Chapter 1: The Timelessness of Death
Chapter Text
Valinor, Halls of Mandos
c. 1600 S.A.
The last thing Glorfindel remembered was thick, choking smoke, blinding fire and a searing pain that seemed to span the entirety of his body. He could hear the screams of his fellow elves even over the roar of the demon beneath him. He was floating. No…falling. Surrounded by a smoldering fire whose flames that once licked at his being were now nearing extinction the closer to the bottom of the chasm of which they were falling came. Then there was a blinding flash of white and twisting pain that was over before it could even be fully registered. He was truly floating now. In a dim, cool, emptiness. All sense of anything seemed to be muted. It was as if he were in a dream state. Whenever an invasive memory would creep in and settle in too familiarly, the pain of his old wounds flaring up, just as soon but a soothing wave of comfort fell over him. Ebb and flow. Darkness and light. Soon the light took over, pulling all the darkness from his…fëa? He didn’t think he still had his hröa, not in this place. He was suspended in nothing but a sea of pure light that he had not seen the likes of since the time of the two trees. Time. Time? What was time here? Every day seemed to pass by in a manner of seconds, yet, every hour would stretch on for an eternity. Time meant nothing, for there was nothing for it to keep track of. He continued to float in a state of repose. Where was he? Lórien perhaps? No, that didn’t seem quite right… But enough thinking. That was plenty enough thinking for now. Thinking was tiresome. Sleep. He wanted to sleep now. Rest. Oh sweet rest. And so the great elf gave his fëa over to the great healing slumber of Mandos Halls. “Oh yes,” the soul thought. “Mandos. I died.”
With the realization of his death and current residence, came a resurgence of the pain that memories brang, followed by the cool comfort of the hand of Námo himself. Soothing the pain away. Fading the memories. Dulling the senses. Assuring the precious soul in his care that all would be well. And so that is how it was. Any darkness left from the balrog’s touch was pulled from him. His painful memories, good and bad, were dulled, and he rested. Slept and slept, slowly allowing his fëa to heal in these magical halls. Bit by bit he was put back together, restored and recovered to the best of the Valar’s ability. Floating in the gentle light that was now comfortably warm. Sleeping and sleeping, waiting for the time when his hûn, gûr, a fëa were healed enough to return to his elven hröa. But for now he simply floated. Expelling the sins of the past, the worries, the trauma. Drawing in the restorative light. Hour after hour. Day by day. Year after year. Century after century, until nearly two millennia had passed. A whole new age awaited.
He awoke to voices. Of course, he was without a body, so he had no sight, however, he knew without having to see who stood before him. Those voices. That aura. The power. It was Valar, and not just Námo with his soothing presence. A group of Vala gathered around the healing soul. And they were arguing. If not arguing, at least having a very strong discussion. They seemed at odds about whatever they were debating. It seemed to be about him. But what did they want from him? What could they want? He was incorporeal. Nothing but a floating mass of energy who couldn’t even control which way he drifted in this space. If he was here in Mandos, that meant he was dead. He had accepted his death long ago. Or maybe it wasn’t so long ago. Again, time. It didn’t quite seem to work the same here as in life. Or at least its passing felt much different in the Halls of Mandos.
“It is too soon, he is not fully healed,” one voice argued in a loud whisper. Námo refused to allow raised voices in his halls, it was too disturbing to the resting and recuperating fëas. The only time one ever heard a raised voice was when newcomers who died violently or were especially distressed first arrived. Námo always worked quickly to remedy that pain with his soothing touch and restorative practices. Difficult or corrupted souls were kept in a separate section of the halls as they required more advanced rehabilitation and their presence would only disturb the healing of the majority.
“I fear this world cannot wait any longer,” another gruff voice argued.
“That is true. There are few left with the type of power that this elf possessed. Possesses still. Especially now in this second age, so few elves are left in Middle Earth that have seen the two trees with their eyes,” a softer voice chimed in. “We need one with the light of Aman in his eyes to combat the darkness of Morgoth.”
Second age? Was it really? The last he could remember it was 510 of the First Age. How much time had passed? It felt as if he had been here for both just a blink of the eye and yet again for an eternity. How far into the second age did they find themselves? Three hundred years? Four hundred? Dare say he even five? The Vala around him, also in their incorporeal forms, continued their discussion “aloud” for him to hear. The soul in the room had no ears to hear, yet every thought and intention he understood, the fog clearing from, his somnolent mind. He began to wake from his slumber. Not the hazy waking that usually occurred within the Halls and left him fuzzy feeling and still tired. He was able to think clearly for the first time in a long while. The numbness was wearing off and his senses were sharper, no longer muted by Námo’s power. With that, of course, the memories began to come back.
With the influx of memories, the soul vibrated unpleasantly at their arrival. Of course his boldest, most accessible memories were those of the events occurring just before his death. What once was a comforting warmth that he was floating in now felt as if he were being thrust inside of Aule’s blazing forge. As quickly as the fire of the memories scorched, they were soothed, however, this time not by Námo. Taking a more corporal form, gentle hands cradled the distressed soul just as a mother would handle their precious crying babe. Tears slid down the Vala’s face, weeping for all the hurt inflicted onto this dear soul and weeping for all the injustices of the world wrought upon its inhabitants. Each tear traveled down a face full of beauty and sorrow and dripped silently down onto the quivering soul. The tears were instantaneously soothing to the pained fëa. The burning fires cooled and while the memories still remained they were manageable. Those at the forefront certainly weren’t good memories, but they did not send him into a fit of madness or the pits of despair just at the thought.
“See. He is not ready. His Fëa is still not mended. The memories are too fresh, too painful,” said the Vala, still spilling her soothing and healing tears upon the fëa in her hands.
“Perhaps that is what we need,” boomed a loud voice from the back. “Let him return with his memories fully intact. Let him feel the pain. Mayhap it will stir up an even greater desire for revenge against the dark ones.”
“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” a softer, more feminine voice protested. We’ve seen what actions taken in spiteful anger and a quest for vengeance have done to even the greatest of elves. So many fëas now reside in these halls because of impetuous and vindictive ventures being recklessly undertaken by themselves or others.”
“We need an elf that possesses pureness and integrity. We cannot have them turning down a dark path because they were not yet ready. We cannot risk opening him up to the dark thoughts and foul deeds that many give way to when their fëa has not found its balance.”
“No one ever fully heals. There are always memories and pieces of the past stitched into the wound. Good to bad. Painful to pleasurable. He was a good elf in life. He had a strong will and steadfast heart. He was very wise. He will not be swayed in this new life,” spoke another who had met the aforementioned elf in his embodied life outside of the Halls.
“His path is one that we cannot see the future of clearly,” another chimed in. He could be our biggest ally or become our greatest threat.”
“That is true, he is strong enough even to rival the Maiar. If he is not healed enough and falls to vengeance or corruption because of the discord within his heart or wounds upon his soul, we could very well be creating our own worst enemy. Another Balrog or comparably powerful demon of destruction. We cannot do that to Middle Earth. We cannot do that to this noble soul,” another deep voice argued slightly louder, receiving a stern glance from Námo.”
“Ideally, I would keep him here for at least half a millenia more, if not longer,” Námo added.
“And we don’t know how he would adapt to being sent back. When we rebirth or reembody elves it’s always to Valinor.”
“There the reborn have the rejuvenating air and waters of Valinor to cleanse and refresh their souls and new bodies as well as the support of the Valar if they do have any issue adjusting.”
“We’d be throwing him back into a world that has changed in many ways. Much of what he knew is now gone, either destroyed in the fall or disappeared under the sea. In many ways the world has grown darker, yet the people are more complacent. Glofindel’s story would now be a story of old, seen as a myth or legend passed down to the younger generation rather than recorded history . He would be thrown right back into the part of life that most elves come to these halls to heal from and forget. It could be dangerous for his mental stability and condition of his fëa.
As the Valar went back and forth between themselves over this soul in their possession, two stood off to the side, neither interjecting into the conversation. It was the Valar’s job to guide the elves. Manwë, the leader of the group, wanted to hear everyone’s input in this matter since they were so divided in opinions. “What about you, Nessa?” Manwë questioned. “I would be very interested in hearing your feelings on the matter.” Nessa hummed noncommittally. Of all the Valar, she was the lowest rank. Her vote held the least amount of weight and frankly she doubted that one elf could turn the tide in a war they seemed to eternally be fighting, or against the underlings of their fallen Vala. What she had to say probably didn’t matter much when the majority already seemed to oppose the idea being presented. Not that the idea wasn’t in and of itself a good one, just that it could be a threat and danger to the fëa before them. Then if that elf lost control or fell into darkness… an even greater threat to Middle Earth and the already dwindling population of elves.
“Please Nessy,” Tulkas her husband encouraged. We do value your opinion, sometimes you are able to offer a perspective to help us better understand.
“Yes Ness, it is not just your feet that are swift, your mind works swiftly too,” her brother Orome encouraged. Share with us what it is that you are thinking up.
Nessa sighed. “I have no great plan to tell you,” she began, “but I was thinking. We haven’t even asked the poor soul what he wants, if he is resistant to return to Middle Earth, it would be more dangerous to push this task upon him, he may sway toward bitterness at the Valar who returned him. Or,” Nessa continued, “He may be eager to return to Middle Earth to accomplish some great task. Whether he would choose to return for pure intentioned reasons or his own personal vendetta would then be up for us to discern. If we do let him go it cannot be with darkness in his heart. He can have doubts. He can even be angry about the past, all the friends and family he lost, but he can’t let that taint his heart and his demeanor. But I think the decision should be left up to him. Does he want to return? Is he even willing to return? Or does he want to continue his rest? It was well earned and we should not be bitter if he continues his slumber, even the eldar can only be pushed so far before they reach their limits. So why don't you ask the elf? Why are we making these decisions for him? I think it’s all up to what he wants and can handle.” With that Nessa was done. She exited the room not wanting to hear the others arguing over her idea. She may not be able to shine as bright as some of her fellow Valar, but she only wished to bring good into this world, therefore she gave her council with the utmost of sincerity. She need not defend it, even against Ulmo who loved a good argument or debate and would sometimes stir the pot just to create one. Manwë would make the best decision, in his infinite wisdom, Nessa had no doubt in that.
“Insightful as always,” Manwë murmured as the other Valar nodded in agreement. “I just wish you were a bit more confident in your judgement, for you are always challenging us to think more clearly,” he spoke at the now empty wall, Nessa already having vacated the chamber, and probably the Halls themselves. The Halls of Mandos were never her favorite place. It made her too full of sorrow to see all the suffering souls and lives ended far too early, residing there. Although most would gain a chance at a reincorporated life again, they still had to live through so much hardship and suffering and then lose so much time to healing in the halls themselves. She much preferred to dance amongst the eldar in Valinor, during the nighttime festivals and boisterous celebrations rather than mourning in the Halls. It was all a part of the cycle, but Nessa could not imagine not dancing. Not being able to move her body swiftly and conveying her message and meaning through movement, method and momentum. She was the happiest and freest when she was whirling about and she herself would not want to be locked in a healing slumber for centuries if not ages upon end, recovering. While a part of her may heal and recuperate, the largest part of her that loved the rhythm and flow of the dance would surely wither in those Halls. If something ever happened to her, she would have to bribe Irmo to at least sneak her from the halls occasionally to dance in the dream gardens of Lórien. That didn’t sound too bad, it was definitely one of the most lovely places to visit in Valinor.
And so, after Nessa’s ingenious suggestion, with the assistance of Námo, the elven fëa was brought out of its hazy slumber. Still unused to the floating sensation and having no limbs or body to balance, the soul tumbled about a bit before gaining some steadiness, with assistance from Námo. As Manwë looked deep into the fëa shining brightly before him, he could see that while good progress had been made, more was needed for the elf to fully heal. That being said, many of the internal wounds and injuries to his spirit had healed nicely, while others were a good distance of the way there as well. Unfortunately, his corporeal body he would return to would still reflect most of the wounds that Glorfindel died with. Elves healed from the inside out. Healing had to happen in the fëa, gûr a hûn before his outside hröa could be healed. Estë would close and heal the worst of the damage to the best of her ability, but even she had her limitations. There would be scars. Burns, blazing whip marks, deep cuts and scattered bruises littered the elf’s body. Estë would heal him so that the injuries would not much affect his ability to move and fight with them, however, in appearance, they would be quite obvious and unable to be hidden. He needed more time under Námo’s long term rejuvenating slumber to heal those, as their physical manifestation would be the last to go.
Glorfindel began to awake fully for the first time since his death, the memory of which was still hazy for the moment. He simply knew that he was dead, but not the who, what, where,when, why or even how of the event. ‘‘Twas probably in battle,” Glorfindel hypothesized in his head. He had always assumed that was how he would meet his end, while holding a sword. He had been born and raised for skirmishing and fighting. Given his heritage and his substantial physique, he was never really given a choice. He was pushed into training at a young age and developed into one of the most talented warriors Arda had ever known. Slowly, as more time passed, more and more memories returned. Manwë continued to study the glowing soul. He could tell that yes, the returning memories brought with them a range of emotions from sadness and grief, to anger and fury at the fallen Vala for the destruction he wrought. There were even touches of happiness and joyful memories that floated to the surface and overtook some of the darker, more shadowy memories. What Manwë didn’t find was madness. No unabsolvabe hatred and wrath. No unquenchable blood thirst for revenge. The want for vengeance yes, but not so badly that he would destroy the world or other's even on his side for it. While not fully healed, Manwë felt that the elf was ready enough and stable enough to be returned to this world of chaos, steadfast enough not to change in the heart of who he was deep inside. He signaled to the other Valar that the elf was, indeed, healed enough to be returned. He was gradually brought out of the healing slumber back into the harsh reality of the physical world, embodied once again. His body felt the same except for the fact that he felt like he had been stampeded by a herd of oliphaunts and then stomped on by a group of orcs. But he supposed being returned to his body post battle would do that to an elf. At least he didn’t feel like the time when Ecthelion beat him to a pulp over a small prank gone wrong. Or during the Nírnaeth Arnoediad, when he had been unhorsed and knocked unconscious. Ecthelion was there to save him then. Little did he know
Estë had been pumping him full of her healing energy to keep the worst of his pain at bay and to seal any mortal physical wounds.
Over the course of the next several days while Estë healed him, the Vala explained everything that had been happening in Middle Earth while Glorfindel had been sleeping. Glorfindel also spent time tracking and training with Orome and Tulkas to rebuild his strength and skill as well. More and more of Middle Earth was being swallowed up by Morgoth’s dark forces and while Morgoth had been defeated and thrown to the void, most of Beleriand sunk beneath the sea and Melkor’s foul will lived on in his lieutenant, Sauron. Glorfindel was pained to hear that not had his city been destroyed that fateful day that he died, but it sank just a few years later beneath the sea after the War of Wrath. When he tried to enquire about family and friends that were still alive and in Middle Earth, he was not provided an answer. He was told if he so chose to return he may run across certain elves from his past, whereas others he would not see until he returned to Valinor. But he couldn’t taint his choice to return by knowing who remained in Middle Earth. He couldn’t make a choice based off of who remained alone. He had to choose to return to Middle Earth to help its people as a whole, forgoing selfish or personal endeavors and reasoning for the time being. He knew Turgon and Ecthelion resided in the Halls of Mandos now. But what of Idril, Tuor and their elfling? Did Erestor make it out? He swore he saw all four on the cliffside. What about Galion? A lot had happened in Middle Earth the past millennia, and he no longer had the protection of Melian in Doriath. Did he survive the great war against Morgoth? What about Sauron’s slow invasion of Middle Earth that continued to this day? He would never know unless they crossed paths again or he heard word of his beloved when he returned. Who knew? Galion may very well have moved on after his death. They had only known each other a handful of years and now he had been gone for thousands. He’d do well not to get his hopes up. Plus, once returned he could not just carefreely lay about with his beloved even if they did reunite. He would have a purpose and a duty to fulfill, one he must hold above all else. What really scared Glorfindel was what if no one was left. Not one familiar face. Turgon’s long and noble line snuffed out. Many elves from his time, if they had survived in Middle Earth this long, heard the call of the sea and chose to sail for Valinor at some point. He didn’t know what he would do if there was no one left. He was a strong and capable elf, but always a very sociable elf. The continued loss might break his heart enough to send him back to Mandos whether he wanted to return or not. For now he could not worry about that though, only focus on healing his physical body and taking in the ever changing history of the land he once called home.
After being healed to the best of Estës abilities and being informed about the happenings in Middle Earth for
just over the past millennia (he could hardly believe he had been gone over a whole millennia), he was now offered three choices. The first was to return to the healing slumber in the Halls of Mandos, with no consequences to himself and be re-embodied at a later time in Valinor once he had fully healed. His second choice was to remain re-embodied in Valinor as he was and watch over Middle Earth with the Valar through Vairë’s weavings and other methods of seeing to Middle Earth, returning only if needed in the case of a seeming insurmountable obstacle or challenge that lay ahead. His final choice would be to return to Middle Earth immediately, where he would stay until they were able to drive out Sauron’s dark forces. Once the dark forces were driven away it was Glorfindel’s choice what he would want to do. He could remain in Middle Earth or travel back to Valinor and either live as he was or continue back to Mandos to complete his healing, that is if he survived another confrontation with the dark forces. Glorfindel chose the latter choice. He held fondness for Middle Earth and its people in his heart. He also had some faith that there was at least one person left that he was familiar with in Middle Earth. He’d even take cranky old Thranduil or Oropher.
And so Glorfindel, noble Vanyar and Noldor elf from Valinor, once great Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, and fallen hero of old was now returned. He was re-embodied, readied the best he could be in the short amount of time the Valar had to prepare him and returned by sea to Middle Earth, accompanied by two mysterious blue cloaked Istari. They would turn out to be a huge support to Glorfindel in his voyage over the seas back to Middle Earth. It was not until his return journey came that he caught a glimpse of his true reflection in the deep blue sea. The Valar had warned him. They had used a glamour before to cover the worst of the scars and damage, it was difficult to look at. The glamour, however, could not be sustained once he sailed so far away from the Blessed Lands. That was a misstep on the Valar’s part. Vána thought it might ease the shock and help his adaptation if they covered some of the scars, however, it only delayed the inevitable reveal once it faded completely as he sailed away. What he saw reflected back at him in those crystal clear waters was not the beautiful, strong and graceful elf of old. It wasn’t the elf that had elleth, ellon, men, women and even dwarves swooning over him left and right. This wasn’t the same charismatic elf that could charm the pants off anyone he so desired. This was nobody he recognized. This was... It was… a monster.
Translations
Elleth: female elf
Ellon: male elf
Ellyn: male elves
Ellyth: female elves
Fëa: soul
Gûr: mind
Hannon le: thank you
Hröa: body
Hûn: heart
Mellon nin: my friend
Ohtar: name meaning warrior/protector
Peredhil: half-elf
Chapter 2: Coming to Terms With Life
Summary:
Glorfindel has returned with Middle Earth. He struggles with adjusting to the body he was returned in and makes an unlikely friend along the way. Everyone has a reaction when they meet Glorfindel, Glorfindel can only hope others keep the worst of their opinions to themselves.
Chapter Text
Mithlond & Eregion
C. 1600 S.A.
A monster. That’s all he could think, for several long minutes as he stared at the scarred and grotesquely twisted image reflected back at him. Was this how the first orcs were created? With whips and fire and torture upon torture? Because all Glorfindel could see, at that moment, was a creature moreso resembling an orc than an elf. His skin was thick in sections and patchy in color, riddled with scars and burns. His beautiful hair was ragged and ripped, uneven and hopelessly tangled, even missing in small patches on several spots of his tender head. Upon closer inspection, he found the whole of his body suffering similarly. There were scars from the neverending lashes from the balrog’s fiery whip, the edges melting into his skin from the demonic fire wrought forth from that devil that had dragged him to his death. His deeper injuries, those internally and his shattered bones from the fall, had all been healed. He could move fairly well with relatively little pain, however, externally, he still bore every mark that foul creature of Morgoth gave to him. Miraculously he still had his full vision, for the scar that spanned across his face and up into his hairline had left his right eyelid a twisted mess, slit halfway up and shriveled in on itself, pulling tightly, leaving a wrinkled up, scarred mess. When he closed his eyes, that right one did not close fully. He would have to wear a mask to sleep at night. No part of his body was left untouched. From the top of his ears to the tips of his toes, scars, long and short, slender and wide, jagged and surgically precise, littered his body. More of his skin suffered from the aftermath of the burns than remained clear, now all mottled and melted and covered in swirls of pinks, reds and browns from the different stages of healing. His skin felt so very tight in places and he was constantly having to move to loosen up the thickened and scarred layers that had been a result of the mending wounds. Every place he looked he found a new mark, a new scar, a new blemish that stained his once pristine, unsullied complexion.
It was no wonder the Valar had created a glamour while he was in their presence in Valinor. Was his appearance even too much for the all powerful ones? Glorfindel’s fists clenched as he began to grit his teeth. They were asking a lot of him to return and this is how they sent him? And they couldn’t even be bothered to “suffer” with his visage in their presence. No, they covered it until he was too far gone to return. Glorfindel could feel a deep and bubbling anger rising from within. Was he such a cheap toy for them? An easy sacrifice? Why was his healing disturbed, just to be returned to such a disfigured body and into a darkening world being overcome with evil and malintent. Is this what his deeds in life earned him? What did he do to deserve this perdition? Everything seemed so ugly. He was ugly. This world was turning ugly. There were so many ugly and foul creatures. He was shaking with the injustice of it all. As he stared and stared at himself, falling deeper into the horror of his reflection, he was eventually brought out of the dazed trance he had frozen into, by a gentle touch on his shoulder. That small touch led the spiraling elf to blink and finally break eye contact with his daunting and hideous reflection, coming back to himself.
“Ah, that’s better,” one of the elf’s blue cloaked companions sighed gently, with a smile. “I thought I had lost you there for a moment.”
Glorfindel turned back in from the edge of the boat and hung his head. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he whispered, his voice giving way into a small choked off sob at the end.
“Oh, nonsense mellon nin. The journey has just begun,” the second Istari interjected. There is much to be seen. Much to be done. It is far too soon to abandon all hope yet.”
“Aye. You don’t look to be the sort to have ever given up on anything a day in your life. Why start now in your next?” The first blue Istari added.
“I just… I don’t…” Glorfindel began, struggling to find the words to say. “What if I fail again?”
“Fail?” Questioned the second Istari. “When have you ever failed at something of such importance in your life?”
“I fell. I died.” Glorfindel responded immediately, as if it were the simplest answer to any question ever posed.
“And yet you took the Balrog with you. You saved the remenants of your city. It was not nearly enough elves who made it out alive, but you protected those that did. It could have been a complete annihilation that day, however, you managed to save some very important elves. You sacrificed you life for that of many others.. Twas a noble and brave death. Meaningful. Not a failure in any way.” The second responded.
“Hmm…,” Glorfindel hummed, thinking about what the two Istari had to say, neither agreeing with or disputing their statements and praise. He had much to consider. He realized he let his anger overcome him earlier. The darkness really did try to sneak in through any crack. He didn’t really think the Valar had ill intent when they concealed his true appearance in Valinor. He knew they didn’t hide away the burns and the scars for their own comfort, though they were hard to look at, but in the shock of the moment of seeing himself reflected in the waters of the sea to Middle Earth, he found his emotions becoming overwhelming and irrational. He would have a lot of work to do on his return, not only fighting for Middle Earth, but also in readjusting himself to this “new” old body and the world that had advanced and changed for a whole millennia and a half, while he slumbered. He would have to accept that many things would be different and would have to keep an open mind and open heart with his fellow elves, even those that may abuse him for his appearance or treat him differently.
