Chapter Thirty-Five: Rehtië
The tension was palpable when they reached Lake Mithrim. Fëanor's host, when they saw Fingolfin coming, quickly abandoned their camp and moved to the other side of the lake, unable to face the shame of what they'd done to their own kin. They could hardly see each other from opposite sides of the water, but the threat of conflict loomed heavy.
It was good to finally rest, though, after the agony of travelling across the ice, and then the long march down through the north of Middle-earth. On the fourth day they were there, Galadriel and Lalwendë made their way to the shore of the lake and sat, watching the sun set in the west. The moon was already halfway up in the sky, like it was trying to catch the sun.
'Do you want to start sparring again?' Galadriel asked, disturbing the peace of the moment. Lalwendë snorted.
'You have a one-track mind, Nerwen.'
'Well? Yes, or no?'
'Maybe. Sparring would feel different now that it's not for fun.'
'Still, it might do us some good,' Galadriel said, staring darkly across the lake to where they could just make out the other host. 'We aren't exactly the best of friends with them at the moment.'
Lalwendë heard a faint rustle in the trees a little way away, and she twisted to look. She couldn't see anything.
'I hope it won't come to that,' she said, returning to the conversation. The rustle came again, and she turned back to stare into the trees.
'Even if we don't fight the elves, there are the orcs and Morgoth to think of,' Galadriel said.
'Be quiet.'
Galadriel frowned. 'But it's true, they –'
'Nerwen!' Lalwendë hissed, jumping to her feet and drawing her knife. Galadriel's eyes widened and she quickly did the same, following Lalwendë as she made her way over to the trees.
It was dark under their cover, the setting sun throwing long shadows. But they had barely taken three steps into the wood before Maglor stepped out from behind a tree, his hands raised in the air in surrender.
Before Lalwendë could even think, Galadriel had leapt forward and spun so that she was behind him. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pressed her dagger to his throat.
'Hello, cousin,' she said icily.
Maglor didn't look particularly surprised by the turn of events, but his eyes found Lalwendë. 'I am not here to bring any harm,' he said. 'I have come to ask for help. I am unarmed, you can check.'
With her free hand, Galadriel patted him down. After a second, she reached into a cloak and pulled out a sheathed dagger.
'What do you call this, then?'
Maglor sighed. 'Galadriel, please. I forgot about that. I'm sorry. But can you blame me for being wary, on this side of the lake?'
Lalwendë cocked an eyebrow and folded her arms. 'Really, Maglor?' He didn't meet her eyes. After a moment, she sighed. 'Let him go, Nerwen.'
Galadriel stepped back, dropping the knife from his throat. 'Remember, if you try anything, we can easily take you.'
'Noted,' Maglor said drily.
'What do you want?' Lalwendë asked. 'Why have you come?'
'My – Fëanor is dead,' Maglor began, his voice hitching. 'He was killed by balrogs.'
'We heard,' she replied quietly. 'I'm sorry for you, Maglor. And your brothers.'
Maglor shrugged. He looked wet-eyed in the twilight. 'Anyway, we won the battle. Morgoth sent word that he wanted to surrender, and would even give us one of the silmarils as one of the terms.'
Galadriel snorted. 'A likely story.'
'That's what we thought,' Maglor said tiredly, running a hand through his hair. 'But we had to go; right before my father died, he cursed Morgoth's name and made us reaffirm our vow.'
'The vow you made in Tirion?' Lalwendë asked quietly. Maglor nodded.
'The oath to take back the silmarils from Morgoth, or whoever holds them, friend or foe,' he said. 'So we had to go to the parlay. Maedhros volunteered, as Fëanor's heir.'
'And you let him?' Galadriel asked, folding her arms.
'Would that I hadn't. We sent more forces to the meeting than agreed upon, but so did Morgoth. They killed everyone there except Maedhros. They have taken him prisoner and…'
'And?' Lalwendë asked urgently.
'And they will not release him until we abandon our war against him and return to Aman. Those are Morgoth's terms.'
'You are bound by your oath to continue your war against him, and the way west is barred to all of us,' Galadriel said. 'What will you do?'
'That is why I have come,' Maglor said, a hint of desperation in his voice. 'I want to go in and rescue Maedhros, and I need your help.'
'Why us?' Lalwendë asked.
'Because you are his family,' Maglor said. 'Because you know that he is good and righteous, and we need him. And… also because you were the first two people that I saw by the lake.'
