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Two weeks flew by faster than any previous two weeks ever had before. Neither Glorfindel nor Erestor recalled getting much sleep or anything else for that matter, but training and planning took place day and night. Ten houses were ready to march forth, while two, the armies of Salgant and Enerdhil, were to remain in the city. Each of the ten had prepared an army of one thousand soldiers, the finest chosen from their full compliments.

King Turgon had declared that the final day before the departure was to be used to spend time with families and to rest before the long march. There were still a few preparations to be made, but for the most part everything and everyone was ready to go. Almost everyone, actually.

“Would you like me to make you something to eat?” Tauniel sat down at the table next to Glorfindel when he shook his head. “You skipped lunch and dinner. I have a feeling you are going to skip breakfast in the morning as well. What if I just make something light for you now?”

“Maybe some porridge,” Glorfindel finally conceded. He was still planning out various attack strategies and making notes on which ones he believed would work well or fail miserably. It was just as Tauniel stood that a knock came upon the door. He glanced up at her and she silently nodded and moved towards it.

The door was opened to reveal Faelion standing on the other side. He was dressed in military garb, but as Glorfindel took a second look, it was not the colors he expected to see him in. “Silver and black...” he muttered to himself. “Wrong colors...” He rubbed his closed eyes, and opened them to see Faelion had entered and looked very somber. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes. I... is Erestor here?” asked Faelion as he untied the cape he wore and draped it over his arm.

Tauniel shut the door and touched Faelion on the shoulder. “He is with his wife. I will go and get him for you.” She walked briskly to the bedroom and went inside after knocking softly.

After making a few final notes, Glorfindel set down his quill and stood up. “Those are Salgant’s colors,” he realized, and he watched as Faelion first looked away and then bowed his head. “You are not coming with us.”

“I wanted to,” admitted Faelion. “Unfortunately, my uncle does not want to take the chance that something might happen, so I have been reassigned. That is what I came here to tell Erestor.”

Erestor, who had emerged from the room without either Glorfindel or Faelion seeing him do so, now approached the table with a frustrated groan. “On the eve of our departure Salgant makes this decision? I asked him last week and he told me he expected you to go!” Erestor shook his head and gently pushed Aranel away when she came out of the bedroom and tried to comfort him. “This is not acceptable.”

“I am sorry, sir, but these are my orders. The king has signed them.” Faelion held out a sheet of parchment to Erestor, but the older elf made a dismissive motion. “For what it is worth, it was not my idea.” He turned to leave and then turned back at the door and said, “I hope you both fight well and stay safe, and return.”

There was little for either of them to say in reply, but Glorfindel did acknowledge him with a stunned nod. Aranel saw Faelion to the door, for they were related distantly and though it caused tension she was happy to know he would stay safe in the city. After Faelion had departed, Erestor picked up one of Glorfindel’s books from the table and hurled it angrily. He aimed at the couch, which cushioned the impact but still made the other three occupants of the room jump where they stood or sat. “Go have a tantrum with your own books,” scolded Glorfindel as he retrieved the volume.

“Damn him!” Erestor hit his fisted hand against the wall, though only hard enough to created a loud noise as the plates on the shelf nearby rattled.

“He already said this was not his idea,” said Glorfindel in defense as he sat back down at the table.

“Not him; Salgant.” Erestor ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I need to talk to Rog. I am certain that Faelion did not go to him and explain this.”

Aranel, who was still standing at the door, slipped on her shoes. “I can go and bring father up here,” she offered.

“If you can find Pengolodh, please ask him to come up here as well.” Erestor dropped down onto the couch after Aranel left and said, “I could just about wring Salgant’s neck right now. Faelion was supposed to herald Rog’s army.”

“Oh, shit.” Glorfindel, concentration now lost, organized his papers before joining Erestor in the sitting room. “Who was the backup?”

“There was no backup. You know Rog does not think that way. He just deals in absolute. He absolutely believed that Faelion would be there, and he had no reason to doubt that.”

