Now and Evermore by Katie Tran

Aman

(A Younger Glorfindel)

~ ~ ~

“What a strange child they had left. Why would his parents, Cilladh and Gelluithel, just up and leave like that?”

“Oh! What a beautiful son, dear little Laurefindil is. That golden head of curls! It is just too bad that…You know…”

“Is he well? Why does he not speak much?”

“Shh! He might hear you!”

He heard similar whispers and gossips behind his back everyday since he turned his nineteenth year; practically still a babe by firstborn standards.
No one knew why his parents disappeared. It was a mystery because most folks would agree Valinor was the most safe and beautiful of places. No one cared to look for Cilladh and Gelluithel. Perhaps the high eldar did not consider them important enough for they were not noble nor were they royal.

But what did Glorfindel know? At his young age, his legs were still painfully short and stubby. His face still fleshy with baby fat. He preferred spending his days with sticks in the dirt and maybe skip rocks in the lakes once in a while. Although his natural inclinations were to run, hunt and ride, his toddler body could not keep up with the local, boisterous elflings whom often left him stumbling behind.

Today, it was a fellow blonde boy and his mean-spirited dark-haired sibling. He believed he heard the blonde to be called, Tyelkormo. He was a big boy, that one. A bruiser and not particularly nice either.

Tyelkormo gave little Glorfindel a nasty sneer, but his childish, growing teeth ruined the effect. Glorfindel stifled a snicker inside his head.
Fëanor’s third son pointed his chubby index finger towards a ripe, orange mango dangling high up in one of Yavanna’s great trees.

“I bet you couldn’t get that mango before I could,” He challenged the younger elf.

“Huh? Sure I could,” Glorfindel insisted.

“Come on then. Let’s race. What do you say? The winner gets their first sword and shield to practice the field with from grandfather Finwë last I heard.”

Glorfindel wanted to remind him that the high Noldor King wouldn’t gift him anything regardless if he did win. He was not part of the royal family; merely an outsider. He didn’t say anything, however. Tyelkormo was not going to listen. He was already climbing the tree, giving himself a head start.

“Hey! That’s cheating!” He protested. Glorfindel scrambled to keep up while Tyelko’s brother Curufinwë cheered him on from the ground.

Glorfindel dug his nails and bare toes into the rough bark of the thick tree, scraping his skin in the process. He dodged and pushed away branches that got in his way with that one, delicious-looking mango above him as his aim.
Before he knew it, he was beating Tyelkormo.

“I got it!” He plucked the fruit and held it up, grinning from ear to ear with pride.

A panting and sweaty Tyelko finally caught up and sat himself next to Glorfindel. He huffed.

“Not bad. You’re not as much of a pansy as I thought you were, Laurë,” Tyelko gave him a good pat on the back.

Not really comprehending whether or not he had just been insulted or complimented, he gave the light-haired third son of Fëanor an unsure smile in return.

“Thank you?”

Tyelko’s grin then turned into an unpleasant smirk.

“Although you forget, brat. All’s fair in war,” He made a grab for the mango in Glorfindel’s grasp and pushed the little elfling down the tree.

With a cry, Glorfindel tried to cling for any branch that passed his way, but even the one, frail branch he managed to cling on to broke. It sent him toppling down to the ground.
Everything burned and hurt like hell.

He felt something warm trickle down his forehead. Reaching up to feel the wet liquid, he grunted in pain and opened his eyes to see crimson smeared all over his fingers.

“Come on, Tyelko! Let’s go before someone sees!” Curufinwë hissed and the two boys took flight.

Glorfindel laid there surrounded by twigs, mud and fury. Fury turned to shame and loneliness. Why was it so hard for him to make friends? Why were his parents gone? It seemed ages as he laid there on the uncomfortable ground until he heard a deep, soothing voice called out to him.

“Hello there.”

