Beta: Anarithilien - always right!

WARNING for slash in this chapter.

Thanks to reviewers. And if you are a bit rusty on the Silmarilion, there are notes at the end. But you may want to read them first.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

1 Corinthians 13

Chapter 5: Now I know in part

A cold wind fingered its way between the trees that clustered around the edges of ruined Phellanthir, rustled through the last few dry leaves on bare branches that laced the sky immediately above Glorfindel. It was bitter chill and snow lay on the air from the mountains, swirled around the ancient and desolated city. Glorfindel shivered and then frowned. This was not cold. Not to someone who had crossed and survived the Helcaraxë…The cold came from within.

He and Erestor sat together beneath the sheltering of trees in silence for a long while. Neither could bear to speak, each sunk in the confusion of thoughts and emotions surrounding Rhawion's loss; they had failed and could not bear to speak, to even look at one another. Glorfindel could not forget the way Rhawion's flickering light had hurled itself against the Nazgûl to distract it from striking at Glorfindel and he relived it over and over and over, berating himself mentally for his slowness, his inability to coax the hesitant fëa to follow him. He stifled a moan and instead dug his fingernails into his hands as if that small pain would suffice.

And then he had seen in the deep darkness of the mirror, a distant spark of shadow and flame. An ancient enemy.…A whip cracked, flame licked, caressed a blade of fire…fire so hot it boiled the blood and melted …

Glorfindel felt the tremble in his hand that he thought had stopped long ago. He gripped one hand in the other, waiting for the trembling to stop. But it would not. He dug his nails in deeper to the fleshy part of his hand but it did not hurt enough, not enough to stop the pain of Rhawion's death, not enough to stop the fear.

Silently he opened his pack and dished out the last of their rations, quickly so that Erestor would not see how his hands shook, how his face was drained of blood. He could not bear the idea of food for himself but he knew he must eat. It was harder bread than he knew Erestor would have liked. Usually Erestor would have complained loudly but Glorfindel could see that he too was stunned into silence and Glorfindel was grateful at least that he did not have to speak, for he thought his voice might tremble as did his hands. Erestor flipped open the last wineskin and drank, passed it to Glorfindel without looking at him.

Erestor seemed barely cognisant though he was calmer now. Erestor too had seen something in the mirror but it was not what Glorfindel had seen, and Glorfindel was not sure if he wanted to know what it was that had caused the stunned, perhaps desperate elation in Erestor's amber eyes.

Chewing the hard bread, Glorfindel busied himself making a small fire. He did not think they were in any more danger by having it and although he was concerned for Erestor, it was for himself that he built the fire. Ironically. But still neither spoke and Glorfindel still could not bear to look Erestor in the eye, not just yet.

Small flames flickered over the little pile of kindling and he thought how they had been experiencing each other's thoughts and memories. It had become more intense and distinct the closer they drew to the mirror but they had not seen the same thing, of that Glorfindel was certain. Unless Erestor was even more insane than he had thought.….He stared into the flames, let his gaze drift. Could it be that even after the centuries of abandonment, the Ormalondé and the mirror within it yet had some strange power? Erestor had said Celebrimbor played with Orma, tumnalómë; that his curvë was unsurpassed in these later times. And throughout the years of his greatest experimentation, Annatar had sat at his right hand. Sauron. He knew all the secrets of the Noldor now. No wonder he had placed Nazgûl to guard this empty and haunted city. But what did Sauron think he was guarding? If it was the mirror, what was its power?

And although the strange power of Phellanthir explained the Nazgûl's presence, it did not explain why it now devoured an elven fëa when it had never done so before.

Restlessly, he threw a small twig on the fire, unnecessarily and pulled the water-skin from his pack and two small tin cups. He poured water into each and set them between the stones of the shallow fire pit he had already dug.

Was it a mere memory reflected back to him in the mirror, or was the Valarauko, the balrog, somehow seen through the mirror itself.. or worse, trapped somehow on the other side? Was that why there was so much smashed glass on the floor of the hall? Had someone deliberately smashed the mirrors…had something tried to get out?

