Story Title: The Trials and Misfortunes of Lord Glorfindel
Story Author: GAMercy
Story Overview: Another story in which Glorfindel of Gondolin is prominently featured, as well as many other well-known inhabitants of Imladris and several slippery Istar.
Rating: Hardly a PG-13, I would think, but I shall leave it at R just to be safe and cover all of my bases.
Pairings: Elrond/Glorfindel and no other side pairings that have yet cropped up.
Warnings: Obviously AU in nature, owing to the fact that it is not at all likely that the following events, as recorded by myself, occurred in the same way in Tolkien's conceived version of Middle-Earth, but one never knows. And material containing mentioning of homosexuality, and so on and so forth.
Summary: The story of a recently reborn Glorfindel's return to Middle-Earth, and more importantly, the valley of Imladris, is plagued by misfortunes of the magical kind upon his meeting of a particularly odious wizard looking for a little mischief. Hopefully the joke grows old soon, having only just been re-embodied, Glorfindel really would like that body back.
Disclaimer: I am not under the impression that I own the rights to any of Tolkien's characters or settings, though I might secretly envy the literary genius of his works and long to take it for my own. It is not mine. This story is purely out of the depths of my own imagination and is not intended as an infringement of copyright and no profit is being made from it. The Lord of the Rings and all other Tolkien works are the soul property of the Tolkien Estate.
A/N: More apologies for getting this chapter in even later than the last. I'm waist deep in school and family issues and having to transfer this story from my downstairs computer to my older and rather incompatible upstairs computer. I would have posted Chapter Four sooner, but I began with typing up Chapter Three on this machine, only to discover, to my dismay, that I had already posted that one.
Glorfindel woke slowly to sunlight streaming through the window of the room he had been given. He simply lay quite still for a while, listening to the things that were going on around him and the rest of the world that was also waking. He could hear, drifting in through the walls of the house from the great outdoors, one of Tom's songs, his voice rich, hearty and jovial as he happily belted out his odd tune; he was not much of a singer, Glorfindel thought, but his enthusiasm had to count for something, he supposed. And, as if in answer to Tom's song, from inside of the house came another voice, an alto – high, sweet and true; the Lady Goldberry. Glorfindel listened appreciatively to the softly lilting melody and wondered to himself if even Luthien the fair had sung so sweetly in her day. As he listened, he also discerned a dull thumping sound that, though faint, he could tell was coming from somewhere close by him and made a most unusual accompaniment to Goldberry's tune.
He twisted his head left and right as far as it would go in an effort to find the source of that sound. It took him several moments to realize that what he was hearing was coming from him – he was wagging his tail! Dogs do wag their tails when they're happy, he remembered, still finding the novelty startling. Glorfindel of Gondolin's voyage of discovery as a dog, he mentally groaned at the thought of how much there would be to get used to now that he was no longer a biped. Hopefully he could find a way to improve his situation very soon.
Though the newly improved hearing was interesting he thought. He had always heard that dogs had keener senses even than elves, but he had never quite believed it. Now he knew that it was true from first hand experience.
The door of the house opened and closed and there came from the foyer the clomp of great large boots on the floor. Tom called out, "Guests had best not be late to rise, lest the only breakfast they desire is the grass of the forest, for Tom is hungry enough for two."
Glorfindel realized that this was intended specifically for his ears – whose abilities Tom must have some knowledge of – himself being the only guest in the house, and he laughed as he rose and stretched his muscles before padding softly through the hall into the kitchen. He became aware then, having been so preoccupied with the difference in sounds of the world around him, that his sense of smell was also much improved with his new body. Despite himself, Glorfindel was almost beginning to get excited at the abilities he now possessed, even if they did mean living as a dog.
