Disclaimer: 

I do not claim to own any of the canon characters in this story. 

Everyone else, who is not mentioned in one of Tolkien´s works, is mine.

Author´s notes:

So this is to become a tale about one gorgeous, valiant blonde elf.

Nay, it is not Legolas I talk about, but Glorfindel of Gondolin. I assume that he and Glorfindel of Rivendell are one and the same person and on this my storyline is based.

This story started out as a mere experiment about a possible elven reincarnation, but quickly became much more than that.

A huge thank you goes to Lothi, TreeHugger (go and read her fantastic tales, if you have not already) and jilian baade (same goes for her) for all the support and help. Thank you, nîn mellyn.

So if OCs are nothing you fear, enter now and accompany Glorfindel on his journey.

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Chapter 1: Release

The spirit trembled.

Fear made his light wax and wane like a star in the sky, and shadows on the cold walls of stone trembled as well.

He had sat in the darkness of his thoughts for a long time, remembering his past life that had been ended by a sword of cold steel, glazing fire, and a fall from the Cleft of Eagles.

His life had been given that others could be saved.

But this had been a long time time ago and his time of waiting had passed.

No, not yet. His final judgement was yet to be spoken. Would it be his rise or his fall?

He knelt before Mandos, bowing his head in awe before the mighty Vala who guards the souls of the dead. But the everlasting silence was not broken, no voice dared speak a word.

To him it seemed like eternity, spent waiting before the throne of the Lord of this Halls, ere he rose from his seat and, standing before the spirit, talked to him through silent thought.

"Thou, spirit of the Firstborn who fought against the shadow bravely, were not untouched by it. Thou art one of the Exiled, the Forsaken, who rebelled and left those shores for mortal lands against the biddings of the Valar.

Yet thou shalt be allowed to go back and live in Valinor once again. Thou art given the chance to reunite with thy wife and son. Rejoice as long as thou art able, for in what is but a brief span of years, thou shalt depart for mortal shores once again. As penance this is meant, but also thou wilt have a purpose there: To guard and aid the one whose sire thou rescued by thy own sacrifice. But thou shalt not remember my words, unless thou hast met the one I speak about."

The spirit lowered his head in a graceful motion and a memory of the fateful chain of events once more came back to him. Those events had led from Valinor to his White City, and to his death. But now, he thought with wonder, it was as if he was watching the pictures from afar, uninvolved in the story and not feeling what he had felt back in former days. His death had brought him distance from the events past.

Night had crept over the land suddenly.

The light of Telperion and Laurelin was just beginning to mingle and spread out, when darkness came like a black cloud.

The singing, and dancing, and the music in the Halls on the Taniquetil ceased, and in this moment there was utter silence, except for the cries of the Teleri that were coming with the wind through the mountain pass.

It was dark when the Valar had gathered in the Ring of Doom, and only the stars were shining. The air was clear again, for the winds of Manwe had driven away death´s mists and shadows. But the Two Trees had died and every branch that Yavanna touched broke and fell to her feet lifeless. Many a voice was heard mourning, and the mourning increased when Fëanor refused to give the Silmarils away, for it was only their light that could bring the Trees to life again.

But when messengers from Formenos came, reporting that his father had been slain and the Silmarils had been taken, he fled into the night.

When it was he appeared in Tirion and summoned the Noldor to the King´s Court, none knew exatly, but messengers were sent out to bring even the last. And everyone came, though many were reluctant, knowing that Fëanor had rebelled against the Valar and fearing their wrath.

Silver blades were gleaming in the torchlight, finely edged and deadly sharp. Bloodred rays of light were dancing over the faces of their owners...Fëanor, the spirit of Fire, and his seven sons. Yet they were not the only ones to bear weapons... there were others bearing spears, and axes, and daggers, prepared for battle in a land that knew no war.

And Fëanor spoke words that shall never be heard again. He enflamed calm hearts with a wish for freedom in land under the gentle starlight near the mere of Cuviénen, and spoke against the Valar once more by calling them jealous and of Morgoth´s kin. Long he spoke and more hearts were drawn to him, and in the end he and his sons swore an oath that none should ever vow to keep, for they called the Everlasting Darkness down on them, should they fail.

