Second Lives, Second Chances by chrissystriped

Chapter One

Glorfindel felt his horse’s gait become uneven and brought him to a halt. He cursed under his breath when he found that Fananto had thrown a shoe. Patting the black horse’s neck he looked around.

He was on his way to his family’s lands on the south-western slopes of the Pelori, on the other side of Oromë’s Forest which he found himself currently in the middle of. There was nothing to do but continue.

Glorfindel clicked his tongue, asking Fananto to follow him and started to walk. He knew there was a reasonably sized village ahead — though not exactly how far it was — and he hoped they’d have a blacksmith. He couldn’t ride Fananto like this and he didn’t look forward to walk all the way to his family’s estate, if he couldn’t get a new shoe for him.

At least the weather was nice. The air was warm and the sun shone through the leaves of the trees to both sides of the road. Glorfindel started to whistle a tune, refusing to let the incident cloud his mood.

It was evening when he reached the village, a little footsore and hungry. He walked straight to the inn.

“Stabling for my horse and a room for me, if you’d be so kind”, he told the innkeeper. “What’s for dinner?”

“I can offer you roast boar.”

A short while later Glorfindel sat at a table in the cosy common room, a jug of mead and a plate with roast meat before him.

“Do you have a blacksmith in the village? My horse threw a shoe.”

“You’re in luck. He spends a lot of time in the forest, he came back only three days ago. The smithy is along the main road, on the south side of town.”

“Thank you.”

Glorfindel dug into his meal.

Rog was forging a door handle for one of the villagers. It felt good to make things for everyday use — in his old life he’d spent too much time on forging war gear — though it was still strange sometimes, this new life. He’d spent so long fighting Morgoth, seeking revenge for the pain he’d suffered in Angband’s forges that he sometimes didn’t know what else to do with his life.

He heard his gate squeak — he intentionally kept the hinges unoiled — and put his workpiece back in the coals before turning around.

“What can I… what are you doing here?” He stared at the golden-haired lord. Glorfindel blinked at him, looking startled, and Rog was relieved that he didn’t seem to have thought him out on purpose. He muttered: “Of course you wouldn’t recognise me without the scars on my cheeks.” An orc had given him those.

“Rog?” Glorfindel’s face lit up. “Is that you? I hadn’t heard you were alive!”

“I’ve been for a long time. I’m not a Noldo. What do you want?”

Rog couldn’t see why they should act like they were friends. They’d both lived in Gondolin, but they’d never been close. The Golden Lord and the Ex-Thrall. The one beloved by everyone in the city, the other barely tolerated and that only because Turgon respected him.

“My horse threw a shoe yesterday. Can you give him a new one?”

“Of course.” Rog followed Glorfindel to the fence where his horse was waiting and looked at the hoof.

“I’m on my way to my family’s vineyard in the mountains”, Glorfindel said. “It’s abou a day’s ride from here, I think. I haven’t been there since… before the Darkness.”

Rog worked quietly. He’d always thought Glorfindel talked too much. Why was he telling him this?

“I’ll be there for a few months. Would you accept an invitation to dinner one of these days?”

“Why?” Rog threw him a quick glance before concentrating again on shoeing the horse. “We aren’t friends.”

“Why are you so off with me?”, Glorfindel asked, hurt in his voice. “I never was against you.”

“No, that’s true.” Rog sighed and wiped sweat off his forehead. “You never whispered behind my back.” He finished shoeing the horse and straightened up. “Look, if I was too gruff, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to insult you. But we have nothing in common. You’re a noble, I only led my House, because my people wanted me to. It’s bad enough that I’m stuck in Aman. I like my solitude, I have it here, that’s why no one knows I’m alive — and I’d like it to stay that way.”

“There are songs about your House’s last stand, you know? We both killed a Balrog. Isn’t that something we have in common?”

“And died killing it.”

Glorfindel grimaced. “Yes, that too. Come, will you not accept my invitation?”

“I’ll think about it”, Rog said, just to get rid of him. He enjoyed his quiet life, he did not want his past to intrude. Even if it was in the person of sun-bright Glorfindel.