I'm not exactly an expert on Middle-earth chronology, so this story might be impossible according to Canon. Things I don't know, I just gave my best guess (like how old Arwen was when she met Estel). [Edit: thanks to Nine-Fingered Emilee I actually know when Arwen met Estel, so I've adjusted her age to match. Thanks for the info!]
And now, the all-important disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing here. If I did, Haldir would still be living (in movieverse), Frodo and Sam would have married by now, and anyone who was caught stealing Glorfindel's horse would be subjected to torture and imprisonment. And not with those softies out in Mirkwood, either. That's right, "Undómiel," you'd better watch your step...I have video evidence, you little she-elf.
*ahem* Well then, on with the story.
************************************
It all happened one balmy evening at the beginning of Yávië. Elrond and I were sitting on the veranda sipping lemonade (or rather, he was...I'd diluted mine by half with Miruvor after hearing the elf lord whine about his daughter for the 500th time). We were discussing various matters of importance, such as whether or not Arwen was too young to start dating at 250. I was tempted to say that she already had, just to get him to drop the subject, but realized Estel would probably not be too pleased with me. Trying to hide my boredom, I let my gaze wander over the riverbed, where a glint of light caught my eye. Elrond eventually noticed my lack of attention and turned to face the direction I was looking.
As you know, elves have been blessed with superior eyesight, so what was a glimmer of light to me was a human form to him, and he commented, "Ah. A visitor approaches."
This was no surprise; Imaldris had more than its share of guests, especially since Elrond started an ad campaign one month previous. (Galadriel commented that Imaldris looked to be in the "autumn of its time" on her last visit, and royally ticked the elf lord off. Ever since, he's been obsessed with securing the title of "Last Homely House in Arda, Second to None, Especially Lothlorien").
No, visitors were no rarity in Imaldris, but it was his next comment that alarmed me: "My, but that elf does resemble the legendary Glorfindel!"
Glorfindel of Gondolin. It couldn't be! He was dead! Very dead. But there was no other explanation. I'd spotted his golden tresses from nearly a league away. Normal hair just doesn't shine like that. I sat back and considered the situation. The scoundrel must have gotten to Mandos' Halls, and then been sent back to Middle-earth for some reason like "dying a heroic death" or "self sacrifice." Or something. It was typical Glorfindel, really. Whenever he did something, it was a hundred times more spectacular than when anyone else attempted the same feat.
Of course, he also might have weaseled his way back to Middle-earth just to collect on that case of Southfarthing pipeweed I owed him. In any case, the great Balrog slayer had come within earshot, and Elrond stood to greet him.
"Mae govannen, Glorfindel o Gondolin!" he said with reverence. And then the strangest thing happened. The golden haired elf stopped, frowned curiously, and said in a low tone, "Glorfindel? That is my name?"
He didn't know. Mandos must have erased his memory! Fighting the urge to do the Happy Dance right then and there, I jabbed my elbow in Elrond's ribs and said, "Of course your name is Glorfindel! Stop playing games! You've been out doing Eru-knows-what for weeks...and you call yourself a servant. For shame!" I grabbed Elrond's glass and thrust it towards the Balrog slayer. "Now go inside and refresh your Lord's lemonade while we discuss what should be done with you."
Glorfindel's eyes widened in shock. I could see he was contemplating the situation, probably wondering if he wanted to have a raving Istar on his bad side. Finally, he snatched the glass from me and hurried into the kitchen.
Elrond turned to face me, wearing an incredulous and somewhat scandalized expression. "Mithrandir!" he scolded, "that elf is a legend! He should be given a hero's welcome, not treated like common help! Do you know what that bit- ah...I mean, the Lady Galadriel will say when she finds out about our inhospitality towards Glorfindel of Gondolin!"
I snorted and sat back down. "This coming from someone who has never as much as spoken with 'The Great Glorfindel.' Trust me, you do not want to know that ego!"
Of course, Glorfindel figured everything out eventually. (I suspect Estel, the little snitch). Needless to say, he was a tad miffed, but he'd been acting as Elrond's manservant for nearly 125 years, and was happy working with the Peredhel, so Elrond promoted him to "Lord" and agreed to pay him annually 25% of the profits from the Last Homely House Refuge and Resort.
