Future's Hope – Tale 2: The
Glorfindel Chronicles (III Age)
By
Devaeriel
The jangling of a horse's harness focused the Elven Lord's mind as he rode. There seemed to be peace in the world, nothing tickled at the edge of his foresight and the sound of nature around him held no warnings. Glorfindel pushed the hood of his cloak back from his hair, allowing the glorious sunshine to shed its warmth on his skin. He was relaxed for the first time in what seemed like an age, there had been no wars that involved his kind and his time lately had been spent teaching younglings. A task that he enjoyed immensely. His latest students had been the children of Elrond; Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen. Glorfindel sighed. His biggest challenge since facing the Witch King of Angmar had been the attempt to teach Arwen archery; in the end they had mutually decided that she should stick to the healing arts. She was not a warrior at heart, and when one chose that life it was the key to survival, for those who could not become one with their weapons and their purposes, who could not accept what they must do to live could never survive. He knew that Elrond was relieved by the choice, which Arwen had made to turn her back on becoming a warrior, he had despaired for Arwen since his wife, the beautiful and enigmatic Celebrían had departed for the West.
The circumstances behind that situation had traumatised the whole Elven enclave more than they were willing to admit. The children had been scarred. Elladan and Elrohir finding their brutalised mother had borne the brunt of the anguish, but Arwen had endured the loss of support that only a mother could give. Of that Glorfindel had no doubt. It was why he had counselled Elrond to send his daughter to her grandparents in Lothlórien. The Lady Galadriel would provide the best guidance for the young perehdil. Arwen's destiny....well Glorfindel did not like to look too closely at her path. The young elf, who so closely resembled Lúthien Tinúviel, seemed destined to have the same choices. More than that, even the High Elf couldn't see. It
troubled him for it seemed that the fate of the world somehow rested with the young half Elf.
Glorfindel chuckled, he knew Arwen would never truly have need for the warrior arts but he had insisted, standing against Elrond and Celebrían's better judgement. It had been Celebrían's fate that had convinced Elrond. The grief his friend had suffered had brought the Master of Imladris to him and begged him to teach her to defend herself. Glorfindel had no doubt that the girl would be far happier in Lothlórien, amongst her mother's kin learning statelier arts.
Glorfindel was returning from the Golden Wood. From a pilgrimage to check on Elrond's daughter. Glorfindel had been required to go in Elrond's stead this year, but since Elrond had appointed him, their teacher and protector, and had kin of his own there, it mattered not. That thought pulled Glorfindel's mind away from his relaxed state, the reason Elrond hadn't been able to make the journey was the unusual amount of activity in Mordor. Orcs had been spotted in the surrounds of Rivendell. And though Glorfindel had felt no urgency from his kin, he was eager to find out the details of the situation for himself.
For the last thousand years, time on Middle Earth had moved along fairly quietly. But that time was coming to an end. To Glorfindel it seemed as if they were holding their breath, waiting for the fall. Already uneasiness stirred within his brethren, and most began to talk of the journey home. Some, like Elrond's wife had already left but a majority still remained. Soon that would change, already the ships were being built.
Glorfindel thought ahead to his time, though long years in the future. He would not leave Middle Earth with complete joy, he had too many memories, happy and sad, spilt too much blood in defence of this world, and of the mortals that inhabited it, to leave easily. He would linger, until the last possible moment that duty could hold him here. And then? Freedom, but would he be happy? He couldn't answer that question; it was for the future beyond his sight to answer.
A whinny from his mare, one of his beloved Aselof's line, followed by a snort startled him from his reverie. It was the equivalent of an equine admonishment for not paying attention and he chuckled as her disgust radiated through to him. She was doing all the hard work, the least he could do was pay attention to his surroundings and the miles that he was sitting on her back. She was thirsty, and could do with a bit of grain now, since it was way past the time she should be in her nice comfortable stall. Glorfindel took the hint, and slowed Aloise to a walk, his china blue eyes searching for a place off the road to stop and rest. Once he had found a leafy alcove by the stream, he settled his mare, sneaking her a treat as an apology. Elven steeds were hardier and had more endurance then normal horses, but they could still be pushed too far.
The mare stamped her foot, ignoring the offering, and Glorfindel laughed a silvery peal that floated through the greenery. "Oh come now my sweet. Would you take a song instead?" The sound of his mirth sounded again when her ears swivelled forward with interest. He stroked them gently and began to sing softly, a ballad from fallen Gondolin.
He continued his song as he brushed her down, his mind turning back to the inevitable; leaving Middle Earth. What held him back? Even Galadriel balanced regret at the prospect with profound joy at returning to Valinor. So why did the knowledge turn his stomach in a most un elf like way? He knew the cause, but he did not want to name his reluctance, that would give rise to feelings that he'd suppressed since returning to Middle Earth from the Halls of Mandos. He tried to deny it, but in quiet moments like these it came to stare him in the face, a bitter sweet spectre from the past.
At the fall of Gondolin he'd taken on a Balrog of Morgoth single handedly, an act of desperation, that he'd not expected to survive. At the time he'd told himself that he'd done it for his people, but he hadn't, not really. It had been for love, the deepest he'd known, a love that he'd lost before it had flowered. Idril, Princess of Gondolin the mother of Eärendil had held his heart in her hand. While she'd not torn it in two she'd not be able to claim his love. His last act had been the only way he could show his love for her, by protecting her and her son. That was why he'd wildly sworn the oath that still bound him. He'd accepted despite knowing he'd never have her love reciprocated, for that belonged to Turin.
