Memories of Starlight by Levade

"Give me my sword!"

"No."

The wash of fire and fury swept his veins, igniting wrath he had never felt. "Give. Me. My. Sword."

Deadly calm. Deathly earnest.

Met with the implacable, immovable. "No." Blue eyes gentle, the blood-stained captain adamant. "You are not yourself."

It was not the first time, but by the stars it would be the last. He stepped closer, invading, pushing boundaries, sick, oh so sick. "Who am I then." Looked deep into the blue eyes, seeing the dance of light long gone from Arda, deeper to the darkness of death and the rise from the ashes.

"You are son, brother, orphan, survivor, herald. Friend. One who lost much, too much and one I will not see stain his hands with the blood of kin."

"He is lost to the Ring! Maddened!" He used his anger to shove against the broad chest and bared his teeth in satisfaction as Glorfindel staggered back a step. "I should have thrown him in, but now I cannot see him ride off with that abomination!"

There was a sword at his side, very near Elrond's hand. Círdan, watching but holding all others back, held a sword. Glorfindel took back that step, and unbuckled the sword from his side. "Then use my sword."

"I would not-"

"No? Think you above the ring's lure? You, who have been stripped of father and mother, of twin and those who would be like a father. You to whom, even now, others look to take up the mantle of High King, to lead your people to their former glory." Glorfindel lowered his voice. "Can you deny you have longed for its fire to kindle your weary heart?"

Elrond had seen it there on the cusp of the crater. One sweep of his sword and the ring would be his, the fire would be his, the power to save his people. His.

"Take it. Ride him down. Cut it from his hand. Kill him." Glorfindel shoved the sword against Elrond's chest. "Then I shall weep as I kill you."

Shock widened the grey eyes and Elrond stepped back. There was cold resolve in Glorfindel's eyes that doused the fire raging in his heart.

"I will not see you with that ring on your hand, Elrond Eärendilion."

"We cannot do naught." Elrond rallied his resolve, still uneasy with the cool flame in the blue eyes. "Isildur must be stopped!"

Lowering the sword, Glorfindel shook his head. "The ring will be his doom, Elrond."

He looked to the volcano, still smoldering, still seething with enough fire to melt the grief of them all. "I should have thrown him in."

"You aren't a kin-slayer."

"Enough. Disperse!" Círdan barked the order as he turned to men and elves who had gathered to watch the commotion. "See to the wounded!"

"Glorfind-"

"Go. Rest." Glorfindel met his gaze and held it. "Let us bear Gil-galad to his tent, Elrond."

A glance to the fire-burnt form, his king, his friend. Elrond turned away.

Chapter End Notes

All mistakes are mine. Thank you for reading!

He had wanted one forever. But Melkor had refused after the debacle with Maedhros, and so Gothmog had to content himself with imagining a pet.

There wasn't much to choose from in Angband. Dragons weren't fun. They hoarded their toys and confused everyone with word games. Orcs were fun and usually willing to do whatever he wanted, but never lived long.

They were tasty.

These days his brothers were more interested in seeing who could crack a whip loudest or send the stalactites crashing down to kill as many thralls as possible. Gothmog missed the egg frying contests they had held as younglings. He bet he could fry up an entire flock of chickens now!

It was great fun to go out and stomp elves. They reminded him of lightning bugs, all bright and glowy as they ran around screaming. But Melkor hated them and had forbade Gothmog to keep even a small one as a pet. He'd been told, Thralls are not pets. You cannot take them out and play with them, Gomig. Leave Melkor's thralls alone!

As if Maedhros' escape was his fault.

Puffing a cloud of smoke, Gothmog stomped off to find his weapons. Let the others have their stupid whips. He wanted something different. Something better than a sword (hadn't done Fingon much good, had it) and had gotten an idea from that last battle. Down to the cavern where he and his brothers wrestled, past the thralls, to his room.

Chuckling darkly as he imagined what he could do, Gothmog turned the spear in his hands. It had potential! He could spear an entire platoon and then fling them back at their own forces! Pretending to be surrounded, Gothmog crouched and bared his fangs, roaring. He thrust the spear and spun, leaping around the room.

"GOTHMOG!"

Startled, the balrog stumbled and barely kept from impaling himself. He quickly shoved the spear behind him and turned his best beastly scowl to Melkor.

"You're going to kill yourself with that thing, Gomig." Melkor shook his head in exasperation. "Put it away and join your brothers." The dark lord's smile was awful and gave the balrog delightful shivers. "We've found Gondolin. We attack tonight."

A roar of glee and Gothmog ran to join his brothers, shoving past the dragons and carelessly crushing a company of orcs. The spear was tossed aside, forgotten.

At last, Gondolin would fall.