Chapter 2: Life and Death
Glorfindel was tired. His blood roared in his ears. His throat was dry, and his lungs burned with the smoke. He bled and burned. His sword was heavy in his hands, his shield heavier. Yet, he fought on. He fought the great monster of flames and shadow. He pushed until he had no more to give, then pushed further.
He did not give.
He did not take.
He pushed.
He pushed until he had nothing left, then pushed further.
He fought.
On.
And.
On.
He prevailed.
Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower felt all strength leave him as the wicked whip of the shadowy balrog curled around him, snapping like icy fire and effectively capturing him. He felt his end was near, but he would not go down, nor leave this world, lest he take this fell beast with him.
With strength defiant of even an elf, he burst from the confines of his white-hot prison, the great warrior leapt forth and with the light of the Eldar shining in him, he thrust his mithril blade into the black ashy shadows of the balrog's belly.
With all strength gone, the warrior released his prized sword and watched as it, with the balrog, tipped over the edge of the cliff, but even as he fell to the ground, utterly spent, he felt the clawed hand catch. With wicked malice, those ashy talons caught the liquid gold of his shimmering elven hair.
And…
Together they fell, down, into the deep dark blackness.
Glorfindel had one single wish.
"Please, do not leave me here with the malevolent ashes of this deformed spirit?"
His desire.
His wish.
To be born away from the carcass of his dead foe.
To be buried under the light of the stars.
To see.
The stars.
Again.
"Fair thee well, beautiful Warrior of Gold."
A/N:
Chapter 2, Poor Glorfindel's first death. I'm not a super huge Tolkien fan, I admit I may get things wrong. Please correct me if I do, but forewarning, I am not perfect. I know it's short, they'll get longer, I hope you like it.
Many thanks, Tibblets, for reviewing. I edited chapter 1 a little, if you want to reread it.