Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Timeline: Third Age 2510, five months after Celebrían sailed.
Universe: AU
Story Rating: M
Chapter Rating: K

Alright, so this is obviously AU. I am aware that Ereinion did not come back from the dead (more's the pity), but if Glorfindel could, then why can't Ereinion? I mean, let's be fair. Fin can't have all the fun :P

Just as a heads up, in this story (and all of my stories) Elrond and Elros had a younger sister who died when she was just a child, and Elrond and Celebrian have a second daughter, who was born in TA 2506, so that makes her four during this story. The twins are over 2000 years old at this point and I think Arwen is too but for the purposes of the plot, Arwen is written to be about 18.

This chapter skips around a lot, but the other chapters won't. Hopefully this makes sense. :)

Mithlond

The Hall of Kings was silent. A cold breeze swept through the grey stone corridor, threatening to extinguish the torch that Círdan held. He couldn't remember how or why he was here; but something told him to keep walking, foot in front of foot. There was something that he needed to see, that much he was sure of.

He recognised the section of the Hall that he was in and tried to stop walking, unwilling to go further; but his feet had other plans and slowly took him closer to his destination. A casket a few feet ahead of the elf was glowing slightly, surrounded by a faint blue aura. He knew it well, it was one of the only glass-topped caskets in this Hall, and was where they had laid High King Gil-Galad to rest.

Círdan's heart stopped as he drew closer and he realised why he had been called to this place.

The coffin was empty.

Imladris

The sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky, warming Imladris as the last of her inhabitants woke up. Despite the bright morning, and even though all of the curtains were open, the bedroom of the Lord of Imladris was dark and filled with a sense of impenetrable melancholy.

Glorfindel - who had appointed himself as Elrond's Protector Against Bad Dreams and worked from the west-facing window seat - looked towards the bed where the Lord of Imladris still slept. It was the only thing aside from work that he seemed to do lately. Celebrían's ordeal had hit him hard, understandably, and Elrond seemed to have used all of his energy stores trying to heal her, which meant that he slept for at least 12 hours every day. The other twelve were consumed with a blisteringly intense work schedule that Elrond had undertaken in order to distract himself from the pain of her departure and the disappointment in himself that he felt at his failure to restore her to perfect health.

Being unable to fade due to his human ancestry, the half-elf saw that he had only two choices: forget the hurt completely, or be consumed by it, as Celebrían had been. Elrond would not allow the pain to consume him - he was determined not to deprive his children of both of their parents - so the only other option he had was to throw himself into running Imladris and keeping it on its feet, thus distracting himself. Glorfindel passed a hand over his face. If only there was someone that possessed the necessary emotional influence over Elrond to snap him out of whatever depression he was in. As close as he and Erestor were to Elrond, they weren't the right kind of close.

Unfortunately, aside from Celebrían, there was only one person who could have helped the situation, and he was dead. Glorfindel turned back to the window and looked out over the buildings of Rivendell, their white marble rooftops glimmering in the morning sun.

Why did you bring me back, when I'm powerless to help? There are others who would be perfect in this situation, and yet they remain dead. Elrond is going to kill himself one of these days and there's nothing Erestor and I can do. Please, we need help!

Valinor

Námo smiled knowingly to himself as he looked down on Imladris and heard Glorfindel's plea. Unbeknownst to the warrior, the situation had already been addressed; this was something he had wanted to do for a long time, but until now hadn't had a good enough reason to do so.

Námo's wife Vairë walked slowly up behind him and slipped an arm around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder. She regarded the enchanted mirror in front of him, and the two pictures it held: on the left, a dark-haired elf peacefully asleep in a grassy meadow, and on the right, the Lord of Imladris sleeping fitfully, alone in his bed. Vairë smiled. It would make a good tapestry. Speaking of which...

"It is about time I had something joyful to put in my tapestries. I tire of weaving tragic scenes all the time."

Námo turned his head and kissed her temple. "From now on, you will have many joyful scenes to depict."

They turned back to the mirror and watched as the elf in the meadow stirred, both looking forward to seeing what changes this turn of events caused.

