A/N: Please read Chapter 2 again because I redid it completely! And please review. It doesn't have to be long or anything, just let me know you're reading it.

CG/MD: Thanks for letting me know. The one time I don't preview the chapter it decides to do something screwy to it. Figures.

The captain was awakened the next morning by a discreet knocking on his door.

"Wait a second," the captain called, pulling on a pair of trousers before going to the door and opening it to reveal his first mate.

"Captain," the man began without preamble, "you know how I told you that we didn't detect any storm? Well now we have, and it's coming this afternoon, just like the Elf said."

The man stopped, and then lowered his voice to a whisper.

"They're strange ones, I can tell you that. They sleep with their eyes open, walk on railings like they're on the ground, and detect storms before our best men and instruments can. It's uncanny. We've all had contact with Elves before, of course, but we've never been so close to them for so long and seen all of this. And as you know, most of our men don't attend the teachings of the Elves from Valinor."

The captain listened silently and then sighed.

"I know. But they're Elves, and Elves are different than Men. Tell the men to just mind their own business. We're going to be docking tonight, so the Elves won't be here for much longer."



Gildor was dozing that afternoon, when the first raindrop hit him right on the face. Sitting up quickly, he tilted his head back to view the ominous black clouds that hung overhead. The raindrop was soon followed by a torrent of water, and Gildor watched as the sailors scrambled to secure the sails. Deciding to help, he walked toward them, Glorfindel on his heels. The sailors laughed at first, looking askance at their slender frames, but their laughter soon ceased when they saw the two Elves secure a sail that would have taken four Men to hold steady. So the Elves stayed out on deck throughout the whole storm, helping the sailors keep the ship on course. After what seemed like hours, the western sky began to clear and it appeared that the storm would soon pass over. But it was not yet over for the Spindrift, and as Gildor leaned over the railing to grasp a loose rope being lashed about, a large wave crashed over the deck, taking the Elf unawares and carrying him overboard.

Glorfindel saw Gildor carried over the edge, and without thinking, leapt off the side after him. When Glorfindel reached the younger Elf, Gildor seemed to be only half-conscious. Grasping him under the arms, Glorfindel looked for the ship, but it had been driven from them and was out of reach. Breathing a prayer to the Valar, Glorfindel spotted a plank floating nearby and struck out for it, dragging Gildor with him. But the waves seemed to push it farther and farther away, and Glorfindel despaired of them surviving. 'It looks like I'm going to be seeing Mandos again much sooner than I thought,' Glorfindel thought tiredly. But looking down at Gildor, his heart rebelled. 'If not me, at least save him,' Glorfindel beseeched anyone who might be listening. Just as the Elf lord felt his tired body begin to sink beneath the waves, a pair of arms engulfed him. Turning, he was confronted with the watery face of Osse.

A rumbling voice emanated from the water. "It is not your time again, Glorfindel. Nor is it his."

And with that, Glorfindel felt the water rushing by as Osse bore the two Elves towards the shores of Middle Earth, which were rapidly becoming visible. Within a few minutes, Glorfindel found himself stumbling onto an unknown beach, still clutching Gildor to him. Collapsing to his knees, he gently laid Gildor on the sand and checked his vital signs. It seemed that the younger Elf had only been knocked around a bit, along with swallowing some of the sea. In a few moments, Gildor began to regain consciousness, his eyes coming into focus as he coughed up water

"What happened?" he asked groggily.

"You were washed overboard and I went in after you. Osse rescued us and brought us here."

"Why did you jump in after me?" Gildor asked, a slight frown creasing his brow. "You might have been killed, and then we would both be in the Halls of Mandos."

Fortunately, Glorfindel was spared answering when Gildor began to have a coughing fit. The Elf lord knelt beside him and rubbed his back until all the water had been expelled, then he stood up, surveying the place they had landed.

"We should find shelter for the night. We can get our bearings in the morning."

Gildor nodded in agreement and got up slowly to follow after Glorfindel. The storm had ceased by this time, so the two Elves didn't worry about finding a cave. They finally settled down in a depression in the ground under a large alder tree, which helped shield them from the wind. Glorfindel was the first to stretch out on the ground, and after hesitating for a second, he motioned for Gildor to lie down in front of him.

"We can't risk a fire, so we'll have to rely on each other to stay warm," Glorfindel explained at Gildor's questioning look. "We should probably take off our wet tunics as well, since they will give us a chill."

After discarding his sopping tunic off to the side, Gildor settled down with his back pressed up against Glorfindel's naked torso. He gave a sigh of contentment as he felt Glorfindel's arms wrap around him and pushed himself further back against the older Elf's warm, muscled chest. Feeling completely safe, he drifted off into exhausted sleep.