It was Lord Fëanor’s half-brother. Glorfindel somewhat recognized him as Lord Nolofinwë. His clumsy, untrained limbs jumbled to do a proper Noldorin bow towards the high prince. Looking up, he was confused to see Lord Nolofinwë gazing at him with both concern and sadness. Glorfindel’s face coloured when he realized the elder elf lord probably saw the whole spectacle earlier.
He was even more amazed to see another dark-haired elfling pop his little head from behind Nolofinwë’s regal robes. He looked to be only slightly older than Glorfindel was. The elfling gave him a shy smile.

“Come little one. You can hang out with us,” The high prince held a large hand out for little Glorfindel.
“Turukáno, why are you so shy? Come out and say hello to your new friend now.”

Turukáno, the elfling behind the robes immediately spoke and took Glorfindel’s other hand.

“Hi…”

“This is my second eldest son, Turukáno. I am Nolofinwë as you may know,” Nolofinwë smiled down at Glorfindel. “What is your name, child?”

Encouraged by both father and son’s warm and friendly demeanors, he beamed.

“I am called Laurefindil!”

“Well then, Laurefindil. Welcome to the House of Fingolfin. We are happy to have you with us. But first, we need to do something about those distressing injuries of yours.”

~ ~ ~

Names

Laurefindil/Laurë/Laurefindelë = Glorfindel

Nolofinwë = Fingolfin

Tyelkormo/Tyelko = Celegorm

Curufinwë = Curufin

Turukáno = Turgon

(At the Helcaraxë)

Fëanáro had deserted them. The disbelief and gradual rage that was barely apparent on Fingolfin’s face was as clear as Manwë’s skies to Glorfindel’s sharp eyes. For Glorfindel felt the rage himself but chose not to say anything in case Nolofinwë gave his next orders.
Next to him, Turukáno and Ecthelion could not contain their bitter outrage.

The flames and smoke could be seen with elven eyes from miles and miles away. Fëanáro and his cohorts had deliberately burned the stolen Telerin ships. He had meant to abandon them from the very beginning. Nolofinwë, his family and their followers had no ships to journey to Middle Earth now.

Nolofinwë had not said a word. His mouth seemed to stop working as his grey eyes gawked ahead.

Glorfindel turned around to access everyone that was behind them looking to the Noldor prince, Ecthelion and himself as their captains to lead them on. Noldor elves of all ages, fair and dark were in abundance stretching for leagues to the very last elf in line. Rumors and claims of Fëanáro’s abandonment had now circled around the firstborns causing a strong commotion. Fights and disagreements had taken place.

“The high King has forsaken us!” One male elf shouted.

“It was not enough for the traitor to cause Prince Nolofinwë, Arafinwë and all of Valinor grief with his cursed jewels. He had to burn the ships as well.”

“Kinslayer! Not just a kinslayer but an irredeemable fraud!”

Kinslayer. The word twisted bitterly in Glorfindel’s heart. It was not only Fëanáro’s family that conjured the unforgivable murder of King Olwë’s people to obtain the ships for Middle Earth. Fingolfin and his family had reluctantly participated in the unpardonable deed as well.

The smoke of the fire and what was left of the ships burned in Glorfindel’s nose.

“Those bastards,” Irissë, the only beloved daughter of Nolofinwë, snarled. For someone who often partook in athletic endeavors and even made good friends with Turcafinwë and Curufinwë (both of which were Fëanáro’s sons,) this was a huge betrayal.

“What are we to do now? We cannot just return to Aman. We have just broken one of the Vala’s sacred rules of leaving Valinor. In following the Fëanorians, we turned our backs on all of the Vala. We shall never be forgiven!”

Only the Arafinwëans, (Findaráto, Angaráto, Ambaráto, Artanis, Artaresto) and even Turukáno’s wife, Elenwë, remained calm and silent amongst the rest.

Nolofinwë then roared over the many thousands of the firstborns.

“Silence!”

All became quiet. Findekáno and Turukáno paused in the middle of their debate over the next course of action. Staring at their father, they shut their mouths.  

