Remember the decipher card of Glorfindel? The Fin-as-an-Elfling one? Well. The "Pro-Findel's" main point of argument was that Glorfindel, being reborn, can't have been an "old" Elf, but must have been one of Legolas' age, so the portrayal was correct. I, on the other hand, see Glorfindel as a mature Elf. And in my universe, he was not reborn - he was sent back the way he was, as an adult. And as this obviously made no sense to anybody but me, I wrote this little tale which will lead us back to the Halls of Waiting. Beside Glorfindel, Gil-galad and Amaris will make an appearance, too. And we learn more about Nonfindel - and a little bit about Thranduil.
HOW GLORFINDEL CAME TO IMLADRIS
Interlude "The Knave" and "Finding Námo"
"Sire, it is only a matter of minutes until he begins to tell the Balrog-tale again," Amaris whispered, tugging on Gil-galad's sleeve. The former High King of the Noldo looked up from his book and fixed his attention on Glorfindel of Gondolin, who sat in a chair by the fireplace, surrounded by some new arrivals.
Gil sighed.
"Do you think we have any chance of sneaking out of this hall without him noticing?" he asked, but Amaris, his trusted advisor, only shook his head regretfully.
"I do not think so, Sire. There is only one door, and to reach it, we would have to pass by him, and without a doubt, he would invite you to sit down and listen as well."
"Amaris, tell me one thing," Gil demanded, snapping the book shut, "I am a king. A high king. I have fought many heroic battles and done great deeds. I even died spectacularly. So why does nobody ever ask me to tell my story? Why is every single soul that arrives here in the Halls of Waiting rushing to his side to hear the tale of how Glorfindel of Gondolin slew the Balrog? I mean - Ecthelion slew three, and I have never seen him being courted the way Glorfindel is."
Amaris wrinkled his nose and arched an elegant eyebrow, an amused smile on his lips.
"Sire, with all due respect, Lord Glorfindel was always the object of admiration while he was still alive, so it would be naďve to assume this should have changed with his death. It cannot be helped, the ladies adore him. Even among the Firstborn he is more than fair, he is charming, dresses elegantly, has a bon mot for every occasion - and he slew a Balrog."
Gil-galad slammed the book down on the small table beside him, folded his arms over his chest and glared at Amaris.
"Now really - and what am I? Cooked liver? I pass as very fair, too, and had more ladies adoring me than this Elfling could ever hope for! And not only ladies!"
Amaris stood behind his king, so Gil couldn't see the adoring expression on Amaris' face. To the Mirkwood Elf, Gil-galad was beauty personified, but he knew that he did not stand a chance beside the flawless wonder that was Elrond, so he hid his affection well.
"Sire, of you the harpers sadly sing. You are a great hero, your name can be found in all the books, so why care for Glorfindel's quick-fading popularity?"
"I do not wish for harpers to sing sadly! I do not care for harpers! I hate harpers and their harps alike!"
Amaris rolled his eyes.
"Very well then, Sire, no harpers, no singing and no songs. Maybe it would improve your popularity if you would smile at your fellow dead rather than scowling at them."
Gil glared at Amaris. His advisor was mocking him, as usual. The Mirkwood Elf was the bane of his death just as he had been of his life, but he was also his best friend. And though Gil-galad's heart would always belong to Elrond, he could not deny that Amaris' beautiful face was one of those things which made being dead bearable. For most of the time, being dead was terribly boring. He could only hope that he would be reborn soon - not only because of the lack of entertainment in the Halls of Waiting, but also because Elrond had begun to make moo eyes at the daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel. If he wasn't sent back to Arda soon, this cursed Half-elf might get married and have a dozen of Elflings before Gil had managed to be reborn and grown up to marry Elrond himself!
Amaris knew Gil well enough to know what direction his thoughts had taken, and for a moment, the mask of indifference fell, showing a pained expression on his face. Elrond - how many ages would it take for Gil to overcome this infatuation? To draw a line under his former life? Amaris suspected that Námo wouldn't return the High King to Arda before this happened. None of them could return before their unfinished business had been settled.
Maybe that was the reason he was still here? Because he hadn't been able to let go of his love, either? If he could stop loving Gil-galad - maybe then he would be allowed to return home?
