecthelion thought, perhaps the Vala would hear his prayer, they had been rather kind to their company thus far. As of now they had not encountered anything out the ordinary, a small band of Orcs here and there, all dispatched quickly and without warning to any other would be assailants that Elves traveled nearby.

Glancing at the stars smattered above them Ecthelion knew it was less than five hours until dawn, he would not awaken Glorfindel until then, he needed much more sleep than Ecthelion did right now. He unconsiously twitched his nose as his decision to let the blonde sleep was definite. Tomorrow eve they would reach the Mouths of Sirion and face a loss that haunted all their dreams.


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Ithil was just within the line of his sight now. Nightfall was fast approaching, slowly but surely their tension grew. Close as they were to the city, a final attack could be just around the bend.

Soft blue eyes scanned the surrounding foliage for any sign of irregularity, so far they found none. If any of their scouts were alerted of any sort of threat the Captains would know of it within moments giving them just enough time to prepare themselves. Golden strands floated softly in front of his view, a gloved hand brushed them aside and scratched the bridge of the straight nose they had tickled.

Getting a better grip on his horses beige mane, Glorfindel let out a soft whistle that caused Ecthelion’s gaze to swing in his direction. The brunette’s eyes told him that he had seen what Glorfindel had as well. Shadows within the treetops which only elves would notice could be seen. Whoever they were did not feel threatened by the rather large troop’s presence. Bringing their horses to a stop, he, Ecthelion and Tuor dismounted, and stepped towards the trees, Glorfindel had a hunch who these shadows were.

“Halt!” All three stopped dead with hands held clearly in front of them. From behind him Glorfindel could hear the rustling of bows and knives being better positioned if danger made itself apparent.

“What business have you here?” The sounds of knocked arrows carried on the wind from the trees.

His eyes struggled to focus on where the melodic voice came from; these trees caused an echo within themselves. “We are messengers of Gondolin, sent by our Lord Turgon to your lands in response to the loss of Doriath. We wish to speak to the daughter of Doriath, Elwing.” Tuor’s voice held strength and sympathy, Glorfindel was proud of his Lord’s law-son. Quiet echoed.

Just to the left of where Glorfindel had been staring a cloaked figure emerged from the trees followed by four other figures, all held weapons, only the leader kept his sword sheathed. Their leader pulled the deep hood away from his face to reveal a rather comely countance. Kind brown eyes complimented the fair skin that was framed by dusty brown locks while the face held a joyful smile. By the plaits weaved into his hair he was a Captain. “Lord Turgon sent you?”

When Glorfindel nodded the elf’s smile doubled in size. “You are most welcome here my Lords. We have been expecting your arrival for several days. I am Saphoron, Captain of Sirion’s guard.” Holding a hand over his heart in respect he nodded to Tuor and Glorfindel. He turned to Echthelion with a slight smirk on his face. Glorfindel didn’t quite understand why he would give such a look to the brunette until his friend swung from the back of his horse and grasped Saphoron’s forearm in a show of welcomed greeting.

“Saphoron, good to see you again, mellonamin. I see your suspicions of other elves has wained none,” teased the captain.

“As always, Ecthelion, your observational skills never cease to amaze,” was shot right back. “Unfortunately, such caution is necessary, as you well know.” Turning back to his troops he uttered something to his horse which in turn started emitting soft neighs and grunts that the rest of the Sirion horses reacted to. “My men will ensure the safety of your party my Lord Tuor, your men can have this small respite in keeping a watchful eye after such a long trip. Saes, follow me.”

Glorfindel was thankful for any moments peace at this point, even if it was only in the form of letting his guard down just a bit. He also intended to find out how this elf knew his friend, Ecthelion had never mentioned knowing anyone of the elves that had stayed behind during the Great Journey.

Rolling his head back and flexing the muscles in his tense shoulders relaxed Glorfindel some as he clicked his tongue setting his horse into following behind the Sirion guard. The forest here smelled clean and untainted, his spirit soared for the most fleeting of instances, living within the tops of the Mountains did not garner for much time spent within dense forest. Pity, he could get used to hearing the forest’s voices, however softly, as he could right then.


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One thing could be said of those whom dwelled on a daily basis in Sirion, hospitality and open arms were everywhere to be found.

A great mixture of Elvish cultures had settled within the River’s mouth, Sirion had become a literal central point of traffic from the ocean into the main lands of Middle-Earth. Elves of every different culture passed through, some stayed, which in turn piqued Glorfindel’s curiosity of those whom had chosen to stay in Middle-Earth after his forefathers had returned to the blessed realm.

As much as his thirst for tales of those he’d heard of yet never known and those he’d once known and long since left the land of Elvish birth he longed to hear of, the subject during dinner was not about the past, but entirely the present. And the future of those elves who were now refugees.

“Feanor’s sons are out of control! They have been a danger for longer than I care to recall and so something must be done to stop them!” Came the harsh words, just slightly louder than a normal conversation would be held at.

“And how would you go about doing such a thing, Cilmion? They’ve completely destroyed Doriath! They seek to find the Silmarils, Elwing can only keep them hidden for so long. They will come for her.” Glorfindel’s eyes glanced at the ellith the conversation was on, she was discussing something with several others around her with a rather serious expression on her young face. From where she sat, she would not be able to hear their conversation.

