Chapter Seven

Immediately Glorfindel was placed with the guard for training, with an efficiency that startled him. For a small settlement, he had expected Elrond to be personally in charge of everything. Apparently it was not the case.

"My name is Maethor, I am the Seneschal of Imladris," a scrawny looking red haired elf told him as he walked out onto the wide training field. Half a dozen other elves were already sparring with each other or going through complicated routines on their own. Glorfindel felt suddenly self-conscious of how unused he still was to his own strength. He had no choice though, practicing on his own would only get him so far. Maethor paired him with a Noldo that was roughly the same height as him and Glorfindel shook out his sword arm.

The other elf moved first, circling him slowly. After using a piece of rope as an adversary for weeks, Glorfindel found himself slow to react and simply stepped backwards. The first blow came from above and his sword was there to meet it before he even thought of moving it.

Few shall match thee lest they learn for thy own hands. Tulkas' words came to him as he watched his blade move. It responded before he was aware of ordering his body to react. His limbs were slow and he hesitated when their blades met, not following through. Right, down, parry, each move was perfect but he did not press and advantage or attack in his own right, it was purely defensive and the other elf knew it and tried to draw him out. Each attempt went unanswered as Glorfindel had trouble placing his feet. Only his sword arm recalled what skill he had once had, performing movements he was unaware of ever learning. The rest of his limbs were slow and awkward around him.

"Enough, my lord," the other elf said eventually, stepping back. "Maethor will be pleased, if you did not stand like a newly born colt." The elf reddened slightly. "Forgive me."

"It is of no matter. All this is strange to me." Glorfindel saw where the elf's gaze lay and extended his sword for inspection. It was truly a beautiful blade, he had at first thought steel then realised it was mithril in the light, engraved with a vine of flowers on one side and curves that looked to him to be water on the other. "Here." He turned it and offered the hilt to his opponent. The elf took it, balancing it as his eyes went wide.

"It is a truly remarkable blade. No finer could be found in all the treasure hordes of Middle Earth." Aulë's mark was stamped on the hilt, a rune Glorfindel had seen in Tirion when he was younger. He had seen in the looking glass in his room that he had not changed physically since the Fall, during which time two generations of Idril's line had grown to adult hood. Even elves felt the passing of the years and by rights he should have some mark. He did not and Tirion could have been a decade ago if one judged his face. "Long could I marvel at it, but I should return it to you and bid you mind your feet for you shall trip if you do not learn to stand." Glorfindel smiled and took his blade back.

"I shall endeavour to practice," he answered. The sound of hooves on stone made them turn around and a scout shot through the gate into the courtyard and out of sight behind them. "Ill news?"

"Possibly. I do not mean offense when I say I shall tell Maethor not to add you to the guard just yet, if we are called presently." Glorfindel nodded, he did not think he was ready for a real fight. He had seen too much death to want to face more immediately upon his return. Around them the guard drifted towards the armoury, casually ready to be called up.

"It is none of your concern, all of you," Maethor called. Perhaps it was the size of the valley's population, or some wider situation he was not yet aware of, but the whole guard was too on edge, the arrival of a single scout should not have been enough to break off their practice. Glorfindel would have moved their training to a place where they had no view of the causeway and bridge and thus would not be distracted.

"Again?" his opponent asked.

"Again."

They finished mid-afternoon, the guard dispersing for two hours of rest before they changed shifts and were sent out. Glorfindel wandered back in the general direction of his room, looking down corridors on either side curiously. He had thought that as long as he stayed on the ground floor, he could not get too badly lost. Seeing the hidden expanses within the House changed his mind.

"Glorfindel?" Isowen waved at him from down the corridor. She had obviously decided to smile fully the entire time, instead of the careful expression she had worn the day before. "Elrond asked me to find you. The Lady Galadriel is coming here." Artanis. Glorfindel managed to smile wanly. They had not parted on good terms when he chose to follow Turgon instead of her and refused to accompany her to Doriath. "You have not forgotten any of what happened, have you?" He realised he must have had an odd expression.

"No. It was but yesterday to me." Which was true, as well as the misty dreams appearing to last a lifetime of the earth. "Is there a reason for my being summoned?"

"You are her reason for coming." News travelled fast in Eriador it seemed. "And Elrond wishes to speak to you on other matters." She fell silent as they walked along.

"Isowen, I am sorry that-"

"No, Glor. Never say that. You could not have changed anything. I have heard that from Tuor and Idril and Egalmoth since we escaped. You died to save us! There was nothing else you could have done!" She glared angrily at him for a moment. "Only I never said that to Tuor or Egalmoth." Isowen smiled slightly, abashed. "There was a time when I was angry with you for falling, before I understood what you did for us. It is a miracle that you are with us again." He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze as they stopped at the study door.

Inside sat Elrond and, Glorfindel noticed with the tiniest jolt, Erestor.

"An old friend of yours will be arriving two days hence: the Lady Artanis, now Galadriel and Lord Celeborn," Elrond told him. Glorfindel only saw his eyes move meaningfully to Erestor as he was looking towards the darker elf at the same time. "Excuse me." He turned in surprise as Elrond left them alone for no apparent reason. He carefully stopped himself from looking at Erestor. The last evening of his life they had spent together, that short gap of time before the festival had started had been theirs. The fires, hours later were etched into his mind yet as he shot a brief glance at the other elf, it was the moments by the fountain that ran through his head.

