Glorfindel's Rivendell Revelries

Elrond pressed his fingers to his temples as he surveyed the scene before him.

Summoned to the sound of an altercation in the corridor where his seneschal had rooms, he had been alarmed, on arrival, to find Glorfindel and the newly-appointed housekeeper Laindis facing each other and Erestor between them, trying to keep the peace.

'What in the name of all the Valar is going on here?' Elrond demanded.

'I was but doing my job, my lord…'

'Doing your job?' Glorfindel was almost incandescent with rage. 'What part of doing your job involves stealing from my cupboards…?'

'Stealing! Lord Elrond, I was only…'

'Peace!' Elrond said wearily. 'Erestor, don't let me keep you… I am sure you have other work today?'

'My lord.' Erestor nodded, pausing to place a friendly hand on the Balrog-slayer's shoulder as he passed. 'Let me know if there is anything I can do to help, mellon-nin.'

Elrond raised his eyebrows at this sign that his advisor sided with the Balrog-slayer in this particular quarrel, but forbore to comment, merely signalling the housekeeper to shut the door before glancing at the two combatants again. Laindis had two red spots of colour in her cheeks, her ear tips pink with indignation at the accusation of theft. Glorfindel…

Well, Elrond had known the Balrog-slayer through many ages, had seen him furious and dangerous before, but never quite like this; the seneschal was shaking with rage, clutching a discoloured, tattered cloth close to his chest as if his life depended on it, but most alarming, to Elrond's eyes, was the threat of tears and the look of dread, of loss in Glorfindel's face.

'Very well. Glorfindel, I will hear what Laindis has to say first. Then, and only then, I will listen to your side of the tale. Understand?'

Glorfindel nodded, unwilling – or unable – to speak.

'So. Mistress Laindis?'

'It is the pre-Yuletide cleaning of Imladris, my lord. One of my duties is to inspect the linens and replace any that are worn or old, and my lord Glorfindel saw me sorting through his towels and took exception to the fact that I wanted to throw away that old rag he is holding… for which I am, if you please, an intruder, a thief, a…'

Glorfindel crumpled and began to weep, huge wracking sobs most unbecoming in a warrior and a hero. Elrond raised a hand.

'Thank you, Laindis. There has been a misunderstanding, quite clearly. You may go. But take it as read that Lord Glorfindel will sort his own linens, on request, in the future. Let me show you out.' He gestured towards the door and walked her out into the hallway, lowering his voice. 'We will talk later. Lord Glorfindel is plainly not well. You know he is prone to episodes of melancholy, still…'

'Well… I am very sorry if the lord is ill, but…'

'Later, Laindis. Good day to you now.'

The Balrog-slayer was still clutching the rag to his chest and his shoulders heaved with sobs. Elrond rolled his eyes and set his mouth in an expression of exasperation before shutting the door, rearranging his features into something rather more sympathetic before approaching his seneschal.

By rights, Glorfindel should have been an absurd sight, weeping over a dirty bit of cloth, but Elrond knew far more about the Balrog-slayer's past than was comfortable and so, instead, saw only a lost and pitiable soul in need of understanding and support.

'Sit down, mellon-nin, and tell me about it,' he said, finding the spirits bottle and pouring a good measure into a glass for his friend. 'I do not like to see you in such straits…'

'Elrond… will you… please… tell your staff… all of them…leave… my things… alone…' Glorfindel said between gasps and gulps of air. 'Eru knows… I don't have much…'

'No, that's true. You're not acquisitive. And you're not generally unkind to the servants, so what's brought this on, my friend? What is this… item that is so important to you?'

Glorfindel sighed and sat down, taking a mouthful of spirits, still holding on to his precious cloth.

'A Yule gift someone made for me decades, no… no more… centuries ago now…'

Glorfindel spread the cloth out on his lap, staring at it with glistening eyes. With his forefinger he traced what might have been a design near one edge; it was difficult for Elrond to be sure since the whole thing was such an unprepossessing shade of dirty grey…

'It was so vibrant, new, the colour. He learned how to dye it, just so he could make me this, the right colour – 'too-blue', he called it… then he learned from his commander's sister how to stitch, and sewed little yellow flowers on the border… so sweet of him… there were two, and when I rode out, I left one with him, took one away… I came back, we swapped... And each Yule that we managed to meet, every few years, he gave me new ones. This is the only one I have left now.'

'What happened, Glorfindel?'

The seneschal heaved a huge sigh.

'Oh, everything… dwarves, a dragon, ruin, more dwarves, the dragon again… he got a promotion the same year we had to increase the watch on the valley… it became impossible to get even a messenger hawk through safely… we lost sight of each other, they withdrew behind their borders… time passed… the business of the Ring…' Glorfindel shrugged and looked up to meet his lord's eyes, his own gaze sparkling with the diamonds of unshed tears, still. 'He saved me, Elrond. I thought I was helping him, at first, but then… suddenly, it was all changed, and I was… renewed, somehow.'

'Well, the roads are restored, the skies are clear. Why do you not write to him, seek news of him?'

Glorfindel shook his head.

'I cannot.'

'But if you parted friends, why not?'

'He may be dead, Elrond. That is why.'

'Are you afraid of bad news?'

'He is Silvan, a warrior of Mirkwood. By their traditions, if he is dead, I can't name him… so how can I ask after him…? And what if he is dead?'

'Surely it would be better to know?'

Glorfindel dropped his gaze to the towels and shook his head. Elrond tried a different tack.

'Well, tell me more about this friend, anyway. It may comfort you to speak of him.'

'He was… after that business with the three dragons, when I went back to Mirkwood. He was in the Court Guard. He had the most beautiful fëa…'

'Just his fëa?' Elrond asked, risking a smile.

Glorfindel managed to smile back.

'Oh, you know how it is! If you meet one of these lovely souls, all of them is beautiful, it shines through, it changes everything about them. He could have been ugly as an orc and you'd never notice, not with a fëa like that… but… I think he was most wonderfully fair.'

'He was in the Court Guard? Thranduil's elite?'

'Yes, appointed on the way back. And later in the Dragon Guard; he did well for himself, once he found his confidence.'

Elrond topped up Glorfindel's glass and, even though it was only early afternoon, poured himself one, also.

'Tell me more,' he said. 'Even if you can't name him. It might help you feel better, old friend.'

'Honey beer,' Glorfindel said. 'He liked the honey beer they brew in the palace, so that's what I'll call him, so I don't have to use his name… Actually, it was one of the things he called me… it should sound silly but, Elrond, it really, really wasn't…'