As Glorfindel kept hold with his arms around the deer’s pale neck, his new friend darted forward. Through the rocky terrain he weaved, with quick, powerful leaps that propelled them across the area and into more lush surroundings faster than expected. Glorfindel closed his eyes, stomach queasy, chest aching. It was far different to ride a stag compared to a horse. “Can we go a little slower?” he begged as a sharp branch clipped his cheek that had just barely healed days earlier.
“Not yet, I am afraid. Your friends are no doubt awake by now and they will follow whatever trail they find. I must keep on, young master. It will be over soon and then you will feel better.”
It seemed hours to Glorfindel before they slowed, and it likely was. He begged again for them to stop for a moment when he felt the bile rise in his throat. The stag reluctantly agreed and upon doing so Glorfindel slipped off of his mount into a heap on the ground. Bowing his head, he emptied the meager contents of his stomach onto the grass. “Rog was right. The hair is a hazard.” What was left of the ends of his golden tresses had gotten caught up in the mess, and he sighed. “My four legged friend, do you know whether there is water nearby?”
“A spring with fresh water awaits us. I shall take you there.”
Glorfindel climbed back upon the deer with minor reluctance. “Please tell me we can travel slowly.”
“It is on our way to your city. There is no need for us to rush now. We are far ahead.”
As soon as Glorfindel was seated on the stag they began the journey through the woods, coming very soon to a small brook. “This is exactly what I was hoping for.”
“I am glad it pleases you,” said the stag as Glorfindel dismounted. This consisted more of the deer lowering himself and Glorfindel sliding off onto the ground again.
While Glorfindel sat at the edge of the water and washed his hair, the stag kept watch. Glorfindel splashed water onto his face and drank a little after rinsing out his mouth. Once he finished, he looked up at the sky, and noted that it was midday. “Will we find water again along our way?”
“Yes, but likely not today. You should drink now if you thirst.”
After he drank his fill, Glorfindel rested for a bit in the sunshine. “I forgot how nice it is to be... free.”
“Free?”
“Here, outside, in the middle of nowhere... instead of stuck behind a wall, surrounded by another wall, and another, and another, and many more. I wish I could stay here forever.”
The stag flicked his ears and looked worried. “Master said to take you back to your home. Do you not wish to go back?”
“I need to go back. I just wish I did not.” Glorfindel rose up into a sitting position, squeezing his eyes shut with the pain that shot through his left side. “It was just a passing fancy.”
“Come. I will take you home, as I promised.” The stag lowered himself so that Glorfindel could mount him without straining himself, and then began to travel once more toward Gondolin.
Now that the ride was not as jostling, Glorfindel found time to converse with the stag as they went. “You said that you usually watch the prince.”
“Yes. The Prince of Tol Eressea.”
“Do you mean Erestor?”
“I think I have heard him called that sometimes.” The stag slowly his gait considerably as they passed a tree with crabapples on it. “If you are hungry, these are not poisonous. There are berries ahead as well.”
“Thank you.” Glorfindel plucked a few from the low hanging branches. “Were you following him throughout the entire war? And how did you stay concealed?”
The stag said, “I took the form of a dove so that I could watch from the air. Battles are not a good place for horses.”
“So you are a horse?”
“I am whatever my master wills me. I do prefer being a horse. That was how Master first sang me to be,” explained the stag fondly. “Master asked I come to you like this. He said you would feel at ease with me like this, and I would be less obvious.”
“Do you ever take the form of an Elf?”
The deer seemed confused by this question. “Why would I want to do that? I can be anything, anything at all. Taking the form of an Elf would be awfully... limiting.”
“Ah. Yes, very true.” Glorfindel smiled. “I think I will sleep for a while.”
“Try not to fall off, young master,” advised the stag. “You do not want to further injure yourself.”
“I shall do my best,” answered Glorfindel.
---
Meanwhile, Erestor was trying to explain things to Rog with less success than the stag had with Glorfindel.
“I really have no idea where he is.”
“Dammit, Erestor, I know you hid him!” Rog was furiously stomping from one rock formation to the next searching for other caves. “When I find him, I may well break both of your necks!”
Erestor sighed and slumped against one of the boulders. “When you find him, I might help you.”
“My patience is wearing thin.” After making another pass by the cave they had spent the night in, Rog reached down and hoisted Erestor up by the front of his shirt. “There is no time for this sort of game. Tell me where he is, now!”
