Chapter Six: Lost
in the Flood
A/N: Warning! This chapter is the reason for the rating. If violence bothers you, be careful.
Glorfindel stood next to the white horse, stroking its sides and back with the brush. He turned to the Elf standing next to him. "What is this horse's name, Arandur?"
Arandur glanced at the horse, then smiled and gave its nose an affectionate stroke. "This is Súlfëa, Master Erestor's horse. She is remarkably calm right now—you must have a good effect on her. Most of the time she is so nervous and high-strung that the slightest disturbance will terrify her."
Glorfindel snorted. "A lot like her rider, then."
The Noldorin archer was silent for a few moments. "No, not like Master Erestor," he said at last. "He is wise and cautious, not jumpy like Súlfëa. If he reacts to a situation, he has good reason to do so. I do not know him very well—no one does but Captain Belegon, and even he does not fully understand him—but I know him enough to know that he is worth listening to. It would be unwise to disregard him."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? I was unaware that anyone liked him. To be honest, I cannot see why."
Arandur shook his head. "You have not given him a chance, then. He is one of the most respected people in Imladris, and not without reason. Though admittedly he is weak in social skills, even Lord Elrond himself would hand him the authority of Imladris without hesitation. I would trust him to solve any problem of mine. Perhaps I do not know him as well as I know others, but that does not mean that I do not think highly of him. If you demean him, you have obviously not given him a chance to prove himself to you."
"He has had plenty of chances," huffed Glorfindel. Noldor were fiercely defensive of one another, he thought, and Arandur was probably just defending his kinsman. "The only thing that he has proven to me is that he is one of the rudest, most ill-mannered Elves I have ever known."
The Noldo cocked his head to one side. "He is certainly opinionated, but that is a quality necessary for his position. He only gives his opinion when he is asked for it, and he always has sound reasons."
"I would like to know what his 'sound reason' is for being so cantankerous. He seems perpetually annoyed and irritated."
"Have you ever thought, Glorfindel, that perhaps to him you are perpetually annoying and irritating?"
Glorfindel was taken aback by the blunt observation. "I am doing nothing to antagonize him!" he protested.
"Does he see it that way? You can only see a situation from your own perspective, certainly, but have you ever wondered the effect that your manner has on him? You seem quite ready to be charming and accommodating to the rest of us, but why are you so prejudiced against him?"
Glorfindel opened his mouth to reply, then slowly closed it. He brushed Súlfëa's coat, gently stroking the smooth side with the brush. Suddenly he hit a sore spot, and the mare whinnied and pranced, shying away from Glorfindel and Arandur. Glorfindel reached out to her and laid a calming hand on her nose, then began to speak soft words of Quenya to calm her down. She slowly began to relax, and after a few moments Glorfindel was able to resume brushing.
Arandur tapped his shoulder. "Glorfindel, what just happened?" he asked.
He gave the Noldo a confused look. "I accidentally hit a sore spot on her back, and she was startled. So I calmed her down and then went back to brushing her." He tilted his head to one side. "Why do you ask?"
"Why are you willing to be so patient and gentle with this horse, when you refuse to even be civil to Master Erestor? Everyone is willing to accommodate Súlfëa, but almost everyone reacts the same way to Master Erestor that you do."
Glorfindel shook his head. "The metaphor is hardly appropriate, Arandur. Súlfëa is a horse. She is not being vindictive or antagonistic when she reacts."
"And neither is Master Erestor," said Arandur. He gave Súlfëa one last pat and walked away.
Erestor sat down where Belegon had indicated. He closed his eyes and put a hand to his aching head. Neither one of them spoke for a few long, uncomfortable moments.
"Well," said Belegon finally, "have you anything to say?"
"No," murmured Erestor into his hand.
"Good. Because I have a lot to say." The captain reached up and moved Erestor's hand away from his face. "Look at me, Erestor."