Amaris' thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a small group of Elves. His back automatically went rigid when he recognized his father, Oropher, a tall, lean warrior, his face always guarded, whose feline eyes now came to rest on his oldest son. Amaris did as he had done for ages, he bowed his head in greeting. And Oropher also did as he had always done: he wrinkled his nose in disgust, then turned around and left, followed by his advisors and guards.
Gil-galad had watched this daily procedure, and forgotten his annoyance with Glorfindel over his anger with Oropher.
"Amaris - how can it be possible your ada still holds a grudge against you after so many years? I understand that he would enjoy seeing me burn in Mordor's fires for all eternity, though he is wrong to put all the blame on me, but what have you done? I know he was not happy that you left Mirkwood to become my advisor, but when we were still alive, he never treated you thus."
Amaris bit his lip. He could not tell Gil-galad of the terrible day when Oropher had found out the true reason why his oldest son had insisted on joining the king rather than staying in Mirkwood to prepare for his duties as the future king of the realm. His ada loved both his children dearly, and wanted to see them happy. Seeing his oldest son leaving without permission might not have caused the rift, but knowing that Amaris followed the king because he loved him was more than Oropher could take. His pride was hurt, and pride the Mirkwood Elves put above anything else. Not only did he hate Gil-galad with a vengeance, but he also deeply disapproved of the fact that Amaris had fallen for a male. This was wrong in Oropher's eyes, and he never forgave his oldest son, so after a terrible row, he had banned him from his home.
The advisor sighed. He could still remember how he had stood in his chamber, packing the few personal belongings he wanted to take with him. The door had opened, and his younger brother, Thranduil, had shyly entered the chamber. He had not reached majority yet, and hero-worshipped Amaris with the deep passion only the young can muster.
"Thranduil - it is good that you came to see me. Will you help me to carry these things to my horse?"
The young Elf nodded, and swallowed hard. There was a lump in his throat, and he didn't want his beloved brother to remember him crying.
"Must you leave, Amaris? If you would apologize to ada, he certainly would..."
Amaris turned around, and put his hands on his younger brother's shoulders.
"Little one, please understand: I cannot apologize to ada, because I have done nothing wrong. He can rule this realm, he can even rule our lives, but he cannot rule our hearts. I am sorry that I hurt him, but I cannot change the way I feel about - certain things."
He knelt down before his brother, and took his hands.
"Promise me to look after yourself and our ada, Thranduil. And if you ever need my help, do call me. No matter what happened today and how ada might feel about me, I will always be your brother, and I will always love you."
Thranduil threw himself into Amaris' arms, and hugged him as hard as he could. Amaris felt his younger brother’s tears wet his tunic, and he felt miserable knowing that the young one was suffering so much. He let Thranduil cry and held him, making soothing noises, until the turmoil was over. Then he helped the younger Elf up and looked at him.
"Thranduil, the day will come when you too will have to make your choice. Eternity is long, penneth - chose well who you want to spend it with. Do not bond with anybody because ada wants it, or because you think it would be good for our realm. Only follow your heart - for otherwise nothing good will come of it."
Thranduil sniffled, then he wiped his nose on his sleeve, looking like a very small Elfling for a moment. Amaris knew he had to go now, or he would never find the courage to leave his brother behind. Thranduil had helped him to fix the saddle bags on the horse, and Amaris had never seen him again until that fateful battle. Thranduil had looked all grown up, been serious beyond his years and had become almost a stranger. Amaris had intended to talk to him, to find out where they stood with each other, but before he could put his plan into action, Amaris had been killed.
"Amaris? High king to advisor - are you still with us?" Gil asked, a little worried by the expression on his advisor's face. Maybe it had not been such a good idea to bring Oropher up. That elf really had the ability to ruin even the most cheerful mood.
Amaris started. "Sire? Oh, pardon me - I was lost in thought. Would you kindly repeat your question?"
Gil gave him a thoughtful look.
"I asked if we should try to climb out of the window to escape the 13589th re-telling of the great Balrog slaying, Amaris."
"A tempting idea, Sire, but I doubt it will work, unless you have grown wings overnight and can fly."
Gil sighed.
"Well then, Amaris - get us some bottles of wine. Once one has reached a certain level of drunkenness, even Glorfindel's tales are amusing."
