Remember Why
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The land was broken. Where once was a mountain, there was now a plain, what were once plains, there was nothing but water. Yet, yet, he remembered what it was like when this land was whole, when this land was dressed in all the colours of the rainbow, not varying shades of grey. He remembered green plains dressed in violets, daises, and blue bells. He remembered a white city gleaming in the sun, a memory of a place all too far away, a present thing to give hope in a land where hope was badly needed. He also remembered seeing the city burn.
Glorfindel closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to stop himself from trembling. "Why did I come here?" he wondered aloud. "Why did I come to see the ruins of what was once the land of the elves in Middle-earth?" he yelled out to the stale, stagnant wind. "Why did I return to the place where I fell?" he whispered softly.
The memories came flooding back. Memories of standing in the cursed land of Mordor, memories of elves and men falling all around him, the memory of knowing that the evil of Sauron was near to being removed forever. Then, then just as his heart was about to soar like the eagles of Manwë, he had been reminded how weak the wills of Mortal men were. Isildur had given himself up to the seductive lure of the ring, Sauron still remained within the confines of Arda, but Gil-galad, the grandson of his uncle Fingolfin, whom he had begged Eönwë to let him remain behind to serve, was no more.
His mother, Lalwen, out love for Fingolfin, had come to middle earth, refusing to turn back even when her elder sister and her brother Finarfin had begged her to. Even Fëanor suggested she at least should return, even if Glorfindel choose to remain out of love for Turgon, his cousin. She did not listen, she remained, only to die in the crossing of the Helcaraxë, when the cold bit into her body so badly that she could do nothing but yield to the pull of the halls of Mandos. Glorfindel found a raw smile curve his lips, extreme cold and extreme heat seemed to be the bane of his family. His mother had died in the extreme cold of the Helcaraxë, he had died in the extreme heat of a chasm of fire. His mother died in vain, she had never cared for Middle-earth or for revenge, and certainly, the Silmarils held little place in her heart. She was of the belief that the heart of her brother, Fëanor, whom she loved despite the fact that he barely acknowledged her, had become cold, for he had poured all his love into those wretched stones. She hated the very sight of the jewels, but she just did not want to be separated from her beloved brother, Fingolfin. So she followed him, and when she died, she charged her only son to serve her brother and his descendents as best he could. Glorfindel had done the best he could, but in the end, had he died in vain?
Slowly, very slowly, he sank down to his knees, eyes fixed on the cold grey ground beneath him, uncharacteristic despair like lead in his heart. In this posture of dejection and despair, he remained till the sun sat in the west and the stars shone in all their glory. One star, however, shone the brightest, the Gil-Estel. It shone down upon the broken land and bathed all with its silver light. The light fell upon Glorfindel: he looked up and hope was kindled in his heart.
For it reminded him that if ever he needed to remember why he had stood stern and proud before the Balrog, all he needed to do was look up into the night sky. He had fought the Balrog for the sake of the child, Eärendil. He had fought the Balrog so that hope could live, for was it not the way of Eä that hope lies with the unborn future? Back then, Eärendil had been the future, now the race of men was the future, and in the end, it mattered not that Isildur had given in. That was the past, the dead past, much like this sad broken land. Slowly, Glorfindel stood up, the laughter had returned to his eyes and the joy to his heart. He knew what he had to do now. He had to help Elrond, son of Eärendil, shape the present so that the hope they held for the future would bear fruit. That was why they had fought so many wars, and that was why they would fight again.
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Footnotes:
1.) I hate war but sometimes it's a necessary evil. I hope you got that message from this fic.
2.) Tolkien's never said who Glorfindel's parents were. An author in HASA by the name of Aerlinnel suggested that Glorfindel could be a descendent of Finwë's daughter Lalwen. I made it that he was her son, which would make him Turgon's cousin but not necessarily put him in a position to claim the crown of the Noldor since after Turgon's death Gil-galad because king of the Noldor thought Eärendil became the lord of the survivors of Gondolin and after marring Elwing also of the survivors of Doriath.
3.) If Tolkien's ever said when Lalwen died than I don't know about it. I made it that she died when crossing the Helcaraxë.
4.) Thanks to lady Legrace for beta reading.