Chapter Summary: Glorfindel is burned while fighting orcs with Elladan and Elrohir, and the injury sends him back to his death in Gondolin. Erestor truly sees his pain for the first time.

TW for burns and gore/disturbing imagery.

When Erestor heard what had happened, he ran.

The Healing Halls were crowded with people trying to get into Glorfindel's room. Erestor pushed past them.

Elrond was there, Elrohir at his side. They were leaning over Glorfindel, curled up in the corner of the room.

Erestor had heard only tales of the soul-wounds. He had heard murmurs from Elrond that Thranduil bore such a scar. Elves healed utterly from any injury, so long as they lived through it, but the trauma could linger. When it came anew, it manifested as if the old wound had been afflicted once more, with equal pain. It would only fade when the mental state stabilized.

If not for his golden hair, Erestor might not even have recognized Glorfindel. His skin was crumpled and dark, so terribly burnt that he could not possibly be alive. His hands were clutching around his face. Between his fingers Erestor could see his eyes, pale and cloudy, searching blindly.

"What happened?" Erestor demanded. His voice shook.

"He was burned," Elrond said grimly. "He is wrapped in his mind."

There was a pale spot on Glorfindel's arm, shining, and Erestor supposed that was where the real burn was. To think that something so small could have created such a reaction seemed absurd.

"Glorfindel, listen to me," Elrond said. His face was set in sternness, but Erestor could see the fear in his eyes.

"Glorfindel, you must let me help you. It is me—Elrond." He went to grasp the wrist on Glorfindel's injured arm.

Glorfindel hissed through his teeth and struck blindly, clipping Elrond's chest and sending him stumbling backwards. Elrohir went forward to take his father's place, but Erestor grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Don't. He cannot hear you." It dawned on him as he looked at Glorfindel in morbid fascination, for even the space around his ears was burnt beyond recognition. Glorfindel stilled, trembling with pain. There were tears pouring down his cheeks. Erestor had never seen him cry from any physical pain. His eyes darted blindly around the room. The darkness of his mouth moved in silent agony, and Erestor felt his chest grow tight.

Elrohir drew back. Erestor swallowed and sunk to his knees by Glorfindel's dying figure.

"I know you cannot hear me, but I hope you will recognize me," he said softly. He reached lightly for Glorfindel's clenched fist. Glorfindel drew his hand back to his chest.

"Glorfindel." Erestor reached again, touching Glorfindel's burnt fingers, his touch feather-light. Glorfindel's eyes darted from side to side, but he did not draw away again.

"It is me." Very gently Erestor took Glorfindel's hand in both of his own, raising the stiff fingers to his face. He drew Glorfindel's fingers across his own forehead, and the crumpled skin felt dry like a shriveled leaf. Erestor shuddered and drew Glorfindel's hand over his cheeks, his chin. Slowly Glorfindel's tenseness lessened.

"Erestor." His voice was choked. Erestor held Glorfindel's hand to his jaw so that he could feel his nod. Glorfindel shuddered with relief.

"Erestor," he whimpered. He clutched at Erestor's hair, holding tight. "Erestor, please. Please, do not let me die a-again. Please!"

"I won't." Glorfindel could not hear him, but Erestor said it anyway. "I won't. You're okay."

"It hurts. Oh, Valar. Oh, Valar." His disfigured face contorted with pain, and Glorfindel gasped for air. His blind eyes looked to the ceiling, wide and terrified. "I am going to d-die."

"You will do no such thing." The stern note in Erestor's voice might have been humorous in any other circumstance, but nothing was humorous now.

Erestor had known, of course, that Glorfindel had died in Gondolin, fighting a balrog in defense of his people, reduced to fleeing refugees. It was legend; it was myth; it was a tale told of valor and sacrifice and selflessness to children to teach them virtue. But here, for Glorfindel, there was nothing heroic about it. Death was death.

Erestor had assumed that Glorfindel had died when he hit the ground. He had not considered the possibility that he could have lain there and burned to death. The thought made him nauseated.

"I know it hurts. I know." Erestor moved his hand slowly down Glorfindel's arm, and his heart clenched as Glorfindel flinched. When he came to the true wound, he held out his other hand towards Elrond.

"Give me something that will help him." He did not take his eyes off of Glorfindel. In his peripheral vision, Erestor could see Elrond hesitate.

"Now, Elrond!"

Elrond jolted back to himself. He picked up a small container and put ointment on his fingers, pressing his hand to Erestor's. It was cool and smelled sweet. Erestor brought his second hand to gently touch Glorfindel's wound.

He could see the confused relief on Glorfindel's face. He was still trembling, weeping silently, but with the source of real pain gone, Erestor watched him unwind himself from his terror. As if being enveloped by his body, the burns slowly disappeared beneath his pale skin. His eyes cleared.

Glorfindel opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He choked, gasping, and even as he dissolved into sobs, Erestor wrapped his arms tight around him and let Glorfindel crumple against his chest.

Erestor had never, in all the time he had known him, seen Glorfindel let himself cry in earnest. He cried in private when it was just the two of them, but there was always a degree of tension, an unwillingness, a shame that lingered on Glorfindel him as he wept and for days after. Nothing Erestor said could change this.

But now, Glorfindel wept unabashedly, like a child, trembling and sobbing and not trying to control himself. He clutched at Erestor's robes, tucking his face in the crook of Erestor's neck even as Erestor held him close. Erestor hid his face in Glorfindel's hair and tried to breathe.

It took several minutes for Glorfindel's sobs to fade to little hiccups, and then he finally fell into silence. Elrond and Elrohir had left them. Glorfindel's hand pawed at Erestor's chest until he found a strand of his hair to hold.

"You s-saw." His voice was muffled, for he didn't lift his head. "You know now."

Erestor felt his own tears burn.

"I would give my life to save you from more pain," he whispered. "Valar, Glorfindel. You are the strongest person I know. I would not have your strength tested again."

Glorfindel shuddered.

"You have borne the burden of protecting people all your life, and you have paid the price. You do not have to anymore." Glorfindel was crying again.

"Let me protect you. Let me take care of you."

"I d-don't know how," Glorfindel choked.

"I will teach you. You are never alone."

Slowly, Glorfindel relaxed in his arms. When he spoke, it was a breathy whisper.

"Okay."

Erestor had never felt more relieved.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! If you want to know more about the soul-wounds thing, here is a quote from IMDB about Thranduil's scar (which is the same concept):

"Thrandiul's sudden cars reflect a little emphasized of Tolkien's lore: elves' "Fëar" (a metaphysical concept analogous translatable as "soul") occasionally influences the "Hröa" (the fleshly, physical body), particularly under moments of extreme stress. This can manifest as extreme physical changes that reflect the mind's state, in this case deep war scars."

Please review!