Glorfindel leapt up the wide stone steps towards Elrond's chambers. The air crackled like lightning had struck. A hot smell of metal fizzled in the air. He was not alone. Glorfindel could see Erestor's tall figure disappearing within. As the door opened, Aragorn's voice floated down.

At least Elrond was well attended, thought Glorfindel grimly as he reached the top step.

The door opened quickly and Erestor's long face peered out. 'Oh, it's you,' he said rudely and pulled Glorfindel inside. 'Vilya was assailed. Ash Nazg of course. It was only a matter of time.' He led Glorfindel through the hall and pushed open the door to Elrond's own rooms. The long casement windows that looked down the Valley to the Ford were flung open and he had the sensation that he was floating somehow between the mountains and waterfalls, like the mist.

Mithrandir was standing, staring out of the long, open windows southwards. As Glorfindel came into the room, the Wizard was speaking. 'Glorfindel needs to make sure he attracts attention when he leaves.'

'I will ensure that I do.'

Mithrandir turned his head quickly in surprise. and Glorfindel inclined his head. The old Wizard looked rueful for a moment and then as always, businesslike.

'Forgive me, Glorfindel…This is a necessity, my friend. The Ring assailed Elrond, Vilya.' He paused and met Glorfindel's gaze meaningfully. 'Sauron already knows it is here,' he said emphatically. 'And the Ring seeks to return to its master through taking Vilya and influencing Elrond.'

Influencing was an understatement, thought Glorfindel. It would devour Elrond no matter his power. There would be another dark lord with both Ash Nazg and Vilya. How long before it took Narya from Mithrandir? And then there was only Lorien.

'I understand,' Glorfindel said. He glanced at Elrond who had sunk into an armchair. He seemed almost shrunken after the assault and Aragorn was kneeling at his side like asking for blessing. Elrond did not look up and Glorfindel recognised the look on his face, that dazed, half dreaming state that followed foresight.

Mithrandir tapped his staff impatiently on the floor as if he wished to be off now, this moment. 'He will be on his way unless we can convince him it has already gone. And we must make a path for Frodo, stretching Sauron's forces out and beyond Imladris and especially away from Hollin for there lies our path. We need a diversion.'

'And I am that diversion.'

At least Mithrandir had the grace to look a little apologetic, thought Glorfindel wryly but he could not complain when the Wizard was going into Mordor itself with the one thing that was most precious to Sauron.

He bowed slightly and smiled. 'It is the least I can do.'

'Forgive me this, Glorfindel.' Elrond looked up and Glorfindel saw the anxiety in his eyes, but also the quiet determination that had made Imladris almost unassailable.

'Tell me what needs to be done. It is why I am here,' Glorfindel said firmly.

'Take Tindómion,' Elrond flashed a grateful look at him. 'Go west along the Old Road at great speed and with much noise and haste.' Elrond leaned back and closed his eyes as if he were looking inwards. 'Sauron will believe you are taking the One to the Havens. His spies and the Nazgûl will follow.' He paused. 'Take Elrohir too. It is his task.'

Glorfindel saw why Elrond was reluctant. Three captains of Imladris racing across Eregion with nothing between here and the Havens, pursued by the Nine. And whatever Orcs could be mustered between the Hithaeglir and the Tower Hills. He could not blame Elrond for baulking when his other son lay close to death and his daughter had chosen the way of Men. How could he not hesitate?

But Elrohir needed this. When Elrohir had sought Glorfindel out earlier, he had cracked with grief and guilt. It was more dangerous to leave him here to brood and seethe, Glorfindel knew. Over his long, long life, he had seen enough to know that Elves were not the light and purity that some songs seemed to suggest. He had warned Elrohir long ago about the baur-úr, the fire of need that took some Men. But Elves were not exempt from its burning need to rend and tear in hate. He thought of Fëanor and his sons, of Eöl and Maeglin, of some Elves with whom he had served and of course, Alqualondë. He had seen the violence done to Orcs. Not only by Elrohir. After the Tears, there had been terrible brutality inflicted upon any enemy they found. He had seen worse things than impalement.

'I would welcome Elrohir on this if he is not to accompany the Ringbearer,' Glorfindel said, sensing Elrond's hesitation still. 'He needs action, or Imladris will bear the brunt of his grief.'