The hairs on his body stiffened in horror. Had something already got out?

His hands stilled and he stared into the little flames that flickered up through the kindling.

Shadow and flame.

…..Ruinataró…..

A whisper. A distant blaze in the darkness. The other side of the mirror.

He turned to stare into the dark trees and bushes that waved suddenly in a wind that seemed to come from nowhere. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled stiffening and he felt an unreasonable fear in the pit of his stomach…

'We must leave. Now. Before the snow falls,' he said, standing up. He started to kick over the fire but Erestor lay a hand on his foot and stayed him.

'No. Why? Why so sudden? We have only just found the secret of the Tower and you want to turn tail and run?' He shoved Glorfindel's foot out of range of the fire, aggressively and Glorfindel stepped back.

'We must leave.' Glorfindel ran his hands through his hair anxiously. 'Erestor. Think.!' He crouched down beside Erestor, wanting to impress upon his companion the urgency, the danger they were in. 'Rhawion has been… destroyed. And there is …something in that mirror. We need to tell Mithrandir, and Elrond. Let them decide.'

'We cannot simply leave this to Sauron,' Erestor said angrily, turning his face away from Glorfindel. He leaned over and grabbed a stick to stir the ashes of the fire that Glorfindel had kicked over, teasing it back to life.'We are not leaving. Have you forgotten already Rhawion's sacrifice?'

Glorfindel had to steady himself against the thin trunk of a young tree nearby. Covering his eyes with his hand, he shook his head. Ah, Rhawion! That faint fluttering light that was all that remained of Rhawion's fëa had cast itself into the clutches of the Nazgûl to distract the wraith, to save Glorfindel from a blow that would surely have killed him. He felt a cry fight its way from somewhere deep inside and heard himself give a low groan. He clutched his chest for it hurt physically to think on it.

Immediately Erestor was on his feet and reached out to him. 'Ah! Forgive me my friend!'

But Glorfindel stepped away, shaking his head. 'No. I deserve no comfort.' He forced himself to look at Erestor, to face Erestor in his own cowardice. 'You are right.' He could not help glancing over his shoulder into the dark trees, his hair still on end and prickling. Cold and afraid, he thought with disgust, he who feared nothing. Needing something warm but afraid to abandon his guard, he leaned down and reached for the tin cup of water that had warmed in the flames.

…Do you fear to meet it again? Do you fear the whip of fire, the blade, the sheer, unimaginable heat that scald and then burns, sets your hair alight, melts your skin, your eyes..

The tin cup clattered and water spilt, hissed on the flames.

Erestor looked up in sudden concern. 'You must not blame yourself so,' he said quietly and reached out to still Glorfindel's trembling hand.

Glorfindel stared down, shocked at himself, disgusted with his craven cowardice. For he was not the only Elf to have faced, and been slain, by balrogs and dragons.

'My heart forebodes,' he said, but he could not speak of it more.

Erestor watched him in concern for a moment and then carefully settled himself by the fire, knees drawn up and thoughtful. It was intended to soothe, thought Glorfindel but it did not.

'In Eregion we thought it was safe, it was the good times,' Erestor glanced up at Glorfindel and then back to the fire. 'We thought we could prosper and grow as Fëanor had told us we would when we followed him from Aman- as my father did.'

Glorfindel stood on the edge of the firelight and stared out into the darkness; he had had the same dreams, the same desire to Iive as Eru intended, but Erestor was speaking of the Second Age after the War of Wrath, when Moringhotto was banished to the Everlasting Dark, beyond the ken of Elf or Man. By the time Celebrimbor had come to Eregion, Glorfindel had been long dead, his body ash upon the mountains of Gondolin…It was not as if he had not thought it before, but here in the shadows of Phellanthir with the distant fire and shadows in the mirror, it raised the hairs on his neck so they were stiff with horror. His hands tightened into fists for he felt a tremble begin once more and it seemed to him there were things lurking in the trees just beyond the firelight. But he could hear nothing.

