Chapter Five: Great Balls of Fire
"Glorfindel, lean on us," Arwen said. The night had become darker as they rode into town, partially because of their sensitivity to the natural world around them, which was distressed. The chimney smoke helped add to the uneasy feel of the town by blotting out the stars with pluming grey-brown shadows.
Glorfindel's breathing was uneven, taken in shallow pants, broken off by sudden tremulous gulps. Legolas gently pulled him from Asfaloth's back, as Arwen guided him safely to the ground and held him upright.
Asfaloth placed his warm, velvet nose against Glorfindel's chest, meaning to comfort him, but it created more of a burden on the other two Elves.
Arwen shook her head, "Daro, Asfaloth. Cin mil dringa tin naeth, egh daro men. Tiriatham Glorfindel an edh, im gwestam." The white horse reluctantly stepped back.
Legolas eased what weight he was supporting onto Arwen and stepped back. She adjusted to it and said, "Take the horses to the stalls. I will go with Glorfindel."
She was a Queen among men, and they were more likely to listen to her than they were to Legolas. But even then.... Perhaps it was only Glorfindel's talk of things neither he nor Arwen could hear, but Legolas found himself apprehensive, his gaze darting from one obscured corner of town to the other as he led the horses away.
Since the Prince of Mirkwood had come and gone, the inn had been through a buzz of activity and overcrowding. Arwen and Glorfindel had to force their way through the door, to be met with a room so cramped they could not hope to find a path to the rooms.
The Men had been surprised when they saw Legolas Greenleaf. They were awestruck when they looked upon Arwen Evenstar, whose beauty had not been seen in Middle-earth in hundreds of mortal lifetimes.
Arwen's hand strayed from Glorfindel to the hilt of her thin mithril dagger, which had been a wedding gift from Gimli, and Aragorn had insisted she take with her. She searched their faces and said clearly, "We have a room here. I wish to see the keeper of this inn, that he may take us to it."
"Ah, you may stay in my room, milady," a man standing near them snickered, leering at her.
Glorfindel drew his breath and forced himself to stand a little straighter. Arwen saw his strength could not last much longer, and she knew that these Men must not see any more weakness than they already had.
"Where is the innkeeper?" she demanded, drawing all of her royal heritage into the command.
"I am he," the Innkeeper said, working his way through his room of customers. He stopped in front of them, trying hard not to stare at her. Once his eye caught the jagged scars on her companions face, it was impossible to turn his eyes elsewhere. "What happened to 'im?"
"That is not your concern," Arwen told him as gently as possible, while leaving no doubt that the matter was closed. "Please show us to the room which my companion, Legolas, rented from you."
"Of course," he said absently.
The maiming of an Elf is a grievous thing for anyone to witness, for they are closely entwined to all beautiful things which men long for and yet struggle to comprehend. There was much sorrow, and pity, and even fear in the Innkeeper's face as he stared so long at Glorfindel.
"Please," Arwen whispered. "Take us there."
"Of course." This time, he turned away and led them up a flight of worn, splintered stairs. He unlocked an old, warped door and held it open for her. By this time, she was mostly dragging Glorfindel. He could hardly lift his own feet. "Do you need a healer?"
"No. He needs a peaceful night's rest. When my companion comes, please be sure the crowds do not hinder him, or disturb us through the night. You will be paid generously for such efforts." Arwen helped Glorfindel to the straw bed and looked over her shoulder at the Innkeeper.
"I will do as you say," the man answered, and hurried out, shutting the door behind him.
Glorfindel groaned, squirming from side to side; eventually, as Arwen saw, he forced himself to lie still. This was only accomplished when he curled himself up, hugging his abdomen and tucking his chin onto his chest. Finally, he slipped into his Elvish dreams.
Arwen sighed when he tossed no more, and shifted her attention back to guarding the door and waiting for Legolas to return.
She was surprised when, without any disturbance from below, she heard his soft footfall approaching the door. Arwen opened it quietly for him, and once he was inside, she sat back on her stiff wooden chair.
"He sleeps?" Legolas asked, hardly above a whisper, as he gazed at the huddled form on the bed.
"Yes. And not too soon. He behaved as...as Men I have seen do." Arwen blinked and studied her knife. "Sick men."
She continued to stare at her knife, but she was aware that Legolas's eyes had turned to her. "What do you mean, Lady Undomiel, that he behaved as....?"
"A sick man; a mortal, stricken with illness."
