Chapter 11
Glorfindel was cantering back to the Bluebell Woods, singing a bardic love song, when he heard the three horn blasts. He reigned in Asfaloth and turned his head in the direction of Imladris, scarcely believing what he heard.
Three meant there were enemies within the valley, and he waited for a few moments to hear if there were more signals, or if there was a secondary blast that would indicate a mistake. When none came, he spurned Asfaloth into a full gallop, racing back to the meadow to retrieve Ereiniel.
The memories of fire and collapsing stone were too tantalizingly close to flooding his mind.
Though he knew Ereiniel could defend herself, he didn't want her to be alone and unarmed, especially since he wasn't fully aware of the situation. Besides, no enemy had yet been able to stand against them when they fought together. Whatever foul creatures had invaded the valley would be swiftly dealt with.
Glorfindel burst through the trees and into the meadow, calling Ereiniel's name, but found it empty. Well, almost empty. His heart pounded as he dismounted and carefully approached the burly orc lying dead amongst the bluebells, black blood trickling from his nose and mouth.
He drew his sword and held it close to its mouth to ensure that no breath came from its lungs, and seeing none, he turned his attention to the surrounding area. His blue eyes searched the grass and flowers for any sign of where Ereiniel might have gone, and quickly found a horse tread that differed from Asfaloth's.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized it and saw that it turned back towards Imladris. For once he was thankful that Elrond had sent Erestor to interrupt their evening, so much so that he almost forgave him for his last intrusion. He still had no idea how Erestor managed to slither into that waterfall cave without getting soaking wet when he and Ereiniel went for a swim one night.
Moreover, he was surprised that Erestor had agreed to follow them. The advisor was clearly not prepared to see them in the water, kissing, without any clothes on last time. It was probably the only time Glorfindel had ever seen the pristine advisor blush, stutter, and hesitate about what to do. Luckily, he had decided —for all their sakes— to keep his mouth shut and not inform Elrond about that incident.
He didn't even want to think about what the king would have done if word got back to him about it.
Putting those thoughts from his head, Glorfindel crossed back over to the orc and decided to follow its path from the forest. His large feet had made clear impressions in the grass and had snapped some of the flowers as he ran across the meadow. Glorfindel ducked beneath a large bough and through a cluster of bushes when he came across two dozen more footsteps.
These were smaller in size, and he could tell that there were not as big as the dead orc, though one seemed to be heavier than the others. They all stopped about where he was standing, then turned to the east.
With a solid lead, Glorfindel called for Asfaloth and swung himself up into the saddle when the horse drew near. "Come, Asfaloth!" he said. "Let us quickly find these orcs and dispatch them, they are disturbing my carefully planned evening with my beloved!"
These orcs would regret intruding into their sanctuary once he found them, for he had every intention of revealing his full might as a Balrog Slayer. Then he would happily spend the rest of the night curled up in Ereiniel's lap with a bottle of wine in his hand. Better yet, he could convince her to go for a late-night swim.