'We thought we could pursue our ambitions to the end,' Erestor continued as if he did not know that Glorfindel was standing at the edge of the light, straight-backed, tall, but tension in every muscle of his body. Erestor reached for the loaf of hard bread and tore a piece off. 'We thought we could know the mind of Eru. And Celebrimbor thought he could heal Arda itself. He wanted to build a kingdom such as Valinor, to rival, even surpass it.' Erestor sighed and stared into the small tin cup in his hand. 'But the Enemy will not countenance it.'

He spoke in a way that Glorfindel knew he did not mean Sauron. Although he was significant enough, he was nothing compared with Morgoth; Erestor knew that of all the inhabitants of Imladris, Glorfindel alone knew that when he said the Enemy, he meant Moringhotto Bauglir himself. But Erestor spoke of Morgoth as if he were still a threat though the Valar had cast him into the emptiness of the Everlasting Dark more two Ages ago.

'I do not understand how completely he managed to destroy the House of Fëanor. It is almost as if the Music demands it…' Erestor continued. He stared into the fire, the flames that licked and danced and gave comfort, warmth. 'Almost as if it is written, in the Music. That it is the will of Eru that the House of Fëanor is sacrificed to defeat Bauglir.'

Glorfindel glanced away from the dark trees for a moment. Erestor had that faraway look in his eyes and did not blink. A strange light seemed to flicker in his eyes though Glorfindel did not know the source. There was a wildness, a fey light in his eyes and not for the first time did Glorfindel wonder what it was that had elated Erestor when he touched the mirror. And why had Erestor not felt the Balrog as he had? Erestor looked down, absorbed, he drew something in the dust although Glorfindel could not see what it was unless he moved from his place at the edge of the light. He was not sure he wanted to.

'To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well,' Erestor said suddenly, bitterness in his voice and Glorfindel braced himself against the heresy that was sure to come for he had grown used to Erestor's Fëanorian rants when in his cups in Imladris. 'Why would the Valar wish this, Glorfindel? Why would they curse us so that every single good deed ends in evil? What perverse delight does that give them in the revenge they have wreaked so entirely upon us?'

Us to Erestor was Fëanor and his followers, kinslayers, heretics and Glorfindel was not one of them, he told himself, though at Alqualondë he had stood by horrified, unable to judge what was happening and how the terrible killing had begun.

'You are overwrought,' Glorfindel said a little shortly, and moved slightly. He had honed his patience to a weapon but it was growing thin; the loss of Rhawion and the growing sense of horror unnerved him. He looked into the trees again. Was that a stick breaking under a foot? He started and took a step forwards, hand already on the pommel of Eruvatorë. Nothing.

You are being foolish, he told himself . That distant spark could have been anything…it could have been the reflection from Erestor's strange Fëanorian sword…But he knew it was not.

Shadow and flame.

…..Ruinataró…..

A whisper in the darkness of the mirror. In truth, there was no doubt.

Erestor's voice ran in in the background and at first Glorfindel barely attended -he was listening to the woods, stretching out his awareness, feeling for a flame, heat that singed the edge of the air…But there was nothing.

'Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever. ..."

Erestor's voice took on the tone of a storyteller telling an old, familiar tale, as it indeed it was. Glorfindel did not want to hear this now. He did not want to dwell on the past, and Gondolin. And his own was evil in the woods, he was sure and this was merely a distraction

'Do you not think it harsh, Laurëfindë, that to evil end shall all things turn though they begin well?' Erestor asked bitterly. 'Is that what your Gods wish for Middle Earth?'

Glorfindel pressed his lips together at the thinly veiled insult and braced himself for the inevitable tirade against himself and Gondolin.

'Celebrimbor was not even born when Fëanor left Valinor! He began such good and worthy deeds only to be betrayed by Sauron, the Maia that the Valar could not control and let go free after all his wickedness. Is that what the Valar wanted? Had they already doomed Celebrimbor to an evil end before he was even born?'

Erestor gulped at the tin cup he clutched between his hands, swallowed and blinked hard. 'And it was such a very evil end!' He looked down into the empty cup for a moment and then up at Glorfindel accusing. 'Was that what your Valar wanted? Are they satisfied yet by the blood sacrifice of the Noldor yet?'

