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“Laiqalasse!”

Galdor’s herald rode swiftly to the front of the company, where Turgon had called to him. He bowed at the waist and asked, “How might I serve you, m’lord?” Of everyone fighting for Turgon, he was the only one not held to calling Turgon his king, for his allegiance was still to his grandfather Oropher.

“I can hear something on the wind, but I do not know what is being said.” In a softer voice, he added, “It sounds like my brother.”

The words were echoing off the rock, and Laiqalasse, keenest among elves in hearing and sight, rode forward so that the sounds of marching would not affect his judgment. He closed his eyes and listened, and then, he looked out afar, and was glad when he returned to Turgon to give his report. “Indeed, it is your brother, and he has seen us, and he is shouting, ‘Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlië'n aurë!’”

Those in the front of Turgon’s company murmured the words to the back of the line, until they all knew how they had uplifted the heart of the High King.

“How shall we answer?” asked Maeglin, who rode beside Turgon has his herald.

“We answer your uncle how I feel in my heart,” said Turgon, who then shouted as loud as he was able, “Auta i lómë! Auta i lómë!” The company joined him, and their voices rang through the hills.

It was not very long before three riders approached them, clad in Fingon’s colors and carrying a banner with his crest. “King Turgon, well met, again,” announced the rider, who took off his helmet and revealed his golden hair and green eyes. “You are most welcomed in this hour. My lord Fingon wishes you well and is sending forth provisions for your company, and sends with me his thanks to you. It is his desire you guard the Pass of Sirion, until such time as you are needed, for there will be need of you in this battle.”

Turgon nodded slowly at the messenger’s words. “We shall lay in wait at the pass until Fingon calls us forth.” The king’s voice made it clear that he was not very happy with the idea of waiting, but that indeed he would. “I wish to send some of my soldiers with you, so they might scout the area for me.”

The chief rider discussed this with his companions, and said, “Spies of Morgoth are everywhere. We will need to do this covertly. My comrades will stay with you and answer what questions you have, while two members of your company ride with me. When your soldiers are satisfied, they shall return to you, and then mine shall return back to me. Will that be acceptable to you?”

“I should think so.”
“Good.” The messenger nodded to the others, who dismounted and removed their helmets while their leader replaced his again.

Turgon looked over his shoulder and called for Ecthelion and Glorfindel, who rode up to join their king. He explained the plan, and horses were exchanged so that suspicion would not be aroused when the riders emerged with horses of a different color.

None of them said anything to each other as they rode through the pass and up into the strongholds of Fingon. It was when they were within this safety that their helmets were removed, and Glorfindel held his breath as the messenger they had followed shook out his wavy golden hair. “If you wish to climb the tower, you will be able to see the lay of the land much better. Maedhros and his troops are on the other side, but from where we are we will not be able to see them.”

Ecthelion nodded. “That seems to be the best option.” The horses were left with some very young soldiers at the tower’s base, and they came around to a door, entering to find no stairs. Instead, there were heavy ropes that hung down to the floor from the second story. “This is different,” remarked Ecthelion as their guide took hold of one of the ropes.

“Sorry... can you climb?” he asked.

The Noldo took hold of one of the ropes and pushed off the ground. He made it two feet before he began to slide back down. “Not with my armor on,” he said.

Glorfindel was very close to slipping an ‘I told you so!’ into the conversation, but he bit his tongue. Half of the armor was wearing the thick, bulky plates of armor, while the other half had decided upon Glorfindel’s invention. His layered armor was lighter, more flexible, and allowed him to easily take hold of the rope and climb it, hand over hand, in a matter of seconds. “Should I go on ahead?” he called down. He laughed when Ecthelion made a rather rude gesture in his direction.

“Get up there, you little monkey, and let me know how the big picture looks.”

Glorfindel grinned and waited for the other elf to join him before silently following up the rest of the way. Level after level, neither said a word, though they stole glances at one another as they were able. When they reached the top floor, a small host of soldiers that made up the king’s personal guard stood around Fingon in a semicircle. They allowed the pair to pass, but immediately closed the gap once again, almost stepping on Glorfindel cape as it swept across the floor.