Where once had been a haven with lamplit cais, there was now nothing beautiful left:

the white swanships were out on the water, and the very sea was grieving for the Foamriders, waves were clashing against the shore and the ships alike. The air was dark with smoke and thick with the scent of blood. Screams, pleas for mercy and wailing were carried in the wind that reached their ears.

More and more ran down the hillside with swords drawn, and still more followed with tears of disbelief in their eyes. When they arrived at the havens of Alqualondë, they found the bodies of the dead. Mothers pulled their children back and covered their eyes that they need not see the cruel reality.

There was no question who had done this: the followers of Fëanor and the first ones of Fingolfin´s host. There was the cruel proof of what all knew but none dared to speak out loud. A slain Noldo, with three arrows in his back and his sword beneath him.

Next to him, still the bow in his hands was a young Teleri. "So this is death", someone whispered.

And yet, the greatest part of the Noldor had escaped and some were on the ships. But the greater part of them walked upon the shore in the dark and seemingly endless night.

On the borders of cold Araman they beheld a dark figure standing upon a high rock overlooking the shore. And there the Prophecy of the North was spoken, the Doom of the Noldor, and upon hearing those words Finarfin and his people turned back to seek the pardon of the Valar. But Fëanor drove his host onward and with him went many of the princes of the Eldalië, the greatest of their kin.

The ships were burning, he sensed it and saw the red gloom under the clouds far away.

They were lost in regions of bitter cold and had no chance but to turn back... or to continue their way. They continued... over the ice of the Helcaraxe and when they first set foot upon mortal lands, the moon rose.

Swords were clashing and battlecries were to be heard. Darkness loomed over the hills, watching and waiting. Elves and men alike were falling, as were their foes: Orcs, Balrogs, Dragons. These were the Unnumbered Tears the Noldor should shed, as the messenger of Manwe had foretold. This was the battle, and this was death.

When the order to retreat came, they did as bidden and escaped just in time. Many warriors of the Hidden City had fallen, so many... but they still lived. Yet.

It was the Morning of the Gates of Summer when doom came.

The red that was supposed to be a beautiful dawn came from the North. It was not what they had hoped, but now fate was inevitable. They had to fight and to flee their home, a likeness of Tirion upon Túna and the most beautiful of all elven cities in the mortal lands.

And it was doomed.

It took not long until the city was fallen. Orcs were roaming the streets and the houses, killing everyone who was yet alive. Balrogs were walking in between the fallen, and dragons set houses to fire, and ashes, and ruin.

The small group of survivors had fled to the mountains, most of them were women with no husbands left and children without fathers.

When they passed the Cleft of Eagles, they were ambushed. Orcs... and a Balrog, a creature of fire and seemingly unstoppable. And yet he fought, not only for the living, but for those who had died.

And then the demon fell, pulling him into the abyss as well.

So this was dying.

The voice of the Vala greeted him after what seemed to have been years... or maybe decades. There was no time in the Halls of Mandos. The dead did not need it. But the living did. Maybe he was soon to be among them once more.

"Dost thou confess that thou hast been there? That thou art guilty to have left the Blessed Realm? Speak now, spirit and tell me, yea or nay."

"I was there, yet how can I feel guilty for the deeds I have done when I feel no pain? And yet I would confess, if I only could."

He could almost feel the Vala smiling.

"Then thou hast passed the test, Firstborn and canst go now."

When Mandos lifted his hands, a light more bright and more blinding than the rays of Anar surrounded the spirit, and he was carried away.

He had become a runaway comet, seeking his way through space and time beyond the stars.

Then there was nothing but sheer darkness and silence.

And before him the doors of the Halls opened wide, allowing him to see the green pastures and dark woods of Valinor, and the rivers that wound through the lands like threads of living, glistening silver in the sunlight.

Momentarily blinded he closed his eyes and stood motionless for an instant, his chest heaving and sinking under a layer of fine blue silk. He breathed in the scent of things growing, of earth, of water and of life.

His ears perceived the far-off sound of the many bells of Valimar, of birds singing and the rustle of the wind in leaves...

His fair skin was warmed by the the sun´s rays that touched him almost hesitantly, as if afraid of one who had returned from death. A gentle breeze caressed him.

His heart was beating in his breast, pumping blood through his veins in a rythm that should never have stopped.

When he opened his eyes again, tears trailed down his cheeks.

He had almost forgotten how it was to be alive. It had almost been too long.