Tom, he thought with a casual sniff, smelled of rich earth and fresh, pungent green pine needles, while Goldberry's delicate scent was of water lilies and wild heather bushes. Very fitting smells for them, he decided – though he was not quite sure how a smell could quite describe a person, as his dog brain seemed to be insisting it could, but the best he could figure those aromas seemed suited to their personalities. Then he caught a whiff of breakfast and could not concentrate on anything more than his meal until he had quite taken his fill of the good fare provided him by his hosts. When he and Tom began making ready to go, Goldberry was kind enough to take some of the meat, bread, and some ripe yellow cheese and tie it up in a plain linen square that she gave to Glorfindel to carry in his mouth.
She gave him a congenial pat on the head. "There is food for your journey for when you have need of it, good Glorfindel," she told him. "Get you quickly to the Men's village of Bree and then go you by that great road. May the Valar guide you safely to the House of Elrond."
He would have thanked her if he could, as it was, he settled for wagging his tail once again to express his gratitude; he thought she understood him. As they set off on their way, Goldberry stood waving to them and as the sun hit her slender figure, still garbed in green, she had looked like a living flower among the trees, tilting her head up for the touch of its gentle rays; urethral and beautiful. Though he would never again look upon her beauty in the lands of Tom Bombadill, the image of her at that moment was planted firmly in his mind and if ever he thought her name, it was how he would see her for the rest of his long life.
The day was a fine one as Tom Bombadill led him merrily through his forests on paths reliable and true; Glorfindel were told that the trees of the forest could be tricky and change the paths at times, so he was grateful to have the Master himself as his guide. They were followed from the beginning by a plump old pony, who lumbered after them stoically as they set off without wasting a moment's thought on whether his presence was actually desired or not. Tom never even appeared to think of riding the pony, but let him follow them where they went, and Glorfindel and the beast regarded each other suspiciously for a while. Glorfindel got up the nerve to circle the animal curiously, darting back and forth before and beside him, and even going so far as to drop his precious food handkerchief for a moment's time to bark at him in challenge before picking it up once more when that challenge was studiously ignored; afterwards he had wondered why he had done such a thing – why feel threatened by an insignificant beast of burden? – but he had been forced to let the matter go when he could not arrive at an explanation. The pony had only snorted at him and swished his brushy tail.
Tom smiled to himself in amusement at their antics. "That's old Fatty Lumpkin," he told Glorfindel. "Not much ever bothers him and I rarely ride him myself. He mostly comes and goes as he pleases and knows the ups and downs of this forest almost as well as Old Tom does."
Glorfindel was content to leave the pony alone after that. He trotted about here and there sniffing and making his small discoveries about the area and his new body, which he thought must have come with an alternate personality for him that made him do decidedly odd and certainly doggish things; things that he would not have done himself without some sort of prompting. After awhile he went only at Tom's side, and as the day lengthened and the sun rode high overhead, Tom began to speak about the wrights that lived down in the barrows with piles of gold and treasure heaped within their hills with them.
It made a chilling story, and the longer Glorfindel listened, the more aware he became of his surroundings – beginning to notice the aforementioned hills as they descended into small valleys. There was an uneasy mist – dank, dismal and all encompassing – that hung about the air that was highly unnerving. Though they were out of the canopy shade of the trees, the sun seemed to have been banished from the land; in fact, it was so dismally dark that Glorfindel could not tell what time of day it actually was, though he thought that it must have been at least after the noon hour because the sun had still been swinging at its highest point in the sky when they had started their descent. He noted unusual black standing stones as well that made rather foreboding landmarks.
While his skin began to crawl and he began to slink along close to the ground more than simply walk at a fair trot as he had been for fear that something might notice him, Tom seemed completely unaffected by his surroundings – fearless even, if Glorfindel dared to think it. He even began to whistle a jaunty little tune and then to sing again, and to Glorfindel's mind – though it was strange as most things he noticed about Tom – the mist seemed to be lifted and the sun began to show through the sky again; it was as if Tom were banishing the gloom even as the gloom had previously banished the sunlight. Soon Glorfindel himself had completely forgotten about the old wrights that could be lurking about. When they had passed by the barrows and were on high ground once again, with the dipping, foggy barrows to their backs, Tom continued to speak of this and that and Glorfindel was again content with his company and that of Fatty Lumpkin until they came at last to the end of the forest. Tom brought him out at the road, within sight of the walls of the village of Bree.
