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 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 work 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: No matter how many times I read this over, it still sounds horribly harsh and choppy. Apologies on this account. I have to proceed, however, and hope that my efforts to detail the events of the chapter have succeeded with at least minimal success.
"Father! Father!"
In the midst of signing a very important budget report there arose a shout from the hall and the sound of quickened footsteps, which so startled Elrond that his hand jerked and the quill that he held snapped. Erestor, his chief advisor, who had been standing beside his desk, winced. Elrond merely sighed in resignation – being accustom to this sort of thing – and looked down at the messy splotch of ink that was bleeding through the otherwise pristine and elegantly scripted document paper, left behind by the quill's ink – which was taking, perhaps, a parting shot for being so roughly misused. He was just examining the broken feather nib rather ruefully when Elladan burst into his office.
Why did no son of his ever race through his house shouting, "Mother! Mother!", he wondered mournfully. Could Celebrian not stand to deal with some of the problems of adolescence as well? Elrond forcefully reminded himself that this was not entirely fair – Celebrian did deal with her share of problems, but they somehow always managed to seem less severe next to his own.
And of course it would have to be Elladan, he thought wryly. His son had made as much noise, and displayed about as much grace, as a pack of rampaging mumakil; he had always had a most difficult time in getting his firstborn to do anything quietly. He looked up to find that Elladan had finally arrived and stood panting in the middle of the room before Elrond's desk, after having bellowed all the way down the hall, with the study doors thrown wide open.
As Elladan struggled to regain his breath and stop his sides from heaving like a winded stallion, Erestor reached down with nimble fingers and plucked up the document set in front of Elrond, clicking his tongue at the sight of the blotch obscuring most of Elrond's signature.
"I'll just take this back to Master Istannolion and see if he would be so kind as to have his assistant draft you a new copy, my Lord. And perhaps I shall find you another quill as well," he said, whisking the document out of sight as he moved swiftly out of the room with his new purpose.
"Thank you, Erestor," Elrond called after his retreating back, grateful for the fact that the advisor had had the good sense to stop and close the doors behind him as he left. He rose and turned his attention back to his wayward son. "Now, Elladan, how many times must I remind you to act with a little decorum? Surely that is not too much to ask. You know that as my son there are certain expectations of you -"
"Not now, Father," Elladan interrupted in a breathless rush. "You must come and see what Elrohir and I have found."
Elrond sighed to himself. No doubt his son had heard all of his lectures enough times to have each and every one of them memorized and known by heart, but Elrond did wish that he could learn to take them to heart as well. His elder son's lack of social responsibility was a gravely troubling matter for him, as by law and custom he was Elrond's heir unless something untoward became of him. Elrond often thought that it might have been better if quiet, gentle Elrohir were allowed to succeed him instead.
He obliged Elladan, however, by gathering his robes of office about him and following after him with as much dignity as he could manage under the circumstances. Some of the servants in the hall were casting him sympathetic looks and it was all Elrond could do at times to hold his head up and maintain a steady gait.
He began to grow alarmed as he realized that his son was leading him on a direct path to one of the house wings that was set aside for the use of the healers. When they arrived at their destination, one of the rooms that was set up with a small cot for patients, but was generally kept for the storing of herbs once dried and bottled, Elrond was relieved to see that there did not appear to be a grave matter for his attention. Elrohir was kneeling on the floor, however, over the crumpled form of some unidentifiably dirty creature.
"A patient for you, Father," his younger son said softly as he looked up and their gaze met. "Elladan and I spotted him whilst on patrol down at the river. He was apparently attempting a crossing at one of the Bruinen's higher level areas and was very nearly drown, as you can probably see."
Elrond could see. The beast had obviously gotten a very through soaking, that was still not enough to rid him of any of the grime he carried on his fur, and his hair had begun to dry in spiky, matted patches. In their younger years, the twins had brought all manner of creatures back with them from the forest for Elrond's attention, and as a good and patient father, he had dutifully mended many a squirrel, fox or rabbit when it was demanded of him. It had been many years since they had done such a thing, their last rescue mission had been Advadedin, Erestor's foul tempered cat, which Elrond might have just as well put back into the wild like all the squirrels and rabbits after tending such a miserable patient and getting little but scratches and hissing for reward; Erestor, however, had saved the cat by taking an unusual liking to him, and Advadedin had taken to Erestor as well. There's no accounting for taste, Elrond had thought at the time and had let Erestor keep his pet so long as the animal came near him as little as possible.
