A/N So I asked LadyLindariel out of a list of oneshots she would prefer over the other: she picked the ones that these two chapters are based from. Good thing they're Glorfindel based so I could post them in this section. And since there's actually people here that might read it in comparison to the Silmarillion section. :l Or I'll switch it to the Silmarillion if people are bothered by it.
Some bits of Silmarillion knowledge:
Nirnaeth Arnodiad was the fourth battle in Beleriand.
Fingon was an elf king.
Mandos/Namo is dead stuff.
Laiquendi are wanderer elves in my brain. (Erestor's lore is my sister's creation...)
I still don't own anything.
I hope you enjoy.
Crickets chirped their monotonous sounds in the twilight. One by one the lamps in the buildings were doused as the residents of Imladris turned in for the night. Only two remained awake so late in the night on one of the open terraces.
Erestor and Glorfindel simply existed, and every once in a while one of them would say something that sparked conversation. It mostly led up to them reflecting about old times in the Second Age, and if they were lucky: the First Age. One event that came to surface from their reminiscing was when Erestor, still considered an elfling at the time, beat the Valinorean elf in combat quite frequently. Glorfindel stared at the green-elf, his face twitching slightly while Erestor grinned in his simple amusements, and the silence came back full force soon after.
With the silence, Erestor started to think more about the First Age, sobering immediately and with sad pensiveness. So much had happened over the course of the years and ages, it both surprised and exhausted Erestor. He was not Glorfindel where he got a youth-boost by dying and being sent back, and after so much time: it can weigh one down. Elrond sometimes shared the burden of the years every now and then.
Glorfindel caught the change of expression and knew where the laiquendë's thoughts were going. "If we planned it better I would think Beleriand would still be standing…and a lot of other things aside," he mused softly.
"A lot of things would be different." Erestor's brows furrowed. "It is hard to grasp that it has been nearly six thousand years since then. And yet it feels so recent."
Glorfindel hummed. "I would say it has been a million years if you had not given me a recap of what the date was when I was dropped back on this side of the sea."
"What if you had not died?" Erestor asked abruptly.
The Vanya blinked at the question, caught off guard by it, "Pardon?"
"What if you had not fallen with the balrog?" Erestor repeated.
Glorfindel's expression became flat and distant as he stared at nothing. His gaze eventually dropped down to the cobblestone floor. "I would have wished I were dead."
Erestor watched his friend silently, his gaze asking his questions for him.
Glorfindel exhaled. "After seeing Fingon as mangled as he was after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad: armor melted, hair singed, limbs nearly burned off, seeing my own foe on the cliff made me panic at the thought of what I would escape with if I survived. Not that that would have stopped me." The Vanya's breath shuddered for a moment. "The survival of my people, especially Idril, Tuor, and their son, was far more important than my life. My grief and rage at the sudden destruction of Gondolin, the death of my king and friends, fueled the ardor of my spirit for revenge."
Erestor still remained silent.
"I was numb to the pain…I think I pulled off the incredible feat of letting your soul shine through to survive as long as I did."
Erestor started to think about the songs and tales that are sung about the fight. He looked mildly confused.
Glorfindel caught on again and frowned slightly. "It hurt, Erestor, when that beast grabbed me. The hot metal against my skin started to singe off the fabric, blisters, burns…" Glorfindel shook his head and stood up, finding it hard to continue. "I am sorry, but I must retire for the night."
The green-elf nodded. "I will be here for a while longer if you find you cannot sleep."
Glorfindel pressed his lips into a thin line. "You did bring up an interesting point though…but the answer is the same: I would have wished I died."
Erestor watched the trees while Glorfindel walked away. The laiquendë kept thinking about it. He had been there along with his kin to receive Gondolin's refugees, and hearing of Glorfindel's death caused him immense pain.
But what if that did not happen? What if Glorfindel had gotten out alive?
What if…
The procession all but collapsed in weariness and their wailing intensified: from sorrow and the wounds they garnered from their escape through the pass. The nomadic elves tried to make sense of the chaos while the Gondolindrim had a brief time to regain their bearings before they needed to move on. They were not out of danger yet.
Erestor stood aside as he watched the last surviving members of the king's house converse with a couple of chieftains of his people to figure out what they were to do next. Nan-Tathren was mentioned: the fair Land of Willows to the far south.
