Chapter Eighteen

The situation, it appeared, was worsening. Glorfindel was not aware of how the situation had been beforehand, he only knew that now it constituted as dire. Certainly the patrols met orcs more and more frequently. He was unused to things changing so quickly, he had not counted each season twice since his return. After his stunt with the river he was elevated, to Maethor's obvious distaste, within the ranks of the guards. He was never named as a lieutenant as Hesten was, but he began to feel others looking to him to take the lead.

"Why is it that you dislike Maethor?" he asked Erestor quietly as they made an attempt at a language lesson, Glorfindel pretending to look at the runes when his gaze was better occupied by the long fingered hand that was writing them out. They had given up on looking studious in the library and moved to the gardens where they were spread on the grass, all the more distracting as birds inquired curiously as to what they were doing.

"He dislikes you as well. Perhaps you should ask yourself that." Erestor handed him the paper to read.

"I have a feeling they are linked," answered Glorfindel wryly. "A hollow crown beneath the trees, sapphires are all the child sees. I must learn to read things other than poetry." It was apparent that the only material they used to teach him Sindarin was Erestor's favourite literature. "You did not answer my question."

"He resents my position."

"Yet serves under a Noldo lord? Do not do me the disservice of lying to me." Erestor abandoned his quill, shifting his legs so that he was no longer really sitting but lying on the grass.

"That is the truth. I was close to Lord Oropher, which was not popular after Sirion for I am not Sindar. Yet he took me in like a brother and bade me go with him to the east. Maethor was one of the many who resented how high a Noldo could rise within their ranks. Now he must share authority with me, and it is not clearly divided." Glorfindel was acutely aware of the hand that had twitched as if to catch hold of the golden tress that hung down near it, of how close Erestor had come to forgetting their barriers and touching him. He had another question, why would Erestor not go with a king and friend but he did not have chance to ask.

"Now tell me why he dislikes you." Glorfindel sighed.

"For the same reasons as Harelian?" The threat of another fire woke him with increasing frequency, reminding him that even Imladris was not safe.

"No. He does not hate the Noldor, simply that I had a place beside a Sindar lord."

"His dislike is because-" Suddenly he could not find the correct term for them. "Because we are friends." Erestor gave out a tiny sigh and sat up.

"I must go," he said with a sombre tone. Glorfindel reached out too quickly to catch his wrist.

"Have they told you of the expedition?" Erestor's face darkened as he nodded. It was planned to take three months, Maethor was to lead a large company north to scour the mountains of orcs.

"You leave this evening, as does Isowen." There was pain in his eyes, and fear. Glorfindel stood slowly, realising what it presented for Erestor. In one stroke he could lose the girl who was as good as his sister, and someone Glorfindel hoped meant just as much.

"Be careful, Fin. You do not know the mountains and-" Erestor broke off, unable to finish. "I must go." Glorfindel was left in the empty garden with the scrap of paper and poetry book by his feet. He stooped to pick them up but thought better of following Erestor immediately, saving his excuse to say goodbye.

Hesten was lounging, and it was his speciality Glorfindel had learned, outside his room.

"My apologies, were you waiting for me?" asked Glorfindel, opening the door for them both.

"Only a moment. I have a bag for you, Nairn bade me give it to you. She remembered you had nothing suitable for such a long venture." Hesten handed him the large saddle bag. "We have three hours and I was looking for an excuse to leave the barracks. I was caught in the madness therein." Glorfindel began to stuff in his clothes and the other supplies he had to take. Hesten was absently turning over a green medallion in his hands as he leaned against the bedpost. His token, most had them. A tiny reminder of those left behind, a jewel or ribbon or some such trinket. They acted as a safeguard against despair but also as a promise of return.

His saddlebag packed Glorfindel turned to his armour, looking at it for a moment with nostalgia. It was not the bright burnished gold and red he had once worn, instead it was blue and gold, the colours of Lindon he was told. It was generic, patched together from what was already in the armoury rather than made for him. He kept it immaculate, he did not care to lose his life again trough laziness. It was not, however, truly his and although none could fault his care of the metal and fabric, he did not love it as he had once lavished hours on the armour Rog has crafted for him.

He followed Hesten out to the training yard to warm up before hours in the saddle, and to dispel any nerves. Three months was nothing, he reminded himself and beat back at the blows his partner sent his way. He could move his feet now and Hesten no longer stood a chance.

"I suggest it is time we go and change," Hesten said regretfully. "And also say our farewells." Glorfindel decided not to answer the smirk shot in his direction, sheathing his sword as if it took his whole attention. Hesten disappeared, Glorfindel did not bother to see where to and walked alone to his room where his assigned armour sat. The soft padding was light, more of a shield against the metal that threatened to chafe at his joints without it. He pulled the ribbed breastplate on, fumbling for a moment with the straps before the thin, palm like scales were in place. His hair went up in simple braids to keep it back and he fastened his sword belt again, a habit he had not lost, the need to make sure it was there imprinted even though his body had changed.

With one hand he took his bag, with the other Erestor's book. Perhaps it was childish but he kept the tiny scrap of paper with the couplet written on, tucked safely within his tunic. Decked out as if for war, he made his way towards Erestor's office. He left his gauntlets in his bag, holding the book as gently as its owner would. With the back of his hand he knocked on the open door's frame. Erestor looked up from his desk, sharp surprise flickering across his face.

"That looks strange," he said simply. Glorfindel nodded, no doubt it did since he had always been renowned for the colouring of his armour.

"I came to return this." Erestor's lips twitched in a half smile as he took the book.

"Hannon le." They were, Glorfindel noted, marginally closer than necessary.

"We will return before the snows." He gave a cheery smile and inclined his head. "Navaer." He turned, unsure if that was all that was to be said.

"Fin-" A hand caught his chest, lightly stopping him. For a second it seemed as if Erestor might move towards him, but he stepped away. "May the stars watch over you." His second nod was stiffer and it required more self-control to simply walk away at that.

"Ready?" Isowen called from her grey stallion. Glorfindel mounted Asfaloth, slipping into rank beside Hesten.

"Naturally." It elicited a few laughs, the banter rising up amiably around him until Elrond and Maethor appeared.

"We shall expect you before the snows return," Glorfindel overheard the Peredhel tell his Captain. "Or else I shall be forced to send Erestor out to look for you." Maethor nodded, smiling with a forced dark humour.

"Mount up!" Those who had not done so mounted, last farewells called before silence reigned and Maethor led the formation. They saluted Elrond with their swords then rode out of the courtyard, across the bridge. As they turned, Glorfindel glanced up through the branches of the apple tree to the wide window behind. The movement inside made him smile, it was that of someone stepping hastily away from their vantage point.