Now he was dutifully bent over their latest find.
"I have never before seen anything quite like him," Elrohir admitted as Elrond moved closer. "I had taken him at first to be some sort overly hairy hunting hound, but the bone structure seems all wrong to me and there is far too much bulk to him to make him a speedy tracker. Perhaps his is misshapen?"
"Why, it is indeed a dog," Elrond murmured as he made his inspection, "but not a kind predominantly seen in these parts. It is not a hound fleet of foot meant for harrying foxes or elk, but rather a kind used in marsh lands and lake areas for retrieving water fowl. You see here," he pointed out to his sons, taking the rare opportunity to present them a lesson whilst they were so rapt, "they are very large boned, but the structure of the bone is mostly hollow on the inside so that they are buoyant, and their hair is slick with more oils so that the water slides off of their coats and does not weigh them down over much. I've heard the breed called retrievers, as they were designed to bring a kill back to their masters."
He checked the dog over looking for broken limbs, and as he touched him the animal stirred.
"Here is a hearty fellow," he said with a smile, "if he survived the crossing so easily. How curious, though, to see such a dog so far from his human settlement. We've no grounds which attract many fowl."
"Perhaps he was separated from a human master nearby," Elladan suggested. "If any inquire as to his whereabouts, we can have him back to them."
"A good idea," Elrond agreed. "He is in remarkably fine condition - I cannot find a thing wrong with him at all, save the fact that he's utterly filthy, being covered in dirt with burs clinging to his poor long hair. And if he were a domestic beast out alone in the wilds, no doubt he's half starved as well."
"He could have come a very long way," Elrohir commented, reaching out to scratch the animal on the head as the beast sat up and looked about at them. "He is very well tempered. Better than Elladan, even."
"Thank you brother mine," Elladan answered with a mock scowl, and Elrohir answered him with a soft smile.
"We shall get him all fixed up," Elrohir said decidedly.
"If you are disposed to take the time to," Elrond agreed, patting the dog as well. "You shall have to show him off when you have gotten him all cleaned up, but I dare say that Advadedin will not take a liking to him."
"Advadedin has never liked anyone but Erestor anyway," Elrohir replied with a laugh, ruffling the dog's neck fur affectionately, as the poor animal looked terribly disoriented and confused. "So don't you worry about that," he told the dog solemnly.
"I'm fairly sure that Glorfindel will not take a liking to him either," Elladan muttered darkly. "We had best keep the poor animal out of his way as well as Advadedin's, lest he also find himself on the receiving end of a swift kick."
Elrond shook his head, almost pitying Glorfindel. Elladan had an obstinate streak and could, at times, be rash, but he did not make enemies easily; when he did there was little that anyone could do to redeem themselves in his good graces, save only the people in the immediate family and close circle of friends. Glorfindel had obviously not ingratiated himself with his son, which was certainly a pity and might make for awkward situations, but Elladan would only ever act as he saw fit.
"Just you concentrate on your pet," he suggested sagely, "and worry about Glorfindel's reaction later."
The dog was watching them all intently, and his ears seemed to perk up at their latest conversation. Almost as if he understood what we are saying and is taking note, Elrond thought to himself with a soft chuckle of amusement. When Elrohir rose from his crouch and called to the animal, leading him away – presumably, to find him a bath – the dog turned his head back to look at Elrond until he was pulled from the room. There was certainly intelligence in the deep blue eyes, Elrond decided.
Glorfindel could hardly believe his good fortune. Not only had he somehow managed to survive the river and keep himself from drowning – he had thought that he surely would when he entered the rushing water and found it even faster than he had imagined and had been forced to give over all his strength to keep himself from being swept downstream by the raging current – but afterwards as he lay exhausted and – he thought – near doggy death, he had been found by two dark-haired strangers who were clearly elves. And they had carried him on horseback all the way back to their home some miles away even with their mounts. He did not even have to hazard a guess to know instinctively that he had come at last to Imladris.
When he had awoke again, after briefly loosing consciousness some short time before, there was a third dark-haired elf with his rescuers and they were bending over him in a plainly decorated room that smelled strongly of foxglove, sweet balm, scarlet monarda, asphodel and many other herbs of healing which Glorfindel did not take the time to identify. He was being checked over by gentle hands assessing his numerous scratches and bruises. He sighed in pleasure; those hands felt good on him, stroking and soothing.
