This is a translation of part #11 of one of my longest finished German fanfiction series. I am not a native speaker and apologize for any mistakes. The "Tales Untold"-series focuses much on Aragorn, Legolas and their respective relationships, but there's lots of other important plot lines coming into play, one of the biggest revolving around Glorfindel and Erestor.
The series combines the book verse with some circumstances from the movieverse, it ignores all three of the Hobbit movies though (I wrote most of this series before those movies even were a thing). It's slightly non-compliant in places but I'm always trying to keep close to canon.
"In between" is set in the early summer of T.A. 3020, about a year after the War of the Ring.
Comments are more than welcome. I'm thirsting for them like so many others.
WHAT HAPPENED SO FAR:
Shortly before the War of the Ring, Legolas started courting a young healer elf from Lórien named Tarisilya whom he'd been in love with for a thousand years already. Due to Thranduil's aversion to Galadriel and her people, the relationship had to remain a secret. At the same time, Legolas met Aragorn for the first time. The two of them were taken prisoner by a group of Haradrim, and Legolas was temporarily blinded. After the Battle of Helm's Deep, Legolas was assaulted by two Dunlendings. A protective wall that Tarisilya's healing abilities built in his mind helped him to keep on functioning.
During the war, Tarisilya's family sailed west which left her with bad depression. After the Battle of the Black Gate, Aragorn healed both her from almost withering away and Arwen from a bad injury. The four of them traveled to Imladris for Arwen's family could try to further heal her.
After marrying Legolas in Imladris, Tarisilya became pregnant but lost the baby in a battle on the way back. This loss and that Tarisilya and Legolas didn't find a way to comfort each other about, in combination with the crumbling shields that had protected his mind, had Legolas spiral deeper and deeper into a dangerous circle of anger, blind hate and self-hate and -doubts.
In Aragorn's absence, a group of enemies named Stewardaides - led by a former friend of Faramir - had formed in Gondor who rather want to see Faramir rule Gondor. After Aragorn was crowned King, they kidnapped and tortured Arwen.
Elrond sent Erestor to Minas Tirith to help Aragorn solve this crisis.
A few months later, the Stewardaides attacked the elf settlement in Ithilien that Legolas had built together with a group of his people. Most elves were taken prisoner by one group of the Stewardaides while another attacked Aragorn and Arwen. Aragorn was almost killed and could only barely be healed by Tarisilya. In North Ithilien, the Stewardaides chased the captured elves into the Dead Marshes. One elf died there, three more were taken prisoner and killed in Mordor. His mental condition taking a turning for the worst, Legolas demanded of Aragorn that the Stewardaides taken prisoner should be killed which Aragorn denied. Legolas swore revenge for his fallen subjects in a public ceremony which forced Aragorn to banish him from Minas Tirith.
Erestor left for Ithilien, and it soon turned out that he had started to spy on the enemies, which forced him to attack Tarisilya and Arwen among other things, to prove his alleged loyalty to the Stewardaides.
Elrond meanwhile had sent Glorfindel to Minas Tirith, too, to help solve the crisis, and Thondrar and he achieved a kind of truce. After Legolas and Tarisilya had a terrible fight though, Tarisilya left Minas Tirith with Glorfindel to ride to Eryn Lasgalen and managed to get Legolas' father to ride to Gondor to help.
Shortly after Arwen had found out that she was pregnant, Aragorn and she were taken prisoner by the Stewardaides and brought to an unknown location. At the same time, the elves of Cair Andros found out that Faramir had been manipulated by poison for a few months now and attacked Emyn Arnen to try and take the Stewardaides presumably residing there prisoner. Thanks to Barhit's appearance, to Faramir distrusting the elves after all the past conflicts and due to his poisoning, and with Legolas being struck by his old injury, his eyes failing him once more, the attack failed horribly. While most of the elves of Cair Andros fled, Legolas, Thranduil, Tauriel and her husband were taken prisoner. Disguised as soldiers, the Stewardaides left Legolas behind in his cell in a life-threatening state while Faramir left Emyn Arnen to try and find the vanished King.