Glorfindel hadn't faded and died like those who pined for their loved ones. Glorfindel thought that it was because he'd accepted his lot and found another focus. He pushed all that love into duty and his sworn oath, which had taken the place of the love sickness.
But to return to the Undying Lands would meant facing her again; not only her but her human husband whom the Valar had admitted to share her destiny. The thought of living by her side forever, so far away yet so close, lingering with that ache and to have nothing to occupy him sickened him. He'd rather sacrifice himself in the fight against the Great Deceiver than face his greatest weakness for all eternity. He feared that he would then succumb to the love sickness, and in his heart he quailed at being so weak.
Glorfindel gave a strangled yelp as he stumbled backwards. The hard impact into his stomach which jerked him from his reverie turned out to be Aloise nudging him impatiently with her nose, demanding her grain. After all she'd been doing all the work, how hard was it for him to stay focused, and stop wool gathering long enough to bring her a meal?
"Ah, Melon-nin. I am sorry. I was dwelling on the future again." Glorfindel smiled when his mount snorted rudely, he gave her one last going over with the brush before he set about feeding her. 'Dwelling on the future' as only one with the gift of foresight can, yet Glorfindel sometimes wished that he could predict his own. It would have made his choices so much easier, to find the right path, and to weigh up his sacrifices with full knowledge, not just bits and pieces. It was like looking through a cracked mirror, he only saw rippled fractures of what was to come. A piece of what was, jumbled with what could be.
"Or make them harder,' chimed the voice inside his head, the one that guided him. It sounded what he remembered his mother's voice was like. Glorfindel shrugged off the melancholy of his previous thoughts without examining them any further, after all what would it achieve? He began preparing a meal for himself, he forwent lembas and consumed the fresher provisions provided by the Lady of the Wood. Once he'd eaten, he felt contented and somewhat drowsy, Aloise lowered herself down besides him. Glorfindel sat against her, stroking her soft coat absently as he watched the stars, naming each constellation as his eyes picked them out of the dark tapestry of sky. It seemed like it was between one breath and the next when he entered into that dreamlike, mediative state that was akin to sleep for Elven kind.
A shrieking cry, ringing through the trees brought him back to reality, and he was on his feet, reaching for his sword before his mind and senses registered exactly what he'd heard. He froze, listening carefully, assessing the situation as the cry sounded again, shrill and piercing. Full of terror, a mortal's terror. The timbre to the voice told Glorfindel that it was a human woman. He winced when that fear infested note rang out again, followed by the rustling of bush and then the grunts and squeals of her pursuers. Glorfindel's lips curled in disgust, 'Yrch.' Orc by their common name, perverted creatures.
He stretched his sense out, garnering the distance. They were close, a few yards at the most. A few more feet and they would be on him. The trees told him the location of his quarry; they followed the course of the hunt. When he deemed that they should be close, he stared desperately into the shadows, until he could make out figures running. In front was a woman, dressed in the drab clothing of the Dúnedain. She was clutching a small wrapped bundle to her breast, but Glorfindel didn't stop to examine it closely, for behind her was a squad of Orcs.
His lip curled in disgust at those foul creatures. He too felt the absolute hatred of the Yrch as did all his kind. They had been Elves once; it was the knowledge that even they could be corrupted that fuelled their hatred of the orc. It was also fear of their weakness shown to them in detail every time they viewed one of the mutilated beings.
Glorfindel counted off the paces until the woman was upon his hiding spot. His heart began to pound with each footfall and he gripped his sword tightly. Once she'd run past he calmly stepped out from the bushes. The light which radiated from him flooded the area. He smiled when the orcs squealed in pain and covered their eyes. It gave him an advantage. With a rough hand Glorfindel reached behind him, grabbing for the woman who'd stopped her flight the moment she'd seen him. He guided her into the leafy alcove where he'd been resting. He sent a quick but detailed thought to Aloise; "Get them to Rivendell, to Lord Elrond.' For once the horse didn't protest about carrying any but him.
"Take my horse, ride for Rivendell, ride as hard and as fast as you can." When the woman hesitated, her eyes huge in a pale face as she stared at him, he spared her a glance "You must make all haste. GO. NOW!" he commanded.
Glorfindel turned back to his foes, no time left to worry at whether she'd obeyed his orders. He hefted his sword in a mock salute as he paced towards them, taking up the challenge they represented. They answered with screams as he surged forward, swinging his blade lethally. He was vaguely aware of the thudding of horse hooves, signalling that the woman had overcome her shock and followed his command. The orcs surrounded him, not leaving him much room to swing but he over came that by carving a path through his attackers until he had freedom of movement.
The Orcs' wicked blades flew for his flesh, some nicking him, cutting shallow wounds. What saved him from being skewered a time or two was his constant motion. The deadly dance he wove kept him ducking and weaving through the throng, until the world fell away and all that existed was himself, his weapon and his enemy. His sword flashed in the late afternoon sun, and with each movement of the blade came a scream of agony and the thud of a body as it hit the earth. The sudden silence brought him back to the here and now. It took him a moment to realise that the only thing left alive on the road was he, the remnants of the Orc band were running through the trees the way they'd come.
