To any who reviewed this before I changed it? Thank you! Not sure they'll be there after the new chapters upload, but... :) Thank you. I do remember.
~*~*~
He ate. Sparingly, neatly, not wasting a drop of the fruit. Not like one starving, but most definitely with the appreciation of one long denied such pleasures.
Elrond had to smile as he watch the eyelids flutter shut, body holding to utter stillness that bespoke of deep appreciation.
Well, he hadn't thought the peaches this year that good yet, but apparently their guest didn't agree with his assessment.
Then again…if this truly was Glorfindel of Gondolin, he had long been denied such pleasures of the senses while abiding in Mandos' Halls. Returning to a body, to Elven senses, must be almost overwhelming.
"I wonder if that is why you have not spoken as yet," Elrond mused aloud.
The sapphire eyes opened to regard him with as much intensity as had just been granted the peach.
It was a bit overwhelming, but Elrond had long grown used to the regard of the powerful and the curious. His life had been anything but normal and had provided many with endless subjects of discussion.
This one though… Elrond had to smile as he sat back and watched the man seated across from him take another bite of peach. He was an odd mixture of intense, powerful and childish innocence. The latter, he suspected, would disappear when the elf regained his memories.
"Do all who return from Mandos' care do so without memory?" He spoke his thoughts aloud then tried to recall any others who had returned as this one had.
Beren and Lúthien were the only ones who readily came to mind.
It intrigued Elrond. As a Lore Master he was intensely curious about the whys are wherefores of history. Now seated before him was a mystery cloaked in flesh and blood. A mystery who had already walked Enndore once. Had he looked the same as now? Galadriel had recognized him, but had it been the core fea of the elf that she saw or the outward appearance?
Impossible to guess or to know.
Elrond looked up as the elf across from him stood. For a moment it seemed as though he would speak. A frustrated frown gathered the blonde's brows together and he turned, walking towards the entry that led outside to a garden. Standing, Elrond followed.
Night was falling again, dusk giving way to darkness as the stars began to appear.
The blonde walked out into the center of the garden and stopped, looking upwards with a longing so intense Elrond could almost feel it where he stood. Feel it, yes, understand no. He walked slowly towards the other, stopping at his side.
From the harbour the sound of an Elven voice rose in song, and the longing was suddenly clear to Elrond as a pained expression crossed the other's face.
Of course. He must have stood before the Valar, before the Máhanaxar, to be judged worthy to be returned. Elrond himself had been there, faced the ring of Valar as his choice was made to become one of the firstborn. Had seen the glory and beauty of the Valar as must have this one.
But time had passed, and the glory of that encounter, though not forgotten, had dimmed somewhat.
For Glorfindel, however, it was fresh. New. The longing was practically bursting from him to voice his feelings. His longings.
Closing his eyes, Elrond sifted back to the memories of that time, not really so long ago. Called them forward and slowly raised his eyes to the stars.
To Elbereth.
The song was soft at first, quiet as dawn slowly breaking over Arda, gaining volume as the words and emotions came forth and poured out of him.
Glorfindel turned to stare at him, eyes wide for a moment. A smile wreathed his face and he dropped to the ground, falling back in a graceful sprawl to gaze lovingly up at the stars.
Elrond sang as he had not sang in many sun 'rounds. Sang of longing and loving, of those lost and remembered forever in the minds of the elves who did not die.
He sat next to the golden elf and sang song after song, sensing the other's soul rising with his as his voice rose to the stars.
Beneath the stars and the trees, Elrond Half-Elven found a measure of peace he had not felt for many years permeate his mind. Soul freed, he soared in song, joining in the other elven voices that rose around them in homage, in memory, and love.
~*~*~
"Has he said anything else?"
Elrond shook his head, brushing his dark hair behind his ear. "No. Nothing since …"
"Galadriel." Gil-galad sighed in frustration. He sat and toyed with a jeweled dagger, staring broodingly at his herald and trusted advisor. "Why would the Valar send him back, Elrond? They do nothing by chance or whim. It vexes me that he cannot remember enough to even speak when his arrival here may bode for something portentous!"
Elrond nodded, dark eyes thoughtful. "We could speculate for days on why he is here now, my lord, and never reach a conclusion. I feel we must abide and wait to see what happens."
Gil-galad grimaced. "There is nothing physically ailing him?"
"No."
The elven king's grunt was eloquent of his feelings. "What if we tried to jog his memory? Is there a way to do so?"
Elrond shrugged lightly. "I cannot say what might recall his previous life to him, Gil-galad. Perhaps doing things that he would have done on an ordinary day in Gondolin…though I cannot even say what those would have been."
Snorting, Gil-galad stood, tossing down the dagger. "I dare not even tell anyone else that he is here, seeing that it would cause a stir."