As they sailed, Glorfindel sipped some tea and chatted with the two Istaris, who were accompanying him to Middle Earth. They helped to soothe some of his worries and anxieties about returning. They were kind and patient with him, despite owing him nothing. They counseled and comforted him during difficult and emotional moments and provided companionship for the rest of the journey. Despite his marred appearance making him want to avoid others, and the risk of their harsh tongues and commentary on his disfigurement, he was also just the same sociable elf on the inside as he always was. The one who easily made friends and revelled in the company of others. They were a good source of information, helping catch Glorfindel up to some of the details about the Second Age that the Valar hadn’t provided him with earlier. They also seemed to enjoy a good tidbit of gossip, especially about the love lives of the elves. Apparently, Gil-galad, now High King of the Noldor, refused to marry, and instead, had a “long time arrangement” as the Istari called it, with his Herald. Said Herald is who Glorfindel was supposed to report to when he reached the shores of Middle Earth. Why he was reporting to a Herald of the King of all people, he did not understand at first. The more he spoke with the two Istari, however, the more excited he became to arrive in Middle Earth. The Valar would not tell him who remained from his past, but he did learn from the Istari that Erestor had survived the fall and was currently working under Gil-Galad and his herald Elrond, whom Erestor had followed and served since his birth. And he finally found out why this Elrond was so important. Important enough for Glorfindel to report to. Important enough for Erestor to follow since he was a babe. Elrond was born alongside his gwanûr Elros, in the Haven’s of Sirion, years after the fall of The Hidden City, where his grandparents, Tuor and Idril and their son, Eärendil, fled to after the siege. There, Eärendil married a descendent of Elu Thingol of all elves, her name was Elwing. Together she and Eärendil had Elrond and his gwanûr Elros. He was the great grandson of Turgon and great great grandson to Thingol.
Throughout the long journey over the sea, the two Istari helped to keep Glorfindel distracted from the bodily reminders of his last fight and fall. When he did catch a glimpse of himself and became anxious or agitated, they poured calming energy into him, not quite as potent, but reminiscent of Námo’s soothing energy in the Halls. He could not stand to purposefully look at himself. All mirrors were turned around on themselves and he avoided the edges of the vessel, where he may catch a glimpse of his reflection in the sea. Each time he saw himself, it took him by shock and surprise at first, and then made him very melancholy. Glorfindel never thought himself a vain elf, but maybe now he thinks he was. At least a bit. Yes, he did use his beauty and his charms in his past life to help him in situations when a little persuasion was necessary, but he never flaunted or arrogantly boasted his winsome appearance. He also never put other elves down for their own appearances, whether they were just average looking, or had something that made them look different or unique from what was considered the standard of elven beauty and perfection. He truly valued what was on the inside of a person. He had met some elves and men with fairly plain appearance, mayhap, some may even say their appearance was off putting, but their personality and character made them beautiful people. Their kindness, wisdom, and compassion for others far outshone any kind of superficial beauty one could possess. Likewise, he had known beautiful, even ethereal looking elves and men who had dull personalities, or worse, had a rotten and corrupted character. When beauty was one’ s only possession, they soon became boring. And he had seen plenty of beautiful elves do horrible things. Fëanor and his sons were considered remarkably handsome, however, as they swore their oath, their souls became more and more darkened as time passed and they became difficult, unpleasant, and fearsome to be around. Some started to be taken by madness, others consumed with malice and wrath. Others became gaunt as they focused on nothing but the hunt for the Silmarils, including forgetting to eat. Once beautiful elves were made ugly by their actions and their choices. Glorfindel knew one’s character could never be determined by their appearance, but now, only too late, realized maybe he had tied too much of his identity up in his previously exceptional appearance. Now that he didn’t have that, what would others think of him? Would they still value him? Would he still be considered of worth? Would any remaining family and friends reject him or rejoice in his return, as scarred as he was? He was actually quite scared to know the answer to that last question.
Despite Glorfindel knowing that beauty does not in itself make a good elf, he still could not help but mourn the loss of his handsome visage. He had gotten so used to his appearance and the benefits and attention it brought him in life. He was scared as to what life would be like now, when he returned scarred and twisted. Elves valued beauty and aesthetics greatly, and Glorfindel had no illusions about how difficult his present self was to look at. He always thought he had great mental fortitude, but could he work through all the whispers, gossip, rumors and even dirty looks that he was certain were to come, if not from all, at least from some. And he couldn’t even blame them. Despite his best intentions, he probably would have stared, at least for a moment, when laying eyes on an elf as mutilated as he. It was hard not to look and notice, and for some crueler elves, it was harder still not to snicker or gossip about what exactly they thought about the “poor, unfortunate, elf,” they had seen. You didn’t see elves around often with mementos of their injuries like Glorfindel had. Elves that survived such wounds would usually either fade to Mandos or sail to Valinor, where they could heal their bodies and spirits rather than remaining, crippled and scarred, to be picked apart or pitied by their fellow elves. This was Glorfindel’s fear too. He could handle the whispers from strangers. He didn’t need to be lauded as a hero of old. Backsided comments from the young and ignorant didn’t bother him, all elves needed to learn grace and humility and manners sometime, and elves couldn’t be perfect all of the time. What would really hurt, though, is rejection or distance or even blatant disregard from those he once knew and was close with or those he respected. That is what would truly cripple his heart. And he wasn’t certain everyone would accept him. He’s sure he’d get plenty telling him to go back to Valinor to heal, despite the fact Glorfindel had returned to aid them, in Middle Earth. But for now, he could only wait and see and hope for the best, or at least a somewhat warm welcome he could get upon reaching the shores across the sea once again. At least he could be grateful for a ship this time so that he did not have to cross the Helcaraxë on foot again. Then again, according to what the Valar and Istari told him, most of Beleriand and parts of the Helcaraxë were now buried deep beneath the sea. It made him sad to think his old city was lost forever after the War of Wrath that split the land and seas and changed the whole shape of Arda from what it had been. Not that he would have the time or availability to visit the once great and now fallen city of Gondolin even if it still stood. Maybe it was best that his city lay inaccessible under the seat. Glorfindel was being returned for a specific duty, not to explore Second Age Middle Earth. Plus, would he be able to handle seeing his city in shambles, only crushed remnants remaining. That would weigh heavily on his heart to see all those crumpled reminders of his past.
There was one specific thing, or rather elf, that Glorfindel kept avoiding thinking deeply about. It wasn’t that he didn't want to think of this elf. This was probably one of the elves that was on his mind the most. He was just unsure. Uncertain. Glorfindel didn’t even know if Galion remained in Middle Earth, traveled to Valinor or even if he somehow found himself in the Halls of Mandos at some point during Glorfindel’s own stay. If Galion was on Middle Earth where was he? He had fled Doriath just before Gondolin’s fall and was wandering Beleriand with a group of Doriath refugees led by Orapher the last he knew. The Istari mentioned a realm of Wood-elves led by a Sindarin King and his son. That sounded like it could be Oropher and his group from Doriath. Galion, if still alive and on Middle Earth, most certainly would have followed them. Then again, a lot could happen over the course of a millennia or two. Good and bad. No matter where he was at, Glorfindel hoped, at least, that life was treating him well. Did Galion even remember Glorfindel? They had known each other for two short decades before Glorfindel’s untimely demise. They had seen each other for only one visit that Glorfindel had made to the hidden wood at the end of its years. They had communicated through letters and messages regularly after that up until his death, but now, the span of Galion’s entire life in Doriath had passed 15 times over. Nearly 1700 years later, would Galion know who he was if they met in passing, the disfigurement making a cruel mockery of his once renowned beauty? Did Galion even care for him still, romantically? He may very well have met someone else, married or even started a family in Glorfindel’s absence. It really wouldn’t have been fair to ask him to wait for Glorfindel. That would be asking him to put a part of his life on hold for thousands of years for someone he had spent only a quarter of a single year's time with in person. Glorfindel would try his best to be happy for Galion if he had moved on. It is what they agreed to in the beginning of their long distance relationship, unsure if they could withstand the test of time and distance that spanned between them. While it had been nearly 1,700 years for Galion, to Glorfindel, it had been just the other day when he was back in Middle Earth, exchanging letters with the alluring Wood Elf. Had Galion changed at all in those years? He certainly would have. Glorfindel had. Even if by some small chance Galion had waited for him, what would he think? Seeing Glorfindel covered in the scars and burns of his last battle. Would he turn his head in disgust? Look down on him in pity? Turn, even, and walk away. Even if he had the time and knowledge of where exactly Galion was, Glorfindel doubted he had the courage to face the ellon. He was too scared of the rejection. Too scared of what the one ellon he had ever truly loved would think. It would break his heart if he were to be discarded because of the state that his physical body was returned in. He felt like he would be too cowardly to even face the other elf. He had to shield his fragile heart; it had taken a number of significant blows recently with the return of all his memories to an unhealed body. Oh how far the noble and brave Glorfidnel had fallen. Once not afraid to face anyone or anything, including a Balrog, he was spending his days cowering away in a boat fretting over the future.
Glorfindel took a deep breath in, held it, and released it. He repeated this pattern over and over until he felt himself calm, another trick taught to him by the wise Istiri. He could only confront this new life step by step. Each new stride would bring him closer to his goals. He vowed to do his best for Middle Earth so that when his time finally truly came, he could rest and recover peacefully knowing he had given his all. He would face each problem as it came and strengthen his body, spirit and mind. He could do this. So many were counting on him. He would not let them down.
After a long journey across the sea, the small group finally reached Middle Earth, arriving at the shores of the Grey Havens just after dusk. There, Círdan welcomed the small group and discreetly rushed them away to a set of rooms in his great house to rest. There were plenty of inns and places for travelers to stay in the port city, however, Círdan wanted to make their special guests feel as at home as possible. While Glorfindel and Círdan had never met before in Glorfindel’s past life, Círdan was good friends with Turgon and the two elves wrote back and forth often. He knew much of Glorfindel from Turgon’s letters, and Glorfindel knew much of the same about Círdan through Turgon’s ramblings. When Glorfindel introduced himself on the shores of Mithlond, under the dimly glowing moonlight, he immediately became an honored guest. When Glorfindel lowered his hood once inside, and Círdan caught sight of what had become of the once glorious golden elf, his eyes widened momentarily with shock before his features were schooled and he went about as normal. Glorfindel would have to get used to the reactions. This was the best possible type of reaction that he could hope to get. Anyone would react with a moment of shock to see the physical reminder of all the grievous injuries Glorfindel had received spattered across his beautiful face and body. Despite the scarring and burn marks, the twisted and misshapen skin, the missing patches of eyebrows and hair, Círdan was certain this was Glorfindel. He could see the light of the two trees glowing fervently in his eyes. It may have been a little dampened compared to their blazing blue ferocity in the past, but emotions often reflect through one’s eyes. Glorfindel was still trying to cope with feelings of inadequacy, insecurity and uncertainty since his return. The two Istari excused themselves to their rooms and left the two elves of old on their own to chat. Círdan had felt this coming. He didn’t know what exactly, until now, but he sensed a powerful shift not long back. He was a wise and ancient elf, older even than Glorfindel who was born in the Year of the Trees in Valinor. It was rumored that Círdan may have even been one of the elves of Cuiviénen. That or a next generation descendent. For his sacrifice of remaining in Middle Earth for so long, at the command of the Valar, and for maintaining the ports and ships that provided elven passageway from Middle Earth to Valinor, Cìrdan had been gifted with great wisdom and exceptional foresight. He knew this elf that arrived on his doorstep would help shape the future of Middle Earth some day. He did think it cruel of the Valar to return the poor elf so scarred, but then again, maybe even that was yet to serve some purpose. Círdan could care less about the appearance of the other. He himself was a strange looking elf with his graying hair and beard. Most elves did not grow facial hair, nor much body hair, except that on their head, unless they were peredhil. Elves also did not age like men did, often retaining their youthful beauty for years upon end. Silver-graying hair and a beard were rare sights on an elf, but they strangely seemed to fit Círdan well. He looked distinguished and unique while still maintaining all of his elven grace and beauty. He was still spry with energy and youth and could outwork most elves or men on the docks. He often became restless and took to sailing the open seas along the shoreline of Middle Earth from time to time, where he met a great variety of the free people of Middle Earth. He was one of the most open minded and accepting of elves, especially to other races, such as dwarves, hobbits, and men. Yes, he often did shove the Noldor that sailed West into the tiniest, most cramped rooms on their ship. And maybe he served them the leftovers and bland foods the other elves passed by on during their meals. But he considered that welcoming behavior after their actions over the past two and a half ages and the Kinslayings that much of Círdan’s close family and friends suffered through. He would not deny their passage unless the Valar forbid it. Círdan knew he was not the one responsible to judge those elves over their past sins and woes. But he didn’t have to make it an easy or delightful experience for all. Even with his vast amount of knowledge and experience, a wise elf like Círdan could build some resentments or a distaste for certain groups. But he did not judge. He would follow his duty until the day he himself was allowed entrance into Valinor.
Right now, Círdan felt the call of his duty was to welcome this returned elf back to Middle Earth and help him readjust to the ever changing world in the little time they would have together. Perhaps Círdan would have some wisdom or knowledge to share to make Glorfindel’s transition easier. Or maybe not. Maybe he could just be a comfort and sounding board for Glorfindel to vent to when he inevitably became frustrated with his situation and heavy duty, and the state of their people and ever growing darkness in the world. All had rejoiced when Morgoth was thrown to the void, however, evil still seemed to sprout in every corner even the most barren of fields. All he knew with certainty, with that feeling that came from deep inside, was that Glorfindel was a very important elf that would be sorely needed to accomplish some very important things for Middle Earth if the free people wished to stave off Sauron now and thrive, not simply just survive. The two elves talked long into the night, Círdan lending Glorfindel his best council and encouraged the elf to have a great fortitude of spirit and mind to meet the challenge of the days to come that he would face. He pledged his support to the returned elf and encouraged Glorfindel to keep in contact with him and let him know if he was ever in need, even if just for a listening ear or a sparring partner to vent some anger and energy with. Glorfidnel felt a good measure of comfort with Círdan. He was open, accepting and encouraging. Not everyone he would meet from here on out would be so. Still, he had to take his first steps into this world. He had to immerse himself in this duty he had pledged himself to, so he readied himself the best he could for the unknown to come.
Círdan offered them room, board, food and supplies, for as long as they needed. If Glorfindel wanted to spend some time in the seaside city in order to adjust to being in Middle Earth again, and adapt to the reactions of others when they saw his melted and lacerated face, Círdan would gladly welcome him as a guest of honor for however long Glorfindel needed or wanted to remain in their city. In all truth, Círdan was happy to have Glorfindel’s presence. Not only was he good company, who remembered the days of old, but he was also mighty and strong and offered a sense of safety, security and protection to their ports and city. He seemed to be returned with an enhanced power and wisdom, perhaps gifts from the Valar, or possibly an effect of spending so much time in close quarters with the Blessed One’s before his journey over. Although Glorfindel rarely bared his face in public, those that did see him dared not say anything disparaging or disrespectful, at least not so that either ancient elf could hear. None wanted to face Círdan’s wrath if he found them gossiping about the returned elf’s appearance or his past life and death. Worst yet would it be for those that disrespected the visiting Elf Lord directly to his face or with obvious intent of maliciousness, cruelty or ignorant behavior. For the most part, though, Glorfindel was welcomed back with open arms and celebrated as a hero by the residents of the seaside city. While some found it difficult to look him in the face or maintain eye contact, they still did their best to be courteous, inviting and helpful to him. It was, all in all, an actually pleasant stay. Most of the time.
The fourth morning of his stay at Círdan’s home was found to be a challenging one for Glorfindel. Up early, before most elves, Glorfindel headed to the bathing chambers, his usual hood down, not expecting to run into anyone. As he turned a corner, he came face to face with a little elfling, she could have been no more than 7 years old and looked to be one of the house staff’s many children that wandered the estate freely or attended lessons as their parents worked. As soon as she saw Gorfindel she shrieked and yelled, “Orc!” And ran crying down the hallway. He could hear her cries as she escaped further away from his monstrous visage. She was crying for her mother and yelling about orcs and monsters and beasts. Glorfindel sighed sadly. She was just a child and hadn’t been intentionally mean, she was just scared. He understood why she would be, but it still stung quite a bit to be called names such as “orc,” and “monster,” and “beast of Sauron” when all he wanted to do was protect the people from those creatures. He had died and gained this disfigured appearance trying to protect other people. That didn’t make a great start to his day. Then later as he walked the paths of the garden he approached a group of elves, several young adult elves, just past their majority, a few older elves and a handful of elflings. Normally he would steer away but there was only one path and it would be seen as rude if he just turned around and walked away. His hood was up on his cloak, but in the midday sun his face would still be, at least, partially visible. He just hoped he would not scare anymore elflings today. Trying to walk quickly by, he was soon stopped by an impertinent youth who blocked his path. Glorfindel could have easily pushed by the ellon or shoved the elf out of the way, but he was not like that. If he were a mean spirited and vengeful elf he could have beheaded every adult elf there before even one could have thought to draw their sword if he wanted to. Luckily he did not want that, not at all. He would never do that to his fellow elves, no matter how they taunted him. Glorfindel was still as kind and gentle an elf as ever. The young elf began to taunt him, calling him cruel names and pointing out all the horrifying details of his wretched and mangled appearance. He suggested Glorfindel go back to Valinor, lest he scare all the city's guests and visitors away or attract other foul looking beasts inside. He then implied that maybe the Valar could not stand the sight of the disfigured elf in their presence and that was why Glorfindel was sent back to Middle Earth. He questioned if the returned elf was really even the noble Lord of the Golden Flower, he looked lower than the impoverished mannish street beggars in the next settlement over, not some high ranking Lord. As this impertinent ellon went on and on, the other elves just stood around watching the interaction, none joining in but none interjecting either. None could meet Glorfindel’s eyes. Glorfindel tried to ignore the vicious elf and just walk past, but the taunting elf would not relent. Glorfindel did not know what had happened in this elf’s life to make him such a cruel and mean spirited elf, but he could brush off the hurts dealt toward himself. He knew his appearance stirred up a lot of feelings in other elves from pity to disgust to anger. It certainly stirred up his feelings about himself. What he would not tolerate, however, was the abuse of others. A young elleth finally reached out to touch the ranting elf gently to try and calm him from his overblown tirade. It was more so for the young elf’s sake than to protect Glorfindel that she attempted to stop him. Everyone knew Círdan would be furious if he caught wind of this and that Glorfidnel was a fearsome warrior in and of himself if his anger was stirred far enough. The raging ellon simply shook the elleth off of himself and knocked her to the ground. He then began shouting at her to stay out of the situation. Just as Glorfindel was about to step between the mad ellon and elleth laying on the ground one small voice rang out. Glorfindel had intended to step in. Others could abuse him all they wanted. He would take their insults. If they needed a punching bag or a stand in to bully for their misguided emotions, he would act as such. What he would not stand for was the abuse of others. He would not watch elves push fellow elves around, degrade each other and put one another down. Too much bad had happened because elves had abused other elves, he would not allow it in his presence. Whether it was a noble bullying a lower class servant. A guard harassing a passerby. Young elves letting their ignorance run away with their tongue. Or simply two elves bullying each other to try and feel better about their own shortcomings or status. Before he could take a step forward or chastise the angry ellon however a small voice did so for him.
“Enough Ciryatan,” a little voice rang out, an elfling of under twelve, covered in the dust and dirt of his day’s play upon his wrinkled clothing and in his long, tangled, silver hair. “What is your problem?” The elfling shouted and marched directly up to Ciryatan. Glorfidnel readied himself to step in if the situation went awry. “You used to be a good elf. I admired you! Ever since your brother’s death, you are bitter and mean and cruel. Look at you. Pushing Ëalótë to the ground like that. She’s about the only one left with any patience for you. And Lord Glorfindel! Not only is he a noble and high ranking elf, he is a hero of old! He has saved and protected so many people. He has done so many great deeds. He is the greatest warrior there ever was, with no one to compare to him today! He could have you thrown in the stocks or even executed, just like that,” the elfling said with a snap of his fingers, “yet he probably won’t even say a thing to Lord Círdan about this.”
“Well that’s because he…” the older elf began arguing back, but the elfling gave him no quarter.
“It is NOT because he is cowardly, or pathetic or whatever gross name you will think of calling him again. It is because he is KIND. I can see it in his eyes. He is a kind elf that wants to protect others and rid this world of darkness. After already sacrificing his life once for others,” the elfling panted, growing more and more heated as he continued. “And you, who have done nothing of worth in your life, dare disrespect and disparage him straight to his face? And all of you,” he continued, pointing around at the crowd, “just stand there and let him do it. Then also whisper behind Glorfindel’s back in a move even more cowardly than Ciryatan, that his scars are disgusting? And grotesque. Well guess what? YOU all are the ones that are grotesque and ugly… on the inside! What happened to make your hearts start turning so sour and rotten. Maybe you all should go back to Valinor and plead for forgiveness for the horrible things you say and do behind the backs of others and the secret shame you carry in your own spirit…” The elfling’s chest was heaving with exertion from the intensity of the scolding he was giving his fellow elves, grown and elfling alike, and a tear or two slipped down his cheeks in sorrow for the way his fellow elves could treat a kind and powerful hero such as Glorfindel, over a few scars, earned in saving others.
Glorfindel felt himself almost tearing up. Out of everybody, the first person to stand up for him publicly was one small elfling. It made the rest of his previously bad day better. He understood his appearance was not easy to accept, but he also did not appreciate the whispers, rumors and names that were discussed about him behind his back. This elfling was right, he just wanted to protect the people of Middle Earth and fulfill his sworn duty. He couldn’t change his appearance and just as he would have to learn to live with it, so would others. Oh how he wished they could. This small little elfling began to give him hope that acceptance somewhere would be possible. Glorfindel gently approached the elfling, kneeling down and pulling out his handkerchief, wiping the freshly fallen tears from the young one’s face. “Thank you my little ‘Ohtar,’” Glorfindel smiled crookedly at the young one. “I do believe that is quite enough for now, though. You have given them much to think about. Thank you for defending my honor,” Glorfindel spoke quietly and gently to the young elf. With that, Glorfindel rose, taking the silver haired elfling’s hand in his own. “Come, let us go. I do believe it is about time for tea and Círdan always serves a delicious platter full of sweets to go with our drink. We ancient elves are rather fond of our sweet treats after all, keeps us from turning bitter like Morgoth,” Glorfindel shared, acting like he was giving away a deep, guarded secret, then looked down at the elfling and gave him a cheeky wink. Well, the best wink he could manage with his damaged eye. The elfling did not seem put off or disturbed by facing him directly at all, he simply giggled and excitedly wiggled as the pair made their way back to the entrance of Círdan’s inner sitting room.
“I do suppose if Morgoth were a candy, he would taste like a vinegar chew rather than the sweet apple cider cubes Miríella makes,” the elfling giggled, continuing the silly conversation with the marginally cheered up returned elf.