‚Attack on the Steward!
The devious elves that our allegedly noble King has allowed to colonize North Ithilien, are poisoning the Steward's water! These shady people are finally showing their true nature! Look what being governed by a tramp of the North and a Queen of this oh so honorable blood has brought us!
They're threatening your food, your soil, your children!
Stop the elves! Stop Aragorn of the North! Wake up – stand up!'
‚Fire disaster in Lossarnach – King Elessar just leaves the citizens alone!
When Taur Adab went up in flames in the presence of King Elessar, the false King finally showed his true colors! He saved only his own skin! Pretending, he wanted to get an innocent child to safety, he left the people behind without help! The sick girl has been found unconscious on the road, simply left behind by the King as well!
What kind of leader would do something like that?
STOP ARAGORN OF THE NORTH! WAKE UP – STAND UP!''
"I don't want this trash in my pub." The innkeeper ripped the two flyers from the hand of one of the regulars that the half-drunk man had read aloud for all the guests to hear.
He usually preferred to avoid such confrontations; but an icy look from the striking, bright blue eyes of a very special visitor, sitting back there in the most hidden corner, had convinced him that he should maybe better get that silly gossiping in here under control at last.
"The zero contact policy has been in place for weeks. You know exactly that the Stewardaid writings are forbidden in Gondor. So don't give me trouble."
"But they're right," the older man growled, his wrinkled face red with anger and from too much wine. "There's always been some truth to all the things they write."
"The Steward hasn't been seen in days!" a younger man on the neighboring table added immediately, his voice slurred as well. "Who knows, maybe these insane elves have now offed him at last."
"Taur Adab isn't far from here," a farm woman remarked fearfully. "That fire, that surely was the elves' doing as well. Maybe they'll come here next!" She wrung her plump hands and looked out of the window as if she was expecting to see the first of pointy-eared silhouettes holding aloft torches outside already.
"Nothing but big tales," at least a fourth guy now murmured into his mug, also quite stout looking, bent over the very edge of the counter. "The King's doing a good job. And almost all of the elves have already sailed away anyway."
"Rather sooner than later! Didn't you hear what they did?" the first one shouted. "And this weird she-elf that the King married, who is she anyway? She's probably working together with her old friends from Cair Andros! One of them will probably be sitting on the throne soon."
"Are you even listening to yourself?" A tanned man, looking marked by hard fieldwork and grief, a guest who hadn't taken off his hood ever since entering the building, put down his empty cup, shaking his head, and tossed the innkeeper a few coins, including a small tip which made him even more likable immediately. "Here we are, helping you rebuild your country after the war and you have nothing better to do than start a new one. Makes you wonder if you even deserve a King like Elessar."
The man shouldered his bundle with a jerk and left the inn, ignoring the partly grumpy, partly scornful answers, noticeably glad to escape an air stuffy with pipeweed and alcohol.
The innkeeper had to try hard not to applaud him. If his business wasn't to suffer from the bad mood in the area around Minas Tirith, he himself could unfortunately not get involved too vocally. But on some days, he had to wonder if it was worth it.
The Dúnadan only realized that he wasn't alone when he had passed the last house of the village and was headed for the woodlot behind it, with a relieved, deep breath. A quiet sound had him look up, alarmed, and then laugh about his own overcautious behavior – it was the sound of several fine bells.
A huge snow-white horse trotted towards him, shaking its long mane so that the bells on its harness were chiming even louder. It snorted at him as a greeting, unkindly as if it wanted to ask why he hadn't raised his voice earlier and more vigorously against these wicked men in the inn.
"Stop looking at me like that. I'm Aragorn's substitute, not his water boy."
