Chapter 1 Summary: Glorfindel wakes up to find his Lord missing.

Chapter 1:

It is not that Glorfindel was unsympathetic to Elrond's desire to play the healer. But to him, it was clear. Elrond was susceptible to human diseases; Elrond should therefore stay away from deadly ones.

Those who came to Imladris for healing rarely came afflicted by a novel pestilence. When they did, other healers saw them first, and Elrond diagnosed them second-hand until his fellow healers were satisfied that their Lord was not at risk.

Celeborn and Galadriel had already spoken with Elrond about which healers should be sent to aid the plague-stricken villages. Elrond's name had not been on that list. Elrond had shown no vitriol over the issue. Usually, in Lothlorien, the Lord of Imladris wished little more than to spend his time with his secret-wife Celebrian, and with her parents who already cherished him as a son.

True, the matter of whether Elrond and Celebrian should now be wed in the eyes of the world was dividing them. Sauron had been defeated in the War of the Last Alliance, and so Celebrian thought it was time. Her parents agreed. Elrond, who had been with Isildur when the One Ring first began to work his madness upon him, did not believe his wife would be safe. Glorfindel had abandoned his beloved young lord, and taken Celebrian's side in the argument.

Celebrian's newly adopted elfling brothers, Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil, were unaware of the secret marriage. They were also uninformed as to the specific visions and past events which had led Elrond and their sister to fear for Celebrian's future and that of their children after she became Elrond's wife. From the three young brothers' perspective, Elrond was causing Celebrian heart-ache and tears for no reason.

With all of that going on, Glorfindel had forgotten that Elrond was a healer, first. He had forgotten that Elrond was apt to act first when he thought he'd be denied permission to do something he felt needful.

Ereinion Gil-Galad, who had nursed his peredhel cousin and heir through two different plagues, would not have forgotten. But he died in the final battle of the War of the Last Alliance. Glorfindel, on the other hand, was blind-sided by the events which followed.

The reborn Balrog-slayer had taken advantage of the relative safety of Lothlorien and Elrond's preoccupation with Celebrian, and had enjoyed a rousing good time with his old friend Sendoron.

He had not expected to awaken dazedly a whole day and a half later in a guest talan on the edge of Caras Galadhon. Glorfindel was accustomed to awaking all at once, save on those rare occasions when he had made too much merry the night before. But usually, on those mornings, there was a fondly amused Elrond to revive him with a soothing draught for his head.

This time, there was no Elrond. And Glorfindel could not remember having consumed that much wine the previous night. And he did remember that he had been supposed to leave with Elrond in the morning, to visit several human villages further up the River Celebrant.

They weren't the villages which Elrond had WANTED to visit. No, those were by the great river Anduin on the other side of Lothlorien's capital. And Glorfindel's lord had been directed not to go there, for the same reason that Elrond desired to go and help. There had been an outbreak of plague, and though Lothlorien had sent healers, they could not send the visiting Elrond. For Elrond's father had been half-human, and his mother had been part-human, as well. Plagues and certain other virulent diseases were dangerous to Elrond, and Elrond knew that. Curse him, and his too-clever hide.

"Where am I?" Glorfindel directed in a dangerous growl, to the elleth who brought him breakfast.

"Why, in Caras Galadhon, Lord Glorfindel. How was your dream-quest?" She answered, seeming only a little bit intimidated by his behavior. From her thoughts, Glorfindel gathered a faint impression of Elrond explaining helpfully to her that Glorfindel only seldom undertook to see prophetic visions in his dreams with aid of sedatives and hallucinogens, but that when he did he always awoke in a horrible mood.

'Elrond,' Glorfindel promised to himself, 'I am going to kill you.'

Aloud, he answered the elleth, who was innocent in this whole matter. "It was . . . fine. Did my Lord leave anything for me? A note?" Or perhaps his last will and testament, Glorfindel wondered darkly.

"Oh, yes. Here you are."