Being the leader of their houses and Turgon’s highest respected and trusted captains, Ecthelion and Glorfindel were privy to information they knew not many would ever know of. They had been given the option to eat with their own men this night, but both had chosen to stay with their King’s human law-son and Hothien, second head advisor to their own king. Tuor glanced at Elwing as well, as he had expressed to his Captains earlier that he had expected the elleth to be more ill at ease. From what the three could tell, she must still be in some form of shock or had learned to cover her distress.

The most information they had gathered since arriving was that Feanor’s sons had gone into hiding, or least could not be located as of the moment which left dangers of travel at a much higher rate. They had hunted for Elwing for several months now with obviously no success and no sign of the elves had been seen in the last three months. While it was good news, no news was just as daunting. Cirdan did not look as ill at ease as they would have thought but then again he had several of the refugees in his home as well, rumor had it that a few had been of Dior's court. The Mariner King was deep in discussion with what Glorfindel presumed to be his own advisors and captains as their clothing had tell-tale craftsmonship of Edhil from The Isle of Balar.

The mead and spirits had lent voices to the ellon that had been discussing Elwing earlier, by this point they had become high spirited and very opinionated but their words were so slurred none could understand them save the few curses towards Feanor’s spawn, as they so called them.

The rambling had given Glorfindel a rather sharp pain just behind his left temple, the mead he had consumed himself probably helped some. He was tired and he felt more so now. As many of the others had left without disrupting dinner, he felt he would be able to leave as well without further ado. As he sat up, Hothien, Tuor and Ecthelion did also, they knew him well. They bade those around them a good night as the four headed for the corridor their chambers were located.

The chambers they had been given were located within a few doors of each, they were thankful as it lent them privacy to speak on what they would hear tomorrow. So far, none had heard the explicate details of what had happened in Doriath, Turgon had only received so much information from letters sent by rider to and from Sirion and Balar, he informed his advisors, captains and law-son of what he could. They all knew to hear it in person would be far worse.

As though the weight of tomorrow was already on them, the three said their farewells and retired for the evening.

Tomorrow they would meet with Cirdan and several other Lords on what to do about protecting their respective realms, how they were to relocate the refugees who wished to find a home with Cirdan and Turgon, and on a personal note, reach Celeborn. They knew the ellon would be with the people of Doriath, they had been told by Hothien that he had been traveling back and forth across the city to be with Elwing in the Citadel and help others cope with their losses.

The bed looked deceivingly comfortable. It beckoned Glorfindel to come and sleep. He was too weary to sleep, his mind drifted on to tomorrow and with a heavy sigh he sat on the edge of the bed.

What would he see and hear tomorrow? His own people had gone through many hardships, but they had made their choice to leave Valinor consciously, their enemies had been clear, now they were safe, protected by one of the Valar themselves. True that nearly a year had passed since Doriath fell, but elves felt sadness in ways no other race could dare comprehend. They felt within their very fea at the loss of each other, friend or foe. After the fall of the realm, many elves had succumbed to their grief and fear.

Opening his tired eyes widely and blinking several times, he felt the pull of sleep on the very tips of his lashes. He needed to bathe first, it had been far to long since he had the opportunity for a long bath. He could escape his thoughts for now and concentrate on the relaxation of his body, for now it would be very helpful.

The bathing chamber was an ample size, waste reservoirs were on one side, next to them was a washing basin. On the opposite wall a shelving unit was full of baskets that brimmed with herbs, oils and soaps, towels and brushes, grabbing a variety of items he placed them on the ground next to the rim of the large tub built into the floor. Turning the water on he tested it to his liking and added oils. The scent of rosewood filled the chamber quickly, Glorfindel breathed in deeply and smiled. He quickly removed his tunic and undershirt tossing them haphazardly onto a chair by the dressing table. He unlaced his breeches and hissed as he slid them down his long thighs, he had forgotten about the rather painful bruise on his outer thigh and upper buttock. The healing should have been further along by now but the combination of restless travel and weariness had taken its toll on his body.

The morning after he had killed the buck had greeted he and his men with a downpour of horrific rain, they had smelled it in the air and knew it was coming. While guiding their horses across the wide but fairly shallow river, lighting had streaked across the sky followed by a loud clap of thunder which scared several of their horses. Glorfindel’s own horse had reared up and fell backwards into one of the horses behind him, the paniced beasts in their haste to regain their footing kicked out and hooves collided with fellow horses and Elven riders. The kick had knocked Glorfindel and the rider of the horse behind his several feet away and both knew they would have bruises to show for them. Since their horses had been uninjured, both Elves were far more thankful than in pain right then. Now however was another matter.

Grumbling to himself, Glorfindel turned his back to the wall mirror to see just how far the bruises stretched. Purple tinged yellow skin stretched from the middle of his outer right thigh, underneath and fading into the top swell of his buttock. The bruising would get worse before it got better. He gently prodded the least bruised section and when the pain lanced through his backside, he cursed loudly and decided perhaps adding the herbs to the water would be excellent choice. Once he was out of his breeches, lowering himself into the medicated, fragrant bath water had him groaning out loud in relief.

“By the Valar,” it felt wonderful.

He started when cool water grazed the side of his neck. Realizing he had fallen asleep in his bath water was a sure sign the time had come to partake in the comforts his bed would have to offer. The herbs had helped quite a bit, still he winced when he passed over the bruises with the dry towel.

He dropped the towel from around his waist were it pooled on the floor and nearly fell into his bed. A strong but warm breeze blew in through his window in spurts; he stared at the curtains with heavy lids as they blew across the floor. The world of dreams called to him, it was times like these he could forget the world outside.

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Elvish translations:

edhil = elves
mellonamin = my friend
ai = oh
saes = please
Ithil = moon