“I don’t know,” Glorfindel pondered, exaggeratedly rubbing his chin as if deep in contemplation. The two, who were the first to arrive, took a seat on one of the comfortable, cushy sofas and chairs that surrounded an intricately crafted low rise table in the center of the room, covered in an assortment of treats and tea leaves. “I think you’re giving him too much credit. Even vinegar can taste good sometimes, when added to certain foods. He’d me more like making chocolate from the mud scraped from the bottom of an orc’s boots after a hike through the slums of Mount Gundabad. That statement made the elfling giggle loudly. He found that especially funny.
“What is your given name my little Ohtar?”
“I am called Lindir,” the elfling replied. “Lindir of the Oaks.”
“Lindir of the Oaks?” Glorfindel questioned the unique name.
“Yes. That is what Círdan called me after he found me. I was very young, alone, and did not know my own name. He said I was just sitting calmly, humming an old lullaby from Valinor, sitting in a grove of Oak trees. So he called me Lindir which means song man. Lindir of the Oaks.
“Well Lindir of the Oaks, that’s a very lovely name indeed.” Glorfindel said. The after a moment of silence he added, “Good thing he didn’t find you in a pile of mud. You’re name may have been Lindir of the Muck!” This caused the elfling to begin giggling madly again.
“Or, or, what if he found me sleeping with the pigs in the stable to stay warm.” He continued “I’d be Lindir of the Piglets.”
“Or if you appeared in a basket of dirty wash,” Glorfidnel postulated. “You could be know as Linir of the Stinky Socks.”
This is how Círdan found the two, minutes later. Imagining all manner of silly situations and giggling madly at their increasingly exaggerated imaginations. He simply raised a questioning eyebrow up at Glorfindel and poured himself a cup of tea as the three enjoyed a nice little snack together. It had actually turned into one of his best afternoons since he had been sent back. He was quite fond of this little elfling that had so bravely stood up for him. He later came to learn through a private conversation with Círdan, Lindir had been an orphaned elfling found in the forests outside of Mithlond. A group of guards, with Círdan along for inspections, were patrolling the pathways outside of the city and came across a group of elves that had been slaughtered by a roving band of orcs. They thought all were lost until they could hear a bewitching melody coming from within the forest. There, in a grove of Oaks, was a beautiful little elfling, humming and singing to the birds. His pale skin and silver white hair sparkled in the sunlight. His eyes were an extraordinary pale blue color, rivaling that of a summer's day sky rather than the typical gray like most from this area. For such a young Elfling, barely able to walk or speak, he hummed beautifully, a lovely tune Círdan remembered being taught to him by a Vanya elf from Valinor long ago. The elfling didn’t seem distressed and cried very little after the guards brought him back to the city for his protection. He must have been hidden away from the orcs in a last ditch effort to save the elfling, his family slaughtered while he waited for their return. They saved any belongings they could gather from the massacred family, however, the orcs had picked most everything dry. They ended up with a few tokens and keepsakes, which would be given to Lindir when he was older, but nothing to indicate the names of any members of the party or possibly related elves to contact. And so, Círdan took the little one into his house for now. He was currently working with Elrond to send the young elf over to Eregion, where they had an amazing program for aspiring minstrel’s and other elves who were talented with music, storytelling, and theatrics. That was all right up Lindir’s ally. While the household would miss the cheerful little elf, it was for the best of his future. He loved music and plays and dreamed of performing one day. Elrond could arrange him an education and training to ensure his success.
Suddenly Círdan was struck with inspiration. While Glorfindel had been working more and more to get himself out and about amongst other elves, it still was difficult for him. He chose to be alone, quite often. Glorfindel could hear the whispers and feel the stares. They made him want to isolate. There were only four individuals he managed to fully relax around and feel comfortable with. The two Istari, who would be leaving the Havens the next day, Círdan himself, and the elfling Lindir. Glorfindel was rather fond off the vibrant and protective elfling. And Lindir, he followed Glorfindel around everywhere that he could, like an excited little puppy dog. Until someone disrespected the returned elf, then he turned into a guard dog in an instant. It was quite humorous to see such a small elfling, usually one full of smiles and soft words, put grown elves in their place and shame them for their disappointing behavior. Elrond and Erestor would have a fun time with that one. The elfling might turn out to be one of the few who were able to give Erestor a run for his money. On the morning of the sixth day, he called Glorfindel and little Lindir into his office for a meeting. Both seemed confused as to the situation. Why were they being summoned?
“Lindir,” Círdan began.”Do you recall how Elrond works as herald to King Gil-galad?”
“Yes my Lord,” Lindir replied politely, actually very well mannered in the appropriate situations.
“Well, I was thinking. Glorfidnel could use a herald as well. He needs someone with a strong will, brave, courageous and not afraid to speak his mind, while yet knowing when to sit back and listen. Someone who could give him good counsel and protect him from those that would bring darkness against him. He needs an elf that would be a loyal companion to stay by his side and help him adjust to this new age.” As Círdan was speaking, Lindir was practically vibrating in his seat. He had to sit on his hands lest he start fidgeting or flapping them with excitement and anticipation. Círdan continued, “You don’t happen to know anybody who would be up for the job would you? Any suggestions?”
Barely able to contain his excitement, Lindir finally burst out, “Me! It’s me!” Pointing to himself excitedly. “I can be his herald. I will do a good job, I promise. I won’t let one person make Glorfindel feel bad about himself or his return and I will help protect him and answer any questions he has about this new age. I’m really smart! I’m even in advanced lessons and everything.” Lindir boldly proclaimed. He sat, waiting for for Círdan’s final decision, wiggling back and forth, no matter how hard he tried not to, in his seat. He really was an adorable and easy to love elfling.
“Hmmm… I don’t know. You’re a little young,” Círdan teasingly pondered. “I was thinking maybe Cemendur?”
“What!?” Lindir squeaked out, practically shouting in surprise. “I mean, Cemendur is a perfectly pleasant elf but…” Lindir hesitated, not wanting to say anything out of turn or disparaging about the elf, while still speaking the truth.
“But what?” Questioned Círdan, raising an inquisitive eyebrow, more than curious to hear what Lindir had to stay. Cemendur was a loyal and friendly elf who Lindir really did like, if not a bit timid.
“Well it’s just that… I don’t really see how Cemendur could follow Glorfindel to Eregion. He is scared of his own shadow. I doubt he could cross the city border,” Lindir iterated, as politely as he could. “What about this? Since you’re sending me to Eregion anyway, why not send me along when Glorfindel goes, like a trial run or something? I promise to work my very hardest and won’t disappoint you?” Lindir’s eyes gleamed, full of hope and excitement.
Círdan let out a deep belly laugh at the young one’s response. He was trying to keep an impartial and straight face but couldn’t any longer. “Okay young one, you have me convinced,” Círdan proclaimed. “I now declare you, Lindir of the Oaks, as Herald in training to Glorfindel.”
During this whole back and forth, Glorfindel was watching in stunned disbelief. When Círdan named Lindir, an elfling, for Eru’s sake, Glorfindel’s herald, Glorfindel began to speak up to argue. It wasn’ that Glorfindel didn’t like Lindir or even didn’t want the elfling around him. But acting as his “herald” or assistant? That meant they would travel together. The territory outside of the elven realms was quite dangerous and overrun in places with Sauron’s evil minions. He was worried about having to be responsible for an elfling on top of everything else he had to figure out. Elflings liked him and he had played around and trained plenty in the past, but to be the full time caretaker and responsible for such a young, fragile life? He had no experience or even idea of where to start. Círdan proclaimed Lindir a “herald” but Glorfindel knew he would have to be doing much of the “care taking” in their relationship. He wasn’t sure he was ready to take on an elfling; a life so pure, innocent and malleable. What if he shaped the young one into something or someone he would not or should not have become, all because of the battle filled path Glorfindel had chosen to take. What if the young one ends up grievously injured, or even worse yet, killed. It would be all his responsibility. He was about to argue, when Círdan shot him a look that questioned if he really wanted to protest the appointment. The more Glorfindel thought about it, crazily, the better the offer seemed, until he finally conceded to himself and decided to take the elfling along with him. As a trial. That was it he told himself. He had escorted and protected whole parties of elves under much more dangerous circumstances across Middle Earth. He could escort one elfling, who was at the least, dedicated to his service, on an extended journey to Eregion, couldn’t he? Silly as it may sound, even though he was but an elfling, Lindir was one of his first true friends upon his return. So instead of arguing, Glorfindel declared, “I Glorfindel, former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, do accept thee Lindir as my herald in training.” Forgetting his manners momentarily, Lindir let out a whoop of joy upon the declaration, flinging his arms as far as he could in a big hug around the larger elf. They were off to be on an adventure.
Although Círdan had offered him quarter indefinitely and Glorfindel still felt his many insecurities at being returned amongst other living and whole, beautiful elves, he knew he would have to move out, eventually. He might as well get to it. He needed to set a plan in motion and fulfill his duty he swore to serve with the Valar. So, only one fortnight after Glorfindel had reached the shores of Middle Earth, he found himself making his way down a path toward Eregion, going to meet the High King of Noldor and this herald of his, Elrond, that he had heard so much about. Between Lindir’s chattering and his discussions with Círdan, Glorfindel had been filled in on some of the details he had missed while in death, leading up to the present day time in the Second Age. He was just happy to know that Turgon’s line survived and was thriving with the Peredhil serving as second to the High King. He rejoiced that the Lady Idril and Tuor and little Eärendil made it out of the city safely during the siege. He only regretted not being able to see them one last time. Or meeting Elros, twin brother of Elrond, who chose a mortal path for his life after ruling Númenor for many centuries. Word had it that Gil-galad was training Elrond to take over as king in his stead, years down the line. Such mighty destinies for Elves of such a noble line. Elrond was also descended from Thingol’s line, further enriching his heritage, having been birthed by Elwing, great granddaughter of Thingol and the Istari Melian. It was too bad she had to fly away with the Silmaril, he would have liked to say hello to her again. They were never close, but he had met and spoke with the young elleth in Doriath on the few occasions he visited. She was a very kind hearted and compassionate elf. He hoped her son would take after her in that. It also made him think of Galion. As quickly as the thought papped in his head, he pushed it back. No. Now was not the time to be distracted by that. The other elf probably barely remembers him by now. He was so young when they met, only a few decades past his majority. Now he had lived through ages, over a millennia. There were a lot of memories and experiences between then and now, at least for the one that survived.
For the next few weeks, Glorfindel and Lindir traveled side by side to Eregion. It was a great distance away and would take them some time to arrive. Glorfindel could have made the trip faster, however, he did have an elfling, his “herald in training” along for the trip. He did not mind. There was no immediate rush to get there, except maybe for the squirming, fuzzy, sensation that Glorfindel got in the pit of his stomach when he thought about possibly being reunited with friends and colleagues of old. Not many were left in Mithlond, most that were there had sailed, but Eregion was a popular settlement for many of the survivors and refugees from the catastrophes of the first age, including the Ruin of Doriath and Fall of Gondolin. He had heard his dear friend, Erestor’s, name on several occasions in reference to Gil-Galad and Elrond. He seemed to be sticking to his business of advising the great kings of their time, such as he did in Gondolin. If only Turgon had listened better to the wise, young, (at that time) elf. Maybe if there were more exits from the city there would have been more survivors to escape. Thank goodness Idril agreed to his plan for the secret tunnel, lest no one would have made it out alive and Glorfindel would have fallen regardless, to some other foul creature within the city borders. He had already been on his last leg of stamina when he fought that vicious fire demon that dragged him down. So the two ventured on, down a long and winding path. Along the way, Glorfindel endeavored to teach Lindir some things. He didn’t find it necessary to school the elfling on all of the intricacies of “heraldry,” for he wasn’t sure even if the title would stick long enough to set in place and he would not be the one to stop the youngling from choosing his own path later in life. Instead, he began teaching Lindir what he thought were the necessities. They hunted together and trained. Glorfindel taught the elfling all he needed to know about survival on the road and traveling. He learned to gather wood, flint a fire, construct a temporary shelter, cook with one pot, track deer and many more useful life skills on the trip. Glorfindel taught Lindir the basics of the bow and sword, but where the elfling really excelled was with long knives. Everyday, after the two drank. their morning tea from the supplies afforded to them from Círdan, the two would meditate together and then train, for the world outside of the elven cities was a dangerous place. Lindir was a dedicated pupil, never giving up despite how tired or frustrated he became.
Along the way, Glorfindel carved a simple flute for the elfling. Lindir was always singing or humming some tune, many of which he made up himself, but his talent really shone through when he got his hands on an instrument. It was just a simple, crudely carved flute. Ecthelion had taught, or at least tried to teach, Glorfindel how to craft both simple and more intricately carved woodwinds, as he was a master flautist back in Gondolin. Glorfindel had gotten the gist of the idea and managed a passable imitation of Ecthelion’s creations, at least for an elfling. The sounds that the young one brought forth from such a basic tool were breathtaking and soothing. Lindir definitely had an affinity for music and the talent to match. Their days were never quiet again, unless it was intentional, like for safety or hunting. Lindir filled the quiet and passed the time with his beautiful melodies; singing and playing his treasured flute. In all the years to come, he would grow to own many an intricate and delicately crafted, exorbitantly priced flute, as well as other instruments, but his favorite and most treasured would always be that first one he ever received, crafted for him with love, by hand while on the road. It had been gifted by the ellon Lindir looked up to and admired the most in this world, Glorfindel. Glorfidnel could not teach Lindir much about music, he had neither the talent or knowledge, but he did relay stories of the minstrels and loremasters of Gondolin to the aspiring elfling. Lindir’s favorites included the ones about Lucidil’s propensity for sneaking inappropriate lyrics into the songs she crafted and performed during serious ceremonies and events. Lindir also soaked up the few stories Glorfindel had of Daeron, the greatest minstrel and loremaster said to have lived in Middle Earth. Glorfindel encountered the famous singer on his earlier visits to Doriath, before Thingol began to grow in his paranoia and shut visitors out. He wished he had more stories to tell the young one of the great musicians and storytellers of old, but he had only heard the ellon sing or speak a handful of times. Hopefully, wherever he ended up, he was able to find a love that was returned, finally. That had been his greatest downfall, loving Lúthien despite her love for another. A mortal. Glorfindel had no issues about Lindir becoming a minstrel and loremaster, it was obvious that it was meant to be for the young one. He simply hoped Lindir faced a better fate than some of the greater performers from Middle Earth did. Minstrels seemed to lead drama fueled lives that ended tragically, just as some of the best stories do. Daeron and Maglor were famous due to their musical abilities. They were talented lyricists and musicians, moving far beyond their peers and even the masters in music and storytelling. Unfortunately, each suffered a life full of discord and discontent and faced futures that were unknown, but likely bleak and full of empty wandering. Daeron wandered into the East, lamenting his betrayal of the one he loved. One that always drew him in and asked for his attention, but would never love him back. Maglor let the Silmaril and his oath drive him to the brink of madness, until he was left wandering the coasts of the sea he had tossed the last Silmaril into, doomed to wander with nothing but his songs for company. It is unknown to this day whether he still wanders those shores, singing his songs of sorrow, repentance, and better days gone by, or if he has long faded from this physical realm. Regardless of the matter, Glorfindel hoped for a brighter future for his aspiring pupil. Hopefully Lindir could nurture and develop his craft in the elven capital of Eregion, without falling to a tragic or dramatic fate that such performers all too often seemed to succumb to. But things were different. Glorfindel was here. He would do his best to free Middle Earth from Sauron’s grasp and make it a hospitable, safe and welcoming place for all the free people of Middle Earth, little songbird elflings included. And so they carried on. Travelling, hunting, singing, training, talking, and making their way to Eregion. Along the way, Lindir shared all his knowledge of the Second Age with Glorfindel, which was considerable given his youth. The two carried on in their own little bubble. It was kind of nice, being isolated just the two of them. But Glorfindel knew he would inevitably have to face other elves again, so he did not bother to put off his arrival, as much as he wanted to just stay where he was indefinitely. Nearly two months after the pair left Mithlond, granted they had taken their time, they arrived in Eregion during the early afternoon of a warm and breezy Summer’s day.
Glorfindel took in the great city. It was so different from the city he resided in more than a millennia ago. There were guards and gates, but the residents were free to come and go as they pleased. As the two approached the main gate into the city they were stopped at the main gate. The guard was hesitant about letting them pass, especially when catching a glimpse of Glorfindel’s face under his hood. Glorfindel then handed over an official letter and document, stamped with Círdan’s seal. It declares the two as not only emissaries from the ancient Mariner elf, but emissaries from the Valar themselves. The guards looked beside themselves as to what to do. An emissary of the Valar? Was this a jest, sent from the old elf. He was known for his mischievous ways. But no, the two at their doors seemed wholly serious. With the guards at a loss for what to do, as they had never received such a document, Glorfindel suggested someone get Elrond and Erestor to come greet them, and he would deliver the message he was sent to bring. The guards escorted Glorfindel to the inner court, where they waited outside for another to retrieve Elrond and Erestor, who luckily were not in any important meetings that day, just looking after their regular duties. Passing elves whispered about the two mysterious elves that had shown up, waiting to speak with Elrond. One wore a cloak that hid his face from view, the other was a young elfling with long, beautiful silver hair. Who could they be?
Several minutes later, Elrond approached the courtyard, followed by a familiar face that had Glorfindel frozen on the spot, transported back almost 1700 years. They had only been told a pair of strange elves from Círdan had arrived, also claiming to be sent from the Valar. Elrond began introducing himself and Erestor despite the fact that the grown ellon had not removed his head covering as etiquette commanded, but soon did a double take and questioned, “Lindir?”
“Yes my Lord,” the young elf stated, bowing lowly to the elves in front of him. He was dedicated to seeing his newly assigned duties through with professionalism and had been practicing introductions with Glorfindel during their travel to the realm.
“What is the meaning of this, young Lindir?” Elrond demanded. He didn’t realize that Erestor was being strangely silent beside him. Usually Erestor would have the naughty elfling by the tip of his pointed ear, scolding him for his insolence before Elrond could get a word out. Now his advisor was standing stiff and frozen, his pallor fading and hands starting to shake. He couldn’t see the elf under the hood and cloak, but he could sense something all too familiar about the statuesque ellon. The poor elf’s ears started ringing and he could barely manage to catch what Elrond was saying. The periphery of his vision was going dark. “Well, Lindir? What is this? You do know it is a grave trespass to invoke the Valar’s name without permission…” Elrond continued, thinking Lindir was up to his mischievous ways that he learned from Círdan.
Initially they had agreed that Glorfindel would introduce himself to Elrond, but it looked to him as if Glorfindel was frozen. That was his cue. The young elf loudly cleared his throat, putting a stop to Elrond’s little lecture. He took a measured step forward and bowed, repeating what he had practiced and practiced. “I would like to introduce,” he began, gesturing with two hands, palms up at the elf beside him, “Glorfindel, former Lord of Gondolin, House of the Golden Flower, now returned at the behest of the Valar. At your service,” he finished, stepping back. Glorfindel had broken out of his stupor right about the time his name was announced and had flipped his hood back, revealing his badly scarred face. As soon as Lindir had pronounced, “At your service,” the smaller elf beside Elrond dropped to the ground in a dead faint, before Elrond had even noticed anything was awry or could break his fall. Both Elrond and Glorfindel rushed to the fallen elf’s side, who was crumpled in a limp heap upon the ground, Glorfindel’s introduction had not gone to plan at all.
Translations
Elleth: female elf
Ellon: male elf
Ellyn: male elves
Ellyth: female elves
Fëa: soul
Gûr: mind
Hannon le: thank you
Hröa: body
Hûn: heart
Mellon nin: my friend
Ohtar: name meaning warrior/protector
Peredhil: half-elf
Chapter 3: Finding a Home Again
Summary:
Glorfindel’s arrival in Eregion is a surprise for many, especially for Erestor who has a rough first day of the Golden Lord’s return. Friends and found family surround Glorfindel to help support him in his return, his duty and his recovery from his wounds not yet healed. With a growing new found purpose, as well as friends willing to do whatever it takes to help him, Glorfindel may have found a new place he could consider home.
Erestor and Lindir unspokenly compete to see who can be the best guard dog for their beloved Glorfindel. But it is not that much of a true competition, as they both encourage and cheer one another on in their guarding endeavors.
Glorfindel comes to doubt he and Erestor’s “parenting” skills and Lindir just does what Lindir wants, and gets away with it. Was Glorfindel that much a menace with his “charms” when he was younger?
Chapter Text
Eregion c. 1600 S.A.-1700 S.A.
Imladris c. 1695 S.A.-1850 S.A.
When Erestor crumpled to the ground, Glorfindel’s stomach dropped. A mix of guilt and shame bubbled low in his abdomen. His appearance really was that repulsive. So much so that it caused one of his closest friends from the past to collapse. He certainly wasn’t swooning over Glorfindel’s charms and good looks. He hadn’t been the type to in the past, forget about now. Both Glorfindel and Elrond rushed to the unconscious elf’s side. Lindir hung back, unsure of what he should do and greatly affected himself at seeing the Advisor drop so suddenly. Glorfindel scooped the limp elf into his arms as Elrond barked commands at the guards and Lindir to run ahead and ready the healers as he led the way to the Healing Halls, Glorfindel carried a knocked out Erestor in tow. There were so many elves that had gathered around to watch the commotion. He had not even thought to put his hood up in the chaos. There were so many stares and whispers as they rushed inside. Who was this disfigured elf carrying their King’s Advisor? Glorfindel hung his head as they sped along, doing his best to hide away from the thousand prying eyes that were focused on him.
Glorfindel had intended to drop the insentient elf off to the healers and run away and hide. He just had to ruin everything. He was so looking forward to seeing his old friend again. Instead, he had frightened him into unconsciousness. He could not make a quick escape, however. As soon as Erestor was placed on a bed in a healing chamber, Elrond began barking more orders. Situate him this way. Raise his legs. Wet this rag with cold water and wipe the immobilized elf’s pallid face. Glorfindel was kept there, by Erestor’s side, as Elrond took charge like a master healer would. He began preparing some foul looking concoction, all a brackish green in color and bubbling. He also grabbed a piece of cotton and splashed an odorous liquid on it. It was a strong smell that made Glorfindel’s eyes water, even from a distance. It was almost like vinegar but a hundred times more potent. Elrond approached the slumbering elf and wafted the sharply scented cloth under his nose. Instantaneously, Erestor’s eyes flung open and he sprang up into a sitting position. Pushing the bitter smelling cloth away he glanced in confusion about the room, until his eyes landed upon the face of the returned elf. Immediately Erestor’s face paled once more, his hands beginning to shake again. A single tear streaked its way down the usually stoic elf’s cheek.
“Goheno nin mellon nin,” Glorfindel apologized, sadly, staring to turn toward the door. “I should lea…” he began but was interrupted by a rather strong tug on his cloak from an elf who was seconds ago unconscious.
“Where are you going?” Erestor rasped, his throat a bit scratchy from the smelly fumes he had inhaled a few moments ago. “Please don’t go,” he pleaded with the golden haired elf, twisting his fisted grip on Glorfindel’s outer garment. “Don’t leave me again.” With that Erestor yanked the larger elf back toward him and caught the startled elf in his arms, embracing Glorfindel and not letting go of for several long minutes. The two elves simply clung to one another as if they were each a lifeline for the other. Tear’s silently made their way down the darker elf’s face.