'My Valar?' Glorfindel would normally have steeled himself and let the bitterness and disappointment wash over him. But he was worn thin with… with what? With fear? He glanced at Erestor and snapped his mouth shut before he said things he would later wish he had not.

'Did you never wonder how the war was going?' Erestor was determined, it seemed, was accusing and angry.

Glorfindel did not answer, but he turned away and looked up at the dark sky. There were no stars. 'We were braced for the storm that was going to hit Gondolin,' he said as he had a thousand times before, but he heard a thin tautness in his own voice.

'Did you never think to yourself that perhaps hiding in the mountains was a tad cowardly when the rest of your people flung themselves again the walls of Angband?' Erestor pushed himself upright and stared at Glorfindel. 'Did you not think to yourself that you should ride out and help?'

'No.' Glorfindel snapped suddenly. 'This is not the time or place, Erestor. You do not want this discussion now.'

'Why not? I cannot think of anywhere more suitable than this.' Erestor flung out a hand toward the darkness that crept at the edges of the firelight, towards the even darker and brooding tower. 'Does it not make you think of Gondolin after you had gone? Its tall towers, white spires brought low by Turgon's proud isolation.'

Glorfindel, already on edge, could not help clenching his fists.

'Turgon was such an arrogant prick, sitting there in his splendid cowardice…Turgon his name, turgid his nature!'

Glorfindel glared at him then and Erestor gave a sly smile, knew he had pricked the impermeable skin of his patience. Glorfindel said, through gritted teeth, 'I am going to let the Nazgûl have you. With any luck they will take you to Barad-dûr. You could defeat Sauron single handedly. He will explode in fury and I will be done with both of you.'

Erestor laughed loudly at that, pleased. 'You are recovering your sense of humour, Laurelindë. Lost that so-perfect-balrog-slayer shine. You do need to overcome your own demons,' he added coolly, just prodding now that unhealed wound. 'You've never really forgiven the Valarauko for killing you, have you? After all, you aren't the only Elf to have slain one. But I suppose you aren't the only one to have been killed one either. I wonder why it was you and not Fingon…'

Glorfindel gasped. He had a horrible sense of a destined meeting, the distant fire rushing towards him, the rush and roar of flames. 'If your great lords had only paused and thought,' he retorted in both anger and fear, 'if they had only listened instead of throwing themselves uselessly at the gates of Angband, we might have got somewhere. But they were so determined to get those damned jewels they could not see anything but that! If they had not killed other Elves in Lossar, in Doriath, in Sirion, if they had not betrayed Finrod….'

'If the Valar, cursed be their names forever until the Dagor,' Erestor snapped back, rising to his feet, 'if they had given them the Silmarils instead of denying them, if Thingol had given them to their rightful owners, if that stupid, stupid Elwing had handed it over, if if if…' He stood chest to chest with Glorfindel, amber eyes flashing and fists clenched even as Glorfindel's.

Glorfindel shoved him away, breathing hard, face flushed and lips parted and all thoughts of the forest and danger forgotten. 'Maedhros' one good deed was to give up the crown to Fingolfin. At least he knew the weakness of his blood, the curse upon his House and sought to rid the Noldor of the Fëanorian taint.'

'Ifhe had known where the crown would end up, he would never have yielded it to Fingolfin,' Erestor flashed back. 'I admit that both he and Fingon were worthy of the kingship, but how Maedhros must have despaired his generosity knowing the crown was going to Turgon!'

Glorfindel turned to face Erestor, his patience snapped. 'Maedhros is the bloodiest villain in history!' he said in a low, threatening voice. 'In the bloody history of the Noldor, he is the bloodiest of Elves. He swore the Oath that sent them all to ruin, he slew our kin on the shores of Aman for ships – and left us on the blood-soaked shore with nowhere to go, left us to face the wrath of the Valar alone! He let his mad bastard brothers loose in Nargothrond to betray Finrod and die, he led slaughter in Doriath, in Sirion.' Glorfindel took an angry step towards Erestor, fists clenched. 'He led and exhorted Elf to kill Elf, man, woman, child. He let the children of Dior die, and he would have killed Elrond had his own damned brother not protected those children.' Glorfindel used a word then that had even Erestor looking at him in shocked admiration. 'Helfdîn! He broke into the camp of the Valar and slew the guards on the worthless bloody Silmarils and stole them…It was just as well he threw himself into the fire for if he had not, I might well have helped him!' Glorfindel stopped, chest heaving and eyes blazing.