The man lit himself a pipe with a sigh and stopped just short of the stallion who didn't let get anyone close to him anyway, much less allow them on his back. "So, where did you lose your rider? You can come out, Lord; Asfaloth already gave you away."
"You are looking the wrong way." The man spun around towards the inn from where a tall shape was following him, clad in a camouflaging brown tunic and a long cloak. A few golden strands peeped out from under the hood, a detail that the Dúnadan wouldn't even have needed to see to finally recognize Glorfindel. The bells and this incredibly melodic voice were unmistakable.
"You have endured these dull slogans for a surprisingly long time, Langhour."
Langhour shrugged apologetically. "Not remotely as long as you and the rest of Imladris have been tolerating the accusations against your brothers and sisters in North Ithilien. If you know that your word won't make a difference anyway, you rather shut up and save your time for more important things."
"For example? Unlike me, you probably were not looking for suspects back there." Glorfindel just briefly let his eyes wander over Langhour's appearance that revealed how long he had once more been in the wilderness without a break. "Given for how long your folk has been watching Gondor drown in chaos, I did not expect you to be here at all."
Langhour's fingertips clenched a little too firmly around his pipe. He started to chew on its end as he always did when he had to restrain himself.
"We are in Arnor, exactly where our leader wants to see us. While we did hear about the conflicts here, Elessar has personally sent us away to keep on guarding the North at the end of the war, to help with reconstruction there and track down the last scattered enemies. And to help people there to finally turn to their former sister realm again in their hearts. You of all people should know how dear a solution to that conflict is to Aragorn's heart. So the few of us who have survived the Battle at the Black Gate, are busy traveling the lands."
Still, the reproach, not entirely unjustified, had him draw his shoulders in. For a while now, he'd actually meant already to return to Gondor for a long visit indeed. There were many friends and a whole life waiting for him here. He'd had to delay this visit for the sake of his duties for far too long. And now that it had finally worked out …
"I've only wound up in this area because of a rumor that's already being spread in places more than one day's journeys from here. They're talking about a horse running free. An auburn Mearh-stallion, on the smaller side. Dashing about these lands like a mad creature. I was wondering what gets such a clever animal to do that. The descriptions grabbed my attention." He shouldered his bow anew and eyed the elf's withdrawn expression closer.
"Since you were not searching for Brego though … Is there something the Dúnedain should know?"
A critical wrinkle appeared between Glorfindel's fine brows. "This news should have made you suspicious already. The King and his wife are missing."
Now Langhour understood why this legendary elven warrior was turning to him again, after all the time that had passed since they had traveled the west together for a while, together with Aragorn. So it was even worse than he'd thought. "Since when?"
"A few days. I have been searching for your people for weeks. Tracking down even one Dúnadan was impossible." There was still a clear reproach resonating in the elf's words, short and soberly formed as usual.
"When the problems with the Stewardaides became public for the first time, we sent a message to ask if we should come to Gondor. But the King said no. Aragorn knows exactly that he can always count on us if he is in trouble! He would only have needed to send a messenger!" Langhour snorted.
Glorfindel nodded in understanding, with a deep sigh. "How the public would judge Elessar's actions was significant in the last few months. He probably could not risk showing weakness by needing further reinforcements. Now that mistake has unfortunately caught up with him."
Langhour needed a moment to understand the consequences of this explanation, for the images forming in his mind to become clear. If Glorfindel was personally on a manhunt and had tried to consult Aragorn's folk in secret ... "So no one even knows about Aragorn's disappearance?"
"Only the search parties sent by the Steward who informed me. Until we find His Majesty, do everything to make sure, it stays that way. The unrest is big enough. Get a horse and meet me on the main road." Without waiting for a reply, Glorfindel got up on Asfaloth and rode off.
Though it was actually not like him, Langhour accepted the commanding tone. They had to act as quickly as possible. And if Glorfindel knew where they had to start their search, by all means, he should take the lead. After so many days, without a clue, it was almost impossible to still find usable tracks anyway.
