Apologies for the long delay- just work.

Thanks to all reviewers for your kind encouragement and to the wonderful Spiced Wine for lending me Tindómion, her fabulous OFC.

Thanks to Anarithilen for her generosity and patient beta-reading.

Summary(it's been long time!) Glorfindel and Erestor have returned from Phellanthir, where they lost Rhawion's feä to the Nazgûl, but they also found an artefact left from Celebrimbor's time. A Mirror that is the Door to the Endless Dark. A Balrog was summoned by the mere presence of Glorfindel and tried to escape to fight him and Erestor's presence appears to have summoned the feä of his long dead lord, Maedhros. Maedhros defeated the Balrog but in doing so, was dispersed- as the spirits cannot be destroyed permanently as they are already spirits. During the battle, Elladan and Elrohir joined them but Elladan was wounded by a morgul blade and Elrohir took him back to Imladris but not before Angmar confronted them and twisted a spell into Elrohir's already guilty and dark desires. On their return, Vilya was attacked by the One Ring and it was decided that the Fellowship should leave and Glorfindel provide a decoy. Glorfindel has taken Elrohir and Tindómion with him on his flight to Mithlond to beguile Sauron into believing that they are taking the One Ring over the Sea.

Chapter 16: Flight to Amon Sûl.

Hooves pounded over the short turf, plunged into the water so that silver drops sprayed into the air, heaving flanks and flaring nostrils, flying manes and tails high. The elven company raced along the road from Imladris and splashed across the ford of the Bruinen, heaved up onto the opposite bank and flew onwards swiftly, racing the sun.

Glorfindel did not so much as glance back over his shoulder for he knew the Elves who followed were as stout hearted as he, their horses as sure-footed and brave as their riders. He heard Galdor call once to his men and heard an exasperated curse from Saeldir but other than that, there was only the pounding of hooves on the short turf of the Greenway, the heavy breath of galloping horses, clink of metal, swords and weapons and stirrups. They needed as much time, distance as possible between them and Imladris, to reach Amon Sûl before the Nazgûl and their cold-skinned steeds.

They barely stopped during the three days of hard riding, and only then to give their horses rest and to drink at the cold streams, or when it was too dark for the horses to continue safely. Then they rested uneasily and although they posted watches, few slept.

It was one of those brief stops. A stream ran between two hills amid a small patch of woodland, providing some shelter. Glorfindel unsaddled Asfaloth, let him crop the short turf and shake himself slightly. Tindómion pulled up beside him and slid down from his own horse. He patted its neck and loosened the girth. His horse turned to nudge Tindómion impatiently. He laughed and shook his head. 'Not until you have drunk from the stream, old friend.'

Asfaloth was already standing knee-deep in the stream and dipped his nose to the cold water. Elrohir led a chestnut horse, Anguirel, as mercurial and uncertain of temperament as his name suggested. For Elrohir's own Barakhir was unsound after the flight from Phellanthir, bearing not only Elrohir but the wounded Elladan.

Glorfindel glanced at the chestnut horse's head, high and alert, nostrils flared and eyeing Glorfindel balefully. 'Anguirel seems a strange choice,' he observed wryly

'He is restless,' agreed Elrohir, patting his neck. 'But he has a stout heart and is full of energy. I have often ridden him when Barakhir is lame or unsound. He is a strong beast and brave.'

Glorfindel smiled. 'All of that is true,' he said and stroked Anguirel's nose. The chestnut horse laid its ears back and wrinkled his lips at Glorfindel threateningly. 'He is one of Erestor's stock I think, from the same dam as the aptly named Niphredil.' Indeed it had the same baleful stare and Glorfindel hoped it was more reliable at least.

Tindómion joined them. 'Anyway, I for one think it was well done, and I am glad you have reconciled your differences,' he said as if he were continuing a conversation and Elrohir stiffened. Glorfindel glanced at him, wondering of whom they spoke.

