As shock wore off, Erestor stood again and returned to the battle. Glorfindel was resigned to wait until the healers turned away long enough not to see him stand, stagger, and limp back towards the fighting masses. He armed himself with arrows and stood at a distance, but fought as he could. After running out of arrows twice and retrieving more from the bodies of the dead that were piled up behind him, Glorfindel noticed that many soldiers more able than him were returning behind the line, and that men were falling in place where elves in the line once stood.
“What is going on?” asked Glorfindel as Ecthelion ran up to him. The spike of Ecthelion’s helmet was bent at an angle and his armor bore dark marks where it had been scorched.
“A retreat,” he relayed in disgust. “We are falling back.”
“Back to where?”
“To Gondolin.” Ecthelion looked Glorfindel up and down. “You need armor.”
“Not now. I do not think I could bear the weight.” He lifted his bow and shot a rogue orc who was lifting his weapon against a man some distance away.
Ecthelion directed the flow of elves and horses, barking orders to the healers regarding the fallen. Weapons and armor were salvaged before the bodies were piled up and set afire. This was done for two reasons. The first was to keep the orcs from desecrating the dead, and the second, to build barriers against them. “Glorfindel, gather up what arrows you can, and be sure to have a sword. You and I will guard the flanks so no one reaches the rest of the company.”
Glorfindel nodded, and did as told. He tried not to look at the fallen soldiers who were dragged back by their companions, but some he saw and recognized as acquaintances and friends. To see his own soldiers was most upsetting of all, and the image of Elluil resting in death flickered over and over in his mind.
The soldiers of Fingon’s army who had remained standing and could make it to the pass now joined with the Gondolindrim. As he caught sight of his brother, tired and bloodied but alive, Glorfindel fought harder against those who mean to stop their retreat. From his vantage point, Glorfindel could see that the banners of the Feanorians no longer waved in the east, and the Naugrim were retreating slowly with their voices joined as a low hum, a song of grief for their fallen lord. Only the men and a handful of Fingon’s most loyal fighters remained on the field.
At the last came Turgon, and with him Maeglin, and neither spoke to Ecthelion or Glorfindel as they passed and joined the retreat. Then, as Glorfindel looked forth for other survivors, he heard a familiar voice shout to them.
“Go now, my lords, and fare you well!” Huor had fallen back to their position, and he clasped Ecthelion’s arm but only did so to Glorfindel’s hand, for he saw the grave injuries on the other. “Go, my lords, make haste to your home. Day shall come again,” he added as they mounted horses brought to them by Hurin. Several more horses were sent along, released by their masters who knew they stood better chances among the elves.
As they caught up with the last remnants of the retreat, Ecthelion bid them to mount to bring the rear of the company forward faster. They met at the pass of Sirion, and after regrouping lowered their banners and disappeared into the woods, refusing to stop for rest that night until the next when Turgon was advised to make camp lest he lose many more of his company and most of the horses as well.
Ten groups of elves, each smaller than they had been when they started out from Gondolin, began to work on the task of assembling a tent as a base and figuring out the details of food, for the last time they had eaten was the evening before entering into the battle. Those elves who had marched with Fingon now gathered uneasily and asked their captains what to do.
A group of officers approached Turgon and sat in council while the captains of Gondolin assembled their soldiers and took the counts of those that remained. A few of the captain sat on makeshift benches without their heralds beside them; Ecthelion and Glorfindel were among these.
Glorfindel looked down his line, and then to the soldiers standing before Ecthelion. Despite losing over half of his army, it was evident to Glorfindel that Ecthelion was returning with a much smaller number than he.
As Glorfindel squinted at the crinkled list and asked for names, he marked off each soldier in turn. It was a tiring process, especially without the use of his glasses, which had become lost at some point in the last six days. He struggled to see the fine printing and cursed at the list when the names blurred together. “Name,” he said gruffly as the next soldier approached.
“Mirdirin.”
Glorfindel looked up immediately and almost snapped at the soldier for playing such a terrible joke. To his surprise, he saw his herald, bruised and without his armor, missing a few teeth when he smiled. “Sorry to worry you, captain, I was a little delayed.”
“What happened to you? I saw you fall!” Glorfindel tossed the list aside and stood up to hug his herald, which did not seem so out of place as it might have all things considered.
Mirdirin patted Glorfindel’s back and sat down beside his captain after Glorfindel let go of him. “I fell and I think I must have hit my head. I was a little trampled, but when I came to I was among the Feanorians. They were having difficulties of their own; you see, the men they brought turned against them. I fought with them, with the Feanorians that is, Caranthir’s forces, and when I had the chance, I made it back through again to our side. I nearly missed the retreat, but I found my horse dawdling by the Sirion and managed to catch up.”
