Glorfindel Unleashed

Title : 'Glorfindel Unleashed', 6/?
Author: Eawen Penallion
Type: FPS
Beta: Beloved Nienna, so encouraging!
Disclaimer: all rights to the characters belong to JRR Tolkien - I'm only playing with them.
Rating: (R for this chapter, NC-17 overall)
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor in later chapters
Warnings: M/M, implied child abuse, angst, character death (in this chapter)

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: AU as in it is my idea, but canon where possible with regard to LOTR history.
*In this chapter I have added Erestor to the Maeglin/ Idril scene (hopefully not to it's detriment) and as for Glorfindel, well it is never mentioned in canon just what happein tin the Great Market, or how well Glorfindel did against the foe. So I 'tweaked' it a little.... Glorfindel Rules! *

Oh - and there is a character death in this chapter - duh!!


Chapter 6


The response was immediate. Without even bidding farewell to their loved ones the warriors of Gondolin leapt from the wall and ran through the city streets to their Houses to arm themselves against the coming invasion. The House of the Golden Flower was near to the eastern wall and it took but minutes for Glorfindel and Erestor to reach the building. As the elves poured themselves into the armoury the Lord and his young ward sped to the small side room in which their own armour was kept.

Glorfindel's armour was a dazzling sight; one that could halt an enemy in his tracks, for Glorfindel's golden splendour and magnent ent physique was enhanced by the finely wrought design. Glorfindel unleashed could strike fear into the strongest hearts. Erestor had been through his training as a squire and now hurried to assist his lord in buckling on the many layers. First the heavy chain mail coat, then the cuirass and kirtle cut in the shape of overlapping leaves. Shoulder guards, shin guards, wrist bracers lashed tight against solid muscle. As Glorfindel buckled his great sword around his waist Erestor drew the heavy mantle forth to drape around the warrior's shoulders. The mantle was an heirloom and was so embroidered in threads of gold in the design of the house, the celandine, that it shone as bright as the morning sun. Erestor shuddered in awe to see his love so resplendent, so truly breathtaking. Erestor turned to arm himself, reaching for the shoulder brace that would hold his knives - his new knives - across his back. Glorfindel caught him on the arm, turning the young elf to face him.

"Erestor, I want you to go to Mirieth and Díwen and help organise the evacuation of the women and children. Take them to Idril's secret way."

Erestor stared at him with disbelieving eyes.

"Surely it will not come to that? Will we not repel them?" he whispered in horror. Glorfindel shook his head.

"I fear not, pen-neth. That glow told me that Melkor has brought his most evil of creations - balrogs and firedrakes as well as orcs and goblins. In what number I can only guess, but to cause a fiery heat and glow of such intensity the number must be great." He paused. "Gondolin will fall, I fear." His heart clenched at what he knew he must say next.

"Get the women and children out of Gondolin. For Melkor to have found the Hidden City after all these centuries and after all our precautions there must have been a traitor in our midst. I fear we know who it must be. Get our people to safety Erestor - and go with them."

The response was swift and expected. Erestor shook his head fiercely, tears of frustration and denial evident in his eyes.

"No." His voice was hoarse. "No, I will not go. I will not leave you. I will *never* leave you! You cannot make me!" At that the tears started to flow but Erestor was unconscious of them. He stood firm, his face set, his hands clenched at his sides as if determination alone would reverse Glorfindel's decision. Seeing his love so strong before him almost broke the golden lord's resolve. Instead he placed one large hand at the nape of Erestor's neck, a long thumb sweeping over the soft cheek to wipe away the tears.

"Oh my sweet one," he choked. He pulled his soul mate to him, his oath crumbling. Lips met, firm to soft, in their first kiss. There were no soft nips, no gentle presses, no sweet explorations. There was no time, no future for them. There was only now.

The rose-red lips parted eagerly, gave way in intimate surrender as Glorfindel dived into that honeyed mouth. Tongues duelled, teeth clashed and Erestor pressed tight against his love, trying to persuade him with his lips and body as he knew his speech could not. Though the solid armour divided him from the golden lord Erestor stroked and explored where he could, against the sinews of the neck, the firmness of the jaw until his fingers twisted in that golden hair. He felt the softness of the shimmering strands, so luxurious in their tribute to the sun.