Oh, and I gave him his damn Southfarthing.
***********************************
beginning of Yávië - about mid-August by the Gregorian calendar
And now, the all-important disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing here. If I did, Haldir would still be living (in movieverse), Frodo and Sam would have married by now, and anyone who was caught stealing Glorfindel's horse would be subjected to torture and imprisonment. And not with those softies out in Mirkwood, either. That's right, "Undómiel," you'd better watch your step...I have video evidence, you little she-elf.
*ahem* Well then, on with the story.
************************************
It all happened one balmy evening at the beginning of Yávië. Elrond and I were sitting on the veranda sipping lemonade (or rather, he was...I'd diluted mine by half with Miruvor after hearing the elf lord whine about his daughter for the 500th time). We were discussing various matters of importance, such as whether or not Arwen was too young to start dating at 250. I was tempted to say that she already had, just to get him to drop the subject, but realized Estel would probably not be too pleased with me. Trying to hide my boredom, I let my gaze wander over the riverbed, where a glint of light caught my eye. Elrond eventually noticed my lack of attention and turned to face the direction I was looking.
As you know, elves have been blessed with superior eyesight, so what was a glimmer of light to me was a human form to him, and he commented, "Ah. A visitor approaches."
This was no surprise; Imaldris had more than its share of guests, especially since Elrond started an ad campaign one month previous. (Galadriel commented that Imaldris looked to be in the "autumn of its time" on her last visit, and royally ticked the elf lord off. Ever since, he's been obsessed with securing the title of "Last Homely House in Arda, Second to None, Especially Lothlorien").
No, visitors were no rarity in Imaldris, but it was his next comment that alarmed me: "My, but that elf does resemble the legendary Glorfindel!"
Glorfindel of Gondolin. It couldn't be! He was dead! Very dead. But there was no other explanation. I'd spotted his golden tresses from nearly a league away. Normal hair just doesn't shine like that. I sat back and considered the situation. The scoundrel must have gotten to Mandos' Halls, and then been sent back to Middle-earth for some reason like "dying a heroic death" or "self sacrifice." Or something. It was typical Glorfindel, really. Whenever he did something, it was a hundred times more spectacular than when anyone else attempted the same feat.
Of course, he also might have weaseled his way back to Middle-earth just to collect on that case of Southfarthing pipeweed I owed him. In any case, the great Balrog slayer had come within earshot, and Elrond stood to greet him.
"Mae govannen, Glorfindel o Gondolin!" he said with reverence. And then the strangest thing happened. The golden haired elf stopped, frowned curiously, and said in a low tone, "Glorfindel? That is my name?"
He didn't know. Mandos must have erased his memory! Fighting the urge to do the Happy Dance right then and there, I jabbed my elbow in Elrond's ribs and said, "Of course your name is Glorfindel! Stop playing games! You've been out doing Eru-knows-what for weeks...and you call yourself a servant. For shame!" I grabbed Elrond's glass and thrust it towards the Balrog slayer. "Now go inside and refresh your Lord's lemonade while we discuss what should be done with you."
Glorfindel's eyes widened in shock. I could see he was contemplating the situation, probably wondering if he wanted to have a raving Istar on his bad side. Finally, he snatched the glass from me and hurried into the kitchen.
Elrond turned to face me, wearing an incredulous and somewhat scandalized expression. "Mithrandir!" he scolded, "that elf is a legend! He should be given a hero's welcome, not treated like common help! Do you know what that bit- ah...I mean, the Lady Galadriel will say when she finds out about our inhospitality towards Glorfindel of Gondolin!"
I snorted and sat back down. "This coming from someone who has never as much as spoken with 'The Great Glorfindel.' Trust me, you do not want to know that ego!"
Of course, Glorfindel figured everything out eventually. (I suspect Estel, the little snitch). Needless to say, he was a tad miffed, but he'd been acting as Elrond's manservant for nearly 125 years, and was happy working with the Peredhel, so Elrond promoted him to "Lord" and agreed to pay him annually 25% of the profits from the Last Homely House Refuge and Resort.
Oh, and I gave him his damn Southfarthing.
***********************************
beginning of Yávië - about mid-August by the Gregorian calendar