Friends,

I am back. I am not sure exactly where I went to. But this story will have an end. I have not abandoned you. I promise. For now, you all get to find out what happened to Glorfindel.

L'chaim,

Philosophie88

She was magnificent. Coming towards him, bathed in the purest of white lights, her raven hair flowing gently in the wind, the elven Princess radiated everything that was right with the world: beauty, truth, life, love, happiness.

She glided silently, slowly toward him.

But he was stuck. Somehow. He couldn't move his left leg, well, his right one for that matter too. He looked down. He was stuck in a murky puddle that did not even seem possible for one to be entrenched in. Despondent, he raised his head back to the maiden.

She was standing above him now, laughing.

He tried to speak, to call out to her, to ask for help, but no sound came out though his mouth formed the words. Frustrated by his lack of success, he turned his attention back to freeing himself from the mire. To no avail, he was stuck belly down in a pool of… well, honestly he was not quite sure. It did not seem right, because all around him were birds chirping, the fresh smell of flowers and the bright light surrounding the most beautiful maiden in the world. She alone seemed all that was right with the world.

He lifted his head again.

His nose touched hers.

"Gíl-wen!" he sputtered out. He recognized the maiden now, the bright light subsiding.

She giggled. "Yes, silly?"

"What? What is wrong? Where… where am I? And why can't I move my… " he tried to raise his legs another time to indicate the predicament he was in , and failed. "Legs!" he sighed.

She giggled again, and tapped him on the nose. "I have not the slightest idea."

He looked puzzled.

"Why are you here?"

She giggled for the third time, as her eyes widened. "I have not the slightest idea about that either…. Though I suppose…" she placed her head in her hands giggling even more.

"What?" he demanded. This was all so strange: Gíl-wen, birds, mire, and the confounded, inexplicable fact that he could not move his legs. Her beauty notwithstanding, he was irritated now and all she could do was giggle.

She lifted her head to his again and finished coyly. " I suppose this is your punishment for hitting the King of the Greenwood. Do you feel good about that choice? No, don't answer." She placed a finger over his lips to silence him. Then suddenly, she began again to giggle.

Not entirely sure what was going on, Glorfindel gave up trying to understand, hung his head and sighed.

"I am sorry, Gíl. I didn't… I wasn't… I never…"
Trying to explain his actions, Glorfindel found himself unable to speak again; this time, however, each time he tried to utter an excuse a frog jumped out of his mouth and scampered across the grass. He opened his eyes to find Gíl-wen seated on the far end of grassy bank collecting each frog-let as it hopped towards her.

"Aww, poor thing… " She commiserated with the bumpy creatures, as she pick each up, stroked it and put it in her basket. "You were saying, Fin? I cannot properly understand you. I think you may have a frog or two in your throat."

"Or two…" thought the exasperated Balrog Slayer. One last time he tried one last time to lift himself out of the mud and into a better position to explain himself.

Then, oddly, he found himself in a meadow surrounded by wildflowers. He was seated this time cross-legged on the grass; try as he could, nothing he could do would move him from this position. Gíl-wen was gone, but the sun bathed the meadow in its golden light and a myriad of wildflowers beamed up at the gentle breeze that kissed their smiling faces. It was a serene setting; so he closed his eyes and resigned himself to its beauty and took in a few deep breathes.

He opened his eyes only when he became startled by a silly sing-song chant that interrupted his peaceful meditation. A group of elflings had surrounded him and were dancing and singing merrily:

"He hit the laddie

Because the laddie stole his lass

And now cause he's saddie

The slayer sits in the grass.

The laddie's our kingie

So we won't look away

We will and dance and well sing-ie

Till the slayer goes 'way."

"Well, that doesn't make any sense." Glorfindel thought trying to make sense of their nonsense rhyme, as he took in the bizarre spectacle.

"Exactly my thoughts," came a voice beside him. "But then, neither does losing your temper, Slayer."

Startled, Fin looked over to see Elrond sitting cross-legged beside him. The Lord of Imladris seemed little perplexed by the whole situation, and continued: "Though, to be fair, you did hit their King, so they are welcome to sing whatever they wish about you."

Glorfindel honestly didn't know how to respond. He simply looked at Elrond puzzled. Then he turned his attention back to the dancing youngling trying as he could to make something of…. But all he saw were stars.

That is when Glorfindel realized he was actually laying on his back in his bed looking up at the star-painted ceiling of his room. He sighed in relief. It had all been a bad, strange, horrible dream. He sighed again and tried to snuggle comfortably under the covers. He found, to his horror, he could not move.

