From the Ashes by Jessie Syring

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. I hope I insult no one by playing with his characters.

---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---

Chapter Three

The soft singing of birds outside the window woke Glorfindel. His eyes came slowly into focus and he stared at the high-arched ceiling of the room. He sat up, casting a hasty glance toward the fireplace, and felt relieved to see the fire was out. He turned to look out the window beside the bed. Large trees filled his view and, cocking his head to the side, he could hear the sound of water. This place was so strange to him, yet somehow he felt at peace.

A quiet sound at the door brought his attention back. A black-haired Elf cautiously stuck his head in, looked around, then started to pull back.

"Please, stay," Glorfindel called. "Lord...Erestor, isn't it?"

The Elf reappeared. "Yes. I hope I didn't wake you." He stepped into the room, arms full. "I wanted to bring you some clothing."

Glorfindel smiled. "Lord Elrond still plans on letting me out of his prison?"

Erestor coughed---probably to hide a chuckle, Glorfindel thought---and set the clothes on a nearby chair. "I think he is more afraid he will find you wandering Imladris half-clothed again." Erestor looked away and said, "I am sorry about yesterday. I---"

"U-moe edhaved, Erestor hin," 1 said Glorfindel. "Though more than four thousand years have passed, the memory is like yesterday to me. You had no way of knowing."

"Please, just call me Erestor." Erestor smiled warmly. "I will leave so you can get dressed."

As soon as he was gone, Glorfindel got out of bed. The clothes were finely woven silk. The long-sleeved shirt was a very pale green that seemed to glow. Leaf-patterned embroidery decorated the loose sleeves and high collar. The trousers were a much darker green. The low boots of supple brown leather could be laced to hold them tight---fortunately, because they looked a bit large. A slender golden belt completed the ensemble. He dressed quickly and began carefully untangling his hair with his long fingers so he could brush it.

A quiet knock sounded on the door. "Come in," he called.

"I brought some leather pieces in case you want to bind your hair out of your face," said Erestor.

Glorfindel put his hand to the back of his head instinctively. He hadn't really thought about his warrior braids and the trinket that had once held them until now. He sighed almost to himself, his expression sad. "Of course. It would not have survived any way." Erestor cocked his head questioningly. He explained, "Just a trinket. A piece of leather with a token on it."

Glorfindel began studiously brushing his hair so he could ignore the pain in his heart. A trinket it might have been, but Ecthelion had given it to him his last birthday before...he hastily swallowed a sob and finished brushing his hair. He took a lock on each side of his head and braided them, then pulled them back and secured them at the back of his head with a simple knot instead of the leather. Finally he rose and smiled.

"Now I am fit to walk the halls. Would you show me around? I have much to learn and, to be quite honest, I am quite hungry."

Erestor laughed. "I think we can find something to satisfy a hungry Elf lord."

ڃ ڃ ڃ

The pair spent the following days exploring Imladris beyond the halls of the Last Homely House. Glorfindel spoke little other than to comment on something that caught his eye or ask questions regarding something Erestor had said. They both laughed when they ran into a rather preoccupied Elrond, who absently greeted them and asked Erestor if he had seen Glorfindel yet that day.

After three days, the weather turned to cold rain. Erestor encouraged his new friend to explore Imladris' library and learn what he could of the thousands of years of history he had missed. Glorfindel obtained directions and set off.

Glorfindel walked quietly down one of the many halls in the Last Homely House, nodding greeting to the few people he passed but not pausing to visit. His journey took him to a pair of double doors with brass fittings but plainly crafted, a strange sight here. He paused a moment, then pushed one door inward. The air had a slightly musty smell to it. He stepped inside and stopped, his mouth agape. From the casual way Erestor spoke of the library, he had not expected anything like this!

Like all of Rivendell, the woodwork was carved in lovingly delicate patterns of natural themes. All around him and as far as he could see were shelves and stands filled with books. Tables took up spaces between the shelves, and he could also see comfortable-looking chairs near the large windows or unlit lamps. A gracefully curving staircase led upward to a gallery that held even more books. Strategically placed ladders provided access to the higher areas of the shelves. Sunshine filtered through the clouds and streamed through the numerous windows.

Some five paces inside the room, a small stand held a large, thick book bound in faded black leather. Curious, Glorfindel walked toward it. The cover had an embossed image that had nearly worn away with age. He ran a sensitive finger over the design but could not quite determine what the image had been. A worn ribbon of purple silk showed beyond the edges of the pages and he carefully opened the tome to the page marked.