They were talking about him, he realized slowly, discussing his type of dog, and telling him more about his new body than he himself had ever bothered to find out; all he had known prior was that it had four legs, a tail and was predisposed to chasing squirrels. They were concerned over his condition, he heard, and he caught the word "filthy" in their conversation.
He sat up and let out his breath in an indignant huff. They should try traveling through the wild lands for days on end without food, after a point, and scrounging what they sustenance they could. He'd discovered early on that he had no idea how to go about actually catching food as a dog – birds were impossible, fish hard to come by, rabbits too fast for him to catch, and he doubted anything but several pack wolves could bring down a deer. So he had hungered constantly, and could hardly remember when the last time he had actually eaten was. After a day or two he was covered head to furry feet in muck and scratches from brambles and forest undergrowth, and he imagined that he had picked up more than a few fleas along the way as well.
Good Tom Bombadill had showed him the eastern road, it was true, but Glorfindel had had grave misgivings about traveling it openly. There might be some value to a dog such as himself, he had thought, and he couldn't afford to be taken captive, even by some well meaning family of Men or halflings who wanted nothing more than to keep him as a pet; these elves were discussing just such a thing, he knew, but it would be fine to belong somewhere now that he was actually in Imladris. It was better for him to play it safe, and avoid being seen as much as possible. It was easier to turn off observers after several days of mud had accumulated, and thanks to some persistent rainstorms, no one was particularly interested in a bedraggled mutt after his fur wasn't so sleek and shiny and desperately in need of a good brushing. Had he stubbornly stuck to the road, however, instead of only occasionally using it as a traveling guide, he might have realized that there was a Ford for the river where he might not have been nearly drowned.
When the elves discovered that he was awake and apparently faring fine, there was much petting and scratching which he appreciated; he even grudgingly forgave them for the filthy comment at all the new attention he was getting. If only he had some way of telling them who he was and all about his dilemma; he hadn't realized how lucky he was that Tom Bombadill and the Lady Goldberry had, by all appearances, understood him without question. But to his shock, as he listened in on their conversation, he heard his own name mentioned and began paying even more attention to them.
The two younger elves were identical copies of each other and they strongly favored the older elf in looks. Glorfindel began paying the elder one himself more attention. He wore burgundy robes of some office and a beaten silver circlet to signify a place of some importance. Elrond had been a twin – he recalled having heard – was it possible that the occurrence, however unusual, ran in his bloodline? Maybe this elf before him, the gentle, understanding healer, was the Lord of Imladris?
But before he could find out anything more than that Pallando was making himself rather unpopular with his stolen form – something about kicking someone named Advadedin – the two brothers were dragging him off – presumably – to find him a bath and – hopefully – get him something to eat. He turned and looked back at the other elf as he left, still wondering.
Notes:
1). I am the partial owner of an overweight Golden Retriever - Sir Winston Copperfield and more simply bellowed after by the name of 'Copper' - and I know very little about his breed. I do know that they are water dogs the same as Labs. The rest of Elrond's little lesson is subject to error. I tentatively believe it to be truth, but will stand corrected if someone can present me with some conflicting research.
2). mumakil- the elvish word for Oliphaunt, for those who do not already know. I once, like many fellow fandom authors, attempted to use Tolkien's elvish in my stories and found that - while undeniably beautiful - the language merely bogged down my own writing style, and it became a tedious nuisance to deal with. So I avoid utilizing those endearments 'meldir', 'mellon-nin', 'pen-neth', 'meleth' etc, like the plague, I felt safe with this word, however, it being written in The Lord of the Rings and mostly understood by book fans.
GAMercy: Another chapter out of the way.
Glorfindel: With a surprisingly short lapse of time between postings. How very peculiar.
GAMercy: Yes, I did manage that surprisingly well.
Glorfindel: This chapter still has to be simply riddled with errors for you to get it up so fast.
GAMercy: Thanks for the vote of confidence, muse!
Glorfindel: Always willing to oblige.
GAMercy: Hmph. No appreciation. Never any appreciation.
Glorfindel: Review please. Feed a starving author. Honestly, she's a college student, it's some of the only sustenance she gets.
GAMercy: Oh, please, how over dramatic.
Glorfindel: And it shows appreciation.
GAMercy: Now that I don't mind. Hint hint, Glorfindel.
Glorfindel: I'm sorry, did you say something, Mercy?
GAMercy: Oh, nevermind, it's hopeless.