'I did not go as far as that. I merely said that Elrond had chosen well in him,' Elrohir said tersely. 'And he has. The Hobbits are not afraid of him as they are some of us. And Aragorn trusts him.' He spoke as if it were difficult to get the words out.

Ah, thought Glorfindel. They speak of Legolas, for he had approached Elrohir just as they departed. At first Glorfindel had thought Elrohir would spurn Legolas, but whatever he said seemed to have been accepted by Elrohir and at least they had parted it seemed, with some sort of understanding.

'Indeed. And the dwarf-lord, Gimli Gloinsson speaks well of him,' Tindómion said, 'and the Man from Gondor, Boromir, who is as distrustful of Elves as any Man I have ever met, seems to like him.' Tindómion smiled although he was not looking at Elrohir but at the water of the stream which sparkled and glittered, as if he saw something other than the water. Like the face of whom they spoke. 'Elrond chose well, as you said.' He glanced up then. 'Do you not agree, Glorfindel?'

'You speak of Legolas? Yes. Elrond chose well.' Glorfindel twirled the reins of Asfaloth's bridle in one hand thoughtfully. 'It is the Hobbits who decided him I think. The youngest one, Peregrine Took, had a particular affinity with Legolas that Elrond thought would sustain them in their long journey.' He glanced obliquely at Elrohir, knowing that Elrohir had begged to be sent with Aragorn: it was their task, he had said, to accompany their brother on his greatest task. In all truth, Glorfindel himself had expected to go and he could not deny the smallest disappointment. But he knew as well that Elrond was right.

Asfaloth pawed at the cold water, sending a spray of water up against his boots, his thigh and he stepped back out of the way. 'They will already have crossed the Bruinen and be on their way,' he said quietly. 'May Elbereth guide them when all else is dark.'

They were silent now for a moment, each thinking of the Fellowship and their quiet, secret quest. Glorfindel thought first of Aragorn, and then his own friend, Gandalf, for this was his great task. It felt wrong to be riding in the other direction, no matter they were a diversion. It could only hold for so long and then the small company was on its own…to Lothlorien at least.

Lothlorien. It felt clouded there, beneath the great mallorn trees, as if something hid there...

No. He would not let himself doubt Galadriel's strength. If the Ring passed through that land, Gandalf would be there to guard both the Ring and the Lady from temptation.

Asfaloth raised his head, muzzle dripping with water. Suddenly the other horses raised their heads too and Anguirel circled nervously.

Instantly bows were strung, a scrape of metal as swords were drawn. Glorfindel listened.

Nothing...

...And then he heard it. A distant snuffling, panting breaths. He imagined the lolling tongue and knew.

Wargs. Orcs many though, maybe ten or twenty at most.

'Mount!' he cried. 'To battle!' He pulled on his helm and he felt the clasp of it against his cheekbones. Others did likewise and swung up onto their restless horses. 'We will not fly from this but meet them head on. There are but few and I would not let Orcs roam freely where they will!'

Glorfindel did not hesitate. He led the charge over the hill and the small group of orcs, scouts surely, suddenly looked up. There was a moment of shock as they they saw the band of horsed, armed Elves before a rain of arrows felled half of them and the wargs bolted, arrows in their thick hides, squealing and growling.

Elrohir drew ahead of Glorfindel, his dark-bladed sword drawn and his expression ferocious. Beside him rode Tindómion with his mouth wide in a battle cry of hatred of all Orcs and their kin. But surprisingly, Galdor surged ahead. He was silent but his face so grim that Glorfindel was briefly reminded of Maedhros before whom Orcs would fall back. He saw the upturned faces of the Orcs but he felt no pity and Asfaloth ploughed into them like a wave. His sword flashed and blood spattered, an arc of red so deep it was almost black. There was a shout behind him and he turned his head in time to catch a glancing blow but he slashed downwards and then across and the Orc toppled from its mount. Asfaloth aimed a timely kick at the warg's head and it crashed to the ground stunned and Glorfindel cut its throat. The only way with a warg for they would keep on charging until they had no blood left in their veins.