When Glorfindel felt Gildor stretch out against him, he immediately decided that this was the worst idea he ever had. The younger Elf just felt too good in his arms. 'I seriously doubt that Finrod's injunction to protect his son included seducing him.' He suddenly realized that his thumbs were absently tracing circles on Gildor's stomach, and he stopped himself with a stern reprimand, linking his fingers together so that his interlaced hands rested on the younger Elf's abdomen. Reflecting on the situation, Glorfindel admitted that he couldn't deny his attraction and affection for Gildor. Looking back, he couldn't pinpoint the exact time when he found himself drawn to the son of Finrod. It was certainly before the incident on the night of the dance, but it was at that time that Glorfindel first became aware of it.

The Elf lord's honor wouldn't allow him to pursue Gildor, however. 'After all, Finrod did ask me to look out for him. Although Gildor is certainly of an age to take care of himself, still . . .' Glorfindel resolved to limit himself to a strictly platonic relationship for now. Gildor would surely get over his infatuation with the older Elf and move on, so Glorfindel didn't want to start anything with him. A small part of him whispered that he was just making excuses, that he was afraid of passion hurting him again, but Glorfindel determinedly quashed it. With his new resolution firmly in mind, Glorfindel allowed himself to drop off into much needed sleep.



Gil-galad and Elrond were out riding when they came upon the two Elves. Elrond was the first one to spot them.

"Look over there," he said, pointing a gloved hand toward the sleeping Elves. "There are people."

The two Noldor Elves dismounted and walked over to investigate these strangers.

"Why, they are Elves," Gil-galad said in surprise.

"Yes, but not Noldor," Elrond observed. "They have golden hair. I would say they're Vanyar, but the last Vanyar Elves left with the Valar at the end of the First Age."

"Perhaps, they are of Cirdan's people. Some of them have fair coloring," Gil-galad suggested. "But we will not know until we wake them."

So saying, Gil-galad reached down and grasped one of the Elves on the shoulder.



Glorfindel was immersed in one of the occasional dreams he had about the fall of Gondolin, so when he felt a hand clutching his shoulder, he reacted immediately. Lashing out with his fist, he caught his surprised assailant in the eye. Following up on his advantage, he knocked the man down and pinned him to the ground. Perusing his opponent, Glorfindel found himself confronted with surprised gray eyes framed by black hair and pointed ears.

"Who are you?" he growled.

Before the dark-haired Elf could answer, a voice commanded, "Let him go!"

Glorfindel looked up to see another raven-haired Elf standing, with an arrow unwaveringly notched to his bow. Gildor, who was by this time awake, stood up quickly, hoping to distract the bow-wielding Elf's attention. The ploy worked, and Elrond's attention was diverted for a moment. But Glorfindel's attention had also been diverted, and Gil-galad had taken the opportunity to strike. The two Elves were once again tussling on the ground, while Elrond covered Gildor with his bow, not wishing to accidentally shoot his king. Glorfindel ended up on top again, but this time, a knife was in his hand, pressed against the king's throat.

"You fight like another man I once knew," Glorfindel remarked, breathing heavily. "Now once again I ask you, who are you?"

"And why should I reveal that to someone who holds a blade to my throat?" the king asked, quite calmly for someone whose life was being threatened.

Glorfindel conceded the point, and removed his knife, allowing Gil-galad to stand. The High King stood and brushed himself off, all the while analyzing the golden-haired Elf. He spoke Quenya with an archaic accent that Gil- galad hadn't heard since the First Age. The king was beginning to believe that these Elves were indeed Vanyar, but he wouldn't rush to conclusions.

"I am Ereinion Gil-galad, son of-"

"Son of Fingon," Glorfindel finished, astonishment written on his face. "The last time I saw you, you were naught but an infant, but I see the resemblance to your father now. And you must now be High King of the Noldor."

With this realization, Glorfindel gave a deep bow. "Apologies, my king, for attacking you, but you surprised me."

"And who are you that you knew my father and are able to best the king twice in combat?" Gil-galad asked, intensely curious.

"Why, my lord," Glorfindel said with a smile. "I am Glorfindel of Gondolin, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower."

Now it was Gil-galad's turn to look astonished.

"It is an honor to meet you, Lord Glorfindel," Gil-galad said, inclining his head. "I can see that reports of your fighting prowess were not overestimated."

Gil-galad turned to Elrond and beckoned him over.

"And now I believe there is someone you would very much like to meet." Gil- galad put his hand on Elrond's shoulder.

