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Twilight Tales - The Captain's Guerdon	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 8528 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Chapter V

Ettenmoors, lairë TA 1975

Screams of fury and pain mingled with the enraged whinnies of warhorses, the sounds resounding across the battle-torn fields of the Ettenmoors. Metal clanged as orkish scimitars clashed with the swords of Men and Elves alike. And the shadows lengthened as the sun slowly set – too soon for the armies of the West, too late for the forces of Angmar.

Glorfindel rallied his warriors around him to drive a pack of snarling Orcs right into the spears of Círdan’s folk. He spared a quick glance to his right, noting the brethren Elladan and Elrohir’s present position relative to his. The twins had virtually plowed into a phalanx of human foes, smashing their shields aside, cutting them down with their deadly blades, then riding them into the ground with their powerful steeds. Further on he saw the entire left wing of the enemy forces waver then give way before the charge of the soldiers of Gondor.

Arthedain had fallen to Angmar the winter before and with the death of Arvedui in the icy Bay of Forochel, so had the kingship in the North come to an end though not the line of the kings. Too late had the great fleet of Gondor come to Arvedui’s aid though it had been welcomed by Elves and Men nonetheless, for help was still help however tardy it might be.

By the time word of the fleet’s arrival at Mithlond reached Rivendell, Círdan the shipwright and Eärnur son of Eärnil had mustered their armies and marched to Fornost to force battle upon the Witch-king of Angmar. In his pride and folly, the Witch-king had come out of his stronghold, thinking himself more than a match for the approaching army. But instead, the allied forces had defeated his hordes of Orcs and evil men and he had perforce retreated to the furthermost north, seeking the shelter of his fortress city of Carn Dûm in Angmar where he would have a chance to regroup and face his foes anew.

But a cavalry of soldiers led by Eärnur overtook him ere he reached the Misty Mountains and another battle erupted in the Troll-fells. Things might have gone ill for the Captain of Gondor engaging the enemy so close to his own territory and far from the main body of the allied army. The timely arrival of the Elves of Rivendell averted a possible standoff or, even worse, defeat and now the balance tilted heavily in favor of the Host of the West once more.

A sudden chill smote Glorfindel’s spine and he sharply looked to where Eärnur stood his ground. He hissed in alarm when he saw what neared the man. The Witch-king himself.

Malevolence flowed from the black-robed, black-masked figure so effusively that fear took root in the hearts of men and beast alike. The guard around the Captain of Gondor fled before the Wraith’s approach, unable to master themselves or their mounts. Crying out a challenge, the Witch-king brutally spurred his midnight-hued horse into a gallop and headed straight for Eärnur.

To Glorfindel’s horror, the man did not give way before that charge but sought to meet his foe in battle. Vainglorious want-wit! Glorfindel thought with anger and anxiety. Does he think he can best that abomination? And he but a mere mortal? The Elf-lord urged Asfaloth forward. The elven horse fairly flew across the corpse-littered terrain.

The distance between foul Wraith-king and belligerent captain closed rapidly. Glorfindel cursed under his breath as he struck and hewed at Orcs that dared block his way.

“Glorfindel!”

The Elf-lord glanced over his shoulder to espy Elladan following hard in his wake. Dread smote him that the older twin should come face-to-face with the Witch-king and he ordered him back. “Stay! Do not follow!”

To his consternation, Elladan did not obey but continued cutting a swath through the ranks of his foes to get to Glorfindel. The captain hesitated but a moment before hastening on, seeking to come between Eärnur and his fell assailant. A troop of Orcs converged on him, trying to delay him. His elven steed struck out with his hooves; skulls cracked and bones snapped. Howls of pain and surprise from behind told him another group of Orcs had been foiled in their attempt to hinder him. A glance showed Elladan dispatching them with ruthless ease. Asfaloth plunged through the wavering mass into the open once more.