The Mithlond archers were every bit as deadly as their Mirkwood kin. A shower of silver shot over his head and thudded against fur and hide. He saw Galdor charging into the fray, his blue cloak sweeping about him and his sword dripping and festooned with black and gory string and ribbons of Orc guts. His face was smudged with blood.

A heavy Orc sabre crashed against Glorfindel's shield and he had to turn back to the battle. A huge unmounted Uruk, white-skinned and marked with slashes across its chest and face, bared its teeth. Its eyes were small and pale and utterly alien. The Uruk pulled back and turned agiley, bringing its sabre back around and aiming at Asfaloth's legs. Glorfindel threw himself from the horse's back and leapt before him, thrusting his sword up to meet and deflect the sabre and as he did, he swung his right leg out to sweep the Uruk's legs from under but it anticipated his move and sprang back, baring its sharp teeth. But as Asfaloth had veered left and now drew level with the Uruk, the horse suddenly snaked out and caught the Uruk's arm between his strong teeth and ground his jaw. There was a horrible crunch and the Uruk weaved about in agony as it brought its free arm up to slash at the horse, but Glorfindel was there and before the Uruk could reach Asfaloth with its sabre, Glorfindel has struck at its arm with his own sword. A spurt of deep red blood spattered over his face and the Uruk howled in pain. It tried to tear its arm free from Asfaloth but the horse kept his teeth clamped down and shook the Uruk. It crashed to its knees and Glorfindel slashed at its throat. It clasped its neck with its free hand, gurgling as blood rushed into its throat and gushed out over its hand.

Suddenly the brief battle was over. The clang of swords dimmed and a warg whimpered and snarled. Then all was suddenly silent.

The Uruk had collapsed and Asfaloth let go, shaking his head and throwing his front hoofs out. The Uruk bent over, cradling its arm and clutching at its throat. It made a horrible gurgling sound.

Elrohir was suddenly there and his hand caught the Uruk's pale head, pulled it back. Aícanaro rested against the Uruk's neck but its blood pumped out over its hand and its small beady eyes were hard and fierce.

'Here, a lance,' Tindómion thrust an Orcish spear into Elrohir's hand and Glorfindel braced himself for what was to come.

'You think I care what you do!' the Uruk snarled. 'When my brothers come they will cut your heart from your chest and drink your blood.'

Tindómion struck it with the hilt of his sword and it would have fallen forwards had Elrohir not had it by its hair.

But Elrohir paused. He looked down at the spear as if he did not quite know what was expected.

'Do you wish me to hold the brute?' Tindómion asked and reached out to grasp the Uruk. But Elrohir suddenly seemed to come to himself. He shook his head and frowned. He looked at Tindómion and then Glorfindel and it seemed to Glorfindel that Elrohir's grey eyes cleared for a moment and quite suddenly he slashed dark Aícanaro through the Uruk's neck and then shoved the corpse away from him. The corpse twitched and the head rolled a little away, its mouth gibbered as if it still lived for a few moments and then was still. Elrohir leaned down and grasped the head by its hair and stuck it on the end of a lace and drove the hilt into the ground. The Orc's jaw suddenly dropped open and its tongue lolled out.

Elrohir turned and stalked away, Tindómion staring after him.

Glorfindel watched from the corner of his eye and busied himself with Asfaloth, wiping clean the horse's flanks and legs, and praising him softly. Elrohir stooped and picked up his bow where he had abandoned it when the arrows ran out and then, like the archers of Mithlond, he went about his business retrieving arrows, checking them for broken heads and wiping those he could reuse clean and stowing them in his quiver. Tindómion came to stand beside Glorifndel and cast him a puzzled glance.

'Strange indeed when the Son of Thunder leaves no sign that he has passed by this way,' he observed but he sounded more troubled than Glorfindel expected.

'Perhaps we should have stopped him sooner,' Glorfindel said quietly. 'We have become accustomed to cruelty.'