He watched Elrond breathe out slowly and went to stand beside Mithrandir. 'It is the Nazgûl, not Moringhotto,' he said easily, turning to face Elrond. Not dragons, not Balrogs, he did not say it but it was there all the same. 'Their greatest weapon is fear.' They cannot incinerate you, they cannot grind your into the mud so you are but blood and pulp.

Erestor was watching him carefully and recognition flickered in his amber eyes, for only he too had seen such things. Mithrandir did not speak but stood leaning on his staff, head bowed as if in great thought and Glorfindel wondered if Ólorin had come with the host from Valinor at the end of the First Age.

'They will only have whatever Orcs that can be mustered after the defeat you inflicted upon them.' Glorfindel lowered his voice though he knew they could not be overheard outside this room. 'We must travel swiftly. No more than twenty. Enough to make the Nazgûl consider this serious, a flight with the Ring, enough to be swift and draw them from here.' He looked around at the serious faces. 'I will take Tindómion and Elrohir. Galdor will go with us for he returns anyway and his five warriors, and Saeldir who fought with me in Angmar. We will leave amongst much fanfare and fuss, at midday.'

'And the Fellowship will leave at dusk and in secrecy,' said Mithrandir.

Mithrandir and Glorfindel looked at each other in agreement but Erestor stepped away from them and leaned his head against the cold glass window, and Elrond let his head fall against the chair in which he sat and his fingers dug into the plush velvet upholstery.

0o0o0o

There was very much to do and in the end, Glorfindel decided they should leave bright and early in the morning and not delay, although he fully intended that they would draw enough attention to fool the Nazgûl. Amron had brought back messages from his patrol that Orcs were moving in the mountains even after the rout that Elrond had delivered them some weeks before. Not simply escapees of the rout either but bands coming from the East, from Dol Guldur. And from the North down into the Trollshaws. A map was spread out on Glorfindel's table, its edges held down by some clever device of magnets so it was smooth and uncreased.

Sauron was amassing his armies to assault Imladris, that much was clear.

But Amron reported the Orc bands as slow and cautious of the Elves. It was clear that they believed the Elves had wanted to clear the High Pass, but Sauron would also know, of course, that Glorfindel and Erestor as well as the Sons of Thunder had been past the Angle and into the lost lands of Ost-in-Edhil and Phellanthir, that they had discovered the secret of the ruined Tower.

Glorfindel stared at the maps of the Hithaeglir, Rhovanian and Eregion. If he were Angmar, Sauron, he would bring his armies here - he drew a finger down upon the High Pass where there were already large bands of Orcs and easily brought down into the Trollshaws. And here, down from the Ettenmoors to intercept the small band of captains fleeing to the Havens. But he would also seek to block the Gap of Rohan, and for that he would use Saruman.

Glorfindel chewed the end of a stub of pencil thoughtfully. Yes- Rohan. It might be a good idea to send a warning to …who was it who was king now? Theoden? And the Dunédain would need to be warned too. Perhaps he should suggest that they might join the Rohirrim for war must soon come to them?

Caradhras was clear still, he mused, and Mithrandir was determined to travel that way for Elrohir had seen not a single Orc apart from a small band which he and Elladan had destroyed. That was probably the best route after all.

A cold shiver crept over his skin, and he glanced about to see if a draft had fingered its way beneath the crack between the door and wooden floor. No. It was something else.

He shook himself. Ghosts and phantoms, he thought. The incident at Phellanthir was too much in his thoughts; shadow and flame. ButRuinátoró was not the only Balrog. Others had fled at the end of the War as had Dragons and Orcs and werewolves.

He shook himself free of phantasms and dreams. This is the Ring again, he told himself, although there was no buzzing or tinny whine that usually accompanied the voice of Ash Nazg.

At that moment, the door opened and cold air breezed in along with Tindómion. The Fëanorian smiled knowingly at Glorfindel and leaned over the map to see what he looked at. Lamplight glowed on his face, and gleamed on his bronze hair so for a moment, Glorfindel was thrown back in time…the eve of battle and Maedhros was leaning over a map, in the same pose with the same knowing smile, but he did not look at Glorfindel but Fingon…

'So, we are bait!' Tindómion declared. He glanced over his shoulder as the door opened again and Galdor entered, Saeldir close behind, pulling his cloak around him for the wind had suddenly grown cold.

'Where is Elrohir?' Saeldir asked, pulling out a wooden chair and shoving it closer to the fire. He sat in it and leaned forwards, rubbing his hands.

'I am here.'