Glorfindel and Ecthelion gathered the warriors, men, women and children into an organized fashion once again lest they lost anyone.

“What do we do next, my lord?” Glorfindel asked Nolofinwë quietly.

“We march on.”

“March on?” He asked again to be certain.

“Do I have to say it twice or have you gone hard of hearing, Laurefindil?” The high prince’s caustic tone softened.
“We shall cross the Helcaraxë. There is no choice.”

Glorfindel stared at the second son of Finwë and half-brother of Fëanáro in shock. His mouth parted and closed in a thin line.

“The Helcaraxë? This is madness; a suicide mission,” He told the high prince angrily. “You let your people get killed in this bizarre, wild-goose chase because your pride cannot stomach all that Fëanáro has done and treated you. Please come to your senses, my lord.”

“Laurefindil, you forget yourself. Shut up this instant,” Ecthelion interjected quickly before a fight could occur.

Nolofinwë showed no signs of even retorting the accusation. His glazed, cold as marble face merely stared on ahead at the fire that was slowly dying out in the midst of the snowstorm.

“Father,” Findekáno began softly. “You are aware that Nelyafinwë has always been the dearest friend of mine regardless of the differences between you and uncle Fëanáro. Nelyafinwë is currently out there beyond these shores sworn by a dreadful oath to his father. I predict this will lead his brothers and he to their doom. They need all of the aid they could get.” 

He touched Nolofinwë’s armored shoulder.

“However you decide to cross to Middle Earth, I am with you always.”

A shadow of presage crossed his younger brother, Turukáno’s face, but he uttered not a sound.

“We carry on through the Helcaraxë,” Was the final command. 

And so, the people and followers of Fingolfin kept on moving forward although on an entirely different path altogether.
As they journeyed, Ecthelion came over to Glorfindel and sighed heavily.

“What has all this mayhem over Fëanáro’s jewels that brought about poor King Finwë’s passing lead us to.”

Glorfindel turned towards the direction of the Helcaraxë’s entrance. The ice walls surrounding a tunnel like road pointed to darkness as far as his elven eyes could see. Even from where he stood, the bite of the ice-cold wind could be felt breezing against his cheeks.

~ ~ ~

On the first day, the travel was manageable, but definitely uncomfortable. On the fourth day, it got more and more difficult. It was cold and the snow on the ground reached up to their knees. As lithe and light on their feet the edhil were, even they had difficulties trudging through the snow and the harsh blizzard.
On the fifth day, they lost some people to the harsh environment. Much tears mixed with an incredulous feeling was felt for the elves were so used to their formidability and immortality. It was not until King Finwë’s death were they aware of how vulnerable they truly were against weapons, natural casualties and fate.

Still, Nolofinwë continued his path and was relentless no matter how much there was no light anywhere to be found.

Turukáno was afraid. He had brought his whole family. Elenwë and their precious daughter, Itarillë, were gently bred Vanyar women. Their constitutions were not meant for this sort of environment and Glorfindel was extremely protective of the both of them.

“How much longer is this going to take? My wife and daughter cannot take much more,” Turukáno growled.

“Come, Turukáno. Stay strong for both you and your family, my friend,” Glorfindel shed his cloak and draped it around Elenwë’s narrow shoulders. She shook her head immediately.

“I will be all right, Laurefindil,” She soothed. “Keep it or you will freeze your toes off.”

But the golden elf lord insisted the elleth take the warm garment anyway. They had arrived to what looked like to be a deep, frozen lake. One misstep and the sheer ice could easily break, resulting in misfortune.

“Merciful Elbereth…” Findekáno whispered in apprehension.

Ecthelion warned over the crowd of elves to be utmost careful lest they fall into the freezing waters. It was the most painful and nerve-ridden experience as the edhil slowly moved across the ice, inch by inch.

“Ah!” A panicked cry was heard from Itarillë.

Glorfindel glanced sharply at the noise.

“Itarillë! Elenwë!” He ran over to where the mother and daughter had fallen into a large hole where some of the ice had broken off.

