A/N: There's not enough about Glorfindel, so I decided to write this fic
about him. It's only going to have three chapters, but I'm probably going
to write a sequel that may contain slash. "Golden Flower" can stand by
itself, though, so you don't have to read the sequel if you don't like
slash. Enjoy!
Glorfindel, chief of the House of the Golden Flower, ran as hard as he could. Gondolin, the magnificent Elven stronghold, was in flames. Turgon, his lord and High King of the Noldorin Elves, was dead and orcs swarmed everywhere, while dragons flew in the sky breathing fire down onto everything.
'A thousand curses be upon the head of that traitor, Maeglin,' Glorfindel thought in savage anger. 'That Dark Elf will pay for betraying Gondolin to our enemies, I swear it.'
He paused as he saw some beleaguered Elves of his house surrounded by orcs. The Elves were backed up against a crumbled stone edifice, their faces smeared with black ash and sweat. Despair was mirrored in their eyes, but they fought valiantly, striving to protect what remnant of their people that they could. Giving voice to a fierce battle cry, Glorfindel charged the orcs, his sword slicing skillfully through the air as it plunged into their bodies. The orcs were driven back by the fury of his assault and the previously surrounded Elves finished off the rest of the foul creatures.
"Follow me, my people!" Glorfindel shouted to them. The Elves rallied to his sword, and their small force cut a swath through the ranks of the enemy as they searched desperately for some escape.
'I must find the Lady Idril,' Glorfindel thought urgently, searching everywhere with his eyes.
Idril Celebrindal was the daughter of Turgon, and Glorfindel had sworn to his friend and lord that he would protect her. Glorfindel suddenly caught sight of Idril holding her child, Earendil, and standing next to her husband, Tuor. The shrieks and smoke of battle whirled about her, yet she seemed an island of calm in the midst of the storm, standing tall, with her child cradled protectively in her arms. He ran to her side and she spoke to him urgently, "Glorfindel, there is a secret entrance that leads out of Gondolin. Very few know of it, for I kept its making a secret, in case of an occurrence like this one. We must gather as many Elves as we can and reach it quickly."
Glorfindel nodded wearily and pushed his golden hair away from his dirt- streaked face. They had to hurry before the enemy found the entrance. The Elves made their way toward the hidden entrance, gathering others to them as they went. By the time they reached their destination, though, their force was still only a small portion of all those within Gondolin. Tears gathered in the corners of Glorfindel's eyes as he paused to take one last look at his beloved home. The glittering fountains and mighty walls of the city were crumbling and burning before his eyes as he gazed out over the green valley. At this time of year the elanor blossoms were starting to appear and the mighty trees stretched their leafy branches over the grassy ground. Glorfindel noticed one tiny sprig of elanor growing near his feet. It seemed so pure and innocent in the midst of all this carnage. He reached down to pluck the delicate flower and take it with him as one of the last reminders of fair Gondolin. But as he drew nearer, a small piece of flaming debris flew through the air and landed on top of the flower, crushing and burning it almost immediately. Glorfindel's hand stopped in midair and slowly clenched into a bloodless fist. Anger hotter than the flames of Orodruin coursed through his veins. If Morgoth himself had appeared, Glorfindel would have gladly challenged him in his hate and despair.
'Will everything that was once fair and pure come to such fate as this flower?' he lamented to himself
Knowing the need for haste, Glorfindel gave a last glance at the ashy remains of the flower that were even now being blown away by the hot breeze that wafted through the valley, before hurrying into the exit. Mourning would have to wait until they were safe, if any place could be considered safe in these days of pain. The sorrowful Elves made their way out of Gondolin and, struggling through the mountains, came to the pass of Cirith Thoronath, a narrow way surrounded by high cliffs. It was there that they were waylaid by a Balrog, the most powerful of the minions of the enemy. Many of the Elves quailed at this most hated and feared of enemies, one of those that had killed the mighty Feanor. Glorfindel, though, found himself suffused with rage. He would not let this evil thing harm any more of those he cared about.
"Demon!" he shouted. "Servant of Morgoth! You shall not pass me!"
The Balrog stood before Glorfindel, wreathed in dark fire that pulsed and glowed. It carried a long whip of fire that it swished threateningly at the Elf-lord. Glorfindel stared unflinchingly at the demon, and he began to whisper Elvish words of power that caused a white light to emanate from him. Drawing his sword, Glorfindel focused his entire being on the fight ahead. The Balrog made the first move, cracking its whip at the Elf-lord. Glorfindel nimbly avoided it, so sharply were his sense honed. Seeing an opening, he struck with his sword, eliciting a howl of pain from the demon as he pierced its fiery hide. The Balrog once more flailed its whip, and once more Glorfindel danced out of the way. Making six more strikes with his sword, Glorfindel felt himself begin to weary with the strain of calling on so much of his power. He stumbled once and before he could catch himself, the fiery whip seared across his chest. He gasped at the burning agony, but quickly recovered his reeling senses and avoided the next strike. The Balrog roared in triumph, seeing his opponent falter. After two more strikes of the whip, Glorfindel knew he would not be able to endure much longer. He drew on all of his power and with a yell, thrust his sword into the Balrog, piercing it to the core. Mortally wounded, the Balrog staggered toward the edge of the precipice on which the two combatants fought. Glorfindel lunged with his sword to finish the demon, but the Balrog also struck at the Elf with his whip. The two hit each other, but the Balrog unbalanced and he fell with a roar of rage as the edge of the precipice crumbled under him. The Balrog's whip was still wrapped around Glorfindel, however and the Elf felt himself being dragged over the edge into the abyss. Glorfindel looked up to see the faces of the Elves of Gondolin twisted in grief, silent tears falling from their cheeks as they watched the mighty Elf-lord fall to his doom, unable to come to his aid. Glorfindel closed his eyes in pain and his last conscious sensation was one of falling, falling, falling. . .
