Second Lives, Second Chances by chrissystriped

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Chapter Seven

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Glorfindel sat with his back against the battlements, closing his eyes for a moment — until the next attack. He had fought on the walls for days, he’d maybe slept four hours in the whole week. The air was thick with oily smoke. The enemy had shot at them with casks of liquid fire that clung even to the stone. The king should have left when Ulmo’s messenger came.

Glorfindel shook his head, rubbing his eyes with a groan. No. This wasn’t Gondolin. It was Imladris. He had trouble to keep the present straight. Lack of sleep. The thick of battle. They were defending Imldris with all they had.

Gil-galad was separated from them, all the lands between Imladris and Lindon now occupied by the armies of the Enemy, and likely as hard pressed as they were. One of his soldiers handed him a bottle and he gulped down the water thirstily. He was so proud of them all — people he’d trained himself — they were holding up admirably although things looked dark.

Their only hope lay in the Númenóreans coming to their aid, but they were late. Some already muttered that their human allies had deserted them, but Glorfindel kept up his hope. He remembered Tuor’s loyalty and steadfastness and he could not believe that his descendants would break trust.

“There’s something going on. They are pulling back!”

The elf who had handed him the water bottle was one of the refugees from Ost-in-Edhil, the name escaped Glorfindel right now, he just was too tired. He was staring intently over the battlements. Glorfindel stood up with a stifled groan, his armour was weighing heavily, but he tried not to show it. Keeping up the morale was essential these days as their supplies ran out. He knew he didn’t flatter himself overmuch, when he thought that some days they’d only pushed the enemy back, because his fellow soldiers knew that Glorfindel of Gondolin, Balrog-slayer, was fighting with them.

He leaned on the battlements, taking weight off his aching feet. Indeed, the army before the walls of Imladris seemed to be in motion, turning around. A wind was blowing from the West. Glorfindel strained his ears. Was it the sound of horns, he was hearing on the wind? He smiled and allowed the hope sheltered in his heart to grow.

“I’m with Elrond”, he told his captain. “Report any changes immediately.”

If the Númenóreans indeed had finally arrived, they needed to make up a plan. He would not hide behind these walls and let others win the fight they’d fought so desperately.

 

He was tired, so tired, his arms feeling leaden, his skin drenched in sweat under his armour. They had made a sally as Gil-galad and the Númenóreans attacked, forcing the enemy to fight on two fronts. Glorfindel shouted orders and encouragements while he fought, trying to stay close to Elrond all the while, who had insisted on fighting in this last, desperate battle.

Only when he noticed the strange looks some of the Sindar threw him, he realised he’d slipped into Quenya some time ago. He shrugged and plunged his sword into an orc’s throat. They knew who he was and this felt like Gondolin all over again — minus the Balrogs; he was glad there were no Balrogs. He dearly hoped it would end better than Gondolin, it didn’t look too bad with the armies coming to relieve them. But he was so exhausted.

He fought on. He could do nothing else. When he saw Rog among the lines of the king’s army, he was not surprised — he was thinking of Gondolin again. He stumbled in his step and took a second look, but the warrior who had looked and moved so much like Rog had already vanished again. Glorfindel shook his head. He must have been dreaming him up the same way he had been dreaming up Gondolin all these weeks. He had not had enough sleep. Rog was somewhere in the East, walking in the forests of his youth and likely didn’t even know about their fight here. A blade whistled past closely beside his head and Glorfindel turned his mind back to the fight.

 

The whole army was partying, elves and men mingling and drinking to a battle won, the siege on Imladris broken and the last remains of Sauron’s army in Eriador routed. Only one Kwende was sneaking through the crowds, in search of another. When Rog had heard from a wandering merchant that things were going wrong in the west, he’d said goodbye to his rediscovered family and hurried back.

He’d promised himself not to be caught up in battles that weren’t his own again, but Glorfindel being in danger meant this battle was his own, he’d discovered. He’d thought of little else on the endless leagues from the primeval forests of the East, but coming here only to find out Glorfindel had died a second time fighting the Enemy.

He’d arrived in time to join Gil-galad’s forces at what was now called the Battle of the Gwathló. He tried to keep a low profile, fought with a sword rather than his signature weapon, but nonetheless word had started to go around, of the elf that fought like a hero of the First Age, always vanishing after the fighting was done. Some called him a ghost, some a Maia — he’d even heard someone argue he was Eönwë, come to their aid.

He’d only come for one elf’s sake. He was looking for him, right now. He’d heard with relief that he still lived. The stories springing up about Glorfindel’s role in the siege were as grand as those about the fight with the Balrog, but he hadn’t been with Elrond and Gil-galad at the high table — which was probably just as well, because Rog wouldn’t have been able to approach him there unnoticed.

He smiled when he finally found him, sitting with a few common soldiers. He should have expected something like that. As much as Glorfindel had sunned himself in his glory, he’d also always been very approachable for the people serving under him.