He cleaned and sheathed his sword, and then set about disposing of the carcasses. He had no choice but to drag them deep into the forest and bury them for to leave them was to mark the trail to Rivendell. He wished he could build a fire and burn them rather than poison the earth with their flesh but he dared not light a fire amongst these sentient trees. After he'd finished he returned to the stream, washing as much of the blood and grime from himself as possible, before repacking what was left of his belongings, which unfortunately didn't include the spare clothing from his saddle bags and began the trek back to Imladris.
It took the Elf Lord two days to travel by foot to Rivendell. He arrived, wet and muddy. And though those conditions didn't affect him, no chill set into his bones, and he felt no discomfort he did look a sight. It wasn't often that one of the Firstborn appeared in less than perfect splendour. As he entered the edges of the realm he realised he wasn't alone and he smiled warmly when he recognised two familiar presences. Soundlessly they appeared next to him, one each side.
He nodded to them in greeting, "Elrohir, Elladan." He made no other comments. Although they were the sons of Elrond and therefore need not be traversing the wild lands, they'd chosen the lifestyle of the Dúnedain. The Rangers of the North protected the lands of the West from the forces of Mordor. They both silently acknowledged his greeting. They walked towards the outskirts, getting closer to the city when Elrohir stopped and turned to look at him.
"We brought you some clothing, and some food. We thought that you might wish to change before you reached the city."
Glorfindel gave them a sardonic look. Translated, Elrond had thought it better he arrive presentable. He wouldn't argue, he had to admit that he was Elf enough to want to look his best at all times. He stripped off the soiled, ripped garments, glad to rid himself of the smell of Orc and waded into the river. The water was refreshing against his skin and he dove underneath the water. When he rose from the river he was handed a cloth upon which he dried himself. One by one each item of clothing was handed to him by one of the brothers. Before long he was garbed in his customary hunting garb of brown, green, and grey. Once dressed he buckled his sword belt into place, and slipped his quiver over his shoulders to rest upon his back. He took the food offered to him by Elladan gratefully; he hadn't stopped to eat. His first concern had been to report to Elrond about Yrch activity in the forest.
"Did Aloise make it back" he asked with sudden concern
"Aye, with the Lady Gilraen and her child intact. Come my Lord, we must go. Father is expecting your report."
"You know this Lady?" Glorfindel realised just what she had been clutching as if her life depended on it.
"Yes My Lord, she is wife to Lord Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dúnedain. He was slain by Orcs while we were out on patrol a few days ago. We were escorting her to Rivendell when those fell creatures attacked us. We became separated from her."
Glorfindel pinned the two Elves with a hard gaze, satisfied when they looked shamed at their failure. With a nod he began to resume his journey back towards Imladris. Glorfindel unconsciously slowed as he reached the centre of Rivendell, where most of the Elves dwelled. There was a buzzing sense of excitement within his brethren. And it was most unusual. He absorbed that rush of adrenaline forcing himself into calmness, though his curiosity was had been aroused. As they broke through the last of the tree into the entrance he noticed a gathering, Elrond at its core, standing with a human woman.
With great relief Glorfindel realised it was the woman he'd rescued in the forest. His eyes widened in recognition as their gaze met. For on the collar of her Elven made cloak was the White Tree of Gondor. That could only mean one thing; she was of the Ruling House, either Isildur's heir or close kin. He stepped forward, intent on making an introduction as politeness dictated, when a movement by her legs distracted him. As he looked into fearless steel grey eyes, his world shifted under his feet. His heart sang with joy, and wept in sorrow. The Heir of Isildur a child of the noble Númenor had returned. The one whose destiny it was to take the Throne in Minas Tirith.
In that minute he foresaw the Enemy's rise and the temptation that fate would place in the path of this child. Glorfindel couldn't see which path he'd take or whether he would pass the tests, but he could see the deciding paths. He looked up to meet Elrond's eyes. The time of the Elves was over; he could see the sadness refected in those blue orbs. His liege understood all too clearly what was at stake now, though Glorfindel had a instinctive feeling that Elrond had not seen the more unwelcome visions of the boy's future. If he had, he may not have been so gracious to the human woman and her son. In the man lay the fate of Arwen Undómiel, one path would see her diminishing as had Lúthien Tinúviel.
He covered his lapse quickly, taking her hand as he bowed as Elrond made the introductions in the common tongue.
"Lady Gilraen, this is the Lord Glorfindel. Seneschal of Rivendell" He bowed to her again as she murmured her greeting and effusive thanks for his timely rescue. As his eyes met hers he was forcibly reminded of the earnest grey gaze of her son. He looked back at the boy, his own brow furrowing. He sighed, accepting the insistent duty that was laid upon him silently by Destiny and then looked back at Elrond.
