First Impressions

By Ithiliel Silverquill

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. Tolkien does.

This story is dedicated to the fanfic writer Erestor, for being a brilliant beta and an inspiring friend. Your patience and encouragement are the reason this story ever made it. My deepest, sincerest thanks are not enough.

"Many a time...from a bad beginning great friendships have sprung up." -Terence

Chapter One: The Advent of a Hero

Erestor leaned back in his chair and sighed. Five pages of thin, careful script were all there were to show for the last two hours of painstaking effort. He normally enjoyed his translation work—there was something intensely satisfying about taking an old story in archaic Quenya and rewriting it for those who spoke only Sindarin—but this document had been harder than most. And it was only halfway done.

He glanced toward the door of his room, wishing that something would come along to interrupt him. Something, anything, that would pull him away from five more pages of a lengthy description of the heraldry and traditions of the fourteen different lords of Doriath.

Suddenly he heard a commotion outside. It was a strange sound—not panic, but near it: a sudden uproar out in the courtyard.

Grateful for the disturbance, and at the same time a little bit ashamed that he would be grateful for any kind of disturbance, he calmly pushed back his chair and walked over to the window of his chamber.

There was a large group of Elves gathered under the trees near the entryway to Imladris. They all had a strange expression on their faces—a mixture of shock, disbelief, and wild joy—and no one was standing still. Even Lord Elrond was there in the thick of it, his usual expression of grave concern replaced by a wide smile of welcome.

But it was neither the Elves nor Lord Elrond that arrested his attention. The commotion was centered on a single rider, a tall Elf just dismounting his proud white stallion. The Elf stood almost casually, and there was an easy, almost careless, smile on his sharp-featured face. He was dressed in a cerulean tunic and gray leggings, and a dark blue cloak was spread over his broad shoulders. Over the cloak and tunic, reaching almost to the Elf's elbows, cascaded a gleaming river of bright golden hair.

Glorfindel gazed around himself at the people gathered for the feast and had to smile. Círdan had known just where to send him, that was for sure. Imladris was all that the old shipwright had described it to be—which didn't quite make sense, since the old Elf had never been to Imladris—but no matter. It was a wonderful sanctuary, a haven to rival what he had seen in Tol Eressëa and even the mortals' island of Númenor. Not that Elves were usually welcome in Númenor nowadays, but he had seen enough of the tall towers and sweeping architecture from the deck of his ship to admire the craftsmanship of the Edain.

It had been no easy journey to Imladris, he reflected. After being reincarnated by Mandos—without so much as being asked if he wanted to be reincarnated—he had been able to spend precious little time with his family in Valinor before he was called to appear before Manwë. Once he was standing before the mighty Vala, he was told that he was going to be sent to Middle-earth, to guard and guide the heirs of Eärendil. Then he had spent months on a lonely ship, followed by a few fast-paced weeks in Mithlond with Círdan, and now he was here.

He sneaked a casual glance in Elrond's direction. There could be no doubt that the peredhel was who he claimed to be. It had been an interesting meeting: Elrond had stepped forward from around a corner to greet him, and Glorfindel had taken one look at him and dropped his jaw, half-shouting "Your Majesty!" in his amazement. He hadn't been able to help himself. Elrond was practically a mirror image of his great-grandfather, and that one casual glance had almost tricked him into thinking he was looking at King Turgon again. Elrond had been very kind and understanding, if a little surprised, and everything had gone smoothly after that.

He moved on to study the less familiar faces. The introductions had been many and brief, and he could only remember a few names. Seated near Elrond was Belegon, the captain of Imladris's guard. He was a sturdy-looking Sindarin warrior, with chestnut-colored hair that came a little past his shoulders and vibrant green eyes. His face was as ageless as all Elven faces, but it was slightly careworn, as if he had not been left untouched by whatever he had to live through to reach his position. He looked relaxed as he chatted amiably with those around him, but it was obvious that, should the need arise, Belegon could be a formidable warrior.

