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: It seems that my wonderful muse's constant nagging has somehow succeeded in keeping me mindful of the need to update this particular story. I think I am setting myself a new record for the most frequent updates of one story. I imagine that I might even finish this one.
"What could possibly have gone wrong?" Tithenon asked bitterly, his glow as gray and morbid as the very shadow of death. Alatar was recently returned from a village in which he had been making inquiries for any word of Gandalf the grey and, where as in most cases he had come back with at least some piece of news, now he had nothing to share with the elven spirit in regards to the location of their quarry.
From the beginning they had been fast on the heels of the grey wizard, they had never caught up with him, as everywhere they had gone he had already passed through, but neither had they fallen back farther than several days travel. Everywhere along the way when they made inquires they had been informed sympathetically that they had only just missed their objective, hearing again and again that he had "departed a mere forenight ago." Then they had always found signs of Gandalf's direction, but the days before the sign had began to grow few and far between, and now with no news at all, Tithennon feared that the trail had grown cold. All together too cold to follow, perhaps.
And Alatar was little help. With every passing day he had grown more reluctant to continue the chase, even for the sake of Glorfindel. Tithenon thought that they would never be any help at all if things were to continue the way that they had been lately, what with the blue wizard loosing faith and longing for the eastern lands with every day more, and even Tithenon himself growing more discouraged.
"You must have misheard what was said, Alatar," he suggested, and Alatar shot him an aggrieved look for his lack of faith.
"I might send spells awry every now and again, elf," he shot back with his wounded expression, "but I know what a man means when he tells me to clear off and stop asking questions none of his bar customers would ever know the answer to. They were none of them forthcoming, even with the exchange audible to practically every ear in the room they ignored me save a few furtive glances, and none followed after me to give me the news for which I was asking in some dark alley out of sight of his fellows, which could very well signify that they do not know anything, but I have my doubts. I might have pressed the matter, but let me tell you, I was hardly unconscious of the fact that the man could very well have bodily toss me out of his door and done an impressive amount of damage on me in the process."
"You think they do know something despite what they say?" Tithenon pressed incredulously.
"I think that they're deliberately withholding information," Alatar responded huffily, still indignant over the elf's lack of faith in his abilities. "For whatever reason they're suspicious of us, and no amount of prying is going to convince them that we're all right."
"But what about Olorin?" Tithenon wanted to know. "Surely you do not think that they could have.... "
Alatar waved his hand. "No, no," he dismissed Tithenon's fears irritably. "Nothing like that. No doubt Olorin has felt the need to leave the immediate road for some reason. Struck out across country, I would guess."
"Then we must find him before he gets to far from us!"
Alatar threw up his hands. "We have gone after him, you foolish elf, we've followed him this far. But I cannot take us cross country without a very clearly marked trail to follow; I've only ever been down this road once as it is. Listen to me, Tithenon, I cannot be our guide here."
Tithenon grew thoughtfully silent and would have frowned if he'd a mouth with which to make facial expressions, as it was, he simply settled for turning his glow a soft, pensive blue. "We should get us to Mithlond, then, and either await his arrival or catch up to him there." When Alatar would have protested, he gave the wizard a reproachful green flicker. "This is for Glorfindel's sake, remember."
Still Alatar had muttered darkly for the next several days, but something happened then that they had not planned for. The duo met Gandalf the grey upon the road, under very unusual circumstances.
The world had grown suddenly dark in night. Or rather, Alatar and Tithenon had spent the day traveling persistently, sparing no thought to the hour. Alatar's feet were sore and his body weary, but he was so lost in the desire to simply be where he was going that he noticed none of it, including the time of day. Perhaps he had been unconsciously making up time.
It was so dark then that he could almost not see where to place his next step. So it was that when they acknowledged the late hour and spotted the glow of a modest campfire less than a quarter mile from the road they were traveling they both agreed to make for its warmth on such a cold autumn night – Alatar thought his fingers near frozen – and beg the company of its tender. They had not even spared a moment to consider that they had found Gandalf at long last, almost being weary beyond caring for their venture.
When at first they stumbled into the circle of light cast by the flickering flames, they saw no one. There was a bedroll that lay some feet away from the blaze, and it was rumpled as though someone had lain on it at some recent point, but whoever it was had gone. They observed each other thoughtfully for a moment before Tithenon tentatively began, "Do you think whoever's this is would mind terribly if we helped ourselves --"
He never got to complete his sentence, however, for a large body rose up out of the darkness and cast forth an enormous shadow upon them as a deep, furious voice rolled like thunder over their terrified ears. Alatar and Tithenon were practically quaking where they stood.
"Would you come at a traveler in his sleep, demons? Speak, fiends! Tell me your evil errand that has called you to dog my journey with your accursed shadows!"
Tithenon had quailed at the dreadful authority of the voice and went stark white in terror, forgetting to make his visible spectrum disappear as he often did when he went with Alatar among humans. He almost blinded them with the intensity of his fright; this effect might have caused the angered shadow specter to back off, however. Alatar blinked owlishly through the light.