The depths of the water were unknown, but Elenwë was struggling with the icy cold scaling up to her chin. Her body paddling on for dear life.

“Mother, please hang on,” Itarillë cried out and desperately reached for a floating piece of ice to anchor herself.

The current of the water was going North as it was strong and powerful. Itarillë managed to grab a hold of Elenwë’s cloak when the water pulled the elleth roughly away.
Turukáno raced over to his wife and daughter, horrified and stricken. In a paralyzed state, his head rushed to figure out what to do to save the both of them.

The rest of the elves were too cowardly and chilled to dare lend a hand. Go anywhere near the edge of the ice and they would fall into the current to their deaths. It was futile.

With a pained face, Nolofinwë blocked Turukáno and Findekáno with his arm. His solemn expression said it all.

We cannot afford to lose more lives. You must choose one.

Elenwë’s face was ghostly white as the deathly cold took over her.

“Turukáno…My love. Protect Idril,” She rasped. “Forget me. She is meant to live for the both of us and has a higher purpose soon to fulfill. I have seen it.”

She closed her eyes. The grand elleth had made her final decision.

“Remember that I love you both to the ends of the world.”

With that, she let go of Itarillë’s grasp and let the water drift her away to her doom.

Itarillë and Turukáno sobbed out her name in despair. The second son of Nolofinwë felt half of his soul cruelly torn from his body that day.
With an anguished wail, he threw himself at Itarillë to pull her in with the force of his own life.

Glorfindel shook out of his own shock and wretchedness at having failed to save one of his charges. No doubt this would remain one of his biggest failures and regrets. He quickly took a hold of Turukáno’s legs before the water could claim him too. Then he felt someone grab his own cloak to help pull them all back on to the firm parts of the iced lake. It was the combined efforts of Ecthelion, Nolofinwë and Findekáno.

Itarillë gasped from the pain of the cold and the excruciating heartbreak of losing one’s mother. She cried, breathed heavily and cried more. Her father had to turn away and deal with his own immense grief.

Prince Nolofinwë clenched his fists and felt the misery and anger of it all; His family’s pain. His people’s struggle.

“You will pay the day you have laid this desolation upon us,” He vowed.

“You will pay your dues…Fëanáro!”

The bellow was echoed over the night sky.

~ ~ ~

Names and Words

Nolofinwë = Fingolfin

Laurefindil = Glorfindel

Itarillë = Idril Celebrindal

Turukáno = Turgon

Findekáno = Fingon

Fëanáro = Feanor

Findaráto = Finrod

Angaráto = Angrod

Ambaráto = Aegnor

Artanis = Galadriel

Artaresto = Orodreth

Elleth = Female Elf

Edhil = Elves

(A few years before the Fall of Gondolin)

“Honestly Laurefindil, I know why you are suddenly wearing black this evening,” Ecthelion scoffed.

The Lord of the Fountain usually wore white robes like Glorfindel did. Because of the rare, annual celebration of Mid-Autumn that governed every year (just like Mid-Spring, Mid-Winter and Mid-Summer did,) he had discarded the simple but elegant robes for something a bit more festive in light of the occasion. The light, blue robes draped beautifully on Ecthelion’s tall and lean figure. The silk robes had intricate and delicate silver embroidery around the collar, sleeves and hem. The complex designs looked like shimmers of mithril gleaming with every wave of Ecthelion’s movements.
His long, black hair was pulled back at the sides with their custom warrior braids.

Glorfindel looked up at the elf whilst he fastened the brass button of his wrist sleeve. It was true that he opted for silk, black robes today; an unusual color seen on him. He didn’t know why Ecthelion looked vaguely peeved about clothing of all things.

“Oh?” He raised a brow. “And why am I supposedly wearing black, pray tell?”

Ecthelion grinned and wrapped an arm around Glorfindel’s broad shoulders.

