Summary: A snowy day in Imladris towards the end of the year 2933 Third Age.  Exactly 500 words.

Spiced Wine on a Snowy Day

The snow floated lazily to the ground, covering the landscape of Imladris in a white blanket. So still, so quiet, with only the soft shushing sound of the ice crystals landing one upon the other.

Erestor sat beneath a sheltering evergreen bough, his back against its rough trunk. He blinked and shook his head when a snowflake landed on his lashes. He smiled. He loved watching the snow on days such as this! Too often, he did not have time to escape his duties to enjoy it from even a window, let alone sitting bundled in a warm cloak.

Taking a sip from his fur-wrapped wineskin, he discovered the spiced wine was still warm, the spices reviving, and that was all that mattered as he sipped and watched the landscape succumb to the onslaught of winter.

The soft crunching of footsteps alerted him that someone had joined him. Not looking up, he simply downed another swallow and said, "Sit down, Glorfindel," and held up the wine.

Leather-covered fingers brushed his as the skin exchanged hands, and his friend joined him beneath the tree.

Glorfindel must have drunk, for he suddenly coughed and sputtered. “For the love of Mandos, Erestor! What is in that?”

Erestor grinned. “I am not quite sure what there is to love about Mandos, but I shall take your word for it. The wine contains: tangerine, hibiscus, cinnamon and some of my potpourri.” He glanced over in time to see his golden-haired friend blanch. Then, the wineskin was pressed back into his hands as he chuckled and turned his eyes back to the falling snow.

They sat in silence for several minutes. “Where did you get tangerines?” Glorfindel asked. “They grow far from here, in the jungles near Umbar, I have heard.”

“Elrond received several boxes from Círdan. I am not sure how the traders who visited Mithlond came by them, but they are quite delicious. Elrond presented me with a basket of them along with some oranges.”

“Now those would make a nice mulled wine, my friend!” Erestor heard the excitement in the other’s voice. Glorfindel was quite fond of mulled wine, provided it was sweet, rather than his own more spicy variety. “Orange, cinnamon, cloves, maybe some juniper…”

“We will have to make some,” Erestor concurred. More silence followed, broken only by the sound of snow slipping off an evergreen branch. Erestor took another swallow of his wine, offering it again to Glorfindel who took it hesitantly and sipped, rather than gulped this time.

“I wonder how many more years we will be able to sit like this, before the darkness finds us and taints even this land?” Erestor spoke directly to the point and looked sadly at his companion.

“Not long, I fear,” Glorfindel answered. But his eyes were drawn across the snowy meadow, along the path to the Last Homely House, where a young widow and her toddling son were still adjusting to life away from their people. “But there is still hope…”

“Four things on earth are small, yet they are extremely wise: Ants are creatures of little strength, yet they store up their food in the summer; coneys are creatures of little power, yet they make their home in the crags; locusts have no king, yet they  advance together in ranks; a lizard can be caught with the hand, yet it is found in kings’ palaces.”

Proverbs 30:25-28 NIV

“Go to the ant, you sluggard; consider its ways and be wise! It has no commander, no overseer or ruler, yet it stores its provisions in summer and gathers its food at harvest. “

Proverbs 6:6-8 NIV

Watching the Ants

Year 2944 Third Age

Glorfindel lay on his belly in the soft grass, chin propped in a palm held aloft by an elbow. The fingers of his other hand idly stroked a long blade of grass.  Beside him, the remnants of his lunch lay forgotten in the tranquility of the spring day. He sighed, tilting his face slightly upwards closing his eyes as the sun warmed him.. A light breeze lifted a few strands of his loose hair, playing lightly with them, the ends dancing. Inhaling deeply, he smiled. How he loved the scent of heather and pine!

How long he lay there, he did not know. He lost all track of time in the quiet dell he had escaped to. For days, he had been cooped up indoors, paper after paper placed before him to peruse. But he was not a scholar!  He was a warrior, and he preferred spending his time outdoors in physical exertion. While reports from the patrols were a necessary part of his duties, and he took joy in forming plans based on them, the days spent looking at his recent work, when spring was in its prime outside, had taken its toll.  He had only agreed to the task because he was the most qualified for it, since Erestor was away on an errand for Elrond. So, soon as he was able, he fled the buildings and all sign civilization and came to this hidden basin scooped in the hollow between two hills.

A faint tickle on his wrist roused him, and he realized he had dozed. He ignored the feeling of slight irritation, putting it off to a strand of his hair being teased by the wind. But after a time, the sensation came again, and then again, until it felt too steady to be a random hair moving in the breeze. Opening his eyes, he glanced down.

Moving across his arm was a single line of ants. They marched with steady purpose: up, over, down, under his propped elbow and on to the remnants of his lunch.

He smiled and watched, having no argument with sharing his crumbs. One by one they skittered along. Up, over, down, and on, eventually returning with morsels of food on their backs, heading back to the small ant hill he could now see a few feet away from where he lay.