Had Erestor not heard it so many, many times that he hardly heard it - though not as colourfully and not from Glorfindel - he would have thrashed him. Instead, with astounding and calculated temerity, he merely yawned elaborately. 'You have become boring, Glorfindel,' he said provocatively. 'I thought you better than to believe half a tale told by the ignorant and stupid. You of all people should know that a story tells only a part of what happened.'

'You aren't telling me this is not true!' Glorfindel heard the sarcasm in his own voice and could not help it. 'Was Maedhros somehow innocent? Oh forgive me! How misunderstood he has been these long years!' Glorfindel turned away in disgust. 'Oh- of course it was Feänáro's fault. After all, poor Nelyafinwë. He only did as he was told.' He turned on Erestor, expletives flying from those normally cool, perfect lips. 'It was just as well Moringhotto held him captive for so long. Eru alone knows what more havoc he might have wreaked in those years! He was soaked in blood,' he said vehemently. 'I can never forget the blood on the shores of Aman…'

'Yet you still came,' Erestor said with feigned boredom. 'I have never understood why you lot followed when you could see the fires on the shores of Ennor. You knew you were abandoned! Why did you come?'

'Because we were abandoned, you fool! There were those who had betrayed us and we wanted them to see! We could not be shaken off like a dog. We followed because Fingolfin followed. And because we believed in the cause. We believed in Feänáro's lies. We believed we would be free in Ennor, that the life in Aman was not as we should be…Because we could not bear to think of Finwë's death unavenged! He was our king too!'

'That may be so. But he IS here!'

For a moment, Glorfindel thought he had gone mad. 'Who? What do you mean?'

A dangerous and fey light came into Erestor's eyes then and he clutched Glorfindel by the shoulder, leaned in as if telling a great secret. 'My lord. Maedhros. He is here. He has returned to help us. As you did.'

Glorfindel looked at him in horror. 'You fool! Is that what you think? Is that what you think you see in the mirror? I tell you, you are wrong. There is peril, danger…'

'What did you see? Are you afraid? I have seen him! Why not? YOU came back. Why should it be only you to come back and no one else? Why not Fingon, or Ecthelion? Have you been sucking Manwë to get favours? Or serving Námo? He was…'

The punch was hard. It socked Erestor on the jaw so his head jerked back. So hard it hurt Glorfindel's fist.

Erestor reeled and sank to the ground, blinking like he saw stars. He let his head drop against his chest so his hair hung around him, his hands loose at his sides.

Glorfindel rubbed his knuckles ruefully, all heat gone from him. He looked away into the woods. The sense of danger had dissipated. There was nothing there now.

He looked back down at where Erestor was holding his mouth and pressed his lips together. He would not apologise. Erestor had had that coming for, well, years, he thought.

Erestor touched his lip and his hand came away bloody. 'Well. I suppose I deserved that.' He glanced up at Glorfindel irrepressibly. 'It was almost worth it.' Glorfindel looked away irritated again, but beyond belief Erestor continued, 'I tell you, I know Maedhros is there. He has returned.'

Glorfindel turned away, refusing to even give Erestor's preposterous claim any credence. 'You test me sorely, Erestor.'

Erestor pulled his cloak around him and caught the edge of it, lifted it to dab at his lip. 'Ah, but just to see the fire ignite in you and the passion that had almost gone out burst into flame.'

Glorfindel glared at him but crouched by him anyway. He put a finger under Erestor's chin and pulled his face first one way, then the other, examining the cut. 'Barely a cut,' he said dismissively and stood up.