Glorfindel carefully unrolled the piece of parchment, eating a sausage roll as he did so. It was going to be a long day, he could already tell, and a warrior ate when he could. He also knew that Elrond was awake, aware, less than a day's ride away, too busy to talk, and in no pressing danger. All of that Glorfindel could tell from the link between them, the bonds of affection which had grown up between the two powerful elves over nearly two thousand years spent together.

Elrond's note was simple and to the point, and Glorfindel really was going to kill him later. Or at least make sure that the Peredhel wished he was dead. "I am sorry, my most faithful Glorfindel," it read, "I am sure that you know where I am."

Half an hour later, Glorfindel was in the royal family's stables, organizing an 'additional escort' for Elrond's unauthorized trip.

"And he told all of you what, that you simply watched him traipse off without me?" Glorfindel barked at Brombellas, the appointed leader of Celeborn's household guards.

"He said that you had received an urgent message from Lord Erestor, some family matter. And that you had left to take word to Lord Arandil." Brombellas explained, while he sorted out which guards were to accompany Glorfindel and which to join the warriors of King Amroth's guard, as planned, on a trip to examine defenses on the outer edge of the forest.

Glorfindel just growled. It was a plausible excuse. The villages by the Celebrant were peaceful, they had treaties with both Lothlorien and Nimrodel's settlement. There was no need to expect trouble. If Erestor HAD sent Elrond an urgent message for Erestor's father Arandil, and if it had been a missive too sensitive or personal for other eyes, Glorfindel might have taken its delivery upon himself, after consultation with Elrond, and then entrusted Elrond's other guards with his Lord's keeping. Well, after having a word with Celeborn and Galadriel, that is.

"Your anger serves us no purpose, Glorfindel," Lord Celeborn reminded the Balrog-Slayer quietly, as he and his older children joined the group. Out of the corner of his eye, Glorfindel saw Haldir, who was to accompany the expedition (although as Celeborn's adopted son rather than as a junior soldier).

Haldir nodded to Glorfindel in wary respect, then went to young Aran Amroth's side. It was Celebrian who caught Glorfindel's attention, shining in a white dress much like her mother's. Celebrian and Orophin were staying in Caras Galadhon, Celebrian to assist her mother as temporary regent, but they had come to say farewell.

"Just take care of Elrond for me, please," Celebrian pleaded.

Glorfindel found himself humbled by her desperate concern. "I will, my Lady," he promised, before turning back to Brombellas, "I don't suppose that any of you bright lamps noted what direction Lord Elrond's group actually took, when they left the wood? There are three different villages they might have headed to, and knowing what path they took could save us time."

Brombellas sighed, and none of the other soldiers spoke up either. Glorfindel glared at them. Fortunately for Brombellas and his fellows, an answer to Glorfindel's question came from an unexpected quarter.

"North and West, Heru Laurefindil," young Lord Orophin supplied. "They left by the path nearest the Ring of Melbrethil."

Celeborn turned to look at his teenaged son with a narrowed gaze of his own. Glorfindel, for his part, was too focused on his mission to care what prank or mischief Orophin had probably had in mind, to have been watching Elrond leave. He was too intent on following Elrond as quickly as possible to even upbraid Orophin for using his Quenya name and title again.

Glorfindel preferred his name as spoken in Sindarin, and had since first arriving in Beleriand. Either way, his name essentially meant, "Goldilocks," not the most masculine of names. The Vanya owned the name though. Slay just one balrog, and suddenly "Goldilocks" became a name famous for strength and military prowess. As a young elf of about Haldir's age, however, Glorfindel had been very sensitive about his name. He had spent years challenging those elves who had mocked him for his pretty hair and eyes and slender build to duel him on the practice courts. Even after he had proven himself to his Prince and his friends, around the time they had crossed the great ice and arrived in Beleriand, "Glorfindel" had just sounded a bit more masculine than Laurefindel. On top of that, his new wife's name was Laureamoriel. Her nickname had been Laurea to his nickname of Laure, so a name change for one of them had been most convenient. And he'd loved her musical name, and the way her dark eyes lit with joy when he spoke it.