“You think I am ignorant of your vanity? The dark color clearly contrasts with your lovely, golden locks which I know you love to show off,” He teased.

Instead of rising to the bait, Glorfindel smirked at his friend. Having been by each other’s sides since Glorfindel was welcomed into their King Turgon’s family as a little elfling - throughout Fëanor’s exile and desertion, the two chiefs of Gondolin were thick as thieves. Inseparable.

“Jealous?” He poked at Ecthelion’s back. “I cannot help it if my coloring happens to draw attention wherever I go,” He added with a tad of smug.

“Never jealous,” Ecthelion shook his head and ran a hand almost reverently down Glorfindel’s hair.

“Although my romantic preferences are obviously of the female kind, anyone with eyes can see that you are beautiful, Laurë,” He said it so seriously, it was both comical and endearing.

Glorfindel threw his head back with a hearty laugh. He executed an extravagant and exaggerated bow.

“Why thank you, my dear, lord Ecthelion. I am most honored I have your expert opinion and approval amongst everyone else’s.”

He rolled his grey eyes and gave Glorfindel a swat to the back.

“Come. We ought to be in the main courtyard outside for I believe the music and dancing have begun.”

Glorfindel pulled out a simple gold circlet with a diamond pendant and adorned it high above his brows – the metal ends that curled like vines tucked in his plaits neatly. Brushing at invisible dust off his chest, he finally joined Ecthelion down the stairs.

oOo

The Mid-Autumn festival that King Turgon held each year in his great city was glorious like the high white buildings of Tirion that was the inspiration for the city itself. This year, it was no different. Elves of all kinds dressed nicer than they usually did.
The most delicious courses for dinner consisted of delicacies such as smoked meats in buttered bread, quality spice cheese and fruit cakes with rare berries. The elves in charge of Gondolin’s brewery proudly passed around a special, sweet wine made of fresh apples, oranges and fragrant flowers from King Turgon’s very own orchards made for this holiday.
Even some of the Telerin elves from Doriath would visit and participate Mid-Autumn.  

Elf maids looked their loveliest, lined up and waited hopefully for an Elven man to take notice and ask them to dance which would lead to eventual courting. Normally, it was the elves of high statuses (lords, advisors, seneschals, captains and warriors of the King) they coveted the attentions of.

“Ah, Laurefindil, Ecthelion! Good to see you both show up after all,” Itarillë or otherwise known as, Idril’s beautiful form ambled towards them in an opalescent, pearl gown that was almost translucent in its beauty. Her long, golden hair fell in loose waves far past her waist eschewing any decorations which only added to her stunning vision.
“It is not often you two leave your main houses or training grounds. The feast has just started so you both had better make haste if you want a taste of the food.”

Glorfindel gave the fairest lady in Gondolin a courteous bow. A shadow fell over his heart when he gazed down into her deep, blue eyes that bespoke of a sadness.

“My lady,” He greeted. “How are you this day?” He didn’t voice the unspoken thoughts which he assumed Idril appreciated. Elenwë’s death still was an ache that forever would haunt their hearts.

“I am well, Laurefindil,” She spoke kindly, but her stance was straight and proud. “It is Mid-Autumn celebration. Remind us not of things I would rather forget. Amil would not want us to dwell on matters of grief on this day.”

Glorfindel’s brows furrowed, but he acquiesced the request.

“Yes, Lady.”

To this day, he still blamed himself. It was not easy for him to forget that it was his role and responsibility to get all of Fingolfin’s kin to safety; most especially Turgon’s family. He owed his King and his adoptive family so much. Little did Glorfindel know, Elenwë’s death was just the beginning of his many failures.

“Won’t you share a dance with me, my lady Itarillë?” Ecthelion smiled charmingly at the elleth who responded with a grin of her own.

“It would be my pleasure.” And the two elves went off leaving Glorfindel alone to steal everyone else’s attentions in the main dance hall.

“Laurefindil!”