'It will add to my rakish look,' Erestor said irrepressibly. He watched Glorfindel, his amber eyes deep and penetrating. 'I forgive you the blow, but not the slander against he who was the most honourable, noble, kind, and courageous man I have ever known. He did all of those things, it is true but not in the way you say. And he did not give Maglor a Silmaril- he took both.' Glorfindel stared back irritably, he did not much care whether Maedhros had taken one or two of those cursed jewels, it made no difference to him. 'I swear to you. Glorfindel. Maedhros is in there. Somehow. He has returned to help us.'

That stunned Glorfindel into silence. He stared at Erestor; surely he was mad? Maedhros returned? 'What do you mean; he is in there? In where?'

Erestor sighed, frustrated. 'You know exactly what I mean. Somehow he is …well, somehow he is in the mirror. Or in a place reached through it.' He looked up at Glorfindel then and the fey hopefulness was back. 'He is here, Glorfindel. I felt his memory as if it were my own. I know.'

'I must have hit you harder than I thought.' Glorfindel flexed his hand experimentally and shook his head. 'You know that this is just a delusion, Erestor, brought about by the Ring working on you before we left Imladris- it made you vulnerable, and then we came here where there is a strange power so you were experiencing what I thought and I you.' He took a deep breath, relief suddenly flooding through him as he listened to his own words and believed them. The Balrog is no more real than Maedhros, he realised. It is long gone into the Dark. Suddenly the distant flame in the mirror was only a flicker of light reflected from his sword perhaps, or some piece of glass glinting. He breathed and looked down at the ground, letting all the hysteria seep from him. It was no Balrog, he told himself. The whisper had been his imagination amplified perhaps by the strange power of the mirror, or perhaps only the Hall itself.

The relief was so intense he almost stumbled. When he looked up, he saw that Erestor watched him acutely.

Even then, he did not expect Erestor's next question.

'What did you see in the mirror? I know that you were afraid.'

Glorfindel pulled back, unwilling to speak of that distant spark he had been so convinced was his old enemy.

But Erestor persisted. 'There is only one thing I can think would strike fear into your heart, Glorfindel of Gondolin, of Imladris, fearless, blessed. Only one…' He stared at Glorfindel now, the orange flames cast a light over his features, shadowed the sharp cheekbones and angular bones of his face, flickered in the strange, vulpine eyes. 'I know what it is you saw.'

Glorfindel took a step towards him. 'Do not speak it.'

'I am right then. You saw the demon that slew you…'

Glorfindel thinned his lips and looked upwards, away into the huge empty night. 'I saw…a flicker of something… like a flame. But it was only the light reflecting from your sword perhaps, or mine,' he said firmly. 'There is nothing in the mirror but glass.'

'I do not believe that.' Erestor was defiant. 'I felt, knew Maedhros' thoughts…It was so clear.'

There was such longing in his voice that Glorfindel flicked a glance at him and compassion mellowed the sharp response that was on his lips. 'It is the strange power of this place that makes us see things,' he said softly. 'If it were true that you saw Maedhros, how is it then that you felt something that was your heart's desire and I felt my only fear? And for all his faults, Maedhros would have battled a balrog with everything in his blood. Either he or the balrog would have been vanquished.'

That silenced Erestor indeed and he looked away so that Glorfindel could not see his face.

The dark trees that edged the small clearing in which they had built their fire suddenly seemed just that, and all sense of menace gone. Above them the night sky soared and Glorfindel felt the cold air coming down from the mountains, smelling of snow. It seemed clean and fresh to him, and he welcomed it for it cleared his head now of the cobweb of fear that had seized him in Phellanthir. Of course, the Nazgûl's presence had been very strong and he reproached himself for being so beguiled by their chief weapon, fear. Surely that was why he had not recognised the distant flicker for what it was, sword, glass, starlight, but thought immediately of demons?

He shook his head at himself and his gullibility and sat beside Erestor. He picked up a smooth stick and held it between his fingers for a moment, contemplating its silvery wood. 'You are haunted by your past,' he said more gently. 'As I am haunted by mine.' Rarely did he speak of it for it cost him, even in Imladris and here in the empty night of Phellanthir with its shadows and delusions, it still felt like he was tempting Námo himself.