Tauniel hurriedly prepared for guests, but Glorfindel shook his head as she brought forth a bottle of wine. “That is the last thing we need right now,” he reminded her, and she went to the kitchen to prepare tea instead.

The story was already relayed to Rog and Pengolodh by the time they arrived with Aranel. Rog snorted angrily as he entered the suite, while Pengolodh was calm but displeased. “So far, we have devised a solution – I suppose I should say, by your inclusion of me we have figured out what your intended solution is. However, that creates yet another problem,” said Pengolodh as he sat down on the couch next to Erestor and accepted a cup of tea from Tauniel.

“There are few who know all of the maneuvers of Rog’s army as well as I do,” explained Erestor. Although he had been trained with Rog’s forces, his lordship came through Pengolodh’s house. It had been previously decided that he would therefore herald Pengolodh in the battle. “That would leave you in a bind, but it would be possible to teach someone what they need to know in order to aid you. Since Rog’s battalion will be in the lead alongside Ecthelion’s contingent, there needs to be someone who can change orders quickly or we risk suffering a great loss.”

“Then we need to find this someone who can learn what they need to know.” Pengolodh looked at Rog. “Do you have anyone we might swap? Most of my army is made up of young soldiers with limited experience. I do know how some of them will act under pressure.”

“I have the same trouble,” admitted Rog. “I know my soldiers are drilled harder than any others, but there is no way to know their true worth until we reach the battlefield. No one comes to mind that would be a reliable risk for such a thing. We also need someone who is an officer, and someone who can ride. There are variables beyond simply being competent enough to learn a few battle strategies.”

Glorfindel had until now been quietly mulling over the situation while he held his cup of tea between his hands more for comfort than out of real need of it. He cleared his throat at the pause and said, “My herald would easily be able to learn whatever maneuvers and information and such that he would need to. I would hate to lose him from my ranks, but I am aware of the fact that cavalry has less of a need of a second than infantry does.”

“Who is your herald?” questioned Pengolodh.

“Galdereth,” said Glorfindel.

Pengolodh shrugged. “I have never heard of him.” He looked to Erestor for guidance.

“He is a very intelligent young elf with a keen sense of loyalty. He would do well as your herald.”

It seemed this was all Pengolodh needed, for he nodded in approval. “Before we depart tomorrow, bring him to meet me, Glorfindel. I am certain we can find an extra uniform and shield for him.”

“He is just a little shorter than Erestor,” said Glorfindel. “I am sure he could fit into Erestor’s uniform, as I assume Erestor will be arrayed as a soldier of Rog’s house if he is now heralding him.”

“Undoubtedly.” Rog drank his tea, watching Glorfindel thoughtfully. “Then who will herald you?”

“Not only do I need a herald, but I need another person,” he realized, as Faelion’s transfer left the entire army of Gondolin one short of ten thousand. The obvious answer came to him, but he batted it away in his mind until no other ideas came forth. “I have an idea, but I will need to speak to someone without delay. If you will excuse me.” He set his untouched tea on the table before leaving.

Aranel met him at the door as he laced up his boots and offered to retrieve whomever he wanted her to so that he did not have to go himself. “Thank you, but no,” he answered. “There are some things that fall to the captain to do, and this is among them.”

Glorfindel’s path took him far from the tower and into the valley. Though late, there were a number of houses with lights still burning, windows glowing faintly. Preparations were still being made, even at this hour. He took an unfamiliar path, yet he knew it to be correct from the few times he had traveled it. His pace was rushed, and he soon found he was knocking on the wooden door of a small but well-kept house.

The lady who answered he knew from sight, but could not recall her name. “I am terribly sorry to disturb you so late in the evening...” he began, but the sad look on her face caused him to trail off.

