Chapter Ten

They marched unopposed through the countryside, keeping a good pace yet it was barely more than a stroll after the ice crossing. The land offered them more than enough food and the host grew stronger with each passing day. Ecthelion gradually stopped heaping Glorfindel's plate with food and following him around, although that changed little for they sought each other out for company. Idril did not smile, walking with her cousin instead of her father.

"You understand," she said simply when Glorfindel shot her a silent question. "You know the pain." So he did, it was only now that they were safe from hardship that he began to miss his father. Alqualondë seemed further and further behind them and although he was still prone to waking in terror it no longer occupied his every thought. His father was dead and as he looked at the fair land around them, Glorfindel regretted it for his father wished to see Middle Earth and he had not. Sometimes, when Idril broke into sobs once more, he wished that he could change places with his father and be dead so that they who had wanted to see the new lands could and he could be home again. Then Ecthelion would come with his infectious smile and all thoughts of that nature would go.

"There should be some sort of danger," Fingon said after a week or crossing the new land. "The Enemy lives in these lands and holds Fëanor's jewels. Why have we not come across him?" Glorfindel too had begun to wonder. Turgon took no part in his Father's councils, promoting Glorfindel to stand in his stead.

"Perhaps he dwells further to the south, or north? He may not be aware of our coming," he answered. Fingon shook his head, turning to his cousin.

"Finrod, tell him what the scouts saw."

"We have been observed, from afar, by what creatures we cannot tell but they are not elves." Glorfindel felt a chill run down his spine at the way Finrod spoke of their watchers. "He knows we are here, Glor, and he knows we are coming."

"Yet we do not know where his lair is," said Fingon with a scowl. "It is of no matter. We shall come across some folk who do soon enough. It is too rich here for no one to dwell in this land." Fingon looked him over carefully. "You look stronger. Strong enough to hold a sword?"

"If the need arose," answered Glorfindel. He had no wish to repeat Alqualondë and would think twice before pulling his blade out.

"Gather some others, those who seem strongest but have not been picked as scouts, and begin training with your blades. We will have need of warriors here."

"Go, Glor. All lords are already forming their companies," added Finrod. Glorfindel would more gladly take Finrod's word that Fingon's for the son of Finarfin had no blood on his hands. He nodded and took his leave of them, heading straight to find Ecthelion.

"Finrod bids me form a company of warriors for training," he said quietly. Neither had held a sword since Alqualondë, Ecthelion had had to clean his since then.

"Do you wish to ask me to form part of it?" Ecthelion asked, staring at the ground.

"We need everyone, Thel. If you want to, there will be a place for you."

"Because I have proven myself as a warrior in the only battle we have ever faced." Ecthelion spat and stalked away a few paces before turning around, his face creasing into a frown. "I regret it, and I am full of remorse. That is not enough, though, is it?" Glorfindel had to shut away his desire to say no. It was not enough to cancel out the wrongs inflicted on the Teleri, it was never going to be enough.

"Prove yourself now, as a valiant defender of our people and that will be sufficient," he answered. Ecthelion's frown faded and he looked distrustful. "Come, Thel. We need you, and everyone else. Come and train with me."

"To stop you hurting yourself, the clumsy oaf you are." Glorfindel put on a grin and slipped his arm through Ecthelion's.

"To stop Artanis hurting me," he corrected.

Artanis did not deign to join them. Instead Glorfindel cobbled together some two dozen elves, mostly nearer his own age or younger who still had some sort of enthusiasm for swordplay. Most were from Finrod's host and were blameless at Alqualondë. He did not bother with anything more complicated than pairing up and trying to hit each other. It had been months since he actually sparred with someone and he was still far weaker than Ecthelion.

"I think you are supposed to move your feet," Ecthelion said eventually after rapping his shins with the wooden stick. Glorfindel scowled at him and moved aside to land a blow on Ecthelion's shoulder.

"And I believe you are not meant to leave your body so open to attack." Around them floated the almost joyful banter of the partners, each reminding the others of things they had long since forgotten. Some changed to opponents that matched their ability but Glorfindel stayed with Ecthelion for they were almost evenly matched, once he was stronger they would be equals.

"Excuses," Ecthelion muttered as he voiced that opinion. "I am being gentle, Glor, for I know you are still little more than a skeleton. I will not be so kind when you are fitter." Glorfindel wiped the sweat from his face and nodded, too busy catching his breath to reply. "I think that is enough for you." He disliked being resigned to the side lines but gradually the others filtered off as well, each exhausted from marching and still weak.

"Let us hope we are all stronger when we do meet the Enemy," he muttered darkly a he leaned against Ecthelion. There was silence for a moment before he felt a cheerful nudge.

"Getting stronger starts with supper." Glorfindel laughed.

"You are incorrigible," he told Thel and received a grin in return.

"And hungry. Come." He was pulled gently to his feet and bundled towards the foragers and food.