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Erestor was utterly upset. “How could you do that? How
could you let him ride to Dol Guldur all alone?”
“You don’t understand, Erestor.” Elrond had long since
not seen his friend and advisor that upset.
“Care to enlighten me then? Not in all history
recorded has anybody survived such attempt, Elrond. I should know, I remember
well Meadhros’ tortures and don’t you tell me Mithrandir is any better prepared
for such adventure.” hearing Elrond neither agreeing nor contradicting his
words Erestor paused briefly. “Or is he? Elrond, how should one single person,
Elf or Man or Dwarf, be able to oppose whatever evil is at work there? Even if
it is ‘only’ a Nazgul. No creature of Middle-Earth can do so.”
Still Elrond did nothing to indicate his agreement. He
wished he could somehow tell Erestor the truth, but he could not. Gandalf’s
true nature had to be kept under wraps. “I cannot comment on this, my friend. I
am sorry. Please –“ he saw the hurt in Erestor’s eyes and hated himself for
being the cause.
“Of course, my Lord.” The counselor turned on his
heels and left the office as quickly as he could. Never in all those ages had
Elrond had reason not to confide in him. Never had Erestor betrayed the trust
put in him! He had know Elrond’s most secret thoughts, those of warfare as well
as those of far more private nature. Always had he been the one who truly knew
Elrond. It could not be cowardice that kept the Imladris Elves from going with
Mithrandir, could it?
He would NOT be part of this! In his hurt and anger
Erestor was, probably for the first time in many ages, out of his mind. Gone
was his thoughtful demeanor. He stumbled to his rooms and changed into the
traveling-garb he had worn on his mission to Lothlorien. He girded his old
sword and rolled up a blanket and a few other indispensable things. From an old
chest he pulled a neglected leather-armor, leg- and wristguards, carefully
strapping them on. It was not easy to do so alone. //I had so hoped for peace
in my life. Have I not seen enough bloodshed? Well, I have to rely on my rusty
skills in warfare.// He waited for nightfall before the pale advisor trudged
across the valley to the stables.
The ancient elf hissed with pain when he lifted
himself up in the stirrups, mounting the horse he had chosen for his travel.
“Who are you and what is your request?” a sharp voice
behind a lantern stopped him. Erestor raised his hand to protect his eyes from
the blinding light. “Master Erestor?” Glorfindel’s voice was filled with
incredulity. He could not remember having seen the bookworm in a warrior’s
attire! Had neither known nor guessed Erestor owned such at all.
“Aye, Lord Glorfindel, it is me. And I intend to leave
Imladris on some business of my own. If you excuse me now?” Erestor said
coldly.
“Where do you plan to go, disguised like you are? Do
you think you can chase away the orcs by wearing some old, borrowed uniform? It
takes a bit more than that.” Glorfindel’s voice sounded arrogant. What in Arda
made the counselor think he could ride out alone, in the dark?
“I still know how to handle a sword, Lord Glorfindel.
I may not have slayed any infamous beasts so as you but be assured that I have
seen more battles than you, young one. Dah!” with that Erestor dug his heels
into the horse’s flanks, forcing Glorfindel to jump out of his way.
“Valinorian geriatric!” Glorfindel yelled after him.
“I bet the orcs will die of sheer boredom as soon as they see you!” kicking
some deadwood that laid in his way the guard’s captain almost doubled over in
pain, learning that the deadwood was indeed the tip of a rock, solidly embedded
in the ground. “Curse you, Erestor!” he stopped his foot in mid-air, realizing
he was about to make the same mistake again. “Son of an orc!” ah, nobody had
ever dared to call him inexperienced or too young.
“Orcs?” the alarmed voice of a sentry echoed his last
word. “Captain, what is it?”
“Nothing, Berenion, I was merely thinking aloud.” He
dismissed the elf, still in a foul mood before he made it to his room. Erestor
would come back tomorrow, defeated and forced to admit he could not do it alone
– whatever ‘it’ may be. Glorfindel had never liked Erestor, in fact he had
hated him in the beginning but had soon found the dour elf was not worth such
intense emotions.
