Disclaimer: Still the same, nothing is mine, all Tolkien's and Co.

Word count: 1309/4813

AN: Someone mentioned for the last chapter how they didn't like it what I said about the Halls of Waiting being a bad place. Unfortunately it was an anonymous review and the person hasn't left any email addy so I'll answer to that this way. I don't think being dead is something the human or even the elven mind can grasp, be it in life or death. It's such a strange and abstract concept that the mind simply refuses to take in any clear images from the place surrounding them. Yes, you are right, Mandos' halls are a place of healing and contemplation. But healing isn't necessarily a nice process. Most of the time it's painful and tiring, especially if you need to come to terms with being dead. The idea was rather that he can't remember anything from his time there, his mind having blocked out everything, and the few memories he has, the bad memories, stem from going through the painful process of healing.

Chapter 3

Elrond was studying Glorfindel closely, leaning back in his chair. He had come to Glorfindel's rooms at the end of the day, when the blond elf expressed his wish to speak to him in private, but what he had told him made Elrond start to doubt his sanity. He had always known that death and his rebirth had done strange things to the elf, but now he wondered how far exactly he had been influenced by it.

"An elf?" The half elf raised his glass of wine, sipping slowly, whilst he stared out through the balcony's glass windows on the snowy valley that lay hidden in the dark of the night. "You say there is an elf outside? In the woods, living with a pack of wolves?"

Glorfindel nodded, moving his fingers over the smooth surface of his own glass. He could already tell that Elrond was not going to believe him. This came not really as a surprise; if their roles were reversed he would probably have had the same doubts as the half elf now. He had not expected Elrond to simply take his word for granted, but he had felt the need to talk with someone about what he had seen, even if only to sort his own thoughts, and for this Elrond was always a good choice.

"I saw him, Elrond," Glorfindel repeated his words quietly. "He was there, feeding with them."

Elrond furrowed his brow, looking down into his glass, slowly moving its contents around. "Glorfindel… I hope you understand if I say that I find this hard to believe. An elf with a pack of wolves. In a winter like this. They would have torn him apart by now."

"He is there," Glorfindel repeated, looking directly at Elrond.

The two elves stared at each other silently for a few moments. "You are not going to do anything about this," Glorfindel concluded calmly, having expected nothing more.

Elrond slowly shook his head. "I am sorry, Glorfindel, but your story is really hard to believe, and I do not think that this could be possible under any circumstances. Perhaps you did not look right. The light in the woods can play many tricks."

Glorfindel drained his glass, putting it back onto the table. "I saw him. I can't force you to believe me, but he is there."

Elrond smiled at him, draining his glass as well, rising from his chair. "I am sure he is, my friend, if you say so," Elrond reassured the blond elf quietly, moving to the doors. "I will think about this, and decide what to do." He looked at Glorfindel, hesitating for a moment before turning around. "You have been out often and long these last few days. Perhaps you are just exhausted. You should rest for a while."

Glorfindel did not answer, listening to his advice silently and leading his guest to the door before opening it for him.

Elrond's gaze was fixed on his friends face, feeling slightly guilty for not being able to give the blond the help he had wished for. "I am sorry," he repeated truthfully, hating to disappoint his friend like that.

Glorfindel nodded calmly in acknowledgement, bidding farewell to the half elf for the night before closing the door. For some moments he stood before his balcony, looking towards the woods in the distance where the mysterious elf was hunting with his pack of wolves. Even if Elrond did not believe him, he knew that he was there. Finally he turned around, going to sleep.

The days passed and still winter didn't seem ready to give way to spring. It had lost none of its hardness and by now even the most winter loving elves wished for spring to arrive. Nearly every day Glorfindel had ventured into the woods, looking for the wolves. He couldn't stop thinking about the elf out there and he found himself constantly drawn to him. Up to now he had found nothing and most of the time he didn't even find a hair of the wolves. Just once he had come upon the prints of naked feet and hands in the snow, but the elf itself had stayed elusive.

Glorfindel knew that most of the other elves thought him to be insane. They probably didn't know of his reasons for going there, but even going out into such a weather and such a cold was enough to make them shake their heads. Glorfindel himself kept trying to tell himself that it was probably useless and that it wasn't worth to freeze every day on a search that probably wouldn't lead to anything more. But still he continued his journeys into the woods.

And like always there was nothing when he arrived this time, save for the untouched snow.

He searched for a while, but he did not see anything that meant anything to him. Disappointed Glorfindel looked on, guiding Asfaloth through the trees, but finally he was ready to give up for the day, his fingers already being stiff and half frozen. He was just about to turn around and return to the house when the dogs regularly accompanying him on these trips started to bark and growl at something in front of them, ears drawn back.

Glorfindel stared at the bushes blocking the way for some time, wondering if it was even worth the effort to just find a fox or a rabbit in the end, but finally he still dismounted, heading in that direction. One never knew what one would find and perhaps today the Valar were in his favour. Walking slowly, carefully, he made his way through the bushes, eyes fixed tightly on the place ahead of him.

When he finally saw what had caught the dogs' attention Glorfindel stopped dead in his tracks, his breath catching. Staring at the figure lying in the cold snow, Glorfindel simply stood there, unable to move. The dark haired elf lay sprawled in the thick snow, his position indicating that he had moved to curl up as it was the want of wolves. He did not move and even from the distance the elf's skin seemed to be completely white.

Looking about carefully, making sure no of the other wolves were near, Glorfindel tore himself free of the paralysis that had gripped him and slowly advanced on the elf. He did not even move a finger as Glorfindel drew near; neither did he open his eyes. Glorfindel hoped he was merely unconscious. He didn't like to think about what it'd mean if he weren't.

Gently Glorfindel reached out and pushed the dark hair back from the elf's face. The skin was icy cold when he touched it. Anxiously Glorfindel searched for a pulse on the pale throat and breathed a sigh of relief when he found one, weak as it was. He lived. Yet. Without even thinking about it Glorfindel pushed his arms under the elf's body and lifted him in his arms. The elf would die if he stayed out here in the cold, with no food, and his only chance of survival lay within the walls of Rivendell.

As quickly as possible Glorfindel returned to the place where he had left Asfaloth behind. The dogs barked at the elf in Glorfindel's arms, confused, not knowing what to make of this creature that smelled like a wolf and at the same time did not, and that did not look like one at all, and Asfaloth seemed to be as confused as them. It took some time and persuading for the horse to allow her master to put the wolfish creature on her back, but finally Glorfindel was seated on her back, the unconscious elf in his arms. Turning her towards the Last Homely House Glorfindel pushed his heels into her sides, urging her to fly home.