The Road to Gondor
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Author's note: I woke up this morning, and despite the ton of Maths that I had to do, I really wanted to write some Erestor and Glorfindel. Thus, this. Enjoy!
The road to Gondor was long, and troublesome, and the conditions hard. Many in their party moaned terribly. 'Not enough food, not enough water, my best robes were torn by orcs!' they cried.
A pointed look from Lord Elrond more often than not solved these cries, for a little while that is, for the whines of many of them were unsilenceable, and annoying. It was this that often made him think that jumping into the Void, or living in a house full of Fëanorions would be leagues better.
There were a few though, in the sea of insufferable morons, that still regained their wits. For one, there was Lord Elrond, who had grown up in war-torn Beleriand, and lived through the War of Wrath, and those days, the Enemy's sight was long, and danger lurked around every path. Erestor too, one of the few survivors of Eregion, who too knew the danger that the paths could have, but now did not; Arwen who cared not for the hardships of the journey, only to see her love yet again. And him.
But in the greatness of their company, their was seldom time to seek out one and talk to him separately. It came as a pleasant surprise thus, when one morning on their way to Lothlórien, he found himself riding abreast with his dear friend: Erestor.
"Good morning!" he cheerily said to his companion.
"I will resist my urge to echo Mithrandir, and wish you the same," the dark-haired elf muttered.
He smiled. "Why, thank you!" he exclaimed. "Your pleasantness is rivalled by none."
Erestor glared at him. He continued smiling. The path was clear, the foresty landscape of the foothills of the Misty Mountains beautiful. The mountains themselves loomed over them: fair Celebdil, proud Caradhras, great Fanuidhol, and far Methedras. Their journey was yet long, as they had to yet pass for Caradhras, and go into Lothlórien, and then to Edoras, and in the end to Gondor.
Their was silence for a while, the only sound the snorting of the horses, the clopping of their feet and the faint mutterings of various elves. Then, Erestor spoke.
"I weep for her," he said, softly. Quick as a flash, Glorfindel turned to look at him. The Noldo was short, yes, according to the height of many of their kin, yet considering the Edain, he was tall. He was dressed in the rich robes of a high-ranking lord, as expected as the chief of Elrond's household. His hair was braided elaborately, yet without decoration. His face was proud and noble.
"For whom?"
"You know, Glorfindel. Do not pretend. Arwen." His eyes were grey, like all of the Noldor except for Finrod's line. They did not look at him, but instead in the distance, at something beyond the trees.
"Ah," there was a lump in her throat. "You speak of her choice."
"Her choice?" Erestor demanded, hissing in a whisper. It sounded much like a snake: deadly. "Of course I am speaking of her choice." He could feel the slow beats of anger rising up within, yet he knew that Erestor was not yet furious. When he was furious, all emotion went from him- and he was cold mask, sculpted of rage and cool vengeance. "She is young."
"As are you," Glorfindel nodded.
"But not as much as her," Erestor waved his free hand about, holding the reins of his chestnut mare with his right hand. "You should not talk. After all, not all of us can be older than the sun and moon."
"True," he agreed. "But where do you go with this, dear friend?"
Erestor deflated. "She knows not of Men," his voice was so low that even his ears had to strain to hear him. "Of their Gift. Soon, Aragorn would turn weary of the world, and leave it. Then, what shall happen to her? She is no Idril-"
"But, she is not Lúthien either," reminded Glorfindel. "Regardless of her ancestry and who she resembles."
"Isn't she?" challenged Erestor. "I would not proclaim Aragorn 'Beren', but I will be less hasty to say that she does not remind me of Lúthien."
"Can men be reembodied?"
"But Lúthien was not of men," Erestor said. "She was of Melian, and it was the Ainu in her that led her to make her choice."
"But the 'Ainu' in her as you so eloquently state, is present in Arwen too." Glorfindel's eyes grew tender. "Is it not Arwen's choice that she chooses to be counted amongst Men?"
"But..." Erestor struggled to come up with a reason. "It is," he admitted, but a fire lit in his eyes soon. "But it is one that shall lead her into sorrow."
"I did not know that you were gifted with foresight."
"I do not need foresight to know!" Erestor exclaimed. "She will- "
"Erestor," Glorfindel warned, his eyes flicking around. "Do not forget of our company."
He stopped, struck with sudden realization. Many of the elves around them were looking at them strangely, and with curiously quiet faces as if they had been eavesdropping. But Lord Elrond and Arwen at the front were unaware, riding peacefully and calmly. "I see," his friend whispered under his breath. "I shall talk to you tonight then, at the back of all the company."