The Peredhil Lord looked ill at ease as he stared at the boy. Glorfindel suspected he was uneasy about having a human child around Imladris. Elflings were quiet and respectful, whereas human children were exuberant, and loud. They pushed the boundaries set for them in order to learn and experience. The Heir of Elendil would create havoc around the Elven enclave. Glorfindel's eyes sparkled with amusement as Elrond frowned down at him. His liege looked sour, a most unusual expression. Glorfindel would council him later, right now his concern was the boy. Glorfindel sighed, the boy was no more than an infant and already fate was showing its hand, He knelt in front of the boy, 'What is your name?" He asked the child in his fair, musical voice.
The grey eyes regarded him gravely as his mother answered "Aragorn, his name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Chief of the Dúnedain."
"And heir to the throne of Gondor." Glorfindel added, he stood and took her hand gently, his eyes sympathetic as he searched her face. "The heir of Isildur must be hidden until the time is right for him to take up his burden. The darkness awakens, and all that he is, and has the potential to be must be protected from the agents of the Dark Lord. He must leave the name Aragorn behind."
As he spoke he pressed his hand into the middle of the boy's forehead. "Forget all that you have witnessed, Estel, when the time comes you will remember." He dragged the palm of his hands over the boy's eyes. Estel blinked up at him and gave a sigh. Glorfindel picked the child up as his eyes closed and his knees buckled. He ignored the woman's gasp. "For the safety of us all it must be so. Amongst us and until his destiny is upon him he shall be known as Estel."
He only hoped that Aragorn would forgive him when he found out what had been done. When all was said and done, he did not envy Aragorn, son of Arathorn his life. Destiny was a hard path to walk, and it pressed into the boy even now. The path that stretched out before him, every crossroad was a deadly road to travel, no matter which way his fortune fell.
'Much like your path has been',
Glorfindel raised an eyebrow in question as he faced the peredhil Lord that he'd sworn to protect. Eärendil's son, grandson of Idril, the Elf he loved, and would always love and for whom he'd sacrificed everything.
'I am no hero. All I did was for those I loved, and in the name of duty. This boy will be......and not just for his deeds of renown. It is in his very presence. He will be the King Returned and for that alone his name will be great.'
'He will be remembered as a hero of this age. His deeds will outlive ours. Humans will remember his name even as we fade from their memories. You have lived as a hero, in this age, and beyond. I look to you to protect him, to teach him the ways of the Númenor. All that he needs to survive'
Glorfindel inclined his head with acceptance, Elrond's words were a confirmation of the duty he'd accepted earlier, and then looked back at Gilraen. "My lady would you show me to your lodgings?" With one last gesture of respect he left the Peredhil's presence, the boy asleep in his arms. He strode after the tall Dúnedain woman, placing the boy on one of the couch like beds when they'd reached her dwelling.
"What did you do to him?" Her concern throbbed around the room.
"I did him no hurt." Glorfindel replied reassuringly, "As a necessity I have blocked the memories of his identity before I imposed sleep on him. It minimises the potential overload on his mind."
Glorfindel looked down at the sleeping child, his heart contracting as he remembered another youngling. Eärendil had been slighter, his Elven blood making him seem smaller than his years. He'd not lived to see Idril's son take up his potential. Aragorn was sturdy, and would prove less delicate. Glorfindel vowed that he would prepare this child for the paths that were laid out for him. He turned back to Gilraen, wanting to soothe the disquiet that emanated from her.
"We will protect him, and teach him all that he needs to take up the reigns of kingship. He is the one, it shines from within him."
Gilraen sank onto a cushioned window seat. "I knew it." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, "When I carried him beneath my heart, I suspected there was something more precious about this child. I felt it press heavily down upon me. It was why I brought him here. I knew once Arathorn was slain, that it would no longer be safe for him amongst the Rangers."
Glorfindel took her hand, kissing the back of it softly. "Brave lady. You are wise to have brought him here. If we can keep the dark ones from knowing that Isildur's heir still lives then the future has hope. You have given us that."
The grief etched into the woman's face almost made his knees buckle. The tragedy of the situation came home to him as tears trickled down her face. Such a noble lady of the Dúnedain, with such strength, he wondered what it had cost her to act thus despite her encompassing pain. Glorfindel settled down next to her, holding her tightly till the storm passed. Even with red rimmed eyes, there was a grace and beauty in her face. She swiped at her eyes with her sleeve, and then straightened her spine, head back regally. A Queen in bearing; if not in name.
"Forgive me My Lord. I meant not to show weakness."
Glorfindel shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Nay my Lady, There is no weakness in love, or in grief. The loss can make us stronger."
Gilraen squeezed the hand that held hers. "I live now for my son. My duty lies in his education." Her eyes remained steadily on the Elf Lord. Gilraen could sense the age and power that radiated from Glorfindel. For a brief instant she wondered bitterly how one who was immortal could understand loss, and the agony that came with it. "How could one such as you understand?"
Glorfindel took no offence, he sighed, eyes far away. "I have loved, and lost. It was more permanent than even death. For even when I rejoin her, there will be no chance for us. She loves another. It will be so for eternity."
The gasp from the mortal woman was pained, "I apologise my Lord, I meant to cause no wound. Or bring up painful reminders"
"There is nothing to forgive Lady Gilraen. It is an old pain, from another lifetime. I grew stronger, found a sense of purpose. I understand your loss, in that we are Kindred. Rest now Lady, put aside your burdens for the night."
Glorfindel rose, and with another bow took his leave. He bypassed his own dwelling and headed straight to Elrond's private study.