The Witch-king was almost upon Eärnur. But at the last moment, the man’s horse reared in terror, swerved and bolted, refusing to heed Eärnur’s commands. The Witch-king laughed and the sound of it was enough to freeze the very marrow of even the staunchest soldiers. The forces of Angmar rallied, taking heart from the retreat of the Captain of Gondor before their master.

The Witch-king shook with his mirth and motioned to his forces to charge the faltering Men once again. In the midst of his laughter, he saw the swift approach of Glorfindel. He smirked, thinking to himself that he would have good sport with this bold Elf. He turned his mount to meet the Elvenlord.

But in the next instant, Glorfindel’s form glowed with terrible brilliance. The Wraith gasped in shock and realization. This was no ordinary Elf but one who had come not only from beyond the Sea but also from within the very halls of the dead. His whole being shone with the pure and blinding light of his reborn flame. The Witch-king reined in his horse in consternation, recognizing the peril the golden-haired Elda posed to him.

Glorfindel raised his arm, sword pointed at the Wraith-king. The sun was almost gone and, in the gathering darkness, the Elf-lord was like a torch of silver fire of an incandescence never yet beheld in these Hither Lands. With a panicked snarl, the Witch-king caved. Wheeling his mount about, he fled into the night, vanishing into the dark. After a moment, his minions broke ranks and began to scatter like termites suddenly bereft of their queen. It was a simple matter for the Men and Elves to hunt them down and destroy them.

Eärnur had mastered his steed at last and he started in pursuit of the Witch-king. Glorfindel hastened to cut him off.

“Hold, Captain of Gondor!” he cried, blocking his way.

“Out of my way, Elf-lord!” the man growled. “I will not be shamed before my men and by that abominable creature no less. Out of my way!”

Glorfindel glanced back to where the Witch-king had disappeared then shook his head. He did not yield his ground. “Do not pursue him! He will not return to this land. Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of man will he fall.”***

The man’s scowl eloquently expressed what he thought of the Elven captain’s words. “And you would have the glory go to an Elf?” he scoffed scornfully. “You mayhap?”

“Had it been my destiny to slay him, that would have come to pass this eve, youngling,” Glorfindel coolly replied, deliberately using the epithet to remind the other of just whom he was addressing. “I claim no laurels for myself or my kindred. There is no glory in war. Only death and suffering though we would willingly pay the price for the sake of these lands and its peoples.”

Eärnur flushed at the tacit reprimand. But prideful as he was, he tendered no apology and only nodded curtly before turning his steed away and heading back to his soldiers. Glorfindel watched him go, troubled that so valiant a warrior should be so lacking in wisdom and foresight. Eärnur had earned the Witch-king’s hatred in this campaign. He would not need to seek out his foe; his foe would come for him sooner or later. Glorfindel could only hope it would be much later.

“He will run on his death if he does not take heed.”

The captain sharply turned his head to skewer Elladan with a baleful glare. The twin had silently come up behind him. “As you might have done!” he growled irately. “I gave you a direct order not to follow, Elladan.”

“And I would have obeyed had there been any to guard your back,” Elladan retorted. When Glorfindel’s glare turned glacial as well, he swiftly pointed out,” “I am your second, Glorfindel. ‘Twas my duty, as you well know.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed ominously. Elladan could not help flinching a bit when he saw the knuckles on Glorfindel’s right hand whiten as he clenched it into a tight fist. Yet the Elf-lord said no more but only pointed Asfaloth back to the Imladrin contingent. Elladan followed him, wondering at his unbidden anger.

*******

The Last Homely House, Imladris

The departure of the Witch-king from the North portended a spell of quiet but the Elves were not sanguine about this dubious peace. After all, the Witch-king had only fled; he had not been bested. And none knew whither he had gone. And now there was no king and no longer any northern realm ruled by the Dúnedain.

It was with this grim reminder in mind that the army from Rivendell marched home. Victory was theirs but only for the moment. There was no telling when war would rear its head once more or where.