Amaris nodded, then he rushed off to do as he was told.
* * *
Glorfindel hated to re-tell his glorious fight with the Balrog. How many times had he done it? 10000? 20000? He could not tell. But over and over he was asked how it had been, how he had slain the Balrog and died in the process. He had just fought for his life, nothing else, and he could not understand why people were so fascinated by this. Many of the Elves gathered around him were great warriors themselves, they had no reason to admire or envy him. Yes, there had been a time when Glorfindel enjoyed the attention. Oh, he had had a very high opinion of himself! He had been one of the greatest warriors in Gondolin, and very fair, too. He had been admired, and it had gone to his head. He had even won the love of Ecthelion, the fairest of them all, and to Glorfindel, even the stars above paled in comparison to him and his lover.
Glorfindel often felt shame. He remembered the many times he had hurt others with his pride and his prejudices, most of all his younger brother, Lórindol, whose gentle soul had been the prime target for Glorfindel's mockery and criticism. Nothing the youth did had been good enough for Glorfindel, and when it had become obvious that the young one would never be a warrior, he had turned his back on the younger brother. He had been embarrassed when his patrol passed a meadow where Lórindol sat sketching a flower. Every time a soldier had made a rude joke about Glorfindel's little "sister", the warrior had resented his brother more for his differences, and he had made the young one's life difficult wherever he could. One evening, when heavily drunk, he had cut Lórindol´s braids off because he did not like the ribbons his brother had added. From that moment on, everybody had called Lórindol "Nonfindel".
He blushed. Poor Lórindol - his brother was now living in Lothlórien, for all he knew, and was under Galadriel's protection. Hopefully the young one had forgiven him by now, and he wished he could tell him how sorry he was for all the times he had hurt him. And he wished he could take his harsh words back and be the big brother Lórindol had always longed for.
And then there was his own son - who had died because he, Glorfindel, had been too proud, had not made the young one stay at home but taken him along into the battle. No, he was no hero - he was the lowest of all Elves, and all the admiration and attention was not deserved.
But he was dead - too late for regrets, and maybe this dreaded Balrog-tale was part of his punishment.
"My lord Námo wishes to see you, Glorfindel of Gondolin."
One of Námo's servants appeared in front of Glorfindel. How he hated their way of turning up out of the blue! They all had the appearance of stern, humourless Elves in black robes, their long, black hair held back in one single braid. Like Námo's, their eyes were pools of liquid black, like the water of a pond in winter, and about as cold.
"I will join you," Glorfindel answered, and got up, much to the regret of the Elves gathered around him. "My friends, I will finish my tale later."
With that, he followed the servant, and Gil, who was on his second bottle already, elbowed Amaris hard enough to make the advisor wince.
"That was a narrow escape, Amaris, was it not? It is our lucky day!"
Amaris rubbed his side, then he nodded.
"Agreed, Sire. So I can return the last two bottles to the kitchen now."
Gil shook his head.
"Naw. Sit down and drink with me, Amaris - what else can an Elf do here?"
Amaris, already a little drunk, opened his mouth to state that he had a very clear idea for what he and Gil could do, but since he was, as mentioned, a little drunk, not completely decked, he closed his mouth again and uncorked the next bottle.
Gil giggled and winked at Amaris, and the Mirkwood Elf sighed deeply.
This was going to be a long night.
* * *
Glorfindel had never managed to figure out where exactly Námo's study was located. Every time he went there, the route looked different, the corridors seemed to go in another direction. It was all an illusion - he knew well that Námo was a spirit, and none of this here was real. The Vala had given the Halls of Waiting this appearance so the Firstborn would feel at home. What the afterlife might look like for mortals, Glorfindel wondered. Or for Hobbits, Dwarves? At times, he thought about asking Námo, but the Vala was not one to encourage questions, and somehow Glorfindel already knew that he would not get an answer, but an arched eyebrow.
After what seemed like an eternity, they arrived at their destination. The servant disappeared, the door opened without a hand touching it, and Glorfindel entered. Námo stood by the window, overlooking the sea. No ship arrived without the Vala knowing it - nothing happened without him being informed. Námo was everywhere and nowhere, and while Glorfindel might think he saw him standing there, dressed in black hunter's garb, he might as well be somewhere completely different.
