On the first day while Glorfindel slept, Erestor busied himself in the effort to clean up the ex-encampment and return the area to its former state. The early morning and late evening were bearable, and night brought a chilling wind, but from noontime until the sun set the heat was sweltering. Erestor rested less than he should have, only because resting allowed him time to think and his thoughts were most unpleasant, no matter the topic.
The work was tedious but it kept him busy. Just as they had done while in battle days earlier anything of value was taken from the deceased before they were piled to be burned. Erestor now went through them again before lighting the fires, but now he checked for items of less importance. Sometimes there was a letter home to a loved one, or a locket with some trinket inside. His journal was still with him, but his ink and quill had become lost. In order to keep a catalog of the items, he made a mixture of dirt and water and used a twig with a sharp end to write down everything he held aside and whose body it had been upon.
Most were letters. When he did take time to rest, either from inhaling too much smoke from a fire or due to true fatigue, he read them. At first it seemed rude, and done only to pass the time, but as he took note more and more of whom the soldiers were addressing, it seemed less inappropriate.
‘My dearest beloved...’
‘To my darling wife...’
Letters to spouses, to sweethearts, and to betrothed fiancés began to pile up in a great heap. There were a few, very few, to a child or to children, and then there were some addressed to parents. So many of the soldiers that came to war, however, were old enough to be married but young enough to be in the springtime of their marriages. It hurt each time Erestor unfolded another sheet and found another husband not returning home, and another wife who would be mourning and probably fading. For Erestor, he lived, to return to a wife he hardly knew and hardly cared for, and who would not have missed him much had he never come back.
“It seems wholly unfair,” he said to one of the corpses as he moved the soldier onto a pile he was about to burn, “that a bastard such as I should live for so long while you and your life are ruined in a matter of seconds.” He walked to another pyre in order to light a branch and then brought the kindling back again. For a few moments he stood with the burning torch and walked around the pile. So many times they were unrecognizable in death, but some were so distinct that even mauled and bloodied their identities were known.
He noticed Galdereth, beneath two others, and stopped. It hurt to have given the fallen such an improper burial, for burning was not the way of the Eldar. The pain was greater when it was someone he knew, someone whose words still faintly rang in his ears.
There was a recollection of the first time that Glorfindel had brought his favored soldier to dinner in the apartment. For the occasion, supper was ordered from the king’s kitchens. The second time, Galdereth insisted upon being allowed to cook. His menu was more splendid than anything offered on call from the kitchens and it became a monthly affair to have Galdereth and sometimes one or two of Glorfindel’s ‘chosen few’ as Tauniel referred to them. Soldiers who were more than soldiers, soldiers who were artisans and scholars, who sat for long hours on the porch after eating to have a drink, smoke a pipe, and discuss and debate.
There were few topics on which Galdereth did not opine, and that his views varied from those held by Erestor seemed to give both of them a delight. It was not counsel, it was not an argument. It was a friendly disagreement with a generous amount of laughter and a bottle of wine between them. Often, they would retreat to one side of the balcony for political and social discussion while Glorfindel and the rest of his devotees sat on the other and pondered philosophy and science.
The fire had eaten the leaves on the branch and was now starting to devour the wood. Erestor hesitantly held it out towards the pile but when none of the sparks jumped down on their own accord he shoved the flaming end between two of the bodies. The fire traveled quickly, and Erestor stumbled backwards to avoid being engulfed as well. He watched for several minutes before he returned to his work once again.
As he worked, he began to play a morbid sort of game with himself. He decided to call it ‘The Eulogy Game’. After naming someone he had known who had died because of Morgoth, he would come up with his favorite thing about that person or what he missed the most and then he would curse Morgoth three times for every name he remembered. He began with the first, which was not the first one most people recounted, but was in fact the first and oft forgotten.
