Hello my readers! Another Glorfindel oneshot! I know! I'm slightly obsessed!
But seriously, who wouldn't be obsessed with dear Glorfy? Who could resist?
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING. NOT EVEN DEAR GLORFY. *sniffs*
They told him it was just a mirror. When they looked into it, all they saw was themselves.
To them it was just a mirror. It was only ever going to be a mirror.
Glorfindel lay on the edge of his bed on his back, head hanging off the side.
Staring.
The mirror.
To him the mirror was not simply a piece of glass reflecting what it saw like a young elleth, adapting her sleeves to reflect those new ones she's seen worn in Lothlorien.
To him it was a window into another place, a window that was always open...always inviting one to peek in and see.
So he peeked.
He saw a room. A chest on the floor. A chair. A small bookshelf. A bed. An elf, lying upside-down and staring, transfixed, his golden mane tangled after sleep, his night-clothes askew, his face fresh looking, his eyes sparkling in the morning light, his lips thoughtlessly parted.
The elf smiled at him, and Glorfindel made to smile back...but he found a smile already on his lips.
He looked closer, and saw the wide window on the back wall, hanging open. He saw trees, their branches reaching just before the window. He saw in the mirror the soft light wafting in that room, and he felt it on his skin. He saw a bird resting on a branch right outside the window, saw it sing, and heard it too.
What a lovely safe place that elf had found.
Glorfindel was told he had found a safe place. But they had told him Gondolin was a safe place too.
When Glorfindel had asked Lord Elrond if Rivendell would ever catch fire, one paranoid evening, Elrond had smiled and reassured, "It is very unlikely."
It is very unlikely.
It was very unlikely for Gondolin to catch fire. In fact, it wasn't ever going to happen.
But it did.
Somehow, even in Rivendell, Glorfindel could never feel completely safe.
But that other place, the place he had a window into, that was truly safe.
Once, just to be sure, he had lit a match and placed it on the mirror, right over the bed. Then the bookshelf.
Nothing had happened. Glorfindel had laughed, had murderously quenched the flame.
That day he had known he had found the place he was always yearning for, though he could never go there. But it was enough just to look. Just to see that elf in there that had found safety.
It was lucky Glorfindel had such a good imagination.
"Glorfindel?" came a sharp voice from outside the door.
He didn't answer. Unless it was a warning that Rivendell was at last indeed burning down, it could wait.
After a few moments he saw in his window the door open, and a rather disgruntled looking elf enter.
An elleth, huddled in a shawl over her nightclothes, fine dark hair in a braid.
Ah, so there were others in that safe place...beautiful others to be exact.
"Glorfindel, do stop day-dreaming and wake up! There's an emergency!"
Erestor. It was Erestor that was yelling at him in the mirror.
Immediately awake and blushing profusely Glorfindel snapped his head around.
"Where did the fire start? I told Elrond to change the roof material on those barns-" He bubbled, flinging himself out of bed and into an upright position.
"No fire! But Lord Elrond wants you immediately and ready for combat! On Asfaloth too!"
"Combat with whom?" Glorfindel asked worriedly, slithering out of his nightclothes.
"No time! The black riders! Estel! The halflings too, quickly!" Erestor blustered hurriedly, grabbing the nightshirt that was nearly off and yanking it back on the confused elf, attempting to find where he kept his armor.
"Can't I get some clothes on at least?"
"No time! No one will be able to tell when you have the armor on!"
The peace and safety shattered, Glorfindel somehow managed to get into his armor and survive the mob of attacking fingers commonly known as Erestor.
"Come on, come on!" his friend scolded, hurrying out of the room, Glorfindel close behind.
But he stopped for a moment, at the door, and turned his head, peeking into his window one last time for what would be many days.
Of course none of it was real.
He knew that.
He hated that.
But he had a good imagination.
Only he could imagine Rivendell burning to the ground.
Only he could peek through that window every morning and see that safe haven.
He wasn't sure whether he believed in it or not.
But somehow it was there every day.
Somehow there was always an elf in there peeking back out at him.
Even the day little Estel kicked Lindir's harp into his mirror, and cracked it considerably, even then he could still see that room. Unchanged. Peaceful. Waiting.
It was like peeking back into Valinor...
"Glorfindel!" came a shrill, impatient cry from the flustered advisor some ways below on the stairs.
Whirling around Glorfindel hurried after him, off to be the window of safety for someone else.
~fin~
This morning I was lying in my bed, staring into a mirror, looking at the room inside, and wondering, 'what's it like in there?'
And then this story emerged.
:)
Please review! Please! PLEASE!
Yes I'm begging you to.
:)))
Thanks!
~Thurin