Disclaimer: No elves are my property. Writing not done for profit.

Beta: Nienna

Feedback: Gives me a reason to write and post instead of just playing with scenes in my head.

Archive: Please ask

Summary: Glorfindel, reborn, finds himself changed, and unwilling to risk another fall for the sake of his vanity. AU.

A/N: The chapter title is the name of a book coming soon by George R R Martin. If you havent read the Game of Thrones series yet, do so at your earliest convienience. You wont regret it.

8-8-8-8-8-

The battle was over and the wind danced over the corpse-strewn plain as if it too was looking for its own among the corpses. Men and elves worked to find any who had survived the chaos of that last day's fighting. Bodies were being moved into neat lines for their final ceremonies; men to one side and elves to the other. The air was thick with smoke from the bonfires that were consuming the piled remnants of Sauron's filthy minions.

Erestor had joined the searchers, his broken arm splinted and bound to his side. There had not been enough poppy-dust for all of the wounded, and what there was had been used for those whose agonized thrashings may have cost them their lives. His arm hurt, but he had pushed the sensation away. He would not acknowledge it, though it lingered at the edges of his awareness.

A crow screeched at him, its harsh voice almost sounding like a laugh as he shooed the thing away with his good hand. He had tried to stop thinking about anything, just moving from body to body, touching each one, searching for some sign of life. There was an ache inside of him that had nothing to do with his injuries. They had denied the dark one his victory, though the cost had been high--Gil-galad and so many others lost, dead. Elves should not die. Each body he turned over, each broken corpse that he searched for pulse and breath was an eternity of happiness, joy, creativity, kindness, cut short before it had barely begun.

A strand of golden hair caught his eye, and it felt as if there was no longer room enough in his chest for his heart to beat. Using his good arm, he pulled one orcish corpse, then another one, off of the fair form. With frantic speed he searched for a pulse, and found none. Just as he thought his heart would break, his soul would shatter, his light would fade from the world, he saw the eyes of this dead elf. They were the green of deep water, and not the blue of spring skies, and he knew this was not Varyar.

Relief brought him to his knees, and for the first time he allowed himself to feel the pain, exhaustion and fear of the past five years. While he was not the only elf on the field of death and destruction, he was very alone when he bowed his head, covered his face with his hand, and wept.

--------------------

Glorfindel tied a strip of cloth over the wound on his upper arm. He felt safe here on the hillside, overlooking the site of the battle, tending to his wounds. There were none to see him here, none to know him. He would hear no words of praise for his actions on the field this day; he would have no temptation to feel flattered. He knew he was hiding, up here and alone, but it was much safer to suffer the shame of his cowardice than to risk the consequences of his vanity again.

He could see the tent Elrond had gone to from here, and he watched it, though the call of his destiny weighed lighter on his shoulders now that the fighting was done. Should some trouble arise, he was sure he could be back at Elrond's side in time to combat any threat.

From his vantage point, he could see young Erestor, and he watched as the dark-haired elf moved across the field, searching for something, someone. It had been half a day since the last time anyone, elf or man, had been found still alive on that field. It was a sad thing to watch, knowing there was so little hope that any may still live there.

He grieved for the young elf's pain, and more so when Erestor found the unmoving form under the pile of orc corpses.

Who was he? Glorfindel wondered as Erestor fell to his knees, as he covered his face with one hand, as his strong shoulders shook with sobs. Friend? Lover, brother, father? His heart mourned with the young one, and he yearned to climb down the slope, to go to him, bring him what comfort he may. Movement on the field stopped him before he could rise, and he watched as Elrond moved across the bloodied plain to Erestor's side.

"Erestor." Elrond's voice was gentle, his concern for the younger elf as real as the hand he rested on the cotton-clad shoulder. He was not reassured to find the wounded elf on the battlefield instead of sleeping on a cot in the healing tents, but Erestor had never been easy to command except in combat.

"I cannot find him," Erestor whispered, looking up at Elrond. His eyes were wide with suppressed distress, and exhaustion had left dark smudges underneath them. "His name is Varyar, and I cannot find him."

Elrond frowned, and lowered himself to Erestor's level, though he crouched there instead of kneeling in the dark mud.

"Erestor...I kept the lists of all of our warriors. I do not remember such a name." He was careful to not claim that the elf in question did not exist. Still, the statement seemed to add to the dark-haired elf's distress. Erestor gripped Elrond's arm with his good hand.

"And yet he was here, and his armor was in the fashion of Lindon, not of Lothlorien or the Greenwood. He saved me. He saved you. I saw him. I have to find him." The young elf's shoulders shuddered as if a wind of ill-tidings had passed through him. "His hair was gold and his eyes were blue, and he wore the boots that I gave to him..."

A crow, annoyed as the conversation's volume continued to rise, squawked its displeasure and hopped away. It had fed too well this day to fly.

Elrond let Erestor speak, then pushed a tangled strand of hair back from Erestor's face and wiped a muddy tear from his cheek. The streak that was left clean was as pale as a scar in comparison to the rest of his grimy skin. "I am sorry, young one. I only know that I was never under attack from the side that you guarded, and that whenever my gaze fell upon you that you were engaging some enemy in battle, even with your shield gone and your arm broken. You would not yield."

Erestor shook his head. "He was here. I must find him."

"They are still tallying the dead, and the living still report to their commanders. I swear to you the records will be examined. If he was here, he will be found." And then he gave his voice the tone that served so well in the healing houses or on the field of battle. "But he will not be found by you today, unless his bunk is next to yours, do you understand me?"

Dark hair veiled Erestor's face as he nodded his acceptance. "Aye, sir." Elrond gripped his shoulder for one moment more, and then offered his hand to help Erestor stand.

"I am pleased to hear it." And the healer in him was pleased to see the young elf rise without much assistance, and stand steady on his feet. Together, they trudged across the field to the healing tents.

"Erestor," Elrond began as they walked, coming at last to his reason for going after the young soldier. "I leave in a fortnight for Imladris. I am going to build a permanent haven there." Erestor looked up, dark eyes meeting grey ones as he listened. "I want you there. Will you

come with me, join my guard, and help ensure the safety of any who

needs a refuge?"

The younger elf winced. "I am flattered, Lord Elrond, but..."

Elrond cocked his head, watching this unexpected reaction.

"Please, if there is any other who would, who could do this, please

take another. I would be honored to go with you, to give you my loyalty,

but if I have the luxury to do so, I will put aside my sword and fight no

more."

How like Erestor to make even rewarding him a trial, Elrond

thought. The elf-lord was forced to smile. "I will find a place for you,

Erestor. So long as there is no need, I will not ask you to take up arms. Can you be satisfied with this promise?"

Erestor nodded. "Aye, I can be satisfied with that."

"Then I am pleased to welcome you as one of Imladris' first residents." It pleased Elrond's heart to say those words, to know his friendship with the strong young elf would continue.

Erestor smiled, and the warmth in his eyes was like sunshine breaking

over the horizon. "Thank you, my lord. I will not disappoint you."

Somehow Elrond could not doubt those words.