By
Devaeriel
The jangling of a horse's harness focused the Elven Lord's mind as he rode. There seemed to be peace in the world, nothing tickled at the edge of his foresight and the sound of nature around him held no warnings. Glorfindel pushed the hood of his cloak back from his hair, allowing the glorious sunshine to shed its warmth on his skin. He was relaxed for the first time in what seemed like an age, there had been no wars that involved his kind and his time lately had been spent teaching younglings. A task that he enjoyed immensely. His latest students had been the children of Elrond; Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen. Glorfindel sighed. His biggest challenge since facing the Witch King of Angmar had been the attempt to teach Arwen archery; in the end they had mutually decided that she should stick to the healing arts. She was not a warrior at heart, and when one chose that life it was the key to survival, for those who could not become one with their weapons and their purposes, who could not accept what they must do to live could never survive. He knew that Elrond was relieved by the choice, which Arwen had made to turn her back on becoming a warrior, he had despaired for Arwen since his wife, the beautiful and enigmatic Celebrían had departed for the West.
The circumstances behind that situation had traumatised the whole Elven enclave more than they were willing to admit. The children had been scarred. Elladan and Elrohir finding their brutalised mother had borne the brunt of the anguish, but Arwen had endured the loss of support that only a mother could give. Of that Glorfindel had no doubt. It was why he had counselled Elrond to send his daughter to her grandparents in Lothlórien. The Lady Galadriel would provide the best guidance for the young perehdil. Arwen's destiny....well Glorfindel did not like to look too closely at her path. The young elf, who so closely resembled Lúthien Tinúviel, seemed destined to have the same choices. More than that, even the High Elf couldn't see. It
troubled him for it seemed that the fate of the world somehow rested with the young half Elf.
Glorfindel chuckled, he knew Arwen would never truly have need for the warrior arts but he had insisted, standing against Elrond and Celebrían's better judgement. It had been Celebrían's fate that had convinced Elrond. The grief his friend had suffered had brought the Master of Imladris to him and begged him to teach her to defend herself. Glorfindel had no doubt that the girl would be far happier in Lothlórien, amongst her mother's kin learning statelier arts.
Glorfindel was returning from the Golden Wood. From a pilgrimage to check on Elrond's daughter. Glorfindel had been required to go in Elrond's stead this year, but since Elrond had appointed him, their teacher and protector, and had kin of his own there, it mattered not. That thought pulled Glorfindel's mind away from his relaxed state, the reason Elrond hadn't been able to make the journey was the unusual amount of activity in Mordor. Orcs had been spotted in the surrounds of Rivendell. And though Glorfindel had felt no urgency from his kin, he was eager to find out the details of the situation for himself.
For the last thousand years, time on Middle Earth had moved along fairly quietly. But that time was coming to an end. To Glorfindel it seemed as if they were holding their breath, waiting for the fall. Already uneasiness stirred within his brethren, and most began to talk of the journey home. Some, like Elrond's wife had already left but a majority still remained. Soon that would change, already the ships were being built.
Glorfindel thought ahead to his time, though long years in the future. He would not leave Middle Earth with complete joy, he had too many memories, happy and sad, spilt too much blood in defence of this world, and of the mortals that inhabited it, to leave easily. He would linger, until the last possible moment that duty could hold him here. And then? Freedom, but would he be happy? He couldn't answer that question; it was for the future beyond his sight to answer.
A whinny from his mare, one of his beloved Aselof's line, followed by a snort startled him from his reverie. It was the equivalent of an equine admonishment for not paying attention and he chuckled as her disgust radiated through to him. She was doing all the hard work, the least he could do was pay attention to his surroundings and the miles that he was sitting on her back. She was thirsty, and could do with a bit of grain now, since it was way past the time she should be in her nice comfortable stall. Glorfindel took the hint, and slowed Aloise to a walk, his china blue eyes searching for a place off the road to stop and rest. Once he had found a leafy alcove by the stream, he settled his mare, sneaking her a treat as an apology. Elven steeds were hardier and had more endurance then normal horses, but they could still be pushed too far.
The mare stamped her foot, ignoring the offering, and Glorfindel laughed a silvery peal that floated through the greenery. "Oh come now my sweet. Would you take a song instead?" The sound of his mirth sounded again when her ears swivelled forward with interest. He stroked them gently and began to sing softly, a ballad from fallen Gondolin.
He continued his song as he brushed her down, his mind turning back to the inevitable; leaving Middle Earth. What held him back? Even Galadriel balanced regret at the prospect with profound joy at returning to Valinor. So why did the knowledge turn his stomach in a most un elf like way? He knew the cause, but he did not want to name his reluctance, that would give rise to feelings that he'd suppressed since returning to Middle Earth from the Halls of Mandos. He tried to deny it, but in quiet moments like these it came to stare him in the face, a bitter sweet spectre from the past.
At the fall of Gondolin he'd taken on a Balrog of Morgoth single handedly, an act of desperation, that he'd not expected to survive. At the time he'd told himself that he'd done it for his people, but he hadn't, not really. It had been for love, the deepest he'd known, a love that he'd lost before it had flowered. Idril, Princess of Gondolin the mother of Eärendil had held his heart in her hand. While she'd not torn it in two she'd not be able to claim his love. His last act had been the only way he could show his love for her, by protecting her and her son. That was why he'd wildly sworn the oath that still bound him. He'd accepted despite knowing he'd never have her love reciprocated, for that belonged to Turin.