"This is Elrond, son of Earendil, great-grandson of Turgon."

Glorfindel stood for a moment, taking in this latest scion of his friend and lord. "You greatly resemble Turgon," he murmured fondly, moving forward and giving Elrond a swift hug.

Then, stepping back, he dropped to one knee and looked solemnly up at Elrond. "Long ago, I swore a binding oath to Turgon to protect him and his descendents for as long as they should remain in Middle Earth. That oath is what has brought me here from Valinor, and I renew it now to you, his great- grandson."

"I do not know if I am worthy of such loyalty," Elrond said, taken aback.

"You are," Glorfindel affirmed, "as a descendent of Turgon and the House of Fingolfin, and I pledge my loyalty and my sword to you."

"I hope to prove myself worthy," Elrond said, clasping Glorfindel's forearm in thanks.

Glorfindel inclined his head, and then turned to Gildor, who had been standing quietly behind him.

"Allow me to introduce my companion who has come with me from Valinor. He is Gildor Inglorion."

"The son of Inglor Finrod Felagund?" Gil-galad said in amazement. "That must mean the Lord Finrod has been re-embodied as well. The surprises this day are never ending." Stepping forward, Gil-galad embraced him. "Welcome, cousin."

Elrond embraced him as well, and echoed Gil-galad's welcome.

"I can see there will be many tales to tell," Gil-galad observed, "but they will be better told back in Lindon. Come! Let us return there."

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Gildor crept silently behind Glorfindel, far enough away that the older Elf didn't notice him, but close enough that Gildor could keep him in sight. On this exact day for the past ten years now, Glorfindel had left the palace at Lindon early in the morning and not returned until the evening. No one knew where he went or why, and questions only met with evasive answers. Gildor was determined to find out for himself what the significance of this date was that caused the older Elf to wake up in a pensive, melancholy mood and then disappear for the entire day.

Gildor estimated that they had been walking for about an hour and a half, when Glorfindel stopped. Gildor stopped as well and looked around, not sure what the significance of this place was. To him it looked liked any other stretch of shoreline in Lindon. Small, sandy beach leading up to "cliffs" about six feet tall, and on the other side of those, trees of alder and birch. Gildor turned his attention back to Glorfindel, and watched as the Elda stood facing the sea, feet apart, hands clasped behind his back. He saw the grief in the Elf lord's eyes and longed to assuage it any way he could. Then Glorfindel began to sing, and it had not words, but was filled with emotion: grief, pain, suffering beyond imagining. A song of mourning, of beauty unsurpassing and pain deeper than the sea. Gildor wept unashamedly, for there was no other reaction one could have to such a song. As the last notes faded away, Gildor saw silver tears falling from Glorfindel's eyes to splash silently upon the sand. Walking noiselessly up behind him, Gildor placed his hand on the Elda's shoulder.

Glorfindel turned around wordlessly and hugged Gildor tightly to him, burying his face in the golden hair. Gildor returned the hug, murmuring comfortingly in the Elf lord's ear. After a few minutes, Glorfindel straightened up, his face composed, though his eyes belied this.

"Thank you," Glorfindel said, absently stroking Gildor's hair.

"Though," he added, glancing sideways at the younger Elf, "I do wonder why you followed me."

"I wanted to know what was causing you such pain," Gildor said simply. "And help you if I could."

Glorfindel remained silent, so Gildor gently prodded him. "What causes your sorrow this day?"

Glorfindel gave a deep sigh. "This is the day that Gondolin fell, the day the city burned, the day so many perished."

"The day you died," Gildor whispered.

"Yes," Glorfindel acknowledged. "That as well."

He closed his eyes and continued. "It was terrible. The screams of the dying, the smell of smoke, the crumbling of buildings as they fell into dust. Before my eyes Gondolin was destroyed, and there was nothing I could do! Nothing!" He clenched his fist in rage. "And then as we fled we were challenged by a Balrog, and seeing him there, about to destroy the last of my people, I went nearly mad with rage. All my will was bent upon destroying this creature of Morgoth, and I did, but I was destroyed as well." Glorfindel gestured with a slender hand out to the horizon. "And if you were to sail a ship straight out from here, you would pass over Gondolin, now buried forever beneath the sea."

"But now you have returned and all of that is behind you," Gildor said softly.

"Yes, you are correct." Glorfindel sighed softly. "Though I cannot help but mourn Gondolin and my fallen comrades who have not returned."

"I am sorry," Gildor murmured, wanting to do something to console the Elf lord.