Tindómion stepped in front of him, his silver-grey eyes fiery. 'You think it cruel? You have seen what Orcs do, Glorfindel. You have seen the bones of children on their campfires! You have seen the bodies of beasts they have hunted and killed for sport!' He lowered his voice dangerously. 'You saw Celebrían. How can you question us?' He was furious as Glorfindel had rarely seen him. But Feänorians were as fickle as the wind, he thought, and mercurial. Tindómion was no exception.

'We are not Orcs,' he said calmly. 'And we have behaved as they.' He did not say that it was the actions of a Woodelf and Dwarf that had changed things, that blistering confrontation between Elrohir and Legolas had obviously done something to Elrohir too and Glorfindel wondered what it was that had touched Elrohir so that now he too saw the cruelty as unnecessary. But Tindómion simply spun on his heel and strode away amongst the horses, his back ramrod straight and the air bristling with his fury.

'Elbereth preserve me from the line of Finwë,' Glorfindel murmured with a sigh.

'They have ever brought trouble, trailing it behind them like crows.' Galdor was behind him and cleaning his own sword. He must have heard everything, Glorfindel realised with chagrin. But Galdor's tone was more amused than bitter and Glorfindel saw a faint smile line the Elf's mouth.

Galdor glanced up at Glorfindel's perusal. 'I knew Tindómion in Mithlond while he lived there. Not well, but enough.' He explained briefly and then focused again on his sword.

Glorfindel sighed and leaned on his sword.

'The famous Feänorian spirit is not unknown to me either,' Galdor continued. He drew out his whetstone and drew it lightly down the edge of the blade. 'It made him friends as well as enemies.'

'And which are you?'

Galdor smiled and said nothing, but attended his sword and Glorfindel could see he wasted his time in any more discussion. He returned to Asfaloth and rubbed his ears, scratched his poll absently. It was to allow a short rest that they withdrew a short distance to bind wounds, repair weapons and collect arrows that he paused but in truth he was anxious. A small knot tightened in his belly. Amon Sûl was still leagues distant and he did not want the Nazgûl to come upon them in the open lands of Rhudaur.

'Do we ride on?' a voice asked. Elrohir. 'I would counsel it if I were asked,' he said Although it was not meek it was offered without demand. 'It is about 200 miles as the crow flies from Rivendell to Amon Sûl and we still have some way to go.' He looked beyond their camp, as if he could measure the distance. 'Maybe two marches at best.'

'Indeed night is not far off.' Glorfindel said quietly and he glanced about their makeshift camp; it was indefensible here and they had rested for two hours. Enough time, he thought.

Elrohir followed his gaze.

'Shall I get them up?' he asked and this time Glorfindel nodded. 'Do we burn the carcasses or leave them?'

'Leave them,' Glorfindel said. 'It offends me to do so but we cannot give it the time. Maybe on the way home…'

He watched Elrohir move amongst the men, speaking quietly, looking down to encourage a wounded man who held his arm even though it had been bandaged. This was where they missed Elladan, for he gave comfort as well as healing and that was not Elrohir's gift. Elrohir nodded at the man and did not smile or sit with him as Elladan would have. Yet in his own way he inspired them for the man struggled to his feet, smiling slightly and waving his good arm as if demonstrating how able he was. Saeldir was nearby and slid an appraising look at him, then slapped his on his good shoulder and steered him towards his horse, cupping his hands to give the man a leg up.

The rest of the company was mounting and within a few minutes had wheeled about and were already clattering along the old road. It seemed the rest after the skirmish had done everyone good and they made good progress at a quick speed. Nothing else stopped them and they rode until it was too dark to canter or even trot. For a while they walked on, giving the horses their heads so they stretched out until it was too dark even for that.

0o0o

They passed the night uneasily, aware of shadows that slunk between the trees just too far away to see, to aim an unlikely arrow and none were keen to waste a shot.