How he was supposed to get hold of a mount in such a short time with what little money he had on him though, remained a mystery. Hopefully, the owner of that inn earlier was as well-disposed towards him as he thought …
"Tell me again where we are going?" If anything at all of what the Stewardaides' flyers said was actually true for a change, the King had probably gone missing in Lossarnach. Which why the Dúnadan was all the more surprised that his elvish companion very deliberately changed direction.
"The only person who can give us answers right now is somewhere in Ithilien. I just could not make much of a difference there alone so far. The two of us can cover a bigger area." Glorfindel didn't only sound unusually impatient, he was starting to talk in longer sentences, too. A clear sign that this crisis hadn't even left the oldest elves on Middle-earth unaffected.
"Or maybe we are being lucky." He stopped Asfaloth abruptly, so fast that Langhour had to arduously turn his still very unruly gelding around first and ride back to him. By that time, Glorfindel was already listening intensely into the darkness of the dense fir forest, one of Lossarnach's biggest. "Keep your bow ready."
Now the Dúnadan heard the fast gallop of four horses nearby too. Following Glorfindel's example, he withdrew into the undergrowth with his horse, staying behind a broad tree trunk that gave them and their torches cover but allowed a sufficing view of the narrow path.
"Who is it?" While it was conspicuous that someone was being on the road in such a dangerous area at this hour, that didn't mean they had to be enemies of the realm. Before he shot somebody, he did like to know what the target was.
Even at night, an elf could, fortunately, see quite well. And judging by Glorfindel's angry expression, he had indeed recognized the men. "Old clothing of the Steward's Rangers. Since the end of the war, both the loyal Rangers and the soldiers of the White Company wear uniforms slightly altered in terms of color to distinguish themselves from the Stewardaides. Don't aim for the man in the back." Glorfindel was mostly famous for his skills with a sword and a shield, but given how masterfully he nocked his first arrow he'd surely also trained this craft well in his numerous millennia.
Without elvish senses, the whole thing was a lot harder to do in the dark, but somehow Langhour managed to fire a clean shot anyway. Three of the enemies fell before they were even in their direct view, hit by Glorfindel's and his arrows.
The horses neighed in panic for a moment but didn't care for their owners any further; instead, they ran away into the darkness.
Said very pale-faced rider had almost soundlessly dismounted when the first of his companions had screamed out, with his horse still galloping, in a fluid movement that you would rather have thought a Firstborn to make, not a man. A dagger blade glistened in the moonlight, but for now, the man stayed behind his horse, seeking cover, waiting for the attackers to show themselves. After he had hastily felt the necks of the warriors laying on the ground covered in blood and realized that there was nothing, anyone could do for them, he didn't have another look to spare for them.
Instead of shooting again, Glorfindel put away his bow and pulled back his hood with an expression of fundamental sadness. "A lonesome wanderer she is, for the last of her kind are long extinct. Her face black as the night that she hunts her pray in. Blind are her eyes, and blunt are her claws. Only her scream has never lost its deafening sound. Here she will wait and watch until her day comes. The time of waiting is over, Erestor."
A deep, smoky voice answered, audibly filled with extreme surprise. "'The black hunter' in 'Journey through the Ages' by Lord Elrond ó Imladris." The dagger was being put away with a quiet clank.
With their hood pulled back as well, the shape that did indeed turn out to be an elf, came out from behind their horse, whereas Langhour had to look twice to be sure whom he was dealing with. Most elves were slim by nature, but this person here was morbidly scrawny, an impression only strengthened by the tight Ranger clothes. A long, unsightly scar adorned their right cheek. Their dark eyes were deeply sunken and seemed completely lifeless, the black hair stringy.
Only the rage felt real that the elf was eying Glorfindel with. "It was you who once equaled my life with that hunter's, and now you're surprised that I'm bound to its fate? I hope you're aware that I'll have to explain this …" With a sweeping gesture, he pointed at the dead. "… to the others. My cover is weak enough. What gives you the right to meddle with my plans like this?"