Glorfindel thought how heavy was Elrohir's presence. One could feel it the moment he entered a room. An electricity seemed to crackle although that was mere fancy, but no question, one knew he was here.

Elrohir stood beside Tindómion and looked over his shoulder at the map. 'Do we go by the Trollshaws?' he asked. Never one to dance about, Glorfindel thought approvingly, but then he had been so involved in Elrohir's and Elladan's training.

'Yes. We will go with haste up the Great East Road. I plan to meet the Nazgûl on Amon Sûl.' Glorfindel traced the line on the map that showed their route. 'Here to the Trollshaws. We should cross the river Mitheithel here.' He paused. 'I would show a beacon if I could to the Nazgûl, to tell them we are unafraid and have taken the old watchtower. But we have a need for at least a semblance of flight and secrecy.' He glanced around at the serious faces. 'We can expect battle there, my friends. But we will light watch fires and there are nine of us as there are of them.'

'There are trolls in the hills also,' said Tindómion. 'But I think even they will not be fool enough to attack so many of us. I agree with you, Glorfindel. Only the Nazgûl will assail us.' He paused thoughtfully. 'How quickly will they come do you think? Their horses have been destroyed and though they will be remounted, those beasts are still mortal.'

Glorfindel looked steadily at each of them. 'They have new steeds. More terrible than any horse I assure you. Winged lizards. They are huge, ugly reptiles. Not dragons though.' He looked at each one of them, weighed their hearts and their courage. 'The Nazgûl will come swiftly, with the speed of eagles. His spies will see us leave. We want them to. If they come upon us, we will stop and make a stand. We have archers amongst us who can shoot the creatures. This is why we head for Amon Sûl and not just Mithlond. We will have good sight of them and the creatures cannot easily land there.'

'We should take Legolas Thranduillion then,' Saeldir spoke up. 'He is the best archer I have ever seen. It would be a comfort to have him with us. His nerves are like steel as well.'

'He has other plans I hear,' said Galdor sharply.

'Yes. He leaves for Mirkwood on the morrow,' Glorfindel interrupted quickly before anyone else spoke, although both Elrohir and Tindómion knew Legolas' destination, none of the others knew who had been chosen to represent the Elves on the quest.

'Well you would certainly get no help from that quarter.' Galdor sniffed. 'Typical Mirkwood. Shows up only to give bad news, that shows that yet again, as your foster brother says,' Here he paused and bowed his head politely to Elrohir, 'they have failed in their trust.'

Elrohir looked coldly at the Mithlond envoy and to Glorfindel's surprise, he said, 'I think my brother misspoke.'

Saeldir grunted approvingly from his chair. 'I was not there when Aragorn said that,' he said. 'But anything Legolas may have done to offend anyone is well acquitted by me for his defence of our poor friend, Rhawion, and for his excellent eyesight and shooting.'

'And I am offended by your remark, my lord,' Tindómion said and he fixed Galdor with a penetrating eye. 'If this is to be the way of this discussion,' he looked towards Glorfindel, 'then I would prefer to withdraw and you can give me your orders later.'

'And I would follow.' It was Saeldir who spoke in turn.

Glorfindel felt a warm pride in his men for their defence of Legolas who had done nothing to deserve Galdor's approbation. And remembered how Legolas had told him of the young warriors who had spent their lives trying to defend Gollum. What was his name? Anglor? Anguriel? He turned upon Galdor and said firmly, ' Legolas accompanied me to Phellanthir when we were searching for signs of the Nazgûl. He saved my life and Elrohir's at least once with a timely shot.'

'Then I withdraw my remarks of course.' Galdor inclined his head slightly towards Glorfindel in respect and Glorfindel bowed back but his eyes were flint.

He wondered at the Mithlond Elf's animosity towards Legolas; in fact it had been evident from the start of the council before Legolas hd even spoken. Perhaps there was some old history Galdor had with Mirkwood? But this was neither the time nor the place. He gave each of them a firm look and then tapped the place on the map that indicated the old watch tower. 'Amon Sûl. It was the twin of Phellanthir even before it became the watchtower of the Kingdom of Arnor. This is where the Witch King stabbed Frodo.'

'And this is where you intend we should make our stand?' Tindómion looked interested. 'I have not long come from there. Elrond dispatched me after Frodo's arrival. He wanted to know how things lay.' He pressed both palms flat against the table and looked up at them. 'There is a dark magic upon the hill. A lingering of the Witch King perhaps?' He met Glorfindel's concerned eyes. 'The barrow-wights have broken their seals and walk abroad. They stray too far from their barrows. And there are trolls in the foothills. More than in recent years. Wargs and goblins roam in bands and the lands about it are abandoned, have been for a half and Age of course. These are perilous times my friends. Meeting the Nazgûl on Amon Sûl will need all out strength. And deep magic.'