“Finwe... what can I say about Finwe... hmm...” Erestor grunted as he lifted another body and then gave something of a snort of laughter. “I do not really think I did like Finwe... He certainly despised me. But, he always had good wine. So, damn you, Morgoth. Damn you for bringing death unto the best supplier of the best wine in Valinor. Death to you, Morgoth, for such a deed!”
Erestor dropped the body onto the new pile he had started and laughed in spite of the situation. “I need a better second,” he said to himself, and then stated, “Felagund. Admittedly, the wisest mind and more than that, the most accepting of all of us, not only of Elves, but of all people I have ever known. Curse you, you wretched killer! Damn you and your halls of stone, and your heart of stone as well! May the pain you’ve inflicted be inflicted tenfold upon yourself!”
Deciding that round had gone far better, Erestor tried another, and this wound was still fresh. “Findekano. This place was not meant for him, for the child I recall dancing in the forest of my father, for Nessa’s only pupil and the best of all dancers of the Elves. And yet he came, whether that was for love or for loyalty it is hard to say, but still he was here and you brought down the only Elf I could ever consider a king, for he did not rule his people, he led his people. And now he is gone, and if taking his spirit was not enough, your beasts took his dignity from him as well. Curse you, you vile and wretched creature! The wounds you suffered by the hand of his father are not nearly what you shall suffer in the end! You were never fit to be named among the Valar, you filthy, deplorable beast!”
Upon the utterance of the last word, a sound like thunder boomed in the clear skies, and for a moment, Erestor cowered. Had he been heard? Were his curses, meant for the ears of Morgoth, now being returned?
Erestor carefully continued to stack the dead while keeping a watch in the direction of Angband, though he could not see it past the forest. If Morgoth or his forces came, there was no doubt that there would be little chance for him to fend them off, and Glorfindel would be unable to do anything either. On the other hand, if Fingolfin, a mere Elf, had managed to wound Morgoth many times over before he fell, was it not conceivable that a son of the Valar, half-breed though he was, might stand a better chance against the dark lord?
Was it stupid? Oh, indeed. But nonetheless, Erestor called out to him now.
“What, is that all you have to say? You do little more than invade your brother’s skies and pull the lightning from his clouds in an attempt to scare me?” Erestor laughed and put his hands upon his hips, his shoulders squared off. “You are a bully, but you are a coward. You send others out to do your will, and do not fight on your own. You sit on your throne, hidden in a fortress of rock, where you tremble and cower like an old man. I dare you to fight your own fight, you useless, sniveling—“
“Erestor? Who are you yelling at?”
Erestor turned around abruptly and cleared his throat. He saw Glorfindel at the entrance of the little cave. It appeared that he had crawled out, and Erestor walked over to help him sit up. “No one, apparently,” he said rather sarcastically toward the north. The skies rumbled, but not as they had before. “How are you feeling?”
“Oww,” was the only response Erestor received. Glorfindel cradled his left arm in his right and said, “Last time I checked, purple was not my color.”
“Shit.” Erestor sat down, previous duty forgotten. “Let me take a look.”
Glorfindel held up his limp appendage. “I must have broken it or something. My hand can barely move and it just feels wrong.”
“It looks that way. The bone broke and then it shifted somehow. I am surprised the healer did not notice it.” Erestor probed Glorfindel’s arm gently, frowning when Glorfindel winced. “Unless it was fine and you turned in your sleep and it shifted.”
“Who knows,” replied Glorfindel, who, despite having slept for nearly a day, was already tired again. “Can you fix it?”
“I can try.” Erestor felt around the break. The bruise was possibly an infection within, and the bone needed to be set properly in order to heal properly and take pressure off of the rest of the arm. He was no healer, but Erestor knew enough about battlefield treatment in order to take care of it. It would be far from the ability of a healer, but it would be enough. “Do you want me to warn you before I do it, or should I just do it?”
“Just—“ Before he was able to finish, Glorfindel let out a yowl as Erestor roughly set the bone back into place. His head screamed and his stomach flipped over, but following the brief intense pain after the procedure the swelling of his arm seemed to go down a little. He mumbled his thanks and leaned back against the cave to rest.