Lalwendë smiled wryly at that. Then she glanced at Galadriel. 'What do you think?'
'I'll go,' Galadriel said with a shrug. 'If we get Maedhros back, it could calm things down between us and Fëanor's followers. But I have conditions.'
'What are they?' Maglor asked.
'First, that you don't come with us,' she said flatly. He frowned.
'Why not?'
'Because I don't trust you, and you wouldn't bring anything useful to the operation that we don't already have.'
Maglor huffed. 'Fine.'
'Second, when we get Maedhros back, you tell your people that it was us who did it,' Galadriel added.
'Done,' Maglor said. 'Anything else?'
Galadriel shook her head, then looked over at Lalwendë. 'Will you come?'
'Of course,' she replied determinedly. 'But I have a condition of my own: we go alone, and we don't tell anyone. Fingolfin won't allow us to go, or he will demand we take half an army. But the fewer in number we are, the better chance we have.'
'Very well,' Galadriel said. 'We leave tonight?'
'Agreed,' Lalwendë answered readily. 'Maglor, how will we know how to find your brother?'
'He is in Angband, that's all I know,' Maglor said. 'As for locating him there – I can't give you any more help. I am sorry.'
'We'll make do with what we have,' Lalwendë said. 'Well, let's go break into the enemy's house, I suppose.'
'Go back to your camp,' Galadriel said to Maglor. 'We will act as quickly as we can. If we don't return…'
'I will tell your family,' Maglor said. 'I will take the blame.'
'Don't take the blame,' Lalwendë said. 'There's no use in that.'
'Thank you,' Maglor said earnestly, his hands over his heart. 'Thank you both. I will never forget this. May the Valar be with you.'
'I think we all know that they're not,' Galadriel said flatly. Maglor looked down at that. Then he bent and picked up his knife, and disappeared into the trees. Lalwendë and Galadriel exchanged a look.
'This might be the stupidest thing I've ever done,' Galadriel murmured.
'That's saying a lot for you,' Lalwendë replied. Galadriel snorted.
'You're the fool that's coming with me.'
'Ah, you've forgotten. I'm foolhardy, not foolish.'
'I am serious, though,' Galadriel said. 'We would be leaving on a fool's mission with no blessing from Fingolfin, no help, only Maglor who knows we're gone – on a journey into the very lair of our enemy.'
'I know. But if we don't go, someone else will have to,' Lalwendë said. 'Maedhros is our kin, and he is dear to me. And I won't ask someone to do something I'm not brave enough to do myself.'
Galadriel nodded, her face grim. 'Then let's go.'
They took two horses each and rode hard, changing horses whenever the other needed rest. They stopped rarely, and it wasn't long before they were in sight of Angband.
They tethered the horses some miles away, in as secluded spot as they could find. If orcs found them, it would alert them to the elves' presence. Then they made the rest of the way on foot, staying silent in the shadows. Finally, they were close enough to see the great gate, under the three massive towers of Thangorodrim.
'This place is crawling with orcs,' Galadriel whispered as they lay behind a bush, surveying the fortress. 'This is impossible.'
'We just need to find another entrance,' Lalwendë replied softly.
'When we get in, how are we to get around without being discovered?'
Lalwendë shot her an incredulous look. 'Have you given no thought to this at all?'
'I thought you would do the thinking,' Galadriel said, her grin flashing white in the moonlight. Lalwendë rolled her eyes.
'We cover our skin with mud, kill two orcs and take their armour. We might still stand out, but at least we won't be waltzing about in elvish clothes.'
'Wonderful idea,' Galadriel said, getting to her feet quietly. 'Give me ten minutes.'
Only five passed before she was back, dragging two sets of dirty armour. She was out of breath.
'The orcs fight a lot better than I thought they would,' she panted, passing one pile of armour to Lalwendë, who took it with a wrinkled nose. Reluctantly, she took off her cloak and tunic and pulled on the orc's clothing. It made her feel disgusting – until she caught a glimpse of Galadriel. She clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a laugh.
Galadriel scowled at her, and put the helm on over her braided hair. It actually worked quite well as a disguise, excepting the height difference.
'We'll have to crouch if anyone comes near us,' Lalwendë said. 'We are too tall.'
'If someone comes near us, we'll probably have bigger problems,' Galadriel said. 'Let's go.'