Glorfindel hadn't faded and died like those who pined for their loved ones. Glorfindel thought that it was because he'd accepted his lot and found another focus. He pushed all that love into duty and his sworn oath, which had taken the place of the love sickness.
But to return to the Undying Lands would meant facing her again; not only her but her human husband whom the Valar had admitted to share her destiny. The thought of living by her side forever, so far away yet so close, lingering with that ache and to have nothing to occupy him sickened him. He'd rather sacrifice himself in the fight against the Great Deceiver than face his greatest weakness for all eternity. He feared that he would then succumb to the love sickness, and in his heart he quailed at being so weak.
Glorfindel gave a strangled yelp as he stumbled backwards. The hard impact into his stomach which jerked him from his reverie turned out to be Aloise nudging him impatiently with her nose, demanding her grain. After all she'd been doing all the work, how hard was it for him to stay focused, and stop wool gathering long enough to bring her a meal?
"Ah, Melon-nin. I am sorry. I was dwelling on the future again." Glorfindel smiled when his mount snorted rudely, he gave her one last going over with the brush before he set about feeding her. 'Dwelling on the future' as only one with the gift of foresight can, yet Glorfindel sometimes wished that he could predict his own. It would have made his choices so much easier, to find the right path, and to weigh up his sacrifices with full knowledge, not just bits and pieces. It was like looking through a cracked mirror, he only saw rippled fractures of what was to come. A piece of what was, jumbled with what could be.
"Or make them harder,' chimed the voice inside his head, the one that guided him. It sounded what he remembered his mother's voice was like. Glorfindel shrugged off the melancholy of his previous thoughts without examining them any further, after all what would it achieve? He began preparing a meal for himself, he forwent lembas and consumed the fresher provisions provided by the Lady of the Wood. Once he'd eaten, he felt contented and somewhat drowsy, Aloise lowered herself down besides him. Glorfindel sat against her, stroking her soft coat absently as he watched the stars, naming each constellation as his eyes picked them out of the dark tapestry of sky. It seemed like it was between one breath and the next when he entered into that dreamlike, mediative state that was akin to sleep for Elven kind.
A shrieking cry, ringing through the trees brought him back to reality, and he was on his feet, reaching for his sword before his mind and senses registered exactly what he'd heard. He froze, listening carefully, assessing the situation as the cry sounded again, shrill and piercing. Full of terror, a mortal's terror. The timbre to the voice told Glorfindel that it was a human woman. He winced when that fear infested note rang out again, followed by the rustling of bush and then the grunts and squeals of her pursuers. Glorfindel's lips curled in disgust, 'Yrch.' Orc by their common name, perverted creatures.
He stretched his sense out, garnering the distance. They were close, a few yards at the most. A few more feet and they would be on him. The trees told him the location of his quarry; they followed the course of the hunt. When he deemed that they should be close, he stared desperately into the shadows, until he could make out figures running. In front was a woman, dressed in the drab clothing of the Dúnedain. She was clutching a small wrapped bundle to her breast, but Glorfindel didn't stop to examine it closely, for behind her was a squad of Orcs.
His lip curled in disgust at those foul creatures. He too felt the absolute hatred of the Yrch as did all his kind. They had been Elves once; it was the knowledge that even they could be corrupted that fuelled their hatred of the orc. It was also fear of their weakness shown to them in detail every time they viewed one of the mutilated beings.
Glorfindel counted off the paces until the woman was upon his hiding spot. His heart began to pound with each footfall and he gripped his sword tightly. Once she'd run past he calmly stepped out from the bushes. The light which radiated from him flooded the area. He smiled when the orcs squealed in pain and covered their eyes. It gave him an advantage. With a rough hand Glorfindel reached behind him, grabbing for the woman who'd stopped her flight the moment she'd seen him. He guided her into the leafy alcove where he'd been resting. He sent a quick but detailed thought to Aloise; "Get them to Rivendell, to Lord Elrond.' For once the horse didn't protest about carrying any but him.
"Take my horse, ride for Rivendell, ride as hard and as fast as you can." When the woman hesitated, her eyes huge in a pale face as she stared at him, he spared her a glance "You must make all haste. GO. NOW!" he commanded.
Glorfindel turned back to his foes, no time left to worry at whether she'd obeyed his orders. He hefted his sword in a mock salute as he paced towards them, taking up the challenge they represented. They answered with screams as he surged forward, swinging his blade lethally. He was vaguely aware of the thudding of horse hooves, signalling that the woman had overcome her shock and followed his command. The orcs surrounded him, not leaving him much room to swing but he over came that by carving a path through his attackers until he had freedom of movement.
The Orcs' wicked blades flew for his flesh, some nicking him, cutting shallow wounds. What saved him from being skewered a time or two was his constant motion. The deadly dance he wove kept him ducking and weaving through the throng, until the world fell away and all that existed was himself, his weapon and his enemy. His sword flashed in the late afternoon sun, and with each movement of the blade came a scream of agony and the thud of a body as it hit the earth. The sudden silence brought him back to the here and now. It took him a moment to realise that the only thing left alive on the road was he, the remnants of the Orc band were running through the trees the way they'd come.