“Goheno nin,” Glorfindel apologized again, speaking the sentiment into the soft and silky midnight colored hair of the Advisor. Hair that had somehow remained pin straight and immaculately styled despite the whole fainting ordeal earlier.
Erestor pulled back and looked at the returned elf with a face full of confusion. “Why do you keep apologizing mellon nin? You have nothing to apologize for,” he choked out on a distressed sob.
Glorfindel turned his face away in shame and hung his head, avoiding eye contact with his friend of old or anyone in the room. Letting out a humorless huff, he replied, “This…this… this… monstrosity!” he exclaimed, gesturing towards his face. I caused you such a fright you fai… OOF!?” Before he could finish he was met with a fist being driven into his stomach.
“Stupid, blond oaf,” Erestor muttered. “You always could be a bit dense about things.” Glorfindel rubbed his abdomen where he was hit. Erestor was stronger than he remembered. He looked stronger too. Last he knew Erestor, he was a scrawny, bookish type elf that could not seem to keep any amount of muscle on his thin frame. Now he felt solid in Glorfindel’s arms. He was still nowhere near the height or width of the muscular, golden haired elf, but he had definitely grown and matured these past many years. Erestor pulled the larger elf to him once again. He took the returned elves face in his hands ever so gently and softly traced the scars and puckered skin that covered his face. “I didn’t faint because of your scars or because I thought you a… ‘monster,’” Erestor said with distaste and wrinkling his nose at that nasty descriptor.“I fainted because I was so overcome with a hundred different feelings upon realizing it was really you who stood before me. Mostly disbelief and joy, that you had returned to us.” Erestor gave Glorfindel a little shake, continuing,” Do you know how many nights I prayed to the Valar for your healing and return. I knew it was impossible. Elves don’t return to Middle Earth. But it didn’t mean that I still didn’t want you here. I’ve missed you every single day for the past 1,687 years.” Of course Erestor remembered exactly how many years it had been.
“It feels like yesterday to me,” Glorfindel whispered, unthinkingly, the words just slipping out. Erestor gave him a soft look, filled with sorrow and warmth while squeezing his hand. Glorfindel hated pity, but this didn’t seem to be quite that. Almost an understanding of how Glorfindel must be feeling. The dark hair Advisor had been a part of that horrific day after all.
As he traced the hills and valleys of the marks left on Glorfindel’s face with gentle fingertips, he asked Glorfindel, with a sad expression on his face, “Does it hurt?”
“No, do not worry,” he tried to reassure his friend, although the tears in his friends eyes did not assure him he was doing a very good job. “I can feel some tightness and pulling, and if they are pressed or pulled at too harshly, I can feel the tingles of sensitivity and pain, but they look much worse than they feel. I was asleep in Mandos Halls through the most painful parts of the healing.
“But why!” Erestor cried. “Why did they return you this way? It is like you are being punished. And for what? Dying so bravely? Sacrificing yourself? Why didn’t they let you heal!?” Erestor was becoming visibly upset. The scars on his friend's face bothered him very much. Not that the way Glorfindel looked would make him care for the returned elf any less, he just found it cruel. He could look past it, but most others wouldn’t. Erestor knew there would be whispers and gossip and people looking at his dear friend with horror. There would be those that made insensitive remarks. And Glorfindel himself would have to struggle with coming to terms with his returned state himself. He had always been a tall, strong and beautiful elf, one of the most beautiful in their fallen city. Whether he realized it or not, he used his beauty for a lot of things and it afforded him some privileges that others did not always get in the past. His appearance was very much tied into his identity, even if he didn’t realize how much so. He knew his friend would have a difficult time reconciling with this physical restoration. It didn’t seem fair to Erestor, after the noble and righteous life that his dear friend lived and the self-sacrificing and courageous deeds he performed that day that saved many others and led to his own death. Why was he not afforded the blessing that the other elves who had passed were. He deserved his full rest, rejuvenation and recovery so he could come back whole. Why would they pull him out of the Halls before he had fully healed?
Glorfindel understood that Erestor was so upset because he was concerned for his well being. If it were the other way around, if Erestor fell and then was returned, but with his healing incomplete, Glorfindel probably would have been angry too. It would upset him to see his own friend struggling and suffering, when he should either be resting and healing or returned fully rejuvenated. He tried to explain to Erestor why he had to be returned before his physical body was fully ready. That the Valar felt they had no choice with as quickly as the darkness was spreading in Middle Earth. That eventually he would have his chance to fully restore. Erestor still remained grumpy about it and pouted that the “almighty Valar,” should have been able to do more in regards to the returned elf’s physical healing. Glorfindel insisted they did what they could and they had healed some pretty grievous wounds internally. And at least he didn’t feel much pain, aside from some pulling and sensitivity on the worst of the scars. They just didn’t have time for the superficial parts, and he was willing to wait. He reminded Erestor he was given choices, and he chose to fulfill this duty.
Erestor still didn’t seem very pleased with how everything went down, but begrudgingly accepted it. He vowed to stay by Glorfindel’s side and help him to adjust during these difficult times. A second later he was grumbling, “I can’t believe you thought I fainted because you have a few scars. Don’t forget I had to live with your ugly mug for centuries in Gondolin. No one’s appearance could press me to faint as I did, after years of practice with that.” Glorfindel smiled. This was the Erestor he remembered. The one who would bicker back and forth with Glorfindel and was full of sarcasm and teasing, never afraid to inform Glorfindel of his shortcomings or downplay his “attributes,” all in order to prevent Glorfindel from “having an inflated head.” With some of the tension seeping out of the room, Elrond butted his way in between the two elves, unable to hold himself back any longer from making sure that Erestor was okay and hadn’t hit his head or suffered any other sort of damage in his fall. He then handed over the mug of.. sludge?.. to Erestor. Erestor narrowed his eyes at Glorfindel as if to say, “you’re the reason I have to drink this vile concoction and I will be paying you back.”
After checking Erestor over, Elrond sent him to his chambers for some rest. Erestor tried to argue. His friend was back from the dead. He wanted to know everything. Elrond assured Erestor there would be plenty of time and he would call for him when Gil-galad was ready to meet with them later. Right now he was dealing with the notoriously difficult men who had established settlements near their great Elven city and were always demanding things of the High King without showing him the appropriate respect. He would then need some time after to recuperate (i.e. drink wine and complain to Elrond). After some arguing and glares from Erestor that would make the average elf tremble, he finally conceded to Elrond and went to his room, threatening he would be back in a few hours regardless if anyone sent for him. Glorfindel kind of understood how he felt. He wished he had more time with his friend, but he also was here on a mission from the Valar and he was sure Elrond was eager for some explanations.
Elrond escorted Glorfindel to a sitting room where he had some refreshments brought in. When Glorfindel inquired about Lindir, Elrond assured him he was being set up with a room and that Lindir was actually “touring” the city with a group of elflings who had taken interest in their new, young, visitor, shortly after Erestor had been whisked away. By “touring” Glorfindel assumed Elrond meant running amuck around the city causing all sorts of mischief. He didn’t say anything to Elrond about that though, it would not do to rat out his herald for his mischievous ways. Then again, Elrond seemed familiar with Lindir, if the scolding the young one had started to receive earlier was any indication. Elrond apologized to the newly arrived elf, saying he knew that Glorfindel must be tired from his journey and was looking forward to some time to rest and wash up before he was bombarded with a million questions and approached by a city full of curious elves. Elrond spent a little time asking the expected questions. For what purpose was he sent back? Why was he chosen specifically? Did the Valar have a vision or message to share with the High King? Have the Valar foreseen something the elves of Middle Earth had yet not? What were Glorfindel’s plans for his time in Middle Earth? Would he travel? Remain in Eregion? Take up post somewhere else? Elrond apologized for all the questions, warning Glorfindel he would probably be asked the same ones over and over again. After all, his arrival back from Valinor was a rather unprecedented situation. Elrond made Glorfindel feel comfortable. He would look at him inquisitively from time to time, but gave no comment about or look of disgust over his disfigured appearance. He spent more time checking in on Glorfindel than anything else during their one on one meeting. He checked to see how Glorfindel was feeling, mentally, physically and emotionally. He asked if Glorfindel had any special requests or needs for his stay. Since Glorfindel was planning on staying long term, Elrond would have chambers set up for him in the main house, where many high ranking officials who worked in the palace resided. He would send an assistant to note all his preferences for his accommodations tomorrow while offering their best guest room this evening. Glorfindel tried to insist he needed nothing so intricate or fancy, but Elrond would not hear of it. Elrond was going on about various amenities and services available at the main palace area where they were currently situated, such as the healing halls if he wasn’t feeling well or needed a sleeping potion, private bathing chambers, public libraries, the royal tailor, and many other services and specialties that were available.
As Elrond was speaking, Glorfindel couldn’t help but stare at the Peredhil. He could see pieces of Idril and Tuor in him. He could even see small similarities to Turgon and Elenwë. Elrond definitely radiated a power that must have come from his mother’s line, Glorfindel recognized that power. It was the same energy used by Melian to protect the hidden forest when she resided there. While he did not gain much of Thingol’s height, he did carry an air of authority about him that rivaled those of the great elven kings. He came from powerful lines of elves on both sides, it was no wonder there was talk of Gil-galad passing down his title to the elf who sat before Glorfindel.
Elrond cleared his throat and patted his face politely with his napkin. “Do I have something on my face? A speck of tart perhaps,” he asked, gesturing to his small dessert plate containing a half eaten apple tart.
“What?” Glorfindel asked in confusion, not seen a trace of anything out of place on the elf before him. “Of course not. I do not see anything.”
“Okay, then. It is just that you were looking at me so intently I thought I must have become a bit sloppy,” replied Elrond.
Glorfindel blushed, realizing he had been caught staring. “I apologize my Lord. It is just… I see so much of your ancestors in you. I was very close with those in your father’s line, even held your father on my lap and carried him upon my shoulders quite often in Gondolin, just as I did with Idril before him. They seemed to think me some kind of noble steed when they were elflings. I was not as close with your mother’s line, but I still had met many of your ancestors from Doriath.” Glorfindel began smiling at the memories.
“No worries my dear ellon. Please, call me Elrond. I am not yet a Lord, just a simple herald,” the Peredhil encouraged. Despite what Elrond said, Glorfindel had a feeling that Elrond pulled the strings and had a lot more influence in this capital city and palace than most realized or knew. He could sense the power and wisdom that radiated from this elf before him. “Besides, you are a more renowned Lord in your own right.”
“Not anymore,” Glorfindel said softly. “Anything I was lord of is long gone and buried under the sea. I am simply Glorfindel now. I am not even certain where I will find my next home. I was sent here, but have a peculiar feeling this might not even be where I end up settling permanently. Or maybe I will be left to wander these next dark years across Middle Earth, traveling to wherever my assistance is needed.”
“Hmmm,” Elrond hummed as he contemplated. “I do not see a lonely and nomadic future for you now that you have returned. I encourage you to give it some time and you might find yourself rebuilding a new group of friends and family to support you in your endeavors. Truly. Don’t let these obstacles you were brought facing stop you from also living a fulfilling and happy life. Everyone deserves that. Even you… no especially you. You’ve sacrificed yourself once for your people, and then you come back yet again before your rest was fully rewarded to you to dedicate your life to others once again. Please allow us to help support and encourage you in your task.”
Glorfindel set his tea down and thought for a minute. “You certainly do strike down to the heart of the matter, even if I didn’t directly say anything,” Glorfindel responded. “I am trying my best. It is difficult now, but I am forging forward. I will keep your advice in the forefront of my mind. It may take me some time, but I will endeavor to do my best through the difficult and challenging times to come.”
“That is the spirit!” Elrond cheered. “Now. Tell me more about my family. My father. And his father. And those before him.” Elrond encouraged, changing the subject with a twinkle in his eye. The two discuss Elrond’s paternal family line, stretching as far back to Fingolfin, for hours. Technically Glorfindel had seem and met Finfolfin’s father, Finwë, for Finwë was the most widely known elf, being High King at the time, but Glorfindel had just been a child at that time and only had a handful of rather boring memories. He just remembered listening to long winded speeches and boring dinners filled with the etiquette and rules he found so constraining and tedious as an elfling. And so Glorfindel went on, telling stories of Turgon and Elenwë, Idril and Tuor, Fingolfin and Eärendil. He also even threw in a few stories from his times visiting Doriath, where he had met Thingol, Melian, Lúthien, Beren, Dior and Elwing and other relatives of Elrond. Elrond soaked it all in like a sponge. Glorfindel filled in so many blank pieces of Elrond’s family’s past and in return, Elrond described to Glorfindel all that he had missed. He told of his father Eärendil and his mother, who now found their fate in the skies above Arda. He also told of his brother Elros, his loss still evident in the sadness that lined the younger eld’s eyes. Both elves soaked in the newfound information and stories they told. Glorfindel felt as if Elrond were his own family. Turgon had been like a brother to him. He told stories from the days of he and Turgon’s youth in Valinor, getting into trouble and keeping the otherwise mundane if not outright boring court meetings and councils lively with their tricks and antics. Glorfindel described the struggle to cross to Middle Earth and all the tragedy that had befallen their Noldor group, even if they had split off from the cruel and darkening Fëanorians. He confided in Elrond that Turgon always had doubts about following Fëanor’s group over the sea. Did he really do what was right for the people? Between the Kinslaying, the Helcaraxë, in-fighting between the elves and the dangers of Middle Earth, so many elves had been lost. How many elven hröa lay frozen still in the now partially sunken Helcaraxë. Glorfindel wondered if those souls could feel the cold in Mandos or upon their return. It was a bitterness he could never forget. He described the death of Elenwë, a great grandmother Elrond would never know until Valinor. How Glorfindel felt so inadequate. He had helped Turgon pull Idril out, and helped Turgon himself escape the frozen waters, but despite their best efforts Elenwë was lost. He had vowed to protect Turgon and his family and he failed. Elrond comforted Glorfindel, assuring him that some things could not be helped. All these years later Glorfindel was beginning to understand the inevitability of fate, however he still wished there was more he could have done. Elrond would have loved to meet her, she was a lovely lady. She also was actually related to Glorfindel. They were cousins, both of their mothers being Vanyar elves. While Lady Elenwë was a full Vanyar Elf, Glorfindel’s father was a Noldor noble. Glorfindel shared his happy memories of building the hidden city and becoming Lord of one of its esteemed houses. He told many stories of Turgon and how he changed and grew closed off over the years. He also told stories of Idril and how alike in appearance and manner she was to her mother. How it was Idril’s wisdom in creating the secret tunnel that allowed any to escape the fall. He even had stories of little Eärendil, and how mischievous he could be just as his grandfather was in his youth. For hours the two elves talked of days long gone by and people of the past. Glorfindel greatly enjoyed Elrond's company. He was a kind and compassionate elf, seemingly having inherited all of the finest traits from his ancestors. Glorfindel wished that Galion was there to tell more of Elrond’s mother’s family history. He had lived in Doriath for over a century, before that kingdom fell to the Sons of Fëanor. But no, he was not going to think of that right now. It was too difficult, especially when he had found himself slipping into such pleasant conversation with the half-elf. It was one of the first times Glorfindel was able to forget about his grotesque appearance since he had sailed the seas to Middle Earth. Something about speaking with Elrond soothed the pain away.
It had grown quite late into the evening, both elves having taken a tray together for dinner, forgoing the larger crowds and questioning for now. Glorfindel was escorted to his chambers by a lovely little house elf. While she seemed a bit nervous around him, she still managed to look him in the eyes and she was very kind to the returned elf as she ensured everything was to his satisfaction. He later came to learn she also worked in the Halls of Healing. She was used to seeing some pretty horrific injuries in her time, so she did not feel uncomfortable around the returned elf because of the scars. She was slightly nervous because even if she did not know his name,or his past, she could feel the power emanating from the returned elf. The light of the two trees burned deep in his aqua eyes and his aura radiated strength and wisdom. He had to be an ellon of great importance. Once Glorfindel entered his room he prepared to take a bath and then to slide into his bed. That’s when he noticed them. Despite Lindir being given a smaller set of chambers across the hall and Erestor having his own chambers in the “family wing,” those two elves lay curled in his bed, one on each side. Lindir slept soundly away, while the simple shifting of the air from where Glorfindel had opened the chamber door had brought Erestor from his slumber. The smaller elf crawled out of the massive bed that took up much of the sleeping room. This bed could have fit all three of them, plus Elrond and Gil-Galad and a couple of guards thrown in to top it off. He really didn’t need such luxury, however, felt like he wasn’t going to get away just acting like any ordinary guest or visitor here. Erestor padded over to Glorfindel on quiet feet, looking warm and rumpled from his slumber. He showed the larger elf to the private bathing chambers just down the hall, but did not leave Glorfindel as he expected.
Erestor entered the bathing pool with Glorfindel and began carefully washing the elf’s golden locks, which in all honestly Glorfindel had let turn into somewhat of a tangled mess. His hair was still burnt and damaged at the ends from his fall and wasn’t in its usually healthy and vibrant condition, seemingly glowing golden under the midday sun anymore. Erestor gently untangled his hair and hummed a merry little tune that Glorfindel remembered Ecthelion teaching them long ago. Glorfindel argued that he could do that for himself, but Erestor insisted, saying he missed the days that he, Glorfindel, and Ecthelion, and sometimes even some of the other lords such as Egalmoth or Rog, would relax in a hot, steaming bath together at the end of a particularly hard work week. There they would rinse away the worries of the day, helping to wash one another’s hair, which was a common expression of affection between close friends or couples, just sitting and chatting for a good long while after a long day. At times, Glorfindel and Ecthelion could act as elflings with all their splashing about and playing, which Erestor always pretended to be annoyed at, but it was all in good fun. This reminded Erestor of precious memories from the past, of those closest that he lost. He wanted nothing more than to wash his dear friend's hair and relax and chat in the soothing water like in days of old. This affair did not last too long, however, for Erestor could tell it had been a very long day, nay, few months, for Glorfindel, and he was very tired. He finished with Glorfindel’s hair, braiding it back the best he could to keep it out of the other elf’s face that night. He also washed Glorfindel with a tenderness he knew not that Erestor possessed. He seemed worried about hurting the returned elf, but Glorfindel assured him despite their appearance, the scars and marks did not hurt much anymore. The pain was mostly gone, only their appearance remained. He made sure to soothe every scar, graze his fingers over every burnt patch, not in disgust but as if he were admiring and trying to temper the harshness of the appearance of the wounds. He was telling Glorfindel, without so many words that regardless of how his body was returned, he still carried great love and affection for the returned elf. There was nothing romantic about it, simply the connection between two ellon who had been best friends and the closest of confidants for centuries upon centuries. Erestor had to let Glorfindel know that he never stopped thinking about him and missing him and was happy for his return, no matter what form it was in. Erestor would be there to help guide him through this difficult time.
Once the elves had finished bathing and dried off, they headed back to Glorfindel’s room. There Erestor tucked in the older elf, and Lindir as well. Placing a caring kiss on the crown of Glorfindel’s head, Erestor bid the elf in bed goodnight, saying he was just down the hallway if Glorfindel needed anything, and don't hesitate to ask. Glorfindel had at first thought Erestor was going to try and share his bed, but apparently not. A part of Glorfindel felt a twinge of disappointment,They would speak more tomorrow, and Erestor would introduce him to Eregion. Glorfindel smiled as he found himself quickly falling asleep. He was glad that he had met one close friend of old. Erestor would be a great support and comfort in the difficult years ahead. As he fell further and further into slumber, Lindir rolled over restlessly and cuddled up to Glorfindel, clinging onto the grown ellon in his sleep. He mumbled weakly in his sleep, talking about something Glorfindel couldn’t understand. The two soon found themselves immersed in a land of dreams.
Glorfindel had dreamed since his return. Sleep was never something that eluded him greatly. Some dreams were those of pleasant memories of the past or hopes for his future. Others were sad and frightening memories of his past and fears of what the future might hold. None had been like the nightmares that tormented him that night. That evening he dreamed of fire and flame. He had not seen Ecthelion’s fall, yet in this dream world he was right there to witness every horrible moment. He had not been there when the Tower of Turgon collapsed, yet he watched it fall, taking Turgon with it to the King’s death. He saw innocent ellyth, ellyn and elflings tortured and slaughtered by the foul beasts of Morgoth. So much senseless death and destruction. One after one the great Lords of Gondolin fell. Even the traitors, Maglor and Salgant fell, not being protected, never intending to be protected by the great deceivers that had tempted them to betray their home and people. The residents of the city were running and screaming, looking for a place to escape or shelter to hide. No safe haven was found as dragons, drakes and fire demon balrogs set the city alight. Those too scared to run and be slaughtered by orcs and other beasts found themselves burning to death in the fires that eventually overtook most of the city. Buildings crumbled, indiscriminately crushing friend and foe alike. Glorfindel watches his studious friend attempt to lead a group of survivors to the secret passage, picking up a blood covered sword he had sworn he would never use again, to fight off the beasts attacking from every direction. He was bruised, bloodied and limping, but carrying on. Glorfindel watched as entire companies of soldiers were wiped out by the most fearsome invaders. He could hear the cries and screams for help, or worst yet, death. He could smell the blood in the air. He tasted the soot, smoke and smog that polluted the air from the dark fires consuming the city. Then he was on the mountainside, watching the far too small group of escaped survivors struggling to flee from the fallen city. It was like he was right back at that day. He felt his
limbs tremble with fear. Felt the ground vibrate with every step the massive balrog took toward the escaping elves. Felt the fires that forced him to abandon his armor, lest he roast to death right inside. The roar of this creature struck terror into Glorfindel’s very soul. But he had to fight. If not they all would be vanquished. Panting and trembling from his previous exertions, his stamina and strength all but depleted, Glorfindel gathered the last of his courage and faced the fiery devil. He remembered the excruciating pain from each strike, the increasing fear and terror as he was pushed back with every blow. The relief he felt after he finally dealt the Balrog a death blow. His immediate confusion and regret when he was yanked by his hair to his own death. He was screaming on the way down, his voice immediately silenced as he hit the ground. For a brief moment, he could hear the sounds of his bones being crushed as a flash of blinding pain zapped him into a deep, directionless, darkness. Glorfindel didn’t realize it but he had been screaming and was now being shaken awake by a small group of elves gathered in his room. Lindir had been shouting, trying to wake the older ellon, who seemed to be caught up in a nightmare he could not wake from. A palace servant had run to get Elrond, who grabbed Erestor and ran to Glorfindel’s room. Finally, Glorfindel bolted awake from his sleep, still partially trapped in the nightmare that had surrounded him. Out of pure instinct Glorfindel struck out against the invaders in his room. At that moment he didn’t know where or when he was.
“Ahh,” he heard a cry let out in the dimly lit room, followed by a litany of what sounded to be dwarven curses. When Glorfindel had finally come to himself, he saw Erestor leaning over his bed, blood dripping from his nose. Glorfindel’s eyes widened as he reached out for his friend who reflexively shrunk back a bit, still unsure of Glorfindel’s mental state or wakefulness. Glorfindel pulled his hands back, head hung in shame and remorse. Suddenly the tears came, unbidden.