Their alternate route into Angband came in the form of a chimney. It was more of a hole in the ground, but steam poured from it, and when they peered down – with the light of Lalwendë's crystal – they could see it was cut straight downward.
'Age before beauty,' Galadriel said, nervousness tempering her joke. Lalwendë squeezed her shoulder and sat down with her feet dangling down into the chimney. It was hot.
'See you inside,' she said, and pushed herself forward.
The steep chute was certainly not meant for sliding, and a few bumps along the way were rough enough to make painful tears spring to Lalwendë's eyes. But she stayed quiet, bracing herself to land.
Without warning, she shot into a room. She hit the stone floor and rolled, the air knocked out of her. She lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, before leaping to her feet and drawing her sword.
The room was empty; in the corner were two steaming hot pools of water. The smell of sulphur was so strong it nearly made her gag.
Seconds later, Galadriel appeared out of the chimney. She landed in a crouch, much more gracefully than Lalwendë. Then she sprang up, looking around frantically.
'All clear,' Lalwendë whispered, then pressed a finger to her lips. Galadriel nodded, and they made their way to the door. Everything was dark, except for a few torches fixed to the walls.
They appeared to be in a great cavern, connected by networks of stone pathways. It was icy cold, and smelled stale.
'Is that the smell of corpses?' Galadriel whispered.
'Don't think about it,' Lalwendë replied. 'How do we find Maedhros?'
Just then, a tortured scream echoed down through the cavern, bouncing off the walls and ending with a sob. Seconds later, the faint sound came again. Lalwendë covered her mouth with her hand in horror.
'Found him,' Galadriel whispered grimly. 'He's a long way up. Let's go.'
They navigated the twisted pathways and bridges as best they could. Three times, they had to suddenly duck into a room to avoid crossing paths with orcs. The deeper they went, the more afraid Lalwendë became.
They had been climbing through Angband for about an hour, guided by the faint, haunting screams, when they came to a sharp turn. Lalwendë stepped around the corner and suddenly came face to face with a party of about two dozen orcs. They were about ten feet away, and they saw her instantly.
She froze, and so did Galadriel, still concealed by the corner. One of the orcs shouted something at Lalwendë, but she couldn't understand the language they were speaking. Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs. Quickly, she unbuckled her sword and handed it surreptitiously back to Galadriel who took it with a horrified expression.
'I am caught,' Lalwendë whispered. 'Get out of here, now.'
'I'll hide and come back for you –'
'As princess of the Noldor, I order you to leave me immediately. Get Maedhros if you can, and get out. Don't be seen.'
The orc roared at her again, and she understood none of what he said. She kept whispering, glad her mouth was hidden by the helmet.
'They haven't seen you. Get out of here, go back to my brother and tell him what happened.'
'Lalwen, please don't do this…' Galadriel pleaded. Lalwendë didn't look at her, but she could hear the panic in her voice.
'Go, Nerwen, before both of us are caught. Don't you dare disobey me. Go!'
Then she took several steps forward and faced the orcs silently. One orc, larger than the rest, pushed through the group and only stopped when he was standing a foot away from Lalwendë.
He growled something that again, she couldn't understand. She simply stared back at him, refusing to let the panic take her. The orc's eyes widened, and he grinned maliciously. Then he spoke again, and this time she could understand him.
'Little elfie thinks he can sneak around without being caught,' he sneered in bastardised Quenya. Pursing her lips, Lalwendë removed her helm and dropped it to the ground. The orc growled.
'She-elf.'
'I have come to see Morgoth,' she said. There was another drawn-out scream from above, and she smothered a wince.
'Very well,' the orc agreed with a horrible smile. Then he swung at her head. She ducked, but it had been a feint. His actual blow caught her square in the temple, and she immediately fell unconscious.
The second she woke, they forced some disgusting liquid into her throat. A meaty hand covered her mouth and nose until she had no choice but to swallow. The world around her grew blurry, and every sound felt like it came from far away, through an echoing tunnel.
She was dragged somewhere and dumped on the floor. A deep voice asked a question. The sound of the voice made her feel sick. Her mouth was dry, painfully dry. There was a foot between her shoulder blades, then it was gone.
She was dragged upright, her hair yanked to pull her face up. The deep voice laughed. She could see a bright light – a bright, beautiful light – it was as familiar to her as her own name. Her eyes wouldn't focus, despite her efforts… but then she could see that there were three lights, three tiny points of light that were desperately beautiful –
The silmarils. She had been looking at the silmarils. The deep voice belonged to Morgoth.
