Chapter Fifteen

He sat on the narrow balcony outside the room Gilotor had moved him to, his legs hanging through the carved vine railings. It overlooked the waterfall, sheer cliffs stretched out below him to the turbulent river at the valley floor. The noise of the rushing water soothed him from the agitated state the fire had left him in. He had stayed away from the other inhabitants, keeping to his room out of fear that the hate in Harelian's eyes would be shared by others.

"Glor?" Isowen's voice asked through the door. She let herself in without knocking, as she had always done as a child. He smiled sadly at that. "You are hiding from everyone," she said accusingly as she sat down next to him, her legs poking out past the edge of the balcony too.

"I am not as used to it as you," he said quietly. "I am not used to anything."

"This was the first time it has happened here. In Lindon the Sindar almost always brought it up. Yet here, it is not so. Perhaps because Elrond saw the sacking of Sirion too and there are none of the House of Fëanor here."

"Yet before, you faced hatred for something you cannot remember?" She shrugged.

"Erestor kept our home quiet, especially once Idril and Tuor had left us. Soon he was simply another one of Pengolodh's pupils again and I was no one." How different things would have been had he been there, he thought. His sister would not have had to rely on Idril or Erestor for her safety.

"We are strangers now, you and I," he said quietly.

"I have missed you. Not a day went by that our thoughts did not go to Gondolin."

"It is so recent."

"Recent? It has been nearly two millennia." Isowen paused, frowning. "To you it is nothing."

"To me it was a life time, each moment stretching out for eternity yet as soon as I awoke it was gone, a dream that seemed to span all night yet only lasted a second." He flexed his hands, once more remembering the feeling of regaining them.

"You will not settle in if you hide away, Glor. Come out, no one hates you."

"A ghost," he murmured, hardly listening to her. "A spectre."

"No- no. You are not a spectre. Impossible, certainly. A miracle even, but you are no spectre. There is nothing evil about your return." Her golden eyes went wide in earnest. "The wise have gathered around you and not seen a shadow. You are here for a good purpose, although what it is you do not say." There was an undertone of annoyance there as she hungered for a knowledge he could not give.

He smiled at her, wondering when she became so wise. So too did he wonder what would have become of Maltion, had he lived. To see one twin but not the other was heart-breaking, to see dawn but never live until dusk.

"Come out?" Isowen asked gently. "I believe Erestor is fretting over your absence, he asks after you."

"As well as coming each day." Glorfindel did not realise he had been thinking aloud until she laughed.

"He used to fret over me, each scrape or bruise. Not quite this much, I think." Their eyes met and he struggled not to blush. "It seems to me that he is lighter of spirit lately, and does not wander at night so much."

"Sleepwalking?" She nodded.

"None of us slept at first, apart from Eärendil. He often used to walk away from our camp, Pengolodh would scold him when he did. It was strange, in all else Pengolodh never cared for him, he was only angered of Erestor wandered off." Glorfindel could never understand the two sides to the lore master, one he showed the world, the calm and helpful scholar, the side his pupils saw was colder, harsh yet even back then all had loved him for some reason.

"Is it a newfound friendship?" she asked him in a teasing tone. "He is the image of Ecthelion."

"No." Glorfindel sighed as it came out too forcefully. "They are nothing alike." Where Thel had leapt head first into anything, and died because of it, Erestor would not even breathe before he had thought long and hard about it and decided it was a good plan. Ecthelion was the twin brother Glorfindel had envied Isowen for, and just as she had, he had lost him. "It is no newfound love, Isowen." For that was what it was, he knew. It had been born in Gondolin, a tiny bud of something strong that had not been diminished by the darkness. At least not to him. Yet everything was new and overwhelming again and he did not know how things stood.

"Love?" she almost squeaked, looking away. "I think you are mistaken, Glor." Something heavy in his chest fell onto the floor. Isowen stood up quickly. "Come, it is almost supper time."

"I am not hungry." He was assigned the night guard in a few hours with Hesten and the others.

"Do not sulk," she snapped at him, a strong hand pulling him up. "They died in Gondolin, that is all he has ever said. If it had been you, would he not have told me?" Perhaps not, he thought, some hope being rekindled at her logic. Erestor had no reason to care for Isowen, he had barely known her and Idril would have taken her into her care as her cousin. Glorfindel knew that if their places had been switched, he would have taken Edwengwend, Erestor's sister as his own.

"Perhaps," he answered and followed her out. In a way, it mattered little whether Erestor returned his feelings as he had done in Gondolin, some things had to change even for the Eldar. Glorfindel was content to try and live, which was proving hard enough when the flames lapped around his every thought, pulling him back down.