"Like being your friend is not enough?" Glorfindel didn't show any annoyance just yet, but that was surely only a matter of time. "I have been watching long enough," he added when Erestor only raised a brow, making every loud response unnecessary. You had to know him a bit to see it in the way his eyes narrowed just slightly, his back stiffening, how hurt he was. That guy that Langhour was now actually remembering to be Lord Elrond's librarian, in any case, wasn't just a fleeting acquaintance. "The King's body is not something I will let you use for your ambitions."
"Me?" Erestor started to laugh, a sound too high and too loud. It sounded frightening, like a man who didn't have himself under control anymore. "Soldiers! It wasn't me who just ruined days' worth of tactics that should have saved two lives. By the stars, Glorfindel!" He tore his dagger off his belt again and hurled it in front of his friend's feet so that it got stuck in the ground, its handle quivering. "Why exactly do you think I'm on my way to Lossarnach with three Stewardaides?"
"If the good Master Elf has finished his dramatic show then, could we maybe focus on the important matters? I couldn't care less what your surely infallible plan was; I want to find the King."
Langhour wiped his forehead in irritation and looked at the sky to read the approximate hour in the moon's position. The banter wasted precious time, and it wasn't just Aragorn he was worried about.
As far as he knew, the Queen had given up on her elvish descent in the war; her body now as just as vulnerable as a woman's. She urgently needed help as well.
That didn't leave Langhour any time to care for an eccentric advisor who had apparently got too bored in his library and who had rather become a spy, at any sacrifice.
"Start talking. Where is the royal couple?"
"You just shot the only three people except for Barhit and the kidnappers who knew that, so spare me your lectures." Erestor eyed him witheringly before turning to Glorfindel again.
Although in this haggard condition, he wouldn't have stood a chance against a warrior, he looked like he was about to lunge at his friend any moment to snap his neck. "When you're not busy torching yourself, your strengths always lay more in duels than strategies, I know that. But this time, you went too far. I did not ask you to come here."
That was the last straw – for the first time since Langhour knew him, Glorfindel lost some of his nerves. Judging by his clenched teeth, his aggressive growl, he was only keeping himself with great effort from uncrossing his arms, or his hands would have reached for the next best weapon. "Bold critique from someone who ignores his job, attacks members of his own kin, and provides dangerous criminals with strictly secret information."
Erestor dropped onto a tree stump with another bitter laughter and looked up at the sky until he spotted the moon, half-covered by a cloud, and closed his eyes as if trying to draw strength from the sight. His hand trembled like a sick man's when he opened one of his leather arm guard and rolled back the sleeve of his tunic, revealing countless long scars of cuts and burns.
"You really think you can give me any reproach that hasn't long devoured my soul, mellon nín? The Stewardaides targeted me the moment I set foot in Minas Tirith for the first time last year, and their blades or poisons would have wiped out anyone I had let in on that. This thing only escalated when they attacked Elessar in the Citadel. I had no choice but to put an end to all of this myself. I even kept my mouth shut when Barhit presented me as the King's alleged murderer to the Steward, just for a chance to accompany his people to the dungeon then. They would have needed someone for the people to put the blame on. I was the only chance the King and Arwen had to survive this."
"By all the Valar, what is your problem?" Langhour felt more and more like grabbing Erestor's collar and shaking him. "Did no one ever tell you that self-pity is something you save for the end of a crisis? Please refrain from confessing the rest of this madness until we saved the royal couple."
Grumbling, he kicked a pebble aside with the tip of his boot. He was a man of action; Erestor's wistful sluggishness drove him insane. "You say, these men knew where the hideout is. Were they coming from there when you met them? Do you know which paths they might have taken?"