'Wargs,' Tindómion murmured on return from his patrol. 'They keep to the trees and are upsetting the horses.'

'Too many to just be survivors of the skirmish,' Elrohir said joining them. 'They seek to keep us wakeful, to tire us tonight. They will attack tomorrow.'

Glorfindel nodded. 'I agree. These are not simply a pack of wargs out hunting and who happen to be in our path. Sauron has guessed our plan. He will be elated that the Ring has left Imladris, and furious that we are taking it to the Havens. Desperate.' He threw a stick on the low fire for they were not hiding. This was the plan. 'It is working.'

0o0o

All through the following day they were aware of the slinking grey shadows that followed, that trotted alongside just out of sight, out of bowshot and Glorfindel forbade anyone to go beyond the tight bounds of the company for he knew that the Wargs would cut a horse off, drive it panicked and bolting through the forest where they could pick off a lone rider and horse and keep pursuit at bay until they had made their kill. He would not risk losing one beast or rider for they neared their destination. And he knew that their best hope was to reach Amon Sûl and to make their stand there.

He glanced across at Tindómion, at Galdor and Elrohir. Saeldir nodded unspoken acquiesence and they did not stop to rest though the horses were tired.

At last the broken look out tower of Amon Sûl rose into view. It was so alike to its sister, Phellanthir that Glorfindel felt cold. The tiny hairs down his spine rose on end at the memory, how strange it was to see and feel Erestor's dreams and distant past, the terrible thunder of the Balrog pounding on the Glass, the cold shadow of the Nazgûl…its devouring of Rhawion and Rhawion's sacrifice to save Glorfindel himself.

He bowed his head and scrutinised his hands that held Asfaloth's reins so lightly. There was a scar on the left from the battle in the Tower, other than that you would think him unscathed…But he was not. He let Asfaloth have his head whilst he thought of Rhawion, of the Nazgûl. He remembered Maedhros too, of the scattered silver-blue stars that drifted away in the empty cold Dark, lost and grieving. Was that Rhawion's fate too? Or worse? That there was simply nothing left of him anywhere within the bounds of Arda?

He was still aware of the slinking grey shadows in the trees that followed them, snouts turned towards them, scenting the horses' fear. Now and again a low howl went up, a long desolate sound that seemed to dissolve in the biting cold air. It unsettled horse and Elf equally.

'Do we ride on or rest?' a voice asked quietly at his side. Galdor's face was hard and unflinching. 'My men are restless. These Wargs unsettle the horses.'

'We must not stop,' replied Glorfindel. 'They will attack as soon as we set foot on the earth.'

'Very well. But this is taking too long. The tension is too great for all.'

Glorfindel turned his face towards Galdor. 'Then you have a suggestion?'

'My experience is that Wargs scout ahead for Orcs. There are surely a band of Orcs following us and most likely catching up given our pace. The Wargs will try to slow us down. We will let them. But we must suddenly break into two parties. One group break ahead quickly as if they were riding hard to Amon Sûl, and the other group hold back so we split the Wargs. The first group then cut back to attack from the fore whilst the second group have the rear. We will confuse the Wargs and trap them between us. If the Wargs split, they will be easier to despatch.' He looked fierce and urgent and though Glorfindel did not like the idea of trapping the Wargs between them, he admitted the tactic had been used before and with success. 'Most importantly, we will be able to identify the leader and despatch her more easily. With their leader gone, the pack will have to disperse.'

Glorfindel nodded. That was indeed a good tactic and Galdor was right; to rid them of the pack leader would mean temporary delay at least before the Wargs were ready to attack again. It would delay the Orcs too. 'Tindómion!' he called over his shoulder. Then he turned back to Galdor. 'Tell your men. They must be ready to launch an arrow attack and then pursue. We will pick off most of the pack from the rear before they realise we have not all followed.'

Swiftly, Tindómion was at his side.

'Take ten of the company and gather. When I give the signal, break ahead as if the whole company intends to charge. The Wargs will break cover and follow, and I will hold back and come upon them from the rear. It will be hard to turn and face them,' he cautioned. 'But you must, and then turn upon them. Take whom you will.'