Maybe if he shut his eyes for a moment, when he opened them, everything would be ok.

"Gíl-wen…" he opened his eyes to find Gíl-wen's face hovering above his; everything would be fine.

She placed her finger to his lips to silence any thoughts that sought to become articulate. "Shhhhhhh…."

Then she bent down to kiss him.

This definitely was a dream, but compared to the last few minutes of his existence, a dream worth dreaming.

He reached up and pulled her closer to him.

Somewhat vaguely aware that he was now free to move his limbs at his will, he cared more for the beautiful elleth in his arms. She was so lithe, and her lips so…

Hairy?

"Gíl…" he murmured. He must have caught some of her hair in his mouth. He brushed it away. "Ah Gíl, you…" kiss, kiss, "are so," kiss, kiss…

"So, what, Balrog Slayer?"

Glorfindel opened his eyes to see the smirking face of the captain of the Greenwood guard. He also in an instance realized how cold he was. Cold and naked?! And on top of a moose?! His head also did not feel the best.

"You were just protesting your love to Aglar's antlers, Slayer, care to continue?"

Glorfindel closed his eyes again thinking this was just another bad episode of the dreams he had been having lately. To no avail. When he opened them, he was in the exact same cold, naked, moose-topped predicament.

"Oh," said the Greenwood butler casually, "you think you are still dreaming, don't you?"

The Balrog Slayer groaned and shut his eyes, hoping to go back to the Gíl-wen heaven he was recently in, but his head protested loudly to any peace he might seek and he found himself shivering in just his undergarments.

"What… wwwwhhhhhat… dddiddd you dddo to me?" he stuttered out. He was too cold and his head hurt too badly to muster any anger. He just wanted to know what was going on.

"Oh well," came the butler's response, followed by merry laughter that floated around him, "we," he gestured to the source of the laughter, a group of Greenwood elves that were gathered round him, "we, the people of Greenwood, gave you a dose of Greenwood hospitality!" More laughter.

Glorfindel was confused. And now he wanted a blanket. " Greenwood hospitality?!" he spluttered. "How in the… Can someone just give me a blanket?"
But the butler was not deterred. "Yes, Slayer. We treat you in the kind that you treat us. And since you decided to treat our king with utter disrespect, it is only fair that we treat you in kind."

"He admitted he fell down the stairs." Glorfindel countered. Why was everyone holding this against him when Thranduil himself had brushed the matter aside?

"He only falls when I push him." The butler offered truthfully, "but that is beside the point."

Glorfindel groaned again and fully took in the situation his jealous temper had landed him in. He was dressed in only his undergarments and seated on top the king's majestic mount in the stables. Luckily for him, the moose was lying on the straw and quietly resting, unaware of the plot of the Greenwood elves who had gathered around him, or, as Glorfindel highly suspected, completely aware of his compatriots' actions and only acting innocent at the moment. Galion seemed to be in charge of this revenge plot and was narrating as Glorfindel took in the scene.

"The real point is, you punched our king, in the face, and don't try to deny it." The Greenwood elves had ceased laughing at that point. "That is a pleasure only reserved for Maefaron, here," he pointed to the captain of the elves, who was glaring at him intensely, "and occasionally myself, when his majesty needs to be taught a lesson," continued the butler matter-of-factly as his companions murmured in assent. "But his only crime in this case is being in love and being happy. Moreover, he has put aside his own pride not to implicate you in your own jealous indecencies. You are the one in this matter that needs to be taught a lesson. We drugged you with some of our own dream-inducing enchanted river water, when we accosted you in the passageways. Then we decided to bring you here and give you an ultimatum."

"Which is?" sighed a defeated Glorfindel, only wanting a blanket and something to take away the throbbing pain in his head. He snuggled deeper into Aglar's mane. For now, the moose's coat would have to work for warmth.

"Either you confess publicly tomorrow at the evening meal what you have done to our king, or we can leave you here all night until the morrow, when we shall unashamedly parade you through the streets of Imladris. I thought about making up a sign to attach to you, with some witty saying about your demise. But then I realized I can just let you wander around on Aglar in your undergarments and you can give your own explanation to people. I'm not sure "falling down the stairs" would work in your case, do you?"

Glorfindel groaned into Aglar's antlers. "No… no… it wouldn't. I'm sorry."

"So what will it be?" demanded Maefaron bluntly.

The Balrog Slayer had enough. He wanted the whole incident behind him.

"I will admit I punched your almighty King in the face. Just give me a cloak, or a blanket already. And something for this damned headache."