The confession made Elrond smile. His king was proud as any Noldor, and impatient, but both were tempered with a wisdom and a deep, abiding care for his people. Gil-galad was never one to trumpet his own glory but he was proud of the kingdom he ruled. Proud of his accomplishments. The possibility of having an elf such as Glorfindel, sung of for bravery and honour, in his own court, and yet unable to share the knowledge of such a thing was an annoyance to him.
With a sigh, Gil-galad grabbed his cloak. "You're the healer here, Elrond." Swirling it over his shoulders he gazed at his friend. "Make him remember."
With that he left.
"Make him remember, Elrond." With a sigh, he stood, shaking his head for the stubbornness of his ruler. "As if it was as easy as that." He snapped his fingers and scowled in the direction the king had left. Gathering his books, he headed for his rooms. Jesting or not, there was an undertone in Gil-galad's voice that told him his king was serious.
He wanted answers.
Soon.
~*~*~
Smoke. Fire.
The White City was burning.
Dragons in the sky, shooting flame at everything that moved or stood in their way.
Prowling packs of wolves, golden eyes gleaming hungrily in the fire of the burning city. Giant wargs running down men, woman and child alike, devouring them.
Raucous, guttural laughter as orcs plundered home after home, slaying any who got in their way.
The streets were slick with blood; black and red mingling as trickles of blood bled into the waters.
Gondolin, White City of the Elves, gleamed red in the preternatural darkness that descended with the smoke. Screams and cries, defiant and hopeless both, rang through the air.
Still it had seemed all was not lost.
Then the shadows deepened, twisting to take shape. Flame and ebony mingled in a defiled form. Twisted and wrested from the light; corrupted to an envoy of evil who answered to Morgoth.
Once Maiar, now adulterated into darkness. Death incarnate. Reapers of the dark, the Balrogs had come and stolen whatever small hope the Gondolhrim still held.
Swords of flame that cut through the strongest wall, the surest defense. Cutting down Elf and stone alike.
Cutting down those of the Golden Flower, sworn to him, and he, to protect them.
Ecthelion, his brave, dear friend, having survived one Balrog, slaying it, charging forward to pierce the creature's heart with the point of his helmet. Falling into the fountains with the beast.
The Lord of the Fountains, drowned.
No time to mourn the loss, though the grief had surely spurred him on, slicing through the enemy to reach his king.
Not quite sane in that moment, but nor were any of those who survived that dawn.
No choice but to retreat.
One last look back at the city burning brightly, wreathed in flame. Smoke rising as a beacon to all that here… Here the Elves had fallen, failed to stop the darkness.
Running. Finding some sense of sanity in the placement of one foot in front of the other. Comfort in the familiar rhythm.
Upwards. To the mountains, the cradle that had been one of their strongest defenses for so long. Hoping the mighty eagles would guard them as they had so many times before. Seeking the bravest of allies to aide them.
Cold. Turning their cheeks and noses red, making clouds of their breath as they ran, rising higher and higher into the mountains.
Sudden heat from behind.
Discovery.
Pain – though not that of his own. A cry of denial as the Balrog slew the warrior, wings unfurled and mouth open in a fiery roar of defiance as it stood over the body.
Anger, hot and slow as the sludgy blood that coursed through the demon, heating his mind, tinting his vision until all he saw was red.
Red. Running down the streets, down his face, across his hands. Red staining his soul…
With a gasp, Glorfindel abruptly jerked upright, panting as he looked wildly around.
Closed his eyes as he realized it wasn't real.
Suddenly desperate to move, to feel wind on his face, Glorfindel dressed, pulling on leggings and a tunic, before padding barefoot through the corridors of the castle.
No one was up as yet. It was still dark, though the early hours of the morning.
The same time Gondolin had fallen.
The thought made him wince. Why did his mind persist in recalling the worst events?
Unless these truly were not the worst.
It was a depressing thought, and one that carried him outside to a garden where Glorfindel sat in the grass, leaning back against a tree. Closing his eyes to soak in the sensations of the night.
Quiet hoot of an owl hunting nearby.
Chirruping song of a cricket.
Rustle of the wind through the leaves, carrying tidings of a storm rolling inland from the ocean. The scent of moisture as the breeze played over his face, caressing his hair into loose waves of gold that tumbled down his shoulders and back.
Rough bark of the tree comfortingly familiar as it dug into his spine.
Digging his fingers into the grass, he ran his hands through the dew-wet greens, feeling the dampness also soaking into his leggings. Cooling his feet as the grass tickled his toes.
Glorfindel opened his eyes, tilting his head back to look up through the branches at the stars.
Beginning to remember, and realize what he had lost.
A brother and sister, both gone with Gondolin's ruin. The companions and friends, those who had looked to him to lead his House, all of them brave, worthy souls. How many times had they stood on the walls during watch?