“I do not know!” Each word came out louder until the last one was screamed back at Rog. Erestor grabbed the fabric of his collar and ripped it out of Rog’s grasp. “He must have started back before we woke,” ground out Erestor.
“He could not walk,” growled Rog back.
Erestor snorted. “You do not know that. He only said he was unsure and would try. Neither of us really knew the answer to that question, did we? For all we know, he hitched a ride on an eagle and is home already. He was away from Gondolin more recently than either of us, or do you forget that he was part of Aredhel’s escort?”
Grudgingly, Rog stepped back to give Erestor room to step away. “Let me give you the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he left early and managed to leave the cave without our knowledge. I doubt he has made it far, and there should be a trail to follow. The only things I have found are tracks of wild animals. There is nothing to show an eagle landed in the area and no marks on the ground showing his steps. Unless you propose he tied together a couple of raccoons and knelt on their backs as they scampered through the woods?”
For a moment, Erestor pretended to consider this. “He is shorter and probably lighter than most Elves...”
“Oh, come off it, Erestor!” Rog crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you swear to me you did not shuffle him off somewhere or hide him in a tree or anything of the sort?”
“I honestly do not know where he is, and furthermore, I am worried sick he might have injured himself worse or been ambushed by going on his own. He did not take his shield, nor food, nor any weapons with him. I worry he might have been delirious and could be aimlessly wandering at this very moment.”
“Yes, I suppose there is that,” conceded Rog. “We should stop dawdling, leave now and make haste. He probably followed the river. Even if he took another path, Turgon was taking the Sirion back and we must follow it.”
Erestor quickly gathered his gear as well as Glorfindel’s, deciding it best not to remind Rog that it was his dawdling that had put them off their schedule. The letters were carefully accounted for as well, and once Erestor had managed to get everything tied together and on his back, he imagined he looked like some odd sort of disgruntled pack animal. It was an excuse, he realized, to walk a little slower than normal. Despite his worry that Glorfindel was in danger, he was more concerned that they would come upon him too soon and that Rog would ‘do what was necessary’. Erestor made a conscious effort to drag his feet as they journeyed homeward.
---
A light in the darkness brought Glorfindel from his slumber. He found that he was on the ground, curled upon some sort of animal hide. A collection of other pelts skillfully sewn together covered him. The fur was soft and warm, and he only glanced around to see the stag asleep beneath a tree before burrowing back into them.
“Are you hungry?” asked a deep, familiar-sounding voice. Glorfindel sat up and blinked, and turned his head now toward the bright source. The voice, though sounding like Erestor, was deeper still, and the figure, though similar, was taller, older, and majestic in a way only those few who were chosen by Eru could be. No introduction was necessary. “Have something to eat,” he said, waving his hand past a cloth upon which ripe berries were piled. A flagon of milk or cream was nestled on the ground beside the food.
Glorfindel drew the fur around his shoulders before he reached for a handful of berries. As he ate them, a cup was brought forth and set before him. He quenched his thirst with the drink he was given, and found it had a rich, sweet buttermilk flavor to it. “Thank you,” he finally remembered to say, and his host nodded.
“You are most welcome.” Orome refilled the cup and Glorfindel drank it as well.
“Not only for the food,” said Glorfindel once he had eaten his fill. “I mean, for sending your servant to rescue me from death.”
“You are already dead.”
The words chilled Glorfindel immediately. “You mean, I am... I have died? We are in the Halls of Waiting?” He panicked for a moment as Orome suppressed a sorry sort of chuckle.
“I apologize. No, you are still very much alive right now. You should be in Namo’s realm as we speak. I did not know my decision to aid you would so alter your course as it has.” Orome paused, and then said, “Unfortunately, I have merely prolonged the inevitable.”
“Which means, I am still going to die,” guessed Glorfindel solemnly.
Orome nodded. “You are beyond the healing of your people. Yes, you will manage to live longer now that you have a means back to the city, but your body will slowly grow weaker until you either beg someone to end your misery or it gives out entirely.”
“How long will that be?” Glorfindel could only imagine that the reason he was no hysterical upon learning this news was the presence of the vala.
“There are many variables. I cannot say for certain. You do have a choice before you. I can take you back to your friends now or I can take you back to the city.”
Glorfindel weighed the two possibilities. His chest ached with every breath, and the thought of living for years without relief was not a pleasant one. On the other hand, there were those in Gondolin whom he knew and loved and it was not every day that someone destined for the Halls of Mandos was given prolonged leave to say goodbye. “Which would you choose?”