Yet he continued because in spite of the fact that Erestor was dangerous and mercurial, and he brandished his past like a banner, unrepentant and brazen, Glorfindel knew that he was as deeply hurt and damaged as he was himself by the events of his past.

Quietly he spoke. 'I have thought more of it recently. I have thought more of Gondolin, how it was that we were betrayed, how we failed to see the truth about Maeglin.' He struggled over the name. 'I have…questioned myself and why things happened as they did.' He chanced a look at Erestor but he was resting his elbows on his bent knees and staring into the fire. The orange glow reflected in his strange eyes, making him look even more vulpine than ever with the shadows of his cheekbones, the angular handsomeness. That scar on his face that was so faint as to be almost invisible.

'You know my thoughts, Erestor,' he said even more quietly because these were confidences he had shared with no one. Ever. Though perhaps many might guess at the tenor of them. 'You burst in on me the night of the council. You challenged me then about the influence of the Ring. You yourself knew that it was amplifying your own loss and longing.' He paused, waiting for it to permeate Erestor's defiant refusal.

'Ash Nazg.' Erestor murmured. 'Of course. Perhaps that is what this is. The Ring is on the move.' He shifted and sighed. 'Perhaps.' He was slowly accepting it, thought Glorfindel. 'Perhaps the mirror enhances memory. The beast that still looms over your past and my lord…' His voice cracked a little and he swallowed. 'My lord in mine.' He looked into the flames and the reflection of flames was bright in his eyes.

Glorfindel almost out his hand on Erestor's shoulder but he knew it would not be welcome now. Blood spotted his mouth still, wet and bright.

'If it had been your lord indeed, then you would have to ask why he was in the same place as the demon. It would mean that the mirror was a… door? A gateway somehow to the Everlasting Dark…' He paused and then looked at Erestor, his own blue eyes bright and clear. 'And surely Maedhros is not cast into the Dark?'

He remembered, long ago, in another life. Turgon had bid him look into the Palantir that had come to him from his father. Gondolin was not quite as remote as many thought. He remembered the sudden surge of Power as he touched it and he almost drew his hand away but the darkness within the stone had cleared and he saw through cold Himring, where another Palantir was kept. Through the glass darkly, he saw a tall, shadowy figure turn and approach. Broad- shouldered and lean, Maedhros. His mercurial eyes fastened upon the stone and his face, even scarred and disfigured, was still beautiful, his hair of burnished bronze….He had smiled thinly when he locked his gaze with Glorfindel for there was no love lost there…But he had spoken passionately, persuasively, commandingly to Turgon, and so they had ridden to join the war…

Glorfindel shook his head and answered his own question. 'No. Maedhros cannot be in the Everlasting Dark.' Even with all the sins of his House, of his own even Glorfindel thought tragedy hung about the eldest son of Fëanor.

Erestor was deep in thought now. He drew something in the dust again, a star. Fëanor's symbol.

Erestor opened his mouth and then shut it again quickly. He flicked a quick look up at Glorfindel as if he were thinking something entirely different, and if they were still in Imladris Glorfindel would have have thought it a sly look. But Erestor said then in an exquisitely mild voice, 'We should go back.'

Glorfindel started. He had not expected that, although he knew they could not simply leave.

'We must discover why it is that the Nazgûl was put here to guard it,' continued Erestor. 'And why the Nazgûl have suddenly started to consume elven souls when they have not done so before.'

Glorfindel sighed. He did not wish to return to that dismal place where the echoes of the past were segued one into the other. But they could not leave the Nazgûl alone and in command of this place. 'Very well,' he conceded and he did not see the triumphant look on Erestor's face. 'At first light we will return to the Hall.' He felt a strange cold creep over him, like fingers tiptoeing stealthily down his spine. 'One day only. When night falls we leave. I do not wish to be in that dreadful place again in the darkness.'