He cleaned and sheathed his sword, and then set about disposing of the carcasses. He had no choice but to drag them deep into the forest and bury them for to leave them was to mark the trail to Rivendell. He wished he could build a fire and burn them rather than poison the earth with their flesh but he dared not light a fire amongst these sentient trees. After he'd finished he returned to the stream, washing as much of the blood and grime from himself as possible, before repacking what was left of his belongings, which unfortunately didn't include the spare clothing from his saddle bags and began the trek back to Imladris.
It took the Elf Lord two days to travel by foot to Rivendell. He arrived, wet and muddy. And though those conditions didn't affect him, no chill set into his bones, and he felt no discomfort he did look a sight. It wasn't often that one of the Firstborn appeared in less than perfect splendour. As he entered the edges of the realm he realised he wasn't alone and he smiled warmly when he recognised two familiar presences. Soundlessly they appeared next to him, one each side.
He nodded to them in greeting, "Elrohir, Elladan." He made no other comments. Although they were the sons of Elrond and therefore need not be traversing the wild lands, they'd chosen the lifestyle of the Dúnedain. The Rangers of the North protected the lands of the West from the forces of Mordor. They both silently acknowledged his greeting. They walked towards the outskirts, getting closer to the city when Elrohir stopped and turned to look at him.
"We brought you some clothing, and some food. We thought that you might wish to change before you reached the city."
Glorfindel gave them a sardonic look. Translated, Elrond had thought it better he arrive presentable. He wouldn't argue, he had to admit that he was Elf enough to want to look his best at all times. He stripped off the soiled, ripped garments, glad to rid himself of the smell of Orc and waded into the river. The water was refreshing against his skin and he dove underneath the water. When he rose from the river he was handed a cloth upon which he dried himself. One by one each item of clothing was handed to him by one of the brothers. Before long he was garbed in his customary hunting garb of brown, green, and grey. Once dressed he buckled his sword belt into place, and slipped his quiver over his shoulders to rest upon his back. He took the food offered to him by Elladan gratefully; he hadn't stopped to eat. His first concern had been to report to Elrond about Yrch activity in the forest.
"Did Aloise make it back" he asked with sudden concern
"Aye, with the Lady Gilraen and her child intact. Come my Lord, we must go. Father is expecting your report."
"You know this Lady?" Glorfindel realised just what she had been clutching as if her life depended on it.
"Yes My Lord, she is wife to Lord Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dúnedain. He was slain by Orcs while we were out on patrol a few days ago. We were escorting her to Rivendell when those fell creatures attacked us. We became separated from her."
Glorfindel pinned the two Elves with a hard gaze, satisfied when they looked shamed at their failure. With a nod he began to resume his journey back towards Imladris. Glorfindel unconsciously slowed as he reached the centre of Rivendell, where most of the Elves dwelled. There was a buzzing sense of excitement within his brethren. And it was most unusual. He absorbed that rush of adrenaline forcing himself into calmness, though his curiosity was had been aroused. As they broke through the last of the tree into the entrance he noticed a gathering, Elrond at its core, standing with a human woman.
With great relief Glorfindel realised it was the woman he'd rescued in the forest. His eyes widened in recognition as their gaze met. For on the collar of her Elven made cloak was the White Tree of Gondor. That could only mean one thing; she was of the Ruling House, either Isildur's heir or close kin. He stepped forward, intent on making an introduction as politeness dictated, when a movement by her legs distracted him. As he looked into fearless steel grey eyes, his world shifted under his feet. His heart sang with joy, and wept in sorrow. The Heir of Isildur a child of the noble Númenor had returned. The one whose destiny it was to take the Throne in Minas Tirith.
In that minute he foresaw the Enemy's rise and the temptation that fate would place in the path of this child. Glorfindel couldn't see which path he'd take or whether he would pass the tests, but he could see the deciding paths. He looked up to meet Elrond's eyes. The time of the Elves was over; he could see the sadness refected in those blue orbs. His liege understood all too clearly what was at stake now, though Glorfindel had a instinctive feeling that Elrond had not seen the more unwelcome visions of the boy's future. If he had, he may not have been so gracious to the human woman and her son. In the man lay the fate of Arwen Undómiel, one path would see her diminishing as had Lúthien Tinúviel.
He covered his lapse quickly, taking her hand as he bowed as Elrond made the introductions in the common tongue.
"Lady Gilraen, this is the Lord Glorfindel. Seneschal of Rivendell" He bowed to her again as she murmured her greeting and effusive thanks for his timely rescue. As his eyes met hers he was forcibly reminded of the earnest grey gaze of her son. He looked back at the boy, his own brow furrowing. He sighed, accepting the insistent duty that was laid upon him silently by Destiny and then looked back at Elrond.
The Peredhil Lord looked ill at ease as he stared at the boy. Glorfindel suspected he was uneasy about having a human child around Imladris. Elflings were quiet and respectful, whereas human children were exuberant, and loud. They pushed the boundaries set for them in order to learn and experience. The Heir of Elendil would create havoc around the Elven enclave. Glorfindel's eyes sparkled with amusement as Elrond frowned down at him. His liege looked sour, a most unusual expression. Glorfindel would council him later, right now his concern was the boy. Glorfindel sighed, the boy was no more than an infant and already fate was showing its hand, He knelt in front of the boy, 'What is your name?" He asked the child in his fair, musical voice.