Placing a hand on the nape of Glorfindel's neck, he leaned forward and pressed a comforting kiss to the fair cheek. He meant to stop there, but Glorfindel's skin was so smooth, his body so warm and close, and so he moved just a little farther to the left so his lips were pressed softly against the Elf lord's mouth. His hand tightening on Glorfindel's neck, Gildor deepened the kiss, running his tongue over the full lower lip. He felt Glorfindel stiffen, but then, to his surprise, the Elf lord's hands came up to his neck, and Gildor was being kissed back with as much passion as he had given. Gildor felt as if he could lose himself forever in Glorfindel's kisses, the warm pliant mouth beneath his own, the unique taste that was Glorfindel. The kiss ended naturally, and the two Elves stood there for a moment, green eyes gazing into blue. But then Glorfindel looked away and stepped back slightly from Gildor.

"I apologize. I should not have done that."

"Oh no you don't," Gildor growled, stepping closer to Glorfindel and grabbing hold of his arm. "You are not running away from me this time. This time we are going to settle it."

"Alright then," Glorfindel said stiffly. "We should not have kissed, and we will not do it again. End of discussion."

"No, not end of discussion," Gildor replied emphatically. "There is no good reason why we cannot pursue a relationship. It is obvious we both feel something for each other."

"It is just an infatuation," Glorfindel said tiredly. "I do not want to be in relationship based solely on infatuation."

"You malign me," Gildor said softly. "My love for you goes beyond that, for I have loved you in this way for centuries, and that is no mere infatuation."

Glorfindel looked a little taken aback by this, and he asked, "Why did you not say anything before?"

"Most likely because I was afraid of getting the response I am getting now," Gildor retorted.

"But your father . . ." Glorfindel said, clutching at reasons why this could not happen.

"My father is not an issue here," Gildor stated angrily. "I am in love with you, and if you do not return it, tell me so and I shall never speak of it again."

Glorfindel tried to say the words, but they stuck in his throat, for he could not lie in a matter such as this. As the silence stretched on, Glorfindel could see Gildor's face becoming more and more closed, his eyes losing hope. The Vanya felt his heart constrict, and he reached out a hand to Gildor's cheek.

"I love you as well, Gildor," Glorfindel admitted. "I can't bear to see you hurt that way."

This time Glorfindel initiated the kiss. It was long and slow, lips caressing each other, tongues twining together, hands buried in thick, silky hair. When they broke off again, Gildor buried his face in the side of Glorfindel's neck, giving a soft sigh.

"You don't know how long," he whispered, planting a soft kiss on the Elf lord's neck.

Glorfindel stroked the younger Elf's jaw line with his finger. "Did you come to Middle Earth because you wanted to be with me?"

"That was part of the reason," Gildor admitted.

"And if I had rejected you?"

"I said part of the reason. I truly did want to come and see Middle Earth."

The words initiated a sudden lightheaded feeling in Glorfindel, and he felt as if he were floating above his body, watching as the mists of the future were slowly rolled away. Then the foresight came upon him and he spoke. "And see it you shall, wandering far and wide upon the lands, and a wise lord of your people you shall become, as your father before you. But nigh unto 5,000 years shall pass before you set foot upon the lands of your birth."

Gildor stepped back a little and looked thoughtfully up at Glorfindel. "As you say. A long time that is to be here, even by the reckoning of the Elves, but if it is to be than it shall be."

Glorfindel shook his head slightly, coming back to the present.

"You never told me that foresight comes upon you," Gildor continued. "Nor have I heard from anyone else that you possessed this."

"It is not something that I speak of," Glorfindel said shortly. "And the foresight only comes upon me occasionally. I am not a true seer as is Cirdan, who sees farther than any other in Middle Earth."

"I understand," Gildor said gravely.

Glorfindel wrapped his arms around Gildor's waist and drew the younger Elf close to him, resting his head on the broad shoulder.

"Are you going to go back to the palace now or later in the evening like you usually do?" Gildor asked, his voice slightly muffled from his face being pressed into Glorfindel's hair.

Glorfindel raised his head. "Since I'm not expected back until the evening, why don't we stay out here?"

"Unless there is somewhere else you would rather be," he added with a smile.

"This is exactly where I want to be," Gildor said, threading his fingers through Glorfindel's.

The two Elves walked hand in hand down the beach, silently watching the waves, swelling and hissing as they broke upon the sand. As Anar began to sink westward, it washed orange and red across the horizon, like paint spattered on an artist's canvas, and the water turned a molten gold from the reflection. And when Anar had disappeared beneath the sea and twinkling stars began to appear in the eastern sky, they made love upon the warm sand, witnessed by none but the sea.