The book opened to a map that filled both pages. Glorfindel cocked his head to one side as he studied it. The details were incredible. A key clearly indicated the approximate size of each town, city, and village that was marked on the map. Roads and trails were inked in different colors according to its quality and accessibility. Different types of vegetation had been carefully color-coded as well. Even the mountains showed snow and elevations.

Glorfindel frowned slightly, tracing a mountain range in the far northwest with one finger. The Blue Mountains, as they were labeled, were known to him from his previous life---they ran nearly due north and south to the east of Gondolin. But this map showed them too near the sea. Gondolin was nowhere to be found, nor could he locate the River Sirion. He pursed his lips thoughtfully and carefully paged backward toward the front of the book. There were many maps and drawings of battles, wondrous beasts, and people. He paused at one particular image of a black-haired Elf hair dressed in gold-washed armor. The picture was strikingly life-like, showing strength and care in somewhat stern features.

"Ereinion Gil-Galad." Startled, Glorfindel looked up to see Elrond standing on the stairs to the gallery. The lord of Imladris glided down the stairs, adding, "The book was a gift from him. He felt some day I would have children and a pictorial history of Arda would be much appreciated."

"Forgive me, Lord Elrond. I did not mean to disturb you."

"You did not. I often come here in the morning to enjoy some peace before duty calls. It is also the only time I have to write letters to my wife, Celebrian." A slight smile crossed his strong features. "She and our daughter are in Lothlorien, visiting her parents. I must admit that I miss them both dearly." Elrond hastily cleared his throat, his embarrassment clear to Glorfindel.

Glorfindel smiled slightly and changed the subject. "It is a fine book," he said, closing the book. "His father, Fingon, would have approved. He felt the arts were every bit as important as being a warrior or leader."

"But I do not think you are here to merely look at pictures."

"No." Glorfindel stepped away from the book and stared at the many shelves around him. "While in the Halls of Mandos, time has no meaning. A mere heartbeat of time could be hundreds of years in reality. Erestor has told me much of the history of the last Age, but there is only so much one person can know and understand."

"And so you wish to learn what you may. Where would you like to start?"

Glorfindel looked away for a moment, then looked back at Elrond. "After the founding of Gondolin. Turgon kept us isolated from the outside world so we knew very little of what happened beyond the Echoriath. Only after Nirnaeth Aroediad, when we took in the survivors of Fingon's army, did we learn of many of the events." He smiled. "I did not know a Silmaril had been stolen from the crown of Morgoth until Erestor pointed out the star of your father."

"And you have questions of the fall of Gondolin," said Elrond.

"Yes. It happened so suddenly but the attack was organized. I am certain we were betrayed but I did not have time to wonder."

Nodding thoughtfully, Elrond walked past Glorfindel to a corner farthest from the doors and climbed a ladder until he could reach the highest shelf. Glorfindel could see the shelf only held a handful of books and all looked dusty and in danger of falling apart. Elrond selected one, lifting it with care, and brought it down to him.

"This book is called The Silmarillion. It was written following the War of Wrath and the banishment of Morgoth using many journals and memories of those who lived during those times." Elrond looked at it and smiled fondly. "Idril of Gondolin, my grandmother, did much of the work before she sailed into the West." Glorfindel gave him a startled look but Elrond merely held out the book and said, "You will find many of the answers you seek here."

The Half-Elf left the library, closing the door quietly behind him. Glorfindel looked at the tome in his hands for a long moment. Then he carried it to a window seat and began reading.

ڃ ڃ ڃ

Carrying a precariously balanced tray of food and two glasses of wine, Erestor made his way down the hall toward the library. Glorfindel had not been present for the midday meal and, upon inquiring, the dark-haired councilor learned he had last been seen in the library. He hastily assembled a tray with enough food for both of them and set off in search of his friend.

Awkwardly holding the tray on one arm, he turned the knob on one library door and pushed it inward with his hip. "Glorfindel," he called as he entered, "you have been here all day. Surely it is time for---"

He broke off, smiling. Glorfindel still sat in one of the window seats, late afternoon sunlight highlighting his golden hair. A thick tome with tattered and yellowed pages sat open on his lap. But Glorfindel had fallen asleep.

Erestor set the tray on a nearby table and walked lightly to the sleeping warrior. He carefully slipped the book free of his relaxed grip and glanced at the cover. Not an easy read for anyone, he thought and set the book beside the tray. Erestor left the library with one last smile for his friend, quietly closing the door.

ڃ ڃ ڃ

1 There is nothing to forgive, Lord Erestor.