Most elves had no trouble remembering what Glorfindel preferred to be called, especially once Glorfindel had reminded them himself. But Orophin lived in the same household as some of the elves who had belonged to Galadriel's original household from Tirion in Aman. They had known Glorfindel since he was a difficult adolescent. And some of them still consistently 'forgot' that he preferred to be called "Glorfindel" rather than "Laurefindel."

One of those other ancient elves was Captain Sendoron, a senior member of Galadriel and Celeborn's guard who had been 'on loan' to Elrond for the past several years. Sendoron was also one of Glorfindel's oldest friends. He had been like a bossy and most often disapproving elder brother to the light-hearted Glorfindel (then Laurefindel) in their long-ago days in Tirion, when they had both been King Turgon's (then Prince Turucano's) personal guards and friends. Yet for the past few years, he had been under Glorfindel's command. Sendoron had handled that fairly well, but just now his smirk was a bit hard for Glorfindel to ignore.

"What?" He snapped in irritation as they moved swiftly through Caras Galadhon, following the trail that Elrond had taken two days hence.

"Oh, nothing," Sendoron replied neutrally, his dark eyes just watching Glorfindel.

"I will make you suffer, Sendron. Blood-brother or not, I swear that I will make you regret this moment of levity."

Sendoron chuckled, and Glorfindel blinked at him. Sendoron was by nature quite a dour elf, so to hear him laugh at all was quite something. Release of tension, perhaps. Glorfindel didn't doubt that Sendoron would lay down his life to protect Elrond, because Elrond was their King Turgon's great-grandson. And because Elrond mattered to Glorfindel. Sendoron was always respectful to the Lord of Imladris. More, had been willing to support Elrond, had Elrond chosen to assert his right as High King of the Noldor remaining in Middle Earth.

But Glorfindel had never too closely asked what Sendoron thought of Elrond's Sindarin ancestry, let alone the whole 'part-human' thing. Glorfindel didn't think that he'd like the answer. Over four thousand some years, Sendoron and Celeborn's Sindarin household had reached a sort of detente, but Sendoron still felt that the elves of Doriath, and even more the Laiquendi or Nandor, the sylvan elves who had always lived in the woods and never formed their own Kingdom, were inferior to he and the other Noldor who had come over from Aman. That an elf whom Glorfindel loved as a brother could have such unfair prejudices upset the reborn elf deeply, but loving someone didn't mean that you could change them. And at least Sendoron was competent and loyal.

So Glorfindel merely asked again, a bit more politely, "What has you laughing, sourface?"

Sendoron just raised a superior eyebrow at him, and Glorfindel dropped the matter. He'd get even with Sendoron later, but there was no getting the older elf to talk if he didn't want to. Sendoron was irritatingly like Galadriel in that way.

Instead, Glorfindel thought of Elrond. How desperate his Lord must have been, to help the plague-stricken humans. Desperate indeed, for Elrond should well remember Glorfindel's fury, the last time that Elrond had done something like this. And it had been something very much like this, save that this time Erestor was not involved, and Elrond did not actually know that this was a trap. He'd better not, at least.

Glorfindel fumed and worried all the more. Maybe their Enemy Sauron - or whatever was left of him- or some other enemy that Elrond had made - maybe WHOEVER had PLANNED this. Purposely sent the plague to those villages, knowing that the Peredhel would come. Planned to get Elrond weak and distracted, and then attack him. Just like Annatar's - Sauron's- plot last time, not long after Glorfindel had first returned to Middle Earth.

