Title & Chapter Number: Of Elves and Myths Series: Ortho Nin An I Menel (Raise Me To The Heavens) 1/1
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: Tolkien/Mythology
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Certain familiar characters belong to Tolkien and others belong to different cultures and such, I think you know which ones. I do not know any Elvish really... the title I pieced together from using Dragon Flame (though I do realize it's Sindarin, and I'm not entirely sure all Elves speak it)... half asleep I might add. Hopefully it's right. Narsinha is the name of the Angel of Heroism, according to A Dictionary of Angels, including the fallen angels by Gustav Davidson. I make no money.
Warnings: None
Betas: Michelle and Tamara
Cast: Glorfindel
Timeline: TA
Spoilers: Nope
Summary: Glorfindel has sacrificed his life and waits for death to claim him, not knowing if it has been in vain or not.
Notes: First off, just to head off any assumtions, these stories are not about the mythology of the Elves. They are stories containing mythology, sometimes combined, from Greek, Roman, Slavic, etc. cultures and incorporated into tales featuring Elves.
Second, there is no order to these as I write. Some take place during the War of the Ring, some take place after, some will probably take place before it. Others, still, aren't set in a specific time. The time setting is decided simply by what ideas come to me.
SPECIAL THANKS: To Michelle and Tamara for taking a look at this for me on such quick notice and pointing out my little mistakes. Thanks also to Mal, Mary and Zhie.
Glorfindel slowly opened his eyes and gazed up at the night sky, smoke clouding the view as a reminder of what was going on around him, elsewhere. He couldn't quite remember where he was, he just knew it was cold. Deathly cold. He could hear screaming, yelling, most unnatural shrieking and roaring in the distance. He tried to move, but he could feel nothing respond. It dawned on him he couldn't feel much of anything. Not pain or weariness. He could only feel the cold. The figure of a great dragon passed over him, momentarily blocking out the moon and starlight. Then, he remembered.
Remembered the attack that had come upon the city. They had had no warning. He had gone with Tuor and Idril as they were leading people out of the city via a secret passage that would take them through Cirith Thoronath. So many of them had been wounded. Women and children as well. And it had been cold. Was still.
They had thought they would make it, had thought they could leave within the darkness, undetected, but they were wrong. Orcs had been set to watch the pass. Tuor and his group had been ambushed and that hadn't been the worst. The worst had been the Balrog, accompanying the Orcs, that had attacked their rear guard. Glorfindel had known, as the entirety of the group had stood and stared at it for a few brief seconds, that there was a good chance none of them would leave the mountain pass alive. However, if there was a chance, he was going to see the others got it, no matter what he had to do. The next thing he knew he'd stepped away from the others to confront the great demon of Morgoth.
Flashes of the battle flew through his mind. Brief glances of Tuor and his men dealing with the Orcs. He had heard a distance cry of an eagle, but could not pay attention to it. The fight between him and the Balrog moved ever closer to the left edges of the pass, where there was nothing but blackness below. He remembered the fiery sting of the Balrog's whip and, as he'd begun to tumble over the edge, he dropped his sword and grabbed it with both hands before it found its way back to its owner's side. He was leaning out over the black pool of air, his feet slipping on the rocky texture beneath his feet. With every bit of strength he possessed, he gave a mighty pull and then he was falling, the great Balrog coming down with him.
Glorfindel tried to move his head. He and the Balrog had fallen long. He'd managed to grab onto the vile demon and tried to use him to break whatever he could of his fall. He'd been thrown off in the impact. But had he succeeded? The little view he had did not reveal the smoky remains of any such creature, but he couldn't see how far he'd fallen afterwards. He might not be anywhere near the Balrog.
Glorfindel gazed back up at the sky, hoping Tuor and his company had gotten out. He knew he was going to die. Could feel it coming. Had felt it all along as soon as he'd awakened. He just hadn't realized it at the time. Very well. If that was what was meant to be... so be it. He just hoped the Balrog was dead, or at the very least, dying.
A great light shined upon his eyes suddenly and he squinted at it. At first he thought it might be the moon falling down upon him... this night he might've believed it if it was. He could not make out any figure or shape in the ball of light until it was nearly upon him. Then the lights dimmed and revealed... he didn't know what it was, but it was the most beautiful being he'd ever beheld with his own two eyes. Surely, it must be one of the Valar. If not, what else could it be?