Glorfindel in turn pulled his pen-vuin against him, feeling that lithe body so tender in his arms. His soul cried out in torment, sensing deep within his heart that he would not now know the pure delight of union with his little love. "Meleth nîn, ind nîn," he murmured against those lips as the kiss ended. "So now we are forsworn, yet I feel that the gods will look with compassion upon our sweet kiss."

Erestor moaned with the loss of his lover's lips. " Melin le, Glorfindel! Oh that this hateful metal was not between us. Oh that we had more time!" Glorfindel shook his head.

"We have broken our oath, Erestor. Would you have me dance on its shards? I may be an oath-breaker, but I would not be a law-breaker too. I would not take you in battle lust for in the eyes of our people you are yet too young for carnal love. If Melkor's hordes win this night then we must survive on our values, our worth as the Firstborn of Ilúvatar. I want our union tofullfull of joy and honour, to stand proud in the sun, not to have our love sordid and in shadow."

Erestor's head was now pressed against his breastplate and he stroked the raven strands, memorising their texture, inhaling the fresh scent. He took his sweet love's head between his strong hands and lifted it so that he met those brown orbs, so bright with tears.

"Meleth-nîn, I must go. I must go to fight. And you must go to Idril. Go, my heart, my soul. For I cannot fight unless I know you are safe. I have to know that you live else I will die, for my fear for you will pull my mind from my sword and to my destruction instead."

His voice was taut with pain and passion and Erestor could not be pacified. He clutched at Glorfindel refusing to release him. The cries from the streets were now penetrating the House and Glorfindel cast his mind about, seeking a way to persuade his beloved. His eyes settled on his un-gloved hands. He pulled quickly at the mithril ring and clasped Erestor's left hand, forcing the ring onto his first finger.

" 'Tis a symbol of my love, Erestor. It is my pledge to you. Our betrothal. I promise to return to you seron vell, and the next time I place this ring on your finger it will be on our binding day. I promise, Erestor. I promise. I *will* return."

Chocolate-brown met sapphire-blue and in that moment Erestor knew that his plea had failed. He nodded dumbly, knowing that he would follow the orders of his beloved lord.

"A promise," he whispered.

Glorfindel pulled his little love tight against him for one last kiss.

" Melin le, Erestor-nîn."


*-*-*-


Before Erestor sought out the ellith he raced to the stables and released the horses. Asfaloth and Hirnîn whinnied in confusion and bolted only when Erestor swung his hand firmly against their flanks. The horses would have a better chance of survival if they were free. A very slim one, but at least a chance. It was the only thing he could do for them.

Back in the main hall of the house he found that Dîwen and Mirieth had gathered the women and children together and were trying to calm the hysterical ellith, for the elflings were feeding off their mothers' fear.

"Bring food and warm clothing - leave all else!" cried Mirieth, for the hundredth time. The women of the household in their panic did not heed her words. Erestor drew his knives and slammed their blades together, creating a ringing clang that penetrated the clamour. He shouted above the fading cries.

"Lord Glorfindel has spoken. Follow the instruction of Mirieth and Díwen and you *will* be safe. Now, we go to the House of Tuor and Idril. Hold tight to your children and firm to your courage." It was his other persona, the cool young counsellor to Turgon rather than the frightened youth, which had taken over and in his calm voice the denizens of the House heard the authority of their Lord, and they obeyed.

The streets were bathed in the red light that came from the fearsome flames of the balrogs and firedrakes that now surrounded the walls of the city. The heat was almost overwhelming, as evidenced by the bodies of collapsed elves that littered the streets. Erestor knew the streets well having explored them thoroughly as a child and made for all the back routes through the south-eastern quarter, away from the majority of the fleeing crowds, so their passage was reasonably swift. Theirs was not the only house to descend upon the princess' home and her guards were directing the elves down to the cellars where the passage began. Erestor approached a guard that he knew.