It was Egalmoth. Instead of appropriate festive attire for the evening, the elf opted for a plain tunic, filthy trousers and boots befitting for outdoor indulgences. He was walking fast towards Glorfindel enthusiastically.

Glorfindel glanced at him with a questioning look. “Why are you dress liked that? People want to see you looking decent for once and not smell like horse and mud most especially on this day,” He commented dryly.

Egalmoth only laughed and used his thumb to point towards the back of the terrace.

“You know I have zero patience for all this stiff luxury. We celebrate Mid-Autumn every year anyway - and Mid-Summer, Mid-Winter, Mid-Spring…The men and I are holding a strong bow competition right at this moment. Are you game for target practice?”

Glorfindel pretended to ponder the thought some.

“I don’t know, Egalmoth. I’m a little out of practice so my shots would probably be a little rusty…”

The brunette elf gave Glorfindel a jab to the bicep.

“It doesn’t matter. This is all in good fun. Don’t be a spoil-sport and come join us in the field.”

oOo

At the training station, there were a total of five dummy targets made of straw and leather on the open field. This area was notably used by elven warriors to practice and hone their combat skills. Because of these dark times where Melkor still inhabited and plagued the lands, the training grounds were often occupied so that warriors and Kings alike were always prepared for battle.

When Egalmoth and Glorfindel arrived, there were four more eager elves waiting on them. They were Duilin, Salgant (who looked like he was dragged someplace he’d rather not be) and two other unknown elves Glorfindel had yet been introduced to.

“Duilin, you are our most gifted archer in Gondolin,” Glorfindel quipped. “Do you mind going easy so that at least some of us look good?”

“What is this reverse psychology nonsense you’re spouting, Laurefindil?” Duilin retorted with a humorous, pained look on his fair face. “As if anyone here is fool enough by your humble pretense.”

“Shall we start?”

“Not yet,” Egalmoth chirped and pushed the two elves to the front. “May I introduce Olvaner and Antarion. They have come from Doriath and here to join in the game.”

The two silver-haired male elves greeted Glorfindel and the rest with their hands to their chests that marked the Sindarin way of saying ‘hello.’

Duilin strung his own custom-made bow and shot his first two dummies. The first one hit close to the center and the second one hit straight into the target circle. Even then, he clicked his tongue in annoyance at the first miss. Egalmoth’s turn – and then Olvaner and Antarion went after him.
Salgant, heavy and squat as he was, chose to sit down on the wooden bench to watch uninterestedly. The man wanted to be with his much loved harp and not participate in this drivel; only for the sake of appeasing Duilin and Egalmoth did the harpist come.

Glorfindel carefully strung his chosen bow and proceeded to inspect the meticulously made arrows stored inside the quiver that could only have been made by elven hands. Stretching an arm and a crack of bones here and there, he went to each of his three targets. Releasing three arrows one by one, all three hit dead in the center with a gust of wind.

Duilin sighed in disgust, “I knew it.”

Egalmoth looked askance. “I thought you said you were out of practice!” He accused.

‘I said I was a bit rusty. I never said I was an amateur,” Glorfindel replied with a shrug of his shoulder and Egalmoth scowled.

oOo

Back inside the main hall where music still played gayly, dancing still took place and food was still going around, Turgon handed Glorfindel a goblet filled generously with rich wine.

“To hope of better days, good health, happy families and prosperity,” Turgon toasted. The two of them stood in one corner behind the long table full of refreshments as they watched the merry making of their elven kin.

“To peace and Arda unmarred,” Glorfindel added and took a sip of the smoky, alcoholic drink.
“It is good to see folks smiling for it is so rare to find genuine relief and happiness nowadays. We must cherish these good times. One never knows when the fleeting moments will be stolen from us once again.”

Turgon frowned and looked at his friend who was as good as his brother.