Middle Earth

Ereinion Gil-Galad awoke to the bright almost-midday sunlight shining directly onto his closed eyelids. A cricket by his ear chirped and he sat up with a start, panicking when he found himself in an open field of green grass and not in his bed in the Halls of Waiting. He threw his gaze around the field, slowly recognising, as his eyes adjusted to the intense colour of his surroundings, the call of the birds in the trees, the colour and type of trees in the forest and the rushing of the Bruinen a few leagues away.

Imladris!

Ereinion realised that something about his being felt different. He looked at his hands and saw that they were solid and flesh-coloured, not pale and translucent. He slowly became aware that once again, his heart was beating and he was breathing. It dawned on him that he once again had a living body, as opposed to just a soul. A second later a bright flash of exaltation shot through him. He was alive!

He stood up, shaking as his legs got used to being upright after not being used for so long, and frowned as he looked around him again. But wait...this couldn't be happening, could it? Námo had told him that the matter of his rebirth would be discussed with the other Valar, and he would be informed of their decision when it was made. But he had not been told of any decision. He had not seen hair nor hide of any of the Valar since he had demanded that Námo send him back. Thinking he had made a mistake, Ereinion wracked his memories of the last week, thinking that perhaps he had been told, and then forgotten. But it seemed unlikely that he would forget being told something such as this. It all seemed to have happened to fast as well: he had been under the impression that it took years to be reborn - surrogate parents had to be found, and then the person returned had to go through a second childhood and reach maturity to regain the memories of their first life.

And yet here he was, fully grown, with all his memories. It was as if his life had picked up straight from where it had stopped. Ereinion pondered this for a few moments, but then dismissed it from his mind. He was back - that was all that mattered. All he had to do was get used to being alive, and then do what he had been sent to do.

He took a deep breath, feeling the scent of the living world assault his nostrils as each different fragrance triggered vivid forgotten memories. He threw his head back in the wind and let out a Tarzan call; he had forgotten how exhilarating it felt like to be alive. Returning his head to a vertical position, Ereinion realised that he was not aware whether he was wearing clothes or not, or if he even looked the same as he had in his first life. A simple look down confirmed that he was clothed in black leggings, soft leather boots and a forest green tunic. He noticed a small stream a few steps away from him and headed over to it, kneeling down and peering into the rushing water to see what he looked like. He was glad to discover that he looked the same as he always had - green eyes, long, midnight-black hair and typical Noldorin facial features.

He cupped his hands together and immersed them in the stream and the lifted them out and drank the water that he had caught. Deciding that he had spent enough time dallying, the newly-returned elf gathered his bearings and turned towards Elrond's house.

Imladris

Glorfindel's gaze swept over the houses in the city to the bridge that led out of Rivendell, and he sighed, hoping to see someone lost walk across it but knowing that would never happen. After all, why would it? It seemed to Glorfindel that Elrond lost more family and friends than he gained. Out of a mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a soul mate, a wife, twin sons and two daughters, the last four were the only ones that remained. It had gone far beyond coincidence now: Glorfindel couldn't help but think that this was some sort of conspiracy.

"Glorfindel?" Erestor came to stand by the Elda's side and placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing the blond out of his reverie. Glorfindel noticed that his right fist had been clenched so tightly it was a wonder the skin over his knuckles hadn't ripped with the sheer force of it. The fact that Glorfindel hadn't noticed Erestor enter the room was either a testament to Erestor's stalking skills, or a sign that he, Glorfindel, needed to stop brooding and start doing something more productive.

Erestor stepped around so that he was more or less in front of his friend and pulled Glorfindel's head to his chest, wordlessly wrapping the warrior in a comforting hug. It was no secret to Erestor that the loss of Celebrían hurt the Elda just as much as it hurt their half-elven friend.

"Come on. You know he won't wake up until after noon, and then he will kick you out because he has so much work to do."

"I know."

Erestor chuckled ruefully. "I never thought I'd see the day when I wished he gave me more to do."

