By the Stars of Elbereth Gilthoniel
Summary: In the wake of High King Gil-galad's death, Lord Glorfindel must uphold the late king's final wish.
Author's Note: The story starts right at the end of the War of the Last Alliance after the breaking of the Siege of Baradur. While this story is technically AU, I do not (to my knowledge) change any of Tolkien's canon events. This does play into a future story idea, which is also designed around Tolkien's canon events and characters.
Thank you to all of those who left reviews or contacted me after I published the first chapter! There are four chapters to this story, and I should be able to keep the pace of every three weeks. Please review and let me know if you have any questions!
Disclaimer: Anyone you recognize from Tolkien's books (Glorfindel, Elrond, Gil-galad, etc.) are not mine (obviously), and the lands of Middle Earth are not mine either. I only take credit for my original characters and events. I will try to accurately describe Tolkien's places and characters according to the books (But I will claim Author's license to add what character description is lacking in the books ;).
Chapter Two- A Promise to Uphold
"Then Glorfindel of the Golden Flower fought the Balrog upon a pinnacle of rock at the end of a high ridge in the Encircling Mountains, and both fell to ruin in the abyss."
-The Silmarillion, "Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin"
"Glorfindel had returned to Middle-earth during the Second Age, sent by the Valar as an emissary and a figure of great power to aid in the struggle against Sauron."
-The Peoples of Middle-earth, "Last Writings"
"Glorfindel, a High Elf of great power, stood among the mightiest allies of Gil-galad and Elrond in their resistance against Sauron."
-The Peoples of Middle-earth, "Last Writings"
Moments before Sauron's defeat, a stone's throw from the fight, two elves struggled against each other. One, raven-haired and grey-eyed, thrust the other's shoulders back to the ground. The golden-haired and bright-eyed figure screamed but the pain did little to stop his desperate protesting. The battle raged around them, but neither noticed the line of warriors keeping the orcs at a distance. Their senses were focused on the writhing being held within Sauron's fiery grasp. They heard Gil-galad's words even over the din; the golden-haired figure fought harder. Remember your promise.
"You…must…stop… fighting me, Glorfindel." Elrond grunted as he leaned his body weight on Glorfindel's shoulders, "There is…nothing…you can do to help him." Elrond's voice broke, and he shuddered at the next cry strangled from Sauron's victim. The plea fell on deaf ears. Glorfindel's heart stopped, and pain pounded in his ears as he watched his best-friend's body go limp, then fly across the field, tumbling to a stop only a few yards away.
The herald had not seen the action but heard what had happened. Elrond closed his eyes tight as tears washed down his contorted face. Time seemed to slow as Glorfindel felt Elrond's hold on his shoulder's release. The Vanyar struggled to his feet, collapsing as the pain from his burns washed through him. He stared at the broken body of Gil-galad, whose blank green eyes stared ahead at the continuing battle. Glorfindel crawled forward over the jagged rocks and pools of black blood. He managed to rise the last few steps.
Each movement was fiery pain, but Glorfindel reached the stricken body of his closest friend, praying he would not be too late. The elf lord fell to his knees, shoving back his golden hair with a blistered, bloodied hand. Glorfindel frantically scanned the area around Gil-galad's body for anything he could use for healing. Nothing but rubble and fallen orcs surrounded them. He scooped the silvery Miruvor from his own burned chest and attempted to spread it across his friend's throat. It sunk in, as it was supposed to, but there was no immediate lightening of color to Gil-galad's skin as there had been with Glorfindel's. There was no visible sign of life.
He grasped his friend's wrist, searching for a pulse. Nothing. Glorfindel lunged forward for Gil-galad's mutilated neck but could find nothing beneath the charred skin. The feeling mixed with the immediate despair made Glorfindel want to vomit. He pulled back.
Glorfindel fell on his haunches and covered his face with his hands, overwhelmed with despair. I was foolish to hope.
Writhing with pain and grief, he collapsed on the burned body of his dearest friend. The wracking sobs paralyzed him. After a few moments, Glorfindel forced himself to close the High-King's faded green eyes. It was agony to even lift himself off Gil-galad's shoulder.
But they moved.
Hope rose within his chest he gently rolled Gil-galad from his side onto his back and stared into his face. The body under his hand relaxed, and Gil-galad's eyes focused on Glorfindel's tear stained face.
"Remember your promise" were the great warrior's last words. His eyes said it was too late, yet seemed to smile at Glorfindel, even as he feebly grasped his hand. Through the tears, Glorfindel forced a shaky smile, trying to convey all that he wanted to say and would not have time to say.
