A TALE OF NEVER-ENDING LOVE
THE COMPLETE STORY OF GLORFINDEL
told by Soledad Cartwright
Disclaimer: see Introduction
Rating: PG for now, but might go higher in later chapters, for violence, character death and heavy angst stuff.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Now that I've let you in to the creative process, we can finally start. As I promised, this will be tied in with my Boromir-series, 'Fall Before Temptation'', and starts in the midst of the sixth Boromir story, ''Of Snow and Stone and Wolves''. You dont have to read that story first to understand this one, but it might help with the hints.
Elladan's song was taken from ''The Lays of Beleriand'', p. 172, and was written by the Great Maker, Tolkien, himself.
PRELUDE: WHY ARE YOU HERE?
The Nine Walkers crossed the bridge of the Bruinen and wound slowly up the long steep paths that led out of the coven vale of Imladris. They passed along the guest house, and Boromir, who was marching at the rear, save Legolas, their rearguard, stole a glance at the long balcony where Elladan was standing still, unmoving and in complete silence among the lenghtening shadows of the coming night.
Their eyes met for one last time, and Elladan saw the grim determination on the haggard face of his beloved - though the Man felt the loss of their departure almost as keenly as he did, Boromir's mind was already on the task before him, and his heart turned towards his city where he hoped to be returning at the end of his journey. And in that very moment Elladan understood with utter clarity that their times together, bittersweet as they might have been, were now truly, irrevocably over.
Then the moment passed. The Company of the Ring continued their slow climb up the narrow stone steps that wound up the shoulder of the hills and soon melted into the shadows, invisible even for Elladan's keen Elven eyes. He sighed and left his lonely watchpost to return to his father's house. Night had just fallen, and he had some grieving to do.
Yet he loathed to retreat into his own chambers. They were so full of memories, he could not bear to be alone with them.
/In the morrow, maybe/, he promised himself, /but not tonight, not right now/.
So he went to the only place he could think of. The only one where he would not be disturbed.
The Hall of Fire stood empty and quiet as usual between two feasts. The fire was no more than a dark glow in the great hearth between the carven pillars upon either side, but Elladan would know his way among them even with his eyes tightly shut. He had spent many long seasons of his youth in this very Hall, listening to the old lays of his people, thus being the custom of Elves to share with their children the lore of their own kin. As a child, he always imagined those great pillars to be the trees of an enchanted wood, become stone by the magical songs of his ancestors. Now he knew better. It was no magic, just excellent craftmanship and great love the Elves always wrought into the work of their hands.
He strolled along the wide passageway in the middle and went straight to a farther, more private niche, where one could sit almost unseen, even at times when the Hall was brightly lit and full of people: in the shadow of a pillar, where a beautifully carved, low wooden bench and a bottle of excellent feywine - only half-full - were waiting for him. This was the wery spot where he first met Boromir, and they never got to finish this very bottle of wine. Even the two cups were still standing there, just as they had left them almost six weeks ago.
Elladan smiled sadly, for he knew that those items had, in truth, not been waiting there during all those weeks. Returning them to this very spot had to be Arwen's doing, the loving attention of his dear sister, who, setting aside her own grief, tried to help him dealing with his pain. Arwen had seen the two of them belonging together ere he realized it himself.
/We both got too much mortal blood in our veins for our own good/, he thought ruefully, pouring himself some wine and nipping at it, deep in thought. He did not truly want to get drunk, though; he only wanted to warm his freezing soul a little.
''I thought I would find you here'', a clear, ringing voice from somewhere at the other end of the Hall said. ''Ever when something is disturbing you, you seek out the solitude of this Hall.''
Elaldan looked up and smiled again, this time a little relieved. He recognized that musical voice, of course. He had listened to it all his life. First as a child, in wide-eyed astonishment, then as a tormented youth, fighting the opposite urges of his dual nature, eternally grateful for the never-ending, patient attention his tutor was granting him every time he needed a listening ear, and finally, with ever-growing respect, as an adult, but still very young Elf - very young, at least, compared with Glorfindel's incredibly high age.
Compared with Glorfindel, even his father, who had seen all Three Ages of Middle-earth, was but a child. No-ne knew just *how* old Glorfindel truly was, for he rarely spoke about himself, and even if he did, he only spoke of things they could learn from: of great deeds and deadly perils of ages long gone, of Kings and Queens and warriors of old that were but a myth even for Elrond and his counsellors - and of the Valar themselves whom he had been speaking to in flesh.
His memories were wast and growing still like the Halls of Mandos, where he had dwelt awhile after having been slain during the Fall of Gondolin, yet he shared little of them with his pupils, the children of Elrond, whose tutoring had been entrusted to him at a very young age, aside of matters of lore, and naught about his own person. Elladan knew from his father that Glorfindel had fought alongside King Turgon in the Nirnaeth Arneodiad, ere even Eärendil was born, and that he had dwelt in the Blessed Realm longer than any one of the exiled Noldor, yet not even the Master of Imladris would - or could - tell more about him.
Glorfindel walked through the middle of the empty Hall with slow, deliberate strides. As usual, he was clad in white, his undergown and heavy robe richly embroided with gold and silver, and girthed with *mithril*. His hair, open and unadorned as always, framed his noble, ageless face like molten gold... which was why he had gotten his name in the first place. His eyes were not grey like those of most Noldor, but deep indigo blue like the midnight sky - and nearly as old.
''I wonder'', he spoke again with a smile that shone more in those very deep eyes than on his face, ''whether you intend to empty that bottle all by yourself or would be willing to share?''
Elladan laughed quietly, winked his tutor closer to sit next to him and reached him the other cup.
''I always shared the most hidden secrets of my heart with you, Master Glorfindel'', he said, only half-mocking, ''how could I deny you something as ordinary as a cup of wine?''
Glorfindel accepted the cup, but his wise, ancient eyes never left the face of the younger Elf. He did not like what he was seeing. Elladan looked pale and haggard, his fair, narrow face almost translucent, framed by the halo of his long raven hair.