Elrond’s immediate concern was for his distant kin, Isildur’s heirs. What would become of Arvedui’s son Aranarth now? And he but a youth barely past his majority. There would be no crown to assume or throne to ascend. Only the rulership of the remnants of the Dúnedain of the North who had survived the long wars. They were diminished in numbers now though not in the purity of their bloodlines or the inherent power of their illustrious heritage.

At length, Elrond made a decision on the matter. “If Aranarth chooses, he will find my home open to him and his,” the Elvenlord declared. “Henceforth, I will take it upon myself to succor his house unto the day that Isildur’s line should be restored and my brother’s heirs should bear the scepter of Annúminas once more.” He did not foresee the far-reaching repercussions of this edict upon his family in the centuries to come.

His wife and children concurred with him and pledged their support in this endeavor.

It was nigh a week since their return that Elladan sought Glorfindel in his quarters. They had not spoken since the battle in the Ettenmoors. Indeed, Glorfindel had kept his distance from Elladan and the latter, perceiving that there was more to the captain’s aloofness with him than simple umbrage at having a command disregarded, let him be. But now he deemed it time to have it out with his recalcitrant lover.

He found him staring out his window at the far-off hills for Glorfindel’s bedchamber looked to the wild lands beyond and not the manicured lawns and gardens of Elrond’s house. So had the encircling mountains appeared to him from his home in ancient Gondolin. It was a view he relished. And one he now shared with Elladan alone. Just as he shared his bed with no one else but Elrond’s first-born son.

It was a vital victory for the older twin that, in the last hundred years or so, Glorfindel had ceased to dally with others. Whether it was due to weariness of the chase, or because he was content to lie in Elladan’s arms alone, or both, he would not say and his Peredhel lover did not press him for his reasons either. It was enough for Elladan to know that theirs was now an exclusive arrangement.

Elladan studied the fair-haired Noldo’s tall, lean figure awhile before walking to him and silently sliding his arms around his waist from behind.

Glorfindel did not start. He had sensed Elladan’s entry; recognized his singular scent as he approached. He leaned back into the tentative embrace, indicating his willingness to treat with the older twin again.

“I see you are recovered,” Elladan murmured, resting his chin on a broad shoulder.

“Not quite but enough,” Glorfindel averred.

“What thoughts trouble you?” Elladan inquired. “You have kept to yourself these many days.”

Glorfindel sighed. “I only ponder what might have come to pass had I not been there to rout the Witch-king,” he admitted. “Or prevent Eärnur from giving chase. Foolish mortal,” he added with some disgust.

“Aye, that he is,” Elladan agreed. “He is not half the man his father is. “Methinks the kingship in Gondor will not long outlast its demise here in the North. But you have delayed that evil day, Glorfindel, and that is still to the good of Men.” He paused, recalling once more the startling transformation of his captain in that mad charge against the Witch-king. “That was a sight I had never thought to witness,” he commented softly. “You were astounding, Glorfindel. The Witch-king was verily defeated by his fear of you.”

Glorfindel snorted. “Would that I could have done the same in Gondolin,” he dryly retorted.

“You were not the Elf then that you are now,” Elladan asserted. When Glorfindel did not gainsay him, he asked. “Do you think ‘twas for this that you were sent back?”

The captain hesitated then shook his head. “One of the reasons,” he conceded. “But I do not think my oath wholly fulfilled as yet. There is another task set for me though what it might be I cannot see.” There was silence for a long moment. At length, Glorfindel turned around and looked regretfully at Elladan. He pressed a kiss to the older twin’s lips, taking him quite by surprise. “I know I have wounded you with my reticence this past week. Forgive me,” he quietly said.

Elladan peered at him wonderingly. “Why were you so angered?” he curiously queried. “I could not have done otherwise. Else I would not be the soldier you trained me to be.”

“I know.”

“Then what enraged you?”

“I feared for you.”

