The Lord of the Rings universe is not my property and I would never ever dream of stealing it *shifty eyes*

Possible re-writing in the future

This was my final project for my Mythology & Tolkien class. My teacher liked it, so should you! :)

Cirdan felt the sea-longing especially strongly today. It was meeting the Istari that had done it, reminded him that he belonged across the sea, not here.

So it was that he was too preoccupied to immediately notice that there was a small child hiding in his doorway. There had never been very many elf children around at one time; these days there were hardly any. Which was why Cirdan could say with certainty that this child did not belong to anyone in the Havens. The child, a little boy with tangled golden hair, didn't move or speak, only tracked Cirdan cautiously with his eyes.

He wasn't so unusual-looking, only unfamiliar, but something about him still seemed strange somehow. Curious, Cirdan finally smiled and said, "Mára aurë."

The boy said something in reply that sounded like a return greeting, but with a strong, unfamiliar accent.

"Where did you come from?" Cirdan asked then.

The boy started speaking rapidly and earnestly. The language he used sounded something like Quenya, but Cirdan could not even begin to understand what he was saying. This was a tongue he had never heard before. All he caught was one word – "Olorin."

Olorin? The Istari . . . the ship . . . what could he know about that? What is he telling me?

Perhaps he should start with a simpler question. "Man eneth lín?" The little boy appeared confused. Apparently the language barrier went both ways. "I am Cirdan," he continued more slowly. "And you?"

Comprehension dawned on the small, pretty face. "My name?" He smiled. "Glorfindel."

Cirdan shook his head blankly. The rules of naming were clear – no two elves ever had the same name. There was already one elf named Glorfindel – and he was long gone to the Halls of Mandos. How did a small child appear apparently out of nowhere, speaking an unfamiliar form of Elvish and carrying the name of a First Age hero?

Perhaps, Cirdan thought suddenly, the newly-arrived Istari would know something.

Fortunately, the grey wizard Mithrandir recognized the child right away. Less fortunately, his reaction was one of shock. The two had a brief, heated conversation in the same language the boy had used earlier, and then Mithrandir explained, "He speaks only Vanyarin."

"So he came with you, then," Cirdan stated. "Across the sea."

"Yes. Although without my knowledge." The wizard glowered at the apparent stowaway again.

"He says his name is Glorfindel. How –"

"He is Glorfindel. The fëa was re-embodied."

"Re-embodied?" Cirdan had known this was possible, but had never expected to actually see it done. His eyes slid towards the boy, who was looking out towards the street.

"No," said Mithrandir in response to the unspoken question. "As far as anyone can tell, he retained no memories of his other life. He's just a child like any other."

Sparring today was going worse than usual. Glorfindel gripped his practice sword and watched Elladan intently. In a flash, the slim wooden blades clashed together, separated and met again. Glorfindel had to use all his concentration to deflect the taller Elf's blows. His golden braid whipped back and forth as the two circled the courtyard. Finally he saw an opening, lunged forward –

"You over-extended," Elladan informed him calmly.

"I realize," Glorfindel told the ground, with which he had just made an abrupt acquaintance.

" – giving your opponent the opportunity to slide past your blade and attack. If I were an Orc, you would've been run through," Elladan continued sharply.

Glorfindel struggled to a sitting position and stared past Elladan at the clear sky. Did I go through this before, too? he wondered. Was he supposed to know all of this already? That would explain why Elladan and his brother Elrohir got so impatient with him. After all, what was the point of being a resurrected warrior of legendary fighting ability if he couldn't remember any of it?

Years ago, the wizard Mithrandir had brought him to Imladris. Mithrandir probably felt responsible for him – after all, it was he Glorfindel had followed all the way from Valinor. And Glorfindel would have been content to stay with him, but it had been decided he should be sent to one of the Elven strongholds, to be raised with his own people.

Back then, he hadn't yet realized that there was anything special about him. To tell the truth, he hadn't realized much of anything about what was going on. After Cirdan and Mithrandir found him, they had a long, whispered discussion (an unnecessary precaution, since Glorfindel didn't know the language yet). He spent one night at the Grey Havens, and then Mithrandir took him across Eriador to Imladris. It was a long, dull journey, and at first the unfamiliar air of Middle-Earth made him constantly ill. By the time they reached Lord Elrond's stronghold, where there were proper meals and beds, it felt like the most wonderful place in all the world.

The feeling didn't last long. Compared to the city of Tirion, Imladris was dark and silent. Its inhabitants seemed subdued and somehow faded, not like the Elves Glorfindel knew. Not one of them was less than full-grown. What's more, they all kept giving the two travelers odd looks. So he did what any curious child would – he eavesdropped. Mithrandir had been teaching him Quenya and Sindarin, and from listening to the Elves he was able to pick up more.

That was when Elrond and Mithrandir told him about the other Glorfindel. That was how he thought of it, even though technically they were the same person. If it had been anyone besides Mithrandir telling him, he never would have believed it. "You most likely would have found out soon anyway," he said. "Better you learn it all at once than in bits and pieces of overheard conversations." This last with a very pointed stare.

Elrond told him of the fall of Gondolin and of Glorfindel, the Elf-lord who had died holding back the Dark Lord's forces so that the royal family could escape. That Glorfindel had battled and defeated a Balrog, a great, terrifying creature of flame and darkness. This Glorfindel had no memory of battling anything, let alone one of the most fearsome creatures in history. In fact, he found that he had no memory of this fearsome Elf-lord at all.