A different sound reached his ears and Erestor turned his head towards it, and his face instantly fell at the sight and his feet possessed minds of their own at that moment.
Two elves helped a stumbling Glorfindel forward as the lord of the golden-flower raved in Quenya: sorrow, anger, and anguish embedded in his voice. Erestor had to prevent himself from gasping as he beheld the mess that was his old friend.
The ends of Glorfindel's hair was burnt off and some parts of his scalp were seared clean of hair altogether. His breastplate looked partially melted before it had hardened again into this new shape, and the elf seemed to have a hard time breathing. What would have been trousers and tunics, the fabric hung pathetically in burnt shreds. The green-elf saw the red, raw, and sometimes black burns that dotted across his skin.
"We made it out, my lord," one of the soldiers panted tiredly in vain reassurance.
"What kind of victory is this!?" Glorfindel rasped in a scratchy voice before he broke out in a coughing fit. His legs gave way and his attendees could do nothing but let him drop to the ground. The once golden-haired elf coughed up blood.
More gathered around but Erestor got there first, "You oaf! What in the lowest caverns did you do?!" He questioned harshly, unsure and too scared to make the connection yet.
Glorfindel wheezed and about fell over onto his side. "Get it off….!" He begged in a sob. "Get this bloody thing off!"
Erestor felt his own panic grow as he was unsure of what to do other than grasp the elf's forearms as Glorfindel started to claw at everything that hurt.
"We do not have the necessary things to remove the armor." A former healer despaired.
"Who cares if we have the equipment!" a new voice shouted. "Help him!"
Erestor resolved himself and shifted his stance to a crouch. The cadets were trying to keep Glorfindel from face-planting to the ground. The younger elf grabbed him under the shoulders to get the Vanya to stand again. "Come on; just walk a little bit more and you can have your rest." He said grimly.
"He inhaled a lot of smoke and must have gotten a few embers in there too, that is why he coughs up blood. The lacerations and burns make him prone to infection, and we have nothing to help with that. It would not surprise me if he dies from his lungs filling up with fluid."
Erestor half listened to the list of complications from the healer as he stared at Glorfindel; the Vanya only half conscious of what was going. The painful process of removing his armor without the right tools was finally over and they waited for someone to find any spare clothes he could use. Glorfindel was only covered by a blanket.
The healer left the rock they placed Glorfindel against. A couple of other green-elves lingered nearby while Erestor remained close to keep the balrog-slayer company. Most of the wailing from the main host had died down, and it would not be long before they had to be travelling again.
Erestor uncorked a skin of water and held it to Glorfindel's lips. The elf did not respond and continued to stare vacantly into space.
"Come on, Glorfindel, you will only get a short reprieve before we have to go south." Erestor pleaded sadly: mourning the destruction of a fair place and the numerous deaths the Gondolin elves suffered. His heart went out for these Noldor, even if he was still wary of them.
"What victory is this?" Glorfindel rasped finally, still not taking the water. "T-they're a-all d-dead…dead."
"But you saved many lives aside," Erestor tried, not sure of how to comfort someone who had been stricken with so much pain in such a short amount of time.
Glorfindel shook his head again and gave a harsh cough; redness trailing down his mouth afterward. "W-we've f-failed…W-we're d-done for."
Erestor could do nothing but watch as Glorfindel completely lost all of his wit.
In reality…
Erestor shuddered as he broke away from the vivid imagining he let himself fall into. He did not fully break away though, continuing to dwell further on the what if. Glorfindel would have died from either heartbreak, drowned in his own blood, or succumbed to infection had he escaped the balrog. The elf lost too many loved ones to handle it all in one sitting. And the imagery, Erestor never wanted to see Glorfindel in such a state.
It would be cruel to the person to let them live like that, especially if the scars were permanent, and many things aside.
There were not many good outcomes either, if they existed, had Glorfindel survived the pain and heartache. He would have sailed to Valinor the first chance he got, and they would not be where they were at in this present age.
Erestor smirked grimly. In dim, morbid light of the idea, it was good then that Glorfindel died. He did not suffer needlessly, and he got a second chance at life, and as far as Erestor was concerned, that was a good enough outcome. The laiquendë got out of his seat and headed inside.
It was two in the morning.