"He-" Erestor began, staring resolutely at the table. "Elrond believes there is something about you I have refused to tell him."

"Would he be correct?" Glorfindel's tone was as casually curious as the unease of the moment would allow him to be.

"Yes." Glorfindel wondered where the eloquence had gone, the clever replies had been replaced by a strained pause. "He bade me speak with you, for he feels I have neglected to do so."

"And you do not know what to say to me now," Glorfindel finished for him.

"I am at a loss." He sat very straight in his chair, Glorfindel saw a confidence that had only been hinted at in Gondolin. "I will ask this, meaning no indiscretion..."

"Why was I chosen? I have no answer. Ecthelion-" He stopped, trying not to feel hurt at Erestor wanting Ecthelion back in his place.

"That was not my question." Somewhere between the muted tone and politeness was a faint tinge of humour, well hidden but there. "I would ask what you can recall." Glorfindel hesitated. What details could he share, with anyone?

"Every moment until the darkness," he answered. "Every second of that day up to the last face I saw before-" Erestor had stood up suddenly, his eyes clenched shut briefly. "I think it would be best if I left. Good evening."

"Good evening," a strained voice answered.

"Wimissë-" he murmured as Erestor passed, calling out the name he had known him by. Erestor stared at him, startled.

"No, that boy is gone," came the quiet answer and the door closed. Glorfindel looked at the shut door, at a loss for what to do. He felt as if the ground under him was ice, the new born colt ruling his legs could barely stand in the new world he had been thrust into. Erestor was there, different but just as perfect as the young elf he had been in Gondolin- and Glorfindel was not at ease enough to allow himself to follow that train of thought any further.

He woke as the sun rose over the cliffs, pulling himself away from the river he found himself by. He knew that at some point he would have to find a way to sleep in his bed the entire night. That point, he decided was far off. Two days had passed and he stood with a certain apprehension at what lay ahead. He had not met Celeborn as he had not been one of the emissaries from Thingol who had met at the Feast of Reuniting. He wandered back to his room and changed into something he deemed suitable to meet the White Lady. Artanis's reputation appeared to have grown significantly in the time he had missed. There was nothing grand about the plain red tunic and white leggings, nothing to suggest who he had once been. Elrond and the other elves called him Lord, but Glorfindel was as uneasy with that title as he had been when it was first given to him. Where were his people? Isowen, no one else. Once Erestor had followed his banners as part of Ecthelion's house as they crossed the Helcaraxë. Now, the House of the Golden Flower was gone, burnt to ashes in Gondolin. He put Yavanna's seed in his pocket. Whatever she had meant to tell him, it was lost on him. His sister formed part of Elrond's House, and he would have to find a place there as well. There was no Gondolin to be a lord of, no eleven other places at the table to sit among. Glorfindel sighed and forced himself to straighten up before braving the corridor.

He went through the daily practice with Maethor and his guard, cut short as the scouts announced the arrival of the Lord and Lady of Eregion. Glorfindel found a spot somewhere behind Elrond and Erestor, between Nairn who was going over a muttered list to herself, repeating phrases he could not quite catch, and Isowen. Twelve horses cantered into the courtyard, clattering across the bridge as they came to a stop before the steps that led up to the house. Glorfindel could see her, unmistakable even among fellow Noldo and blond Sindar. The light of the two trees of Valinor still shone in her hair, caught as they were in the Silmarils. Silver and gold, entwined and shining in the daylight. Her lord was as tall as any Noldo and they were followed by ten elves, mostly Noldor guards.

"Mae govannen, Elrond," Celeborn called gravely. Glorfindel did not strain to catch their greetings, watching instead as Artanis moved to Erestor. Her question was met with the slightest turn of his head and they both looked up at the elves on the steps.

Her eyes were wide, but not from shock. She had already heard the news, of course and some part of him wondered if, like Elrond she had known long before of his coming. She had had time to prepare herself, to plan which emotions he would see flit across her face. Wonder, briefly, which he thought might be genuine, then pleasure as she ran gracefully up to him.

"Glor." Her hand cupped his cheek as she smiled. He was forgiven for her anger, it seemed. "It is true." Her pleasure in seeing him was carefully constructed, as everything always had been. He waited for her to say something, anything else as way of apology. Perhaps that was too much to expect. "We lamented your fall." Yet she had abandoned him in favour of Doriath and Thingol's court. She stepped back and he thought he saw the facade slip for there was fear there briefly, hidden in her smile. He stood tall on the step above her and noticed the shift. No longer was he her playmate, a distant cousin by marriage and an unimportant friend. They stood there, the last remnants of the host of Fingolfin that had come to Middle Earth through the ice, as equals. She held the light of Valinor in her hair, he felt it within him.

"Artanis," he said somewhat coldly. Isowen and Nairn had slipped away to join Celeborn and Elrond at the bottom of the steps, well out of earshot.

"Tell me why you have come," she commanded, with equal detachment all of a sudden. "You who hated this land and longed to go home. Is that the choice we are given?"

"We are given no choice. I have been sent to further the designs of those to whom we all answer."

"I suppose they think you blameless, they are blind. Finrod's hands were cleaner than yours." She took the blame, she accepted her fault and even though it was veiled in insult he caught it. It was a start.

"I do not know if your brother is coming back, Artanis," he told her gently. "I am sorry." Their stances relaxed, he left it there.

"Then I shall settle for you and be pleased." She paused, turning back to the others. "Come, Celeborn wishes to meet you."