''You look not well'', he said. Elladan sighed.
''I feel not well.''
''How *do* you feel, then?'', asked Glorfindel, still watching his face intently.
''Drained'', Elladan admitted softly, ''I feel drained. Not do I regret a thing of what happened between me and the son of Denethor - save that hurtful fight we had during the Council -, yet it cost me more of my strength than I have thought it would.''
''The breaking of one's heart usually *does* have this effect'', Glorfindel commented drily. ''And mortal Men can be trying, when it comes to the matters of the heart.''
Elladan gave him a curious look.
''You seem to know what you are speaking of...''
''I do'', Glorfindel laughed at the face his former pupil made. ''Nay, not the in same way as *you* know about it, little one, but yes, I know a lot about heartbreaks that mortal Men could cause. 'Tis a thing that has not changed since the Elder Days.''
For a little while they remained silent. Then Elladan refilled their cups and decided to risk a question that he had wanted to ask the ancient Elf ever since his early childhood.
''Glorfindel'', he began, ''would you allow me to ask a question that has been bothering me since I have known you?''
Glorfindel laughed; it sounded like silver bells in a moonlit night... like childhood memories returning unexpectedly.
''Since you have restrained yourself from asking for nearly three thousand years - which is respectable from someone that young as you are -, I believe I shall grant you this small wish of yours. What do you want to know this badly?''
Elladan hesitated a little, not knowing how to voice his question without sounding either childish or rude. He regretted not having spoken about it with his twin; Elrohir had always been better with words. Then he shrugged in defeat and asked straight out:
''Why are you here?''
Glorfindel seemed genuinely surprised by his inquiry.
''You mean not this Hall, I deem?'', he said. Elladan shook his head.
''Nay, I do not. I was wondering... ever since Imladris has been built, you have dwelt here. Yet you are not of our line - and you certainy are not one of Father's subjects. Still, you dwell here, follow his orders of your free will, though you are so much older than he is and your wisdom cannot be even measured by his... why do you stay with us?''
''My ties to your line reach far back to the Elder Days'', Glorfindel answered simply, having fully recovered from his surprise.
''That I do know'', replied Elladan. ''You have been one of the captains and most trusted friends of Turgon, King of Gondolin, the father of my grandfather's mother. Yet he had fallen with his city, and you were slain, and Idril and Tuor fled to the Uttermost West...''
''That they did'', Glorfindel agreed, and a flicker of some old pain marred his noble features for a moment, ''and I dwelt in Mandos' Halls for a long time - as time is counted in Middle-earth. For in the Realm of Twilight, there is not time... just silence and solitude - and the pondering over the glorious and terrible deeds of the fallen ones, over the battles won and the battles lost, over friendships and animosities and lost loves in a past long gone... 'Tis a realm of fading shadows and never-ending memories.''
He shivered visibly, and there was a deep sadness in his eyes now, deeper than the Sea itself, and all of a sudden he looked old, very old, older even than the very roots of the mountains Imladris was built upon.
Elladan shifted uncomfortably, regeretting already that he had came forth with his foolish question at all, cursing his own curiosity. The last thing he wanted was to cause paint this gentle, ancient soul that had often been his only comfort in times of inner torment.
''Yet you have been relieved from Mandos' care'', he finally said, and Glorfindel shook off the torturous memories and smiled, and his face was youthful again, and fearless, and full of joy, just as it had been in all those centuries Elladan had known him.
''That I have'', he said, almost merrily. ''Am I right to guess that you wish to know *why* I was sent back?''
''To tell the truth... nay'', Elladan replied thoughtfully. ''I would wish to learn very much, though, why you have been sent *here*? Why Father's house? 'Tis a great honour for us that you dwell under his roof, but why have you been sent? One does not escape from Mandos' Halls for naught.''
'''Tis very true'', Glorfindel nodded, ''yet I do believe that you might found the reason in your own heart, little one. You have just bound yourself to an other, without hope for him giving you the same devotion, knowing fully that your bond would go on beyond the Sea and Mandos' Halls - or, in your case, beyond Death itself. Do you think you were the first one to pledge yourself this way? Giving the greates gift an Elf could give, without receiving the same?''
Elladan glared at him with the same wide-eyed astonishment he used to look with when he was but a small child.
''You were - are - bound to one of our line?''
''I am'', Glorfindel affirmed with a slight nod and a half-smile, ''and not even Mandos' Halls could keep me from the fulfilling of my oath, sworn by invoking the Name of Ilúvatar, the One Above All. As long as one of your line remains in Middle-earth, Elven or mortal, I shall remain with you. To teach you, guide you, protect you - and die for you a second time, should the need arise. For thus I have vowed to Idril Celebrindal, the fairest maiden that even the eyes of the Valar have seen since the shaping of Arda - save the Lady Undómiel perhaps, who inherited much of her far-seeing wisdom and her strong will.''
''So... you pledged yourself to my great-grandmother?'' *That* took a moment to sink in. ''And she has chosen Tuor, a mortal Man, over *you*?''
''Just as you have chosen the son of Denethor, over all the fair maidens of the Eldar'', Glorfindel countered, smiling. ''We cannot choose whom we fall in love with. You of all people should know that.''
Elladan nodded, slowly, thoughtfully.
''That is why you always treated us as if we were your own children'', he realized. ''If not for Tuor, I could be your great-grandson now... how strange.''
''Strange, indeed'', Glorfindel agreed, ''yet I could not love you and your siblings - or even your father - more deeply, even if you were born from my loins... mayhap even less. For when I look at you, I always can find in your faces something of *her*, whom I loved more than anything, even life itself. In a way, you are dear for my old heart even more than you were if you were my own.''
''Did you see her again, in the Blessed Realm?'' Elladan asked, suddenly very curious again. But Glorfindel only shook his head in sorrow.
