Chapter Eleven

His first taste of blood came too soon. The patrols he realised ranged wider than he had done at first, being kept closer to the valley for his own safety. Once he had proven himself to Maethor he was one of the company that guarded the road between the Last Bridge and the Ford of Bruinen, names he had had to learn quickly. The lay of the land was unfamiliar to him, the road his only landmark. He had not been as wary on the journey from Mithlond with Galdor as he should have been and his memory did not present the landscape around the next corner to him as he would have hoped. They rode north from the road, towards the woods that he could not name yet, through the lands of Rhudaur. The patrol had been in the wilds for three nights when they first smelt the passage of dark creatures, the stench lingering in the grass and the brooks that the orcs had stepped in.

"They have not come this close to our borders in a decade," Hesten murmured as he remounted.

"They are travelling," added Glorfindel. "That is not a raiding camp that lies broken." Maethor nodded.

"We follow them, they cannot be allowed to reach their quarry." Twelve riders trotted on, Hesten leading them along the trail. Around them the forest was too loud, the birds scampered through the branches and the wind sang with unusual volume. Glorfindel knew he was more skittish than the others who had blood on their swords with each passing season. He needed only to blink and the last time he raised his blade flashed before his eyes.

"There," Hesten whispered and they formed up. The orcs were using the road which gave the mounted elves room to manoeuvre and they formed up three abreast, the archers on the flanks.

"Charge." Maethor's command was quiet, nothing more than a whisper yet they went in a perfect line, thundering down the road to catch the orc band from behind. Glorfindel's sword cleaved a helm in two before the orcs were even aware they were upon them. Instantly he knew what he was doing again, raining blows down on the heads of the creatures without hesitation. They screamed and a few nearer the front turned to fight back, the sounds of slaughter turning into the ringing of blows parried and returned. He pushed an axe aside, plunging his blade in between the owner's breastplate and helmet. Once the body around it crumpled he pulled it free, slashing downwards at the next figure.

"Daro!" Maethor called to them, dismounting. Two orcs remained alive, each held at sword point. What he said next was lost on Glorfindel for it was a tongue he had not heard.

"Westron, the speech of Men," Hesten whispered to him. "He asks where they are bound." The orc spat in reply. "Maethor bids them speak, or we shall return them to their master form his to punish them." Glorfindel did not need to think too hard to imagine the hell the orcs could wreak upon their own. The orc cursed them, their sentence only just ended when Maethor nodded and the two guards slit their throats. "Eregion, to the Lady Galadriel's lands they were sent, to harry her borders." They would not manage that, he thought with a sigh. It felt too easy, to swing his blade again, to kill. It came too readily. Glorfindel met Maethor's eye and saw the curt nod. He had killed, he had proven himself worthy of his place in the company. He neither smiled nor scowled, feeling empty as the adrenaline left him.

They burnt the orc corpses and rode on, fleet and silent. They had no wounds, surprise had saved them from facing any real resistance. Glorfindel rode with his eyes ahead, feeling the distaste on his tongue. Tulkas had given him strength in arms, Aulë himself forged the sword at his hip, yet he took no relish in what had just happened. He supposed it would be yet another sensation he would have to become readjusted to.

"Do I approach you as I would an elfling after their first kill or keep my peace?" Hesten asked, handing him a crust of bread and cheese.

"I am fine," he answered softly.

"The patrol ends in two days." Hesten set about eating and said nothing else until they were called up for sentry duty. Glorfindel flexed his arm, feeling the phantom weight of his sword. Two more nights of danger then back to the safety of the valley. He stared out into the forest as the others rested and sighed. Guarding Imladris was not his task, even if already it felt like his duty. He glanced at his companions. Until his path was clear to him they would be his charge.

The sight of Imladris again, even after so short a time away, was a welcome one. Glorfindel followed Maethor down the path to the valley floor, not quite looking around in wonder but with the hint of a smile on his face. In the courtyard, a handful of people waited for the patrol. Hesten dismounted to receive a passing nod from his brother, a few others were met with kisses. Glorfindel felt a pair of eyes on him and turned to see a shoulder jutting out from behind Asfaloth's head.

"Did your first lengthy patrol go well?" Erestor's voice asked. He remained hidden by Asfaloth but Glorfindel would have known his voice anywhere, the quiet tone and a melody that was as close to Ecthelion's as two books by the same hand.

"We met a band of orcs but they will not be a threat again." Erestor's face appeared around the great white nose as Asfaloth turned towards him, nudging the advisor's chest gently. There was something bordering on worry there.

"I am glad to see the full company return." Glorfindel nodded, feeling as if Asfaloth was somehow ignoring him in favour of Erestor, who produced an apple out of his sleeve. It was taken before he could even hold it out and Erestor laughed quietly. A sound that had not been heard by Glorfindel since the night by the fountain. Their eyes met for the briefest second, ebony on sapphire. "If you will excuse me, Glorfindel." All he could do was smile tentatively as Erestor turned away. Asfaloth butted his head for attention.

"I have no apples," he told the horse. Asfaloth managed to look disappointed but not overly surprised as he nudged him again. Glorfindel shook his head, whatever the whinny meant he was no longer speaking his horse's language.

"A laugh," Hesten murmured in passing. "Now that is a rare thing to hear." Glorfindel swatted him away to hide his frown. In no world should Erestor's laugh be a rare thing.