Tindómion looked quickly around at the concerned, fixed faces of the Elves who rode with them. 'Very well, my lord,' he said briskly. 'Elrohir! Saeldir!' he called. 'Choose four men each who you would trust to hold firm of heart and steady of will,' he said. 'On my signal we will ride ahead.' There was an excited murmur of approval from Saeldir. It was so much easier to act than just ride slowly all the while expecting attack. Tindómion gave Elrohir and Saeldir a brilliant smile and Glorfindel thought how Feänorian he looked right now. 'We will have to drive the horses hard.'

Elrohir nodded once and immediately wound Anguirel between the horses, picking out a number of Elves from Imladris and riding with them for a little while explaining quietly, confidently. There was a murmur of concern and excitement, anticipation of battle and Glorfindel felt the familiar thrum in his blood and flutter in his heart.

They rode on, close-knit and tight but let the horses slow a little, giving the impression that they were tired, more so than they really were. The grey shadows drew closer, believing their ruse, and now and again, Glorfindel saw the blur of the outline of a Warg, close but not quite close enough as they ran between the trees and none dared waste an arrow they could not retrieve. Not yet.

There was a soft thud of hooves and susurration of cloaks, a jingle of harness and the glint of moonlight upon silver bits and stirrups. Grey shadows ran alongside, a powerful lope. Behind them, Glorfindel imagined the whoosh of powerful reptilian wings beating down upon the air. A wolf howled thinly nearby but Glorfindel imagined he heard from far away, the answering wail of the Nazgul.

Tindómion's men were bunched now at the vanguard of their band. Their faces grim but alight with the call to arms, to battle. One horse pranced eagerly and shook his heads as if he wanted to throw off the bit and bridle and run, though the Wargs had moved up and were faster, looping in and out of the trees as if they sensed weakness, slavering over the anticipated feast.

Tindómion turned his face towards Glorfindel, the silver-grey eyes alight with expectation and for a moment, Glorfindel saw another face, even fairer and framed with red hair like flames. He shook himself free of the cobwebs of memory and fastened his eyes upon Tindómion's expectant face.

'Go,' he whispered and suddenly Tindómion was off, his men flying after him. Their horses flattened into a gallop, their hooves flying over the smooth turf and from the trees broke the grey shadows, wargs, unearthly howling as they streamed after Tindómion.

Glorfindel had thrown up his hand to stem the charge that wanted to follow, seconds lengthened and seemed endless as he watched the pack pour from the cover of the trees and only when he was sure the pack was committed to pursuit did he let his hand fall and immediately Galdor's archers let fly their silver-headed arrows and there were yelps and screams and the long, muscular wargs began to fall.

Glorfindel could see the outriders of the pack pause and glance to the side as they saw their brothers and sisters fall and their own feet hesitated.

'Charge!' he shouted and was surrounded by a sea of tossing, foaming manes, of glinting silver and bronze gleaming in the pale winter light.

The pack of wargs was no match now that they were in the open and arrows and spears flew through the air. A few of the wargs turned, spitting and cursing and launched themselves at the elves, their weight punched into the horses and all fell together, a mass of fur and hooves and claws and teeth. Glorfindel urged Asfaloth forwards and plunged his sword through a thick hide as Asfaloth pounded a skull with his heavy hooves and bit at the Warg's face with his strong teeth. The Warg snarled and lashed at Asfaloth's hide as Glorfindel drove his sword hard into its muscular, lithe flank. He felt a splash of hot blood on his own skin and Asfaloth whirled about and smashed his hind feet against the Warg's skull. It yelped and fell silent.

