Anor and Ithil by Haeron

Chapter 2

TA3018

The procession laughed as they went through the wood, mounted on the backs of horses long since become old friends from mere mounts. Trees there were for miles and miles, towering and dense and silent, on either side of the wide forest path. But danger did not lurk between the boughs that bobbed in gentle breeze, there was peace in the land between valley and plains and the elves pushed on towards Lórien. It would be a slow journey and one of many days and nights astride the saddle, but it was a journey that each elf was happy to be making. Each elf followed Glorfindel, who led them atop Asfaloth down a path blanketed with pale green and yellow leaves; fresh, young things borne of an early spring eager to fall.

And Glorfindel was glad of the change of colour in the valley, glad to see the palette of life return to the petals of small flowers and the path-side brush. Life, light and love; the season in bloom would see him with an abundance of all three and thrice Glorfindel thanked the Valar in rapid oath under his breath. When he opened his eyes Erestor watched him with subtle curiosity, not an elf of much devoutness himself, he asked no questions but bowed his head. Glorfindel rode closer so their hands could twine together in the space between their mounts. Erestor’s hands were small and soft.

The looks that passed between them expressed what their voices could not in the presence of twenty of Glorfindel’s best troops; promises of love and joy, a fierce determination to face together all that happened or would ever happen. Erestor smiled when Asfaloth tossed his grand head and watched Glorfindel press a soothing hand to the stallion’s white neck.

Some leaves fell from the branches as they walked in formation. Some elves would catch them between their fingers and with a breath send them on their way again to land somewhere below. The afternoon was warming and Anor at her low zenith.

‘I cannot wait for our little holiday,’ Glorfindel said, again drawing close to Erestor and his bay gelding.

‘Wait you must, flower mine, for this is no holiday. It is a diplomatic-’

‘Entourage, aye, aye, so you and Elrond have reminded me several times over and seen my daydreams reduced to dust so adequately.’ Glorfindel laughed at Erestor’s retorting faux-pout, and continued with voice lowered wickedly. ‘But we will be abroad from Imladris together, yes?’

Erestor was humouring him. The smile twitching the pretty corners of his mouth and the brief glance heavenwards were sure signs. Glorfindel loved him for that, for his humility. ‘Yes,’ said Erestor, and Glorfindel beamed a smile of magnitude.

‘And we will be sharing a room in the treetops, yes?’

Erestor adjusted his hold on his reigns, smiling now more openly. ‘Yes,’

‘And will we not break fast in the morn together, sated in strange beds?’

‘Aye, and that is a promise indeed.’

‘A promise of such sweetness was never before made.’ Glorfindel said low, raising Erestor’s pale hand to his lips to press a butterfly kiss to his knuckles. The thin bones of his hand moved slightly under the touch; Glorfindel kissed them too and smiled against soft, smooth skin when from Erestor came a tinkling laugh. ‘And so it is a holiday!’ Glorfindel declared more loudly once their embrace had broken, for the ears of the elves who had inevitably harkened to their private exchange. Erestor rolled his eyes affectionately, and so resumed they their intended formation ahead of the troops.

Soon the song of Imladris was lifted to the eaves of the woods again and the birds hopped and fluttered from branch to branch to hear what strange musics came to their home, for the elves sang of maidens and heroes and no foul things at all. With mingled hoof-beats of two dozen horses as their only drumbeat, the song was base and primal.

The children of theHiddenValleysang songs that they alone of their kin had voice and hope for, having lived in safety beside waterfalls and Lords of old. The wood was livened by their tune and the burden of journey’s length lessened upon elfin shoulders.

So much so that it became folly. None saw the eyes in the distance, peeking behind trunks of slender trees, that belonged to no goodly forest creature. No elf who rode behind Glorfindel the Golden saw the first blackened arrow that pierced the heart of Erestor’s bay gelding.