Glorfindel nodded in agreeance. "He's going to kill himself, you know. Soon he's just going to burn out and we'll have no hope at saving him. Not that we have much of a chance now." As much as he tried to stop them, a few tears slipped out of his eyes. Erestor's heart clenched.

"I hate to see you hurting yourself like this, Fin," he said sotto voce, lacing his fingers through the braided hair at Glorfindel's temples and gently pulling the Elda's face up so he could look into it.

Glorfindel closed his eyes. "I know. I just can't stand the idea of him being alone or in pain, in any capacity, whether I have any control over it or not."

"I know. I know." Erestor rubbed Glorfindel's back as the blond sighed into his chest. Pulling away from Erestor's embrace and rubbing his eyes, Glorfindel stood up.

"I'm starved."

Erestor smiled softly. "Well, then. Let's get some lunch - we can eat outside if you like, the weather's nice - and you can come back later."

Glorfindel nodded wordlessly, and followed Erestor out of the room.

In his dreams Elrond wandered far and wide, not bothered by hunger or weariness or pain. He was in a strange place, where all the edges were blurred; there were white skies, and green grass, and black shadows that Elrond assumed were trees. He had no conscious idea of where he was going, but still he knew where to go, following an almost-invisible path which eventually led him to a place with no trees and no grass. The ground here was golden, the sky was blue, and he could vaguely hear the crash of waves and the calling of seagulls. There was a figure ahead, but the blurred edges made the person seem insubstantial. Whoever it was turned around, and though they didn't have a face, - just a swirl of blurred features - Elrond felt a jolt of recognition. He had no idea who it was, but he knew that he knew them, and that this place where they stood in was special: many memories had taken place here. The other person seemed to be smiling.

Elrond tried to take a step towards his unrecognisable companion, but his legs were glued in place. He frowned, and his companion's smile dropped, along with the ground. Elrond felt himself falling, and heard a whisper in his ear, the whisper of a voice long-unheard.

I'll see you soon.

Who are you? he tried to ask, but he had no voice.

Elrond continued to fall, and with a jolt he awoke, drenched in cold sweat and breathing heavily. His mind went into overdrive as he tried to put a face to the voice, tried to place where he knew that person from, but the canvas of his brain was a giant blank. Getting his breathing under control, he passed a hand over his face and threw the covers back. He had half expected Glorfindel to be in the room, as he usually was when the half-elf woke up, but the Elda was not present and Elrond was grateful for that. Glorfindel would only ask him how he was, and Elrond couldn't deal with questions like that.

He grabbed some clothes for the day and headed into the bathroom to shower. He had a lot of work to do today and he had to get ready.

The magnificent House of Elrond came into view in the distance, and for the first time in his journey Ereinion faltered. It dawned on him for the first time that he might not be welcomed with open arms. He had died, and Elrond had moved on, as Ereinion himself had requested. Ereinion realised that, knowing Elrond, he would not have told his children much about his life before he married their mother, much less his love life. They would know him only as High King Gil-Galad, the greatest and last High King of the Noldor, who had tragically perished in the War of the Ring.

Having presently lost his nerve, Ereinion stopped and realised that soon it would be too dark to keep travelling. He headed over to a big tree on his left and easily swung up into its sturdy branches, knowing that high up in the canopy a makeshift talan had been built. He found the platform and climbed up, made sure that it was still in good condition and would be safe, then went out to find something to eat.

A little while later, after discovering an apple tree and eating his fill, Ereinion returned to the tree and sat on the talan. It was early autumn, so he would be fine without a blanket tonight. It was almost completely dark now, the night falling swiftly as winter approached, and the lights of the city were visible in the distance. The former King wondered about Elrond and how the half-elf would take his return.

Was Ereinion capable of helping Elrond heal the pain of Celebrían's departure? Would people believe him when he told them who he was? Did Elrond hate him for dying? Ereinion had no answers to these questions. He sighed and lay down, forcing the worry and apprehension away. He arranged himself so that he faced the direction of Imladris, and fell asleep with his mind full of thoughts of its Lord.