Erestor looked up obediently, and to his surprise there was no anger in Belegon's emerald-green eyes. They were full of disappointment. To Erestor, that was worse than the anger would have been.
"Do you remember what I told you about dogs and wolves?" the captain said. "I told you that some personalities cannot coexist peacefully without effort. Perhaps, I said, you and Glorfindel simply cannot get along without effort. You have not been making very much effort, have you?"
Erestor shook his head miserably. "When he speaks to me, I get so angry that I lose my temper, and it is as if any effort on my part is meaningless."
"No effort in such a situation as this is meaningless. Glorfindel cannot argue with you if you do not ever answer him, can he? I think that if you will make even the smallest bit of effort, you will be amazed at the results. What you have done so far has certainly not been any good—I almost could not believe that it was you that was saying those things."
Erestor burned with shame. "I did not mean what I said. Glorfindel annoys me greatly, and I have trouble with my temper when I am around him, but I do not hate him."
"I know you do not, but this bickering needs to stop—how do you think we are going to appear to these Men now? At least both of you had the decency not to speak in a language they know! If there really is a possibility for trouble, then we Elves need to be in perfect unity. We cannot be in unity if you and Glorfindel refuse to cooperate with one another. If we are divided, then anything can rise and destroy us. I say all this on behalf of everyone involved."
"I know," said Erestor, guilt swallowing him. "I am sorry if I have endangered the group. It was the last thing I would have ever wanted to do." He sighed. "I wish I had never come. I have done nothing but cause trouble for everyone."
"Do not say that, Erestor," said Belegon, shedding his 'captain' demeanor like an unwanted cloak. "I, for one, am glad that you are here. True, you have made mistakes, but we all make mistakes, and they are no gauge of a person's worth. If nothing else, you will be absolutely instrumental once we reach Mithlond—no one else knows how to work out treaties and the like."
"I suppose so," he admitted. "This was not at all what I had expected."
"Life is rarely what we expect, but in the end it is better that way. Do not call the journey a waste before you see the end of the path." Belegon stood and gave Erestor's shoulder a small squeeze. "Take heart, my friend. Do what you can, and leave the rest in the keeping of Ilúvatar. He will see to it that everything works out for the best."
Suddenly a loud call echoed through the cavern. It sounded like a shrill horn giving a loud blast of warning, and Erestor had to stop up his ears for fear of damage to his hearing. "What in Arda was that?" he said to Belegon as soon as the echo had faded to a more tolerable volume.
But Belegon was already running out of the chamber toward the opening of the cave. "Malchathol!" he called over his shoulder to Erestor in explanation. "Something must have gone wrong; he is sending an alarm!"
Erestor felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. A sickening feeling spread through him as he raced behind Belegon. He knew it just as surely as he knew his own name—something had gone very, very wrong.
Glorfindel and Arandur started running the moment they heard Malchathol's horn. They met Rasaras in the hallway, and the three of them raced toward the entrance. The noise echoed all around Glorfindel's head, filling his ears and mind with the desperate-sounding call.
He had almost reached the chamber Malchathol was in, when suddenly he felt a heavy weight slam into him from the side. He jerked his head away just in time to avoid a dagger in his neck.
He heard a sharp cry from Rasaras, and glanced up just in time to see the young warrior snatch the attacker off Glorfindel and bury a dagger in the Man's chest. The Man gave a wheezy gasp and then fell. Rasaras stood completely still, looking down at the dead attacker. His face had gone several shades paler.
Glorfindel grabbed Rasaras's shoulders and jerked him onwards toward the chamber. "Many thanks, lad, well done. Come on."
Rasaras followed dumbly, as if he heard neither the gratitude nor the praise. He stumbled on down the hallway, occasionally glancing down at his stained hands. His face was pallid and almost greenish.
Glorfindel gritted his teeth and continued to drag Rasaras forward. He was not surprised that the boy should react so, especially if he had never been in a real battle before. There would be time later for dealing with warrior's guilt, though—the midst of a battle was no place for compassion and weakness. If one of their company was in danger, all else had to be swept aside.