Elladan gaped at him in astonishment. “I have acquitted myself well on many a field of battle, Glorfindel,” he said. “And faced all manner of foe, human or not.”

“But never anything as malignant as the unholy spawn of Angmar,” Glorfindel countered. “The power he wielded – I have not known the like since my days in Gondolin.” He shuddered slightly. “Only a Balrog could have inspired more dread.”

“You were afraid of that creature?” Elladan said incredulously. “Yet you dared to face it.”

“Nay, I did not fear him as I did the Balrog,” Glorfindel amended. “But neither will I belittle his strength. He would have destroyed Eärnur had the fool’s horse not had more sense than its master and carried him away. And he might have vanquished you had you approached him too closely.” He cupped Elladan’s face in his hands and gazed into his eyes, his own glittering oddly. “I have lost so many who are dear to me. I did not wish to know yet another loss. I could not have borne it.”

The older twin stared at him, astounded into near speechlessness. It was the closest Glorfindel had ever come to vocally admitting anything akin to love for him. Elladan had always had to guess or discern the older Elf’s intentions from his actions. Even so measured a statement as this had the effect of a passionate declaration shouted from the rooftops of Rivendell.

When he finally found his tongue, he more than matched Glorfindel’s words. “You will not lose me,” he said. “You never will. And I would declare myself this day to you, whether you accept it or no. I love you, Glorfindel. I am yours alone and have been since the day we first met.”

Glorfindel caught his breath then pursed his lips. “So much conviction,” he murmured. “I hope you do not come to regret making so precipitate a pronouncement.”

“I will not,” Elladan passionately countered. “Indeed, I swear to it.”

He saw the frown that creased Glorfindel’s white brow as soon as he uttered his promise. As always, the captain became discomfited when faced with troths of the heart. It was always thus with him – he could and did make vows of allegiance and constancy when they pertained to his duties as friend or warrior or honorable Elf. But let even the faintest trace of romance enter the picture and at once he shied from such pledges, neither giving nor deigning to receive. In all their centuries together, Elladan had not voiced any oaths of love and fidelity to Glorfindel precisely because of the other’s apparent aversion to them. As he was evincing now.

The captain’s mouth tightened reprovingly. “‘Tis not wise to make such promises, pen neth”—young one—he said. “They are all too easily broken.”

“I have never broken my word,” Elladan reminded him.

“There is always a first time,” Glorfindel pointed out.

“My, but you are cynical,” the twin remarked. “Whence such caution, seron vell?”—beloved? He smiled faintly at the startled expression that crossed Glorfindel’s face at the endearment. The captain rallied.

“From life,” he tersely answered.

Elladan considered this. “Surely you could learn a new lesson,” he said.

Dark golden eyebrows rose questioningly. “Such as?”

“Faith,” Elladan answered, his eyes sparkling.

“In you?” Glorfindel challenged albeit without ire.

“For a start.”

The captain gazed at him uncertainly, searchingly. Elladan had the feeling that he was about to cross some invisible line. A thrill of both pleasure and fear coursed through his body. If Glorfindel stepped over that line, it could culminate in the fulfillment of all his hopes. Or herald worse travails before he could claim his reward.

One never knew what might be with Glorfindel. The Noldorin Elf was still an enigma and true divination of his future was only possible by dint of the gift of foresight. Yet even Elrond and Galadriel who were both blessed with more than their fair share of insight and prescience had not been able to pierce the veils that shrouded Glorfindel’s personal life, past or present.

Still, Elladan had not attained so many of his desires by foregoing the risks entailed in such pursuits. And so he patiently awaited Glorfindel’s response.

The captain took a deep breath then nodded. “I could try,” he whispered.

*******************

Glossary:

lairë – Quenya for summer

***Passage is from LoTR: The Return of the King, Appendix A: Annals of the Kings and Rulers - Gondor and the Heirs of Anárion (iv)

To be continued…
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Twilight Tales - The Captain's Guerdon