Disclaimer: Everything Lotr related belongs to the well known Mr Tolkien, not to me.

Wordcount: 1918/4471

Glorfindel had been glad to leave the battlefield, to get away from all this death, but as he stumbled through the camp tiredly he realized that things weren't better here. Usually the people in the camp were talking, laughing, moving around, living, but now the only movements were tired glances as he passed, if at all.Many elves were lying on the ground, wounded or just plain exhausted, and for some of them it was clear they'd never wake again.

Glorfindel felt tired to the bone, but still his steps led him to the big tent first, which had been set up as the major healing tent, serving as a place to keep the healing equipment and to offer a place of peace to the wounded and sick. As soon as he entered his gaze fell upon Elrond, who was standing at a table, working on something he wasn't able to see. Glorfindel felt deeply relieved at seeing his friend. Elrond could have died as easily as everybody else, but he seemed for the most part unharmed, save for a bloody scratch across his brow.

Walking up to the smaller elf Glorfindel smiled, watching his friend work on a draught. "Elrond."

The half elf turned around at hearing his voice, nearly losing his grip on the cup he held in hands. His eyes were big with astonishment and he stared at the warrior open mouthed. "Glorfindel!" he finally brought forth, putting the cup back on the table. "You live!"

"I don't feel like it," Glorfindel admitted, his voice slow and deep with exhaustion.

"I thought you were dead!" Elrond explained, advancing on his friend. "Many people have told me they had seen you dead on the battlefield!"

Looking around Glorfindel sat down on a chair. He nearly fell asleep this very moment, but he forced his eyes to stay open. "I was tired. I lay down to sleep a little before coming here. Perhaps they saw me at that moment."

"Probably." Elrond sank to his knees in front of the blond, gently touching his knees. He had never seen the famed warrior look this terrible or exhausted. Glorfindel was a beautiful elf, but at this moment nobody would look twice at him. "Are you hurt?"

Glorfindel shook his head, too tired to talk much. His gaze travelled to the wall of fabric that cut off a big part of the tent to form a resting place for the wounded. "Have you seen Erestor?"

Elrond frowned at him. "Who is Erestor?"

"I found him on the battlefield. He…" Glorfindel had to take a deep breath before he was able to speak again. "He's probably dead by now. He's very young. His leg is shattered and there's something wrong with his lungs…" Glorfindel stopped feeling his throat tighten with the knowledge those wounds would probably be the end of the youth.

"I don't know," Elrond answered after a long silent moment of thinking hard. "There are so many… I can barely remember who the last one was I treated."

Glorfindel nodded slowly, having hoped against better knowledge that Elrond had seen Erestor make it to the healing tent. He passed a hand over his face, sighing exhaustedly.

Elrond rose to his feet, looking at his friend uneasily. Glorfindel looked terrible and he would have loved to take care of him, but there were people who needed his attention far more than the warrior. "I have to go back to work now. There's so much to do..." Sadly he shook his head. "Go to bed, Glorfindel. You don't look much better than the dead yourself."

Glorfindel watched as Elrond left his side, vanishing behind the curtain. His legs screamed with pain as he slowly rose to his feet. The way to his own tent appeared to be at least as long as the way from the battlefield to the encampment. Sinking down onto his bedroll he briefly thought about taking off his clothes, but at he had already fallen asleep.

When he finally woke Glorfindel found himself lying in the same position he had fallen asleep in. He eyes didn't quite want to open and it took some moments until he had pried the swollen lids apart. A heavy rain was pounding on the roof of his tent. Glorfindel simply lay there for some moments, staring at the ceiling, watching heavy drops of rain leak through a hole in the fabric. His body felt strangely heavy and he couldn't quite determine his state of wakefulness. Some part of him felt wide awake, whilst the other wanted nothing more than to close the eyes once more and fall back asleep.

The leaking roof finally convinced him of rising to his feet, as the raindrops were coming down unpleasantly near to his legs and the fabric of his breeches was soaking them up greedily. He took his time searching for clean clothes. Some thoughtful person had put a jug of water at the entrance to his tent, as well as a piece of cloth, and he thankfully took the offer to rid himself of all those blood and dirt clinging to him. Soon the cloth and the water were a dark dirty red, after having cleaned barely more than his face.

After a moment of thinking Glorfindel took of the torn and dirty garments and stepped out into the rain. Normally he wouldn't do something like this, but the situation didn't call for misplaced shamefulness. Dropping his clothes next to his tent he stepped further into the rain, letting the water wash of the traces of the battle. Casting a look around he discovered that he wasn't the only one who had taken the chance of taking an unexpected shower. No need to worry about this, then. Nobody would even look twice at him.