Glorfindel saw that Galdor had hefted a spear and was looking towards a huge silver she-Warg. She turned and snarled at him, her fangs gleaming in the moonlight. Suddenly she sprang forwards and Galdor hurled the spear with all his might but even that was not enough to stop the Warg and she crashed into him and his horse so that all went down in a flurry of fur and snarling, gnashing teeth. Glorfindel was not the only Elf to surge forward to his side and slash down through the thick hide, cut through the muscular body and pierce the Warg with many wounds. She turned and lashed at them snarling and cursing, lunging forwards with claws outstretched and ripping into anything in her way. Astonishingly, Galdor fought his way to his feet and with a powerful slash of his sword, he cut the Warg's throat and it collapsed, gurgling and spluttering in its own blood. Galdor's horse struggled to its feet and stood with its head hanging low and miserable, holding one foreleg slightly off the ground.

It quickly fell silent now and Glorfindel looked about him, gauging any injuries and looking for Wargs that still lived and feigned death to kill later. Galdor was holding his shoulder and there was blood on his cloak. He stood beside the horse, stroking its trembling flanks and whispering softly to his horse and Glorfindel grimaced. This was no place for a wounded horse.

There were about twenty Wargs, dead or panting in the last throes of life but the rest of the pack had fled the moment their leader was gone. A horrid yelping came from his left somewhere and he watched one of Galdor's men lean over and cut the Warg's throat. He wanted to shout out to beware but it was caught in his throat as the Warg's head suddenly reared up and bit the man in the throat. Immediately Glorfindel hurled his sword at the Warg but its jaws had fastened at the men's throat and the beast was tossing its head from side to side, the man caught in its grip like a rag doll. His sword plunged into the Warg's shoulder and it leapt to one side but did not let go. A spear shot through the air and slammed into the beast's side where juddered next to Glorfindel's sword. The Warg toppled slowly and the man fell to the ground, clutching his throat soaked with blood. Though others immediately surrounded him, holding him, trying to staunch the terrible wound, Glorfindel knew he was as good as dead already.

'We cannot linger,' he said to Galdor, who was white-faced and tense. In his hand was a glove drenched in blood. Glorfindel wondered briefly if it was Galdor's own blood. 'We must reach Amon-Sûl before the Nazgûl. If they catch us out here, we have no protection.'

Galdor nodded. 'I know.' He glanced towards the dead man. 'It is hard to leave without a cairn over him but we will come back this way and honour him.'

Glorfindel nodded. He glanced uneasily over to the injured horse.

Galdor did not meet his eyes. 'We will return this way,' he said more firmly. 'Our horses are our friends and Belan was a gift from Cirdan. He has been with me for many years. I will set a warding spell over him. Orcs and Nazgûl do not hunt a horse.'

In truth Glorfindel was relieved for it is not easy to kill a horse and he hoped that Galdor had enough power that it gave some shelter.

When they rode on, there was an elf who remained with the horse after all for he too was badly injured and both man and horse hid away amongst the rocks and Galdor wove his spell about those rocks and even Glorfindel could not see them afterwards.

The stars were bright and they saw the hard and broken outline of Amon-Sûl ahead of them. The horses' hooves were muffled now on the green sward but to Glorfindel it seemed like thunder that echoed the pounding of his heart for he felt the approach now of the Nazgûl. It seemed to him that in the wind was the beat of thin reptilian wings whumping, and the thin cry of an owl distorted into the wail of the Ringwraiths who devoured the souls of Men. And that had devoured Rhawion so his fëa was utterly lost. It seemed to him that whereas the Nazgûl had always been an enemy to be feared, to be hated, now, they were to be utterly dreaded. Fear was no longer their greatest weapon; the absolute loss of one's soul was suddenly very real and to an Elf, it meant no rebirth, no Gift such as Men had, even those whose souls were eaten. For an Elf, it meant not even the Eternal Dark as Maedhros had been banished. No. Worse. It was Unbeing. It was Undeath, Unlife. Nothing. The Nazgûl, pitya-angu, had unleashed something in them and for the first time in his long, long life, even more than he feared the Balrog, Glorfindel of Gondolin and Imladris was truly afraid.

o0oo

tbc