A plan that had only barely failed. The wood-cutter whose daughter Elrond had gone to heal had, out of gratitude, betrayed Sauron's servants at the last minute to warn Elrond. Elrond had given himself up as a captive, to keep the woodcutter's family safe from Sauron's retribution while at the same time giving Erestor time to escape and plan an ambush to rescue them both. Elrond had been hit by a poisoned arrow during their escape, but had recognized the poison, and thankfully stayed conscious long enough to give Erestor directions in how to begin treatment of the wound.

Fortunately for Glorfindel's idiotic but noble young Lord and the long-suffering Erestor, the rest of Elrond's guards caught up with the two of them just in time to deter the pursuit and get Elrond back to Lindon and the healers at best speed. Of course, their fortuitous arrival was ABSOLUTELY NO THANKS TO ELROND, who had arranged to leave everyone except Erestor peacefully sedated at the Inn they'd stayed at the previous night.

Elrond's excuse for leaving Glorfindel and his guards behind had been simple. Elrond had known, going into that situation, that it was a trap and that Glorfindel would not have permitted him to go. No more than would have Elrond's guards, who were under the orders of Elrond's cousin, Aran Ereinion. Elrond had been Aran Ereinion's heir. Heir to the King of the Noldor by blood, as the King's younger cousin. Elrond had also been Ereinion's foster-brother, and the King loved the Peredhel like a brother. Given that, Ereinion's standards for Elrond's safety had been closer to Glorfindel's than Elrond's. Glorfindel missed Ereinion, and Elrond might not claim his right, but Glorfindel was not about to lose another King, crowned or not, to his own foolishness.

"The elfling," Sendoron supplied, pulling Glorfindel's attention temporarily away from his churning anxiety over Elrond.

"Who, Elrond?" Glorfindel asked disapprovingly. Elrond might be in for more than a small amount of Balrog-Slayer and familial disapproval, but that didn't justify referring to him as a child. Only Glorfindel got to do that. Well, and Cirdan. And maybe Celeborn. Maybe.

"No. My Lady's son. Orophin," Sendoron replied, still amused, although Glorfindel didn't think one other elf out of a thousand would have noticed.

Glorfindel's blue eyes flickered to his friend, "What about him?"

Sendoron's lips quirked into a more visible smile, "If Rumil mixes up your rank or title, it's an honest mistake. If Haldir does so, it's because he still has moments when he can't believe that he gets to associate with such 'legendary warriors.' If Orophin mixes up your name and title, it's because he's purposely trying to piss you off."

And in such a way that Glorfindel would have looked a right fool upbraiding the adolescent elfling in public, just for calling him by his proper title in a different language. Glorfindel shook his head, "What a . . . clever . . . elfling. I'll have a word with him later." A persuasive word, but a carefully measured one.

Several years ago, Glorfindel had caught Rumil dumping a bucket full of pond scum into Elrond's good riding boots. Orophin had been in suspiciously close proximity, just down the hall. Orophin had claimed that it was all his idea, and then snapped at his baby brother a couple of times when Rumil offered further explanation. Glorfindel had set them both to mucking the stable out for it. He'd lectured them too, and Orophin more sternly because he was older and had been less repentant.

Later that evening, Rumil had confessed to Celeborn that Orophin had, in fact, had nothing to do with the prank except to have been walking in the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, that and deciding to lie to Glorfindel because, at the time, Orophin hadn't wanted to leave Rumil alone to the Balrog-slayer's mercies. Up until that point, Glorfindel hadn't had much to do with Galadriel and Celeborn's younger adopted sons (besides marveling at the idea of Galadriel volunteering to have three elflings in her house, and occasionally frowning menacingly at said elflings for their sporadic campaign against all things Elrond).

Afterward, Glorfindel had made an effort to get to know them during Elrond's visits to Lorien. He liked elflings and children, and didn't want Elrond's future wife's adoptive brothers, in particular, to be afraid of him. On top of that, Celeborn was still a bit annoyed with Glorfindel for punishing Orophin unfairly. Glorfindel had been quite careful to pay careful attention to what Orophin was actually thinking as well as saying, even though he didn't doubt that, in this instance, Sendoron was telling him the truth.