Legolas stared first at her, then at Glorfindel, in disbelief. Arwen placed the knife on her lap. "Whatever ails him presently, Legolas, he hid it from my father, or it is new." Desolately, she went on, "Or perhaps he is only further exhausted than we thought him to be."
"You think worse. I know it, but you must not." The prince turned to her, his expression stubborn as only the youngest son of King Thranduil could make it. "I know what assumption this has lead you to make, but I suggest, even for his sake do I beg, that you to take it back and dwell on other thoughts."
She shook her head, her eyes bright with sorrow, rather than with Elven beauty. "Playing ignorant will not help him."
"Nor will giving up hope for him!" Now beneath the persistence, there was confusion, and dismay. "We must not lose hope for him. We do not know what has beset him, and if nothing else, Queen of Gondor, cling to that. For we know not."
Glorfindel shivered, uncurled slightly, and drifted back into the waking world. He shuddered every so often, but otherwise remained as still as he had when he slept.
"How do you feel?" Arwen asked, crossing the room to his side.
"I...do not know." His voice was low, and bare. "My head is light, and at times your voice sounds muffled to my ears. I sweat, though I am not hot.... When I move, the ground seeks to throw me aside, and I fear it, for I cannot guess where I should fall."
"How long have you suffered thus?" Legolas asked.
"Not long. It was sudden, but it relents now," as he spoke, he uncurled himself a little more, tentatively. "I felt similarly before, when I labored under the Orcs' foul claws. But it is many times multiplied this night."
After a moment of thought, he went on quietly, "They made me drink a black liquid that even they had not touched. For a few seconds afterwards, I was dizzy...much like I was just now. When it passed, they tied me with my back pressed against the red eye they had carved into a tree nearly as old as you, Arwen. Then they took my sight, or what was left, for when we battled, they had..." Glorfindel's voice seemed to catch in his throat. "I dreamt of this, but I do not wish to speak on it any longer."
"Recover your strength. If you are well enough in a few hours, I will ask that you eat something." Arwen told him softly.
A fight had begun downstairs, and the Elves listened for a few minutes as it grew louder, as if it included every Man who had shoved himself into the small dining area.
Abruptly it stopped.
Arwen's and Legolas's eyes were both fixed on the same far corner of the room, which was situated above where the fight had been.
"This is strange; Aragorn would be curious to hear this," Arwen murmured. "To have an entire room of drunken Men stop fighting at once."
Legolas tensed. "There has been a hateful presence in this village since before we came upon it. I feel it has come now to the Inn."
Glorfindel, too, had his attention fixed on the curt silence. He gasped slightly and said, "They ask about us."
Their sharp hearing caught the faint clack of boots on the stairs; it was plain that whoever it was tried to come stealthily. Legolas turned to Arwen. "We cannot get to the door if we go downstairs; neither can we fight off all the Men in this Inn."
"The window is not high," she answered. Legolas nodded. "Glorfindel, come--"
"Yes, I heard," he said briskly.
Legolas backed away from the door and set an arrow to his bow. Glorfindel and Arwen opened the window, which was perhaps twenty feet from the cobbled street below, but it was also sheer, with no vines to grip.
"The roof is closer than the ground," Arwen whispered, as they heard two more pairs of boots come up the stairs. "Stand on this ledge" she took his hand and placed it on the window sill "and I will help you up."
He unsteadily balanced himself, half in and half out of the window. "Go, now!" Glorfindel sprang up and grabbed for where he assumed a ledge would be. One hand caught the shingled rooftop. Arwen grasped his feet and pushed him up, until he was able to pull himself the rest of the way.
"Follow him!" Legolas cried. "They await someone."
Arwen disappeared out the window. Legolas returned his arrow to his quiver and followed seconds behind her.
"Why do they not come?" Arwen asked. "Surely they do not think we would stay in our room while they gather forces."
Legolas shook his head. "I do not know. Unless...they are waiting for us to move."
"Burn it to the ground!" a shout called out of the darkness in the streets. Torches were lit and cast upon the Inn.
"Asfaloth! Gaernell! Arod!" The horses raced to the side of the Inn, despite the terror of the fire and smoke. But they could not drop forty feet onto their backs without harming them; and even if they could, Glorfindel could not see where to jump.
Below, they heard someone call out, "Elves!" and arrows were launched at every window, as the flames spread higher.
"Daro, Asfaloth. Cin mil dringa tin naeth, egh daro men. Tiriatham Glorfindel an edh, im gwestam." means: "Stop, Asfaloth. Your love beats back his grief, (yet) you halt us. We will watch Glorfindel for you, I swear."