The only thing Glorfindel saw were orcs. The blades in his hands sung as they sliced through the air and slashed through the dwindling enemy, one after another. Soon soldiers were pulling back, not driven by the orcs, but in avoidance of Glorfindel’s deadly dance. He finished slaughtering one group and ran back over bodies that had only just toppled to the ground to reach the orcs that were still fighting.
He was spinning in circles, taking down two and three at a time. They tried to surprise him and come at his back, and he would thrust Glamdring back and pry them from the blade with his foot without ever looking over his shoulder as he took down another that lunged at him, severing its head clear off its body. By the time he killed enough to allow him a moment to look around he was dripping the black blood of the vile creatures and some even thought for a moment that they caught of glimpse of his eyes to be red in rage.
Beside him stood Mirdirin, who had followed after him when he began his second assault. “You need to teach me that behind the back thing when we get home!” he shouted.
Glorfindel spat onto the ground and surveyed the area. The orcs that remained were being taken care of by other soldiers and the dragon had since been brought down. The catapults had been used to launch ropes over the beast and pull it to the ground. Now those who were keeping the dragon down were dodging the blasts of fire while others attempted to slay it. The sound of the ropes straining caught Glorfindel’s attention. “Duck.”
“What?” Mirdirin turned to look, but in turning missed what Glorfindel was referring to. The wyrm managed to free its tail which whipped toward them.
“Move!” Glorfindel dropped the swords he had been holding and shoved his weight against Mirdirin. He knocked them both over and onto the ground in a pile of slain orcs. The tail flew past them overhead and whipped back again. Glorfindel stood up and offered his hand out to Mirdirin but fell back as he tripped over one a shield. He hit the back of his head against one of the boulders.
“You alright, captain?” called out Mirdirin, who was still sitting on the heap.
Glorfindel rubbed the back of his head as he sat up. “Who put that there?” he asked as he used his other hand to steady himself against the oversized rock.
“Captain, look out!”
All Glorfindel was able to do was look up and see the spiked end of the dragon’s tail as it raced toward him in the split second he had. ‘So this is how it ends,’ was the thought in his mind as he felt one of the sharp barbs pierce through his flesh. Bones crunched and the air gushed out of his lungs as a horrible gasping sound resounded in his ears.
The next thing he was aware of was Mirdirin, holding Glamdring with both hands. Glorfindel tried to say something, but his words were lost as he fought for air. He watched as Mirdirin drew the sword over his head and brought it down, severing the end of the tail from the beast. A shriek came from the wyrm, and Mirdirin grabbed hold of the tail as it whipped away.
Glorfindel slid back down to the ground, one hand holding the spike that was embedded in his chest. He swooned and everything seemed to spin, as if the sky was below and the ground was overhead. With both hands he gripped the spike and pulled straight forward. He screamed at the pain, at least, he thought he screamed. All he heard was something of a scratch in the back of his throat.
His arms dropped to his sides and the end of the tail rolled away. Glorfindel could see that the rocks had damaged the spikes and all were chipped or crushed on the ends. His head rested back against the rock and he squinted to see what was going on. It was hard to figure out the details, but from what he could see it looked as if Mirdirin had made it to the head of the dragon and with one holding its head down was using Glamdring to slice off the beast’s head. He tried to keep watching, but his vision blurred and darkened until his head dipped forward and Glorfindel passed out.
He woke to a bitter scent and coughed. His chest felt tight and constricted and someone directed him not to move. His vision was still dark, but as someone removed a blindfold he realized why.
“Sorry, sir, we had to do that in case you woke up. You would not have wanted to see—“
“Shh, Mirdirin!” The healer shook his head and ushered away the soldier. “It seems you could not wait to injure yourself again,” scolded the healer. “I managed to patch things up, but as soon as we stop again I will need to change the dressing on your wounds.”
Glorfindel opened his mouth to speak, but the healer adamantly shook his head. “Rest. The orcs are dead and so is the dragon. Rest while you can.”
Once the healer had gone, Glorfindel weakly motioned for Mirdirin to come closer. “Can you help me sit up?”
“Of course, sir. Be careful; he said that you broke at least one rib.” Mirdirin propped Glorfindel up against the boulder, and Glorfindel found he had not been moved from where he had fallen, but the bodies of the orcs and soldiers had been moved away. The sun was up, so Glorfindel was aware that many hours had passed. There were piles of burning bodies, but the dragon was nowhere to be seen. “The Eagles,” explained Mirdirin when Glorfindel asked. “They came soon after and bore it away, for it was too big to burn or hide.”
Mirdirin stood up suddenly and bowed. Glorfindel tilted his head and saw that Turgon and Rog were now standing above him as well. “Sir, your sword,” said Mirdirin as he held Glamdring out to the king.
Turgon took his weapon and sheathed it, and then placed the hand of his good arm on Mirdirin’s shoulder. “You did very well.”
“Thank you, sir,” beamed Mirdirin.
“Gather your troops. We are leaving soon.”
Mirdirin flinched. He glanced down at Glorfindel, but then salutedTurgon. “Sir.” He gave Glorfindel one final look before he swiftly walked away.