Glorfindel gave Sendoron a careful look, "I had not expected you to be so . . . sanguine, about Orophin and his brothers. Or rather about your Lady's and Lord Celeborn's decision to adopt them." Given Sendoron's long-held prejudice against the Nandor, the elves of the wood, and given that Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil were about as Nandorin as one could get. Their parents were both from little known villages, some of which had been settled even before the breaking of Beleriand. Glorfindel knew that many other elves, less prejudiced than Sendoron, were still unhappy about the Lord and Lady's decision. Lord Celeborn, Aran Amroth's uncle, was the King's heir. Celebrian was second-in-line to the throne of Lothlorien. And, since the adoption, Haldir was fourth, he and his brothers displacing Elrond. Elrond didn't mind; many others did.

Sendoron smiled back at Glorfindel, a mere suggestion of a quirk of his lips. "Spend more time with my Lady's sons. Time off of the practice courts. You'll come to understand why I am so 'sanguine,' little brother. After all, you are not as empty-headed as you look."

Sendoron was disinclined to explain further, but the ensuing argument did have the benefit of distracting Glorfindel from stewing about Elrond's predicament any further before they reached the village and he could do something about it.

A lookout ahead signaled their approach to the village, and Glorfindel pulled his mind away from Galadriel and Celeborn's sons - who were NOT Glorfindel's problem - and back to Elrond, who most assuredly was.

The village itself had excellent defensive fortifications, for its size. Under normal circumstances, Glorfindel would have approved. He might have even searched out the head of the town militia, and talked shop. But not today. Today, instead of men on watch, the village had flags warning of plague flying from the blockade towers on the stockade.

Their party slowed, the elves' mood growing grave as they entered this place, a vibrant settlement which death had touched so cruelly. None of them were susceptible to the ravages of disease, at least not after they left their elfling years, but still they felt the sorrow of the tragedy which had occurred, was occurring, here.

At the gate there was a man, dressed only in leggings and an open smock. "We're sick here, my Lords. You can't come in without risking death."

Glorfindel nodded gravely to the townsman, explaining that they were elves, and here to aid the healers. In little time at all, he found himself directed to several low buildings which had been set aside for the care of the stricken. In the center of activity, Glorfindel found what - or rather, who - he was looking for.

His Prince Earendil's dark-haired son, standing in the middle of a knot of healers. Lord Elrond said something firm, and inspiring, and the healers broke off in different directions with new energy. Everywhere there were cots with suffering patients in various stages of the sickness, but it was orderly. Glorfindel later learned that one building was already reserved for those who had survived the contagion, and that fewer and fewer bodies were being taken away at the end of the day to be burned by the healthy and recovered.

Elrond himself knelt beside a little girl, and tenderly wiped a cool cloth over her head.

"This medicine will make you feel a little nauseated, Merilwen," he told her in a kind, reassuring tone, "You might feel a little sick to your stomach, and perhaps a bit dizzy. Like you're floating. But it will also bring down your fever."

"Yes, Healer," The little girl whispered hoarsely, "Thank you."

Glorfindel watched as one of the younger healers finished mixing the medicinal draught. Another healer called for aid before he could give it to Lord Elrond, so Glorfindel picked it up, and placed it into Lord Elrond's outreached hand.

Their eyes met, just for a moment, Balrog-slayer and Healer-Lord. Elrond gave Glorfindel a half-smile, and then turned back to his patient. When she was settled, Elrond at last gave Glorfindel his full attention.

"I had wondered when you would show up, Vorondanya." Elrond said, a welcoming but worried look in his tired grey eyes, " We could use your steady hands and stout heart, my most faithful Glorfindel."

End Note:

I don't usually post on this archive anymore because I don't care for the formatting required for posting. But this story is my way of working through my pandemic anxiety, so I thought I would share it here as well. It will be updated more frequently on my Archive of our Own site, under the pseudonym SusanaR.

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