“I’ve never seen you with your hair done up”, he said, approaching from the shadow of a tree and enjoying the look of confusion on Glorfindel’s face turning to delight, when he recognised him.

Rog could see he had his name on his lips and tensed, but Glorfindel caught himself.

“I’ve learned my lesson”, he said dryly to his remark and stood up. “Comrades, I haven’t seen my friend here fore a long time. You’ll excuse us?”

Glorfindel gripped his hand and dragged him back to the house and into his room.

“So it was you, I saw on the battlefield. I thought I had seen a ghost.” Glorfindel embraced him tightly. “How I have missed you!”

Rog held him tight. He’d missed him, too. The light in his eyes, the silkiness of his hair, the smell of his skin.

“I’m so relieved you’re alive”, he said. “When I heard of the war…”

“You told me, you’d never be dragged into other people’s wars again.”

“Yes, well…” Rog caressed Glorfindel’s cheek with his thumb. “I was too worried for you to keep out of it. Are you injured?”

He could see the white of a bandage peeking out from under the neck of Glorfindel's shirt. Glorfindel touched his shoulder. “A blade found a chink in my armour. It’s not deep. Elrond bandaged it himself.”

“Eärendil’s boy?”

“Yes.” Glorfindel smiled. “Though he’s much more than that. He’s a good leader — and he has learned a few things about war from those Fëanorions who raised him.”

Rog smiled at how indignant Glorfindel looked at that. “You’re not telling him what you think of them, do you?”

“No. I admire him too much. But enough of me.” Glorfindel offered him a chair and a cup of wine. “Tell me about your travels.”

Rog let the wine run down his throat. The tart taste of it was welcome after the years drinking mead and sweet berry wine.

“There are still places in the east that look exactly like I remember it. Some places the forest is so deep, the sun doesn’t make it through and it is almost as dark as in the Time of the Stars. And…” Rog felt the happiness bubble up in his chest again. “I found my family!”

“Your family”, Glorfindel whispered. “They are still there.”

“Yes! They almost didn’t believe I was me, but the story on my skin convinced them.”

Glorfindel beamed at him. “Oh, I’m so happy for you. You didn’t say you were looking for them!”

“I knew how little chance there was after all this time. I didn’t want to get my hopes up by talking about it.”

 

Rog spoke long of his family. Of his mother the huntress, fledging arrows with the feathers of grey geese. Of his father carving intricate buttons from antlers. Of his sister spinning linen and weaving cloth died with sap of leaf and juice of berry. He talked of family he’d known before and family that had been born after he’d been caught. Of people so old they called each other brother and sister because they’d woken beside each other at Cuiviénen and his littlest relative who’d been born the year he’d found them again.

There was a light on his face, a brightness in his smile, that Glorfindel thought he’d never seen before. He felt his heart sing, because Rog had found his family and he was happy, and he felt his heart ache, because Rog had found his family and he didn’t need him any more.

‘Don’t be stupid’, he tried to tell himself. ‘He came back for you.’

But doubts were starting to grow in him, telling him he shouldn’t count on Rog coming to his bed tonight — or staying for very long.

Rog emptied his cup and Glorfindel expected him to tell him, he’d be leaving now, but instead he said: “I’d like you to meet them.”

Glorfindel was so startled that he could only stutter. “Me… them… you mean, your family?”

“Yes.” Rog smiled guardedly. “If you’d like?”

“I’d be honoured!”

Glorfindel was never sure how serious their relationship was for Rog, but he felt this was significant. He surely wouldn’t invite him to travel across a whole continent to meet his family, if he were just a diversion for him.

“I can’t leave right now, of course…”

“No, I can see that. I can stay awhile, they don’t expect me back immediately.”

“That’s nice.” Glorfindel felt his heart unclench. He leaned forward to give Rog a kiss. “What should I call you, then? Or are you fine with people finding out who you are?”

“No, that better stays a secret. What name would you give me?” Rog winked at him.

“Òrenya”, Glorfindel answered. “But that would be rather revealing. How about Aldandil?”

“I like that.” Rog did not show what he thought of being called Glorfindel’s heart and Glorfindel did not push. He always feared Rog would vanish, if he pushed too hard. “But in private, it is still Rog.”

They kissed again, moving closer together. Glorfindel felt desire lazily start to wake in his body, but he knew, he wouldn’t be able to keep going.

“I’m sorry”, he said, moving back a little. “I haven’t slept through a whole night for weeks and I’m deadly tired. I won’t be much use for that tonight.”

Rog chuckled and cupped his cheek. “Then lets go to bed and sleep. Just sleep.”

“You’ll stay?”

Glorfindel let himself be pulled to his feet and allowed Rog to undress him.

“I’ll stay.”

Rog kissed his shoulder. They curled up under Glorfindel’s sheets. Glorfindel fell asleep with his head resting on Rog’s chest, who was picking out the pins from his hair and combing it with his fingers.