"Rion, where are Idril and Eärendil? Have they gone ahead?"

"Not yet," the guard replied. "The Lady's cousin has gone to their room to aid them, for the ernil's nursemaid was injured in the flight from the walls."

Erestor was horrified. "Maeglin is here? But he is the traitor! He is the one who betrayed us!" The claim was based only on his belief and not on proof but he knew in his heart that he spoke the truth. Without delay he raced into the house, seeking the elfling's chambers.

The room was abandoned, crib sheets strewn on the rug-covered floor, toys scattered forlornly. He cast his eyes about, checking one last time before leaving to search other nearby chambers. All were empty and Erestor was beginning to despair when he heard voices in fierce argument above him, male and female - then the piercing screams of a babe. Erestor searched frantically for the stairs to the roof, taking them two at a time.

The scene on the roof was heart stopping. Against the crimson sky caused by the monsters that swarmed the slopes of Amon Gwareth, Maeglin was framed holding a twisting, wriggling child who screamed for his mother. Idril was almost in hysterics reaching in vain for him, for her wrist was clamped firmly by Maeglin as he dragged the princess and her son towards the roof's edge. Ensly sly she tried to reach her son and free herself from the madman's grip, succeeding in neither endeavour. Nails out and scratching, she seemed as if she was one of those legendary creatures of the south, a tigress protecting her cub.

Erestor shouted, trying to distract the nephew of the king. He drew forth his knives and made to approach the traitor. Maeglin sneered as he saw the young elf, armed as if to give battle, and laughed derisively.

"Why, if it isn't Glorfindel's little pet. Have you come to witness my triumph, little 'lonely one'? Don't say you were actually going to try to stop me?"

Erestor saw Idril increase her efforts and sought to aid her by lunging at Maeglin with his knives. The elder elf sidestepped him easily but his hold on Idril slipped, allowing her to free her hand. Erestor's joy was short-lived as in the blink of an eye Maeglin caught at her flying hair.

"Oh no, my precious, my darling. You are not leaving me! Just let me dispose of this mewling half-breed brat of yours, then we can flee together. The little catamite won't try to stop us, will he? He'll be too busy grieving for his little master. Oh, Glorfindel is going to die horribly, sweet little Erestor. He battles bravely over in the Market, but which one? Not the one Salgant has sent his reinforcements to - but then Salgant could never get things straight where the brassy lord was concerned, could he?"

The manic gloating was fervent, the fever echoed in the madman's eyes as his words echoed in Erestor's ears. Maeglin wanted Glorfindel dead. Maeglin wanted Eärendil dead. Maeglin wanted Tuor, and Turgon, and Erestor dead; he wanted all of Gondolin dead - except Idril, who he simply wanted.

A huge roar came from behind him and Erestor knew without turning that it was Tuor. At once Maeglin cast Idril from him, drawing a knife and plunging it towards Eärendil's small chest, desperate to kill the son of his rival - but the knife was somehow miraculously deflected. Maeglin screamed in disbelief and defiance, tormented by his failure. At that moment Erestor leapt, grabbing at the child and wrenching him from the traitor's grasp. Tuor wrested the knife from Maeglin and broke it easily in two before lifting the damned elf about the middle and, in one movement, throwing him over the battlements. Maeglin's body broke upon Amon Gwareth, bouncing three times before erupting into flames when it collided with the firedrakes below. Idril ran to a shaken Erestor, claiming and clasping her son to her bosom.

"How - how did the knife not kill him? " gasped Erestor. Idril drew back Eärendil's tunic at the neck to reveal a cunningrougrought mail shirt beneath. Tuor grabbed Erestor and pulled him to his feet, hugging him in gratitude.

"We must go now, my boy. Voronwë will take you all to the tunnel." Erestor shook his head fervidly.

"Maeglin has set a trap for Glorfindel! He said that reinforcements for my lord have been sent elsewhere by design - it is Salgant's men who have gone awry!"