"Great Valar alive, Olorin!" he exclaimed in astonishment.
Tithenon went from blinding to near disappearance at his shock and the dark, looming figure seemed to dwindle and shrink until it resembled nothing more than a tall, but bent and weary old man. A wizard's trick, Tithenon thought, disgusted with himself for not recognizing it and falling for it even after all of his years with Alatar.
"Alatar the blue, is it?" Gandalf asked, with a perplexed little frown. "First Pallando and now you," he muttered. "What business brings you forth from the East?" He gestured belatedly for them to gather around his fire without so much as a single word of apology for giving them such a terrible fright. Alatar accepted this calmly as it was and moved forward gratefully; Tithenon, of course, followed his example.
"Pallando brought us, though we knew not on what business – if any – that he went hither," Alatar answered honestly, after they were quite comfortably settled. "We followed out of concern, knowing his wont for trouble."
"And rightly!" Tithenon piped up, and seeing Gandalf's surprise at him, introduced himself briefly. "Greetings to you, Olorin the Istar and wizard of Middle-Earth, I am Tithenon, a…companion of Alatar's through some small mistake. What we would tell you – and indeed, traveled this long way after you for this express purpose – is that a friend of yours, Glorfindel, is in trouble through the misuse of Pallando's magical art."
He proceeded to pour out the story of Glorfindel's unhappy fate and their witness of the encounter. Gandalf sat quietly, listening gravely to his words until such time as the elven soul was finished pouring out the whole woeful tale and he could pronounce some judgment on Pallando's mischievous act. His lips had continually tightened as that tale progressed into a thin line, and though the wizard was obviously livid at hearing of Pallando's misuse of the power with which he had been entrusted, he stemmed his wrath and concentrated instead on careful thought.
"Tomorrow," he said slowly, taking a draw on his pipe full of weed and blowing wide smoke rings that broke on Alatar's robe sleeve. "Tomorrow I will continue on to the haven of Cirdan the shipwright, and you shall accompany me, perhaps, if you would see this thing through."
Tithenon was – to put it lightly – completely stunned. "But – what of Glorfindel? We journeyed all this way to tell you of his difficulty!" He could hardly believe that the powerful Gandalf, whom Glorfindel had obviously trusted, would forsake him in his hour of need.
Gandalf observed him in solemn regard. "I have every faith that Glorfindel will be able to handle himself for at least a few weeks. I could, of course, deal with Pallando now, but the lesson might not be memorable enough – given my current limited strength – to keep him from repeating the act once the temporary shock has worn off. I've something to collect from Cirdan at the havens that will put the fear of fire in him."
Elrond and his Lady wife, Celebrian, looked up as the door of their family sitting room opened to reveal their son, Elrohir. Both Elrohir and his twin had absented themselves from the evening meal – having it, instead, delivered to their chambers – on an errand of which Elrond knew and had casually informed his wife of over the salad course when she expressed concern at their absence. Now, it seemed, the brothers were ready to reveal the result of their joint labor.
"Father. Mother." Elrohir greeted them both with a soft smile. Elrond nodded back as Celebrian watched their son expectantly. He drew himself to his full, regal height with a flourish and solemnly intoned, "Might my esteemed colleague, Master Elladan Perhedel, and myself present our most excellent and distinguished guest, only recently arrived at the Last Homely House and freshly washed from his travels."
Celebrian waved her hand with a good natured titter of amusement in a most elegant and practiced permission – as any refined court lady should do when a guest was announced into her presence – and her pretense at dignity was rather betrayed by the smile curling her lips; Elrond also watched in amusement, reminiscent, as his wife must have been, of the games the twins had played in their minority. They waited patiently as the doors were thrown wide open and their eldest son entered with the house's newest 'distinguished' guest trotting alongside at his heels.
The dog shone almost a brilliant golden blond, and his long hair had been brushed to a high sheen and neatly trimmed so that it was no longer shaggy and uneven as it had been when Elrond had last observed him. Though he remained only a hop, skip and a jump away from looking terribly emaciated with his ribcage showing through his flesh, there was something new in his eyes – contentment, perhaps – that no longer made him look so very hungry.
He appeared a completely different animal entirely than the one that Elrond had previously examined that same morning, but was transformed. He still had the fluffy fur of recently washed animals with a scent of honeysuckle upon him. The Lord was thoroughly amazed at the transformation, and said so, complimenting his sons on their accomplishment.
"I believe that he thoroughly enjoyed being pampered as he was," Elrohir informed them gaily. "He entered the bath of his own accord and stood quite patiently and let us get on with our work."
"A born nobleman if ever I've seen one," Elladan agreed with a grin, having no inkling of how very right he was.
"He is quite beautiful," Celebrian said. "A fine animal."
As they all laid on the compliments, the dog himself stood wagging his tail and gazing back and forth between each person who spoke as if he knew exactly what was being said of him. Keen intelligence, Elrond thought again. The animal was torn between pleasure and disgust, it seemed.