"The Stewardaides never trusted me enough to tell me things like that. They have several bases in Lossarnach. Searching them all takes too long. The guards have orders to kill the King and send his head to the capital if Barhit doesn't join them before the turn of the day." Erestor sharply pointed at the sky. "As you can see, time is already running short."
Langhour looked at Glorfindel in resignation. "It's likely that these men worked as messengers between the different bases. If they did, there must be tracks. No matter how much I'd love to keep listening to your fight, I have to look for my leader. The dry ground will make fresh prints well visible even at night."
In his head, he was already busy checking possible hideouts close by. The woods themselves were too dangerous for the Stewardaides. Besides, the soldiers of Minas Tirith would be looking for them all around the torched village. He had to focus on things one wouldn't immediately think of. Another woodlot was located in the direction that the Stewardaides had ridden towards together with Erestor, and the shapes of the White Mountains could be seen in the distance. He did indeed not have much time anymore, but he'd always functioned best under pressure so far.
"Thank you." Glorfindel came to stand next to his horse as soon as he'd mounted. "I would come with you but as you heard, I am being needed in Emyn Arnen. Do not even think about it, Erestor. Stop. Turn. Shut up."
Langhour couldn't tell how Glorfindel knew that his friend had tried to sneak to his horse furtively – he hadn't even looked back, and the other elf still was moving very silently.
"If it helped, I would provide you with him, but the millennia taught me to see lies in his eyes and read them in his mind. He really does not know."
"I wouldn't have taken the offer anyway, old friend. You know me, I'm almost always riding alone. I don't need anyone to follow tracks. This is the fastest way for me."
"So let the stars show the way and the wind tell you the hour." With a nod of deep respect and gratefulness, one fist resting on the opposite shoulder for a moment, Glorfindel stepped back and let Langhour pass whom everything might be depending on now.
Only with Langhour gone, Glorfindel turned to Erestor again, with a quiet, deep breath. No matter how many emotions had been boiling up in him in the last few minutes, trying to rob him of every focus, he couldn't allow any of them right now. Or he would only have made all of this worse … and killed every hope of ever being able to get Erestor back from this madness at all.
"I do not have time to argue. I need you."
"What for? So you can present the person responsible to Gondor later once the King's death finally goes public? We both know exactly that this over-motivated man will not find Estel and Arwen in time." Erestor went to stand next to his horse again but made no move to get up on it. On Asfaloth, Glorfindel would have caught up with him within minutes anyway.
Absent-mindedly, he caressed the black mare's head, not even fully realizing that Glorfindel approached him until a sword blade was put under his jaw, forcing him to raise his head.
Instead of fighting back, he let his eyes wander over Glorfindel's pain-filled expression almost mockingly. "Not such a bad idea. Why don't you get it over with now? In the end, exerting punishment will probably be your job anyway. Or do you think Elrond will ignore that I broke every rule of the elves and Imladris in particular?"
"And you want him to reward you by giving you even more reasons to finally end your own suffering?" It was a hint of satisfaction, seeing how the indifference in Erestor's posture turned to comprehension – and to dismay. This anger that Glorfindel was feeling right now, was actually necessary. No matter how bad things would be between them for a while, there was no other way than the blunt one to help him get to Erestor at this point.
"You will not evade your responsibility. Get in the saddle. Tell me everything that happened." He had expected more resistance and was surprised that his friend did indeed follow him without another protest.
In some way, that was even more alarming than all these scars on his skin. While Erestor usually wasn't someone to try and enforce his opinions with volume: Things only ever became really dangerous once he turned completely silent.
"Since you don't seem to honor our friendship enough to grant me healing in the Halls, you shouldn't take me straight to the men of all people who will gladly wipe me out by the way," Erestor finally remarked when was done with his tale and silence started to prevail.
"It would not be the first time for me to keep furious soldiers off your back."