''Nay... 'tis not how things happen when one returns from Mandos' care. I was slain and buried at the Cristhorn, the Eagles' Cleft, south the fallen city of Gondolin, and lay there for uncounted years. My body of old was broken and long gone at the time when I was sent back; I had to be clad in a new one for my return. Coming back from Mandos in this husk gave me powers far beyond the understanding even of Elves - yet it also sets me apart from every living thing in Middle-earth. There is no-one else of my kind under the sun, save perhaps the Dark Lord, but his powers come from the Shadow and are evil, entirely.''
''I remember and old and fragmented song about your last battle, that I heard in Lórien once'', Elladan frowned, trying to call forth the ill-remembered, strangely-formed verse of the Silvan folk; then, in a soft and low voice, he began to sing:
Lo! The flame of fire and fierce hatred
engulfed Gondolin and its glory fell,
its tapering towers and its tall rooftops
were laid all low and its leaping fountains
made no music more on the mount of Gwareth,
and its whitehewn walls were whispering ash.
Túr, the Earthborn was tied in battle
from the wrack and ruin a remnant led
women and children and wailing maidens
and wounded men of the withered folk
down the path unproven that pierced the hillside,
neath Tumladin he led them to the leaguer of hills
that rose up rugged as ranged pinnacles
to the north of the vale. There the narrow way
of Cristhorn was cloven, the Cleft of Eagles,
through the midmost mountains. And more is told
in lays and in legend and lore of others
of that veary way of the wandering folk:
how the waifs of Gondolin outwitted Melko,
vanished o'er the vale and vanquished the hills,
how Glorfindel the Golden in the gap of the Eagles
battled with the Balrog and both were slain:
one like flash of fire from fangéd rock,
one like bolted thunder black was smitten
to the dreadful deep digged by Thornsir...
His voice trailed off uncertainly.
''I cannot remember more'', he said, ashamed. ''A strange verse it was, full of names in the Silvan tongue... even Elrohir had great pains learning it.''
''Ai, the most stubborn and haughty Tree Children and their clumsy, old-fashioned songs'', laughed Glorfindel quietly. ''You have to be at least part Wood-Elf to be able to learn the ways of their singing properly. I knew not that even the Silvan folk made songs about that fight, but I can guess why they were so impressed: they fear the Balrogs more than any other horrors of the Enemy. Fire does not become their beloved trees.''
''Is it not...'', Elladan hesitated. ''Is it not disturbing to hear other people sing about your own death?''
''At first it was'', Glorfindel shrugged, ''But I had nearly two ages to get used to it. Given enough time, it becomes a lot less unsettling.''
''Father, too, had seen all Three Ages of Middle-earth'', said Elladan, shivering a little when imagining such incredible amount of time, ''yet you are so much older than him. I wish I could hear the tale of all your dealings, if only one time.''
''A long and sorrowful tale it is'', Glorfindel replied, his voice deepening. ''Are you certain that you want to hear it?''
Elladan nodded eagerly, hardly daring to believe that he could have his long-nurtured, secret wish granted.
''I am *very* certain.''
Glrofindel thought about it for a moment. He did not really wish to walk along the ever-growing halls of his memories again - he did that enough when he dwelt in Mandos' care, and it was no pleasant time -, yet he was worried about Elladan's freshly-broken heart, fearing that inspite of having chosen the Doom of Men, Elrond's eldest might still fade away from grief over his unrequited and finally lost love.
The young Elf certainly showed first signs of that unfortunate weekness that ran so deep in his line, and the joy over having this old wish of his granted, might prove helpful. Also, the life - the *lives* - of Glorfindel were long and rich enough for their tale serving as a welcome distraction, if told properly, and who else could have told a proper tale if not him who had heard the music of the Valer themselves?
''Very well'', he gave in with an exaggerated sigh; ''when could I deny you anything? You always had your way with me too easily, little one.''
''Yes, I can remember Father complaining about you spoiling me'', Elladan agreed, mischief twinkling in his eyes.
/You always were so much like *him*, little one/, Glorfindel thought sadly, /and if *she* could not deny him anything, not even herself, how could I have denied you the small wishes of a tormented child?/
But out loud he only said:
''Yet you shall not receive this gift tonight. A long tale this is, as I said, and one I am only willing to tell once. You shall go and ask your father and your siblings whether they, too, wish to hear it.''
''And if they wish not?'' Elladan asked, joy already fading away from his disturbingly thin face. Glorfindel felt a dull pain in his chest, and his ancient heart went out for the younger Elf.
''Whether they wish to join us or not, I gave you my promise'', he said. ''We shall meet again, here, in the Hall of Fire... and that more than once, for this tale is longer, indeed, than you can possibly imagine.''
''How long?'' intrigued Elladan with almost child-like awe, the light of the dying fire reflecting in his clear, wide-open eyes.
''*Very* long'', said Glorfindel solemnly. ''If we meet here once in every seven nights, mayhap the season of Hísimë shall be long enough for me to finish it.''
''That long..'', Elladan whispered, his eyes filling with fear and wonder. Glorfindel nodded gravely.
''That long, little one. You still want to hear it?''
Elladan took several deep breaths. The growing length of time always contained a strange enchantment for him, but since he had made his choice and decided to accept the fate of mortal Men, a certain fear joined with his awe, knowing that his choice cannot be unmade, and that from now on *his* time in Middle-earth was limited. There would be no uncounted centuries for him to learn the secrets of Arda any more. His life would be long, many time of lesser Men, as it had been Elros', but eventually, he would die.
Thus he had chosen, freely and out of love for Arda and for a Man who could not love him the same way, and he did not regret it. But the fear that had finally led to the Fall of Númenor in the heart of Elros' descendants, now dwelt in his heart as well. And he knew he needed the support of his tutor, now more than ever, to conquer it, or else he, too, would fall.
''Yes, I still want to hear it'', he answered queitly. ''I have to put the time that still remains me to good use.'' Seeing Glorfindel's stricken face, he added with a faint smile: ''No regrets. I told you. But from now on I have to learn to count time differently. Since it is no more unlimited, time itself has won a whole new meaning for me... 'tis not easy to adapt.''
