Nornorin (Glorfindel Fanfiction)

Body count

[Third Person POV]

Elrohir was relieved when he first decided to move Elena to the Houses of Healing. Her ailment, at first seemed like a common case of cold had suddenly turned into Pneumonia–one that got ugly really fast. But she was in the hands of the best healers of Middle Earth. In three days, they managed to stabilized her.

Glorfindel had felt it was enough to leave the human girl in the care of Elrohir's healing hands after he brought her to the Houses of Healing, so he tended to his work as the Captain of The Guards. Rivendell was safe, but there was news of Lothlorien being under attack. Ever since the end of the War of The Ring, fot the first time in years, the orcs grew bolder and had made several attempts to breach Lothlorien's borders. He had his guess as to why, but still he had a scout sent to the fair land of Mellorn trees, and back with some news.

He rode Asfaloth, his trusted steed towards the outpost by the Eastern border. When he saw the scout returned, injured, he quickly dismount his horse and walked to him as the scout limped his way towarss him despite being told by his comrades to take it easy.

"Captain!" he exclaimed, his voice tainted with the toil of his journey and a hint of desperation. The elf warrior approached and wobbled on his feet.

"Alathor!" Glorfindel caught him just before he collapsed. He fixed his eyes on the sable haired elf, his face drenched with sweat, grime and blood. Glorfindel turned to his lieutenant, "Sylvanna, get a stretcher ready–"

"–No!" Alathor cut him, grasping tightly at his arms. "No! I... I need... To go straight to Lord Elrond," Glorfindel detected the urgency in his tone and listened, "I have a message from the Lady of Light herself. One that must reached Lord Elrond's ears at once."

"I understand. You will. We stabilize you first–stretcher," he told Sylvanna the last part again.

"No! Please, I beg you, Captain," he cut his Captain again, something that Glorfindel knew none of his subordinate dare to do, unless the situation was truly dire. "A horse, Captain. Give me a horse."

In a rare show of affection, the immovable Captain of the Guards showed a gesture of affection and grasped the side of his subordinate's head, "You can barely walk, Alathor. That injury would kill you if we don't treat it right away."

"Then let me die," he said with no hesitation, and Glorfindel's breath caught in his throat despite his stony expression, "As long as this message gets to Lord Elrond as soon as possible. I have sworn my life over it."

Glorfindel's piercing gaze was intent on Alathor's eyes, searching them. "Get my horse ready," he told the others, not once looking away from his injured man. A small smile appeared on his lips, "You have shown courage and honor, my friend. We'll head straight to the House of Elrond, then we'll treat you. You are not dying today."

Alathor had a look of pride and gratefulness shone in his eyes as he nodded reverently at the Golden One, "Yes, Captain."

In no time, Glorfindel was speeding on top of his horse, with Alathor riding in front of him. When he saw that Alathor began losing consciousness in his arms, he urged his steed. "Noro lim, Asfaloth. Noro lim!"

Heeding his master's command, the stallion pushed itself, carrying the elves on his back with utmost haste towards the House of Elrond. They rushed past the town, and upon hearing the sounds of thundering hooves, the people in the streets were quick to part and made way for the mythical elf warrior and his steed. Like a lightning of golden light was the captain to the mortal eyes as he passed by the lively town. The crowd murmured to themselves after he passed. It was as if an invisible dark forces were chasing after them.