The hand released her hair and her head dropped back down. 'No…' she whispered, or tried to. Morgoth spoke again. His voice rumbled through her like thunder. She couldn't move; she couldn't do anything. The silmarils were right in front of her, and she could do nothing.
She was being dragged away. They went up, up, up, walking for so long that the poison they'd fed her began to wear off. Soon she could hear Maedhros screaming again. The cries grew louder and louder, until –
They climbed a steep staircase and came out of a small trapdoor at the peak of one of the three mountains. There was a sheer precipice before them, sickeningly high.
'Maedhros…' Lalwendë moaned, trying and failing to move in the grip of the orcs. He was hanging from a sheer precipice by his right hand, a band of steel around his wrist holding him there. Lalwendë was dropped unceremoniously to the ground.
A rope was tied around her right wrist, painfully tightly. The other end of the rope was fastened to a bolt at the top of the cliff. Then – without warning – she was kicked over the edge. She fell, screaming, and then jerked to a halt, almost dislocating her shoulder. She slammed against the stone cliff and groaned.
'Lalwen,' Maedhros gasped through his teeth. 'Lalwen – no…'
'Our master knows you, she-elf,' an orc above them growled in Quenya. 'You are the spawn of the elf-filth Finwë. Our master thanks you for your visit, but wishes you to know you are not important enough to be kept as a hostage.' The other orc laughed. 'Nor are you important enough to be kept alive. He has decided you are not worth the quick death he gave your father, Enjoy your rope.'
There was the sound of receding footsteps, and then the elves were gone. Maedhros groaned. Then his face twisted and he screamed again. The sound echoed out across the emptiness in front of them.
Lalwendë's wrist hurt. So did her arm and her shoulder; the pain was serious, and it was building. She screwed her eyes shut and tried to focus on something else. Maedhros stopped screaming, and she glanced up at him.
His eyes were closed, and he was hanging limp. He looked exhausted, broken.
'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'We came to save you.'
'You came – for me?' he breathed. 'After we burned the ships?'
'I would never leave you to be tortured, not for anything,' she replied. The pain was already impossible to ignore. Maedhros opened his eyes and looked down at her. He looked desperate. 'But we were in over our heads, so quickly. We thought you were inside the fortress…'
'I asked my father not to – not to burn the ships,' he rasped. 'I asked him to send them back for you. He said – no.'
His face tightened again, and he groaned through his teeth. Lalwendë reached up, trying to catch the rope with her left hand to pull herself up and relieve some of the pressure on her right arm. It was useless.
Maedhros screamed again. When he stopped, she looked at him. He was hanging limp once more. Lalwendë eyed his steel cuff.
'Why did they hang me from a rope?' she asked, her voice strained.
'You heard them,' Maedhros replied after a moment. 'Morgoth doesn't – he doesn't need you as a – a hostage.' His speech was halting, and some of his words were slurred.
'I don't understand,' Lalwendë said.
'You have a rope. Ropes rot, they fray. Eventually – you'll fall.'
Horrified, Lalwendë looked down at the expanse of space beneath them. The faraway bottom of the cliff was a pile of jagged rocks.
'I'm sorry,' Maedhros grunted through his teeth, 'to say it – like that. But you will want to die. In a matter of – of days, you will want – to die.'
He was right.
The days passed. There was a viscous, foul-smelling mist around them, so they could only see a faint glow where the sun rose and fell. They were brought no food, and drank only fleetingly when rain fell from the sky.
After a while, the pain was all she could think about. She didn't talk to Maedhros anymore, and he didn't speak to her. She had believed at the beginning that it might dull somehow, that she might get used to it – but she didn't. It only got worse in different ways.
She'd tried untying the knot around her wrist, but it wasn't possible. She spent days trying to use the rope to pull herself up the cliff, but the cliff face was smooth and slippery, and there was nothing to grip. Her brute strength wasn't enough, and she grew weaker by the day.
The weather didn't help; even if the pain hadn't existed the buffeting winds and freezing cold would have been enough to deal with. As it was, they barely registered in Lalwendë's mind.
White-hot pain started shooting up her arm and through her shoulder at odd intervals – like a cramp from being in the same place too long, but a hundred times worse. She screamed her throat raw.
She reached the point where she decided falling to her death would be better than hanging there forever; the only thing that kept her from trying was the thought that Maedhros would be left alive, alone and in torment.