''Nay'', Glorfindel nodded in deep understanding, having witnessed Elros going through the same torture a whole age earlier, till the first King of Númenor had found his way in a world that became a place utterly different for him, ''it is not. Yet you shall learn and you shall get used to it. Elros did. You are no less than him. And you do have a new purpose to keep you going on.''
Elladan nodded mutely, yet his face paled even more, and his eyes were still wide with unmistakable fear.
''Glorfindel'', he murmured, ''I am frightened...''
''We all are frightened at one time or another, little one'', the ancient Elf replied, taking his cold, trembling hand in his warm ones. '''Tis like the moment of a new birth for you.. or more like the Awakening under the stars had been for our kind, at the still waters of Cuiviénen - a very powerful experience, one that would shape you for the rest of your life. Be not ashamed; being born is always hurtful, but it is only the beginning.''
Elladan froze at these words.
''The *Awakening*...? Then you are...''
''One of the Firstborn, yes'', Glorfindel nodded; ''of the very first ones, to be more accurate. Yet 'tis a tale I shall be telling you tomorrow eve. Now you have to rest.''
''I cannot go back to my chambers'', Elladan murmured in despair. ''Leave me not now, I beg you! 'Tis too much, I cannot bear it alone.''
''Nor have you to, little one'', Glorfindel gently forced the younger Elf to lay down on the low bench and laid the dark head upon his lap as he would do when Elladan was a young child still. ''Here. Have no fear, for I am with you and I shall keep the Shadows from your sleep. Over me, they have no power, for I have known Death and it frightens me no more. Sleep now. Soon, you, too, shall conquer your fears and then they cannot reach you any more, either.''
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The sunrise of the following day found Glorfindel in the same posture: sitting on the bwnch, the head of his former pupil upon his lap, the bottle of wine empty on his right. So did Elrond, too, who knew his firstborn well enough to know where to look for him, and felt grateful for the presence of Glorfindel. Ever since Elladan grew old enough to feel the pain of his dual nature, the ancient Elf had been a haven for him - one Elrond himself could never be, in spite of his honest labours.
''How is he faring?'', the Lord of Imladris asked quietly. He, too, noticed the change in his son, and it filled his heart with fear and anguish, having gone through the same grief and almost dying of it.
Glorfindel sighed.
''His heart is broken, his flesh yearns for a touch he shall devour no more, and his own choice frightens him greatly. How, do you believe, *is* he faring?''
Elrond nodded in understanding.
''I am grateful you have found him before me. I should have come earlier, but...''
''Your heart, too, is deeply troubled'', Glorfindel interrupted him gently. ''Too much has happened in such short a time - even you need a while to cope with it.''
''How very true'', it was Elrond's turn to sigh deeply. ''Tis bitter, Glorfindel. Thrice blessed I was called for my children, and rightly so, for they are brave and quick-witted and so very beautiful - yet like a tree bereft of leaves and fruit I am now. First I lost Celebrían to the servants of the Enemy, then I lost my daughter to the King of Men, and now I am losing my firstborn, too, to someone who does not even love him. Always have I put my duites forth, even before my own flesh and blood, and what for? For a case that had been forced upon our line long ere I was even born.''
''One cannot fight fate'', Glorfindel said gently. ''I of all people should know that - and so should you.''
''I do know that'', Elrond replied sadly, ''yet that knowledge would not give me back what I have lost. Not my parents, not my wife, and even less my children. Heavily lays the weight of the inevitable upon my heart. For all I wanted for my children was happiness...''
''They *are* happy'', said Glorfindel, ''yet bittersweet is the taste of true love, for it always mingles true bliss with pain. Would you have it any other way? So has it been since the dawn of days and so it remains till darkness shall fall. 'Tis better to taste some bitterness with the bliss than never taste the blessings of love at all. And *you* are not bereft of the fruit of your loins completely, my friend. You still have Elrohir, who shall give you heirs with the Lady Aquiel, for sure. And you were given the rare gift of a second great love that healed your heart after Celebrían's departure. You should remember this and thank the Valar for their grace.''
''But who... or what shall heal *his* heart?'' Elrond looked down at the tormented face of his son, so open and vulnerable in the deep slumber Glorfindel's power forced upon him - and so very, very young. Too young to suffer this much.
The ancient Elf caressed Elladan's raven-dark tresses with the gentle fingers of a loving father and sighed.
''He is not out of peril yet, 'tis true. Still, I have hope, for he shows curiosity for other things again - others than his own suffering.''
''What things?'', asked Elrond with renewed hope. Glorfindel smiled.
''He asked me after the reason of my presence in your house and wrought a promise from me to tell him the long tale of my life.''
''He did?'' Elrond was surprised, even a little envious. ''You never told *me* about your deeds and wanderings. What little I know I have learnt from others... or from the old lays of Beleriand.''
''You always were too proud to ask'', Glorfindel replied playfully. ''The stubbornness of mortal blood in your veins, no doubt.'' They both laughed, quietly, not to wake Elladan; then Glorfindel added: ''But you are welcome to join us, you or any one of your family. I only entrust this tale to those who are of your line, yet I do believe that it would be helpful for Elladan to spend the long nights of Hísimë with his family.''
''You are wise, as always'', Elrond nodded. ''What should we do with him? He needs to return to his own chambers, for there shall be people coming here, soon.''
''I think not that his own chambers would be the right place for him'', Glorfindel carefully gathered the sleeping young Elf in his strong arms and stood. ''I shall take him to my guest room. There he could rest undisturbed, and I can watch over him.''
''That might be best'', Elrond agreed. ''We shall see us after sunset, then''.
''After sunset'', Glorfindel affirmed. ''And see to it that we have some wine. Telling a long tale always makes me thirsty.''
* * * * * * * * * * * *
End note:
Originally, I planned it to be private storytelling session between Elladan and Glorfindel, but the ancient Elf wanted full family reunions, and how am I to argue with him? In the first chapter we finally start with at the very beginning of time.
