Glorfindel in Imladris
by Lothithil
Chapter 2: Mae Govannen!
Glorfinded leaned forward over Asfaloth’s withers, letting the wind of
their passage whip his hair behind him. The sun was setting, breeding
shadows at the feet of the hills, but to the Elf-Lord everything was
clear and distinct and the coming night did not inhibit his vison
whatsoever. The path of the travelling hobbits was clear before him,
and even the faint prints of Estel were appearent to his skillful eyes.
Rather than relief he felt anxiety however, for if their trail was
visible to him, then other hunters might see it as well. His senses
told him they were not far.
"Faster, Asfaloth! Great heart, we must outrace the setting sun!" He
urged the proud horse to further effort, and the road spun away beneath
hooves that struck sparks in the haste of his passage.
It was only because they had come back to the Road that the Elf had
found the trail at all, for he had ridden all the way to Amon Sul
before he found any sign of them, so great was Estel’s skill in the
wild. The blackened ring of stones had set Glorfindel’s heart in a
cramp of fear. Did all the halflings and Estel escape unharmed? And why
did the wraiths hang back, when they could easily overtake them?
Estel is now Aragorn, Glorfindel chided himself. He still was unused to
calling Elrond’s foster son by any other name than the one they had
used in his childhood. He of course had been friends with Aragorn’s
father Arathorn, and with all the line of Isildur’s descendants. He was
particularly fond of Aragorn, though. The man’s blood was more true
than any of his predecessors; a Numenorian as they had been at the
golden hour of Mankind, before the sinking of Numenor and the decline
of Men. And Glorfindel was not the only one who noticed this; Elrond
had once confided to Glorfindel that Aragorn had reminded him of his
own brother, Elros. It was no wonder to either elf that Estel had grown
into a man of wisdom and skill. But he had yet to grow into the king
that the blood of Elros within him called for him to become.
The tracks were faint but Glorfindel could tell that there were several
small members of the party, and it impressed him that Est- Aragorn was
leading so many and yet accomplishing such stealth also. The Elf
wondered why the coming of the halfling Elrond had told him to search
for had been so long delayed. He had spoken with Bilbo Baggins, who
dwelled in Rivendell as a guest of the Edain, and the old hobbit had
often described his heir Frodo whom he regarded fondly like a son.
Mithrandir had brought occasional reports of his health and fortune,
and all had seemed well thitherto. But now the wizard was missing, and
shadows fell on the Road even in the light of Day.
The bells of Asfaloth’s headstall rang shrilly as they flew down the
road and he eyed the darkening sky above, seeing the stars beginning to
peer out before being swallowed by the clouds.
Running now at full gallop, Asfaloth pulled down the road where the
banks rose gently on one side, higher and steeper on the other. The
tracks upon the road vanished. Glorfindel raised his head and saw
twinkle like a star in the shade of a juniper grove. He spoke a word to
his horse, and Asfaloth dug in his hooves with a spray earth and
stopped, sides heaving and breath steaming from his nostrils.
Glorfindel flung himself out of the saddle, calling excitedly to
Aragorn who was leaping down the embankment, his face joyful.
Glorfindel clasped his outstreched hand.
"Ai! Na vedui, Dunadan! Mae Govannen!" said Glorfindel breathlessly.
Aragorn turned and beckoned to the hobbits still hiding in the bushes
above. As they descended, leading a pony down the slope, Glorfindel saw
that a fourth halfling was clinging to the pony’s neck. He winced
inwardly, knowing that this was the nephew of Bilbo who had been
expected to come to Rivendell earlier that season.
The halfling’s spirit was clear to the eyes of the Elf-Lord, and it
shone like a bright light through a thin veil. But now that light
flickered, as a candle in a draft, and the brilliance grew less as if
occluded by clouds or smoke. He was pale and shaking, and there were
bloodstains on his garments. Walking closely at his side was a stout
dark-skinned hobbit with a face creased with worry and weariness.
Glorfindel turned to Aragorn and said quickly in Elvish, "We must go
forward without delay. The Enemy is close, and this one is fading
swiftly."
"I understand, Lord Glorfindel, but these hobbits have traveled far
today and they may not be able to go much farther. Five wraiths
attacked us on Weathertop, and there Frodo was wounded by a Morgul
knife." Aragorn showed the Elf the hilt of the weapon that he had
saved, and Glorfindel shuddered at the hideous things revealed in the
foul writing upon it. "I have treated him with athalas, but he still
fails. We must bring him swiftly to Elrond."
"Let us push on now then while they have some strength, and rest before
the morning. I cannot leave these little ones behind, even under this
threat. The halfling is strong to have survived thus long, and if we
can move swiftly, we can all come safely to the Ford."
This news did not sit well with Samwise. "My master is sick, and
wounded! He cannot travel after nightfall!" Frodo was swooning, and as
he slid from the pony’s back, Glorfindel caught him. The Elf’s heart
was wrung to look the creature in his arms, fighting for his life
against the poison that devoured his spirit. Like the Moon crossing the
Sun’s path, his brilliance was eclipsed and his life ebbed.
Quickly Glorfindel slipped his hand over the wound on the halfling’s
shoulder, pressing the white scar gently. He uttered the healing words
he had learned in Ages past, though he knew that his own skill was pale
compared to Elrond’s ability. Frodo’s eyes cleared and his heartbeat
strenghtened, and he came back once again from the awful darkness.
"We must go at once." Glorfindel whispered urgently to Aragorn. The Elf
could see that worry and defeat were a great burden on the Man. Aragorn
nodded and herded the hobbits on, while Glorfindel set Frodo upon
Asfaloth, shortening the sturrips to seat him tightly. Frodo protested,
unwilling to go onward to safety and leave his friends behind.
Glorfindel pointed out grimly that without Frodo to attract the
wraiths, his friends would be reasonably save. Frodo was stricken by
Glorfindel’s words to silence, and he regretted having brought his
friends into this danger.
"Bear this brave one well, Asfaloth!" spoke Glorfindel softly to his
horse. "Ere we come to the Ford, we shall be pressed by the Enemy. If
we are overtaken, run swiftly across the water to safety and bring him
to Rivendell beyond. You are the heart of the wind, Asfaloth! Those
spiritless nags will never catch you!" Asfaloth puffed and jerked his
proud head, then nuzzled his friend’s ear. They walked swiftly after
Aragorn and the hobbits on into the mouth of the night.