"Hold on my friend, hold on," but Gil-galad's eyes focused on something far past Glorfindel's head. A light entered his eyes and Glorfindel sobbed again, for he knew upon what his eyes had alighted. He had seen the white shores for himself millennia ago.
Gil-galad let escape a sigh of relief, and Glorfindel felt the spirit leave the body for the white, shining halls of Valinor. The anguish that crashed down upon Glorfindel crippled him and he folded beside his friend. Other elves gathered around them, but Glorfindel knew no more.
Soon enough, Glorfindel was dragged from the blissful peace of unconsciousness into a bought of fevered dreaming. It was as though he was watching himself act through the last days before Gil-galad's death, but this time he obsessed with what he could have changed.
It was a blurred series of portraits and landscapes, mingled with grief and regret, that heightened the chains of fire around his heart and body. He was suddenly standing in Gil- galad's tent, suppressing a familiar feeling of apprehension. The shadowed figure of Gil-galad turned toward another elf, the herald Elrond, telling him he could leave for the night.
The High-King turned to Glorfindel with such gravity in his eyes, Glorfindel realized now Gil-galad guessed his own fate.
"My friend, you have stood with me for many years, and, before the fall of Gondolin, you befriended my father before me. You vowed to him and to yourself to protect Middle-Earth at all cost, a promise you kept even in death." Burdened steps carried the High King to the tent flap, and he paused to stare up at the glittering stars of blue fire that shone on the western sky, "We stand now on the eve of battle, the last battle. I sense this war will end tomorrow, for better or for worse." After a weighted pause, Gil-galad met Glorfindel's eyes, "I am sure you feel it as well."
Glorfindel's dream-self nodded in agreement, and let Gil-galad continue, uninterrupted. "Though Sauron tries to hide his plans, our scouts report his generals are preparing to break the siege some time on the morrow." Gil-galad frowned as he looked to the east, "I stand corrected. It appears as though dawn has found us swiftly this night,"
The sun peaked its head from beyond the horizon as the darkness began to lift from the camp. To the west still, however, the last stars- the dawn stars- showed their fortitude, continuing to shine bright and strong despite the fiery light threatening to devour them. Gil-galad spun toward Glorfindel, his normally cool, collected demeanor washed away in waves of regret and anxiety. "I fear my fate on the battlefield this day."
"You fear death?" dream- Glorfindel asked with a note of his own angst.
Gil-galad laughed humorlessly, "No, I do not fear death itself. I fear the effect on my loved ones," Gil- galad eyes, sparkling gold and green through silver tears, finally met his friend's, "Glorfindel," his voice broke, "You must make me a promise."
Glorfindel thought he knew what Gil-galad wanted him to do. "Of course, mellon nin, I will not leave your side." He continued passionately, "I will protect you; you will not fall at the hands of evildoers. I will not let you..."
"Glorfindel," Gil-galad spoke softly, erasing Glorfindel's hope and breaking his heart, "Even you cannot change fate. I implore you by the stars, I beg you…" He paused as his green eyes bored into Glorfindel's, "Take care of my wife and son."
Glorfindel reeled back, 'what?'…
He had not known of this, but before he made Gil-galad explain, he opted to put his friend's mind at ease. He clasped the High King's shoulders, looked into his eyes, and stated, "By the stars of Elbereth Gilthoniel, I promise to care for your wife and son best I can. Just tell me where…"
The edges of the memory began to fade. Gil-galad opened his mouth, but another voice spoke, "Glorfindel, by Vilya, awake!"
Glorfindel's eyes fluttered and he caught a glimpse of Elrond standing above him, eyes laced with concern. The herald forced some liquid down Glorfindel's throat, and he reflexively swallowed. His senses were clouded, he could not feel anything. The Vanyar managed to turn his head and look at Elrond. Glorfindel felt his breathing- he had not even noticed how shallow it was – ease significantly. Elrond moved his mouth as if to speak, but Glorfindel was already drifting into a dreamless, healing sleep.
He awoke to aching pain and an empty room, covered in a silver blanket that matched the color of the tent fabric, both gifts from the elves of Lorien. Glorfindel noted that the burning feeling had lessened slightly, and his broken ribs seemed to be mending. How long had he slept? There was no way to tell through the tent material. The only light was an oil lamp on the adjacent side of the room, but it had been long enough.