"Alive", he whispered as a hand touched his face, fingertips examining his skin. "Alive."

He could barely believe it, but true it was. He was alive, and free.

The doors to the dark halls behind him had closed silently again.

* * *

When the daylight died, he arrived in Valimar, the City of Many Bells, where some of the Vanyar, his wife´s kin had settled, desiring to be near to the Valar.

The golden streets, white buildings, and silver pinnacles were tinged crimsom by the sunset.

Just like fair Gondolin had been, when the last sunlight of the day touched the white walls and high towers, before doom fell on the city...

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. This was no time to live in the past and think of things long gone.

The dust of jewels glinted on his clothes, as he walked the streets of Valimar. Usually they were busy, but now there were but few who hurried past him.

From somewhere he could hear the sound of music, and of laughter drifting in a warm wind. Surely today was one of the many days of celebrations that were held during the year and so it was no wonder that the streets were almost empty.

Finally, his feet had borne him to the house where he had lived once. Unsure and suddenly afraid he stood outside and looked at the ornate wooden door.

Should he go in? What if he found his beloved wife and son gone?

Not allowing his thoughts to stray any further, he opened the door with a deliberate push.

It had not been locked but only closed.

He found cool air and dim light and silence in all the rooms.

None of the fireplaces was lit and he found no one, not even the housemaids were there, neither were his wife or his son... but considering the celebration, it was no surprise. One could hardly expect to be found at home on such an evening, for it was said that even the Valar attended the festivities of the Vanyar sometimes...

His soundless steps led him through the rooms he had once known... that he knew still. Not much had changed. Finally, he arrived at the door of what had once been his former bedroom... and there also all was as it had been once. The room was scarcely furnished, but the walls were adorned with tapestries showing images of sun and moon, others showed a golden flower and four silver stars on a dark-green background, the banners of both their houses united.

Great windows were facing east and looked upon the towers of Tirion, visible in the mountain pass that led down to the western shores of Belegaer.

Sighing deeply and inhaling the faint scent of herbs and flowers that clung to the air, he knew that he was home at last.

He looked down on the bed and wished his beloved to be there, whom he had left so many years ago. He did not even know how long his time of absence had been, so how could he expect her to welcome him?

No... they had not parted in anger, but in sadness. His wife and son had wanted to accompany him, but they had turned back with the people of Finarfin eventually, not willing to face the deathly cold of vast Araman and the doom of the Valar. He was grateful that they had done so, considering how many had died there, later on the Helcaraxe and finally, in Beleriand.

He well remembered the look in her blue eyes, before she turned her back on him.

Wordless she had begged him to come home again, but he could not. Walking beside his Lord Turgon and bearing his standard, his heart was aflame with the thought for land of his own, of light and of beauty.

Yes, he remembered well indeed all those feelings that could never be silenced, even after all the years, all the wars and all the toils in Beleriand... and best of all, he remembered her love, reminding him that the beauty he had sought was what he had left behind.

He laid down on the bed and wished suddenly that he had never left.. and with this thought on his mind, he eventually fell asleep, to walk in troubled dreams. She was there, but looked old like the Edain did after facing but brief years, and called him intruder, and then turned her back on him once again, to disappear into thin air.

It was late at night, when Elentinwë entered the room after having attended the festivities of this evening. Pale blonde hair mirrored the light of a small lamp shining with a delicate crystal that was as blue as her eyes.

When she became aware that she was not alone, she stifled a cry and backed away.

How came it that a stranger was in her house?

But then, suddenly, realisation came to her, who he could only be.

And yet it could not be he, he was gone.

Holding the lamp with trembling hands, she stepped nearer, until the light illumined the stranger´s face.

Elentinwë gasped and the lamp slid from her fingers to fall upon the floor.

Glass shattered and the crystal sprung, the light went out. But in the darkness could be heard her voice, weeping with both joy and pain.

Joy for he had returned and pain for old wounds had opened again, wounds that had barely closed over the years...

She laid down next to him, muttering his name with a voice so quiet that it could barely be heard. "Glorfindel. I am dreaming, I must be."

A gentle laugh was her answer. "Nay, it is I, my love. I have indeed returned."

He placed his arms around her and upon feeling her heart racing, he began to sing softly, to soothe both, her emotions as well as his own.

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Elentinwë is Quenya for Glinting Starlight

To be continued

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