The Great Eagles, equals and allies, soaring over the city they guarded. If he closed his eyes, he could feel the wind in his hair, the warmth of a feathered body beneath him as he rode with the Lords of the Wind.
So many gone. Faces with no names. People he should recall, would recall, he hoped.
The fountains and waterfalls of the city, and the tree Turgon had been so terribly proud of, though he personally had found it a bit much.
Betrayal so bitter it stung.
The blasted stones and Feänor's bloody curse had worked entirely too well, hadn't they? Yes, the first blood spilled had been at Moroth's doing. That was no excuse for the kinslaying, was it? Nor the second kinslaying in Doriath. The Teleri and Sindar had been as innocent as Finwë - moreso, for all they were called darkened. They were innocent of the taint.
Until the Noldor brought it to Enndore.
Glorfindel groaned at the thought of his parents. Three children lost to them, following after the call of the Deep Elves. He should have listened to his father and done all he could to keep his siblings from going.
Ironic. He'd been the one to balk, insisting they wait. Trusting that the Valar would act against Morgoth.
They had, but too late.
"Are you in pain?" Elrond knelt, concerned at the depth of the pain he had heard in that small utterance. Bright blue eyes, piercing him with intensity, voiced what the blonde could not utter. Brow drawing inward, Elrond reached out to gently grip the other's shoulder. "What is it? Something plagues you, does it not?"
Glorfindel, eyes as haunted as any Elrond had ever seen, nodded. What word would one use to express the pain, loss and regret of an entire Age? Of the beauty of Valinor he'd seen growing up, knowing now that he would not see it again until ...
Elrond felt the other's pain almost as plainly as if it were his own. The anxiety and sorrow had called to his healer's senses, cutting through the dreamworld of elves as keenly as a knife. Pulling him here to this garden.
He had always been sober, much moreso than his twin, Elros. Elros, who had loved life with a lightness that gleamed in his eyes when he smiled. When he laughed.
He had laughed often.
Sometimes it was still hard to believe he was truly gone. That he would never again hold his twin, share a hug and a smile.
That they would never again meet, unless Ilúvatar saw fit to match the Elves with the music of Mankind at the end of Arda.
He had chosen a mortal life…and died as all mortals must, passing from Arda to the Halls of Mandos. From there… A mystery to all, but especially Elves, who did not wither and die.
A pain he felt similar to what was in this one before him.
Elrond frowned, tightening his grip on the other elf's shoulder as the blonde whimpered softly.
Whimpered? Or was he trying to speak?
Glorfindel was breathing like one who had run a great distance, desperate to force the words to his lips.
Yet no sound came, other than a soft whimpering sound.
He groaned, dropping his head to hide his face from the stars, letting his hair fall in a silken curtain of gold.
Elrond understood in that moment. He almost laughed aloud in relief at having found at least one thing he understood about this elf sitting next to him. Sitting, brushing aside the awareness that he was ruining his silk sleeping pants in the dewy grass, Elrond nodded.
"Melancholy, it is called. 'Tis something that afflicts the eldest among our kind, those who have seen...too much."
Pursing a lip, he gazed up at the stars. Usually he found it difficult to speak to most who asked about his past. His life had been...unusual. As mixed as the blood in his veins. Here in the dark, with only the stars to light them, he felt easy in speaking.
"That is Eärendil. My father. The same boy you knew as Idril's son in Gondolin." Shake of his head that sent the dark hair tumbling around his shoulders. "Hard to imagine it so, but it was he and my mother who finally gained the attention of the Valar. Who pleaded for their intervention in Enndore."
Dark blue eyes met pale blue. "I had them such a short time before we too were engulfed in the madness of the Silmarills. Elros, my twin, and I were taken from them. Separated." A wry smile curved his mouth, gaze distant as he remembered. "I often wonder if Maglor realized what he was getting into in taking us to care for." Shaking his head, Elrond sighed. "My parents sacrificed themselves for their people. True, he lives on..." His gaze tracked the brightest stars in the heaven almost wonderingly. "Elwing is said to be there to greet him when he sails his great ship in. I hope so. I would like to think that they are together for all time."
Drawing in a breath as if awakening, he met Glorfindel's gaze. "Elros is lost to me. We were given the choice, human or elf-kind." Elrond was silent a long moment, remembering what it was like to stand before the Valar and state his choice. How it felt when Elros announced his. "He chose the fate of Man."
There was compassion in the lighter blue gaze as Glorfindel listened intently.
"And he died." Elrond nodded slowly. "I know what it is to be all alone in the world, Glorfindel. To be a stranger in a land that was once home."
No answer, but then he hadn't really expected one, had he?
Releasing his breath in a sigh, Elrond turned as a hand fell lightly on his shoulder.