The Vanyar was both parched and starving, neither was usually an issue. A metal pitcher was perched on a small table just out of reach of the bed. Glorfindel thought he would be able to attain it easily. He sat up and swung his legs off the bed, one fluid motion, but his legs gave way.
Glorfindel was falling, overcome with dizzying, blistering pain. He was weightless, but he felt the balrog's claws intertwined with his hair, dragging him down, down, down. Panic flooded his system as he scrambled for some kind of hold.
The rational part of his brain told him it could not be real, but it forgot to inform the rest of him. It was as if he was experiencing two things at the same time:
He vaguely sensed his collapse to the dirt floor of the tent with an agonizing yell, reaching for something steady as his head spun faster and faster. Tears sprung from his eyes as he plead for the end of this terror. He clutched at his burning chest, trying to remove a phantom weight and only succeeding in further hurting himself.
Meanwhile, all Glorfindel could see were the cliffs rushing past him and the demonic balrog beneath him. There was no way to save himself as he fell to his fiery doom. The end would be a bone-breaking crack where he would suffer with most his bones broken, his hair and flesh torched, and the overwhelming stench of the dead balrog.
But in this nightmare, this memory, Glorfindel never reached the bottom, just kept falling, falling consumed by fiery, inescapable pain and the unforgettable scent of his own burning flesh. Waves of terror coursed through his body continually.
Abruptly, a hand grabbed his, and the falling jerked to a stop. Glorfindel recognized a soothing voice and cautiously let the feeling of calm wash over him.
Reality began to right itself. Slowly, the scent faded to nothingness, his head stopped spinning, and the agonizing burning fell back to a dull ache. The fear was overshadowed with an underlying sense of grief. His panicked breathing slowed. His throat felt hoarse, and he was curled beside his bed on the hard dirt floor. The Vanyar pried opened his eyes.
Lord Elrond sat on the floor beside him, and young Thranduil stood at the entrance, reassuring the worried elves gathered at the door.
Glorfindel's face turned red. He hated making a commotion. He was supposed to be a strong, powerful leader, yet the terrible memory of his death plagued him during this war with a vengeance. Despite this, he was grateful to Elrond for his sympathy. Though the newly dubbed Lord of Rivendell could not empathize with Glorfindel, he was a wise healer who understood the aftereffects of traumatic events. In fact, as a friend, Elrond had comforted the older elf on occasion. Elrond helped Glorfindel to sit up, propping Glorfindel against the cot. The pain was not so bad without the memories. The Vanyar accepted the glass of water Elrond held out to him. The two friends sat in silence for a few moments.
"Do you need to talk about it?" Elrond asked as Thranduil departed, leaving them alone, but Glorfindel only shook his head.
"Tis nothing I have not experienced before," he sighed.
"But, from what I have seen, you have never experienced such a ... violent...episode before."
"Yes, but I have not been so severely burned since my return,"
Elrond nodded in understanding. "What were you doing before you fell? Why were you getting out of bed?" the younger elf's tone became chastising.
"I could not reach the water pitcher," Glorfindel said simply. Elrond noted the dejected tone in Glorfindel's voice. He wisely decided to change the subject, there were important things to discuss after all, but Glorfindel seemed to have the same idea.
"What happened after the One Ring was taken? Was it destroyed?" his eyes flew to Elrond, who was shaking his head angrily.
"No, Isildur refused to destroy it. He scrambled to take it North before I could convince him otherwise. I fear his fate in light of this, the ring could still be corrupted..." Elrond took to pacing the floor. Glorfindel watched the herald from his spot on the floor and hoped to reassure his anxiety. "Perhaps it will be safe enough in the North. Afterall, Isildur has proven himself nobly on the field of battle, and the ring is most likely inoperable without its master."
Elrond nodded. "Perhaps you are right. Sauron's forces are easily being hunted down even as we speak- Thranduil is working with his people and those of Lothlorien to clear Rhovanion, while the Cirdan and myself work to clear Eriador. The men have begun to return to Gondor and Arnor to shore-up their own defenses. The Haradrim have fled back to their deserts. If Sauron still had a hold of power in Middle-Earth, surely his forces would not abandon Mordor so quickly. I believe, once the injured here are ready to travel, you and I will soon return to Rivendell."
Glorfindel nodded thoughtfully, "And what of the people of Lindon? Surely these retreating forces of orcs will be a threat to them. You realize, Elrond, that you are the next in line for the High Kingship of the Noldor."