“I… I… I'm sorry. So sorry Erestor. Please forgive me. No! I don’t deserve forgiveness. ” Glorfindel apologized, over and over again. “Stupid, foolish elf,” he continued, speaking in a harsh whisper to himself, striking himself in the head repeatedly with his own hand. “Stupid, stupid, stupid” he went on, berating himself. “Once again I hurt those whom I love,” he cried. “I was trapped in a nightmare of that day. I was fighting and watching everyone die. Then the Balrog struck out at me, that’s when I was awoken. I just.., I didn’t know…,” he stammered. “I never meant to strike out at you mellon nin. I thought I was back in Gondolin.” Glorfindel was breaking down, breathing heavily and starting to spiral, full of panic and anxiety over what he had dreamed and what had happened. How could he have struck out against his friend in such a manner. How could Elrond or Gil-galad trust him with an army if he could not even trust his own two hands. Elrond and Lindir were trying to calm Glorfindel down, while also stopping Erestor’s nose from bleeding. It looked broken. The once symmetrical line of his slender nose was now bent toward the side starting at the bridge of the nose. Droplets of fresh blood dripped down upon pristine white sheets, painting them with speckles of crimson red. Glorfindel was losing control of himself, he was struggling to breathe. He had to go. Right now. Everything in him was telling him to flee in that moment. Leave before he did anything else. Glorfindel practically flew out from his bed, tripping and stumbling over his blankets , while making his way to the closest door. He burst out of his guest chambers and down a maze of hallways. Finally, he came to a door that led to the outside of the Homely House and flung himself through, to the outside.
Fresh air, flowed around the heaving and sweating elf, cooling his overheated body in the gentle night time breeze. He was panting and dragging in deep lungfuls of fresh air as soon as he made it outside. He seemed to be in some kind of courtyard or garden, surrounded by colorful flowers everywhere. And yellow Celandine. So many of those little golden flowers. Those were the flowers of Glorfindel’s former House. He had always worn his garments and his armor decorated with the vibrant yellow flowers. They were the only flowers to spring up on his cairn when he died in Gondolin, despite him being covered with rock, stone and dry, dusty dirt. He sat down amongst the Celandine, allowing his fingertips to glide along the tops of the small buds, connecting himself with the essence of nature. He could feel the flowers and grass and surrounding trees whispering to him, communicating in their own unique ways. He began to take in deep, measured breaths, trying to remember the rhythm Estë and Nienna had taught him for when his panic and emotions overwhelmed his being, just as he was now. Breathe in slowly. Hold, one…two... Breathe out, slowly, one… two… three. Breathe in. Hold, one… two... Breathe out, one… two… three. Breathe in. Hold, one…two... Breathe out, one… two… three. He repeated that same mantra over and over in his head while he steadied his breathing and connected to the earth around him. Slowly he was able to calm himself. He opened himself back up to reality, allowing the petals guarding his fragile heart and psyche to unfurl. He was back. Steadier. Able to think straight again. Just as Glorfindel was regaining his senses, little Lindir came bounding out the side door in a streak of silver and white. He looked like an ethereal little wood sprite with his thin, long legs, pointed ears, and snowy, pale, complexion. His silver hair hung loose and flowed smoothly behind him as he ran. He was dressed in a light and simple cream colored dressing robe, spun of fine elven threads and silks delicately woven together. He dashed nimbly through the flowers which danced around him as he ran, making him appear to almost glide or float across the grass and wildflowers. He truly did look like a nature spirit, so much so, that Glorfindel mistook him for one momentarily. When he arrived before the larger elf, he threw himself into a huge hug with the larger Lord, grabbing the larger elf and squeezing tightly around his middle. Lindir refused to let go or ease his grip for several minutes. He was barely out of breath despite the fact he had obviously sprinted after Glorfindel. Lindir did his best to soothe the disturbed elf that he had become so very attached to these past several weeks. Once again Glorfindel felt a bit inadequate. He should be caring for and comforting the young elfling in his arms, not the other way around. Once Lindir was sure that Glorfindel was calm and more himself again, he gave the returned elf an update on Erestor, whom he had struck. He had a broken nose, but it was easily set by Elrond and would leave no lasting damage. Also, Erestor was not angry or mad at Glorfindel, just worried if he would be okay, especially after he dashed away. Maybe Lindir hadn’t dashed right after him. How long had he been out there? The light of dusk peeking over the horizon gave him his first clue as to how lost in his panic and meditation he had gotten. Lindir eventually led the older elf inside by the hand, reassuring him that everything was going to be fine. His friend would forgive him. For as silly and energetic as the elfling could be, he also possessed a streak of maturity and independence that would rival that of an elf years past their majority. Glorfindel would have to try harder to be sure little Lindir experienced an actual childhood instead of having to care for him and act like a grown ellon all the time. He wanted the little elf to know he wasn’t on his own anymore. Glorfindel knew more than anyone what miracles and marvels good companions could do for the soul.
Glorfindel once again returned to his bed to find the dark haired elf waiting in it. This time he did not stir when Glorfindel and Lindir slid in. There Glorfindel finally found some peace and rest, between two elves whose companionship and friendship meant more than they would ever know to the returned elf. He could feel himself becoming more whole on the inside, his soul slowly stitching itself back together in the spots that
remained worn and torn. The next day, he arose when Erestor awoke, both elves sleeping far later than they usually would. Elrond would understand and cover for Erestor’s morning duties. Erestor helped the returned elf prepare for the day, showing him the clothes in his size that had been provided and brushing and braiding the long, ragged hair. He did his best to mimic a style of old from Gondolin, one Glorfidnel used to wear on warm summer days. He then went to order the three breakfasts to be delivered to the guest chambers and prepared himself swiftly for the day as Glorfindel woke Lindir. The three elves ate a pleasant breakfast together and the conversation eventually turned pleasant and easy after some of the initial tension and worry dissipated. Erestor hushed him when he was feeling too bad about the accidental nose breaking, opening up to Glorfindel about his own struggles with dreams and memories of the past.
Apparently Erestor struggled for nigh on a millennia with horrible dreams and nightmares about the day their city fell and Glorfindel died. At one point, Elrond thought he might fade, as he was becoming gaunt and exhausted from lack of sleep and lack of nourishment. After a night full of dreams, Erestor could not stomach anything but the blandest of foods, often losing what he ate shortly after. He would work through the entire nights for days and nights on end, with no rest. For many years, whenever Erestor closed his eyes, he saw scenes of death and destruction and it slowly began to drive him mad. He would have violent dreams when he did try to rest, leaving the little sleep he did manage to be not very restorative. During his years after Gondolin, Erestor was forced to train and pick up more battle skills as Middle earth was a dangerous place, especially for fleeing refugees. He once managed to jump upon Elrond, take him to the ground and hold a long knife to his neck, all while still waking from his sleep. From then on Elrond implemented a no weapons in the bedroom policy. Glorfindel thought that seemed like a good idea, but also knew not having his sword near may make him anxious enough to not sleep. Only after years of pushing through the nightmares, drinking Elrond’s restorative (but absolutely vile) potions and counsel with Elrond and other healing elves did Erestor see healing when it came to his memories and sleep. Eventually Erestor settled from his nomadic life when Elrond settled with Gil-galad in Eregion and allowed himself to let other friends and family beyond just Elrond and Elros in. Year after year he found himself getting more and more uninterrupted rest and becoming a healthier elf over all. While he still has the occasional nightmare from time to time, and could find himself lost in horrifying memories, those occasions were fewer and farther apart the more time that passed. Erestor was beginning to feel much more like the elf he once used to be and finally found happiness, companionship and a will to live again. While Glorfindel’s issues might me slightly different, Erestor wanted him to take heart in that he was not alone in his struggles and that things do get better if one is willing to work toward a more positive future. Lindir sat and listened quietly and politely, struck with awe that he was allowed present for such a personal conversation. Usually elflings were told to shoo away at such personal matters, but maybe Erestor could see how much the young one cared for his new “liege,” and wanted to understand him and help the returned one to find the happiness and joy in life once again he deserved . Glorfindel would be facing a long hard fight in the future, he needed something to balance that in his personal life lest the battle lust and violence take over him.
After breakfast, was a long day of showing Glorfindel around the city. Erestor chose to do that himself and Glorfindel kept his hood donned as he walked around the realm. Eventually they met with Elrond and Gil-galad. Gil-galad welcomed the returned elf with gusto. The High King reminded Glorfindel much of Finarfin, who he had met many times in his younger years, Finarfin being brother and uncle to the first two Elf Kings, Fingolfin and Turgon, that Glorfindel had pledged his service and loyalty to. He seemed to possess Finarfin’s steady and logical demeanor, while still carrying a spark of mischief and adventure in him that would often be found in the children of Finarfin and Fingolfin. Gil-galad treated Glorfindel as an honored guest, despite his protests and made sure the returned elf had everything and more to make his stay possible. The group decided together to first help Glorfindel adjust to his return and continue his healing, then to worry about his role in the fight against Sauron. The more whole Glorfindel became and more confidence he felt, the more powerful a foe to the dark Lord he would become. They were elves, they had time. Glorfindel would start off slow, training and serving within the realm before expanding his reach and influence. Gil-galad did not mind sharing the returned elf, but needed to know that he was ready. He couldn’t have Glorfindel being disturbed by nightmares and panic attacks while on guard or on the road traveling, especially with other elves under his command. Glorfindel also had to learn to adjust to the stares and whispers of others. They would always be present for as long as he held his scars. He could learn to not let the words of others bring him down however, and make him feel less worthy. It would also give the people time to adapt to him. Both the scars and his old ways often made him stand out. People couldn’t help but stare, it was hard not to react to suche injuries, but over time the people and Glorfindel became accustomed to his outward appearance and it became normal to most. And Glorfindel learned to brush off the criticism and commentary of the more cruel and bitter elves. He learned that those elves had their own issues and problems that they chose to take out on others, so he tried not to let it bother him the best he could. Every year that passed by that task became easier.
While not hidden, Glorfindel’s identity wasn’t put on full display. Remind you, elves did not just die and return to Middle Earth like he did. When they were returned, it was almost always to Valinor, with very few exceptions, such as Lúthien and Beren’s return. Even that came with its own set of consequences, in mortality to Lúthien. Had she chosen to remain in Valinor, she would have lived on indefinitely as the elves did with her kin. Instead, she was lost to her elven kin forever, going in death to wherever it is that mankind did. Glorfindel’s return and journey across the sea was an event unheard of. Elrond and Gil-Galad, with Erestor in agreement, thought it best to allow Glorfindel to settle for some time in Middle Earth, readjusting to the changing times and his new duties without having to worry about the chatter, gossip and questioning that would inevitably come from others if they knew with certainty his true identity and past, realizing that he was a returned elf of old. Glorfindel’s full identity would be kept a loose secret for now. While he would keep his name, it was changed from the Quenya form to the Sindarin form. So where he had once mainly been referred to as Laurefindil, he would be known and called Glorfindel from here on out. It wasn’t an unfamiliar name to him, as it was a name Glorfidnel had used in the past for himself, especially around his Sindarin kin. There were many other elves that had the same name as he did as well. He had come to find that Laurefindil and therefore its Sindarin counterpart, Glorfindel, had become a very popular name in the Second Age. Many parents wanted to name their elflings after the hero of old. Aside from that, Laurefindil had always been a popular name amongst elflings born with golden colored hair, such as those of the Vanyar, which they were noted for. By keeping a hold on his past and identity, it would hopefully help the returned elf to adjust and adapt to his situation, without having to relive the past and invasiveness of other curious elves more than he had to or was ready to. Yes, rumors were spread and guesses were made, especially amongst the older elves who had come from his time, but he became Eregion’s unspoken secret. There would be a time for his identity to be revealed to all, for him to fully show himself, but for now, Elrond was more concerned about Glorfindel's well being and ability to adjust than anything else.
The fight for Middle Earth was still a ways off, at least the major battles. Glorfindel had time to adjust and adapt and find himself once more. For the time being, he was simply Glorfindel, who came from Mithlond and he did not care to speak much of his “difficult” past. When others saw his scars, most did not push him to speak of it either, realizing he must have had a hard and traumatizing past to not want to speak of if those scars had anything to say. For the next several years, Glorfindel focused on his own personal development, growth, and strengthening himself, working to feel more comfortable and confident in his return. He trained and worked with the Eregion guards, soon taking on leadership positions that would have him become a captain and controlling his own group of guards. He began to work on building new relationships with other elves and he eventually had a small but close group of elves that he had grown at ease around and found companionship with. He was building a new family and new friendships. Many still stared and whispered about his appearance, but few were cruel to him directly. He learned to take any comments or strange looks in stride and Gil-Galad, Elrond, and Erestor let it be known to all that any disparaging comments to or about the scarred elf would not be tolerated, just as they did not tolerate abuse toward any of their residents or visitors, including those that had come for healing and recovery in their famous Healing Halls. The leaders understood all elves would not get along, but they would not tolerate the abuse, harassment and bullying of one another, especially for physical characteristics that couldn’t be helped. Elrond felt especially strong about this. It was his dream to one day have a realm that accepted all sorts of people in all manner of conditions and presentation, where they could feel safe and a part of the community. A place where traditional elven standards, especially those regarding beauty and perfection were not the end all, be all for the elves. It would be a place where elves would be valued for their character, wisdom, and their varied talents, and their unique characteristics would be celebrated rather than denounced or hidden away. It would be a place where people would accept and help one another rather than trying to put others down for the sake of their own elevation. It was a dream that may never fully come to fruition, but Elrond would certainly try. Glorfindel will never forget the day that Erestor drove home how important Glorfindel’s comfort and self acceptance was.
It was a chilly autumn day a few years after Glorfindel’s arrival in Gil-galad’s realm. He had just had lunch with Erestor in his office, as they looked over the military spending budget. Glorfindel was there to offer his wealth of knowledge and experience in what areas could be cut and what places needed bolstering. Previous incompetent leadership had led to ineffective budgeting and staffing issues. That, and he simply enjoyed working in the peace and quiet of his friend’s office. Erestor ran a tight ship and elves knew to be quiet and orderly in his part of the palace, lest they face the wrath of the agitated advisor. Glorfindel had come to learn that Erestor had changed in the time since he had been gone. What once was an elf who lacked any experience with weaponry and fighting and the only strength he gained was from hauling piles of books, was now a finely honed warrior who had fought in wars and skirmishes across Middle Earth. Erestor never wanted to feel as helpless as he did in Gondolin that fateful day and trained himself relentlessly through the years, so that he never would. His cunning with his sharp knives and even sharper words was infamous. Even Gil-Galad was afraid to test the patience of the Noldo, no matter how much he loved his mischief-making and playing pranks on his friends. Erestor was not the one to try. After the midday meal, Erestor needed a few reference books that were on reserve for him in the library. He left briefly to pick up those books as well as to complete a few small errands. Glorfindel remained alone in the advisor’s office, looking over the changes they were considering making in the current guard rotation and scheduling. Hopefully his new plan would bring more efficiency, allowing the current guard, who was sorely overworked, to have more time off and time at home, and to more fairly distribute the rotation and length of duty. Far too long had a higher ranking, select group of elves taken on the best duties, those closest to home and with minimal work. Duties with shorter hours and leave length. Then only to push the slack on the more inexperienced recruits, causing accidents, errors and mis-training. He was deep into the numbers when he heard a knock on the door. Before Glorfindel could even grant permission for the other to enter, an elleth pushed her way inside. When she saw Glorfindel, the finely dressed she-elf scowled and looked around for Erestor. Glorfindel started to say that he had stepped out for a moment, when she suddenly slammed the closed fan in her hand down on the desk, nearly missing Glorfindel’s scarred hand in the process. She demanded the elf not speak to her. She was a noble elf of high status and she would not be spoken to as if an equal with, “an elf like him,” refusing even to acknowledge his quickly growing position in the realm. All she could see was the superficial. She saw the scarred and disfigured elf and thought herself above him, not realizing his true power and position. In fact, she had come to particularly despise this new elf.
For years, this elleth had been chasing after the advisor to Elrond. While Erestor wasn’t a noble himself, he held one of the highest positions in the King’s court. She wanted that position and power for herself and what easier way to attain it than to marry the stern elf that held the highest advisor position, second only to Elrond under the King. Erestor was one of the few elves in the High King’s inner circle and he could bring her in as well. What she had not paid attention to, apparently, was that Glorfindel had made his way into the inner circle as well. Now that Glorfindel had come, Erestor was spending all of his free time with the returned elf instead of her. Whereas she had convinced Erestor to take her to dinner, attend the theater or escort her to festivals in the past (what she didn’t know was it was because Gil-Galad and Elrond basically forced Erestor to, sick of her whining to them and causing trouble when they turned the ambitious elleth down), Erestor no longer had the time or patience available to do so anymore. It was all spent with Glorfindel. She was bound and determined to get the serious elf to court her and make her his wife, however, Glorfindel always seemed to stand in the way. She needed to get this monstrous mockery of an elf out of the way. Little did she know, Erestor could not stand her. He only accompanied her in the past because she held some status and influence that was causing his dear Lord and King a headache. With Glorfindel returned, his time was too consumed with helping the returned elf adjust and fit in and also catching up with his old friend, for 1700 years of missed time. He had no patience left for the nosy elleth. Good riddance, or so he had thought. Now this is all to say, Erestor didn’t have even an inkling of romantic interest in Glorfindel. Sure, he was an attractive and charismatic elf back in the day, maybe even too much so, but Erestor had always considered Glorfindel more of a brother and best friend than a love interest. He often teased the alluring elf about his flirtatious ways and chastised him for using his charm and good looks to get his own way back in Gondolin. Glorfindel was never malicious or deceitful with using his beauty, but he seemed to be able to charm his way into or out of any situation. The elleth invading Erestors office however, knew none of this and seethed with bitterness and jealousy over Glorfindel. He was ruining her carefully laid plans, or at least that was what she thought.
Looking around to see if anyone was nearby or in hearing range, she closed the door to Erestor’s office. Glorfindel frowned, wondering what she was up to. Erestor had told him stories of her relentless pursuit. He had laughed heartily and found it humorous until that moment seeing his friend all frustrated over an irritating elleth as she. They often teased one another about their unwanted admirers. Most elves who admired the ellyn were reasonable and respectful about their approach, but others were a bit more extreme. Immediately, she was in Glorfindel’s space. “Why does an unsightly beast such as yourself feel that you are good enough to hang off of Erestor like you do.” Glorfindel’s eyes went wide at the harsh words straight out of the gate. “You sully his reputation with your presence and pollute his office with your company.”
“Wait, just a mo…,” Glorfindel tried to interject, wanting to diffuse the situation or ask the rude elleth to leave. She wouldn’t allow him, interrupting everytime he tried to speak. He couldn’t even remember what Erestor had said her name was, Animarë. Amánara? Amneríal? No, none of that sounded right.
“Don’t you dare interrupt me,” the enraged elleth shrieked, as if she were not the one to interrupt Glorfindel, not the other way around, slapping her fan down again, this time hitting Glorfindel’s scarred and sensitive hand with this strike. It actually hurt quite a bit more than he thought it would, the scars on his extremities being more tender than in other places. Glorfindel immediately crumpled his injured hand in a fist and grit his teeth, trying to hold back lest he say something harsh in retaliation that he would regret. This was one of few elleth that made him regret his stance of not striking elleth. If that fan came down one more time, however, it was getting snapped in half. “I have half a mind to see you ejected from this realm,” she snarled, making threats she could not carry out, “It would be doing the people of this realm a favor to rid us of your horrifying visage.”
Glorfindel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Anything she was saying didn’t really hurt his feelings, she was such an absurdly bitter and cruel elf that he couldn't take it personally. He knew she was a handful that treated everyone as if they were beneath her. He simply just could not believe her audacity. Had no one ever put her in her place? Why did she think she could treat others like this, especially those that had done nothing to her. He usually didn’t “tattle” on the elves that mocked or belittled him or made jokes at his expense, they weren’t usually worth the fuss. But this crazy elleth was on a whole new level. Some elves could be cruel and purposefully mean, but this elleth was beyond anyone he had met thus far. She may be beautiful on the outside but she sure was orcish on the inside.
“You are ruining everything for me and terrorizing the city. You should have run off to Valinor long ago. Or would they not accept you?” She sneered at the befuddled elf before her. “In that case why not throw yourself from the cliffside by the waterfalls and send yourself to Mandos.” Ouch. That one did hurt a little bit, the elleth unwittingly hitting a nerve a little too close to home with her final statement.
Before the elleth could continue on her cruel tirade or strike Glorfindel again, the doorknob to Erestor’s office turned. Immediately, the nasty elleth schooled her features and planted a serene smile on her face. It baffled and scared Glorfindel a bit, how she could change faces so suddenly. Erestor entered with a handful of books, his face neutral. He headed toward his desk to place his burden down, always one to take the best care of his precious tomes.
“Oh Erestor,” the elleth cooed at the returning elf. “I was just stopping by to bring you a little treat,” she said, holding up a confection, obviously made by the palace kitchen staff that she would probably try and pass off as her own. She shot Glorfindel a look that very clearly said, “Don’t you dare say a word about earlier,” when Erestor’s back was to her. “I was just offering to bring another pastry for Glorfindel here, I was not expecting him when I came to bring this to you.” Erestor’s visage remained neutral except for a shift in his eyes, turning almost a pure black from their usual stormy blue. The self absorbed elleth certainly didn’t notice. “I was hoping, my dear Erestor, to invite you….” The elleth continued, but was suddenly cut off.
“Amereníal,” Erestor said in a flat voice, interrupting the she elf, taking measured steps toward her.
“Yes, my darling,” Amereníal responded, batting her eyelashes in what she must think looked like a sweet manner but was actually quite over exaggerated.
SLAP! The sound of hand meeting cheek reverberated loudly in the now silent room. Erestor had not held back as he struck the elleth. Hard. He had drawn his arm fully back and used the momentum his warrior training had taught him to build to add strength to his blow. The elleth’s head whipped to the side with the force of the hit, the pain and direction of the blow bringing her to her knees. Immediately she began tearing up and blubbering.
“Wh.. wh.. what are y.. yo..you do..” she stammered before she was struck harshly again, across the other cheek this time. Now she was full on bawling. “Erestor!” She cried, tears streaming, scooting backwards along the floor, wrinkling and dirtying her dress as Erestor moved step by step forward, pushing her further back toward the doorway. “How could you…” she began, still using her sweet and innocent, poor me voice. Not understanding that Erestor knew it was all a put on act. Well the tears and blubbering at least weren’t an act, Erestor had struck her solidly and she was distraught over that, she still didn’t realize that Erestor had heard almost every cruel word she spoke to Glorfindel in his absence. Shortly after he left his office, a little silver haired elfling came chasing after him telling him he HAD to get back to his office NOW. Thinking something was wrong with Glorfindel he immediately rushed back, knowing how protective the small elfling was of his liege. What he didn't expect was to hear Amereníal’s voice. Upon his return he heard almost every vile word Amereníal had flung at Glorfindel. He leaned over the now huddled up elleth in the doorway, staring down at her with blazing eyes full of fury and contempt. Glorfindel readied himself to stand and intervene. Erestor could be known to be harsh, but he was not the type of elf to strike another or let anger overcome him. He immediately sat right back down in place and kept his mouth closed though, when Erestor gestured for him to stay, curious to see where the angry elf was going with this. Glorfindel wouldn’t let it go too much farther, but Erestor was dead set on making a point and Glorfindel trusted him not to get physical anymore. Plus, he admitted to himself, despite some shame in feeling this way, he quite enjoyed watching the slap Erestor delivered the rude elleth and the shocked expression upon her face. It made a very satisfying sound.