However, the sight that greeted Glorfindel when he reached the entrance almost made his own stomach turn. Arandur stood alone against at least thirty Men, a short knife in his hand. His back was to Malchathol, who lay slumped on the floor. The fallen swordsman still gripped the horn, dark auburn hair splayed all around his pallid face. A few fallen Men lay around the chamber.
He glanced at Rasaras, fully expecting to have to drag the boy to his feet or watch him finally pass out on the floor. But he was wrong—at the sight of his fellows in danger, something snapped in the young archer. He flew at the Men like a wildcat, the short blade held high.
Glorfindel rushed forward behind Rasaras, unsheathing his own sword. He did his best to cover the rabid young warrior, but after a minute or so he was forced to admit he did not need to. Rasaras might be young and inexperienced, but he was well-trained.
Suddenly two more people rushed into the chamber. Glorfindel saw Belegon's face drain of all color at the sight of the fallen Malchathol, but the captain reacted the same way Rasaras had. The Men fell before Belegon's blade like wilted leaves. Glorfindel almost smiled—they were one unit, fighting against a threat. Everything else fell away as they fought to protect one another.
Then Glorfindel saw Erestor. The advisor stared at the battle, frozen, with an expression on his face of utter terror. Glorfindel realized that Erestor did not even have a weapon; the thin-framed Elf would not even be able to defend himself, let alone anyone else. He looked terrified and lost.
Glorfindel clenched his jaw. He reached down to one of the fallen Men and snatched up the Man's blade, then tossed it in Erestor's direction. "Make for the entrance!" he shouted. No doubt the frail advisor would be more of a liability than an asset in combat, and besides, he had the information for Círdan tucked under his outer robe. He was more useful if he stayed out of the way.
Erestor gingerly picked up the sword and started to move in the direction Glorfindel had commanded, staying flat against the cave wall and trying his best not to stand out to the Númenóreans.
Glorfindel looked back to the battle. The Elves were fighting bravely, but they were severely outnumbered and they had been taken by surprise. The Men were slowly gaining the upper hand. He recognized wiry Tanakûl and big-boned Morazôn in the fray, slashing fruitlessly at the quick Elven warriors, expressions on their faces of bloodthirsty glee. They looked like children at a begetting-day party.
He heard a choked cry in front of him, and he leapt forward just in time to catch Arandur as the Noldorin warrior staggered backwards. The fair face was pale and bruised, the gloved hand barely holding onto the bloodstained dagger. Misty gray eyes stared out into nothing as the Elf shuddered and then went limp in Glorfindel's arms. Stunned, Glorfindel gently lowered the warrior to the ground, mumbling a quick prayer to Mandos that he would show the brave Noldo mercy in his halls.
A gravelly chuckle sounded above him. He looked up just in time to see Tanakûl's sallow face leering down at him. The Númenórean grinned and lifted his rusty blade for another killing blow.
Glorfindel gritted his teeth. There was no way he would have the chance to raise his sword in time to defend himself. It seemed strange that Mandos would send him back to Middle-earth only to die in a meaningless battle far away from any civilization, but then, the ways of the Valar were strange.
He did not close his eyes, but he allowed his gaze to drop to the fallen warrior that he still held numbly. I suppose we will meet again soon, my friend, he thought grimly. I am ready, Mandos. Take me one last time. He steeled himself for the killing blow.
The blow never came.
Erestor watched helplessly as Tanakûl lifted his sword. He wanted to rush forward, but he seemed frozen in place. Glorfindel did not look afraid as he faced the Man—he looked proud and defiant and sad. The expression on his face was the same one that Erestor had once seen captured in a painting of Glorfindel's battle with the Balrog. He had admired the art, but had wondered if it was possible for a being about to die to wear such an expression. But here Glorfindel was, about to die once again, and he practically radiated indomitable courage. Erestor wanted to look away—tried to look away—but his eyes were as rooted to Glorfindel's face as his feet were rooted to the floor.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a sudden flash of bright blue. Belegon rushed forward just as Tanakûl started to bring down his sword and met the blade with his own. The Númenórean did not even have time to blink before he fell screeching to the ground. Belegon reached over and pulled Glorfindel to his feet.