“Your majesty.” The messenger bowed low, and Glorfindel did the same, standing only when his guide did. “This is... Lord Glorfindel, leader of the House of the Golden Flower. Your brother has sent him to scout the area.”

“Well met, Glorfindel of Gondolin. Welcome to Eithel Sirion.” King Fingon looked away from the field where he had been watching the approach of Morgoth’s forces. He smiled, and chuckled, and Glorfindel did not need to be told why. “I see we both inherited vanity.”

Glorfindel shrugged, and noted that although Fingon’s hair hung in long braids woven with strands of gold, the king’s tresses would easily be longer than his own once unraveled. “I just look silly with short hair,” answered Glorfindel.

“We all tend to. It is because of the ears,” said Fingon, who was now looking from Glorfindel to the messenger and back again. “He is your cousin, Anglin?”

“No, your highness,” answered the other elf meekly.

“Ah... your brother, then?” guessed Fingon, and both blond elves turned red in the cheeks. “Oh, was that meant to stay secret? Because, if it was, it might help if you did not look so much alike.”

“Glorfindel, uh...”

“I left when I was young, and was somewhat disowned by my father. I do not wish my dishonor to come to my siblings, so we are discreet about the connection.”

Fingon’s expression became solemn, and he nodded. “I understand,” he said, and it seemed to Glorfindel from the look in his eyes that he truly did. “Shall we look at the trouble below, then?” he asked to change the topic, and all three stepped forward to look over the wall at the scene below. “Morgoth has his minions assembled before us. Our plan is to smash their forces between us and the host of Maedhros. However, we have yet to see the banners of any of the Feanorians. Although our soldiers are not so willing to wait, I have been advised to, and I have faith that Maedhros will announce himself soon.”

“We will be honored to aid you in whatever ways we can,” said Glorfindel.

Again Fingon smiled. “We will have need of you, there is no doubt in that. Are all of your companies clad in such armor or your officers only?”

“There are various types of plate armor, not all like my own, but all ten thousand are equipped. Most of us are clad in mithril hauberks as well, though a few are wearing haubergeons instead.” Glorfindel’s words appeared to impress the king, and he added, “We have brought cavalry as well, three hundred strong, and others can ride our pack horses if you wish it. That would add another fifty.”

“Horses, and armor. You came well prepared.” Fingon nodded. “I should expect nothing less from Turgon.”

“How fares your goodly king?” asked a low voice nearby. The guards parted, and a tall soldier who looked to have been much experienced in battle joined them. “Long has it been, and still I think of Gondolin every day.”

Glorfindel blinked, for as the soldier removed his helmet, he revealed himself as a man, and not an elf. Then Glorfindel took a longer look, and with eyes slowly widening, he smiled and grasped the man’s offered arm. “Hurin! My goodness, how you have grown since last we met! Ecthelion is with me, though he did not make the climb.”

“Yes, he and I were just conversing below. It is a great wonder to see you both. I only wish you king had come with you as well, for he was so kind to Huor and I, and in our youth we never quite properly thanked him.”

“I should think you thank him tenfold with your honor in coming to his brother’s aid,” suggested Glorfindel.

“Speaking of Ecthelion, he asked me to come up and retrieve you. It seems he is impatient to return with your report to King Turgon,” explained Hurin.

“Of course. I should take my leave.” Glorfindel bowed to King Fingon once more. “Shall I return any messages to your brother?”

The king contemplated this. “Tell him, I wish him a joyful Tarnin Austa. That is all.”

“I shall do that.” Glorfindel turned to leave.

“And, Lord Glorfindel?”

Glorfindel looked over his shoulder.

“Happy Tarnin Austa.”

“And a happy Tarnin Austa to you as well, you highness.” Glorfindel made his way past the guards and to the ropes.

Going down was much faster than up, but his arms were sore from the upward climb. He rested a few levels down and was joined soon after by his brother.

“After this is over, we should talk,” said Anglin as he sat down beside Glorfindel.

“We should,” Glorfindel agreed. There was a long pause, and then he asked, “How is Lothelin?”

“Good. She is in the Falas with her husband, my wife, and my daughter.”

Glorfindel smiled brightly. “You have a daughter? That is wonderful. How old is she?”