THE COMPLETE STORY OF GLORFINDEL
told by Soledad Cartwright
Disclaimer: see Introduction
Rating: PG for now, but might go higher in later chapters, for violence, character death and heavy angst stuff.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Now that I've let you in to the creative process, we can finally start. As I promised, this will be tied in with my Boromir-series, 'Fall Before Temptation'', and starts in the midst of the sixth Boromir story, ''Of Snow and Stone and Wolves''. You dont have to read that story first to understand this one, but it might help with the hints.
Elladan's song was taken from ''The Lays of Beleriand'', p. 172, and was written by the Great Maker, Tolkien, himself.
PRELUDE: WHY ARE YOU HERE?
The Nine Walkers crossed the bridge of the Bruinen and wound slowly up the long steep paths that led out of the coven vale of Imladris. They passed along the guest house, and Boromir, who was marching at the rear, save Legolas, their rearguard, stole a glance at the long balcony where Elladan was standing still, unmoving and in complete silence among the lenghtening shadows of the coming night.
Their eyes met for one last time, and Elladan saw the grim determination on the haggard face of his beloved - though the Man felt the loss of their departure almost as keenly as he did, Boromir's mind was already on the task before him, and his heart turned towards his city where he hoped to be returning at the end of his journey. And in that very moment Elladan understood with utter clarity that their times together, bittersweet as they might have been, were now truly, irrevocably over.
Then the moment passed. The Company of the Ring continued their slow climb up the narrow stone steps that wound up the shoulder of the hills and soon melted into the shadows, invisible even for Elladan's keen Elven eyes. He sighed and left his lonely watchpost to return to his father's house. Night had just fallen, and he had some grieving to do.
Yet he loathed to retreat into his own chambers. They were so full of memories, he could not bear to be alone with them.
/In the morrow, maybe/, he promised himself, /but not tonight, not right now/.
So he went to the only place he could think of. The only one where he would not be disturbed.
The Hall of Fire stood empty and quiet as usual between two feasts. The fire was no more than a dark glow in the great hearth between the carven pillars upon either side, but Elladan would know his way among them even with his eyes tightly shut. He had spent many long seasons of his youth in this very Hall, listening to the old lays of his people, thus being the custom of Elves to share with their children the lore of their own kin. As a child, he always imagined those great pillars to be the trees of an enchanted wood, become stone by the magical songs of his ancestors. Now he knew better. It was no magic, just excellent craftmanship and great love the Elves always wrought into the work of their hands.
He strolled along the wide passageway in the middle and went straight to a farther, more private niche, where one could sit almost unseen, even at times when the Hall was brightly lit and full of people: in the shadow of a pillar, where a beautifully carved, low wooden bench and a bottle of excellent feywine - only half-full - were waiting for him. This was the wery spot where he first met Boromir, and they never got to finish this very bottle of wine. Even the two cups were still standing there, just as they had left them almost six weeks ago.
Elladan smiled sadly, for he knew that those items had, in truth, not been waiting there during all those weeks. Returning them to this very spot had to be Arwen's doing, the loving attention of his dear sister, who, setting aside her own grief, tried to help him dealing with his pain. Arwen had seen the two of them belonging together ere he realized it himself.
/We both got too much mortal blood in our veins for our own good/, he thought ruefully, pouring himself some wine and nipping at it, deep in thought. He did not truly want to get drunk, though; he only wanted to warm his freezing soul a little.
''I thought I would find you here'', a clear, ringing voice from somewhere at the other end of the Hall said. ''Ever when something is disturbing you, you seek out the solitude of this Hall.''
Elaldan looked up and smiled again, this time a little relieved. He recognized that musical voice, of course. He had listened to it all his life. First as a child, in wide-eyed astonishment, then as a tormented youth, fighting the opposite urges of his dual nature, eternally grateful for the never-ending, patient attention his tutor was granting him every time he needed a listening ear, and finally, with ever-growing respect, as an adult, but still very young Elf - very young, at least, compared with Glorfindel's incredibly high age.
Compared with Glorfindel, even his father, who had seen all Three Ages of Middle-earth, was but a child. No-ne knew just *how* old Glorfindel truly was, for he rarely spoke about himself, and even if he did, he only spoke of things they could learn from: of great deeds and deadly perils of ages long gone, of Kings and Queens and warriors of old that were but a myth even for Elrond and his counsellors - and of the Valar themselves whom he had been speaking to in flesh.
His memories were wast and growing still like the Halls of Mandos, where he had dwelt awhile after having been slain during the Fall of Gondolin, yet he shared little of them with his pupils, the children of Elrond, whose tutoring had been entrusted to him at a very young age, aside of matters of lore, and naught about his own person. Elladan knew from his father that Glorfindel had fought alongside King Turgon in the Nirnaeth Arneodiad, ere even Eärendil was born, and that he had dwelt in the Blessed Realm longer than any one of the exiled Noldor, yet not even the Master of Imladris would - or could - tell more about him.
Glorfindel walked through the middle of the empty Hall with slow, deliberate strides. As usual, he was clad in white, his undergown and heavy robe richly embroided with gold and silver, and girthed with *mithril*. His hair, open and unadorned as always, framed his noble, ageless face like molten gold... which was why he had gotten his name in the first place. His eyes were not grey like those of most Noldor, but deep indigo blue like the midnight sky - and nearly as old.
''I wonder'', he spoke again with a smile that shone more in those very deep eyes than on his face, ''whether you intend to empty that bottle all by yourself or would be willing to share?''
Elladan laughed quietly, winked his tutor closer to sit next to him and reached him the other cup.
''I always shared the most hidden secrets of my heart with you, Master Glorfindel'', he said, only half-mocking, ''how could I deny you something as ordinary as a cup of wine?''
Glorfindel accepted the cup, but his wise, ancient eyes never left the face of the younger Elf. He did not like what he was seeing. Elladan looked pale and haggard, his fair, narrow face almost translucent, framed by the halo of his long raven hair.