Next to Belegon were two of his best warriors, an archer and a swordsman. The archer's name was Arandur, if Glorfindel remembered correctly. There was no mistaking the Noldorin blood in his veins, made obvious by both his gray eyes and dark hair, as well as his proud bearing. Glorfindel might have wondered if Arandur was ambitious for Belegon's position if he had not already seen the Noldo give a reproving look born of fierce loyalty to a slightly cheeky novice guardsman who had made a comment about Belegon. The swordsman, Malchathol, was another Sindarin Elf. He looked similar to Belegon, so much so that Glorfindel wondered if they were related. The only difference of appearance between them was that while Belegon's hair was light brown, Malchathol's was a dark shade of auburn. Their temperaments, however, appeared to be vastly different. While Belegon seemed open and friendly, Malchathol looked stern and unyielding. The swordsman did, though, seem to have the same loyalty to Belegon that Arandur and the other warriors shared.

He was interrupted in his appraisal of Imladris's military personnel by a slight movement in the corner. Because of the placement of the candles, one of the corners was slightly shadowed, and had whoever sat there not moved then Glorfindel would have missed him entirely. The figure was dressed in a dark robe—it was hard to tell whether it was black or very dark blue—and had straight dark hair cut so that it just brushed the top of his shoulders. His face was slightly pale, as if he spent all his time indoors. He must have felt someone looking at him, because at that moment he raised his eyes to meet Glorfindel's. Nothing was communicated in the momentary gaze, but Glorfindel wondered if it was a hint of animosity that he saw in the dark blue eyes. As quickly as he had looked up, the Elf looked away.

Glorfindel leaned over to Elrond. "Tell me," he whispered. "Who is that Elf in the corner? I do not seem to remember his name."

The Elf-lord glanced up, then smiled. "Ah, I do not believe you have met him yet. That is Erestor Caranárion, the chief advisor. I would like to introduce the two of you after dinner, if I may."

"I would be delighted," said Glorfindel absentmindedly, then he wondered if he really meant it. While most of the Elves of Imladris had been welcoming, Erestor seemed cold and unfriendly. Why would Elrond want such an unpleasant person to be his chief advisor?

No matter. If Glorfindel was to guard and guide Elrond, then he would have to remain at Imladris. And if he was to remain in peace in Imladris, then he would have to at least be on speaking terms with the high-ranking Elves. If that included Erestor, so be it.

Erestor pushed the food around on his plate and wondered if it would seem more appetizing if he was actually hungry. As it was, he was not in the mood to eat, and had only joined the rest of the Elves because he felt it to be his duty. There were perks to being Chief Advisor of Imladris, but required presence at "informal" official functions was not one of them. If given the choice, he preferred councils and business meetings. Things got done, and no time was wasted in purposeless chatter. Dinners bored him.

Only a minute ago he had caught another of the Elves staring at him. Normally he would simply ignore it, as he usually did, but in this case the curious Elf was none other than Lord Elrond's honored new arrival Glorfindel. So he had dutifully returned the glance.

He hoped that he had not appeared annoyed with Glorfindel. In all honesty he was annoyed, though it would not be fair to blame it on the newcomer. It wasn't really Glorfindel's fault that his arrival had caused Lord Elrond to throw one of his spontaneous official dinners. The Elf appeared friendly enough, if a little flamboyant.

The rumor that was already being spread—even in the dining hall as Glorfindel was sitting nearby—was that the Elf was not in fact a namesake of the legendary Glorfindel of Gondolin, but the hero reincarnated. Erestor considered the idea, turning it over in his mind to view it from every angle. It was possible, but unlikely. According to the legends, some Elves could be reincarnated by Mandos, but they remained with their kin in Valinor or Tol Eressëa. He had never heard of a reincarnated Elf actually returning to Middle-earth.