There was the distinct scent of nutmeg in the air, a scent Glorfindel closely associated with the Vala, and Námo turned around, his hands clasped behind his back. His face was fair and terrible at the same time - it was his eyes, Glorfindel thought, it was like catching a glimpse of eternity, so he lowered his gaze, for a mere Elf could not handle eternity.
"Glorfindel. Your time has come to return."
For a moment, the warrior did not understand what the Vala was talking about.
"Return?"
"To Arda. You will leave these Halls."
Only now the meaning of these words sank in. Returned? He would be reborn? Breathe again? Laugh again? And cry? Be a living, breathing thing rather than the spectre he was now? Glorfindel was speechless.
"You will not be reborn, Glorfindel. I will send you back the way you are, or rather: the way you were when you died."
An announcement of earth-shattering proportions, and the voice of the Vala was as indifferent, bored even, as it could be. Glorfindel, on the other hand, was overwhelmed by the impact of this announcement.
"Not reborn? But - why?"
"This is none of your concern, child. You will return, and go to a place called Imladris. Please try your best not to return to these halls too soon, for we are all weary of your tales."
The Vala made an impatient gesture, and Glorfindel understood that he had been excused. The warrior slowly backed off to the door, when Námo, who had already returned to the window, looked at him again. For a brief moment, he thought he saw something resembling warmth in the darkness of Námo's eyes, but certainly this could not be?"
"The Elf Rider will cross your path. Guard him and his mirror."
"I will," Glorfindel promised, hoping that he would see in time what Námo had been talking about.
"Leave now, child."
Glorfindel bowed, and left the study. For a moment, he thought he would faint, but then he realized that he was not, in fact, standing in a corridor in the Halls of Waiting, but in a forest. The sun was sending beams of light through the green roof provided by the trees, the birds were singing, and a mild breeze ruffled Glorfindel's hair. He dropped down to his knees and pressed his hands into the soft moss covering the ground, feeling the remains of the morning dew and smelling the sweet scent of the little white flowers.
"This is so beautiful," he whispered. "How is it possible I never knew how wonderful it is to be alive?"
A bumble bee flew by, humming a song of welcome for Glorfindel, and the Elf swallowed hard, noticing the most amazing thing of all: his heart was beating.
* * *
Erestor sat at Elrond's desk, going through the various letters and messages which had arrived that day. He expected the return of the Half-elf by the end of the following week, and it was very likely that he would bring back good news of his upcoming wedding with the lady Celebrían.
The advisor sighed. He was still young, and lacked experience, but Elrond appreciated his sharp mind and his loyalty, so, with all the senior advisors joining Elrond on his travel to Lothlórien, Erestor had been left in charge of the administration, and he had set his mind on doing a good job. The sun was shining outside, it was a beautiful, warm summer day, but Erestor did not notice. He was looking down his long nose at yet another demanding note from Gondor, and was just about to write down one of his usual biting comments when somebody knocked on the door.
"Please enter," he said, without looking up. A servant entered, and from his red face Erestor could tell that the Elf had run up the stairs.
"Master Erestor, you must come, quickly! There is somebody waiting down in the Great Hall, and he wishes to speak to Lord Elrond!"
Erestor looked up.
"Please calm down. Have you told him that Lord Elrond is not available?"
"I have, but he - oh please, come, Master Erestor, this is a most amazing thing!"
Something was clearly amiss, and Erestor saw that he would not get further information from the servant. Sighing, he got up, straightened his simple black velvet robe and followed the Elf down the corridor and the stairs. Erestor was surprised to see almost everybody living in the Last Homely House gathered there, forming a circle around the fireplace.
Erestor clapped his hands. Immediately, all talk stopped, and the Elves looked at Elrond's young advisor.
"What is this commotion? Why are you not at work?" Erestor asked.
"Master Erestor - we have a visitor, here", one of the servants answered, and pointed at the Elf seated by the fireplace. Erestor had not seen him before, but now, as the crowd parted, he noticed the tall Elf with the long blond hair. He was of heavier build than usual for a Firstborn, and when he looked up, Erestor saw the brightest pair of blue eyes he had ever encountered. The Elf was must have been very fair once, but now the lines in his face spoke of sorrow and long years of suffering, and it was clear to see that he must have been a warrior. He wore simple blue hunter's garb and black boots, dusty from the road, and the pendant he wore on a golden chain around his neck identified him as a noble. A visitor from Lothlórien, maybe?"