Deep Magic, thought Glorfindel when all but Tindómion had gone. Of course he meant Noldor magic, curvë, and he wondered what the warrior had in mind. He had not left with everyone else but had taken the hard wooden chair vacated by Saeldir and leaned his elbows on his knees, looking into the fire.

'Galdor was surprisingly useful,' Glorfindel said. 'I thought I knew every captain in the last Alliance but clearly not if he had his own command. His strategy for defending Amon Sûl is surprisingly good, do you not think?' He looked down at the map again, tracing their route. 'All we have to do is to keep them sufficiently occupied.'

Tindómion turned his head to look at Glorfindel and his grey eyes gleamed at the thought of battle with Angmar. He leaned back in the hard wooden chair. 'I think we can give them enough to think about to delay them?' He smiled at Glorfindel and the firelight flickered over his long hair so it was molten bronze, copper. But the suppressed excitement and ferocity was so Fëanorian that Glorfindel was thrown back, again to Fingon's tent - they had been gathered and nervous, arguing over tactics and Fingon indecisive, When the curtain was thrown back and in stalked the Sons of Fëanor. They always drew the eye, the air crackled, how charismatic they were and perhaps Maedhros most of all; he was so tall for a start and his long bronze hair, which Tindómion had inherited, and the fierce delight in his pale grey eyes made one fall back instinctively. And here is was again, in his brother's child…Glorfindel felt an unbearable sadness for his terrible fate…

Fingon, Fingon, Fingon… the fragment of silver-blue clasped to his heart as he dissolved into the Dark…Alone. Completely lost…

He blinked and slowly disentangled himself from the silken web of those memories that sought to keep him, for as long as someone remembered, there was hope for Maedhros…But who would remember once the Elves had gone from these lands?

'Angmar will seek you out,' Tindómion cautioned, his grey eyes upon Glorfindel and unaware of Glorfindel's thoughts.

'He knows he will not be vanquished by my hand,' Glorfindel said. 'Or yours.'He poured a glass of wine and lifted the decanter in invitation to Tindómion.

Tindómion shook his head. Then he rose and stretched, gazing into the fire. 'I have something to do before I leave,' he said, a smile hovered about his lips. He tilted his head slightly to look at Glorfindel. 'I bid you good night.'

When he had gone, Glorfindel watched the stars for a moment and wondered what the future would bring. This is why I am here, he told himself. I was sent back to help Mithrandir, and Elrond. This is the last chance we have to rid Middle Earth of the failings of Elves. The next Age is for Men to decide, to rule and we will all depart. One way or another.

Except… perhaps it did not have to be that way…Maybe Imladris could be all that Gondolin was and more? There was a buzzing in his ears like a wasp. He felt like flicking it away but there was nothing there of course.

In the First Age the battle with Morgoth had been all about establishing the elven realms, the peace to live freely in Middle Earth, he thought. The Third Age was an epic retreat. At the end of this, there would be a new age: the Age of Men. Imladris would fall silent and fade. He suddenly felt bereft; he did not want to leave here. He did not want the sterile calm of Tirion anymore.

Gondolin was fair. Imladris could be all the Gondolin was. And more.

He remembered the white towers, the bells that rang with such joyousness. He remembered Idril, turning to him with her long hair like spun gold, her eyes meeting his with such deep, deep gratitude. Perhaps when he returned to Aman, she would be different, he thought, and found himself standing by the fire staring into it, his thoughts far far away….Perhaps she might recognise that he was so much worthier of her than Tuor.

It was not Tuor who saved Idril, and those who followed her, but Glorfindel. It was you who smote down Ruinátoró.

Yes. It was I.

You could have claimed her had you lived. As a reward...You could claim her on your return.

Glorfindel blinked. Idril as a reward? She is not some sort of chattel to be bought or given, he thought incredulously. Ash Nazg, he recognised now. It was everywhere, creeping into thoughts, probing everyone's secret desires. Firmly, confidently, he shut its insidious voice out.

You waste your time on me, Ash Nazg. Begone. Do not trouble me again.

Silence. It was gone. But he wondered who it bothered now instead.

o0o0