Dinner only lasted for an hour and a half, though to Erestor it seemed like millennia. At last the call was given to proceed to the Hall of Fire, where those who wished to remain would take their seats and listen to songs or legends. He rarely spent time in the Hall of Fire when many other people were there, so he decided that Elrond would likely not miss him if he slipped off to his room to continue his translation work.

There would be no such escape. No sooner had Erestor entered the hallway when he heard Lord Elrond's voice behind him.

"Erestor, wait a moment," called Lord Elrond. "I wish to introduce you to someone before you take your leave."

No doubt it would be Glorfindel. Erestor turned around, hiding his annoyance at the delay with what he hoped was a smile. He dipped his head to Lord Elrond as the peredhel approached, as if to remind himself that no matter what, he still served the Elf-lord. It would not do to be ungrateful for his position, he thought, and if he was this annoyed over simply meeting a guest then perhaps he should reconsider himself. The smile that he regarded Glorfindel with as the golden-haired Elf approached, therefore, was a little brighter, if a little more forced.

"Glorfindel," began Lord Elrond, "This is Erestor Caranárion, the Chief Advisor of Imladris." He glanced over at Erestor. "Erestor, may I present Glorfindel Alkamacarion, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin."

So he was Glorfindel of Gondolin reincarnated. Erestor bowed slightly, not quite sure how to greet such a person. He had always admired Glorfindel of Gondolin, but it was almost surreal to be standing in front of him. "You are most welcome in Imladris, Lord Glorfindel," he managed.

Glorfindel smiled a wide, genuine smile that made Erestor's own look even more pathetic. "It is an honor to be welcomed into such a place, Master Erestor. Yet do not bother with a title—my name has enough syllables as it is."

At first, Erestor was too startled to respond. "As you wish," he mumbled weakly, with a glance over at Lord Elrond to see what he thought of the casual disposal of protocol. To his surprise, the Elf-lord seemed to consider it humorous.

"Good day, then, Master Erestor," said Glorfindel, smiling and bobbing his head like a sparrow. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

"You as well."

Erestor turned to leave, since he saw that Glorfindel was already walking to the door to the Hall of Fire, when he felt Lord Elrond's hand on his arm.

"Erestor, a moment, please," said the Elf-lord.

"Yes, milord?"

"I want to know your opinion of Glorfindel," said Lord Elrond, looking Erestor straight in the eyes. "Círdan sent him to Imladris to be a help to us, and to me specifically since Glorfindel served my grandfather and great-grandfather in Gondolin, but I want to know your opinion of him."

Erestor considered how to diplomatically phrase his answer. "He seems...polite, I suppose, and very friendly. By all appearances, he will quickly become popular among Imladris's population. Though I ask: do we truly need his help? Imladris is running quite smoothly, and I cannot see how the addition of another can be a benefit."

Lord Elrond smiled. "Oh, do not be deceived by appearances, Erestor. We need him. For one thing, I will need an assistant for the upcoming delegations with Mithlond. Ever since you agreed to go as Imladris's ambassador, I have wondered who I would trust to serve as chief advisor until your return. Glorfindel would perform the job perfectly."

Too perfectly, Erestor wanted to say, but he bit his tongue before he said it. Why he was all of the sudden so adamantly set against Glorfindel, he had no idea. "Well, at least we know that Imladris will certainly change with his arrival," he said.

"Yes, it will," agreed Lord Elrond, punctuating the statement with a small chuckle. "I look forward to discovering what changes will be made."

Erestor bowed and slipped off, recognizing the contemplative look that crossed Lord Elrond's face as the signal that the discussion was ended. For once, he could not agree with the opinion of the Lord of Imladris. Lord Elrond seemed to welcome Glorfindel with the same air of glad relief that lingered in a dry field as the rain began to fall. Erestor was not so certain. Change was going to come, certainly. But he never said that the change would be a good thing. He wasn't sure that he liked it at all.