Tuor knew that Erestor needed to go to them, to warn his beloved, to save him. "Salgant may be a coward but his men are not. Glorfindel took your troops to the north-eastern sector in the hope of cutting off Melkor's left flank. He'll be in the vicinity of the Great Market. Find Tawaron of the Harp - he will listen to you!"

Erestor thought back to what Maeglin had said. "The men of the Harp must be at the Lesser Market - for 'tis where their House is situated. That snivelling lord must be trying to save his own hide! I must go now. Will you be alright?" he asked in fear.

"I must return to the Square of the Folkwell. Turgon has kept Ecthelion and his House in reserve and I must go to their aid. Go in all haste, boy, go save him for Gondolin - and for yourself."

With that permission Erestor fled back down the stairs and through the house to the exit. There he was horrified to see many elves dead after a battle with their own kin. For they were of Maeglin's House, men of the Mole by their caps, and Tuor's men had had to fight their way through them to gain entrance and save Idril. Erestor did not delay, could not delay. Though no orcs had yet penetrated to this part of the city the buildings around him were on fire from the blazing arrows shot by the enemy over the walls. The residents of the burning houses were crowding the streets, trying to escape. The screams of those who were trapped pounded in his ears, terrified and terrifying to the young elf. Closing his senses to save his sanity, Erestor battled as a salmon does upstream to try to get to the Lesser Market.

The battalion of the Harp was not idle. Orcs had started to find their way through the streets in small numbers and the warriors were hard pressed to defend their position, to allow time for the civilians to escape. Erestor was stunned by the grotesque appearance of the creatures but rallied to find the captain of the guard. He was relieved to catch sight of him leading his troops. Glorfindel had told him of this elf's support at his rescue all those years ago and the warrior had ever been cordial to him.

"Captain!" he shouted as loud as he could over the roar of the flames and the screams of the crowds. "Captain, you have to help Glorfindel. You have to help the Golden Flower!"

Tawaron heard Erestor's call and searched through the smoke to find the youth. "Get back Erestor! Get away from here!" He tried to force the raven-haired elf from the square. Erestor resisted, knowing that he had to make Tawaron understand his urgency.

"No, no! Glorfindel is in the Great Market. Salgant sent you wrong, he wants my lord to die!"

Tawaron needed no convincing. As loyal as he was to his own lord, he knew of his master's hatred of Glorfindel and the measures he would take to gain his revenge. Tawaron and his men were loyal to Turgon and Gondolin above all, and he knew where his duty lay. Calling the rallying cry, he and his battalion sped from the Lesser Market, leaving a small number of men to complete the evacuation of the House of the Harp.

Erestor made to follow but at that moment a crumbling wall finally fell and his exit towards the northern quarter was cut off. The throngs around him were pressing hard now and the fires were consuming the air, causing Erestor and the other elves to gasp for the fresh air their lungs demanded. In a final thrust he threw himself clear of the crowd, desperate to make his way towards the fighting - and Glorfindel. His sense of direction was askew in the smoke-filled passages and street and only by the signs on the shops and streets did he decipher some of his route. He was just at the turn of a corner when a sound whistling past his ear made him duck.

In fright he brought up his blades, only to hear them clang as an object struck them, rebounding to his left. An arrow! He was under attack! Through the gloom of the smoke black, lurching figures emerged, creatures of such twisted and vile appearances that his bile rose in his throat. Orcs! Erestor realised with a lurch just how woefully inadequate his skills were in the art of warfare. All those lessons unlearned because he had not attended. All those reprimands for inattention he had received from his tutors. From Ecthelion. From his golden lord.

Valour is a quality much recorded in song, much praised, much lauded. But valour is useless when one is unlikely to survive the conflict. Erestor took its better part, and searched for a way to escape. A door nearby swung open, a deserted house in which he could possibly find refuge. He ran into the doorway, hearing the bellows from the ghastly creatures who had followed him in. Twisting, turning, dodging the objects thrown to stall him, his light feet carried him through the house to emerge - into a nightmare.

It was the Square of the King, and it was under siege. Erestor could see the colours of every House in the city, but no one in any great number. The Fountain fought alongside the Wing, the Tree by the House of the Heavenly Arch, by the side of the men of the Swallow. So few. So few remained. Erestor could not long stand in unhappy reflection for noises behind him told that his pursuers were upon him.