''You look not well'', he said. Elladan sighed.
''I feel not well.''
''How *do* you feel, then?'', asked Glorfindel, still watching his face intently.
''Drained'', Elladan admitted softly, ''I feel drained. Not do I regret a thing of what happened between me and the son of Denethor - save that hurtful fight we had during the Council -, yet it cost me more of my strength than I have thought it would.''
''The breaking of one's heart usually *does* have this effect'', Glorfindel commented drily. ''And mortal Men can be trying, when it comes to the matters of the heart.''
Elladan gave him a curious look.
''You seem to know what you are speaking of...''
''I do'', Glorfindel laughed at the face his former pupil made. ''Nay, not the in same way as *you* know about it, little one, but yes, I know a lot about heartbreaks that mortal Men could cause. 'Tis a thing that has not changed since the Elder Days.''
For a little while they remained silent. Then Elladan refilled their cups and decided to risk a question that he had wanted to ask the ancient Elf ever since his early childhood.
''Glorfindel'', he began, ''would you allow me to ask a question that has been bothering me since I have known you?''
Glorfindel laughed; it sounded like silver bells in a moonlit night... like childhood memories returning unexpectedly.
''Since you have restrained yourself from asking for nearly three thousand years - which is respectable from someone that young as you are -, I believe I shall grant you this small wish of yours. What do you want to know this badly?''
Elladan hesitated a little, not knowing how to voice his question without sounding either childish or rude. He regretted not having spoken about it with his twin; Elrohir had always been better with words. Then he shrugged in defeat and asked straight out:
''Why are you here?''
Glorfindel seemed genuinely surprised by his inquiry.
''You mean not this Hall, I deem?'', he said. Elladan shook his head.
''Nay, I do not. I was wondering... ever since Imladris has been built, you have dwelt here. Yet you are not of our line - and you certainy are not one of Father's subjects. Still, you dwell here, follow his orders of your free will, though you are so much older than he is and your wisdom cannot be even measured by his... why do you stay with us?''
''My ties to your line reach far back to the Elder Days'', Glorfindel answered simply, having fully recovered from his surprise.
''That I do know'', replied Elladan. ''You have been one of the captains and most trusted friends of Turgon, King of Gondolin, the father of my grandfather's mother. Yet he had fallen with his city, and you were slain, and Idril and Tuor fled to the Uttermost West...''
''That they did'', Glorfindel agreed, and a flicker of some old pain marred his noble features for a moment, ''and I dwelt in Mandos' Halls for a long time - as time is counted in Middle-earth. For in the Realm of Twilight, there is not time... just silence and solitude - and the pondering over the glorious and terrible deeds of the fallen ones, over the battles won and the battles lost, over friendships and animosities and lost loves in a past long gone... 'Tis a realm of fading shadows and never-ending memories.''
He shivered visibly, and there was a deep sadness in his eyes now, deeper than the Sea itself, and all of a sudden he looked old, very old, older even than the very roots of the mountains Imladris was built upon.
Elladan shifted uncomfortably, regeretting already that he had came forth with his foolish question at all, cursing his own curiosity. The last thing he wanted was to cause paint this gentle, ancient soul that had often been his only comfort in times of inner torment.
''Yet you have been relieved from Mandos' care'', he finally said, and Glorfindel shook off the torturous memories and smiled, and his face was youthful again, and fearless, and full of joy, just as it had been in all those centuries Elladan had known him.
''That I have'', he said, almost merrily. ''Am I right to guess that you wish to know *why* I was sent back?''
''To tell the truth... nay'', Elladan replied thoughtfully. ''I would wish to learn very much, though, why you have been sent *here*? Why Father's house? 'Tis a great honour for us that you dwell under his roof, but why have you been sent? One does not escape from Mandos' Halls for naught.''
'''Tis very true'', Glorfindel nodded, ''yet I do believe that you might found the reason in your own heart, little one. You have just bound yourself to an other, without hope for him giving you the same devotion, knowing fully that your bond would go on beyond the Sea and Mandos' Halls - or, in your case, beyond Death itself. Do you think you were the first one to pledge yourself this way? Giving the greates gift an Elf could give, without receiving the same?''
Elladan glared at him with the same wide-eyed astonishment he used to look with when he was but a small child.
''You were - are - bound to one of our line?''
''I am'', Glorfindel affirmed with a slight nod and a half-smile, ''and not even Mandos' Halls could keep me from the fulfilling of my oath, sworn by invoking the Name of Ilúvatar, the One Above All. As long as one of your line remains in Middle-earth, Elven or mortal, I shall remain with you. To teach you, guide you, protect you - and die for you a second time, should the need arise. For thus I have vowed to Idril Celebrindal, the fairest maiden that even the eyes of the Valar have seen since the shaping of Arda - save the Lady Undómiel perhaps, who inherited much of her far-seeing wisdom and her strong will.''
''So... you pledged yourself to my great-grandmother?'' *That* took a moment to sink in. ''And she has chosen Tuor, a mortal Man, over *you*?''
''Just as you have chosen the son of Denethor, over all the fair maidens of the Eldar'', Glorfindel countered, smiling. ''We cannot choose whom we fall in love with. You of all people should know that.''
Elladan nodded, slowly, thoughtfully.
''That is why you always treated us as if we were your own children'', he realized. ''If not for Tuor, I could be your great-grandson now... how strange.''
''Strange, indeed'', Glorfindel agreed, ''yet I could not love you and your siblings - or even your father - more deeply, even if you were born from my loins... mayhap even less. For when I look at you, I always can find in your faces something of *her*, whom I loved more than anything, even life itself. In a way, you are dear for my old heart even more than you were if you were my own.''
''Did you see her again, in the Blessed Realm?'' Elladan asked, suddenly very curious again. But Glorfindel only shook his head in sorrow.