"Welcome to Imladris, my friend. I am Erestor, one of the advisors of Lord Elrond. He is not here at the moment, but if there is anything I can help you with, please let me know."
Glorfindel got up, and took a step back when he saw Erestor. A shiver ran down his spine. Tall, lean, all clad in black, the long black hair held back in a simple braid, he looked almost like one of Námo's servants, and this was not exactly a sight Glorfindel delighted in.
Erestor noticed the fear in the Elf's eyes, and arched his eyebrows. Usually, people tended to be bored by his presence, not frightened. This Elf did not like him - but why? Had his greeting been lacking in respect?
Meanwhile, Glorfindel had taken a hold of himself again, and took a few steps towards the advisor. He bowed politely, and now he could see that Erestor had deep brown, friendly eyes. No, this was not a servant of Námo, and he allowed himself a smile.
"Well met, Erestor, advisor to Lord Elrond. I have come a long way to see your lord, and I am weary. Would it be too bold to ask if you could give me a bed to sleep in and something to eat?"
Erestor, secretly chiding himself for not having thought of this in the first place, eagerly nodded.
"But of course! My apologies, I am a bad host. Servant, please bring a meal for our guest, and you, maids, prepare a guest chamber and a hot bath for him."
Glorfindel smiled gratefully.
"I am the one to apologize for turning up here uninvited and unannounced. I thank you for all your trouble, Erestor."
"It is nothing, but may I know your name now so I can address you properly?"
All attention was focussed on the Elf now, who sighed and looked around, a little intimidated. Then he returned his gaze to Erestor.
"I am Glorfindel. Glorfindel of Gondolin."
Silence. Had a pin dropped, Erestor would have heard it. He felt anger rise in himself - anger with himself for being friendly to this creature, and angry with the Elf for having the bleeding gall to desecrate the name of the great warrior, the one who had saved the lives of Lord Elrond's family. He opened his mouth for harsh words, but then his gaze fell on the two life-sized portraits which hung on the west wall of the Great Hall. One was a life-sized painting of Gil-galad, wearing full armour and holding Aiglos, Elrond by his side, looking up to his king in admiration and love. Erestor had always suspected that the artist responsible for this piece of art must have disliked Gil-galad with a vengeance, for the High King had hamster cheeks and a pot belly, not to mention the smirk on his lips.
The other painting showed Glorfindel of Gondolin, captain of the House of the Golden Flower in all his glory. So often Erestor had passed it, but it seemed to him that this was the first time he really saw it. The crystal armour, the blue eyes, the long, golden hair. Erestor's eyes wandered between the painting and the Elf in front of him - and there could be no doubt: it was the same Elf, though the visitor looked decidedly less glamorous than his picture.
It took Erestor a moment to process his findings, and he swayed on his legs. Then his sense of duty kicked in, and he clapped his hands again.
"Please return to your work or your chambers. There is nothing here for you to gawp at."
Though still young in years, Erestor had already made himself a reputation as an Elf one did not mess with, unless one wished to be on the receiving end of his biting sarcasm and sharp tongue. So after an initial grumble, the crowd dispersed, not without everyone staring one last time at the Elf with the golden braids.
When everybody had left, Erestor pushed a strand of hair out of his face and considered the situation. The advisor had very narrow, sinewy hands and long, almost claw-like fingers. Glorfindel stared at them - why did he notice? It was of no importance.
"My lord - please forgive me, but I am still young, and do not know how to handle this situation. We will have to wait for Lord Elrond's return. I am convinced that he will hold a great celebration for you. His family owes you much."
Glorfindel shook his head and rubbed his eyes, looking very tired.
"He does not owe me anything. Nobody does. And I do not wish a celebration. I only need a place to sleep and some solitude to think."
Erestor was at loss. He was standing opposite a legend. Like everybody else he had read the tale of Glorfindel the Balrog slayer over and over again - it was one of those few ties which still connected him with his former home. And now the hero he had imagined wearing shiny armour and being of radiant beauty looked battle worn and tired, there were scars on his face and grey strands were mixing with the golden ones. There was a great sadness in his eyes, and for the fraction of a moment Erestor thought he had seen this look before. He shook his head - he came from the House of the Circling Raven, his father had been a carpenter, and his family had not had any dealings with the noble Elves of the Golden Flower.