Turning swiftly Erestor raised his blades to defend himself and was instantly drenched in black, noisome blood as the knives cut deep into the first orc chasing him. The first orc he had ever killed. His first kill. Not yet of age, and he had killed. If he had time Erestor would have vomited anything, everything his stomach contained. But he had no time. He stood like a windmill, swirling his blades with what little skill he could recall, desperately trying to connect with his foes. He felt like a child batting away his mother in a childish tantrum, knowing that inevitably the smaller, weaker combatant would soon be overcome. Tears poured down his face, tears of fear and frustration and anger and shame. The shame came from knowing that if he had learned, if he had listened then perhaps he would be of more use, kill more orcs, save some of those elves who were dying around him in the blood and the sweat and the smoke and the horror. His mind was quickly becoming numb to the shrieks of the creatures; he was waiting for that final blow to fall yet it did not. He could not understand. Warriors - good, well-trained, battle-hardened warriors - were dying at his feet and yet he survived. It was incomprehensible.

Suddenly a great noise came from the eastern road and a surge of men came rushing into the square. Erestor could hardly believe his eyes. They were of his House. They were the men of the Golden Flower and of the Harp! The surge ended too swiftly and Erestor realised that less than a score had arrived out of what should have been hundreds. So many of his friends dead? And what of...? Oh, Gods please, please let him be amongst them. Please let him be safe! More orcs poured into the square behind the fleeing elves and the small troop of the Harp turned and fell upon them. Ah, they were truly warriors, not a mewling child like he! Still Erestor could not glimpse that precious golden head amongst the arrivals, and now reality crashed in on those few seconds of musings and time sped up.

Blades flashed - Eglamoth of the Heavenly Arch arrived - black blood, splashing - oh gods, a firedrake! - then Erestor's heart stopped.

Into the square came a true denizen of Hell, a Balrog of Morgoth. The flames of Angband in physical form. Brimstone, sulphur, a stench beyond the reasoning of all senses, the heat of its body a roaring pressure upon the air surrounding it, tearing away what little oxygen they had left to breath. Erestor's stomach had been threatening and could hold back no more. Staggering, falling, collapsing against a blood-drenched wall the youth gave into terror, heaving and retching until there was no more. He was forgotten and ignored by the foe as he stared in a stupor at the incarnation of the earth's fiery core, of the evil of the fallen Vala. He barely registered a figure squaring up to the monster - was it ...Tuor? Ai, no! Eglamoth was trying to aid him but the swinging arms of the beast were steadily driving him back towards the Fountain of the King. Erestor cried out to see him collapse under the onslaught. Suddenly a second figure arose and through the gore Erestor realise who it must be, for one elf only had adorned his armour with an extravagant excess of silver and diamonds. The Lord of the Fountain was injured though, his shield arm hanging useless at his side. This did not prevent the fearsome lord from delivering a blow that injured the Lord of the Balrogs, in turn having his own sword arm sliced. Erestor cried out in horror when the balrog's whip was raised, ready to strike the death blow, and wept as his brave friend ran forth, driving the spike of his helm into the creature's belly, wrapping his arms around the flame-filled foe, falling to their deaths in the depth of the fountain beside them.

"Ecthelion!"
" 'Thel!"

In desperate grief for the dark-haired lord Erestor did not recognise the voice that roared above the tumultuous hiss from the steaming edifice - but that other elf knew Erestor's voice. Yet he could not battle across the square to Erestor for at that moment the doors of the palace flew open and the High King of the Noldor and his household troops flew out to descend upon the enemy, slicing, hacking, hewing, grinding the orcs with their fearless fighting. Erestor, from his fallen position against the wall of the palace, watched as Tuor made his way across to his law-father, begging him to retreat to safety, to flee with his people. The King would not listen. This was his city, the city he had dreamed of long ago, the city he had built from the foundations. He would not leave. Instead he lay upon Tuor and the captains of his city the duty of leading their people to safety. No argument would sway the king and as the enemy advanced, so the command for the Long Retreat was given.

