Day came, but the skies remained dark. The smoke from the battlefield drifted now across the skies of Dorthonion. Despite the woods being a dangerous place for them to be, rest was necessary, and to take the path beside the Sirion seemed the worse idea.
A council was called in late morning. Turgon gathered his captains and their heralds, as well as the captains who remained of Fingon’s people. Without a council chamber, they improvised by standing in a circle with Turgon at the center. “The company will break here, and take three paths. Some of the people of my brother desire to return to Hithlum, and I cannot hold them here. There are others who wish to journey further, to the Falas, and again, I will not keep them from taking that path. Those who wish to come to Gondolin have been given invitation to do so, and there are many who have already admitted their desire to do so. Some of these will join the company of my house, for I am only too glad to see to the welfare of my brother’s people.”
“Where will the others go?” asked Voronwe.
“There are some who have requested the consideration of another house.” Turgon motioned to Anglin, who stepped forward into the midst of the circle.
“The people Angrod and Aegnor of The Golden House of Finarfin who once served King Fingon now desire to serve you, Lord Glorfindel, if you would so permit us. Our numbers are small, but we are a hearty group of fighters. There are others of King Fingon’s people who would also petition you for such an honor.”
Glorfindel tried not to act too obvious of his happiness in knowing not only that his brother would be part of his house, but that he now had rightfully gained the position of his father’s followers – despite it being a bit of a roundabout way. “I am honored by such a request and would willing accept your clans as part of mine, but only by the blessings of King Turgon.”
Maeglin stepped forward slightly, and he looked from Glorfindel to Anglin was narrowed eyes. “For what reason do these elves wish to align themselves with the Golden Flower?”
“To be perfectly blunt, m’lord, actions speak louder than words. Although your king’s offer is generous, yesterday it was Lord Glorfindel who showed his true quality.” Anglin bowed his head now to Turgon and said, “With your permission, m’lord.” The king nodded, and Anglin walked to Glorfindel and stopped before him, holding out the mutilated banner of Finarfin’s house. “We have but one final request, m’lord, that this standard should fly beneath your own. It is worn and weary, like those of the house it comes from, but like them it shall see the dawn. This flag came from Valinor where it adorned the house of Finarfin there, and traveled across the ice of the Helcaraxe. Some died to bring it here. It will be a sad day when this flag falls.”
“Consider it done,” said Glorfindel solemnly as he took the banner and reverently held the fabric. It was unraveling where it had been torn in battle, but the weather showed no marks upon it. The brilliance of the threads still shined despite the lack of sun to aid them.
“Take this day to rest. Raise the morale of your soldiers. We will set out again tomorrow after dawn.”
As the lords disbanded Mirdirin excused himself to speak with Galdereth while Glorfindel waited for Erestor, but Rog said something to his herald that made him frown and accompany him back to their part of the camp. Glorfindel turned to Anglin and said, “Did you want to gather everyone and bring them to my area? I should probably have a list made of who is who... we can do that on the back of my roster sheets.”
“Maybe that can wait until Gondolin,” suggested Anglin. “Everyone is tired, and I am sure they will be glad to feel welcomed by joining with your part of the army, but wait until they are safe within the city walls to list them as your own.”
“Right. Of course.” Glorfindel nodded as Anglin left to give word to the displaced army of Fingon. He turned to find himself face to face with one of the healers that had been brought along with the army. “Uhh...”
“Now that your meeting is concluded, you will come with me,” the healer told him sternly. In case he might dodge off somewhere, the healer took hold of Glorfindel’s elbow and led him to the healing tent.
Somewhere along the way, Glorfindel had passed one of his soldiers and managed to get the banner of Finarfin into their hands. He soon after found himself in the semi-privacy of the corner of the tent, where a sheet blocked the view from those with the most serious injuries who were recovering inside.
“You are a difficult one to corner, Lord Glorfindel, second only to Captain Erestor.” The words made Glorfindel smirk, for he knew how uncomfortable Erestor was about succumbing to the care of a healer, or even to a general exam which was something Turgon had required of everyone before they left and now after the battle.
“I was busy, but you are correct. I have the time now.” Glorfindel removed his clothing without being asked, quite familiar with the routine. “Would you like me to sit here, or—“
“Sit? No. Your arm is infected and there are burns on your back.” The healer shook out the sheet on the bed. “I need a good angle to work. On the bed, please.”
Glorfindel tried to get as comfortable as he could on the bed, which was little more than some stacked wooden crates with a few blankets and a sheet draped over them. Someone had devised a pillow of some sort, but it was lumpy, and Glorfindel instead used his hands for resting his head.
“Are you the sort who wants to know what I am doing every step, or should I just tell you when to brace yourself?”
“Are you going to be using leeches?” asked Glorfindel.
The healer prodded the wound and used something sharp to pick away the black scabbing on it. “Probably.”
“Then let me be blissfully ignorant, because if leeches are involved there always seem to be worse things that accompany them.”
“As you wish,” said the healer as he pulled his stool over and began his work. Several times, Glorfindel felt a sharp pain travel down his arm to his fingers in one direction and down to his leg in the other, but he kept his teeth clenched and managed not to make too much noise except for a disgruntled snort here or there. “You are quite a better patient than most of your counterparts,” commended the healer as he affixed a poultice to the infected area. “Half of them refuse to sit still long enough to be treated, and then they complain from here to next year when they have recurring effects from their wounds.”
Glorfindel watched as the healer deposited a dozen fat little leeches back into their container. “You are just doing your job.”