“Din!” Erestor demanded loudly. “Not one word you pathetic excuse for an elleth. You think you’re so special. So above everyone else. I’ve known orcs with better character than you,” he spat. “You are absolutely grotesque inside. No matter how much beauty you possess, it is tainted by your abhorrent spirit.” The elleth was trembling and whimpering, looking too chastised and fearful to put up her regular fight that she would give to anyone who dare try and argue with or insult her. “Maybe it is you who should go to Valinor to plead forgiveness and heal your ugly personality. Or won’t the Valar take you? ” he sneered, throwing her own insults back at her. “You could always enter through Mandos. Right? Isn’t that was you suggested? You could go meet your end at the filthy black blade of your brethren orc.” Erestor took his booted foot and pushed the sniveling Elleth out his office. “You will stay away from Glorfindel. You will stay away from myself. One single word to or about either of us and you will find yourself in the public stocks, then a cell. I suggest you not take me lightly for I traveled years with the Fëanorians as a young elf, the ones who committed the kinslayings,” Erestor threatened ominously. He may have failed to mention he had also left the group early on, sickened by their foul deeds and not having killed any fellow elf himself. He was a child, dragged into that march across the sea by his parents.
Erestor then motioned for two guards that Glorfindel and the elleth had not realized were there. He had sent Lindir to fetch the two on duty down the southern hall. The elfling looked on with big, wide eyes and an amazed smile. As Erestor quite literally kicked the elleth from his office, he pumped his little fist and mouthed, “You go Erestor.”
“You are hereby confined to your rooms. You will be under continual guard until you can be brought in front of the High King and court to receive your judgment and punishment. Your meals and any necessities will be brought to you. If you try to escape or leave you will not be afforded the PRIVILEGE I am allowing you in returning to your rooms. I suggest you take this time to pack your bags and plan your leave, for if anyone will be expelled from this realm, twill be you.” Erestor finished, indicating the guards to pull her away.
Lindir squealed, “Erestor, you are the best! Then he mimicked the slap whose sound clapped through the room, as if it were some cool new training move he had learned to use. Glorfindel pinched his nose and shook his head in disbelief. This is what he was afraid of having an elfling in his care. He was fairly sure Lindir should not have observed that brutal scene.
“Erestor,” Glorfindel groaned. “What are you teaching my little elfling?” He asked with exasperated exaggeration. But thank you though,” he added sincerely. “I appreciate you defending me. Just please don’t get yourself in trouble or do something you will regret for my sake.
Erestor's face softened from his fury earlier and he returned a smile to his dear friend. He took Glorfindel's face in his hands. “I would do anything for you my friend. No one will insult you as she did.” Glorfindel felt truly lucky to have friends willing to stand up for him like Erestor and Lindir did. Elrond “officially” chewed Erestor out for his actions later, however was not very convincingly harsh with his condemnation of the Advisor’s actions, though he did discourage violence in the future. Erestor was put on leave for two weeks which turned out to be more of a well needed vacation Gil and Elrond had been trying to get him to take, unsuccessfully, for a while now. Erestor was quite pleased with himself, though still angry at the elleth’s audacity. He would not tolerate abuse or harassment of his friend in any way shape or form. After seeing the elleth’s expulsion from the realm, the residents were reaffirmed how serious their leaders were about how the elves should be treating one another, even those they didn’t get along with. Not that many were treating Glorfindel poorly, there were just a small few that couldn’t seem to look below surface level. Glorfindel had to lecture Lindir on how slapping like Erestor did, was never an appropriate first response. Lindir was rather unconvincing in his agreement with Glorfindel not to resort to physical means if someone was disrespectful or rude to Glorfindel. First Círdan’s mischievous influence and now Gil’s as well, followed by Erestors unconventional examples, Lindir was going to grow up to be something else. Glorfindel could feel it.
Grow up Lindir did, in what felt like the blink of an eye. He was soon decades past his majority, nearing 90 years old. Where had the time gone? His little songbird was now a talented minstrel and performer, his spritely beauty capturing the attention and the hearts of Elleth and Ellon alike. As it was, he was quite taken by another young and quite timid ellon, Melpomaen, who worked in the libraries and apprenticed under Erestor. It made Glorfindel smile to see what a kind and lively ellon Lindir turned out to be. He was a true joy who worked hard to bring a smile and happiness to everyone he met. It always surprised others to see his secretly vicious side, which only came out when defending those closest to him, such as Glorfindel and Melpomaen, even Círdan too, who he still held a fondness for despite not seeing him often. As time went on, his small group of found “family” and friends grew to include Erestor, Elrond and Gil-Galad, amongst others. What a lucky little elf, most orphans honestly struggled in their early lives and here Lindir was, merrily making friends with and charming every powerful elf, lord and king he came across. And he wasn’t even 100 yet. Like father, like son? He was just like Glorfindel in his young days in many ways, the older elf had taken an increasingly paternal role in the young elf’s life as time passed on. Glorfindel had continued to heal and improve over his time in Eregion. He was finding greater self confidence and acceptance and the nightmares that once plagued his nights were growing far and few between. He had helped build the armies of Eregion and Lindon and prepared the training elves to face Sauron’s twisted beasts as he was increasingly pushing his way into the territory of elves, men and dwarves in Eriador. He was currently helping Elrond to establish a military outpost and temporary haven for refugees in a beautiful valley within the borders of the Misty Mountains. The settlement was surrounded by cliffs , mountains, waterfalls and forests, making it a safe and guarded spot to hide away from Sauron’s ever growing foul armies. It was named Imladris, also known as Rivendell.
In the year 1695, when Elrond and Glorfindel were away from Eregion, building up Imladris, Sauron and his forces broke through into Eriador, bent on besieging the area and taking the rings of power forged by Celebrimbor by force. When the news broke of Sauron’s approach, Elrond and his group in Imladris rushed alongside forces from Lindon to assist the people in Eregion, who found themselves under siege. Glorfindel had a sickening feeling in his stomach at the news. Erestor and Lindir were still in Eregion, along with many other friends, having chosen not to travel with Elrond and Glorfindel on their most recent trip to the valley. There had been much work to complete at home. Lindir had taken up some duties under Erestor to help during these difficult times and when the Advisor was overwhelmed with the breadth of his duties. Glorfidnel did not rest easy until he heard word that Erestor and Lindir, along with many other refugees had found escape and safe harbor throughout Lindon and Mithlond. Sadly, a large number of elves did not make it out alive, Celebrimbor being one, refusing to hand over the rings he forged to Sauron. Over the course of the next two years, Eregion was completely overrun. Elrond and Glorfindel, along with a host of elves from Lindon tried to provide support for Eregion, however, Sauron had sent more of his forces to intercept them and hold them up. At that point, the surviving refugees then divided themselves between Imladris, Lindon and The Gray Havens. Some chose to stay with Gil-Galad who relocated to Lindon. Others returned to Imladris where Gil-galad, after receiving a foreboding yet enlightening vision, instructed Elrond to build what was once a military stronghold and outpost, into his own new elven realm where survivors could rebuild and thrive. Other elves, still sick of the fighting and war that was becoming a constant at that time, chose to board Círdan’s ships to sail over the sea to Valinor and find peace. Glorfindel, Erestor and Lindir all followed Elrond to their new home in Imladris. Their first few years were tenuous as Sauron was still pushing through the area, looking to tear apart the remaining settlements of the free people in Middle Earth and bend them to his will, musing them, for his own power. After years of a long hard fight where both Lindon and Imladris were besieged and coming to one another’s aid, Sauron was finally driven away. But for how long Glorfindel wondered. Things were moving quicker than anyone had initially planned for and Glorfindel knew a time would come when he would have to truly step up to lend his might to their victory. They weren’t done yet and Sauron needed to be eliminated, not just withdrawn from the area.
Finally the battle between the elves and Sauron was over, at least temporarily. Over the following centuries Elrond built up a realm and home in the valley of Imladris. He housed a collection of elves, men and even dwarves from time to time. In a short time they had become known for their Healing Halls, with Elrond bringing his advanced wisdom in the area and experience to provide recovery and relief for the sick and wounded. Erestor had built up the libraries, bringing books, scrolls and resources from various groups of elves, men and dwarves into his collection. He even had some orcish manuscripts and other such items written in the dark language, confiscated from the defeated beasts after skirmishes and battles. These weren’t made available for just anyone of the public, but were preserved and studied to better know their enemy. It always gave Erestor excruciating headaches to look upon those documents for more than a few hours in one day. Glorfindel began building not only an advanced guard for the realm of Imladris, but also a force of elves that combined warriors, aide workers and healers to travel to surrounding elves and offering assistance against roving bands of orcs or in recovering from the fouls destruction wrought upon them by Sauron and his minions. With Glorfindel’s training and under his guidance, their military forces grew to rival those of other larger, more well established elven realms and kingdoms in Middle Earth. Gil-Galad retained his title as High King and ruled from Lindon, often traveling to visit the newly established valley. During one of those meetings, shortly after the expulsion of Sauron from Eriador, he named Elrond his vice-regent of Eriador and gave to him a ring of powers, Vilya. He revealed that Galadriel and himself possessed the other two rings forged by the now deceased Celebrimbor. Elrond was directed to keep the rings a secret and their locations and powers concealed, as Sauron was bent on taking the rings and twisting their power for his own dark deeds and selfish desires. Only Erestor and Glorfindel were privy to the secrets of the rings on Elrond’s end. Little Lindir had chosen to follow Glorfindel to Imladris, despite Lindon having a more established theater hall and music program. The fact that Melpomaen had followed Erestor over probably contributed as well. Lindir helped build a guild of minstrels, performers, and loremasters that became highly sought after and the envy of other realms over the years to follow. So much ambition and talent for an elf so young. Glorfindel was so proud of his little song bird. All and all, for the shadow of Sauron looming over Eriador, the next several centuries were ones of peace and prosperity for Imladris.
Glorfindel, ironically, was starting to feel more at peace within himself, despite the unstable atmosphere in Middle Earth. With the support and encouragement of his friends and Elrond's healing support supplemented with his vile, but effective potions to heal his body and rejuvenate his spirit, Glorfindel found himself more confident in who he was and his purpose. His body was even beginning to slowly heal on the outside. He still had many scars, his skin still mottled and twisted, however improvements could be seen. Smaller scars had faded into his skin, almost invisible. Scars that were thick and inflexible had softened, lightening in color and thickness, giving him more movement, especially over the smaller movements in his face. Burn marks were less inflamed these days and he was regaining sensation in areas where it had once been lost. Elrond had developed a treatment for some of the worse scars that were still being slow to heal, but it was an excruciating process so Elrond only worked slowly through the journey. Elrond found that if he re-opened some of the scars and burns, scraped and removed the top layers of skin that had died or been too deeply damaged to heal completely over to new skin, he could then control and mitigate the healing process to the point where when he healed over this second time the marks were healed completely, or so well faded they were barely noticeable except of up close, thorough examination. This was a difficult process however, it was very painful for Glorfindel, who was literally having old wounds reopened, poked and prodded at and medicated with stinging salves and washes until it healed again. Deeper wounds had to be packed open with medicated cloth, allowing for healing from the bottom up, or inside out. This delayed the wound from healing and closing, but allowed it to heal in a way that was far less noticeable upon his skin. He had only treated a few smaller areas, it was hard sometimes to find the time to heal when he had so many military responsibilities. If he had to choose, it was up
to Glorfindel to prioritize his duty. The whole reason he was returned. It was also a difficult procedure for patient and healer. Elrond could only take so much of hurting his dear friend and Glorfindel could only withstand so much pain before it made him spiral back to the day he received the unsightly blemishes. That being said, he still carried many of his scars and discoloration, but there had at least been a noticeable change, both from his internal healing and development, bolstered by finding a new home, friends and family and through genius interventions developed by Elrond. It was not enough that Elrond simply rule over the newly established realm under his care, he also still kept us with his education and journey as a healer, soon becoming one of the most well known and sought after healers in Middle Earth.
Soon another century and a half had passed since Glorfidnel found his new home in Imladris. He was healing and growing. Finding new family and friends. Living with a sense of happiness, purpose, and belonging again. There were still whispers and comments about his face, especially from visitors. There was also the occasional rude elf in regards to his appearance, some questioning why he didn’t tuck tail and flee to Valinor. He just let their comments go, let the words roll off. Their comments spoke more to the speaker’s own character than they did about Glorfindel himself. As long as they didn’t harass or greatly disrespect the returned elf Lord or become aggressive toward him, Erestor managed to keep his short temper, when it came to issues pertaining to his closest friend, under control. For the most part. No one could stop that wicked, slicing tongue when Erestor took argument with others or made his thoughts and wishes known. Everyone knew not to mess with the disfigured elf, lest one of his guard dogs bite them back. Lindir, such an ethereal and sweet elf, compassionate with a gentle soul, he could flip a switch if he felt his adopted father was being disparaged or abused. Other than these small few, who were daring or more so ignorant enough to speak or act against the scarred elf, most had come to adore their new commander and fellow resident, despite his disfigurement that used to once scare others away. He had become an important part of their community. By healing his heart and spirit in these things, Glorfindel’s outside body healed even more as well, slowly, year by year. Despite all his bravery and growth of the past quarter century there was still one issue that he remained fearful over, his cowardice shining through. But he chose not to think of that for now. He had to focus on his duty. “That’s right,” he told himself. “Prioritize what is in front of you. That is all he needed for now,” he lied to himself.
Translations
Dîn: silence or shut up
Elleth: female elf
Ellon: male elf
Ellyn: male elves
Ellyth: female elves
Fëa: soul
Gûr: mind
Goheno nin mellon nin
Hannon le: thank you
Hröa: body
Hûn: heart
Mellon nin: my friend
Ohtar: name meaning warrior/protector
Peredhil: half-elf
Chapter 4: Cowardliness and Scheming, Erestor to the Rescue
Summary:
Glorfindel has been hiding away from the elf that he loved/still loves ever since he was returned. Too cowardly to face the elf he promised himself to in the past and see where their relationship stands, Glorfindel chooses to ignore the situation until he can’t. His cowardliness is driving Erestor up the wall and the Advisor takes matters into his own hands, deciding to orchestrate a meeting of “chance.” Will the two lovers be reunited? Or will Glorfindel’s cowardice have dire consequences.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Imladris
c. 1849-1850 S.A.
Glorfindel and Erestor rarely had a serious argument or fought over anything. They were the closest of friends, basically like brothers. Glorfindel could never thank the Advisor enough for all he had done to help ease his transition back to life in Middle Earth all those years ago, and all that he continued to do. Sure, they teased, cajoled and annoyed one another, made smart comments (usually Erestor) and played pranks (mainly Glorfindel), but that was just how the friendship was between the two. They had plenty of peaceful and companionable times as well. Still, Glorfindel, to this day, found it amusing to get the younger elf riled up to the point of becoming flustered and frustrated enough to break his legendarily cool and calm facade, always saying the “uptight” elf needed to learn how to relax and let go more. That had been Glorfindel’s reasoning for his goading since Gondolin. In return, Erestor loved to twist and turn the returned elf’s words until everything Glorfindel said in one of their debates seemed to turn on him and work against him, making Glorfidnel’s own well crafted words a “betrayal” of himself. There was one matter, however, that Erestor refused to stop needling Glorfindel about, despite his continued evasion. The returned elf had continually ignored and evaded the subject for centuries. Whenever Erestor brought it up, Glorfindel frowned and shrugged it off again, growing more and more agitated the further Erestor chose to push him. That is where the two ellyn found themselves on this particular day. They were at an impasse, both stubbornly refusing to concede, growing more and more frustrated and upset with the other the further their disagreement continued. Erestor broached the subject once again that morning, with Glorfindel evading the matter at every turn. Erestor insinuated him foolish and cowardly in this situation. Glorfindel would have to agree with that assessment. He also felt he had to protect his heart and his spirit from the distress the topic could bring, so cowardly he would be. Erestor was sick of the excuses and refused to back down this time. He had in the past, fearful of his friend's mental stability, as he was still healing from his untimely return. He had allowed the evasion in the past. No longer could he. It was time for Glorfindel to face that which he feared the most. Not only was he hurting himself in his stubborn endeavors to ignore the topic, his attempts at hiding away and evading would greatly affect another. It was time for the anxious elf to take a step forward and see what came of it.
Tired of arguing with the hard headed elf, his noldo side shining through, Erestor threw his hands up and stormed away from the elf across from him. He was done. Fed up. Sick of the returned hero acting like a newborn elfling at this matter. Elrond encouraged Erestor to have patience with Glorfindel. Let him approach the issue in his own time. Erestor scoffed. Patience. He’d need more than that. If he didn’t intervene it’d take another milenia or two for Glorfindel to do anything. Maybe longer. If he waited that long it might be too late to bridge the gap. Erestor had confidence that at least at this point it wasn’t yet too far gone. He promised Elrond (with two fingers on each hand crossed) that he would not interfere. So he wouldn’t. For now. Some things, however, required interference and when the time came no one would stop him. The things that Erestor would do for those that he loved. He deserved one great big bottle of Thranduil’s fancy pants wine as thanks for all he was putting up with to remedy this situation. Nevermind that, make it three. Erestor headed to his chambers. He had some letters that suddenly needed writing.
Later that evening, Glorfindel knocked on Erestor’s room door, bottle of plum wine in his hand. It wasn’t a classic Greenwood vintage, but it would do. Glorfindel apologized for getting carried away in their argument earlier and being so stubborn. He was just afraid. And not ready yet. Erestor just sighed and grabbed the bottle of wine to open and pour into two glasses, accepting Glorfindel’s apology, not wanting to get into it again that night with his closest friend. He honestly didn’t understand Glorfindel in that matter. Maybe he never would. The two wandered over to the sitting area in Erestor’s rooms, choosing to sit at the low lying table with cushions on the floor, the same table Erestor had been writing at earlier. Erestor swore under his breath, low enough that Glorfindel’s sharp ears did not pick up on it. He quickly swept up the pile of papers that remained on into a haphazard pile, intending to stuff them away in his desk. As he hastily picked up his quill and ink and papers from earlier, Glorfindel leaned over to see to whom Erestor was writing. Erestor usually had no qualms about the other elf seeing what he was writing, even if it was confidential material regarding the realm, for Glorfindel was usually the other elf besides Erestor, that Elrond confided all information with, even closely guarded secrets and security issues within the realm.
“Thranduil?” Glorfindel questioned. “What are you writing that miserly elf prince about?”
Erestor thought quickly, wrinkling the papers a bit as he tightened his grip of the stack in his hands with the stress of the situation. He quickly turned to his desk and began putting all his supplies away, including the almost finished letters which were now being discreetly tucked under a pile of reference tomes on his desk. “Oh you know how it is,” Erestor tried to say as casually as possible. “Gil and Elrond have been trying to convince the Wood Elves under Oropher to unite with us and join an alliance of elves and men to try and stand against the threat of Sauron.
“And how’s that going?” Glorfindel questioned sarcastically, already knowing how such
communication would be received by the King and Prince of Greenwood.
“Oh just lovely,” Erestor shot back just as sarcastically. “I do believe Oropher shreds every piece of correspondence from Elrond or myself without bothering to even break the seal, or so my sources have told me.
“Sources?” Glorfindel asked.
“Galvión for one. The young elf that usually has to travel all the way to the Wood Elves’ kingdom and through the orc and spider infested forests to deliver the correspondence. Half the time, he tells us, he is turned away at the border. Other times, when his messages are accepted, shortly after, the correspondence is returned, seal still intact, but the rest completely shredded. At least they accept the other correspondence between residents of our realms, otherwise, his trek through those dangerous forests would all be for naught.
“Foolish, stubborn elves,” Glorfindel commented.
Erestor just raised an eyebrow and gave him a look that said, “And you are not?”
Glorfindel pouted, mumbling, “That is different,” to the ever sharp Advisor.
“I thought I would try to write Thranduil this time around. Try and see if maybe he has any more sense than his father,” Erestor provided, unprompted. At least Glorfindel hadn’t seen who the other pages he had written were addressed to. Technically, those weren’t official business, so he didn’t need to mention those pages to the elf before him, did he?
“You certainly had much to say to the prince!” Glorfindel exclaimed, having noticed the small pile of papers rather than the usual one or two Erestor would normally use, knowing anything too long winded would be automatically discarded. Damn that perceptive elf. Why did Glorfindel have to choose now as the time to be overly astute about official documents and such things.
Erestor sighed, rubbing his head at the headache that was forming. “That was my fourth draft. For some reason I cannot get all I want to say succinctly written.” It was not unusual for Erestor to write a draft or two in preparing important correspondence between realms.
“If you would like me to take a look,” Glorfindel said innocently, “Maybe I could help?” He was just trying to be helpful to his friend, little did he know he was the cause of Erestor’s headache.
“No!” Erestor replied a bit too forcefully, shoving the papers under the tomes, pushing them as far back and behind other items as he was discreetly able. “I am done with that nuisance for the day,” he finished, hoping to drop this line of conversation and questioning.
While Glorfindel thought Erestor seemed to be acting a bit cagey, he dropped the subject, thinking the other was just stressed from their earlier quarreling and overworking. ”Yes, yes, very good mellon nin,” he told the smaller elf, glad Erestor was choosing not to overwork himself for a change. “Here you go,” he said as he handed the Advisor a full to the brim cup of wine upon Erestor returning to sit beside Glorfindel at the table. The two spent the rest of the evening sharing a bottle of wine or two and casual conversation. Erestor tossed a blanket over the larger elf hours later, when he passed out there on Erestor’s floor. He always had been a lightweight. Erestor would have dragged the elf to a bed, however, he was much too large for Erestor to manage in his own half intoxicated state. Erestor climbed into his soft, warm, oversized bed, falling asleep to the rhythm of his friend’s soft breathing and snoring across the room.
After that last argument, Erestor had been strangely quiet on the subject. It made Glorfindel nervous, not
knowing what to expect and when. When would Erestor spring on him again? When would he try and pull something related? Little did Glorfindel know, the wheels had already been put in motion. A last ditch strategy had been set. For now, Glorfindel would just have to wait. This was the longest time Erestor had ever gone without bringing up the subject, usually it was a weekly, if not a daily occurrence. They had gone through fall and most of the winter without a peep from the meddlesome advisor. After the big commotion he was always making about that topic, Glorfindel couldn’t just imagine Erestor giving up out of nowhere. He wasn’t the type of elf to back down, sometimes even in situations when he was at fault or incorrect. Elrond would say it was one of his Advisor’s greatest weaknesses. Erestor disagreed, it was definitely a strength (only because he was the one always getting his way). Erestor would usually fight right to the bitter end if he believed in something, regardless of how big or small the issue. This was where his relation to Fëanor really shone through, despite his distaste for that side of the family and severing ties with them long ago. He was a great grandson, and family secret, (i.e. his father was born out of wedlock as the result of an extramarital affair), so was never officially acknowledged on the family tree or treated as such. As much as he denied them right back, he still possessed their mighty stubbornness. All of this was keeping Glorfindel a little bit paranoid and on his toes continually.