Glorfindel closed his eyes and strained to hear the discussion between Turgon and Rog as they began to walk away. He wondered if Turgon had missed seeing him, or if his injuries were worse than anyone was willing to admit.
“It will take us another eight days to reach Gondolin if we march day and night. I need you to walk two days in the opposite direction, and then follow up the rear. By then the fires should be out here and you will be able to cover the carnage. As you come back to the city, I need you to take care of the ones who will not make it back. I cannot have a path of stragglers leading Morgoth to our city.” Turgon’s voice was firm, but not without remorse. “It is a task I would not wish upon anyone, but I know that you will be able to carry it out.”
“That I will,” said Rog. Glorfindel opened his eyes and watched as only a few metres away Rog bowed to the king before he walked away to retrieve a sack with some food, and refilled his water skin and two others from fallen soldiers that would no longer be used. All the while, Turgon stood and waited, rubbing his arm. Rog returned after a few minutes. “May your journey be swift and uneventful,” he wished Turgon before he walked away from the cleanup effort going on.
Glorfindel had overheard the entire conversation and stopped a healer as he passed. It was the same one who had treated his burns, and appeared to be the only healer left standing for he was weary and dodged around from place to place tending a little to everyone. “How long would it take for someone to heal from a broken rib?”
“From just one broken rib, or from the injuries you have?”
“Obviously, I have a more vested interest in how it will affect me,” answered Glorfindel. “How many days will it take?”
“A week, at best,” offered the healer. “You are young... maybe five days. But you will need to rest.”
“I need the attention of everyone,” shouted the king, who was standing now upon one of the boulders. What was left of his guard stood around the base, and it was unclear whether they meant to protect the king in case he fell, or protect the king in case there was a riot. “We must make haste in order to reach Gondolin before the dark lord finds us. There is no way for us to take rest tonight, or to slow down once we begin. You must be strong and follow me. No quarter can be given. Those who fall behind have my sincerest thanks and gratitude in your sacrifice.”
The healer who was standing next to Glorfindel looked down upon him gravely. “It has been a pleasure to meet you and an honor to know and serve with you, Lord Glorfindel.” The healer walked quickly away as Erestor approached.
“What was that about?” asked Erestor as he bent down to examine the wounds on Glorfindel’s shoulder and chest.
“Oh, thank Eru, you are alright. I lost track of you in the battle.”
“I took part of the cavalry into the forest to fight the orcs who tried to report back.” Erestor offered some water to Glorfindel, who gladly drank a little.
As Erestor sat down to have a drink as well, Glorfindel said, “I have a feeling I am not going to make it.”
Erestor looked over Glorfindel with alarm and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Did the healer tell you that?”
“No... I think Turgon just told the healer that.”
Biting his lip, Erestor watched as the others began to gather what supplies were left and push onwards. “We could get you on one of the horses.”
“They need the horses for the equipment,” reasoned Glorfindel as Erestor helped him to stand up. He winced and his hand gripped his side. “Erestor, there is no way for me to walk. Leave me here. Rog will be back in four days—“
“Where is Rog going?”
“To take care of the stragglers.”
Erestor scanned the area, spying a rift in some of the rocks. “If I help you, can you make it over there?”
“That is the exact opposite direction from Gondolin,” said Glorfindel. He managed to take a few steps before stumbling slightly. “I think I am a lost cause.”
“Do not say that. Lean against me.” Erestor supported Glorfindel’s weight as they slowly made it to the little cave. The entire time, Erestor kept checking over his shoulder to be sure that no one was watching them. There was enough room for a half dozen elves to crawl in and sit comfortably or for two or three to lie down. “I will be back in a little while. I need to get a few things and it will not be easy for me to remain unseen. Stay here.”
“Where did you think I was going to go?” wondered Glorfindel after Erestor settled him on the ground.
“I never know with you.” Once Erestor had Glorfindel safely hidden within, he left to retrieve their weapons and gear, though he simply hid this in another spot since the area was beginning to clear out and going back to the cave where he had left Glorfindel would be more obvious.
Then Glorfindel heard the argument outside of the cave, and he remained very still in order to listen.
“Erestor, there are about four hundred soldiers who are expecting either you or Rog to lead them. I cannot send someone to bring him back over here because you have decided to knowingly disobey me!”
There was a long pause before Erestor said, “I cannot just leave him here.”
“Is he that bad?”
“You saw him yourself.”
Turgon sighed. “There must be someone else.”
“No one else he would trust. Maybe Mirdirin,” Erestor corrected. “But Mirdirin has a far larger group to lead back.”
Glorfindel could hear one of them pacing outside, and assumed it was Turgon, who now said, “Ecthelion can lead Rog’s army back; his numbers have greatly fallen. I will agree to your request on one condition. You listen to every order Rog gives you when he gets back. I will not have arguments between the two of you when you return to Gondolin. When he comes back, he is going to need help with the bodies.”
“I can do that.”
“I know you can. I am specifying that you will,” Turgon said pointedly. “Every order,” he added.
“Yes, sir.”
“I am holding you to that.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Erestor, more convincingly this time.
Glorfindel felt a great sense of foreboding in the words they exchanged in the end, but fatigue had taken its toll and he fell asleep before Erestor joined him in the cave.