"I will see to it that you have anything you wish for, my lord," Erestor finally replied, bowing deeply. "Please follow me, I shall show you to your chambers."
Erestor led the way, and Glorfindel followed him, slowly, as if he was carrying a heavy burden, and time after time, he stopped to look at a carpet, a drawing, or to enjoy the view through one of the windows. Erestor did not know what went through the warrior's head, but the expression of awe in his face touched him deeply. The beauty of Imladris had this effect on many, but how it must contrast to the Halls of Waiting!
He changed his mind about the chambers for the guest, and led Glorfindel to the rooms which had been reserved for the future lady of Imladris. He pushed the door open, and Glorfindel was blinded by the sight.
A sunlight-flooded room, beautifully carved furniture, and flowers on every table. But the most beautiful thing was the balcony. Glorfindel followed Erestor, and when he stepped outside, he saw the great waterfall, the flower garden and heard the faint sound of a harp. He looked around, and saw a minstrel by the banks of the lily-pond, singing his praise to life and beauty.
"This is - I have no words, Erestor," Glorfindel whispered, and he felt tears stinging in his eyes. Tears? Again? Had he ever cried in his previous life?
Erestor blushed. "Do you like it, my lord? I thought you might enjoy the view, but if you prefer another room, I can..."
"No! No! This is beautiful beyond words, Erestor!" Glorfindel interrupted him, smiling at the advisor. This smile - it transformed the warrior, and for an instant, Erestor saw what this Elf had looked like once, saw the beauty and the pride, and he gasped in awe.
Both Elves just stood side by side and watched the waterfall.
"I never knew how precious life can be, Erestor," Glorfindel finally said. "We take everything for granted, more than mortals do, because we have all eternity for ourselves, or so we think. But every day is a gift, every moment we do not enjoy is wasted. Do you live your life to the fullest, Erestor?"
Erestor stared at Glorfindel. He was fair, the warrior decided, in an unusual, exotic way. Stern was his face, and his robes also indicated that Elrond's advisor was not one prone to silliness and making merry. He seemed cold and reserved - but his eyes spoke of warmth, gentleness and compassion.
"I think so," Erestor said, frowning, "I fulfil my duties, and Lord Elrond seems to be satisfied with my work."
"I have no doubts about that - but do you live? When was the last time you laughed, Erestor?"
Erestor did not answer, so Glorfindel went back into the large room, picked up two chairs and returned to the balcony. He set the chairs down firmly, and motioned Erestor to sit down. The advisor hesitated, but obeyed. Glorfindel smiled, then settled beside the advisor.
"You and I, Erestor, shall now sit here in peace and watch the sun go down, delighting in the knowledge that it will return tomorrow to warm our hearts and light our days."
Erestor thought of the pile of paperwork waiting for him on the desk, of messages and orders and the long list of duties he had not fulfilled yet. Then he looked at Glorfindel, saw the bliss on his face, and so he finally leant back. The sky coloured red, a magnificent sunset made the waterfall look as if it was fire tumbling down, and Erestor, too, was in awe of such beauty. How come he had never noticed?
"I thank you for your kindness, Erestor. Not many would have welcomed me, a stranger, the way you did. I hope you and I will spend many evenings together, watching the sunset."
Erestor smiled - a small smile, but it lit up his whole being.
"I would like that," he murmured, "I would like that very much."
So Glorfindel's first day in Imladris ended, marking the beginning of his new life. And somehow he felt that this Elf beside him would play an important part in it.
'He really should smile more often', Glorfindel thought. 'And I will see to it - whether he likes it or not!'
Erestor, ignorant of the fact that Glorfindel had just doomed him to eternal happiness, closed his eyes.
* * *
FIN
* * *
Author's notes to prevent "Uh?" mails regarding Námo's cryptic comment:
"The Elf Rider will cross your path. Guard him and his mirror."
Elf / man = El Adain = Elladan (-> I take this as a reference to Elladan's mortal heritage)
Elf rider/knight = El Rohir = Elrohir
So the Elf Rider and his "mirror" would be Elrohir and his twin, Elladan