It was a lovely spring day when things began to come to fruition. The remnants of the winter were fading fast, now the only snow to be seen was in the higher elevations, on the mountain sides that surrounded their little valley. Bulky furs and thick outside raiment was traded for lighter cloaks and thinly layered tunics. Elflings wove crowns with the first of the newly bloomed spring flowers and handed them out amongst the visitors and residents in the realm. Glorfindel, at the moment, wore a crown himself. It was given to him by an excited little elfling. He had saved her father the year before, during a surprise orc raid while out on a scouting mission. That made him a hero worthy of all the blessings of the Valar in her eyes. He sported a crown of indigo violas mixed in with greenery and filled with Celandine whose golden buds just started to blossom and unfurl. It was a fitting adornment for his head, with those golden little buds representative of his former Lordship. His past and true identity still hadn’t been announced or shared publicly, though whispers and rumors ran rampant. Some were ridiculously off target with their guesses about the scarred elf’s past while others had been spot on. After a discussion with Elrond, Glorfindel had been planning on revealing his identity, at least to residents of the valley, soon. Within the coming decade. Sauron was casting a long, dark shadow over the land and elve morales was at a low. The elves were tired of the constant fighting and fleeing and the foul darkness and destruction that kept trying to move in and conquer. Hopefully, knowing that a hero of old, one as wise and powerful as Glorfindel and an elf blessed and sent back by the Valar, would provide some measure of comfort and inspiration for those that remained in Middle Earth. Hopefully Glorfindel could help them feel a little more safe and secure in these perilous times. So while there had been many whispers about who he really was, no one had directly confronted him on his identity yet. He knew it would not last forever and hadn’t intended to hide away for so long. Now, Glorfindel had found much of the healing, confidence and support he lacked when he first returned and was ready and able to face his duties fully during these darkening times ahead. Right now he was making his way to Elrond’s office. He was curious, if not a bit anxious about what was going on. Elrond only ever pulled him out of his daytime training duties (he was training a new group of young warriors today), when there was a matter that needed to be urgently addressed.
Glorfindel’s stomach twisted, anticipating he would hear something like Sauron and his armies were making another venture into Eriador or nearby territories and wreaking havoc on the peaceful lives of those that chose to oppose his foul will or defy him. It never seemed to end for long with these fell beasts. He knocked and entered his Lord’s office, taking a seat across from Elrond at the strategy table he had set up in the back half of his large study. There was currently an assortment of books and various papers strewn about the table, but no urgent missives or maps for planning laid out. This helped Glorfindel feel slightly reassured that nothing catastrophic had happened, if no maps of their territories or military rosters were laid out. One of the most difficult times of his return was 150 years ago, when he had heard Eregion, the place he had come to think of as his new home, was under siege of the dark lord. He was afraid the coming battle would bring back too many difficult memories and affect his ability to think clearly and lead Gil-galad’s forces. Luckily, he had avoided a spiral or breakdown when everything unfolded. Eregion did fall, which was a blow to his heart, but while there were heavy and tragic losses, it was nothing like the total annihilation Gondolin had faced. There were far more elves able to escape the besieged territories, as well as support from forces across Eriador, to help in their fight. Survivors were able to find refuge in Lindon and Imladris, or over the sea in the wake of the destruction. Sauron may have torn parts of them down, but they were able to rebuild and reestablish themselves once again, eventually even being able to drive Sauron out indefinitely, stopping a total take over of Eriador. Their High King lived on and relocated to Lindon. The loss of any life, and of their capital and realm did hit Glorfindel hard, but he was able to manage and work through his feelings and emotions to lead his warriors steadfastly and put up a stand against the dark one, instead of breaking down or hiding away from anxiety, panic and guilt spawned by memories of the past. That boded well for his continued service in Middle Earth and his confidence in his own well being and duty to be done.
Elrond greeted Glorfindel with a smile and a cup of lavender tea. “Will Erestor be joining us?” He questioned his Lord, figuring if it was something important, the Advisor was sure to be coming.
“No, no,” Elrond said. This is something more of a personal matter than anything official he clarified.
Glorfindel gave Elrond a questioning look, trying to think of what his Lord would have to discuss with him in such a secretive manner. “Very well,” Glorfindel replied, “What can I help you with?”
“Well,” Elrond began, pausing to think how to word his coming message. “This is more about making you aware of an upcoming visitor to this realm.”
Glorfindel was still a bit confused, trying to think who would be coming that Elrond had to give him notice of. Erestor and his group of assistants and staff under his charge were usually tasked with preparing the house, arranging amenities and providing accommodations for visitors to the realm, so it was not like he had to worry about any of the housing details for them. Were they someone who posed a safety risk to the realm? There were not many elves Glorfindel would take personal issue with in entering the realm, any he did were all already dead, in Valinor or lost, long, long, ago. And Elrond said it was a personal matter, so it was likely not about the security of the realm. He was well and truly confused, especially since Elrond seemed to be putting off telling him exactly who this elf (or man or dwarf) was. “Who is this mystery guest?” Glorfindel questioned.
“First of all, I would like to say,” Elrond began, “I never had the intention of prying into your personal business of which you do not wish to share with me yet.” Glorfindel was even more confused now. Elrond was not only the new Lord that he had chosen to serve, over the past 250 years the two had become close friends and confidants. Elrond was one of only a few people he felt comfortable in confiding his painful memories of the past with. There was not much of anything he had not told Elrond, even things he found embarrassing or felt insecure over. Elrond was one of three people Glorfindel was comfortable showing his scarred face and mutilated body to and he trusted Elrond fully enough to even undergo his painful healing procedures. There wasn’t much that his Lord did not know about him. Well, except for maybe that one thing. It wasn’t hidden from Elrond intentionally, it was simply just something that Glorfidnel did not often speak of to almost anyone, even himself in his own mind, pushing the thoughts away immediately when they intruded in. Something if he allowed himself free reign to think of would consume his thoughts day and night. It was the one thing he would have a true and serious argument with Erestor over. But no. It couldn’t be that. Why would it be? Well, apparently, it could be that, as Glorfindel would soon come to find out.
“There are things I know you are holding onto in your heart,” Elrond continued. “Things that you are fearful could break you if laid open and taken away. Things that you feel the better for not knowing the truth of, in case that truth happens to stray from the path you had wished for your life to follow. Things that lay uncertain and unknown. You keep yourself in a limbo, to protect your heart. Never truly giving in to what you desire for fear of losing what you once had. Things that you and Erestor argue about quite often. I did not intentionally listen in, but I did overhear bits and pieces from time to time. Enough that I had long ago pieced together those things that you have not yet told me, at least parts of them,” Elrond spoke, his true wisdoms in reading others showing. “I was going through my schedule in the healing halls this morning with Annoríel. She gave me a list of upcoming consults for various procedures and treatments that would be coming in over the next two fortnights. On that list was a name that was familiar to me, but in mention only. In five days time, we will have a visitor to this realm from Greenwood. A fairly esteemed visitor may I add. Head assistant to the prince of the woods.”
Glorfindel gulped. His hands were sweating despite his body feeling suddenly cold. His head was dizzy, ears ringing with the thousands of thoughts and feelings bouncing around, all at the same time in his mind. At this point there was no doubt in his mind as to who it was, even if the name had not been yet mentioned. His hands were trembling and he knew if he tried to pick up his cup of tea right now, he would end up shaking and spilling half of it onto the ground.
“It is too late to cancel or postpone his visit,” Elrond went on. “He is already several days out in his journey to our realm, his party having left just after the spring thaw. He had apparently scheduled with Annoríel last, however, I did not review the spring schedule until just now, where I saw his name. I would rather not turn away any patient, especially at this point. He has done nothing to warrant the rejection, and already made his way most of the way here, and our healers have already prepared for his treatment and arrival. Unless his presence will be something that you cannot abide by at all, I will prioritize your mental and emotional stability over his elective treatment. I could send you on a mission away from the realm, but I would also be hesitant to do that for two reasons. One, his treatment will likely be something that will keep him here for several months, maybe even, until next spring if he cannot complete the required elements in time for the winter. The passageways become much too dangerous for anyone besides our well experienced messengers who are familiar with the dangers the winter cold, ice and snow can bring to the pathways between the realms. The second being, I would worry about your ability to focus and concentrate if I send you away, as I fear you would be thinking about his presence in the valley the entire time. I would not like to see you get hurt because you were distracted or worrying over his presence in our home. Therefore, I wanted to give you all the warning I could of his arrival, as little time as it may be and speak to you of how you want to handle the situation. You are familiar with an ellon called Galion, are you not?”
“Aye, I am, Glorfindel responded, still a bit in shock.
“You don’t need to give me an answer right now, at this very moment, but I would like to know what you need or want to get through this situation as smoothly and safely for both of your well beings as possible.”
Suddenly, it was like Glorfindel had a hundred questions, all fighting in his head to be the first one out and asked. “Why is he coming? Is he okay? Has he been sick or injured? Is there something wrong?” This was, after all, the elf that Glorfindel had fallen in love with all those years back, back when Gondolin and the whole of Beleriand still stood. His immediate concern was always going to be if the other elf was okay. “Does he know I am returned? Did he mention me in his correspondence? Is he coming to seek me out?” Glorfindel continued, question after question spilling from his mouth.
Glorfindel had found out through Erestor, long ago, that Galion still lived in Middle Earth, taking up residence in Oropher’s Woodland realm. Glorfindel had just been too much of a coward to contact the elf, despite Erestor constantly nagging him to do so. He found it difficult to think of what he would learn about the other elf in this age, or think of what his presence in Middle Earth could imply for Glorfindel himself. He could use a million excuses, such as distance and duty, but what it really came down to was, Glorfindel was scared to know if Galion still loved him as he still loved Galion, or if the elf had moved on to another relationship or forgotten about him over the long years he was gone. They had always agreed to let their long distance relationship flow naturally and try the test of time and if things didn’t work, they would split amicably. Glorfindel did not think he could live up to that agreement however, as he felt that if the other’s feelings had faded or if he had found someone else after Glorfindel had died (after all it wasn’t unheard of for even married elves to separate when their spouse had passed), Glorfindel doubted he could accept the loss of the other elf as amicably as they agreed. He would be hurt, dealt a wound to the heart that would be hard to heal. It would be difficult to accept another elf if Galion had found a new partner. He would find himself sad and angry and heartbroken despite what they agreed if they parted ways. He didn’t want to lose the ellon he loved so he had put off any chance of meeting and communicating with his beloved so he didn’t have to face denial. He knew it didn’t make sense. Erestor told him a hundred times before.
“So you choose to close yourself off from your lover so that you don’t have to risk facing the possibility of losing or having lost your lover in death? That just means that you have lost them then anyways. There is a chance he still loves you and has been waiting, but you will never know if you don’t take the chance to reach out to him. Or what if he loves you now, but you wait too long and he does eventually find another. You could have had that second chance, but your own cowardice would have you throw it away? I don’t understand Glorfindel. Make it make sense to me. Please. I just want to see you fully healed and happy, and I don't think you will be until you find the courage to face Galion, whether the outcome is favorable or not. Then at least you could move on, either way. Either you could be reunited in love again, or you could be separated and go on to find a new love that would mend your heart break.” This was the spiel he’d heard from Erestor over and over.
There was one other reason he was afraid. One he had not even told Erestor. One he felt so horrible even thinking, he hated his mind would even think such a thing. What if Galion had waited for him? What if he spent those long years loving Glorfindel, looking forward to his return whole and healed in Valinor? What if he had planned a reunion for them then? And then what if he took one look at Glorfindel, returned the way he was to Middle Earth, and turned and ran, never looking back. Or worse, stayed out of pity and a sense of obligation, but could never look Glorfindel in the eye or shuddered when he touched his mutilated body. What if he couldn’t love Glorfindel back in the same way as before. It sickened Glorfindel to think that way, because Galion was not that type of elf, he would be the last ellon to judge or push away others because of appearance. Yes he found Glorfindel attractive, but that wasn’t what had drawn him into the relationship in the first place. He told Glorfindel he knew he was the one when he fell for the Golden elf’s personality, kindness and character. His charming looks were just a plus, but not the reason Galion had fallen in love. Glorfindel hated that his insecurities made him question Galion’s love and character. Their feelings were based on far more than superficial attractions. It went to the heart of who the two elves were inside. And Galion was a beautiful, caring and compassionate elf, inside and out. Glorfindel felt ashamed for even questioning that, but his insecurities and self doubt were wreaking havoc inside of him. It would shatter his heart and soul to pieces, may even see him fade back to Mandos, if it was his new appearance that would drive his lover off. And he couldn’t return yet, failing his sworn duty and mission to the Valar. He knew all about broken oaths and what they could do to an elf. Therefore, he did the only thing he thought he could do to protect his fragile heart. He gave into his cowardice and insecurities and hid away.
Elrond held his hand up to put an end to the barrage of questions that Glorfindel was throwing at him. He looked to be a million miles away, trapped in his own head, asking every question that came to mind regarding their current situation. “I cannot tell you what Galion is coming to the Healing Halls for treatment for,” Elrond gently informed Glorfindel, “that is his own personal issue that I am not comfortable speaking of on his behalf. “You will have to ask him directly if you want to find that piece of information out.” Glorfindel’s face dropped. He was curious to know what Galion needed Master Healer Elrond for and wanted to know if the younger elf was okay, not suffering from some serious injury or illness (which was rare for elves, but did happen). “What I am willing to share in order to reassure your worries is that Galion is not suffering from anything serious that would put his life in danger. He requested an elective treatment and procedures for an issue that is not a threat to his general well being.”
Glorfindel sagged with relief, glad to hear that there wasn’t anything too major or critical going on with the elf that held his heart. “Does he…” Glorfindel began to question, more calmly than before. ‘Does he know that I am here in Imladris? Is there any chance he could be coming to seek me out, or for at least a partial reasoning for the journey? If so, do you know how he found me here?”
Elrond placed a comforting hand on the returned elf’s arm, rubbing in a soothing motion. He could see the ellon was getting quite agitated at the moment. “Goheno nin mellon nin,” Elrond responded. “I do not know if he realizes that you have returned and are in Imladris. I did take the time to read all of his correspondence with Annoríel, but there were no mentions of, or queries about you in those letters, only the necessary information regarding his appointments and journey here. Then again, letters scheduling a consultation with myself or my staff in the Healing Halls would hardly be the most appropriate place or time to inquire of another. There were no questions of your potential return and whereabouts that I am aware of. That is not to say he is not aware of your return. Or hasn’t heard the rumors spreading about. I’m surprised we have kept your return from Valinor as downplayed as we have thus far from some people. I know you have recognized the importance of speaking on your true identity in the near future, with everything that has been going on in Middle Earth with Sauron encroaching further into our territory lately. I’m sure you’ve heard and noticed the increasing circulation of whispers and rumors in regards to who exactly this mysterious visitor (you), turned high ranking official really is, in our realm. An elf who entered Eregion only a quarter of a century ago, yet, rose quickly through the ranks and gained even Gil-galad’s trust so fully. Some have come fairly close with their guesses, as you well know. I would not be surprised much if Galion had heard such whispers and rumors and had his own suspicions regarding your identity and return. Who can say though? No elf has been recorded being sent back across the sea from Valinor after their re-embodiment before, so he may think it all some ill spun gossip and confusion on other’s parts. We will only know the answers when he arrives. He may very well have planned his trip here with intentions to investigate your return or the rumors. Or maybe not. For all I know, it could simply be coincidence in him coming for treatment and that you also have been returned and residing here as well,” Elrond finished. “Though something in my heart says that isn’t so,” Elrond kept that thought to himself.
“I see.” Glorfindel said quietly. “I understand.” He was strangely silent compared to his rapid fire questioning earlier. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts, trying to figure something out.
“I know this news is very conflicting for you Glorfindel,” Elrond went on. “I would like you to take some time, unfortunately we do not have an abundance of if, only four or five days. Think about what you need and want in this situation. Do you want to greet him when he arrives? Do I need to send you away for a period? Will you continue to hide? Will you approach him? And I would prefer not to have to send him away and decline in person treatment, but, is that a potential necessity, depending on your mental state and readiness to approach the issue? You don’t have to answer me now, but please take some time to think. I want both you and Galion to feel comfortable here and to avoid unnecessary hurt on either side. If you are not ready to meet him yet, I don’t want it to affect or distract you from your duty, nor do I want to see you backtrack in the progress you have made at healing both your body and spirit if a meeting or discussion with the Wood Elf goes awry. I only want to do what is best for you in your recovery, but I need to know what you need for that so I can try and work around that. I’d rather not send either of you away.”
“Hannon le, Elrond, but I think I have avoided this confrontation for too long as it is. I have rationalized my procrastination by making excuses such as needing to focus on duty or needing to focus on healing, or even by making up scenarios that I don’t even know are the truth in my head. I can wonder if he’s found a new partner. I can think that his feelings have faded. I can think that he’s all but forgotten me and say it’s been a few years for me since my death, but almost two millennia for him. Regardless, those are all excuses to put off the inevitable. The longer I go without reaching out to him, the greater disservice to him I have done. In order for my complete healing, I need to talk to him and get an answer about where we lay either way, so I can move on in my life, not just live in my memories of the past and sit in a limbo filled with uncertainty and fear for the unknown things of this world. I can’t guarantee I will work up and maintain the courage to greet Galion upon his arrival or even in the few days after, but I do need to at least see him face to face and have a conversation with him at some point during his stay. I want to see him. More than anything. My heart secretly yearns for that every day. I have just been too much of a coward. Too scared. Too sheltered. I should have at least written him long before now, but I have let fear have its way with me. The longer I put it off, the harder it just seemed to get. What would I say? Even if he still loves me, will he be angry that I delayed our reunion? That I was scared and distrusted him? That I made him wait more than the eternity he already did? I’m ready to move forward in life and in my relationship with Galion, and must take those first difficult steps. I will remain in Imladris. You don’t have to make any special accommodations for me. The first few days I may need some time and space away from duties to get my head cleared and straightened around, I have a feeling I will be very distracted and conflicted, wanting to run both to and away from the visiting elf. As long as you can give me that flexibility off of my duties for a few days and perhaps a listening ear and glass of wine after the reunion has been done, depending on the outcome, I think I am ready to open my heart back up and address this one last hole that needs mending. The guilt deep in my soul needs absolution.”
“Very well my friend. I think this is a good step you are taking. Bravery can be a tough attribute to master and takes time and effort to develop, especially in love. You will be a better ellon for this struggle toward it; overcoming your doubts and vanquishing your fears away. If all ends well, you will find a regained happiness overflowing in your life. A missing piece to fit toward your wholeness. If it does not end well, I will be here to comfort you. There to provide support, love and companionship in your life, to help you tread on down a new path, filled with resolution and the ability to find joy and love in life again. We become the best version of ourselves when we are able to work up the courage to confront those things we pushed the deepest down inside, trying to hide it away. It doesn’t go away. It festers. Better to get it in the clear now than let it continue to eat away at you hûn, gûr a fëa. I truly believe you will come out on the better side once this is all brought to the light and resolved.”
“I dearly hope so. I am sick of hiding away. Swallowing down my feelings and pushing aside my desires. I have wanted nothing more than to go running into my beloved's arms, hold him once again. Yet I denied myself. Thought I was unworthy. Told myself my future was not my own. I deserve a future moving forward, whatever the outcome of our reunification is. I am worthy of love and need to take this opportunity to show the love that I have been keeping locked up inside of me, out of fear, as well.” Glorfindel was feeling determined and even a bit rejuvenated. But he wouldn’t lie to himself either. The feelings of fear and cowardice would come back and even build he was sure. Words were easier to say, harder to put into action. He was facing an uphill journey, to work up the determination and bravery to do what was best for himself and felt right in his heart. He needed to prepare well and bolster his courage for the road ahead was determined to win this battle in his heart. He would hide away from love no longer. He would give up those fears that were surrounding and restricting his heart.
As Elrond and Glorfindel wrapped up their discussion, Erestor let out a sigh of relief in his office, where he stood just outside the connecting door to Elrond’s study. Yes, he was listening in. No, he did not have remorse or regret for doing so. “It’s about damned time,” Erestor cheered to himself, having waited for this day for far too many years. Glorfindel had come back to Middle Earth not fully healed and lacking confidence in himself. He struggled to see himself as valuable and worthy at times. Especially in love. With the time of separation and distance spanning between them and the state he was in on his return, Glorfindel had begun to convince himself that Galion had long ago given up on their love, and even if he didn’t he would end up rejecting Glorfindel in the long run. He was insecure about his feelings, his self-worth and his appearance. He was trying to protect his heart that was already fractured from memories of the past, but in protecting himself, he shut himself out of the hope love. Erestor knew that Galion would not care about the scars or the trauma or the space and time between them. What he would care about is being ignored. Deserted. The more time Glorfindel waited to get in contact with his past love, the more Galion’s anguish, anger and resentment could grow from feeling discarded, pushed away and refused. Erestor got to see the returned elf just about as fast as it was possible for him to after Glorfidnel returned over the sea from Valinor. He did not tarry in the Gray Havens for years upon end, trying to avoid meeting Erestor again, afraid of what his old friend might think of his return and re-embodiment. He didn’t run and hide away the broken pieces of himself. He came straight to Eregion with minimal delays (he did carry an elfling in tow) and he allowed Erestor and others, such as Lindir and Elrond, in, to support and comfort him and to help him grow. They supported him in his new duty to the people of Middle Earth and nurtured his healing as well. But not Galion. Afraid of rejection or affection turned to pity, or even of being forgotten entirely, Glorfindel hid away from Galion and the public for years and years. If Erestor were in Galion’s shoes, he would be quite upset, furious even. He would give Glorfindel a big thump on that empty head of his, for being so dense. He would probably also pout and ignore the fool until he begged for forgiveness several times over. He would forgive Glorfindel, but a piece inside of him would mourn and lament that his closest friend did not trust his loyalty and dedication to him, and avoided their bond. It would not feel good and Erestor felt sorry for Galion in this regard. And Erestor was just Glorfindel’s friend. His closest friend and sworn brother, yes, but still, only friends. He couldn’t imagine the pain if it was his lover and partner that had avoided and pushed himself away. To Galion it must feel like rejection. Time passed and passed. He must have waited and waited, wondering if Glorfindel’s soul was still in Mandos or if he had returned in Valinor. Maybe he had even contemplated traveling over the sea, on the chance Glorfindel was returned. All just to find he’d been tucked away, within reach for centuries. Erestor was glad that Glorfindel was pulling his act together and finally decided to make contact with the one he had been missing the most. It had to have been torture pushing him out of mind and staying away. Hopefully he had not waited too long, to the point where his procrastination could not be reconciled or forgiven by the one left behind.