"Well, my dears, but what are you going to call the lovely creature?" Celebrian asked eagerly, as she rocked the baby Arwen absently in her arms. It was obvious to Elrond that neither Elladan nor Elrohir had given the matter of a proper name much thought.
"Maethor," Elrohir suggested after a moment, "he is strong to have journeyed so far as Imladris through his own means; save the last leg of the journey, of course, which was accomplished through our aid on horseback rather than foot."
"Glorfindel, perhaps," Elladan said with a wicked smile. "His beauty is far greater and I think that this dog would not be half so arrogant and prideful. We should have to take special care, though, not to tell Lord Glorfindel that he was named after a dog."
Elrohir burst out laughing at the wickedness of his twin's humor and his expression of mock angelic innocence and solemnity as he delivered his jest. Elrond – for his part – though attempting a frown of disapproval could not help but smile instead, and the dog chose this moment to bark as if in agreement. When they had all four gotten a good chuckle out of the joke, Elrond shook his head, saying, "I do not think that would be entirely appropriate, Elladan."
"Barathalion might be a good name for such an excellent creature," Celebrian suggested demurely, and brilliant smiles of approval came over the faces of all in the room so that they knew without a doubt that the Lady of Imladris had alighted upon the perfect choice. No one quite noticed their new pet's look of disdain, but he was quite willing to go to Elrond when the elf-Lord called to him.
"We shall all enjoy having you in the family, Barathalion," he said, patting the dog's flank.
And so the dog formerly known as lord was adopted as the pet of the Perhedel family. He would always be, as they would later come to discover, the most interesting pet that they had ever kept.
Meanwhile, in a room just a little further down the same halls as the Perhedel family sitting room, a cleverly disguised wizard thought over his magical deeds with relish. The true Lord Glorfindel was now a dog struggling for his very survival in some uninhabited wilderness and he was in a position of comfortable nobility, with the chance to stir up a little fun in Imladris - the whole place looked as if it had not seen any in years unaccounted; they should all thank him when his joke eventually came to its end, but no one ever did.
The tension between Mirkwood and Imladris might be an amusing place to start, he thought. As Elrond had not yet entrusted him with any matters of importance, however, he would have to be careful of how he went about arranging that. The only way might be to get a hold of the Lord of Imladris' personal seal, or at least a good copy of it, and one of Thranduil's as well, perhaps – just for good measure.
The only two people he knew of who had the power and authority to carry and utilize a signature seal were Erestor, the Lord Councilor, and Elrond himself. Erestor guarded his seal with caution – almost jealousy – wearing it usually bound by a solid chain around his neck or upon his finger, while Elrond often left his lying carelessly about on top of his study desk, even when stepping out of the room and usually not even thinking to look for it until he had a document in need of deliverance – sending even those matters to be handled chiefly by Erestor more often than not, so that his own seal saw little use.
Yes, Elrond's ring could be easily obtained, he knew, but getting Erestor's might prove to be even more entertaining if he could manage such a thing without being discovered. A slow smile spread across Pallando's stolen face as he began formulating possible ways of doing just that.
He heard an indignant bark in his mind as he thought upon the matter – so loud that he might have thought it had come from down the hall if he had not known any better – but he did not concern himself with that. "Oh no, Glorfindel," he chuckled mirthfully, "there is absolutely nothing you can do that will stop me now."
He should have censored his words, or perhaps have found some such wooden object on which to knock, for he had forgotten the age old saying regarded by some as a universal law: anything that can go wrong will go wrong. Imagine if you will, his surprise at seeing Glorfindel once more, padding confidently along at Elrond's side.
Notes:
1). Barathalion supposedly and for all purposes in this story means "champion". At least, it was as close as I could humanly come to it. I despise having to find original elven names, but, what else can one do but become resigned to it?
Thanks to…
1). Lurker: I am certainly pleased to hear that you are enjoying it. And I suppose that anyone actually keeping up with this story can take the sight of this chapter as a sign that I have not and will not abandon it. Thank you for your review.
2). Jaimi: I appreciate hearing that! I myself was most anxious to get Glorfindel to Imladris, that is where events will really be set in motion, after all. I've been remiss with posting for this story, but I hope that this chapter came soon enough. Thank you for your review.
GAMercy: This story is once again moving right along, after a long period of stagnation.
Glorfindel: Due to the proper amount of inspiration provided by yours truly.
GAMercy: Oh, please. What about all the work I put into it?
Glorfindel: Oh, all right, I suppose that should count for at least something along the way.
GAMercy: Hmph. Arrogant muse.
Glorfindel: Hurry and get things resolved, please. Knowing you this will take at least two more chapters, if not more.
GAMercy: Perhaps. I'm not altogether certain. It's not all written in stone yet.
Glorfindel: Who cares if it's in stone? Just put it on the computer.
GAMercy: ...Right.
Glorfindel: Review please.
GAMercy: Thank you for your time!