The work of ants never ceased to amaze him. Such small creatures, insignificant seemingly, but together they moved great quantities of earth. Together they provided for each other. Together they worked in harmony and unison with nary a complaint. All was done for the best of the colony. Such loyalty should not go unheeded. There was much wisdom to be gained from the ant.

“Glorfindel?”

The elf turned his head slightly to see an adolescent boy scampering down the hillside towards him. He smiled and let the youth come to him.

“Glorfindel!” Estel said almost in a whine. “You did not tell my how I did on my reports! Erestor always tells me.”

“But Erestor is not here, and I am not he,” he replied, glancing down at the determined ants who continued in their task unconcerned with the new arrival. Dedicated, determined, and never giving up in their task…

“Please? I need to know! If I did not do well, Adar will make me study the history of the First Age even longer!” Estel stood a few feet away, a hand running through his dark unruly hair in a frustrated manner. “I worked hard on them, Glorfindel! I need to know if I got it all right! I want to move on to work on swordplay!”

“Did you do your best, boy?”

“Yes, but I might have gotten something wrong.”

“Does it really matter, Estel, if you managed to get the history of the First Age correct?”

“Adar thinks so.”

Glorfindel smiled, turning his eyes back to the ants. “You did well enough that your father should have no qualms about you putting aside studying books for a while - at least, until autumn.” He glanced up and grinned at the look of relief on Estel’s face.

“However, while history has its place, there are other, more important things to learn, such as, doing your very best, which you have learned well.  Come, sit. I have a new lesson for you.”

Estel frowned, obviously reluctant to have his free day turned into lesson time. But he complied, having learned long ago not to argue with the Captain of Imladris. “Will it take long?” he complained as he sat, then gasped. “You have ants on you!” The youth reached out to brush them away, only to find his arm grasped by the hand that had been holding up Glorfindel’s head.

“Leave them be. They are causing me no harm, and they are part of the lesson.” Estel wrinkled his nose in disgust. Ever since he was a little lad, and had unknowingly sat on a large ant hill and been covered in ant bites, Estel had hated ants. Chuckling, Glorfindel released Estel and let his gaze again wander to the trail of ants. “You might find them interesting if you take the time to study them. You can learn much about life from watching the ants.”

“You’re joking, right?”

He shook his head, resuming his relaxed position of head in hand. “No. Ants are some of the most loyal creatures in nature. They work with their colony for the greater good with no arguments. They store up in the summer for the coming winter so they can survive.” Estel’s expression slowly showed signs of interest, however reluctant. “But best of all, ants are great tacticians and fabulous warriors.”

“Warriors? ANTS?”

“Sit and watch, Estel, and you will learn much.”

: - :

More than eighty years later….

He lay on his belly in a grassy clearing in Ithilien. The smell of the pine and forest calmed and relaxed him as he propped his head up with a small smile. A small voice drew his attention after a time, though is eyes never strayed from the ground.

“Ada?”

“Hmmmm…”

“Watcha doin’?”

“Watching the ants.”

“Ants? Can I watch, too?”

Aragorn smiled. “Yes, come, Eldarion. Come watch the ants and learn many things about life and being a king.”

The small boy plopped down beside him on his little belly, mimicking his father’s position exactly as he listened to the lesson. And in his mind’s eye, Aragorn could see Glorfindel and himself lying in the grass, swords cast aside from their exertions, discussing the strategy of ants. And he smiled wistfully.

Summary: 3018 Third Age. On the road to Rivendell, an elf keeps his watch.

Keeping Watch

The sun was just peeking over the horizon, brightening the mists hanging over the ground. Birds chirped from the trees, and a few darted wildly around before disappearing over a rise of ground. A hundred yards down the road, a deer crept out from the cover of the trees. The doe looked at the pony standing near the road almost blandly before moving on, nosing around the ground for soft shoots of grass beside the road. The pony also grazed, snorting softly as the deer moved past him. She moved with grace and ease, lifting long, stilted legs as she wandered through the heather. Suddenly, she stopped short, freezing in place as she looked with fear at the five creatures lying in the heather in her path.

"Easy, my friend. They will not harm you."

The deer swiveled its head towards a tall figure she had not seen before. He stood on the edge of the road, his gold hair gleaming as the light of the early morning sun touched his head. With the sun behind him, she could only make out his outline, and her tendency was to flee, but her instincts told her this was no creature to fear.

He moved forward, and as he did, she could make out one who emanated peace with her and the world around her. He smiled. "They simply rest from a weary journey. Go around them and enjoy your breakfast, lovely one." 

The doe eyed him curiously for a moment, then altered her course, skirting the sleeping figures in the heather.

Glorfindel watched her move on before turning his eyes back to the awakening world. He could not let his guard down, not even to enjoy the morning. The sound of hoof beats caused him to turn to look out over the heather as a white horse crested a rise of ground. He smiled at the beast, and it tossed its head, whickering softly as it moved eagerly towards him.

"Did you enjoy your drink, my friend?" he asked Asfaloth as the horse trotted up to him. In answer, Asfaloth rubbed his cheek vigorously against the elf's chest. "Ah, and now you want to be spoiled, eh?" A soft snort answered him. "Not today, friend. We must stay on guard. The enemy would  like nothing more than the valuables we escort."