“I cannot decide that for you,” said Orome. “I can tell you that it has greatly displeased my Lord Manwe that I have done what I have.”
“I can see where Erestor gets it from,” said Glorfindel.
Orome shrugged and grinned; it was the same sort of half-sheepish expression Glorfindel had seen on Erestor. “The apple never falls far from the tree.”
To this Glorfindel frowned. “I think the apples on my father’s tree were full of worms.”
“Perhaps you fell from your mother’s tree,” suggested Orome. “Unfortunately, I must speed your decision. I must know your choice.”
“It is hard for me to decide something so important in so little time. I am sure that to you, my decision is insignificant. Who cares about what happens to one little elf?”
“Not so,” corrected Orome.
“How so? My death cannot be significant,” Glorfindel assumed.
“Your death? Maybe not. It is your life that has meaning.”
Glorfindel frowned, frustrated. “How? I have done nothing of great importance, and if I return in such a state, I find it hard to believe there is much more I could do.”
“Know this: Whether you live or die, there will be an impact.”
“What impact? Can you not tell me what awaits me?”
Orome smiled and shook his head. “I do not know all of what may happen, I can only offer a glimpse into an uncertain future. If I do that, your knowing may alter those possibilities, especially if you choose to live.”
“Only if I choose to live, I think. I sincerely doubt all the enlightenment in the world would help me when I am dead.”
“You make a valid point. I will offer you this: I will tell what I know, and if you choose death you will remember my words. If you choose life, for how long I cannot tell, you will awake with no memory of our meeting.”
“I can accept that,” Glorfindel said finally, too curious and too undecided not to take the offer.
“If you are returned now to your friends, they will take pity on you and let you live a few hours in order for you to write down some things which have been recently on your mind. They will give you poisoned drink, and your passing is peaceful. When they return to the city without you, there is outrage. Some think Turgon purposely plotted to have you removed, and when Maeglin takes your seat in council, a militia captures him and makes demands for his release. Turgon will agree to their terms.”
“What terms? What brings them to do that?” demanded Glorfindel when Orome fell silent.
Orome shook his head. “You know all I do. Perhaps more. You must be aware of some reason they would have to unite and side against your king.”
Glorfindel sighed. “My weary mind is not good at riddles tonight. What of the other path?”
As Orome offered insight to the other outcome, the stag woke and cantered about before settling down beside his master. The stag bowed his head and rested it on Orome’s lap, seeming much more like a tired puppy than a magnificent deer. “And that is all I know,” added Orome once he had finished.
“My choice is clear to me now.” Glorfindel shrugged off the furs and while still on his knees bowed to Orome. “Thank you. I am ready to go home now.”
With a nod, Orome patted the stag’s head. “Up, Nahar,” he commanded, and the stag rose upon his slender legs. “When you wake, you will recall only leaving the cave and suddenly arriving in your city.”
“Wait – I will not remember... what did you call him? Na...”
“Nahar. No. He will leave you in safety, but you will not remember him, either.” Orome helped Glorfindel to mount the creature and then whispered some things in a strange language as he held his hand against Glorfindel’s forehead.
Already, Glorfindel could feel the thoughts and images fading away, and he fought a yawn to stay aware. “As long as I am about to forget everything,” he said, rushing as he spoke, “what...what about your son?” he asked between yawns. His mind was filling with questions he felt he should have asked, such as why Orome was even in Middle-earth in the first place, what was special about Tol Eressea, and what the Valar were going to do about Morgoth, if anything. These questions dissolved as quickly as they came, for Glorfindel was determined not to forget the one he really wanted an answer to.
“What about him?”
“What about... I love him.” Glorfindel hoped the words had the same sincerity despite his yawning.
“I know. Why else would I have sent Nahar to aid you?”
“But... do I even... stand a chance?” His eyelids were heavy, eyes watering, mind hazy. He barely knew who he was talking to anymore.
Vaguely, Glorfindel was aware of a hand on his shoulder. Who was it again? Erestor? No, he had asked about Erestor... who was he asking again?
A deep voice answered him. “Patience is a virtue, and one you possess in great amounts. Erestor thinks he wants an elleth or a woman, but his goal is shortsighted. He wants a family, and he believes this can only be accomplished with someone who is female. For one so wise, he can be very stubborn.”
“But does he love me?” mumbled Glorfindel impatiently, half in a dream now.
“I think you know that answer already,” said Orome. The last thing Glorfindel heard before he slumped against the stag in darkness was Orome call out to his faithful servant, “Noro lim, Nahar!”