“I knew you were going to come for my husband,” she said softly. “Even after the lists were posted and his name was not on them, I knew.” She opened the door wide enough for Glorfindel to enter. “He is in Diruil’s room putting him to bed. You can wait in the sitting room, or you can go up to see him, if you like.”

Glorfindel nodded as he entered. He stepped into the tiny room for receiving guests. There were only two chairs and a bench in the room. The entire area of the house was less than his own luxurious sitting room. Feeling a sense of urgency, Glorfindel crossed the room to the staircase and ascended to the upper level.

He found the hallway to be very narrow and saw three doors, only one of which was open. There were hushed voices within the chamber, and Glorfindel was certain to walk heavily enough to make his presence known so that he did not overhear any private conversation.

Inside the room was a bed, a chest, a shelf for toys and games, and a set of carved wooden elves in a spot of honor on a shelf above the bed. Instead of regular toy soldiers, Glorfindel noted they were miniature fire brigadiers. He knocked on the doorway to announce his presence, and the little elfling in bed looked up with a grin while his father solemnly looked over his shoulder at their visitor. “Good evening. I regret my need to visit so late,” apologized Glorfindel.

“That is quite alright, Captain. Diruil, do you remember Captain Glorfindel?”

“Do I!” Diruil stood up in his bed and pulled one of the toys from the shelf. “Look, sir, I keep them up here and dust them and I even repainted the one I scuffed up.” He held out the miniature for Glorfindel’s approval.

“Very nice,” said Glorfindel, nodding his head.

“He loves playing with them. It was a very nice gift; he appreciates them very much.” Mirdirin gently tugged on his son’s arm and said, “Time for bed has come and gone, and you are still up. Say goodnight to the Captain, and then I shall tuck you in. We cannot have you waking up your sisters.”

Diruil set his treasure back onto the shelf and dutifully crawled into bed. “Goodnight, Captain! Goodnight, Ada.”

“Goodnight, squirt.” Mirdirin tweaked his son’s nose and received a giggle. He pulled up the covers and kissed the elfling’s head before blowing out the candle and joining Glorfindel in the hallway. “Shall we talk outside?”

Glorfindel nodded, certain that was to keep any of the children from overhearing the conversation. Besides Duruil, Mirdirin and his wife had two other children. Each of Duruil’s sisters had been adopted shortly after Mirdirin finished his mandatory training.

The ellyn walked outside and down the block a few houses before either of them said anything. Finally, it was Glorfindel who spoke. “To make a rather long story as short as possible, someone unexpectedly left Rog’s army, and in the shifting I lost my herald to another house.”

“Are you enlisting me to take that position?” asked Mirdirin uneasily.

“No. I am asking you, and I hate myself for it. I tried not to take anyone who has a family away from the city for obvious reasons, but I am in a very bad spot on this and there are few I trust as well as I trust you. However,” added Glorfindel quickly, “there will be no hard feelings between us if you decline.”

Mirdirin glanced at his little house, the dim light of the sitting room visible even at their distance. “I would hate myself if I refused you. If I go, I will know that I did everything in my power to keep them safe. If I stay and war reaches us, I will never forgive myself. I will always wonder if I was the one who could have made the difference.”

Glorfindel gave a curt nod, and as he looked up caught sight of the house not so far away. In the sitting room he could see Mirdirin’s wife slumped in a chair sobbing, and peering down at them from the upper window a small elfling watched with concern. All at once and before it even started, the true meaning of war hit him and tears began to streak down his face. “I am so sorry,” he whispered. He did nothing to hide his emotions.

“I need to return home,” said Mirdirin. “I will report to the barracks in the morning,” he promised. Glorfindel nodded but said nothing as Mirdirin began to walk away. The merchant turned back halfway and called out, “Captain.”

Glorfindel looked away from the second story window.

“You are a good elf. I am honored to serve with you.”

He felt he should reply in kind, but the words would not come to him and Glorfindel only nodded. His steps were heavy in returning home, with the image of the little boy looking out his window haunting him in his dreams.
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