The horse's ears swiveled at his words, and the stallion looked over at the sleeping Hobbits and Man lying in the soft heather. Soft, dark eyes turned back to him, and the question was as clear as if the horse had spoken.

"Yes, valuables, both of which the enemy would like to get his hands on - one to welcome, the other to destroy." Glorfindel took several steps towards his sleeping companions, looking down fondly at the Man snoring softly in his sleep. Estel looked exhausted, and well he might, considering all he had endured the last few weeks.

No, not Estel, he reminded himself sadly, Aragorn. The endearing child he loved had long matured into a man worthy of his heritage. Glorfindel sighed heavily at the thought. His task was almost complete.

Sitting down a pace away from the sleeping Man, Glorfindel turned his eyes back to his surroundings. And as he watched, he wondered how many more trials the heir of Isildur would have to endure before the end. The thought caused his heart to ache.

Turning his eyes to the West, where the sun reached streaks of gold as if trying to grasp the still darkened Western sky, he began to sing softly a prayer of petition for the Man sleeping beside him. Long he sang, as the sun rose on its steady course, until finally, he moved to kneel beside Aragorn.

Bending over, he placed a kiss on Aragorn's brow and whispered, "You will succeed. I have faith in you." Then, placing a hand on the Man's shoulder, he shook it slightly. "Come, we must be off." 

His watch had ended.

"Then Fingon looked towards Thangorodrim, and there was a dark cloud about it, and a black smoke went up; and he knew that the wrath of Morgoth was  aroused, and that their challenge was accepted. A shadow of doubt fell upon Fingon's heart; and he looked eastwards, seeking if he might see with elven-sight the dust of Anfauglith rising beneath the hosts of Maedhros. He knew not that Maedhros was hindered in his setting-forth by the guile of Uldor the accursed, who deceived him with false warnings of assault from Angband.

But now a cry went up, passing up the wind from the south from vale to vale, and Elves and Men lifted their voices in wonder and joy. For unsummoned and unlooked for Turgon had opened the leaguer of Gondolin, and was come with an army ten thousand strong, with bright mail and long swords and spears like a forest. Then when Fingon heard afar the great trumpet of Turgon his brother, the shadow passed and his heart was uplifted, and he shouted aloud: 'Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlie'n aurë! The day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come!' And all those who heard his great voice echo in the hills answered crying: 'Auta i lómë! The night is passing!' "

-- JRR Tolkien, Of The Fifth Battle, The Silmarillion

Utúlie'n Aurë

He knew. Somewhere deep within himself, he knew it was over long before the cries of victory began. The relief pushed the apprehension, fear and doubt from him like a river shoves the last icy remainders of winter downstream, and in its wake, left him almost boneless. He sank to his knees on the balcony overlooking the tumbling water of the falls that danced down the rocks of the dale - the place that reminded him of his last home in Ennor, one with fountains and flowers, a mixture of stone and green.

The door to his room burst open. He heard the wood bounce off the wall and the rustle of fabric, though he kept his eyes on the falls, his tears joining their dance.

"Glorfindel?"

And still he knelt, letting the peace of knowing it was done wash over his soul.

"They did it," the whisper came from beside him, and he felt a body lower itself next to him, an arm reaching out to lay across his shoulders, hesitating, then pulling him closer.  "It is over!"

He smiled, closing his eyes and leaning into his friend. For a moment, he was drawn back to another time and place. That day, they had not won. That day, there had been tears unnumbered. Yet, the cry felt right.

"Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlie'n aurë! Auta i lómë!" he whispered into the mists rising from the falling water.

His friend startled; he could feel the jump at his words. Then a laugh. "It is fitting," Erestor said, "but was  it not said louder than that? I cannot remember, as I was learning to use the chamber pot at the time."

He laughed at that. Oh, what a terror his friend would have been as a toddler! An image came to mind of Estel at that age. He had found the boy crying in a garden and had knelt to discover what had happened. Estel had wrapped small arms around his neck, sticky fingers tangling in his hair. There was a mumbled 'I ha' a accident' that he had not understood until he picked the boy up, and Estel's trousers soaking his favorite robes brought awareness of what the 'accident was.

Yes, Erestor would have been just as troublesome at that age, though time had changed his friend from the rambunctious youth he had known in his past life into the quiet scholar kneeling at his side. Just as time had changed a mischievous little boy into a noble man who would soon be king.

Nodding, Glorfindel raised his voice, and the words echoed off the cliff faces.

"Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlie'n aurë! Auta i lómë!"

"The day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come! The night is passing!"

And over the valley of Imladris, the cry was taken up, echoing again and again. For a new morning would dawn on the world, now that evil was defeated.

I Veth

:-:

Ennor - Middle-earth

"Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlie'n aurë! Auta i lómë!"  - "The day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come! The night is passing!"

A/N - The words Glorfindel say are taken from Fingon, son of Fingolfin, at the Battle of Unnumbered Tears.

This story is a one shot based on a much longer story that I am writing about Glorfindel.

NiRi