Erestor finished piling the last of the bodies and came to sit next to Glorfindel once he was done. “Are you thirsty? Hungry?” Both questions were met with shakes of his head in the negative. “Do you want me to help you back inside so that you can rest?”
“No. Cave is dark and there are crawly things in it.”
“Spiders? Mice?”
“No idea. Too dark, and I do not want to know,” admitted Glorfindel. He sighed. “Rog will be back soon.”
Erestor said nothing.
“When Rog gets here, I want you to do it. I know it is going to be hard, but I would rather it was you and not him.”
“Glorfindel, do not say such nonsense!” shouted Erestor angrily. “You will be fine in a few days and we will walk back to Gondolin together.”
Glorfindel leaned against Erestor. “Thank you for your faith in me, but there is a reality in all of this and that is I might not be able to make it. Please, if you are my friend, do for me what Fingon could not do for Maedhros.”
Erestor swallowed hard as he recalled the tale of Fingon’s rescue of Maedhros, and how some had claimed Maedhros said it was no rescue but an extension of his torture. “I am going to do whatever is in my power to get you back to Gondolin safely.”
“I know,” said Glorfindel, and he left it at that.
“I suppose you might have been better off had you been stuck here with Anglin instead of me.” Erestor did not know where the words came from at first and why he had said them, but the thought was obviously still bothering him. He sounded a bit bitter, he realized, as Glorfindel opened his eyes and sat up and away from him.
“I... think I trust you a little more than I trust him, but...” Glorfindel took a moment to catch his breath and continued. “I cannot say it would have been unpleasant. I would have enjoyed the extra time to talk to him.”
“And yet you did not try to follow him.”
“Knowing he is safe was more than I might have hoped for.” Glorfindel watched Erestor with confused curiosity. “Do you have some ill will toward my brother?”
“Your—no,” answered Erestor quickly. “I... was not aware of the fact he is your brother.”
“What did you think?” asked Glorfindel suspiciously.
“I...” Erestor rolled his eyes and sighed. “I thought maybe he was like Gildor. I thought he meant to seduce you, or had. The only time I saw him in Gondolin was when he came in on that eagle with Gildor on his heels, and now again he traveled with Gildor and fought with the host of Felagund. But now as I consider it, he pledged his followers to you, and you are both similar in looks save for the fact he is a little taller and younger than you. I should have seen the resemblance.”
“Let us hope everyone has been as unobservant as you have been,” smiled Glorfindel. “I still need my secret kept.” He wondered if Erestor’s concern hid a hint of jealousy, and continued to smile in spite of himself.
---
When the skies darkened and the air chilled, Erestor helped Glorfindel back into the cave. “You should eat a little something,” Erestor coaxed. He brought food and water, and though Glorfindel indulged him, it was very little before he refused to have any more. “You need to eat in order to have the strength to heal.”
“I know, but I feel as if I need sleep more.” Glorfindel’s injuries were on his left side for the most part, so he made himself as comfortable as he could on his right side with his back almost against the rock. This allowed him to face the entrance of the tiny cave, but it also meant that the wind would blow in and hit him directly. He could not turn around the other way, for one side of the cave was narrower than the other.
After he tended to the fires to make sure they would not burn out of control with the wind, Erestor came back inside the cave to find Glorfindel huddled in the back and shivering. Erestor felt like an idiot for not salvaging a few of the capes from the dead before he had burned them.
“Are you still awake?” he whispered. Glorfindel’s eyes were open, but they were dim and unfocused. Erestor removed his shirt and gathered up whatever else he could find to use to cover Glorfindel. The shaking did not completely subside even after he cocooned everything around him, so Erestor laid down and gently pulled Glorfindel into his arms. Slight tremors still jolted Erestor from his reverie now and then, but Glorfindel’s sleep was otherwise peaceful.