That sinking feeling in Glorfindel's gut had subsided at least a little, now that he had heard all this. Erestor had got carried away completely, had made countless mistakes, sure. But just like Glorfindel had suspected from the start, he hadn't acted maliciously even a single time. Others would have to be held responsible for no one ever teaching Erestor how to handle such a big endeavor right, Glorfindel himself being among them. For now, it was about making amends, and that would be an extremely long and stony path.
"You are welcome to ride to Cair Andros and start apologizing there."
"To a group of frustrated elves who are just waiting to try out their brand-new swords from Lórien on me after the battle just lost. Yes, you're right, that's a lot better."
It was almost as if not a day had passed since they had last bickered about something in Imladris, just to drink the argument away with a glass of wine in the evening then. When there had been much alcohol involved, on many an occasion, such an evening had ended on Erestor's notorious sofa, too – or on his desk. Or, more rarely, in one of their bedrooms. All of that to blow off some steam, in a physical way, without any kind of deeper bond between them, which was actually happening only rarely among their people.
His teasing answer was stuck in Glorfindel's throat when he eyed the fresh scar on Erestor's cheek once more. It wasn't unlikely that no other than one of those people that Erestor actually should have protected in Gondor had given it to him.
It should have been a last assignment on Middle-earth that would help him find inner peace, that was what Lord Elrond had said back then, hardly even listening to Glorfindel's objections. By now, the Lord was probably regretting it too to ever have asked Erestor to help Aragorn with the problems regarding the Stewardaides.
Who would have thought that someone who had been reasonable enough most of the time to keep away from battle for millennia, no matter how reluctantly, would take that so literally? It was too late for regret now. Erestor would never again be who he'd once been. He was marked in more than one way. Shattering that wall surrounding his mind might very well take decades.
Maybe the two of them should take their leave earlier than originally planned. A quiet place somewhere in Aman where no one would find them, far from any worries, wishes, and complaints of any elves and especially Secondborn quarrels … That sounded like a really good idea. If after all this time, Glorfindel's wife had hopefully left the Halls, at last, they would also finally be able to sort out this complicated matter between all of them then, which might give Erestor additional support. Elrond would gladly let Glorfindel go because it would be both exactly the punishment that Erestor deserved and the help that the Lord wanted for his librarian alone. After a few days of countless discussions about things that he long knew anyway, Erestor would surely agree as well.
Why by the Valar did it feel then as if it would never come to that, whenever Glorfindel's eyes found that scar? "I always fought for you."
"But never with me." There wasn't the slightest reproach in Erestor's voice, yet those four words hit Glorfindel like being lashed with a flaming whip. They were burning in scars that had been healed in the Halls millennia ago, after an adolescent black-haired scribe in Gondolin had had to witness their creation, screaming in terror and unbridled rage.
"Stop trying so hard, mellon. There is nothing I have left to give to anyone."
Pointless, at least for the moment.
Glorfindel forced himself to look ahead, towards where they could finally see the walls of Minas Tirith glistening in the moonlight. They had ridden closely enough to the White Mountains to stay in cover; however, that way Glorfindel wasn't able to tell what was going on in Emyn Arnen, albeit being only a few miles away, either.
He hadn't finished the thought yet when Asfaloth bolted. His loyal battle steed was being more attentive than he was himself right now who had been lost in distressing thoughts for too long. He made it in time to dodge the arrow that had almost hit Glorfindel right in the chest.
"What by the …?" Glorfindel paused in his hefty curse when he recognized the attackers in the distance.
No, unlike he'd feared for a moment, it wasn't upset citizens who had already seen the disastrous flyers. Given the sight of numerous people in dark grey armor though, that wasn't exactly a reassurance. These were Faramir's people who had obviously fallen for Barhit's deception in Emyn Arnen and who probably wanted to take out Erestor as an alleged enemy now.
"More than you know," he commented on Erestor's last claim before spurring Asfaloth on to a quicker speed, to clear up this matter instantly before even more blood would needlessly be spilled.