"There is your road and this is where Tom leaves you now, Lord of an old age. Walk east this way by the road that runs into the distance until you find your valley, and find it you will long before it reaches its end," he directed Glorfindel cheerfully enough. "I won't ever go beyond the borders of my forest, but remember the name of Bombadill in case you should ever be in need if you pass this way again; I will hear you and come. Goodbye now, friend."
And without another word he was off, dancing back into the trees while Fatty Lumpkin turned and lumbered along after him without so much as batting an eyelash at the eccentrics of his master. Glorfindel thought that he might at least have wished him a little luck along the way before taking off, but Tom Bombadill was probably not the sort to believe in chance or luck, he decided; he would not have wasted the time thinking of things so massive over which he had no control. He barked after them for awhile, calling his own goodbyes in the only way that he could, then he was left alone to face the road, and looking at it, steeled his nerve and marched down to it with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstance; he had a definite purpose. Though the miles lay long between him and his destination, he was now started on his way to Imladris.
He could not have realized, as he began his eastward journey along the great road and left the village of Bree far behind him, that at a table in a small local inn, known to the Breelanders as The Prancing Pony and kept by a kindly but forgetful man named Bartholomew Butterbur, sat a wizened old man with bushy eyebrows that stuck out far from the brim of his pointy had who was known as Gandalf the grey to the local inhabitants. Nor could he possibly have guessed that a mere forty miles away from him and traveling with every intention of aiding him in whatever way they could, was a second blue wizard and an un-embodied spirit making there way through the wilds of the South Downs to strake at the Andrath Greenway and thus come after Gandalf. He thought he was on his own.
Elrond Perhedel and his family had been more than joyous at the opportunity to welcome the once warrior of Gondolin, Glorfindel, into their home. The Lord of Imladris had greeted the famed balrog-slayer with the whole of his family and household staff attending him, and he had to admit that the warrior was quite impressive to behold; Pallando might have been a little peeved, however to find that the lord was not at all cowed or humbled in his presence nor thought of him as his better – as he might have if he had been a lesser man unsure in his position. Elrond was certainly polite, though without being differential, and treated Glorfindel as an equal, of all things, in those skills both physical and mental, rather than a superior. He had assigned Glorfindel a luxurious room to make his own for as long as he desired, with the comfort of a personal bath even, and the blond elf had calmly accepted his offer. He also meant to find a place for him in the inner workings of the household, but for the moment, Glorfindel had no specific job and little to do.
The twins were equally impressed with Glorfindel, but more so his illustrious name than anything specific about the warrior's appearance. Celebrian was as cordial to him as she was to any other, and Erestor was indifferent as usual. It was Elladan and Elrohir who hero-worshiped him, along with many of the younger elves of the valley, for the tales of his heroic feats for the first week. Yet after a short while they began to grow less enamored of him and came to their father in joint concern.
"I am not so sure that I actually like him, Father," Elrohir told him perspicuously one afternoon, when Elrond and his sons sat together in his study, pursing his lips thoughtfully as he gave voice to his feelings. "I imagine that I rather elevated his person for that legend attached to his name, but as a person I do not find him to be very – congenial."
"Elrohir means that he doesn't like his attitude," Elladan said with a distinct grimace of distaste. "He's very arrogant and generally not pleasant. Really, I am beginning to wonder why it is that everyone makes such a big deal over him for having died before – it is, afterall, the natural right of the Elda to be reborn after the death of the body. They might think more of him as a warrior for having slain a balrog and yet lived, rather than dying and coming back to tell the tale."
"You must be careful, my sons, how you speak to our guest. Glorfindel is about to become a part of our lives and it would not do to insult him," Elrond warned them sternly with an eye to Elladan, whom he thought likely to instigate the most of any trouble that might occur, though he thought that he could see what it was they were saying.