“Six years old,” replied Anglin. “She looks a lot like mother did.”

It pained Glorfindel to leave, but he knew that Ecthelion was waiting for him. “I married as well. No children, though.”

“That blond maiden you were with when I came to Gondolin some years back,” guessed Anglin, and Glorfindel nodded. “Good for you. The stress of these wars have taken a toll on everyone, the children especially. I am sure once the war is over, you will have your chance to gain a son or a daughter, or perhaps some of each.”

“Sure,” said Glorfindel, though he wanted to laugh loudly at this. “I look forward to seeing you again. Be safe.”

“You as well.”

Glorfindel hastily made his way to the ground, where Ecthelion was pacing furiously. “I have returned,” he announced as he fell in step with his fellow lord. He explained what he had seen and they mounted the borrowed horses once again in order to rejoin their companions.

They did not make it very far before the mood of the soldiers around them changed. Many of them were brought to attention from their posts as something transpired on the field ahead. Glorfindel looked where everyone else was looking, and made out the figure of an elf being dragged forward by Morgoth’s horseback servants.

The elf was gaunt, and his eyes were unseeing and blood was dried to his face. One of Morgoth’s captains held the bound elf by the neck in plain view of all of Fingon’s army.

“We have many more such at home,” shouted a herald of Angband, “but you must make haste if you would find them; for we shall deal with them all when we return even so.”

“What are they doing?” asked Glorfindel as the tormented elf was shoved upon his stomach onto the ground.

Ecthelion reached over and placed his hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Do not watch.”

“Why?” Glorfindel could hear the warning cries shouted by the elf who was in the midst of Morgoth’s commanders as one of them placed his foot upon the elf’s back to keep him from crawling away from them. Two more came to stand at either side of the troll, and they used their axes to poke and prod at him.

“Glorfindel, turn away,” hissed Ecthelion.

“No, Ecthelion.” Glorfindel shook his head. “I am still so neutral in all this. I shun the kinslayers and cannot understand the passion of the Noldor the same way you do. I have to see what Morgoth... I need to know why I need to hate him.”

“You will not need to wait long,” answered Ecthelion as they watched the servants of Morgoth raise their axes. Both brought them down at the same time, hewing off the hands and feet of the elf upon the ground. The elf screamed out, cursing and writhing about as he flailed his arms and legs. Blood poured out, and he attempted to crawl on his elbows and knees, weak though he was.

One of the heralds of Morgoth followed behind him as the rest of the orcs and trolls who were about laughed at their own cruelty. As the elf began to slow, he raised himself up on his knees and hoarsely called out one final warning, that there were no others to be saved. The vile creature behind him told hold of his axe with both hands and swung it around, severing his head from his shoulders. It rolled down off his chest and hit the sand. For a moment, the mutilated body remained upright, but only for a moment, before it toppled over to the side.

“NO!” Nearby, an elf, high-ranking from his appearance, burst forward and leaped upon his horse. He let out a cry of anguish, and many others who were mounted followed him out onto the field.

“Has the king given the signal?” questioned Ecthelion of a page who stopped near to them in the midst of the chaos.

“Nay, m’lord!” the youth answered. “That is Prince Gwindor of Nargothrond; Gelmir was his brother!” The young one rushed off again as someone shouted to him.

“His brother.” Ecthelion shook his head. “And so it begins. Now do you understand why we must stop him, Glorfindel?” Ecthelion looked about in shock. “Glorfindel?” He caught sight of the golden hair in the rush of the cavalry, and rode hard to catch up to him. “No, Glorfindel, we must return!”

“You go; I need to help them!” shouted Glorfindel back, drawing his sword as he rode.

Ecthelion edged his horse closer so that they were riding with hardly any air between them. “Glorfindel, by order of King Turgon, return to your line!”

For a moment, Ecthelion was not sure that Glorfindel was going to listen to him. He breathed a sigh of relief as Glorfindel slowed his mount. “Sorry, I... I just...”

“I know, Glorfindel, I know.” He led them out of the fray so that they could take a path safely back to the rest of the Gondolindrim. “We will have a chance to fight, Glorfindel, but not now, not yet. Soon, I promise.”
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