Funny, how little I remember of it. I can still hear the confusion, the panic as it shadowed us and beat its wings with menace. I drew my sword, I shouted at it – what, I barely recall, some insult I am certain, to attract the attention away from all others and put its focus onto me.
And then... there is nothing, as if erased from my mind. The accounts I have read mention the horrendous burning, my clothes and hair on fire. Minstrels have sung of the battle, how hard and long I fought, how brave I was. What I do recall is very dreamlike, when you awake and barely grasp the threads of sleep, except for one thing. I will never forget the fall.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Glorfindel