Erestor said nothing but poked at the fire with a long stick. The sparks flew up orange and gold like flaming hair, and he had a contemplative look in those eyes. Beside him, the dust had been blown across the Fëanorian star and it could barely be seen.

tbc

0o0o

Who's who:

Fingolfin- Fëanor's half brother, whom he left upon the shores of Valinor when Fëanor took the ships and burned them.

Turgon- one of Fingolfin's sons, and later King of Gondolin and then High King of the Noldor after his older brother's death. (Fingon, who in my verse was in love with Maedhros)

Gondolin- the hidden elven city ruled by Turgon. Glorfindel was a lord of Gondolin. They only emerged during the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, the Nírnaeth Arnoediad. That was the last time the elves from Gondolin took part in the fight against Morgoth, hence Erestor's jibe. Glorfindel is assumed to have been reborn and returned to Middle Earth to help the fight against Sauron. In this second life, he led the siege against the Witchking of Angmar (chief Nazgul) but prophesied that the Witchking would not be slain by any man. It was Eowyn of course who did that (girl power!)

Palantir- Fëanor made the Palantir it was said and in my verse, Maedhros gave one to Fingolfin and so it came to Turgon. I have Maedhros using it to ensure that Turgon felt sufficiently guilty to join the forces of the battle against Morgoth.

Maedhros

Nelyafinwe Maitimo Fëanorian, known variously as Russandol, Nelyo and Maitimo and then later as Maedhros, was the eldest of seven sons of Feanor, the maker of the Silmarils - great jewels that were stolen by Morgoth after killing Finwe, Feanor's father (Morgoth was the original Dark God who Sauron served and who was eventually defeated and cast into the Everlasting Dark by the Valar at the end of the War of Wrath and the end of the First Age). For revenge, Feanor crossed the sea and arrived in Middle Earth after stealing the ships from another race of Elves by violent means- this was the first kin-slaying. In leaving Valinor (Aman) Feanor left behind half the Noldor, including his half brother, Fingolfin and his sons, including Fingon who had been a dear friend of Maitimo/Nelyo. When Fëanor arrived he set fire to the ships so that none could return for the rest of the Noldor. Maitimo/Nelyo alone stood aside and would not set a torch to the ships. His concern was for Fingon who was left behind. (In my verse Fingon is in love with his cousin although I have Nelyo/Maitimo refusing him as the Laws and Customs does not recognise any union between the same gender.) Feanor was killed almost immediately and Nelyo/Maitimo captured by Morgoth. He endured torment and captivity until Morgoth hung him by his wrist from Thangodrim.

During that time, Fingolfin and his sons arrived having crossed the Helcaraxë, the Grinding Ice (their company included Galadriel and Glorfindel) and when Fingon heard that Maitimo was a captive, he set off to rescue him. He found him, it is said, by singing and playing his harp and Maitimo answered and pleaded with Fingon to kill him. However an eagle arrived and instead Fingon was able to fly to Maitimo's side and release him but only by cutting off his hand. Maitimo gave up both his crown, as Feanor's eldest son, to Fingolfin, and his former name, becoming known only as Maedhros.

Much later, Fingon was killed in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears (Nirnaeth Arnoediad) by Gothmog, the lord of the balrogs. In my view, this is the moment when Maedhros unravels and although he tries so hard, he becomes hard and bitter, and as one by one his brothers are killed, he engages in further kin-slayings. Eventually he and Maglor, his last remaining bother, take the Silmarils from the victorious Valar who have finally joined the battle against Morgoth and defeated him. It is said that Maedhros took one Silmaril and cast himself into a fiery chasm. Maglor is said to have taken the other and cast it into the Sea…

But not in my stories.

In my fic, Erestor was one of the many children Maedhros 'fosters' but in a rather loose and casual manner in that he scoops them up and houses, feeds them- he almost cannot help himself, unable to see a child abandoned partly because of the torment he endured from Morgoth, and partly because it reminds him of Valinor, home, his family, father, brothers …to have lots of children around. They follow him and become part of his army. Erestor is named Narmófinion by Maedhros and is one of his closest personal attendants.

Glorfindel:

Was a lord of Gondolin and when Gondolin was