''Nay... 'tis not how things happen when one returns from Mandos' care. I was slain and buried at the Cristhorn, the Eagles' Cleft, south the fallen city of Gondolin, and lay there for uncounted years. My body of old was broken and long gone at the time when I was sent back; I had to be clad in a new one for my return. Coming back from Mandos in this husk gave me powers far beyond the understanding even of Elves - yet it also sets me apart from every living thing in Middle-earth. There is no-one else of my kind under the sun, save perhaps the Dark Lord, but his powers come from the Shadow and are evil, entirely.''
''I remember and old and fragmented song about your last battle, that I heard in Lórien once'', Elladan frowned, trying to call forth the ill-remembered, strangely-formed verse of the Silvan folk; then, in a soft and low voice, he began to sing:
Lo! The flame of fire and fierce hatred
engulfed Gondolin and its glory fell,
its tapering towers and its tall rooftops
were laid all low and its leaping fountains
made no music more on the mount of Gwareth,
and its whitehewn walls were whispering ash.
Túr, the Earthborn was tied in battle
from the wrack and ruin a remnant led
women and children and wailing maidens
and wounded men of the withered folk
down the path unproven that pierced the hillside,
neath Tumladin he led them to the leaguer of hills
that rose up rugged as ranged pinnacles
to the north of the vale. There the narrow way
of Cristhorn was cloven, the Cleft of Eagles,
through the midmost mountains. And more is told
in lays and in legend and lore of others
of that veary way of the wandering folk:
how the waifs of Gondolin outwitted Melko,
vanished o'er the vale and vanquished the hills,
how Glorfindel the Golden in the gap of the Eagles
battled with the Balrog and both were slain:
one like flash of fire from fangéd rock,
one like bolted thunder black was smitten
to the dreadful deep digged by Thornsir...
His voice trailed off uncertainly.
''I cannot remember more'', he said, ashamed. ''A strange verse it was, full of names in the Silvan tongue... even Elrohir had great pains learning it.''
''Ai, the most stubborn and haughty Tree Children and their clumsy, old-fashioned songs'', laughed Glorfindel quietly. ''You have to be at least part Wood-Elf to be able to learn the ways of their singing properly. I knew not that even the Silvan folk made songs about that fight, but I can guess why they were so impressed: they fear the Balrogs more than any other horrors of the Enemy. Fire does not become their beloved trees.''
''Is it not...'', Elladan hesitated. ''Is it not disturbing to hear other people sing about your own death?''
''At first it was'', Glorfindel shrugged, ''But I had nearly two ages to get used to it. Given enough time, it becomes a lot less unsettling.''
''Father, too, had seen all Three Ages of Middle-earth'', said Elladan, shivering a little when imagining such incredible amount of time, ''yet you are so much older than him. I wish I could hear the tale of all your dealings, if only one time.''
''A long and sorrowful tale it is'', Glorfindel replied, his voice deepening. ''Are you certain that you want to hear it?''
Elladan nodded eagerly, hardly daring to believe that he could have his long-nurtured, secret wish granted.
''I am *very* certain.''
Glrofindel thought about it for a moment. He did not really wish to walk along the ever-growing halls of his memories again - he did that enough when he dwelt in Mandos' care, and it was no pleasant time -, yet he was worried about Elladan's freshly-broken heart, fearing that inspite of having chosen the Doom of Men, Elrond's eldest might still fade away from grief over his unrequited and finally lost love.
The young Elf certainly showed first signs of that unfortunate weekness that ran so deep in his line, and the joy over having this old wish of his granted, might prove helpful. Also, the life - the *lives* - of Glorfindel were long and rich enough for their tale serving as a welcome distraction, if told properly, and who else could have told a proper tale if not him who had heard the music of the Valer themselves?
''Very well'', he gave in with an exaggerated sigh; ''when could I deny you anything? You always had your way with me too easily, little one.''
''Yes, I can remember Father complaining about you spoiling me'', Elladan agreed, mischief twinkling in his eyes.
/You always were so much like *him*, little one/, Glorfindel thought sadly, /and if *she* could not deny him anything, not even herself, how could I have denied you the small wishes of a tormented child?/
But out loud he only said:
''Yet you shall not receive this gift tonight. A long tale this is, as I said, and one I am only willing to tell once. You shall go and ask your father and your siblings whether they, too, wish to hear it.''
''And if they wish not?'' Elladan asked, joy already fading away from his disturbingly thin face. Glorfindel felt a dull pain in his chest, and his ancient heart went out for the younger Elf.
''Whether they wish to join us or not, I gave you my promise'', he said. ''We shall meet again, here, in the Hall of Fire... and that more than once, for this tale is longer, indeed, than you can possibly imagine.''
''How long?'' intrigued Elladan with almost child-like awe, the light of the dying fire reflecting in his clear, wide-open eyes.
''*Very* long'', said Glorfindel solemnly. ''If we meet here once in every seven nights, mayhap the season of Hísimë shall be long enough for me to finish it.''
''That long..'', Elladan whispered, his eyes filling with fear and wonder. Glorfindel nodded gravely.
''That long, little one. You still want to hear it?''
Elladan took several deep breaths. The growing length of time always contained a strange enchantment for him, but since he had made his choice and decided to accept the fate of mortal Men, a certain fear joined with his awe, knowing that his choice cannot be unmade, and that from now on *his* time in Middle-earth was limited. There would be no uncounted centuries for him to learn the secrets of Arda any more. His life would be long, many time of lesser Men, as it had been Elros', but eventually, he would die.
Thus he had chosen, freely and out of love for Arda and for a Man who could not love him the same way, and he did not regret it. But the fear that had finally led to the Fall of Númenor in the heart of Elros' descendants, now dwelt in his heart as well. And he knew he needed the support of his tutor, now more than ever, to conquer it, or else he, too, would fall.
''Yes, I still want to hear it'', he answered queitly. ''I have to put the time that still remains me to good use.'' Seeing Glorfindel's stricken face, he added with a faint smile: ''No regrets. I told you. But from now on I have to learn to count time differently. Since it is no more unlimited, time itself has won a whole new meaning for me... 'tis not easy to adapt.''