And he hadn't remembered anything more since then. It seemed like he would at least have some deep, instinctive memory of his old fighting skills, but apparently getting a new body had ruined that. If it hadn't, he certainly wouldn't be out in the practice yard getting mock-killed by Lord Elrond's sons every day.

"I think that's enough for today," Elladan told him as he stood up and brushed himself off.

At that moment he heard a female voice call, "Elladan! Glorfindel!" Is that Arwen? Oh, rhaich! He hoped violently that the lovely princess of Imladris had just arrived and hadn't seen him get knocked over.

Elladan waved to his younger sister. "Mára aurë! We were just finishing up here," he called back. Glorfindel only waved silently.

When he first arrived, Arwen had appointed herself his teacher and general caretaker. She had showed him all around Imladris and taught him to speak and write Edhellen. As he grew older, though, their initial closeness waned. She was Lord Elrond's daughter, the Evenstar of her people, after all, and no matter which fëa Glorfindel might have, in Arwen's eyes he would always be a child, a fosterling with no title or particular skills to speak of. It was downright depressing.

As he made his way indoors, Glorfindel was met again by Arwen, who, to his surprise, smiled and began to walk beside him. After a moment, she remarked, "Your swordsmanship is improving."

"Oh. Le hannon."

Arwen turned to him. "You still remember nothing?" she asked softly.

Glorfindel shook his head. At first, everyone had expected him to regain memory of his past life, but they had been disappointed. He had tried, of course, again and again, but all he had to show for it were dreams full of fire, and those probably just a reaction to the stories he'd been told. He knew the Elves of Imladris thought that he had failed them in some way, though they tried not to show it.

He was shocked out of his reverie by Arwen's next question. "Do you remember . . . can you tell me of the Undying Lands?" Her dark eyes filled with the longing of every Elf for their former home.

Glorfindel thought back. Those memories, too, had nearly faded. "Bright," he said finally. "The Vanyar, they have this radiance about them. From being so near the Valar, I suppose. All of Tirion kind of shines, especially if the light strikes it certain ways." He thought that someone, Olorin maybe, had taken him out to see the whole city from afar.

"I dearly wish I could see it," Arwen said quietly.

I wish I could go back, Glorfindel thought, but kept it to himself. He liked to think the Valar must have had some reason for giving his homeless spirit another chance to live. Surely the Lord of Mandos would not waste his time on someone who wasn't worthy. If he couldn't go back to Valinor, Glorfindel had decided, he had to join the struggle to defeat the evil rising in Middle-Earth.

Now, if he could only stop getting killed with a wooden sword every day.

"Earnur!" the Elven captain called over the sounds of battle.

The Gondorian prince wheeled his horse towards the voice. "Glorfindel! It seems this day will be ours!"

Glorfindel grinned fiercely beneath his helm. "We must pursue the Witch-King! Perhaps one of us will be the one to end his foul existence!"

"Don't keep all the glory for yourself, then. Men of Gondor!" Men and Elves spurred their mounts after the retreating Orcs.

Glorfindel's sword flashed downward again and again, cutting through the fleeing creatures. One minute there were only Orcs swarming beneath their horses' hooves – then suddenly the cavalry found itself face-to-face with the Witch-King of Angmar, Lord of the Nazgul. For the first time, Glorfindel saw the looming black figure up close. His horse danced nervously under him. Earnur, on the other hand, rode boldly up to face the Witch-King. The wraith turned its empty helmet towards him. For a moment it was silent and motionless. Then it gave a long, hollow shriek.

Earnur's horse screamed and reared in terror, almost unseating its rider. Glorfindel felt cold fear strike him. He wanted nothing more than to put as much distance as possible between himself and that awful black presence.

Wait. I sacrificed myself for the people of my city. I fought a Balrog! Surely I care nothing for fear.

The Ulairi captain took a step forward and spoke. "So, the likes of you dares to challenge the might of Angmar?" The wraith's voice was low and harsh, as though it spoke only through great effort, but it sent a chill through the hearts of all assembled. Earnur's horse defied his attempts to control it and bolted. The wraith laughed. It was a horrible, empty sound.

Without thinking, Glorfindel raced forward to take Earnur's place. "I challenge it," he shouted. "I have destroyed creatures much worse than you!" Whether or not I remember that person, I still have his fëa within me. He raised his sword. "Drego!" The dark mask turned towards him. For a moment Elf and wraith were frozen, staring one another down. Then, incredibly, the Witch-King wheeled his mount about and retreated.

As he went, Glorfindel felt himself somehow look past the dwindling battle around him. In a flash, he saw another battlefield – a blade – a hand raising a helm – heard a voice and a thin shriek – but the moment passed as suddenly as it had come, and there was only a shaken Earnur riding up beside him.

"Go after him!" Earnur urged. "He fears you, surely –"

But Glorfindel, thinking of his vision, murmured, "Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of man will he fall."

Earnur snorted. "Thanks for the display of Elven superiority."

"What?"

"Cryptic pronouncements? Riding forth to challenge the enemy in glowing splendor?"

Glorfindel shook his head and gazed out across the battlefield. Most of the Witch-King's forces lay strewn on the ground – but among them lay Elves and Men too, far too many. From far away the sounds of fighting still drifted on the wind, but the immediate area was cloaked in an exhausted quiet.

The Elven company was still quiet and subdued when they passed the border of Imladris. Glorfindel separated from them and gazed around at the calm buildings as he went to make his report to Lord Elrond. Randomly, he recalled how, as a child, he had hated the quiet of Imladris. If anything, the place was even quieter now. Glorfindel looked around once, smiled, and began to sing very softly as he would his way up the path.