It turned out to be a he, in a long robe of white, Elvish looking, but yet, not quite. Golden, blonde hair fell about his shoulder in waves, like a lion's mane almost. Deep, blue eyes looked down on him with love that he felt in his very soul and his face seemed alight with pure radiance. That was when he saw the tips of wings peaking over his shoulder and if Glorfindel could've gawked he would've... or was he already? He didn't know.
He struggled for a few long moments to say something; finally he managed to utter, "Who are you?" His voice was so low he wasn't sure he heard it, but the being over him did.
The beautiful creature before him smiled as he leaned over and caressed his face. Suddenly, Glorfindel didn't feel the coldness anymore; he felt warmth and contentment.
"Narsinha is my name," he spoke in a deep, comforting voice that seemed to echo around them.
That only caused more questions; Glorfindel did not recognize it in any of the forms of Elvish. He struggled once more, this time to ask him who he was, but he couldn't.
Narsinha seemed to understand at any rate. "I am here to take you home."
'Home?'
Again, it seemed he understood as he kneeled beside the fallen warrior. "To the place you will call home from now until it is deemed it will no longer be your home for whatever reason that should be."
Glorfindel suddenly understood. 'The Halls of Mandos.' Narsinha nodded and smiled again. 'Are you reading my thoughts?' There was another, more secret, smile in answer. 'What are you?'
"I am an angel. I am a messenger and servant of the Valar. You have sacrificed much for your fellow Elves. The Valar hold you in high regard for such a deed. It was not in vain for you to do so, for your enemy lies in ruins," he lifted his hand over Glorfindel's head to the area behind him, "where he fell." There was another soft smile. "And those you sought to protect have made it by, though they nearly did not, but the Lord of the Eagles is a swift ally."
There was a sigh of relief from the Elf. Thorondor had come to their aid, then.
The angel slid his hands beneath Glofindel's body, though Glorfindel could not feel them, and lifted. Suddenly, Glorfindel could feel the wind as it seemed to flow through him, though he felt not the cold bite of it, nor did he seem to feel the weight of his body. He looked down, finding to his amazement that he could move, and saw that he was not within his body anymore.
The angel stood, holding Glorfindel's mān while his body lay still on the mountain side. Glorfindel was amazed at his own appearance, as he gazed down at his still body. He had felt no pain, but by all rights he should have been in agony. He right shoulder and one leg looked quite abnormal; a long gash from the Balrog's whip had cut him in several places, most severely on his chest and shoulders, though there was one long slash along his face; and his face overall was bloodied almost beyond recognition.
His thoughts flew suddenly to a proper burial. In answer came, "Do not fear. Your body will be found and given a proper resting place. Even now, as the Orcs are being run out, Thorondor makes his return for you."
They rose high into the night sky. Below them, Glorfindel saw the carnage that had been wreaked upon Gondolin. Fires lit the city like chaotic fireflies and bodies of Elf and Orc alike lay scattered upon the ground. Small groups of Elves here and there continued to fight, more falling with each passing moment. 'So much death.'
"Things will happen as they should, one cannot have good without evil, and so they must both exist together, but that does not mean the existence will be a harmonic one."
This provided some comfort for Glofindel as he was borne away to leave behind that which he had known all his life. Quickly the Elf found himself getting tired. 'I did not think a mān would get tired.'
"Sleep. This is new to you; as your body must adjust to things, so must your soul to new aspects of your being."
Glorfindel passed into reverie to soft beating of wings as he was carried off to the Halls of Mandos.
The End
~*~*~*~
mān -- departed spirit
~*~*~*~
~ Library Main ~
~ Author Index ~ Character Index ~ Title Index ~
~ Hall Of Fire ~ Gallery ~
~ Links ~ Shops ~ Map ~ News ~ Rules ~ Lists ~ ~
This page is in no way affiliated with New Line Cinema or Tolkien Enterprises, and no profit is being made.
The information contained herein is NOT to be used to spam or in any other way harrass its members. Be advised that abuse of this site will not be tolerated, and the appropriate legal action will be taken.
Hall-Of-Fire.Com v.4.0, Copyright © 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009 by Cristine Cook-Fireheart. All rights reserved. This web site may not be reproduced in any form, except as occurs in normal browser caching, without express written permission from the author.
Website by Infinite Connections Design.