“I want to see your own delight and happiness too, Glorfindel. You have long lived with us and served us well as both family and protector even though you have been named Lord of the House of Golden Flower yourself – basically royalty at this point. I do not want you so duty-bound as to merge in our grief and misfortune. You are charming, charismatic and Valar knows you are too good-looking for your own good. Why do you not take a wife?” He gestured to the string of slender and pretty elleths darting shy and not so subtle, smitten looks Glorfindel’s way.

“See there. Those beautiful maidens seem unattached. Why don’t you make their acquaintance, find one you fancy and start courting? Perhaps a lady love would do you some good. I was married once – still am. I would know.”

Turgon nodded sagely and Glorfindel gave him an amused look. The two delicately stepped over the subject of Elenwë’s passing to Mandos’ dreary halls.

“Since when did you play matchmaker, your majesty Turukáno?” Glorfindel teased using his father name. “Thank you for the advice. For now, I am perfectly content to play guardian and Vanyarin bachelor. I will let you know when I have found a lady to capture my heart.”

oOo

“Lord Glorfindel! Lord Ecthelion! Come quickly!”

At the call of the guards, Glorfindel dropped his sword sparring with Duilin at once and promptly went over to where the source of commotion came whence.

A group of elves gathered at the main city gates crowding around something covered within the group of elves.

“What is the matter? Is something amiss?” Duilin demanded, his weapons were with him just in case.

Everyone slowly backed off at the sight of Glorfindel and Duilin save for Egalmoth holding a woman, bloody and unconscious in his arms. She was in dirty rags, all torn. The wounds on her body were unclear as it melded with the blood all over her person. She breathed unevenly and looked quite close to death. The round ears peering behind her matted hair indicated that was one of the Aftercomers or mortals. Next to her was a little girl with tear stains on her dirty cheeks. For Edain age, she looked to be around ten or twelve years. She looked at everyone around her with distrust and fear. There was blood on her as well, but she did not look to be harmed personally.
The two Edain females did not look to be from around here. They were both very petite comparable to the Naugrim or even the hobbits. Their hair was dark and so were their eyes which while were of moderate to bigger in size, were somewhat shallowly lidded. Their complexions were slightly dark compared to elves and even the Secondborn of this region. If Glorfindel had to hazard a guess, these two mortal woman and girl came from the Southeast in Asiatic lands far on the other side of the world.

He crouched down to get close, sporting as gentle a face as he could, but the little Edain girl hastily scooted away.

“P-Please help my mẹ,” She requested bravely with an odd accent. She gestured to the bloody woman whom Glorfindel suspected was her mother – her amil. What was that word she used? Me? Mẹ?

“These two mother and daughter were attacked by orcs whilst they were traveling. The mother was severely wounded,” Egalmoth informed grimly. “They managed to reach our hidden city somehow before the mother collapsed.”

“Everyone return to whatever activities you were at save for you Egalmoth,” Glorfindel ordered with a rare authoritative tone. “Make way and give them room to breathe. Egalmoth, be hasty and take the woman to the healing rooms. She does not look like she has much time left. I will take care of this child.”

When Egalmoth left carrying the woman, Glorfindel got on his knees to look at the little Edain girl again. Her earlier wariness at him ceased a little when she saw that his people and he were helping her amil. Glorfindel smiled gently and ran a hand, stroking her head.

“My name is Glorfindel. I am one of the captains around here. Your mother is badly injured, little one. We will do our best to treat her with the most quality care. May I ask what your name is?”

She stared at him with wide, dark-brown eyes. She looked as though she did not know what to make of him or her current surroundings – very Elven and foreign to her kind. And yet somehow, when Glorfindel gazed into those brown eyes and saw what flickered beneath the orbs, he felt it in his heart that this little female meant something important in his life.

“Vy. My name is Vy – Daughter of Khiem,” The small voice answered.

oOo

Quenyan/Sindarin Translation

Laurefindil – Glorfindel

Turukáno – Turgon

Itarillë – Idril Celebrindal

Amil – Mother

Elleth – Female Elves

Edain/Secondborn/Aftercomer – Humans/Mortals

Vietnamese Translation

Mẹ - Mother