“That is what I tell them!” The healer seemed happier than he had been when Glorfindel had entered. “None of them seem to listen or understand. None of you are invincible, but by Eru, I am going to do my best to keep as many of you alive as I can.”
“Thank you,” said Glorfindel. The healer nodded and brought over a jar of balm which he used to soothe the burns. “Should I keep my arms and back uncovered for a while?” he asked after the healer put the jar away and began to mix various herbs in a little bowl.
“Yes, but I think I am going to have you stay here for a few hours,” decided the healer. “Your burns are quite severe, even if you are not so affected by them. If I had a mirror, you could see what I mean.” He emptied the contents of the bowl into a small pouch, which he tied shut and dipped into warm water.
Glorfindel sighed. “I had some things I needed to take care of, but if you think it for the best might you do me a favor and send someone for Captain Erestor? I need to speak with him.” When there was no initial reply, Glorfindel added, “That would give you a chance to finally examine him without having to drag him in here.”
“That is a good idea,” the healer finally admitted. He pulled the stool around to the other side now so that Glorfindel could see him. He held a small, clean knife in one hand. “I need one of your hands, please.”
“Uhh... my hands are fine,” said Glorfindel warily.
“I know that. But you need to rest and you need to heal quickly. The herbs I have prepared can be boiled as an infusion, but that is actually much less pleasant than letting them flow into your blood. I need to cut your hand, and then you must hold them tightly.”
After a moment, Glorfindel stretched out one of his arms. “The infusion must taste awful.”
“It does, and the aftertaste stays with you for days; like someone pouring salt into your mouth and no amount of water washes it away.”
Glorfindel grimaced, for even the thought was bad. He closed his eyes as the healer pulled the blade through the flesh of his palm and then placed the warm bundle in his hand. Almost immediately, the pain from the cut dissolved. A few seconds more and his arm numbed. He nearly dropped the sack onto the floor as his hand went limp, but the healer curled his hands around the one that held the herbs. “It works fast,” mumbled Glorfindel as he felt his eyelids droop.
“Chamomile, oats, and a touch of belladonna,” was the last thing Glorfindel heard as he drifted into a heavy sleep, filled with strange dreams. He somehow managed, despite being in obvious reverie, to hear the conversations that were going on around him as echoes in his subconscious mind.
---
“Here he is!” said one of the assistant healers cheerfully as he lead Erestor into the secluded area of the tent.
Erestor, who had been stepping very slowly and cautiously, took a step back. “He is asleep. I should not wake him.” He turned to leave swiftly and walked into the head healer standing behind him.
“As long as you are here, let me take a look at your injuries.”
“I only have a few scratches,” argued Erestor as he made a futile attempt to leave. The healer that had tricked him into the tent clasped his hands around Erestor’s shoulders.
The healer in front of him held up a bottle clearly labeled anisole. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way. Personally, I prefer the hard way – it means I did not bring this in vain.” He shook the bottle and smirked as Erestor shook off the other healer and began to remove his clothing. “Pity.” The healer put away the ether and began to examine Erestor. “You came through well. Who set your wrist?”
“I did,” he answered, making a discontented noise with every poke and prod.
“Good work,” said the healer. “I do want to rewrap it with a splint and starch bandage.”
“Can we wait until we return home? I have to be able to ride for now.”
The healer sighed. “As soon as we set foot in the city, I expect you in my office.”
“Of course.”
“I mean that.” The healer did at least rewrap the injury with clean bandages to keep the joint somewhat stiff and then motioned for Erestor to dress again. “Your ‘of course’ normally means you will conveniently forget.”
“Well, now that I know you are wielding ether, I need to watch myself.”
The head healer dismissed the junior before speaking to Erestor again. “I have something for the scars on your back, if you are interested.” He spoke quietly and refused to look at Erestor as he said this.
Erestor paused for a moment before he picked his belt up from the counter. “Maybe later.”
“If you ever want it, let me know.” He busied himself around his supplies as Erestor pulled on his boots.
“Did Lord Glorfindel really wish to speak to me?” asked Erestor.
“Yes, he did. I just used the opportunity to my own advantage. He will awaken in a few hours. If you like I can send someone for you when he does.”
At first, Erestor nodded, but as he reached for the sheet that separated the area he paused. “Would it be an inconvenience if I waited here?”
“If the matter is that important, I can wake him,” offered the healer.
Erestor shook his head. “There is no need for that. I do not mind waiting, if it will not bother you.”
“I am done in here for the day.” The healer offered the stool to Erestor and pulled back the sheet. “Your presence will be helpful to me. If he has any trouble breathing or develops a rash, please let someone know.”
“I will do that. Thank you.” Erestor sat down and spent the next few hours watching over Glorfindel.
When the healer came to check on Glorfindel’s progress, he showed Erestor how to tend to Glorfindel’s burns and how often. “So strange,” said the healer as he was about to leave.
“What is?” wondered Erestor.
“From the reports I have heard, both of you fought the same balrog at the same time. Only, he is the one who is burned, and you were not. There were a lot of other soldiers who were burned or even died trying to fight those demons. How did you manage just a broken wrist?”
“I was still wearing my cloak,” answered Erestor quickly. “It must have been resistant to the flames.”
“Maybe we should all be wearing cloaks like yours,” suggested the healer.
After the healer left, Erestor let out a sigh of relief. “Cloaks will never change the fact the rest of you are just elves,” he mumbled to himself.
