Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Sorry about the delay... This is going to be a very filler-ish chapter, because I just cannot be bothered to do much right now.
*
Ecthelion was barely able to control the grin spreading over his features as he practically bounced into the living room that was shared by the ex-Elf Lords of Gondolin in Aman. It was a rather lazy afternoon, and it was agreed that on that one particular afternoon, the nine lords, excluding Salgant and Maeglin, both of which was most likely still stuck in Mandos, would gather and have a drink or two in there. The room was stuck in the centre of the Twelve Houses, so that the corridors spanned out in a crystal-like formation, with the living room as the centre. It was not exactly a room but rather a collection of rooms, with one main chamber in the centre. It was in the main chamber that they were gathered. It was an airy place, with many windows that let the sunlight filter in, creating a cheery atmosphere for most part of the year. The furniture in the room was spread somewhat haphazardly about, leaving a space occupied by a large table in the middle. Ecthelion charged in through one of the main doors and threw himself onto one of the many couches in the area.
Duilin of the House of the Swallow was slumped in his chair, idly twirling an arrow about his fingers for no reason whatsoever, looking dead bored with nothing to do. Next to him Egalmoth of the Heavenly Arch was dressed, as usual, in blue, sipping on a cool drink while looking with one eyebrow raised at the usually calm Ecthelion grinning like a deranged madman. Penlod of the Pillar and Tower of Snow was whistling to himself, while Galdor of the Tree was talking in soft tones with Rog of the House of the Hammer. Tuor was playing a game of cards with Turgon, but looked up when Ecthelion came in. The lord of the Fountains tried to slow his breathing as he gasped,
'He's coming! He's finally coming over to Aman'
Turgon shifted himself in his seat as he cocked his head quizzically at Ecthelion.
'Who's coming?'
Ecthelion looked incredulously at the previous king of Gondolin, then spoke slowly, as if stating the blatantly obvious.
'Glorfindel. Glorfindel is coming. You know, Glorfindel, my best friend...? Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, Glorfindel the Golden, the one with the golden hair?'
Duilin rolled his eyes and spoke to prevent Ecthelion from continuing his rant.
'I think we get the point, Ecthelion, wise and old one. Next time, you could just tell us who is coming before you start rattling off.'
Ecthelion glared at him, but shook his head in mirth nevertheless. Legolas Greenleaf, the original Legolas Greenleaf of Gondolin (it was far too easy to mix the two up in Aman), sighed in confusion.
'But how could Glor be coming over so quickly? I doubt Sauron could have been defeated this quickly, and he would most likely be coming over with the Peredhil, whom I am sure still has plenty of business to settle over there.'
Ecthelion frowned, his brow furrowing.
'I know... Something must have happened. Glor would not abandon Middle-Earth for nothing in times like these...'
The nine lordly figures were all started from their silent contemplation when a bright, yet somehow subtle figure slid into the room. Turgon exclaimed aloud as he saw who it was.
'Lórien!'
The Vala looked up simply at him, his silvery hair billowed behind him as a chill wind circled around him.
'They have risen. Come.'
The Gondolindrim followed without protest as Lorien the Dreamkeeper slid out of the door again.
*
The light was blinding, the feelings were burning and emotions seemed to form a concoction in the air so thick it was almost tangible. The silence, the unending silence was shattered by the sad trill of a faraway bird. Feanor winced. Maedhros winced. Maglor winced. Amrod winced. Amras winced. Celegorm winced. Curufin winced. Caranthir groaned. The eight elves looked at each other, eyes that had known nothing but darkness for the longest time suddenly taking in the new colour of the world around them.
'We're alive again, aren't we?'
An ominous shadow suddenly fell upon their hearts, and the Feanorians jumped up as they felt the presence of one of the valar near to them. Maedhros winced again, unused to his body which he had abandoned so long ago before warning his family.
'It is Namo. We had better run.'
They ran, now the masters of their old forms, walking upon ground they were never meant to see again.
*
Elrond shuddered, far away in Imladris. The eight were come again, there was a feeling in his blood that told him so.
Elros, Elros, brother of mine,
where are you when I need you the most?