He nodded in agreement, and Erestor flicked his mare's reins, urging her to trot faster, leaving him behind. Yet, as he watched red-robed Erestor ride to Elrond's side, a shadow of doubt and fear flickered in him.
The stars were high in the sky as fair elven voices raised in prayer to Elbereth. The minstrels strummed their harps to accompany them as slowly they travelled. If any had chanced to pass by, then a sight most ethereal would greet him. The elves shone, yes, with an inner light, yet at the back of the company was one who shone most brightest.
And accompanying him was dark-haired Erestor, once of Eregion and now of Imladris.
"Well met," Glorfindel whispered as he dropped back to meet him. "Fair is the night, and fairer the stars."
"Arwen," Erestor hissed. "Do not seek to convert the conversation, Glorfindel, I know you far too well."
Glorfindel sighed. "I see you have no wish to exchange pleasantries."
"Perhaps some other time," his friend cryptically said. "But not tonight. I have need of haste. Elrond will notice my absence soon."
"A! the popularity of elflings increase, as we old ones fade away," bemoaned Glorfindel, though one could hear the humor threaded in with the words. Gray eyes glared at him. "But I will hurry."
"You know what I meant to say this morning," Erestor interrupted. Perhaps, Glorfindel pondered, that was what he most liked about his dear friend: his forthness, while managing to not cause a diplomatic disaster. "Imagining something else will not help you. You know Arwen will-"
"-will die," Glorfindel closed his eyes. "But, she is happy. Will you wish upon her a life of sadness?"
"No," Erestor admitted. "But will she be truly happy? Tell me, Glorfindel: when she watches her father sail, and when her parents and all her loved ones are lost to her till the end of days; will she be happy?"
"Do you believe that you can stop her?"
"I can try-"
"You tell me, Erestor: if Morgoth himself was not able to stop Lúthien, then will you be able?" Glorfindel asked, wishing that he was not on horseback. Then, he could shake some sense into the younger elf. "Tell me, if you were Elrond, then would you watch her fade as she hears news of Aragorn's passing?"
"She would not-"
"Or, do you claim to know her mind better than she does herself? Quench my curiousity, dear friend, and I shall ask naught else of you: what would you do?"
"Sail!" exclaimed Erestor, though his voice was yet low. "And take her with me."
"Would that stop her?"
He stayed silent as Erestor fumbled for words, for the first time since he had met him; raising his eyes to the stars. As if by some strange force, his eyes found Gil-Estel, and memories came back to him: of a fair-haired kid as he grew up in Gondolin, and of the half-elf that came into Tirion and found the people gone.
"No," the voice was a whisper, and he turned to look at Erestor with his bowed head.
"She will not be moved, Erestor," Glorfindel assured him, softly. "I doubt that even Manwë would be able to stop her."
Erestor laughed, the sound ringing out through the trees. It reminded him much of the night in Imladris, before the setting out of the Fellowship: before the darkness. There had been a great change over the decades since the Fall of Sauron in the elves of Imladris; but now he had no body to inhibit. "You speak truth, Glorfindel!" he exclaimed. "That I am sure."
They were silent for a little while, tagging in the back of the group. "Have I ever told you how glad I am that you did not leave?" Erestor asked suddenly.
"Nay, you have not mentioned it," Glorfindel shook his golden head. "But I have assumed so much."
"I am glad, then," Erestor whispered.
"And I am glad too," Glorfindel smiled, "for surely by now, more would have died. And the conversation before that did lead to you confessing our friendship."
"I believe still in old age affecting your delusions," Erestor said scornfully, but he could feel the affection in his words. "But, those are past occurrences."
There was silence then for some time more. "I will ride ahead now," Erestor declared. "Lord Elrond must have noticed me gone."
"Aye," Glorfindel nodded. "Go then, and farewell for tonight!"
"Farewell," and then, he was gone, and Glorfindel was alone.
A little helter-skelter in its organization. I might edit it sometime later, just to update it and smooth out things. I hope you liked it.
Side note: This was intended to be a part of the same universe as 'A Midnight Conversation', though technically you don't need to read that to be familiar with it. Yes, I have decided to start a series of oneshots. Though not in form of a collection... I will start a list on my profile. Look out for 'Conversations'.
Thank you for reading this. I hope you gained some amount of enjoyment. Review, it brings me great joy!