Glorfindel smiled, glowing in the darkness with the inner light all elves possessed, but so brightly it all but burst from his eyes and radiated from his form. "Mellonamin."
An answering smile curved his lips as he nodded, reaching up to take the other's arm in a warrior's grip, holding the other's forearm. "Mellonamin," he agreed as the blonde elf quickly imitated his grip.
Letting his hand fall, Glorfindel again turned his gaze to the stars. Once again peaceful. Lifting his hand to watch with intense curiosity as an ant crawled across his hand.
Elrond shook his head and drew in a deep breath. He didn't know what it meant, this connection he felt to this elf. There was a sense of camaraderie he usually only felt with the oldest of friends. Yet it was hard not to like the other. There was an uncluttered lightness of being in him that was refreshing.
Which made the moment of his sudden pain so mysterious.
Was this the mingling of the old with the new, a reflection of a reborn soul?
Elrond had seen much in his life, though he was far from ancient. His healing abilities gave him insight into the most tortured of souls…and yet this one was a enigma. An endless depth that might never be delved.
Yet time was moving fast. Gil-galad would not wait forever, nor let his Herald waste his time where others would suffice.
With a sigh, Elrond lay back, letting the dew soak into his tunic and hair, smiling. Content for the time.
Tonight, he would live in this now. This moment. Let tomorrow bring its sorrows and burdens. It could not steal the contentment he had found.
~*~*~
"Nay," Gil-galad sighed in frustration as he watched the blonde elf examining an arrow. "I have not time to spare to wait while he adjusts."
Elrond frowned slightly. "He learns quickly, milord. It is almost a matter of showing him and the memory sparks."
"Yet he still has not spoken." At his companion's slow head shake the older elf made a decision. "I cannot spare you any longer, Elrond. Something is stirring those who have settled in Eregion. I do not know if it is their close association with the Dwarves or some other mischief." Gil-galad stood, frowning lightly. "I suspect, as you do, it is the old evil. The deceiver." He gestured towards Glorfindel. "Hand him off to someone else. I need your insights and instincts and will not have my Herald wandering around teaching a grown elf the simplest things."
Seeing Elrond open his mouth to protest, Gil-galad raised a hand. "Nay, my mind is made up. I know I bid you to help him and you have tried, but he is a lock that perhaps another key is meant to open. I have not time nor patience to wait for the discovery. We leave for Eregion in the morning to go talk to Celebrimbor and meet with this Dwarf King." A wry smile curved the Noldor's lips. "I have a feeling I will need your wise insights to keep me from insulting the burrowers."
Elrond's brow drew together, but he nodded. "You leave the choice to me then?"
"Of course." Gil-galad's smile was tinged with dry sarcasm. "Did you think I would leave him to Círdan's tender mercies?"
"He did come from the sea." A small smile twitched the younger elf's mouth.
"My foster father is many things, Elrond." Gil-galad squeezed his shoulder. "His patience is for wood, wind, and water. Come to me when you are done here. I have several documents I need to go over with you."
"Yes, milord." Elrond drew in a deep breath as he watched Gil-Galad stride off, pausing to see what it was Glorfindel was doing, offering a smile for him, before continuing on.
Given a choice he would not give up on the blonde elf as yet, but Gil-galad's instincts were rarely wrong when it came to his kingdom and the well-being of his people. If something of the dwarves treating with his people was disturbing his peace, then there probably was more to it than first appeared.
Gil-galad was not uncaring, but he had many priorities to balance, and he knew well that his herald was more inclined to follow a healer's instincts when it came to a mystery like Glorfindel.
The other elf truly was not wounded in any way that showed, but Elrond's instincts bade him find another with healing talents. Yes, Glorfindel seemed as innocent as a babe, but there was a duality in him Elrond sensed needed compassionate handling to balance in this present life.
He stood and walked over to find the blonde staring at a black-fletched arrow in his hand.
Glorfindel looked up as Elrond crouched before him, a clear question in his eyes as he held out the arrow.
"Hmm." Elrond shook his head. "I do not know how it came to reside here. Most likely it was retrieved after an encounter." He saw an expression of clear distaste settle on the other's face and stood as Glorfindel rose to his feet.
"Yrch," the blonde said with a grimace and snapped the black arrow, tossing it in a pile of things to be burned.
"You do pick interesting words when you choose to speak." With a small smile Elrond gestured. "I have a message to write, Glorfindel. Do you wish to stay here in the stables?"
Stepping beside him the other elf gave no indication he understood, but looked as though he was waiting for Elrond to indicate where they were going.
"I'll take that as a no then." Making a mental note to see if there were any chronicles or letters in the archives about Gondolin that might give him a clue as to what sort of temperament Glorfindel had previously, Elrond headed for his study, the silent blonde elf at his side.
~*~*~
TBC