Washed and dressed in more or less clean and whole clothes he felt much better than the night before; or was it the day before? Glorfindel had no idea how long he had slept. It felt like days, but he still felt exhausted. Going back into his tent to sleep on the wet ground wasn't a very appealing option, though.

Instead his steps involuntarily led him to the healing tent, running through the pounding rain. He didn't even really know why he had come here until he entered the tent and his gaze instantly travelled towards the curtain, shielding the wounded from view. He knew that it was actually pointless to look for Erestor. He was long dead by now. But even though he knew this he felt the need to hear it from a healer's mouth.

He didn't even have to look long for Elrond. He found him in nearly the same position as last time, standing at the table laden with cups, bowls and herbs. "Did you even sleep?" he greeted his friend, advancing on him. "Or did you work all this time?"

Elrond turned around, absentmindedly adding some herbs to the concoction he was brewing. A smile appeared on his face as he saw the warrior. Clean and rested he looked far more the famed hero he was. "I slept. There's quite a lot I can do, but working for days without stop is not one of them."

"And yet it wouldn't be the first time you did it."

"I never did it when lives depended on me." He pushed a small bowl with various herbs in Glorfindel's direction. "Here. Grind these."

Taking the bowl Glorfindel started to do as he was bid, Elrond already starting to select herbs for a new draught. "You're little friend really is a tough boy."

Surprised Glorfindel looked up from his work, wondering for a short moment who Elrond was talking about, until they remembered their conversation from last time. "Erestor?"

Elrond nodded, gaze fixed on his work. "I gathered you'd like some news from him, so I tried to find out where he had been brought."

"Thank you. He is a tough guy. Was." Glorfindel had to swallow hard, thinking of the brave youth. "I hope his death wasn't too painful."

Elrond stopped working, looking at the blond. "It wasn't. And with some luck it's not going to be."

Glorfindel nearly dropped the grinder as he heard this. "He's alive?"

Elrond nodded once more, going back to his task. "He is. He's not well, definitely not, but he's alive. Usually I'd say I don't know how much longer but… I seriously didn't think he'd survive the night. He lost so much blood and his lungs are damaged. And yet he didn't die. I seriously don't know anymore if he's going to live or not."

Glorfindel stared down at the half grinded herbs. He had seen many wounded in his life and much like Elrond he wouldn't have thought there wasn't even the tiniest chance the young elf would see the light of the next day. But the boy was far tougher than he had thought. "Can I see him?"

Elrond hesitated for a moment, than he nodded. "He is really not well, though, so please don't strain him in any way. At the moment any kind of stress could prove to be his death." Leaving his supplies on the table Elrond made his way over to the tarp, followed by Glorfindel. "I wish I could have done more for him, but my possibilities are limited in this place. In Lindon it would have been a completely different matter, but in a place like this…"

"I'm sure you did everything you could," Glorfindel reassured the half elf, as he followed him slowly through the rows of wounded and dying, feeling sick at seeing all this death and pain.

Erestor had been brought to the very end of the tent. Glorfindel was grateful for this, for it was far more quiet here than at the front. There every sound from the separated front part, where many of the wounded were treated, was clearly audible.

Now that he had been cleaned and treated Erestor looked nearly worse than on the battlefield. There were bruises and scratches everywhere, no part of his body seemed untouched. Erestor lay with his eyes closed, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but there was no mistaking that he lived. Carefully Glorfindel sank to the ground next to him, not touching, just watching. The young elf's skin was an unhealthy shade of white and his lips and eyelids a quite disturbing shade of blue.

Glorfindel did not know how long he sat there, just staring at the youth. Erestor did not move as much as a hair. Finally Glorfindel hesitantly reached out to touch the pale cheek. The heat emanating from him startled him and he shrank back, shocked. Swallowing hard he moved back, gently stroking the hot and damp flesh. It was worse than he had thought at first, if he had even developed a fever. The boy was hurt and weak; he wouldn't be able to endure the exhausting force of a high fever.

Finally Glorfindel rose again, preparing to leave. He'd preferred to stay here, but there were many other people he had to take care of, people who were going to live. It was only with great force of will that Glorfindel managed to leave the tent. No matter what Elrond might say, personally he didn't think the boy was going to live. With a heavy feeling settling on his shoulders, Glorfindel prepared himself for the gruesome task of counting the lost lives.