~~~ Flashback
The raven-haired elf presented Glorfindel with stories
true and false and everything the golden haired elf answered was right.
Glorfindel understood that Elrond needed to make sure he was no impostor. When
the golden-haired elf thought he had finally answered every possible and
impossible question, Erestor came up with another one: “When Ecthelion died
fighting the Balrogs he wore a mithril bracelet – Glorfindel? What is it,
Glorfindel? Are you not well?”
Glorfindel sat there, pale, shivering and his hands
gripping the armrests. “He... he is... dead?” his voice was barely audible. It
was impossible! Why else should he have returned, if not to be reunited with
his lover? “Ecthelion...died? But...” the golden haired elf did not even notice
that he was crying.
“My Lord, Sirs: may I present to you Lord Glorfindel
of the Golden Flower of Gondolin.” Erestor said formally,
seemingly unmoved by the other’s pain.
Glorfindel stared at him, aghast. How could this elf
be so cruel? In this moment the reborn elf hardened his heart against Erestor
and everybody – this would not happen again! Never ever! During the centuries
that followed, Glorfindel excelled in arrogance and superficial flings,
carefully guarding his true feelings.
~~~ end of flashback
“Tomorrow you’ll be on your knees and I shall enjoy
your defeat!” Glorfindel said with a grim face and he drifted into reverie with
a knotted brow.
But no such thing happened and in the routine of the
day Erestor was soon forgotten to the busy captain. It was only at suppertime
in the common hall where Lord Elrond inquired about Erestor that Glorfindel
remembered previous night’s incident.
“He rode out after dark last night, my Lord. He was
curiously dressed and armed.” He said casually, astounded that the Lord would
not know of it.
“Why was I not informed, captain?” Elrond asked
harshly.
“Well, my Lord, there had been no indication that you
would not know. After all: everybody knows that Erestor would not freely leave
the house, lest ride out. I assumed it was some kind of urgent task you had put
upon him.” Glorfindel did not feel he had done wrong and he certainly would not
let Elrond expose him for nothing.
“Ready two horses, we will leave immediately,
Glorfindel!” Elrond tossed his napkin and left the table, expecting his orders
being followed. The idea of Erestor out there on his own was unsettling. Of
course, Erestor knew how to make efficiently use of his sword and knives, but
still – one single elf on his way to southern Mirkwood was unsettling and
Elrond did not want to see Erestor being caught by the enemy ever again!
Half an hour later Lord Elrond stepped outside, clad
in a light leather-armor with mithril inlays, he had girded his sword, bow and
quiver slung over his shoulder. Glorfindel had already mounted his horse and
held the reins of Elrond’s. The Balrog-slayer was armed to the eyeballs with
bow, two long knives and his sword, additional daggers in his boots. His armor
was a strong one, heavier than Elrond’s but he was far stronger and the
additional weight did not hinder him.
“Whereto, my Lord?” Glorfindel asked calmly. He would
go anyplace the Lord of Imladris would send him but he did like the idea of
knowing where the journey would lead him.
“Dol Guldur.” With that Elrond set off, not noticing
Glorfindel’s surprised mien.
They rode without
a word which gave Glorfindel much time to think.
Were they following Erestor?
Why would Erestor want to go to such a dark place?
Had the counselor after all these ages converted to
the dark side?
Nay, that was impossible! No matter how low Glorfindel
might have thought about Erestor, Gandalf’s story had clearly painted a picture
of an elf true to his heart.
When they made camp, long after dark, Elrond began to
speak: “Erestor cannot understand why we let Mithrandir go to Dol Guldur alone.
He does not know who the Grey Pilgrim is and so thinks we let Gandalf run into
death in full knowledge.” Elrond shook his head. “It is the first time that I
have to hide something from him. It hurt him a lot. He feels locked out and
there is nothing I can do about it.”
