Chapter summary: Glorfindel sees Orcrist and Glamdring when Thorin's company pass through Rivendell, and the sight affects him more than he expects it to. Erestor helps him.

Glorfindel did not anticipate the panic that surged at the sight of the sword. Curved slightly, it shimmered in the light as Elrond pulled it from its scabbard and admired it.

"This is Orcrist, the goblin-cleaver. Forged by the High Elves of the west—my kin," Elrond said. He was glad that Elrond did not look at him.

His heart was beating in his throat.

The next blade was Glamdring.

I can't do this.

He was standing guard at the entryway and listening, so that he could counsel Elrond on whatever occurred at a later time, but the obligation held no meaning to him in the face of the mind-shattering panic.

"No," he whispered. He was walking so fast that he was nearly running, but he didn't know where it was he wanted to go. He just wanted to get away.

Calm yourself. It was a whisper from the Valar in the back of his mind; he could not tell exactly which one it was.

"Leave me be," he growled. "For one moment, stop your meddling and let me grieve what you have stolen from me."

There was no response. He took a shaking breath, breaking into a run at last, running away from it, running away from—

"Glorfindel!" A sharp voice and a sharp grasp. Glorfindel wrenched his arm from the offending grip. Erestor was before him, his brows furrowed with worry.

"Leave me," Glorfindel said. His voice shook.

"I will not leave you in a state like this," Erestor said. "Come into the library—there is no one there."

"Let me go," Glorfindel whispered. He knew he sounded like a child, and he felt like one—a child who had seen something too terrible for words.

"Come inside," Erestor said, and he sounded like he was close to growing angry. Glorfindel hesitated, and Erestor pulled him into the library and locked the doors behind them.

"Sit down," Erestor said. He guided Glorfindel to sit.

"What happened?"

He was gone.

"No, no, no." Glorfindel's heart still pounded much too hard and much too fast, and his breaths came in shuddering gasps.

Turgon. His king, his friend, who he had followed across the Helcaraxë so, so long ago. I would have followed you anywhere.

Turgon was always so uptight, and smiled so seldomly, but when he did it felt like a fair summer breeze. Glorfindel would do anything to see Turgon smile.

The tower fell. No, no, no, no, no! I cannot lose you too!

Too.

Ecthelion.

The image of a pale, smiling face overtook his vision. It knocked the wind out of him. He doubled over with a groan. He bent with his head between his knees, shuddering and moaning as the pictures flashed before his eyes. Smiling, laughing, playing his flute, Orcrist in its scabbard at his hip. Fighting, the blade glinting. Falling, falling, falling. He's drowning! He's drowning—help him! He gasps, chokes on water, struggles to swim, but he is bleeding too heavily, and the balrog is dragging him down.

NO!

Ecthelion's eyes open. A terrible fear is on his face. He stares up through the water.

His eyes roll back in his head.

He is dead. Orcrist is barely visible, sinking through the clear water until it comes to lie near his dead face at the bottom of the fountain.

"No!" he hissed. A cry grated against the inside of his throat. "No." He was sobbing. "Please no."

He did not know how long he cried. When at last he lifted his head, through his blurred vision he saw Erestor before him. The librarian was sitting across in another chair and drinking a cup of tea. He held a cup out to Glorfindel, and Glorfindel took it. It was warm in his trembling hands.

He thought he was done crying, but the surface of the tea rippled as a tea dripped from the end of his nose. He took a moment to catch his breath.

"What happened?" Erestor asked again. Glorfindel swallowed tightly, trying to find his voice. He opened it to speak and found his throat hurt from crying, so he took a sip of the tea.

"The dwarf has Ecthelion's sword," he murmured once he'd swallowed. "He found it. Elrond has given him his blessing to use it. And Mithrandir will wield Turgon's."

"Does Elrond know who they belonged to?" Erestor asked.

"I think so."

"I'm sure he'd try to get them for you, if you asked. If you want it."

"I don't." The thought of looking at them again, even once, was nearly too much. He would not be able to bear seeing them every day. He took another sip of his tea. It was chamomile, calming, and the steam twirled upwards onto his face. Besides, Turgon and Ecthelion would have preferred their blades be put to use, instead of gathering dust beneath his bed.

"I wish I had not been reborn here," he whispered at last. "I wish I'd been reborn across the sea with Ecthelion—" he choked, "—with my family, with my king. I did not ask for this."

"I know you didn't," Erestor said. "But this is how it's happened, and in time you will be able to sail and see them again."

"I want him here now." Again, he sounded like a child, petulant, but it was borne of the carnal ache in his heart that never subsided. I miss him. I miss them. Please just let me go to them. This is not natural. It was a plea to the Valar. They did not answer him.

"Ecthelion ought to have come back. He was greater than me in heart and valor. He would not have been so disturbed by rebirth. He would've taken on the task with pride. He was too selfless." He was getting choked up again.

"Glorfindel, you gave your life to save your people, and that selflessness has not left you. Wishing to be free of pain is not selfish," Erestor said. He stood and took the now-empty cup from Glorfindel and put it on the table, his eyes not leaving Glorfindel's face. Erestor's hand came hesitantly to touch a golden curl.

That was all the motivation that Glorfindel needed to wrap his arms tight around Erestor's middle. Erestor's arms came to cradle his head, and Glorfindel felt the tension slowly leave him. Erestor was not one who enjoyed touch, but Glorfindel needed it, and he was glad that Erestor would suffer a minor discomfort for him. The last of his tears formed a small damp spot on Erestor's robe.

"I must look at it as a blessing," Glorfindel said against Erestor's tunic. "I…I have been granted more time in Middle Earth, which I love. I love being here. If I had not been reborn here, I would have missed out on so much."

He took a long breath. Erestor's hand was still rested on his hair.

"They are reborn across the sea. They will wait there for you. But here—here, you can play a part in people's lives. Where would Elrond be without you? Where would his sons be without you?"

Glorfindel looked up with a wry smile, though his face was still streaked with tears.

"What of you, then?"

"Indeed, where would I be without your idiocy to fill my days?"

"Shower me with insults all you like," Glorfindel said, laughing. "I am just glad to have you. Another reason I must count myself blessed to be reborn—I doubt I would have met you otherwise."

He leaned to hug Erestor's middle again.

He could not see Erestor's face, but he could sense his smile.

A/N: This story was initially a one shot and was marked as completed. I wrote this second chapter recently while working on Melancholia; it seemed to fit with the theme of the original, so I've added it. I greatly enjoy Glorfindel and Erestor's friendship, and I expect that at some point in the future I will write more about them, so I will leave this marked as unfinished.

I hope you enjoyed this addition! Please leave a review.