From the Ashes by Jessie Syring

Disclclaimer: all characters belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. I hope I insult no one by playing with his characters.

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Chapter Five

Concern lined Erestor's face as he made his way through the halls of the Last Homely House. Three days had passed since he and Glorfindel had gone to the waterfall and he had scarcely seen the golden-haired Elf since then. When they had met, Glorfindel seemed preoccupied and quickly excused himself. A few discreet questions to the servants revealed that Glorfindel had been seen in the library, often late in the night.

Erestor entered the library and stopped, his expression shocked. Books were scattered across several tables, thrown carelessly atop one another in piles. Several had ended up on the floor. At the far end of one table, Glorfindel leaned over a book and flipped rapidly through the pages.

"Glorfindel, what are you doing?" Erestor asked sternly, carefully collecting several books from the floor and placing them on the table.

Glorfindel barely spared him a glance. "None of these books are correct," he growled, slamming the book shut and scanning the shelves around him. "Are there any other books on the Fall of Gondolin?"

"Perhaps if you told me exactly what you were looking for, I could help you find it instead of you leaving these books about where they could be damaged."

Glorfindel leaned heavily on the table. "All of these books are...lacking on certain details."

"There were precious few details that could be learned. Few warriors survived and most of the people were too traumatized to speak clearly of the events."

"Tuor survived," snapped Glorfindel. "He could have told."

Erestor picked the last of the books from the floor and set them on the table. He regarded Glorfindel with a confused expression. "Told what, Glorfindel? If I am to help, you must stop speaking in riddles."

"I wanted to see how history remembers us."

Glorfindel spun around and began pacing. Erestor watched him with worry---he had never seen his friend so agitated. He glanced at the book Glorfindel had been looking at and scanned the contents of the pages.

Glorfindel glowered across the table at the tome. "Gothmog was the greatest of the Balrogs. It was Gothmog who slew Fëanor and Fingon and commanded the attack on Gondolin."

"The histories say as much," Erestor said carefully, not sure of the best response.

"So why does Ecthelion get a mere sentence?" Glorfindel jabbed a finger at the page in question. "He sacrificed himself to kill Gothmog. He robbed Morgoth of perhaps his greatest servant. By killing Gothmog, he bought us precious time to get everyone we could to the tunnel."

Glorfindel broke off and turned away again, staring out the window. After a long moment, he took a deep breath and said, "I saw him die, Erestor. I saw him die and could do nothing. So I fled with everyone else. And for my actions, I am given two paragraphs. Two paragraphs. For falling off a cliff."

"Your battle was witnessed by many. You were---"

"A hero?" Glorfindel shook his head. "That word is better suited to others. I merely did my duty."

Erestor nodded thoughtfully and rose. "Come with me," he said.

Glorfindel frowned but obeyed. Erestor led him to a well-lit alcove in the upper gallery. After a few moments of searching the shelves there, the dark-haired councilor selected a thin book and held it out to him.

"I think this may be what you are looking for," he said quietly.

Glorfindel accepted the book and looked at it. The cover, made of worn leather, was dry and cracked. Embossed on the cover in gold were the words Ehtelë A Los'lóŕiol: Arátor Ondolindö.1 Glorfindel looked at Erestor, his expression clearly one of surprise and curiosity.

"It is written in Quenya," said Erestor. "Too few in Imladris can speak it, let alone read it in poetic verse. But I think you will find what you are seeking here."

Erestor turned and left the library, smiling as he heard a startled gasp from Glorfindel.

ڃ ڃ ڃ

Glorfindel took the book and opened it to the first page as Erestor began walking away. He couldn't contain a startled gasp as he saw the forward, written in the more commonly used Sindarin. The hand that had scribed the words was eerily familiar to him.

I have seen many things in my mortal life. None will ever equal the splendor or tragedy of Gondolin, the Hidden Rock. Better was it named in its founding: Ondolindë---Stone Song. Truly it was a beautiful blend of the solidness stone and the harmony of nature.

But this tale is not of Gondolin itself. Many songs and stories are already told of its glory. Instead, I will speak of two of the greatest acts of courage I have ever witnesses.

Ecthelion, lord of the Fountain, and Glorfindel, lord of the Golden Flower, were two of the greatest Elves I have ever had the privilege to know. They had strength of will and love of life like few to walk this world before or since. Both died at the Fall of Gondolin, in great acts of self-sacrifice for a cause they did not know was already lost.

Age is upon me, and the sea calls me. Before I set sail, I will tell the tale of these great champions.

Were Ecthelion and Glorfindel to walk the world again and read these words, I think they would laugh. They were neither heroes nor champions.

They would say they only did their duty.

Tuor

Glorfindel dropped heavily into a chair, shocked. He stared at the book for several minutes. At last, he turned to the next page.

ڃ ڃ ڃ

The sound of a merry voice raised in song echoed through the vaulted halls of the Last Homely House and penetrated even the quiet study used by Erestor. He looked up from the ledger before him and cocked his head to one side, listening. A smile crossed his face as he recognized the voice. As he rose, the door to the study opened and Glorfindel entered.

"Erestor, why are you closed in here doing work that can be left for another time?"

"Unfortunately, I have delayed too long on this already. It should have been completed some weeks ago." Erestor eyed his friend. "You are in higher spirits than you were this morning. I take it you found Tuor's poems to your liking?"

"Quite accurate, but Tuor's words are those of a poet. 'Ecthelion of the voice of music?' And 'golden Glorfindel?'" Glorfindel laughed lightly. "Hardly descriptions I would use in the heat of battle."

"Nor would any, I should think," said Erestor. "It may be how he wished to remember you."

"It is fitting. Silly, but fitting. I am surprised, though. He never struck me as having a poet's heart." Glorfindel looked away, his smile fading. "Erestor, I...do not have the words to thank you. You have been a true friend with the patience of the Valar themselves."

Erestor put a hand on Glorfindel's forearm, drawing his gaze. "There is no need to thank me. I understand now, better than before, how strange these times must seem to you."

"Less strange now for your help."

Erestor shrugged but could not hide a smile. "It is a fair trade for the tales you share with me."

Glorfindel smiled as well. "Perhaps. But I am grateful you have shown me that the heroes of the First Age have not been forgotten." He looked at the book and chuckled. "Instead, we are relegated to poem and song."

Erestor laughed. "You sound like that is a fate worst than death."

"Tuor's poem is well suited to a warrior. I fear what other songs may be sung."

"I am certain Lindir would be more than happy to give you examples."

"I will forego that pleasure, thank you!" Glorfindel put an arm around Erestor's shoulders and directed him toward the door. "But now I have more questions and it is nearly time for the midday meal."

Laughing at Glorfindel's enthusiasm, Erestor followed him out of the study.

ڃ ڃ ڃ

1 Fountain and Flower: Heroes of Gondolin. Translated from Quenyan.