'Try swinging,' he rasped one day, after hours of silence. 'Swing on – on your rope.'
'Why?' she whispered. She couldn't muster the energy to look up at him.
'It might – chafe the rope. If you… if you do it enough, the – the rope might break, and you can fall.'
There was a long pause, and she sighed. 'I won't leave you alone here.'
'Lalwen. It's not worth it.'
The stabbing pain shot through her arm, and she screamed raggedly through gritted teeth. It was a while before the pain dulled to its usual debilitating level.
'Just try, Lalwen.'
'No,' she said tiredly. She longed for sleep, food, death, anything that would stop the pain. But the pain continued. Her lips twisted into a joyless smile. 'Ask me again in a week.'
They both began losing consciousness, so utterly drained that even the pain couldn't keep them awake. The bouts of unconsciousness were hardly a respite from her waking torment; they were still riddled with pain, and often interrupted by her own screams.
Lalwendë lost count of how many days she'd been there when the mist cleared a little. It was dusk, and the orange sunlight fell directly on their faces. Lalwendë closed her eyes at the meagre warmth. If she'd been able, she would have cried.
'Break the rope,' Maedhros murmured beside her. 'Just – break it.'
'You would… be… alone.'
'I know.'
'No.'
There was silence, except for the rushing of the wind. The sun kept sinking, until its bottom was touching the horizon. In the back of her mind, Lalwendë wished it would stay.
'Can you – hear that?' Maedhros said suddenly.
'Wind,' she replied, too exhausted to create a whole sentence.
'No…'
She listened. It was just wind. Wind and…
Someone was singing. It was a lullaby Lalwendë's mother had sung her, and that she'd sung to her nieces and nephews when they were born, and to their children too. Was she going insane? But no – Maedhros had heard it first.
Someone was here. Someone was singing. Someone was here.
She gathered all her strength, drew in a deep breath, and began to sing with them. Maedhros joined in after a moment. Their voices were rough and uneven, but they seemed to be enough. The original singer fell silent.
Maedhros and Lalwendë kept singing – sleep, my child, under Eru's watchful eye, in the grasses of Lórien, in the waters of Lórellin – until, minutes later, two people climbed up the rocks beneath them.
'Fingon,' Maedhros gasped. Then he shouted hoarsely. 'Fingon!'
Lalwendë peered down, her heart in her throat. She could see Fingon's dark head, yes, but beside him was someone with blonde hair. They were slightly too tall and broad to be Galadriel, but –
'Laurë,' she sobbed. 'Oh, Valar.'
'Lalwen,' Maedhros said beside her. She looked up at him; his face was twisted again, but with despair instead of pain. 'It's useless.'
'They can't get up,' she whispered. 'I know.' The cliff was utterly unclimbable, and the only other way they'd get to them was by traversing the whole of Angband. She could try to break her rope, but she would fall to her death. It was impossible, and it hurt so badly to realise how close they had come to being rescued.
'Fingon has a bow,' Maedhros said, his tone flat, and she quickly realised the implication.
'It's the only way,' she agreed quietly. This was it. Her time had come. The doom of Mandos had come for her, and all she felt through her pain was cold relief.
'Fingon!' Maedhros shouted down, his voice breaking. 'Shoot us!'
There was silence for a moment. They could see the two elves at the bottom of the cliff exchanging a horrified look.
'I cannot!' Fingon cried. 'I will not!'
'I beg you!' Maedhros shouted. His whole body was shaking. 'Please, my friend! Please, Fingon!'
'Lalwendë?' Fingon shouted back.
'Shoot us!' she cried. She was crying without tears, her body wracked with sobs as it hung from the precipice. 'Please!'
Fingon strung his bow and nocked an arrow. He aimed up at them. Lalwendë closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Nothing happened. Still nothing. Still nothing…
'Lalwen!' Maedhros gasped, and her eyes flew open. Below them, two birds the size of small dragons had landed beside Glorfindel and Fingon.
'Impossible,' she whispered.
'The Valar are watching us still,' Maedhros said brokenly. 'Manwë has sent us help.'
Below, Fingon and Glorfindel each tentatively mounted the eagle. With a mighty flap of their wings, they began to rise. Lalwendë could barely believe her eyes when the eagles drew level, then landed on the mountain peak above them.
There was a beat of stillness, then she felt her rope move. She craned her neck to see Glorfindel peering down at her.