Once again, it had been up to Erestor to get anything done, like always. He had not contacted Galion and told him directly that Glorfindel had returned and was hiding away like a timid little kitten. No, he would not break his friends' trust in him by doing that. Exactly. But something had to be done. Some small steps needed to be taken. He had promised Glorfindel he wouldn’t tell Galion of his return until the returned elf was ready. So Erestor did not mention a certain elf’s return, the rumors and whispers that had been circulating for the past 250 years would do a good enough job with that. But it was taking Glorfindel much longer than he expected, and the other elf would not listen to reason on the matter. So, a few months ago, after he and Glorfindel’s last big argument, Erestor just happened to think that Galion might want to be aware of a new treatment that Elrond had developed for elves like himself. He thought to send Galion a letter. If he could not tell Galion directly of Glorfindel’s return and residence in the valley, perhaps he could draw Galion in, to see with his own two eyes. He had written to Galion on occasion in the past two millennia. Even though they had only met in person twice, after Glorfindel’s death, they found a sort of solace with one another, bonding over reminiscing about their time with Glorfindel and discussing other common interests. They didn’t write often, but did keep in touch. Both through conversations with Glorfindel in the past and through Galion opening up to him through their letters, Erestor had learned that Galion struggled with his perception and expression of the gender he was born, and with how others, especially more traditional elves, expected him to express and reflect said gender. The truth was, despite being born one gender (an elleth), he chose to live as another (ellon) and had been doing so since he was fifty years old. He was now almost 2,000. He had been living this way for a long time. Erestor genuinely did have some information that may be of interest to or help Galion. It was not simply just a lure to reel the Wood Elf into Imladris.
Fifty years ago, Elrond was helping a young man that had come to him with a unique quandary. Through that experience, Elrond discovered he could adjust the hormones in an elf or man’s body and regulate them to help individuals express more masculine or feminine characteristics. That, along with other various procedures, could help individuals better reflect the person they felt they were inside. While this particular patient was born with both male and female organs, and reflected characteristics of both, they wished to express themself as fully male. Elrond then went on to expand the treatment he developed for this specific patient, to work for others, such as Galion, whose situations were all different, but in certain ways similar. Individuals who were born definitively one gender but wanted to express themselves as another, whether it be changing as much as they could about themselves or just parts of themselves. While not a common condition amongst elves, it wasn’t unheard of, manifesting in many different ways. Some just chose to dress differently such as elleth rejecting dresses or the female robes. Some wanted to take up work in areas that tended to employ the opposite gender, such as an ellon wanting to be a nanny or a female becoming a blacksmith. Again it wasn’t unheard of for both ellon and elleth to do almost any job, but sometimes it leaned toward one group or the other for certain jobs. Other elves, like Galion, wished to live most or every aspect of their life as the opposite gender of what they were born, hoping to change as much as they could about their expressed characteristics to help them feel comfortable and self confident with themselves. Elrond’s treatment could help Galion change certain aspects of his appearance, such as his voice, height, fat distribution, strength and much more, to help him appear more masculine. Not only was it a good excuse to get Galion nearer to Glorfindel, Elrond’s treatments could have a significant effect on how Galion was able to express himself as he wanted to be. Erestor did want to see Galion receiving the treatments, hoping the elf could live more comfortably as he was. He may have even written to Thranduil, encouraging him to let his assistant have some time off to see if Elrond could help him. Thranduil must’ve been in agreement this was a good opportunity for Galion, for Erestor, received no argument or pushback from Thranduil in the matter. In fact he had helped my manufacturing diplomatic excuses and meetings with Elrond’s staff as another excuse for Galion to come, to be sure the elf didn’t feel he was being too selfish and taking too much time off from his duty to the prince of Greenwood. If he didn’t like the idea, he would certainly let Erestor know. And no, Erestor did not mention Glorfindel in any of his correspondence. So if Galion or the Woodland Prince and King discovered his return, it was mere happenstance. Now it was just up to Glorfindel to work up the courage to approach the visiting elf. Erestor had done what he could while still keeping his promises.
Later that evening Elrond would confront Erestor after Glorfindel left his office. “Erestor,” demanded Lord Elrond. “What did you do?”
“Whatever do you mean my Lord?” Erestor asked neutrally.
“You know very well of what I speak,” Elrond shot back. “Suddenly this Galion is making a visit to our realm, now? After all of you’re arguing with Glorfindel about their reconnection, you want me to believe you were not involved? I thought we agreed to allow Glorfindel to wait until he was ready? We can’t risk something to cause him enough upset to fade over or distract him from his purpose back.”
Distraction? Elrond thought Galion a distraction? Erestor could not disagree more. “You do know that Glorfindel is a grown ellon, well able to manage his duty and his personal life?” Erestor questioned back. “Even if they remain together, Glorfindel will still dedicate himself to his duty to Middle Earth, just as Galion will remain dedicated to his duty to Thranduil, just as they always did. Thranduil trusts enough to send Galion here, and I am sure at the least, he has figured out through the rumors that Glorfindel is here. Whether he has told Galion, I don’t know. Despite this, he is confident Galion will return to his duty he is sworn to. Do you not trust Glorfindel enough to reveal himself? Think he will run away for love or despair of rejection? Their reunion would only help to bolster their spirits, allowing Glorfidnel to replenish some of the depleted happiness lost from his past life. The lift in his heart and spirit, I’d imagine, will only bolster his continued healing and fortify his determination. I dare say Galion will only make Glorfindel stronger. Glorfindel isn’t the type to throw duty away for the pleasures of this world, it’s part of the reason he was sent back. But just because he has a duty to fulfill, does not mean that he cannot seek happiness, even that of a relationship. If he has to suffer with all the hardships of this often cruel world shouldn’t he also get to enjoy the good and beautiful parts. This isn’t a mission of self sacrifice and suffering for Glorfindel, and he deserves happiness and love as much as anyone else. If not more.”
Elrond remained silent for a long moment, knowing he couldn’t argue about Glorfindel being happy. He wanted that for the returned elf as well. He was just worried a chance meeting could deter from some of the progress they made with Glorfindel's growth, self-worth and healing. He didn’t want to see anything go poorly, and take Glorfindel down a darker path. “Still, I thought it best for Glorfindel to decide when he was ready,” Elrond added. “I don’t want us pushing him into something he is not yet prepared to face. That and you promised him not to reveal his release. That is where I take the greatest concern about your interference.”
Erestor could not deny that he wasn’t involved at all, so instead he crafted his words wisely, responding. “I have not told anyone of Glorfindel’s return or of his presence in our realm. You offer treatment that appeals to Galion’s needs and wants perfectly, it was only a matter of time before he approached you for your talents in healing. I have no idea if Galion even knows of Glorfindel’s return. I certainly have not spoken a word of it, nor even hinted at the idea. When the ellon does arrive, I promise you, my Lord, I will not reveal that which Glorfindel doesn’t want spoken. When Galion does come, I will leave it up to Glorfindel for when he is ready to approach him. I won’t speak a word about Glorfindel's presence.”
“Fine, fine,” said Elrond, knowing he could not out argue his Advisor. “Just be sure to stick by your word. I do not want to see him hurt.”
“Neither do I,” Erestor thought. But somebody had to initiate something. Otherwise they may be waiting centuries more for Glorfindel to work up the courage to take the lead. Erestor would do what he promised. He would not say anything about Glorfindel. But he said nothing about pointing or nudging one or the other in the right direction.
Glorfindel was a bit of a nervous wreck over the last few days before Galion’s scheduled arrival. He had taken counsel with Elrond, Erestor and Lindir on several occasions, trying to get his mess of emotions under control. Elrond encouraged him to take his time, get to understand and unsort his feelings and approach with caution. Lindir insisted Glorfindel should be riding out in some big romantic gesture to meet Galion, at this very moment, and escort him to the valley himself. Erestor just encouraged him to keep up his courage and spirit, warning him to not put off the first conversation for too long. That would only cause his anxieties and apprehension to grow and allow his cowardice to take over. Plus Galion would be let down to think Glorfindel was hiding from him. Galion was only here for a year at most, potentially only a half. Glorfindel should not spoil or waste any time that he would likely later regret. Glorfindel had contemplated greeting the elf at his arrival, but then recalled how Erestor reacted to the surprise of his return when he came to Eregion. Maybe it was best if they met in a more private setting with something to ease them into their reunion, so as not to startle or overwhelm the other elf. It should definitely be in a private place, without the eyes of the entire realm upon them. His anxieties escalated a little each day, as Galion’s arrival came closer.
It was midweek, shortly after the morning meal when the bell sounded from the gated entryway, announcing a visitor incoming. Everyone was up and at their normal duties, keeping the realm running smoothly and efficiently. Everyone, that is, except for Glorfindel. And Lindir. Why was Lindir here? “For the drama,” he said with an exaggerated voice and waving of his hands. Glorfindel sighed, used to this behavior from the now grown ellon. He certainly hadn’t lost any of his spunk and mischievous nature from when he was an elfling. Also it was his chambers they were currently occupying. Glorfindel sat in Lindir’s room which was located on the top floor of the Homely house. His room had a perfect view to watch for those coming into the valley, the height giving him even further perception. That in and of itself was probably half the reason Lindir knew all the best gossip in the realm first. While Lindir could get a little overexcited over situations like these (I.e. the “drama” of others), Glorfindel did draw comfort from his presence. Between Glorfindel, Erestor and Elrond, the three had basically adopted Lindir as their own son after he decided to remain in Eregion and then later Imladris to further his career as a minstrel. He had become especially attached to Glorfindel. Glorfindel knew as lighthearted and humorous and Lindir was being in the moment, he really was looking out for him. Making sure Glorfindel was okay. He had been filled in on parts of the backstory. He just wanted this ellon he called father to find true happiness and love in this world he returned to. So he waited with Glorfindel, remaining ready. Ready to comfort Glorfindel if he was feeling unwell, ready to offer courage and support if he became nervous, and ready to make any rue the day if they made him upset or cry. Hopefully, however, soon at least, he would be ready to celebrate Glorfindel’s love story. He would write it in a song and capture the moment to share it’s beauty with all. Either that or write a tragedy, but he would much rather not have that happen. “Positive thoughts!” He reminded himself.
A few short minutes after the tolling of the bell, the incoming group became visible, just little specks in the distance at first, but becoming clearer and clearer as they approached. It looked to be a group of Wood Elves, a couple of the Sindar as well. Glorfindel, who was seated by the window, began jiggling his right foot. That soon turned into the whole leg being bounced up and down in his seat. Glorfindel’s body felt both hot and cold at the same time. His hands were shaking and beading with droplets of sweat. His breathing turned uneven and rapid in pace as the static in his head muffled the loudest sounds from the outside world. Suddenly a warm and steady hand on his shoulder brought Glorfindel back to himself. Encouraged him to regulate his breathing and calm his mind and body. Glorfindel continued to gaze down on the group as they came closer, now approaching the courtyard of the Homely House, his eyes seeking out just one ellon. Where was he? Where was he? There he was! Sitting atop a tan mare with a dark black mane. There was that beautiful face he missed so very much. Glorfindel stood, as if to approach the group, only to remember he was inside, at the top floor of the house. With the sun in its position there would be a glare on the windows and the ellon he was staring at would not be able to see him in the window even if Glorfindel had wanted him to. “You should go!” Lindir encouraged, always one to take life head on. “Do it. Go! Greet him. Wouldn’t it be so romantic if…” Lindir kept going on and on about various various “romantic scenarios ” that could happen, most of them including Glorfindel sweeping Galion off of his feet or Galion rushing to Glorfindel’s side with tears flowing down his face, kissing him in front of the crowds that had gathered. Glorfindel noted there was no fainting involved this time, but then again, Erestor’s reception 250 years ago did have Lindir pretty shaken up for a while. As Glorfindel stepped forward, he touched his fingertips to the glass, as if reaching out for the approaching elf.
“Nope, no, none of that,” Lindir scolded the older elf, playfully swatting his hand away and shooing the larger elf backward, wiping at the fingerprints that were left behind with a handkerchief pulled out of his trouser pocket. “Ada Erestor will scold me for the hundredth time for having spots on my window again, if you continue to leave your marks. Come,” he said, pulling at the elf before him. “Let’s get a better view up close. Glorfindel, however, did not budge. He was far broader and taller than Lindir’s lithe figure. “Oh come on,” Lindir whined, as if he were an elfling again. “They don’t have to see us, I just wanna get closer. We can get a better view” he added,wiggling his eyebrows at Glorfindel. “Which one is he?” Glorfindel finally gave up and allowed his little songbird to drag him downstairs to spy on the new arrivals.
From a safe distance, hidden behind other elves and a large bush in desperate need of trimming, Glorfindel watched his beloved approach and greet Melpomaen, who was tasked with greeting visitors that day. Usually this job would fall to Erestor or Lindir, but Elrond decreed neither were to be present at the Wood Elf’s welcoming. He still wasn’t certain how involved Erestor was and what he would say. He was trying to give both Galion and Glorfindel some breathing room, at least temporarily. Erestor had pouted and shut Elrond out of his office that day, but Elrond held to it. Usually, even though Elrond was the Lord of the realm, Erestor could be found bossing him around or taking charge, but it was times like these, Elrond demonstrated he could put his foot down, even with his Advisor who was notorious for getting his way. Glorfindel just stared and stared quietly at the beautiful elf that he had once called his love. The one he was not sure if he still had the right to call his own. Not after 250 years of being returned and not one word was sent or said to him.
As Glorfindel stared, Lindir badgered him. Glorfindel was certain now that Lindir would have rushed straight up to the group and introduced himself had Elrond not warned him within an inch of his life to stay out. He was pushing it, being this close. Glorfindel eventually became sick of Lindir’s needling and finally pointed out which elf was Galion to his son. “Pretty,” Lindir said, catching a side view of the elf. When Galion had turned more fully in their direction, Lindir froze and drew in a little gasp.
“What is it? Lindir? Liiin-diiir?” Glorfindel question. It was quite unusual to hear his songbird go silent and for the ever present smile to fall from his always cheerful face, which was now wrinkled in apprehension and concentration. “Ion?” He asked again, shaking the smaller elf slightly. Lindir shook his head to clear away the fog and seemed to come back to himself. “What was that about ion nin? Glorfindel questioned. It didn’t matter how old Lindir was, Glorfindel still thought of him as his little songbird elfling.
“No..no..nothing,” stuttered Lindir. “I just had a flash of a memory. From long, long ago. It is nothing. I must just have gotten something confused,” he said, still acting far too quiet for his usual bubbly and outgoing personality. Glorfindel might have noticed Lindir’s continued unsettled behavior, except that he was too busy studying as Galion made his greetings with Melpomaen who was there to welcome and house the visitors. He looked much like the elf he remembered from before. He had continued to grow a little bit, in both height and strength. He looked to have put on a good amount of muscle and walked with a larger air of confidence about him. His clothes were rumpled from the journey and the bottoms of his hair had become a tangled mess, yet still he looked like perfection to Glorfindel. The ends of his silky, brown hair hung down below mid-thigh, in need of a trim if Galion’s past preferences to keep it cut a bit shorter than it grows was anything to go by. He looked a bit tired, but a weeks long journey on the back of a horse would do that to any elf, Glorfindel included. He watched as Galion seemed to take charge, directing various Wood Elves where they should go and reminding them of their duties, along with the assistance of Melpomaen. Soon the visiting elves had been welcomed and situated. The guard of the group headed to the stables with the horses. They would bunk in the barracks on the training grounds where many of the younger recruits chose to reside and were provided free housing. Elrond had set up special guest rooms for the guards and warriors that many high ranking visitors brought in their entourage. Galion’s group was small, but he was representing Greenwood, whose elves rarely visited the realm in the valley. There looked to be six guards, Galion and two advisors in the group, one higher ranking and the other looked to be more of a junior or assistant. Back in Greenwood, Galion was often labeled as Thranduil’s butler or personal assistant. But Glorfindel knew he was much more than that. He followed Thranduil everywhere, keeping eyes and ears open, and mouth closed. He knew much more confidential information than your average elf and could be a very dangerous enemy, having picked up on how to read others well after centuries of practice at Thranduil’s side. The prince often sought his opinion on important matters and relied on his assistant to keep him prepared and informed. Whether the people of the Woodland realm realized it or not, he held a position of great power and importance. Beyond that, in the privacy of their personal lives, he and Thranduil were quite close friends. It was no wonder Galion would also be participating in an inter-realm meeting between the two realms and received such a large guard for such a small diplomatic group. Glorfindel watched Galion wander inside of the Homely House, most likely being shown his chambers, as he carried on a convivial conversation with his fellow Advisor and Erestor’s shy little assistant. Just before they entered the house, Galion seemed to briefly take one last look around the courtyard, as if looking for something, before he headed inside. Glorfindel discreetly followed behind and discovered what room Galion had procured. It was one of their better guest rooms in the house, to both elf’s surprise. That must have been Erestor’s doing. He’d probably make some crude remark about Glorfindel likely spending quite a bit of time in that room with the visiting elf, so it had to be up to the standards befitting the returned elf Lord, which was a win for Galion in any case as he received a comfortable and spacious room with various amenities for his extended stay. Glorfindel blushed at the implication of that statement. Here he was trying to work up the courage to simply say hello and Erestor was joking about that? Unfortunately for Glorfindel, he did not work up his courage to greet the other ellon, even now that it could be done in private. Instead, once Galion was settled behind his closed chamber doors, Glorfindel retreated back to his own room.
This is how much of Glorfindel’s time went the following day. When Galion had free time between his appointments and meetings, he would discreetly follow the younger elf, happy to at least get to look upon his love and trying to work up the courage to approach him. Every time he thought he worked up the courage, he would back out at the last moment. Elrond assured him it was okay to take his time. Lindir cheered him on, encouraging him to take bold and swift action. Erestor also encouraged him to take action, but in his own special way, by acting like he was ready to give Glorfindel a swift kick in the arse. He could not believe how cowardly he had become. Hiding from the elf he claimed to love and stalking him from a distance. Galion was a much harder elf to follow discreetly now days. In the past he could never manage to sneak up on Glorfindel and surprise him, whereas Glorfindel was successful in most of his “sneak attacks” when he would try to silently approach the elf from behind and surprise him back, all in good fun and flirting. In the present, Glorfindel almost got caught out on a few occasions, when Galion would abruptly shift his position and look around. Almost as if he knew someone was watching, or had caught a glance of something from the corner of his eye.
It was now the evening of the first full day and second night that Galion had been in Imladris, with Glorfindel failing to even talk to him once. It was not going as Glorfindel had hoped, but much as he had expected. He was in a sour mood. First, because of his own cowardly ways and avoidance of Galion and second because his little songbird seemed to be avoiding him. Usually Lindir was twittering and fluttering all about Imladris and around Glorfindel himself, but few had seen sight of him this past day. He was worried about the ellon on top of everything else going on. Glorfindel just needed some time to clear his head. He headed out to a little garden like the one back in Eregion that he used to run to when overwhelmed by his return and having nightmares. Glorfindel had found out at some point that Erestor had designed and planted most of that garden in Eregion, as a tribute to his fallen friend, covering it in the flowers of Glorfindel’s house in Gondolin. In the same vein, he had a small fountain placed in the main courtyard, constructed in remembrance of Ecthelion. Glorfindel loved to sit outside on a nice spring or summer day by that fountain and listen to Lindir play his flute, remembering his friend who was still likely residing in Mandos Halls. That was how Erestor memorialized his two closest friends, aside from Idril, who Erestor had memories of through her grandson, Elrond, and a few saved books and letters she had written to him, as a token and reminder of that friendship. Then they moved to Imladris. Another small fountain was put up. A garden of Celandine was planted once agai, but now no longer in remembrance but in celebration. Glorfindel found this new garden to be just as soothing and rejuvenating as the last. He just wanted to be left alone that evening, so there he sat, thinking and meditating amongst the whispers of the flowers. He was seated on a large stone located toward the back border of the garden, thinking about how he had come to this point in his life. He remained there, well into the night, knowing he would not find restful sleep in his bed that evening for the unrest in his mind. In the midst of the stillness, Glorfindel became alerted to another’s presence the moment the door to the outside garden had opened. He was not alone any longer. That was okay. This was not his space alone and many enjoyed its comforting atmosphere. Most let him be when Glorfindel was out there sitting alone. Soon after though, he could hear light footsteps approaching his position, eventually, a twig snapping from not far behind him brought him fully out of his meditation. Glorfindel sighed. It was only one of three elves that would interrupt him this late at night. He had a feeling it was Elrond, wishing to lend Glorfindel some company and comfort, knowing the returned elf came out here when he was distressed or dealing with memories or nightmares of the past. Glorfindel just was not in any mood for company tonight, regardless of the elf. Except for the one elf who his own cowardice guaranteed he could not have beside him. He turned toward the approaching elf, Elrond in his mind, and began to speak, but ended up talking at the same time as the other elf.
“Elrond, I’m not in the mood for company tonig…,” Glorfindel began, partway through when he recognized the face and voice behind him. One that was decidedly not Elrond.
“Glorfindel? Please tell me my eyes do not deceive me and see a ghost,” Galion begged, stepping more clearly into the moonlight.
Glorfindel shot up off of the bench in a flash. He was the least clumsy elf anyone, including Galion, knew, yet here he was, almost falling over himself with the shock of it all. Both elves quickly covered the last few steps separating one another, coming together in a desperate embrace. All thoughts were gone for the moment, just instinctual action. Galion threw himself into the larger elf’s arms, kissing first those beautiful lips of his returned to him lover. Glorfindel spun him around and around with excitement and a bit of disbelief. Galion continued spreading adoring kisses across his beloved’s face, paying special attention to each and every mark, especially his largest scar. He had to make sure that Glorfindel knew that none of his marks mattered to him, in fact, they made the returned Elf Lord appear only more appealing in his eyes. Glorfindel finally set Galion back on his feet. Both elves stared at each other, gazing deeply into the other’s eyes, with Galion looking up and reaching to clasp the taller elf’s face in both hands, while Glorfindel turned his head down to peer at his lover, while clasping his lovely face as well. The pair didn’t need anything more at that moment in time. They were happy to just bask in this moment. Only twelve more words were spoken between the two for a good long time.
“Glorfindel my love.”
“Galion, beloved.”
“You are back?”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
Translations
Ada/adar: Dad/father
Dîn: silence or shut up
Elleth: female elf
Ellon: male elf
Ellyn: male elves
Ellyth: female elf
Gûr: mind
Goheno nin: forgive me, I’m sorry
Hannon le: thank you
Hröa: body
Hûn: heart
Hûn, gûr a fëa: heart mind and soul
Ion: son
Ion nin: my child/my son
Mellon nin: my friend
Ohtar: name meaning warrior/protector
Peredhil: half-elf
Notes:
I decided to change this second part of the Learning to Love Yourself series to only four chapters, so it is finished now! Part 3 is upcoming and we will start to see the main characters interacting together more, instead of the more background pieces/individual studies part one and two are. I will hopefully answer many of the questions left open in parts one and two of the story. I am also thinking of writing a fourth part (or more) of the series which will be a one shot of Lindir/Melpomaen and potentially others if that sounds interesting to anyone. Should we find someone for Erestor and who? Thank you for reading. Kudos and comments are always appreciated to let me know you are enjoying the story and I am always receptive to constructive criticism, comments in general and new ideas or thoughts on the direction of the piece.
wisteria53 on Chapter 1 Fri 28 Feb 2025 12:34AM UTC
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Argleena on Chapter 1 Fri 28 Feb 2025 05:39AM UTC
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wisteria53 on Chapter 2 Fri 28 Feb 2025 01:09AM UTC
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Argleena on Chapter 2 Fri 28 Feb 2025 05:58AM UTC
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wisteria53 on Chapter 3 Sun 09 Mar 2025 09:40AM UTC
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wisteria53 on Chapter 4 Sun 09 Mar 2025 10:17AM UTC
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