Because Glorfindel knew the way by heart the two
pursuers could ride much faster and in a straight line, unlike Erestor who had
to figure out where to go by trial and error. Again and again he found himself
in a dead end in the mountains, loosing a lot of time. It was no miracle that,
by the end of the second day, Elrond and Glorfindel caught up on the stray elf.
They let him ride up to them. “Where do you think
you’re going?” Elrond asked sternly.
“Mirkwood. As if you don’t know.” Erestor sulked.
“That is the other way.” Elrond pointed into the
opposite direction.
“Oh.” Erestor was embarrassed and blushed deeply. Very
soon he had realized that riding off alone had been a harebrained idea and to
ride the wrong way, thus admitting he was at a complete loss to both his Lord
and the captain was more than humiliating. As if that had not been enough,
Glorfindel burst with laughter. “Were you trying to starve followers by laying
false tracks? How do you manage not to get lost in the library?” the golden
haired elf was hardly able to stay on his horse.
“That is easy: I can read.” Erestor spat.
“Maybe you should try to actually have a life instead
of reading of it, counselor.” Glorfindel suggested.
Erestor’s hand twitched to the hilt of his sword.
“Enough now!” Elrond stopped the argument before it
would get out of control. “Erestor, we have come to ride with you. Since I
cannot stop you from acting so foolishly, we will assure you are safe. I
suggest Glorfindel leads from here on.”
“Aye, my Lord.” Without another word the guard’s
captain took the lead.
For quite a while the counselor was silent and when he
spoke his voice was low for he felt ashamed “Thank you, my Lord.”
Elrond’s act held a bit of comfort for Erestor but
altogether he still felt locked out. There came no explanation during their
journey that was endurable only because Elrond kept the two other at bay. He
would urge Erestor to sing some of the most ancient pieces of lore and to
Glorfindel’s amazement the counselor’s voice turned out to be a lovely one for
singing: rather deep and rich, always smooth and agile, even when he sung with
a low voice.
To while away the evenings of their travel, they told
each other stories and anecdotes of their lives. Glorfindel’s were more brawny
and shallow than Elrond’s.
“When I first saw Gondolin, I cried, for she was of
such beauty.” Erestor was about to tell how he had come to served Elrond’s
family. How becoming a servant to the House of Turgon’s daughter had finally
ended his restlessness.
“You were in the Hidden City?”
Glorfindel burst out. Oh, how he had loved Gondolin! It had been his home, the
only one he had known, because when his family had moved there he had been very
young.
“Yes. When King Turgon retreated from the Nirnaeth, I
decided to go with him. I asked leave from Fingon and offered my service to
Turgon. Gondolin promised some kind of rest and I was weary after having spent
almost five hundred years battling Morgoth. I needed to rest and heal.” The
dark-haired Noldo toyed with the end of his thick braid – he had gathered all
hair in one thick braid finding that the most convenient way on travels.
“Was that when you… you know… when you were wounded so
badly?” Glorfindel asked tentatively, not wanting to let Erestor or Elrond know
that Gandalf had told him the story already.
“Nay. In Gondolin, I was still whole...” Erestor
drifted off for a moment only to have Elrond pull him back from his black
memories. “Well, when we arrived the sun had just risen above the mountains and
the whole city was shining in red and gold – it was so beautiful, I thought my
eyes would no be able to behold such beauty. It almost pained my heart…”
Erestor’s eyes shone brightly with the memory.
“I know what you mean.” Glorfindel whispered. For a
moment he felt a faint connection with Erestor. He had always thought the
counselor had presented him with second-hand knowledge about the history of
Gondolin, now he had just learned that the elf had been there, had lived there
for decades. Too bad they were not exactly on speaking terms – he would have
loved to exchange memories of the Hidden City with
anybody but Erestor.
Both elves were so lost in their memories that all
conversation had died and soon they set up a watch and readied their bedrolls.
TBC...