Erestor saw the warriors of Gondolin, all save the Household of Turgon, fight a retreat toward the Gar Anion, yet could summon no strength to join them. He was paralysed, he had no control over his body, so deadened it was with the horror of the day. There was a dread peace within him as he felt his will to survive slip further away. Suddenly strong hands pulled him erect, held him firm and a bellow was unleashed in his ear.

"You silly fool! What are you doing here? You were given your orders, why did you not obey them?"

He could not answer, his tongue was tied. The elation that had risen when he heard that voice was immediately deflated under Glorfindel's wrath, which seemed endless. At last he tried to explain, to protest his reasons but he was allowed no speech.

"I trusted you! You told me you would go! Disobedient brat! Now - move!"

Erestor had no choice. He was forcibly pulled along, his arm firmly in Glorfindel's strong grip, trying to lengthen his run as they sped from the Square of the King along Gar Anion to the Square of Weddings. There they met another who had rebelled against the edict of their lord.

"Idril!" Tuor grabbed his beautiful wife, fury and fear upon his face. "Where is Eärendil?"

"He is safe, gone ahead," she replied. She was about to continue when she suddenly screamed, her face ashen. Turning all saw and felt the devastating rumble that heralded the fall of the King's Tower behind them - and the fall of the King.

There was no time to weep. Erestor would only remember the frantic flight to the tunnel, the compressing heat and darkness as they ran down the escape route. Stumbling, falling, cracking skulls against rough hewn ceilings, colliding with each other in the last desperate dash for life. Erestor's hand ached as he tried to hold his two knives in one hand, for Glorfindel had not released the other once. The golden lord had not uttered a word of comfort, a syllable of love, a whisper of gratitude for their survival. His anger, his battle rage still burned at full heat and Erestor dared not attempt speech in case that wrath turn to him once more.

The tunnel had taken many years to make for its length reached to the foothills of the mountains. As they finally broke out they met the early morning sunrise - the sunrise of Tarnin Austa. They looked back as one towards the Hidden City, the fallen city, and wept to see the destruction of their home. The creatures of Melkor - orcs, balrogs, firedrakes - spilled over the broken walls and the smoke of many fires rose and spread over the Plains of Tumladen like a pall.

"Ecthelion killed the balrog! The Great One that killed him!" wept Erestor in grief for the smiling lord who had been as a brother to him. "More, I am sure I heard he killed more!"

Glorfindel pulled him close, his first gesture of comfort since their reunion.

"Ai, say not that it killed him but that his bravery took Morgoth's son to the depths of Hell. Songs will be sung forever for our dear friend. He is safe in Námo's arms now, pen-neth."

Erestor lifted his head and pressed his lips to his love's. "I thank all the Valar that you did not face one of those monsters."

Glorfindel winced. "Ai meleth, I took down two and I have the burns to prove it!" He waved away Erestor's concern. "Nay, pen-vuin, we must go for even now Melkor's orcs are crossing the plains, seeking to destroy us utterly. Come, we must climb the Cirith Thoronath and face the cold of the Cristhorn pass."

The trail was arduous, for the women and children could move only slowly, yet progress was made into the mountains. Glorfindel asked Erestor to climb ahead and try to ensure that the families of their House were safe.

"They need to know that their Lords are protecting them. They trust you, sweet one. I will stay here with Tuor and the men to guard the rear."

Erestor clutched the large hand. "You will be careful, hir-nîn?" He asked fearfully. Glorfindel did not laugh at his fears but took his darling Erestor into his arms, kissing him breathless. As they broke from the kiss he reminded his beautiful love of his promise.

"I will always return to you, meleth-nîn. Always."

With that Erestor left to climb the trail, slipping on the snow which was always upon these heights. It took some time to locate the refugees of the Golden Flower, and the relief amongst them to see their young lord was obvious, more so when they heard that Glorfindel yet lived. Mirieth immediately pulled her surrogate son into her arms, crushing him to her breast. She had held onto her courage, yet could not resist asking Erestor about the fate of her own sons. Erestor could offer her little comfort.

