Chapter 2: Glorfindel
Same as before, I don't own Glorfindel, Elladan, or Elrohir, and why would I want to own such a bunch of head cases?
Glorfindel moaned and tried to block out both the sound of the alarm bell and the pain of his headache with his pillow.
'Ohh, I shouldn't have drunk so much wine last night. I'm never going to drink again,' the poor, hung-over elf lord thought to himself, 'those perehedil brats are going to get it for making me drink so much... now what are they doing? The second day I'm here and they've already found some way to torment me... little freak show brats.'
An insanely loud voice laughed next to his head, making him cringe in pain, "Lord Glorfindel, did you know that you talk in your sleep? You keep muttering something about drinking too much and killing lord's Elladan and Elrohir."
Glofindel's heart stopped and his breath left him in a gasp.
He cautiously moved the pillow away from his eyes and, after recovering from the blinding light, saw the infuriating young human, Ereg, standing over his cot grinning impishly.
"Ereg, have you nothing better to do than torment an old elf? Be gone with you, child," Glorfindel smiled and rolled over.
He wasn't that lucky, for the human had brought the elf's bane with him: a bucket of ice cold water.
"ARRRRRGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! Arathorn, I am going to KILL you, son of Arador or no, you are a dead man!"
Ereg, now revealed as Arathorn, giggled and bounced out of the room.
Though the man was 54, an ancient in the years of lesser men, he was still considered the equivalent of a teenager in the eyes of Numenorean's, and a mere child in the eyes of the Elves, and he re-enforced that view by acting like a child as oft as possible for a ranger and heir of the Dunedain.
Glorfindel dragged his sorry, aching, wet carcass out of his sopping cot and stretched catlike. The child had woken him up, but what for? He didn't need to be awake yet for at least two more hours... ah yes, the alarm bell. What now, he wondered, did the twins get themselves into?
It didn't take long for the golden lord of Gondolin to find that out – the outpost was nearly deserted except for the skeleton crew of guardsmen and elves posted on the stone walls.
Glorfindel sighed, these little out posts were made of the same type of rock and in the same design as Imladris, which eerily reminded him far too much of fallen Gondolin.
Glorfindel sighed, the differences were in that Imladris was built low and sprawled across the hillsides of the Misty mountain chain while Gondolin was tall, lofty, and spiraled up towards the heavens.
Looking up, the beautiful elf could almost see the tall pillars rising so high that clouds clustered around the peaks and hid the bright banners that flew from the steeples.
It was almost amusing how so many people, even learned elves, believed that he was the same person as the Glorfindel who had vanquished a balrog in the fall of the hidden realm. Of course, they had all been taught that Glorfindel Valaruconacil had died in Gondolin when the ledge he had stood on gave out under him and the falling elf-bane had caught one of his golden braids and pulled him into the fires as well, yet they seemed to think that he had been sent back to live once more on Arda.
Glorfindel found that highly amusing – Valaruconacil had been his uncle, and indeed he did strongly resemble his fallen kinsman, but he certainly wasn't his legendary uncle.
Less amusing to the elf lord was when he was compared to his uncle, or when one of those ignorant folk said 'how on Arda did you defeat a balrog?!?!'
It hurt, and the only way he knew to fix that was with a stiff drink and a pretty elleth under him, but as there were few maidens in Imladris who weren't either to modest to be his mistress or already be-spelled by the young Elladan, he had only hard liquor to mend his hurts and send him into an unfeeling stupor.
Sadly, Elrond wasn't here to provide the hurting Glorfindel with his wonderful medicine that makes self-inflicted headaches disappear.
Now Glorfindel stumbled on his way towards the fire hall, a smaller version of the Hall of Fire in Imladris, where he was told he might find one of the twins.
As he slugged his way into the warm room, passing by the ornately carved and well polished doors, he saw no indication that either perehedil still remained in the building.
Which suited him just fine, there would be time for him to sleep a little longer before he had to brief the two on the latest happenings in their fathers' realm and the lands surrounding.
Taking a seat on an extremely comfy armchair and resting his booted feet on a polished table in front of him, Glorfindel let himself drift off into a dream.
A young elleth was standing infront of him, smiling at him as the wind gently played with her long, wavy red hair. Her long dress, an amazingly pale green with purple snowflakes embroidered in random spatters, drifted and billowed in the breeze.
She sang a song lightly, but he couldn't hear her words. She stretched a fine hand out to him and he reached vainly to catch it in his.
A look of terror crossed her face when he tried to reach out to her and he looked down at his hand... it was a talon! He quickly blinked and looked again, holding out his other hand to compare, and watched in horror as two clawed hands stretched out before him and began to turn red and smolder. Glofindel cried out in pain as the claws exploded in flame and the fire raced up his arms and covered his entire body.
He cried out in pain and terror, only to discover that his cries were horrible growls, snarls, and sounds he had only heard once before – the crackling flames and bubbly breathing of the Balrogs that had destroyed his home, killed his family, and brought ruin to the most beautiful and last of the hidden elf realms.
Through his pain Glorfindel could see the maiden, she was terrified, and he turned to comfort her but came face to face with someone that he had once loved fiercely but held in terror too... his uncle. Glorfindel tried to tell his uncle it was him that it was his nephew, but only snarls and flame came out his mouth.
His uncle, with eyes as fiery as Glorfindel's body, raised a great sword and attacked. Glorfindel tried to stop him, tried not to hurt him, but after the great elf lord had scored many vicious blows, something snapped in his mind and he no longer held back, fiercely attacking his own uncle and driving him further and further out onto the ledge.
It was just as he raised his sword to bring it down on his uncle's head; Glorfindel Valaruconacil brought up a hidden dagger and thrust it into Glorfindel's throat.
Glorfindel gasped and reached for his neck, he trash about trying desperately to remove the blade, but only felt himself loose his footing and totter off the edge.
As he fell he reached up to his uncle thinking that maybe he could keep his doomed uncle from falling, but only broke the ledge the elder Glorfindel stood on and they fell down, down towards the burning city...
"Milord? Milord Glorfindel, are you alright?"
The question broke him the sweating elf out of his dream.
He looked around with wild eyes, and saw a worried young elleth kneeling next to his chair with wide eyes.
He stilled himself and took an analysis of his surroundings.
He was still in the fire hall on the comfy chair next to the fireplace, but his hands were wrapped around his throat like he was choking.
He tried to brush his wrinkled robes straight and look dignified while righting the footstool he had knocked over in his thrashings.
The young maiden still kneeled next to him, concern written across her pretty face and welled up in her deep blue eyes.
Glorfindel smiled calmingly at the girl... he needed a drink and here was a pretty maiden, coincidence? Perish forbid!
Elladan and Elrohir returned combat with few injuries and no losses of life on the non-orc side of the battle. It had been a mere band of forty or so, and most were already slain by the arrows of Manveru by the time they got there.
They looked around for Glorfindel but he was neither in the fire hall nor his rooms... but one of the guardsmen reported that he had seen the golden haired lord and a maid sneaking off to the servants' barracks.
They decided to let him have the rest of the day off and held a celebration in the fire hall which included lots of alcohol and several elleths and women servants joining the soldiers and guardsmen in their bedrooms or sneakily in the guard towers.
Hmm.. are there any elf lords around here that aren't compelete head cases? Lets hope not, they're just so much more fun this way!