'Lalwen,' he said urgently. 'I need you to reach up with your free arm. Reach up and take my hand.'
She forced her left arm up, until her hand found his. Glorfindel's hand was warm and strong; hers was weak and freezing cold. Slowly, and gently as he could, Glorfindel began to pull her up.
In the back of her mind, Lalwendë wondered at the strength needed to bodily pull her up to level ground with just one arm. But what preoccupied her more was the sheer, overwhelming relief she felt in her arm. The weight was gone; she was saved.
She crawled onto the cliff's edge, then immediately collapsed in a heap. She could faintly feel Glorfindel sawing at the rope around her wrist until it fell away. Her vision was dimming. She was going to lose consciousness…
Then there was an ear-splitting scream, and Maedhros appeared over the cliff – his right arm a bleeding stump where his hand had once been. He collapsed on his side, grasping his wrist and groaning. Fingon, white-faced, quickly ripped cloth from his shirt and wrapped it tightly around Maedhros' wrist.
'Take her and go to where we made camp,' he said, glancing up at Glorfindel. 'I'll meet you there. It won't be long until they come up here to find us. They will have heard the singing.'
Lalwendë was fading again. Through her darkening sight, she saw Glorfindel nod once. Then he bent and lifted her off the ground, placing her gently on the back of the eagle. She drew in a breath, trying to stay awake.
'Is this – a good idea?' she murmured.
'Hold on to me, Lalwen,' Glorfindel replied, climbing on the enormous bird's back behind her. 'Tight as you can.'
But she was dead to the world before the bird took off.
She woke up days later. The sun was filtering through trees onto her face. There was the sound of running water nearby. Low voices were intermingling somewhere behind her.
She glanced around with an effort. She was covered in cloaks – hers, which had somehow been recovered, and one that she recognised as Glorfindel's. Underneath, her right arm was in a sling.
'Oh – she has woken,' said one of the voices. Lalwendë blinked.
'N-Nerwen?' she whispered.
'You should go to her,' said Galadriel's voice quietly. 'She'll be glad to see you.'
After a beat, Glorfindel appeared by her side. His fingers fluttered over her, and she could see worry written all over his face.
'Hello, Laurë,' she whispered. His hands stilled.
'Hello – Lalwen.'
'I heard –'
'Galadriel is here with us.'
'Where –' Her voice caught in her throat, and she coughed. Glorfindel reached back somewhere and brought back a shallow cup of water.
'You need to drink.'
'I cannot –'
'It's alright,' he said, and with surprising gentleness, he lifted her head and shoulders, then held the cup to her lips. She drank from it carefully. Dizziness was spiralling through her head at the movement, making her feel delirious. Gently, Glorfindel lay her back down.
'I don't like this,' she murmured, her voice a little stronger. He set the cup aside and settled down beside her, his dark eyes on her face.
'What?'
'You keep saving me.' She smothered a cough. 'Again and again.'
'You don't want me to save you?' he asked, smiling faintly.
'I think… I owe you my life now,' Lalwendë said tiredly. 'Many times over.'
'You don't owe me anything. I like saving you.'
She stared at him. She would have smiled at his confession, but she couldn't summon the energy. 'Really?'
'Yes.'
'I like you, Laurë.'
She swore she saw the shadow of a real smile cross his face before he was his usual, serious self. 'You need to go back to sleep.'
He was right; she could barely keep her eyes open. She had been so cold for so long, and now she was warm and safe and lying down… She sighed, and let her eyes close. Beside her, she felt Glorfindel shift. Her eyes snapped open, and she saw him staring down at her.
'Are you – leaving?' She tried to sit up, her heart rate spiking. 'Where – where is my sword? I need… they took my knives from me, all of them…'
He took her firmly by the shoulders and pushed her back down. The worry was back in his face.
'I am not leaving. I will not stray one step from your side.'
She nodded, pushing away the panic that was still coursing through her. She needed sleep. She was safe here; Glorfindel was with her. Her eyes drifted shut, but they snapped open again as she had another thought.
'Laurë, I saw – the silmarils. All three.'
Glorfindel stilled. He glanced away at something, then looked back at her. 'Tell me when you wake up, Lalwen.'
She nodded again, and in the soft, dappled sunlight, she was finally able to sleep.
Fingon and Maedhros are a better love story than Twilight, change my mind.
Next chapter, Glorfindel trademarks his favourite move: running away from emotional conflict. See you then. S