Dread shuddered across Elrond's face, "I have already spoken to the other elven leaders, and they have agreed to accept any of those displaced from Lindon. I am sure most, however will flee to Cirdan's Havens. I will not accept the kingship, but I will retain my position in Rivendell. That was how Gil-galad arranged the country in case of his death, along with… certain…measures of protection for those under our respective rules." Glorfindel noticed how Elrond fingered a gold and sapphire ring with those words- Vilya, the Ring of Air, one of the Elven rings of power. Glorfindel was the only elf who knew Elrond was one of the Ring-bearers; he assumed his friend's vague reference was in case anyone overheard their conversation. "Cirdan and I have promises to uphold." Elrond's eyes fell to Glorfindel's.
"Earlier, in your dreams," he began hesitantly, sitting down once more, "You spoke continually of promises, what promises were you addressing and to whom? The only stipulations I heard were toward Cirdan and myself. Gil-galad made no mention of anyone else."
Glorfindel's mouth went dry, he had hoped to avoid telling anyone, but he knew Elrond would not give up without an explanation. "I spoke of my promise to Gil-galad, the night before his death. He asked me not to tell of it. I can only say I must leave as soon as possible for Lindon."
Elrond did not ask, despite his curiosity, saying instead, "You must heal and rest first. The council is meeting tomorrow to discuss the restoration."
Glorfindel shook his head, mind churning, "What time is it?"
"It is not yet mid-morning."
"Then I must rest today, but I will leave at dawn's last star on the morrow."
The Vanyar's voice brooked no argument, but Elrond tried to reason, "You will not be healed enough by tomorrow morning!"
"I will be healed by the time I get to Lindon."
"You cannot ride a horse in your state, you might be able to stand by tomorrow! You will need to restore your strength before…"
Grinding his teeth, Glorfindel stood quickly from the floor, pure tenacity keeping him from stumbling, "Asfaloth can bear me well enough!" Elrond, still seated on the ground, tilted his head up to look into Glorfindel's eyes. The Vanyar looked down at his friend, and his voice quieted, "You cannot dissuade me."
A moment of silence.
"Then I will go..." Elrond raised himself to his feet, furrowing his eyebrows with thought.
"No, I must do this alone. You are needed here, mellon nin. The other wounded need more care than I." Elrond wanted to continue to protest, but a shadow fell across Glorfindel's face as he stated, "I will return to Imladris when I am ready."
Slowly, Elrond realized there was more than one reason for Glorfindel's desired solitude. Grief had a way of manifesting itself in different ways.
Elrond carefully embraced his friend and noted the chill of his skin. Elrond stepped back, "Glorfindel, you are freezing! Why didn't you say something? Sit down! I told you were not well enough yet!"
Glorfindel sat back on the cot, the last few minutes catching up to him. He was suddenly dizzy. Weariness descended on him like a blanket. He had not noticed the chill in his tent, nor the fact that he was yet shirtless. Only white bandages covered his torso, reaching from under his arms to his waist, but the burns reached up to his collarbone in blistered, red lines.
Elrond was grabbing a shirt, salve, and fresh bandages. He turned to see Glorfindel staring at the white bandages, "Would you like something for the pain?"
The elf-lord shook his head, "No, I must bear it now if I have to do it myself on the journey." Elrond quickly rebandaged the burn, the first time was always the worst, and told Glorfindel there was no more infection. Glorfindel, for his part, made no noise, only gritting his teeth against the pain and staring fixedly at the ceiling.
Elrond turned to depart, "I will prepare your bags for you tonight with plenty of salve, bandages, and provisions especially. I likely will not see you before you leave in the morning, but I will ask the sentry to prepare Asfaloth for you." The Lord of Rivendell pivoted to look Glorfindel in the eyes, "Be careful, mellon nin" He opened the tent flap.
"One thing, Elrond." Elrond froze. "Was Aeglos recovered?"
"It was, but it has not been decided what to do with it. It was a powerful spear; it would be wrong to destroy it."
"Hold it for me, in Imladris. I sense it may be needed in the future."
"But only one of Gil-galad's bloodline can fully wield its power."
"I know." Glorfindel offered no further explanation.
"Of course." Elrond said slowly, quirking one eyebrow upwards. "I shall give it a place of honor in the Halls of Memory."
"Hannon le, mellon nin. Namarie." Elrond departed, leaving Glorfindel to find a few more hours of sleep.
Elvish Translations:
Mellon nin- my friend
Hannon le- thank you
Namarie- farewell