"His actions upon that mountain were courageously noble and self-sacrificing – giving his life so that others might live – and that is why he is so lauded as a hero, never mind his social graces. Many were the grateful ones who owed their continued existence to him, and our family owes him a debt as well." Elrond thought that Elladan might have muttered an "And I'm certain he plans on collecting," but he could not be certain.
"Yes, we do know that, Father," Elrohir assured him quickly, speaking to pacify and reassure him. "Neither Elladan nor I would say anything to him with the intent to offend or impugn his honor and thus reflect badly upon your house."
"Elrohir is still disappointed, as I am," Elladan said.
Elrohir sighed. "It is simply that, from the great deeds that are attributed to him, I imagined him to be so noble, and now I find that he really seems more devious and shifty. And I do try to think well of him, but it does become harder with every passing day."
"Did you know that he actually kicked Erestor's cat, Advadedin, the other day? The animal actually went away with a limp! I'm sure he didn't know that I was watching, and I know that Advadedin is a miserable old thing and a terrible nuisance, but was that really necessary?" Elladan asked in outrage. That he should take the part of Advadedin was unusual, for Elladan was forever complaining of finding the cat skulking about where he was always in the way, and rarely was the son of Elrond and advocate of the animal – yet it was understandable given the circumstances; Elladan hated more than anything seeing something weak and defenseless fall prey to the bullying and cruelty of others.
"Hardly behavior one expects from a noble warrior," Elrohir echoed his twin's disgust.
Elrond shook his head. "Do not think that we might not yet be mistaken about Glorfindel," he said. "He has been for some time with Mithrandir the wizard, who is an excellent judge of character if ever I have known one and not one to put up with the presence of an individual to whom he does not look kindly. I have also heard many good things about him from those who have met him returned to life; even your grandmother admitted a grudging respect, and if that is not difficult to gain I do not know what is – though you should not mention to your mother that I said that, of course."
Elrohir covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smile and Elrond frowned at him, though with amusement and teasing in his glance rather than any severity.
"Perhaps Glorfindel is still merely fatigued from his excessive journeying and searching for a place for himself in this house. It must be highly stressful for him to be reborn and he has much to cope with here," he suggested diplomatically. "With time he might come to seem a different person to us, and we will get to know the real warrior once he is comfortably settled down."
"Yes, Father," his sons agreed, though not with any true optimism. They feared that they were already seeing the true Glorfindel, and they were not as impressed with what they had seen as they had been with what they had heard. Glorfindel would have to work very hard to redeem himself in their eyes.
Notes:
1). Again, Glorfindel's stay in the House of Tom Bombadill mirrors the visit of Frodo and friends in Lord of the Rings. I simply could not imagine any better way of doing it, for Tom and Goldberry cannot be changed for anything.
2). Let us assume that The Prancing Pony has been established at this tentative point (for I cannot recall the founding date of the city of Bree nor quite decide how it corresponds to the timeline of this story), and perhaps Bartholomew Butterbur – an assumption can also be made that he is a past relation of Barliman Butterbur – was even the original founder of the pub.
Thanks to...1). Jaimi: Thanks for the information! D Now I know who to go to if ever I have any further questions about horses. And as far as Glorfindel biting his doppelganger goes...I must confess that I myself would not mind seeing him take a good chunk out of Pallando. I think he just might deserve it before all this is over. ;) Thank you for your review.
GAMercy: Glorfindel will be well on his way to Imladris by the next chapter, I think.
Glorfindel: Well, at least we're getting closer. I still think this should have been posted sooner.
GAMercy: Yes, yes, I'm working on it you slave driver muse.
Glorfindel: I for one, want to know what happens.
GAMercy: I do too.
Glorfindel: ...Surely you are joking...
GAMercy: You had better hope so, hadn't you?
Glorfindel: Start writing, Mercy. Now.
GAMercy: Review please? I would appreciate seeing some feedback. ...If I ever get a chance to look at it with Glorfindel on my case. ;)