The Roads Not taken by Idrils Scribe

Times of Peace

This scene takes place a couple of hours after Elrond and Elrohir's conversation in chapter 14 of 'Northern Skies'.

Chapter warning for swearing.

“Thank you, Borndis. You may leave him with me.” Glorfindel sounded positively enthusiastic despite the late hour.

With Ardil in the House of Healing, it was Borndis who had appeared in Elrohir’s rooms come evening. Instead of taking Ardil’s place in the anteroom to guard Elrohir for the night, she had led him to this unexpected meeting in the garden. The Silvan scout gave her captain a smart salute before disappearing between the silver trunks of Celebrian’s rowans. 

Glorfindel wore a padded arming jacket, and in the light of the full moon his smile lit up the silent gardens as he knelt beside an elegant chest of inlaid wood resting in the grass at his feet. 

At Elrohir’s questioning glance he answered. “Your father is convinced that he provoked yesterday’s mishap by overtiring you. I believe you were not nearly tired enough, or perhaps the wrong kind of tired. Tonight we put my theory to the test.”

Elrohir's cheeks grew hot with shame at the mention of last night’s incident. He cast his eyes down, studying the mysterious chest, and nearly startled in shock when Glorfindel opened it to reveal a pair of Elvish swords. The blades appeared oddly dark and dull, and it took Elrohir a moment to realize that they were made of wood. Glorfindel expertly flipped one around to hand it hilt-first to his bewildered charge.

“These are wasters -- weighted replicas. You will get well acquainted with them when you join my warriors. Tonight we get an early start.” 

He proceeded to hand Elrohir a padded gambeson of the kind Elf-warriors wore beneath their mail. 

Elrohir could not believe this unexpected stroke of good fortune. “Does Mother know this?” He asked as he buttoned the vest. 

Glorfindel laughed. “I have her permission to ravage the garden as needed. The training grounds are in use at the moment, and my warriors tend to watch like hawks and gossip like sparrows. You are not quite ready for your official debut.” 

Elrohir experimentally swung the strange facsimile. There had to be a metal core inside, because it balanced like a real weapon, the weight and heft familiar and pleasant in the hand. 

Glorfindel’s look was unreadable as he raised his own. “Have at me!”

Raising a blade against Glorfindel seemed unnatural. Elrohir’s opening strike was half-hearted, weak even to his own eyes. 

Glorfindel parried it effortlessly and smiled, cat-like. “I have seen better from you. Come on, Peredhel! You would have a hard time injuring me if that was a real blade.”

He laughed at Elrohir’s look of alarm.

Glorfindel was maddening. He danced away from Elrohir’s strikes, anticipating his every move and feint and bending like a willow-wisp even as he blocked with the force of solid rock. Elrohir gave his all out of sheer stubborn determination, but by the time the moon stood high above the mountains the gambeson was plastered to his skin. His heart drummed in his ears and he was nowhere near to passing the Elf’s impenetrable defences.

Elrohir put his weight behind his strike, and in that minute instant of overbalancing Glorfindel’s leg hooked behind his, quick as lighting. He met the ground with an undignified thud. It was all he could do not to fall on his own sword.

“Fuck!” The Haradi curse left his mouth before Elvish restraint could set in.

Glorfindel laughed heartily. “When pressed, you fall into your accustomed style every time. And what would be a good defense with a scimitar only serves to make you easy pickings with a longsword. I will have to make you unlearn it.“ 

That outrageous Elf was grinning as if he could not think of anything more enjoyable. As he rubbed his sore shoulder Elrohir began to wonder whether Glorfindel had truly forgiven him for being abandoned in Harad. 

Elrohir feinted, turned the other way to skewer Glorfindel from a different angle. The Elf parried, quick and limber, and danced from his grasp once more. This time Elrohir’s stumble was born of exhaustion, the dull throb of abused muscle. Glorfindel knew it.  

“Enough!” He cheerfully announced, lowering his waster. “That should send you to sleep!”

Elrohir’s stung pride was somewhat eased by the winded gasp in Glorfindel’s voice and the sweat dappling his brow as he blotted it with a linen towel. 

“Thank you.” Elrohir said. “I need to find my hand for combat again!” 

In silence Glorfindel turned to where a flask rested in the grass. Sadness stood clear in his eyes when he passed Elrohir a cup of watered wine. “You should not wield blade for anything but enjoyment. Not for a long time yet. Be at peace, Elrohir. There will be war enough in years to come.”

Like all things made by Elves the drink was a delight: tart, golden, and just cold enough to be refreshing. 

The taste seemed to carry Glorfindel back in time. “I was ten times your age when I held my first sword, and a sorry fool I was with it! You children of Ennor have war running in your blood.” He sighed. “Alas, child, that I must teach you bloodshed instead of worthier arts! But I will teach you well. One day much will depend on your skill.”

He laid a hand on Elrohir’s shoulder, and somehow it was not strange to walk back to the house like that, separate and yet together.

Chapter End Notes

Why was this road not taken?

This scene, which was one of my personal favorites, ended up being cut because it seemed like too much healing too soon.
Elrohir is seen forging a long term friendship with Glorfindel, who gives him a sense of belonging, a perspective of his future place in his new world. Having that so soon would have rendered Elrohir's flight and all that came from it redundant. Also, the one to bring Elrohir to that insight was supposed to be Elrond, not Glorfindel.
What do you think about Glorfindel's therapeutic swordplay and his evolving relationship with Elrohir? How would Northern Skies have gone if this scene had stayed in the story? I'd love to hear your thoughts!

See you soon for another road not taken,

Idrils Scribe