"I did not see them - but that does not mean they are not safe. There was total confusion within the city and the Houses joined as one before we fled."

Mirieth had to be satisfied with such a faint hope. Díwen was there too and hugged Erestor tightly.

"Oh gwador, the Valar have forsaken us just as we forsook them!"

There was no response that would be adequate, for she spoke what was in the minds of all.

A roar from behind then made them turn, cold fear freezing them faster than the snows of the pass. A huge swell of orcs had seen them and was racing up the trail - and with them a flaming balrog. Amidst the screams Erestor made to draw his knives to run, to help the defenders but the ellith clung tight and would not release him.

"No, no! We must run too, ion nîn!" Mirieth cried, pulling Erestor off balance. The rush of refugees storming up the slopes filled the trail and Erestor had difficulty finding his footing, to pull himself upright. The screams had increased and were swollen with the echoes off the heights, and there was nothing else reaching his ears as he desperately tried to force his way through the hysterical masses scrabbling up the narrow path. He caught glimpses of Tuor, of Idril and he hoped that Eärendil was safe with them. He could see the colours of his House in the elves heroically protecting the trail but yet no sign of golden hair or golden mantle. Mirieth still tugged at him, trying to make him turn when they both stopped in alarm. A single figure stood in front of the balrog, sword drawn and ready to do battle.

"No! What is he doing?"

The crowds were pushed aside as Erestor slid and slipped down the rock-strewn path on his way back down the cliff. The path was treacherous here yet Erestor did not slow, his eyes fixed on the lone elf in fierce combat with this fiery nemesis. Each swing of the broad sword forced the balrog back, each cut leaching its flame, its strength. The warrior at his mightiest stood supreme and he would not be denied.

Every thought, every word, every touch, every smile, every kiss scorched through Erestor's mind. He was heedless of the elleth behind him, he was only aware of the ellon before him. The tips of the golden hair ended in flames where they had touched off the balrog's heat. The stench of burnt flesh rose to assail the senses from where the creature's cruel whip had melted the hammered steel onto the hard muscles. Scorch marks on hands and arms stood out on white skin. The pain must have been horrendous but the battle went on. Then - one final thrust. The balrog staggered near the edge and its bulk toppled, falling towards the chasm.

Erestor shouted his love's name triumphantly. The golden head turned, spying him on the slopes. His sapphire eyes were alight with elation and a hand began to rise in acknowledgement, not noticing a movement behind him. A claw made a final grasp, snatching on golden strands and two fell off the cliffs. The elf stretched out his hand to his love in supplication, then was gone.

An elf died.

And the heart left behind shattered.

Erestor could hear someone screaming - but then, there were so many screams. His throat hurt, was raw - but he could not reason why. He was frozen in a moment, a single moment. Day, night, heat, cold. Erestor could have defined none of them - in that moment. The hand shaking him was not really there. He was not really there. Arda had stopped turning and the world had disappeared.

Who was shouting at him? How could they disturb him now? Didn't they know that Glorfindel was gone? Didn't they know he had to follow? Glorfindel needed him. Glorfindel loved him. Only when hands clasped his face and turned his head did his eyes focus, his deafness clear. Mirieth? Why was Mirieth shouting? What was she saying?

"... don't let it be in vain, Erestor! We must go now. He died to save Idril and Tuor and Eärendil. He died to buy us time. He died for you and me, Erestor! We must go, for he died for you!"

He died for me. He fell and he died for me. For Erestor. He died because of me. He died because I shouted. Because I wouldn't leave him. He is dead.

he is dead
because I let him
because I distracted him
because I loved him

He is Dead.

The heart was already shattered; the soul was torn in two.
And as Erestor stared at the cliff edge

his mind broke

and Darkness fell.

Elvish:

pen-neth - little one
pen-vuin - dear one
nîn meleth - my love
nîn ind - my heart
Melin le - I love you
meleth-nîn - my love
seron vell - dear lover
ernil -prince
gwador - sworn brother
ion nîn - my son