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Glorfindel, chief of the House of the Golden Flower, ran as hard as he could. Gondolin, the magnificent Elven stronghold, was in flames. Turgon, his lord and High King of the Noldorin Elves, was dead and orcs swarmed everywhere, while dragons flew in the sky breathing fire down onto everything.
'A thousand curses be upon the head of that traitor, Maeglin,' Glorfindel thought in savage anger. 'That Dark Elf will pay for betraying Gondolin to our enemies, I swear it.'
He paused as he saw some beleaguered Elves of his house surrounded by orcs. The Elves were backed up against a crumbled stone edifice, their faces smeared with black ash and sweat. Despair was mirrored in their eyes, but they fought valiantly, striving to protect what remnant of their people that they could. Giving voice to a fierce battle cry, Glorfindel charged the orcs, his sword slicing skillfully through the air as it plunged into their bodies. The orcs were driven back by the fury of his assault and the previously surrounded Elves finished off the rest of the foul creatures.
"Follow me, my people!" Glorfindel shouted to them. The Elves rallied to his sword, and their small force cut a swath through the ranks of the enemy as they searched desperately for some escape.
'I must find the Lady Idril,' Glorfindel thought urgently, searching everywhere with his eyes.
Idril Celebrindal was the daughter of Turgon, and Glorfindel had sworn to his friend and lord that he would protect her. Glorfindel suddenly caught sight of Idril holding her child, Earendil, and standing next to her husband, Tuor. The shrieks and smoke of battle whirled about her, yet she seemed an island of calm in the midst of the storm, standing tall, with her child cradled protectively in her arms. He ran to her side and she spoke to him urgently, "Glorfindel, there is a secret entrance that leads out of Gondolin. Very few know of it, for I kept its making a secret, in case of an occurrence like this one. We must gather as many Elves as we can and reach it quickly."
Glorfindel nodded wearily and pushed his golden hair away from his dirt- streaked face. They had to hurry before the enemy found the entrance. The Elves made their way toward the hidden entrance, gathering others to them as they went. By the time they reached their destination, though, their force was still only a small portion of all those within Gondolin. Tears gathered in the corners of Glorfindel's eyes as he paused to take one last look at his beloved home. The glittering fountains and mighty walls of the city were crumbling and burning before his eyes as he gazed out over the green valley. At this time of year the elanor blossoms were starting to appear and the mighty trees stretched their leafy branches over the grassy ground. Glorfindel noticed one tiny sprig of elanor growing near his feet. It seemed so pure and innocent in the midst of all this carnage. He reached down to pluck the delicate flower and take it with him as one of the last reminders of fair Gondolin. But as he drew nearer, a small piece of flaming debris flew through the air and landed on top of the flower, crushing and burning it almost immediately. Glorfindel's hand stopped in midair and slowly clenched into a bloodless fist. Anger hotter than the flames of Orodruin coursed through his veins. If Morgoth himself had appeared, Glorfindel would have gladly challenged him in his hate and despair.
'Will everything that was once fair and pure come to such fate as this flower?' he lamented to himself
Knowing the need for haste, Glorfindel gave a last glance at the ashy remains of the flower that were even now being blown away by the hot breeze that wafted through the valley, before hurrying into the exit. Mourning would have to wait until they were safe, if any place could be considered safe in these days of pain. The sorrowful Elves made their way out of Gondolin and, struggling through the mountains, came to the pass of Cirith Thoronath, a narrow way surrounded by high cliffs. It was there that they were waylaid by a Balrog, the most powerful of the minions of the enemy. Many of the Elves quailed at this most hated and feared of enemies, one of those that had killed the mighty Feanor. Glorfindel, though, found himself suffused with rage. He would not let this evil thing harm any more of those he cared about.
"Demon!" he shouted. "Servant of Morgoth! You shall not pass me!"
The Balrog stood before Glorfindel, wreathed in dark fire that pulsed and glowed. It carried a long whip of fire that it swished threateningly at the Elf-lord. Glorfindel stared unflinchingly at the demon, and he began to whisper Elvish words of power that caused a white light to emanate from him. Drawing his sword, Glorfindel focused his entire being on the fight ahead. The Balrog made the first move, cracking its whip at the Elf-lord. Glorfindel nimbly avoided it, so sharply were his sense honed. Seeing an opening, he struck with his sword, eliciting a howl of pain from the demon as he pierced its fiery hide. The Balrog once more flailed its whip, and once more Glorfindel danced out of the way. Making six more strikes with his sword, Glorfindel felt himself begin to weary with the strain of calling on so much of his power. He stumbled once and before he could catch himself, the fiery whip seared across his chest. He gasped at the burning agony, but quickly recovered his reeling senses and avoided the next strike. The Balrog roared in triumph, seeing his opponent falter. After two more strikes of the whip, Glorfindel knew he would not be able to endure much longer. He drew on all of his power and with a yell, thrust his sword into the Balrog, piercing it to the core. Mortally wounded, the Balrog staggered toward the edge of the precipice on which the two combatants fought. Glorfindel lunged with his sword to finish the demon, but the Balrog also struck at the Elf with his whip. The two hit each other, but the Balrog unbalanced and he fell with a roar of rage as the edge of the precipice crumbled under him. The Balrog's whip was still wrapped around Glorfindel, however and the Elf felt himself being dragged over the edge into the abyss. Glorfindel looked up to see the faces of the Elves of Gondolin twisted in grief, silent tears falling from their cheeks as they watched the mighty Elf-lord fall to his doom, unable to come to his aid. Glorfindel closed his eyes in pain and his last conscious sensation was one of falling, falling, falling. . .
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