Disclaimer: I want to own Glorfindel... Can I? Please?
A/N: Sorry for the incredibly long delay, but the muses have been quarrelling and Secondary School Life Sucks (SSLS). To answer soul's question, yes, I am Singaporean, born and bred, but am hoping to drop into Middle-Earth anytime soon to bug Glorfindel for the rest of his pretty, pretty life. *grin* For this chapter, intense knowledge of the Silmarillion and Gondolin is required, so for those who don't know much about the Hidden Rock: Canonically, there was only one mortal to enter: Guess who? Tuor. He was under the instruction of the Lord of the Waters, a powerful vala named Ulmo, to convey a message to Turgon, who, guess again, didn't listen much (you can see references to this in the chapter "Turgon's Halls"). Turgon himself was also influenced by Ulmo to come to Gondolin and found it (how else would he have found a bloody rock in the middle of nowhere? =)). Therefore, from all of Ulmo's interest in Gondolin, I've assumed that Glorfindel would also have been under his instruction, especially when coming back to Middle-Earth (at least, this is my belief). If he was truly sent back to protect and look over Elrond's line, it's clearly understandable why Ulmo would want to interfere: Turgon> Ulmo> Gondolin> Safehaven for Tuor and Idril> Earendil born, father of Elrond> Glorfindel falls with Gondolin> Goes to Mandos' halls> Is released to be used as the herald/vassal for Ulmo> Returns to Middle Earth in Early Third Age/ Late, late Second Age> Goes to Imladris> Helps Elrond, which brings it to a full circle. Correct me if I'm wrong, because I don't have my Peoples of Middle Earth and Silmarillion with me right now, so all of this is out of memory.
*
Darkness crept into the depths of her mind, and nothing was everything for the longest time. There was naught but oblivion, sweet oblivion, no sight nor life nor emotion in the very echoes of Never, but for the sound of the waves. The salty essence of the sea, permeating her every sense, and the crashing, the eternal crashing of the sea. Confliction, confusion, nothingness, just the breaking of the waters, forever crashing...
*
Glorfindel slowed his sharpening when he felt some other-worldly presence, regal and demanding, fill the room, one that he usually only felt around... him. The elf's arm froze, and he titled his head upward to glance at Ren, who had followed him to the armoury. Glorfindel's entire frame tensed.
'Laurëloth; laurë-ohtar, im amrath na le amrath, Eru erdë henia.' [lit. Golden flower, golden warrior, my doom is your doom, Eru alone knows.]
Glorfindel's brow furrowed slightly.
'Sirithbrethil? Sirithbrethil! Ren...?'
The human just stared at the silver blade, clearly enamoured. Deep inside, though, something was wrong, the elf could feel it. There was something amiss in those dark, over-glazen deep brown pits with endless depth that bore into nothingness. A silver brilliance suddenly flickered for a moment, flaring alive then falling, dead into remembrance and ashes.
This was not Ren; this was not Sirithbrethil. The human was gone, her eyes were dead, only reflecting the malicious glint of the silver and white. Glorfindel instinctively gripped the blade harder, before common sense, or maybe some other voice in his head, told him to put it down. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. The tip of the blade had just barely scraped the stone floor, its metallic voice scratching the ground slightly, when a hand moved out to grasp the hilt over Glorfindel's own. Ren's hand. The elf-blade flared in a significant pulse of transparent white and palest blue. Glorfindel shuddered.
'Sirithbrethil...'
Her head lifted, hollow orbs of suddenly nearly blackest night screaming silence and the essence of death as only the slightest ream of white wove subtly around the glinting iris'. An eruption inside his head, screaming at him. The eyes were not hers.
You know these eyes: They haunt you.
A blue flare sparked within those depths, and the pupils dilated before all abruptly shrank back to normality, and the usual brown eyes were coloured the deepest of blues. Ulmo. Glorfindel felt his entire being contract into the moment, and the blade clattered, useless, against the floor. Ren's body fell, limp, to the floor as Ulmo came into being in his form, abandoning his previous body, namely Ren's. Glorfindel slowly got to his knees and bowed before Ulmo, the royal presence of the Lord of All Oceans filling his being like it had so many years, decades, centuries before.
'Heru-nin.' [lit. Lord-my, fig. My lord.]
Ulmo smiled a self-satisfied smile to himself as he bid Glorfindel to rise. His sharp eyes roved over the elf, taking everything in. The same old Glorfindel, as regal and powerful as ever, the straight back and good build, the same golden locks and deep eyes, now wiser and brighter than before, encompassing all knowledge that he had gained through the halls of Mandos. The same elf that he commanded to return, the same elf with the same duty. Ulmo knew he had made a good choice.
'Glorfindel.'
The elf in question inclined his head slightly.
'You have done well so far, I've heard.'
'The rivers and rivulets, streams and the Bruinen. All lead back to you, lord. I hope I have done what I was sent out to do, to as far an extent as possible.'
Ulmo's smile widened slightly.
'Always so formal, Glorfindel. You need not worry, your efforts have been well. Elrond's house is in good hands, just as I would have thought long ago. This,' Ulmo made a movement in Ren's direction, 'however, was an... unexpected occurrence. You look down upon her, Glorfindel.'
Glorfindel let his glance linger for a moment on Ren.
'There is nothing else I can do regarding her, lord. I can see her as naught more.'
Ulmo sighed.
'She knows many things, she and two of her other friends, Glorfindel, so many things. Yet her knowledge may yet be false, for now that she is here, everything might change, or nothing at all. None of us know. Ren, or Sirithbrethil as you call her, knows... slightly more than her fellow compatriots, but the three of them are one no less dangerous than the next.'
Glorfindel murmured quietly as he looked at the dark haired child, not really able to comprehend what Ulmo wanted him to do.
'Which three, lord?'
'The three who carry the Jewels. They are essential, Glorfindel, for as much as my foresight can see. They know more of this Age than they do the last, which alone is much in itself. Do not let her stray, Glorfindel, there is evil everywhere, and not all has been well in Aman either.'
Glorfindel's head immediately snapped to meet Ulmo's eyes. How could anything be amiss in Aman, last haven of the elves?
'How...?'
'None of us know, Glorfindel, but the Oath has been... reawakened.'
'Not... the Oath. The Curse of Mandos, walking anew...? Meaning, lord, that...'
'The Eight tread these lands once more, Glorfindel.'
Glorfindel let his eyes rest on the Jewel next to Ren.
'Then none of us is safe, she especially, if all is to be seen as you say.'
Ulmo looked at Glorfindel. Glorfindel at once felt the weight of duty, once so easily carried through the endless years, decend heavily upon his back as his purpose returned to him again. Ulmo shook his head in sorrow.
'I depend on you once again, Laurë-fin (Golden Hair).'