“You do not know what a relief it is to see you,” said Glorfindel. “And now as you are here, you can help me with this.” He dumped the list on Mirdirin’s lap.
“Lose your spectacles?” asked his herald as the next soldier came up to check in. Glorfindel mumbled a curse and shook his head, causing Mirdirin to smirk.
When they finished accounting for everyone, Mirdirin flipped through and shook his head. “It is just like King Turgon said.”
“What was that?” asked Glorfindel wearily as someone handed him a wafer of lembas.
Mirdirin reached up and took the one that was held out to him. “When we were assembled by the Sirion, he told us to look to our left, and look to our right, and that two of us would not return. Now that I look at the lists, I see that the soldier who stood on either side of me is dead. I thought he had to be mistaken, but as I look around, I can see that our numbers have fallen greatly.”
“They have, though we bring Fingon’s people with us.” Glorfindel bit off a corner of his ration and looked over the crowd that stood apart from the Gondolindrim. Upon further examination, Glorfindel asked, “Are they wearing leather armor?”
“Most of them,” confirmed Mirdirin. He was about to eat his own lembas, but he lowered his hand into his lap. “Look at how thin they are.”
Glorfindel swallowed hard as he saw the longing looks on some of the faces of Fingon’s soldiers who watched the army of Turgon eat. There was waste, some of the soldiers dropping chunks of the bread as they talked and laughed. Even the smallest crumbs caught the attention of some of the soldiers of Hithlum.
“When do you think they ate last?” asked Mirdirin.
“I doubt they can remember.” Glorfindel handed his portion to Mirdirin as he stood up and looked around to see where the elf distributing the food had gone.
He found the elf with little difficulty, and demanded to know why it was that the Gondolindrim were served before Fingon’s army was. “This is our food, and I have not yet been given orders from Turgon to share our supplies with them.”
“They have been fighting six days straight, without food and likely without water!” Glorfindel’s anger silenced the soldiers nearby, and that wave moved across the encampment until even Turgon’s attention was captured. “Get over there and give them food!”
“But your lordship, there are protocols—“
“Fuck the protocols.” Glorfindel gripped the barrel that the other elf was holding and tore it from his hands.
The former distributor crossed his arms over his chest and made no move to retrieve the lembas as Glorfindel walked away. He did shout in warning, “You are directly disobeying the king, and may be punished for such disobedience!”
“If the king wants to have me whipped because I made sure his brother’s people did not starve, then so be it!” shouted Glorfindel back. “I look forward to it!”
As he passed by Mirdirin, his herald stood up and helped to carry the barrel the rest of the way, for Glorfindel’s leg was not quite healed and he still limped. “Might as well be two of us going against protocol,” said Mirdirin when Glorfindel mumbled for him to go and not get involved. “Besides, I should think it would be less lonely if you get lashed with your trusty herald beside you.”
Glorfindel reached into the barrel and pulled out a stack of the bread. There were different types of lembas, the best being that which was made with the nuts of the mellyrn trees. Gondolin lacked the trees necessary, but the ellyth who held the secret of its making did bake one that was almost as good. The fresh almondy scent wafted up and Glorfindel held out a wafer to the first elf he came upon. “Please, take it,” said Glorfindel when the elf stepped back from him.
“I do not wish to make trouble for you,” answered the elf.
“Trust me, this would not be my first time in trouble.” Glorfindel took hold of the elf’s hand and placed the lembas into his palm. “Eat now, I shall have water brought soon.”
The elf looked about to burst into tears. He stood motionless and stared down at the lembas as Glorfindel served more of the bread to others around them. When Glorfindel reached back into the barrel for more, he took note of the fact that the elf was still frozen in place. “You need to eat,” coaxed Glorfindel, placing his hand on the elf’s shoulder.
“How can you be so caring, after all I ever did to you?”
Glorfindel furrowed his brow and paused for a moment, handing the stack of lembas to Galdereth, who now joined Mirdirin and himself in rationing out the food. “I do not know you,” apologized Glorfindel. “That is to say, if we have met, I remember you not.”
“I am called Pendir, and long ago, you were named Anglorel.”
A sudden onslaught of harsh memories, of other children teasing him as a child, entered Glorfindel’s mind. He saw in the eyes of the elf before him that they indeed knew each other once in Dorthonion long ago. Centuries had passed since the days when Glorfindel might have feared that this elf and his friends would mock or harm him as young boys sometimes do when they single out the one who is weakest. To Glorfindel, this triviality mattered little at the present time. “You are hungry. You need to eat.”
Gratefully, the elf lowered his head. Then Pendir wept, and another elf had to escort him away as Glorfindel gathered another handful of lembas and proceeded to pass it out to the remaining soldiers.