''Nay'', Glorfindel nodded in deep understanding, having witnessed Elros going through the same torture a whole age earlier, till the first King of Númenor had found his way in a world that became a place utterly different for him, ''it is not. Yet you shall learn and you shall get used to it. Elros did. You are no less than him. And you do have a new purpose to keep you going on.''
Elladan nodded mutely, yet his face paled even more, and his eyes were still wide with unmistakable fear.
''Glorfindel'', he murmured, ''I am frightened...''
''We all are frightened at one time or another, little one'', the ancient Elf replied, taking his cold, trembling hand in his warm ones. '''Tis like the moment of a new birth for you.. or more like the Awakening under the stars had been for our kind, at the still waters of Cuiviénen - a very powerful experience, one that would shape you for the rest of your life. Be not ashamed; being born is always hurtful, but it is only the beginning.''
Elladan froze at these words.
''The *Awakening*...? Then you are...''
''One of the Firstborn, yes'', Glorfindel nodded; ''of the very first ones, to be more accurate. Yet 'tis a tale I shall be telling you tomorrow eve. Now you have to rest.''
''I cannot go back to my chambers'', Elladan murmured in despair. ''Leave me not now, I beg you! 'Tis too much, I cannot bear it alone.''
''Nor have you to, little one'', Glorfindel gently forced the younger Elf to lay down on the low bench and laid the dark head upon his lap as he would do when Elladan was a young child still. ''Here. Have no fear, for I am with you and I shall keep the Shadows from your sleep. Over me, they have no power, for I have known Death and it frightens me no more. Sleep now. Soon, you, too, shall conquer your fears and then they cannot reach you any more, either.''
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The sunrise of the following day found Glorfindel in the same posture: sitting on the bwnch, the head of his former pupil upon his lap, the bottle of wine empty on his right. So did Elrond, too, who knew his firstborn well enough to know where to look for him, and felt grateful for the presence of Glorfindel. Ever since Elladan grew old enough to feel the pain of his dual nature, the ancient Elf had been a haven for him - one Elrond himself could never be, in spite of his honest labours.
''How is he faring?'', the Lord of Imladris asked quietly. He, too, noticed the change in his son, and it filled his heart with fear and anguish, having gone through the same grief and almost dying of it.
Glorfindel sighed.
''His heart is broken, his flesh yearns for a touch he shall devour no more, and his own choice frightens him greatly. How, do you believe, *is* he faring?''
Elrond nodded in understanding.
''I am grateful you have found him before me. I should have come earlier, but...''
''Your heart, too, is deeply troubled'', Glorfindel interrupted him gently. ''Too much has happened in such short a time - even you need a while to cope with it.''
''How very true'', it was Elrond's turn to sigh deeply. ''Tis bitter, Glorfindel. Thrice blessed I was called for my children, and rightly so, for they are brave and quick-witted and so very beautiful - yet like a tree bereft of leaves and fruit I am now. First I lost Celebrían to the servants of the Enemy, then I lost my daughter to the King of Men, and now I am losing my firstborn, too, to someone who does not even love him. Always have I put my duites forth, even before my own flesh and blood, and what for? For a case that had been forced upon our line long ere I was even born.''
''One cannot fight fate'', Glorfindel said gently. ''I of all people should know that - and so should you.''
''I do know that'', Elrond replied sadly, ''yet that knowledge would not give me back what I have lost. Not my parents, not my wife, and even less my children. Heavily lays the weight of the inevitable upon my heart. For all I wanted for my children was happiness...''
''They *are* happy'', said Glorfindel, ''yet bittersweet is the taste of true love, for it always mingles true bliss with pain. Would you have it any other way? So has it been since the dawn of days and so it remains till darkness shall fall. 'Tis better to taste some bitterness with the bliss than never taste the blessings of love at all. And *you* are not bereft of the fruit of your loins completely, my friend. You still have Elrohir, who shall give you heirs with the Lady Aquiel, for sure. And you were given the rare gift of a second great love that healed your heart after Celebrían's departure. You should remember this and thank the Valar for their grace.''
''But who... or what shall heal *his* heart?'' Elrond looked down at the tormented face of his son, so open and vulnerable in the deep slumber Glorfindel's power forced upon him - and so very, very young. Too young to suffer this much.
The ancient Elf caressed Elladan's raven-dark tresses with the gentle fingers of a loving father and sighed.
''He is not out of peril yet, 'tis true. Still, I have hope, for he shows curiosity for other things again - others than his own suffering.''
''What things?'', asked Elrond with renewed hope. Glorfindel smiled.
''He asked me after the reason of my presence in your house and wrought a promise from me to tell him the long tale of my life.''
''He did?'' Elrond was surprised, even a little envious. ''You never told *me* about your deeds and wanderings. What little I know I have learnt from others... or from the old lays of Beleriand.''
''You always were too proud to ask'', Glorfindel replied playfully. ''The stubbornness of mortal blood in your veins, no doubt.'' They both laughed, quietly, not to wake Elladan; then Glorfindel added: ''But you are welcome to join us, you or any one of your family. I only entrust this tale to those who are of your line, yet I do believe that it would be helpful for Elladan to spend the long nights of Hísimë with his family.''
''You are wise, as always'', Elrond nodded. ''What should we do with him? He needs to return to his own chambers, for there shall be people coming here, soon.''
''I think not that his own chambers would be the right place for him'', Glorfindel carefully gathered the sleeping young Elf in his strong arms and stood. ''I shall take him to my guest room. There he could rest undisturbed, and I can watch over him.''
''That might be best'', Elrond agreed. ''We shall see us after sunset, then''.
''After sunset'', Glorfindel affirmed. ''And see to it that we have some wine. Telling a long tale always makes me thirsty.''
* * * * * * * * * * * *
End note:
Originally, I planned it to be private storytelling session between Elladan and Glorfindel, but the ancient Elf wanted full family reunions, and how am I to argue with him? In the first chapter we finally start with at the very beginning of time.