Erestor sighed with relief, but it was short-lived. A small, fleet-footed Númenórean scout leaped at Belegon, and the captain was taken by surprise. Glorfindel was quickly occupied with an attacker as well.
A bellow of rage echoed in the cavern. Morazôn had seen Tanakûl fall to Belegon's sword. The Man lumbered toward Belegon faster than Erestor had believed possible. The sharp-featured face was livid, and the brown eyes blazed with hatred. Belegon was so intent on trying to defend himself against the Númenórean scout that he appeared unaware that Morazôn was behind him.
Erestor heard his voice scream Belegon's name, and felt himself rushing forward to his friend's side. Belegon looked up at him, surprise in his vivid green eyes. Morazôn reached Belegon before Erestor did, and Erestor looked on in horror as the burly Númenórean grabbed a fistful of chestnut hair and jerked Belegon's head backwards.
Suddenly Erestor felt pain rip through his left shoulder. The Númenórean scout was mortally wounded, but with his last gasping breaths he slashed at Erestor and shoved him hard against the wall. Erestor could almost hear the dull thud of his head hitting the solid rock, but he never felt himself collapse onto the ground.
Author's Notes:
Licorice Twist: The Endless Sun made you cry? Wow. Thank you!
EmyLyii: Thank you for your review! I believe that because Erestor and Glorfindel are complete opposites, then at the beginning, things might have been a bit… prickly. It has been interesting to write them as enemies.
Erestor: Yes, this is where the story turns a corner. Glorfindel is out of patience, which is never good for the one he's dealing with! Fortunately for Erestor, Glorfindel isn't after him now. And thank you for your review of The Endless Sun! That one was a shot in the dark, so I'm glad that you liked it. Angst is a good thing. :)
seeing-spots: Nope, they never are, but doesn't it seem like we always learn that the hard way? I'm glad it's realistic… I have lots of first-hand experience with arguing, since I have two younger sisters. embarrassed grin Write what you know, right? And I'm glad you liked The Endless Sun. That one turned out to be a lot more popular than I thought it would be. Thank you!
Gremlin-The-LOTR-Angel: Thank you for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed The Endless Sun! I had no idea that people would react like they did to what I thought was a simple little angst story.
Diolch: Thank you! My sister feels very gratified now. I think she's going to give me even more "advice" in the future. I'm glad you enjoyed it, even though it was depressing!
ann: Your reviews are always so encouraging; thank you! Yes, Belegon is an original character, as are most of the others. The argument was fun to write, so I'm glad you enjoyed it. :) And thank you for your review of Snowballs! That fic was completely unplanned, and to this day I have no idea where I got the inspiration for it.
Evenstar Elanor: Wow. What an incredible review! Thank you so much for your comments!
Avalon Estel: Thank you for your reviews! A master at writing anything? blushes I'm still learning, but what a compliment! I'm glad to find another fan of Glorfindel and Erestor… they have far too few fans, in my opinion! And as for being angry… not in the least. I was too excited about reading a new chapter to be angry! I rarely read PG-13 stories myself, and only if it's for violence. Anything else is sickening. I always rate mine as high as I think would be okay… I don't want someone to be shocked. I would rather err on the side of caution. Thank you so much for your reviews!
Noldo: bows I'm so glad that you enjoy this story! Actually, I've never heard of 'The Naked Sun.' I don't write a lot of Legolas or Aragorn stories (Glor and Ress are just so much fun!), but this one came out of nowhere. Thank you so much!
Coming Soon: Chapter Seven: Red Dawn