The grey eyes regarded him gravely as his mother answered "Aragorn, his name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Chief of the Dúnedain."
"And heir to the throne of Gondor." Glorfindel added, he stood and took her hand gently, his eyes sympathetic as he searched her face. "The heir of Isildur must be hidden until the time is right for him to take up his burden. The darkness awakens, and all that he is, and has the potential to be must be protected from the agents of the Dark Lord. He must leave the name Aragorn behind."
As he spoke he pressed his hand into the middle of the boy's forehead. "Forget all that you have witnessed, Estel, when the time comes you will remember." He dragged the palm of his hands over the boy's eyes. Estel blinked up at him and gave a sigh. Glorfindel picked the child up as his eyes closed and his knees buckled. He ignored the woman's gasp. "For the safety of us all it must be so. Amongst us and until his destiny is upon him he shall be known as Estel."
He only hoped that Aragorn would forgive him when he found out what had been done. When all was said and done, he did not envy Aragorn, son of Arathorn his life. Destiny was a hard path to walk, and it pressed into the boy even now. The path that stretched out before him, every crossroad was a deadly road to travel, no matter which way his fortune fell.
'Much like your path has been',
Glorfindel raised an eyebrow in question as he faced the peredhil Lord that he'd sworn to protect. Eärendil's son, grandson of Idril, the Elf he loved, and would always love and for whom he'd sacrificed everything.
'I am no hero. All I did was for those I loved, and in the name of duty. This boy will be......and not just for his deeds of renown. It is in his very presence. He will be the King Returned and for that alone his name will be great.'
'He will be remembered as a hero of this age. His deeds will outlive ours. Humans will remember his name even as we fade from their memories. You have lived as a hero, in this age, and beyond. I look to you to protect him, to teach him the ways of the Númenor. All that he needs to survive'
Glorfindel inclined his head with acceptance, Elrond's words were a confirmation of the duty he'd accepted earlier, and then looked back at Gilraen. "My lady would you show me to your lodgings?" With one last gesture of respect he left the Peredhil's presence, the boy asleep in his arms. He strode after the tall Dúnedain woman, placing the boy on one of the couch like beds when they'd reached her dwelling.
"What did you do to him?" Her concern throbbed around the room.
"I did him no hurt." Glorfindel replied reassuringly, "As a necessity I have blocked the memories of his identity before I imposed sleep on him. It minimises the potential overload on his mind."
Glorfindel looked down at the sleeping child, his heart contracting as he remembered another youngling. Eärendil had been slighter, his Elven blood making him seem smaller than his years. He'd not lived to see Idril's son take up his potential. Aragorn was sturdy, and would prove less delicate. Glorfindel vowed that he would prepare this child for the paths that were laid out for him. He turned back to Gilraen, wanting to soothe the disquiet that emanated from her.
"We will protect him, and teach him all that he needs to take up the reigns of kingship. He is the one, it shines from within him."
Gilraen sank onto a cushioned window seat. "I knew it." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, "When I carried him beneath my heart, I suspected there was something more precious about this child. I felt it press heavily down upon me. It was why I brought him here. I knew once Arathorn was slain, that it would no longer be safe for him amongst the Rangers."
Glorfindel took her hand, kissing the back of it softly. "Brave lady. You are wise to have brought him here. If we can keep the dark ones from knowing that Isildur's heir still lives then the future has hope. You have given us that."
The grief etched into the woman's face almost made his knees buckle. The tragedy of the situation came home to him as tears trickled down her face. Such a noble lady of the Dúnedain, with such strength, he wondered what it had cost her to act thus despite her encompassing pain. Glorfindel settled down next to her, holding her tightly till the storm passed. Even with red rimmed eyes, there was a grace and beauty in her face. She swiped at her eyes with her sleeve, and then straightened her spine, head back regally. A Queen in bearing; if not in name.
"Forgive me My Lord. I meant not to show weakness."
Glorfindel shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Nay my Lady, There is no weakness in love, or in grief. The loss can make us stronger."
Gilraen squeezed the hand that held hers. "I live now for my son. My duty lies in his education." Her eyes remained steadily on the Elf Lord. Gilraen could sense the age and power that radiated from Glorfindel. For a brief instant she wondered bitterly how one who was immortal could understand loss, and the agony that came with it. "How could one such as you understand?"
Glorfindel took no offence, he sighed, eyes far away. "I have loved, and lost. It was more permanent than even death. For even when I rejoin her, there will be no chance for us. She loves another. It will be so for eternity."
The gasp from the mortal woman was pained, "I apologise my Lord, I meant to cause no wound. Or bring up painful reminders"
"There is nothing to forgive Lady Gilraen. It is an old pain, from another lifetime. I grew stronger, found a sense of purpose. I understand your loss, in that we are Kindred. Rest now Lady, put aside your burdens for the night."
Glorfindel rose, and with another bow took his leave. He bypassed his own dwelling and headed straight to Elrond's private study.