Disclaimer: I do not own any copyrighted characters or plot lines. See first chapter for more detailed disclaimer.
The faces of Imrahil and Faramir were darkened with confusion. Culdalcar laughed merrily at their expressions. Gandalf watched the family with a shake of his head and a twinkle in his eye.
"When I awoke, it was day; not the day that we think of with the sun and brightness of sky, but a dark blackness which covered the sky and seemed to fall in upon your soul. That was the day in Mordor, distinguished from the night by little more than the shadows which fell across the broken land.
"I was not far from the Black Tower; it was still in sight. I was alive, despite all my expectations. I had died – I could feel that, and had known as it happened that it would – but I was yet alive. By some working of the Valar, the Perrianath Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee had taken my body and breathed life back into it.
"Frodo told me of how Samwise had braved the Minas Morgul itself for his sake, how he had rousted all the villainous creatures and brought them to fight one another – not that it was a very difficult task, to be sure, but a brave one! When Samwise reached us, Frodo was loathe to leave my body behind, and upon hearing what I had done for the Ringbearer, the companion was as well.
"I was told that they breathed breath into my lungs," Culdalcar told his audience, his tone one of amazement and satisfaction. "The Valar had seemingly mandated that my soul remain here on Arda, and the Perrianath were the instruments to ensure that it was so. But though I was living, my body was still weak from torture and poison, and the grace which I had been afforded from birth was fragile, and easily broken.
"We split paths, the Perrianath and I; they, to go their way, and I to try my utmost to divert attention from the Ringbearer and his companion. I knew by then why Frodo Baggins was so very important; it was marked in his every footstep that he bore something heavier than I could ever conceive of.
"I knew the stories," Culdalcar spoke frankly, looking to his kinsman. "I was taught them from infanthood, just as I taught you, Culdalcar. The One Ring. Isildur's Bane. There was only one thing which Frodo could have been carrying, only one thing which could have put such a taint of death and doom and destruction into the eyes of such a tender heart as that of Frodo Baggins. I wanted no part of it, and I knew that I could have no part of it, though I could see in their eyes that they wished for another companion. I was weak in both body and spirit; I could not have withstood the sway of the One Ring for long. So we fled from each other; and I stumbled, and fell, and bled upon the pathway from Mordor, leaving behind as plain a trail as possible."
The storyteller laughed, the sound not quite as bitter as he had expected. "Even now, it is likely that a path of blood marks my flight of terror. I had no strength for anything but fleeing, and nothing with which to attack any orc had I been capable of doing so. My wounds had broken open, which is likely the only thing which kept me from succumbing to the poison; I bled on every rock and briar which broke my many falls. When I could walk no longer, I crawled; and when my legs could move no longer, I pulled myself; I do not know how long after that point that I lost consciousness. I know only that I roused to the sound of rending earth, and the wounded shrieks of wraiths and their mounts, and knew that it could only mean victory. The Perrianath had succeeded!"
Culdalcar continued his tale, telling of how he had traveled in a fever, barely aware enough to collect berries and roots and drink for himself. He did not know how long it was, but he somehow managed to keep himself alive, travelling slowly out of sheer determination to reach the safety of Gondor. "I could not have travelled far," Culdalcar admitted, "I was hardly aware of my surroundings enough to determine which direction I faced, much less strong enough to move any great distance. I do not know how I came to be at Minas Tirith, for when last I was aware, I lay dying in the mountains betwixt Mordor and Ithilien."
Gandalf, who was now puffing on his pipe, spoke up. "The great eagles have been flying over the land for some time now, searching for any band of orcs which may have escaped their destruction in Mordor. It is possible that you were brought to Minas Tirith by one of them." He regarded Culdalcar thoughtfully. "The Valar have had their hands on you, Culdalcar son of Rofeth. Though you hide it well, the grace which you gave to Frodo is the grace of the High Born: I tell you, Culdalcar of Dol Amroth, you are indeed an elf!"
Imrahil and Faramir stared in shock at the two others. "What means this?" Faramir asked in bewilderment.
Culdalcar looked to his kinsmen. "My father gave me all the blessings of the Numenoreans, just as your father did for you, Imrahil. I am of Numenorean descent, beingbut I also am of elvish descent. Rofeth, my father, adopted me when my birth parents died, having divined that I had some purpose to fulfill in Gondor." He smiled at their continued confusion. "I have always loved my mother's people, and have returned to them anew these four times as a kinsman, though few it were who realized that I was but a single man. I have been brother, cousin, and uncle to your fathers, to you, and to your children. You are my kinsman, as surely as the man who adopted me as his own son.
"My father Rofeth taught me of my parents. My mother was indeed a kinsman of yours, Imrahil. She was your ancestor Galador's cousin – that first Lord of Dol Amroth – born of your many-times-great-grandfather Adrahil, for whom your father was named; she it was who loved an elf, and she it was who died after giving birth to me over nine hundred years ago. My birth-father was an elf who came briefly to view the sea; it is thought that he died in one of the many battles against ring wraiths, for he vanished from my father Rofeth's knowledge not long after my conception."
Culdalcar paused, eyes surveying his audience. Imrahil appeared to be deeply in thought, while Faramir's face was inscrutable, as was his wont when confused about his own feelings. Gandalf appeared quite calm, seemingly unsurprised by any of the story which he had heard; he only smoked his pipe and looked back at Culdalcar with a gleam in his eyes.
"Do you know the name of the elf whom your mother loved?" the old wizard asked quietly. Imrahil and Faramir both looked up at the question, and watched as Culdalcar nodded.
"His name," the invalid spoke with equal quiet, "Was Glorfindel." Gandalf made a small noise of shock, but his eyes gleamed ever brighter.
"Did your father describe this elf?" Culdalcar looked with curiosity at the old man. "I may have known your birth-father, Culdalcar. I have been several times in Gondor and even Dol Amroth over the years; I may be able to tell you for certain what became of him."
"He was fair," Culdalcar began slowly, his eyes clouded as he repeated his father's words from so long before: "Fairer was he than even the men of Rohan. He was very tall, and regal, with long hair that shone like the gold of the sun. The light of the stars shone from his blue eyes, and he shined in the darkness with the power of the Valar themselves, my father told me. He was a great warrior, with a sword of elvish make which sang a thirsty song when it was brought from its sheath." His eyes were closed in remembrance, recalling the reverence with which Rofeth had spoken of the elf Glorfindel. "He came as an emissary to Gondor, then traveled to Undare-by-the-Sea, some distance south of Dol Amroth, for his heart yearned to view the sea. It was there that he met my mother, and loved her."
"And he was said to have perished in battle?" Imrahil asked curiously. Faramir on his part, said nothing, watching with sharp gaze as Gandalf smiled softly to himself; the newly-named Steward had heard the name of Glorfindel spoken among the elves, and he suspected that the wizard knew more than he was saying.
"There was a great battle in the plains of Eriador, west of the lake Evendim," Culdalcar told them. "Many men from Dol Amroth and the surrounding land set sail with Gondor's armies, and Glorfindel with them, joining many elves of Lindon for the battle. My mother went with them to a hilly place near to the battlefield, she and a few other women who had no children; they would tend to the wounded from there. The battle on that field was long and bloody; the elf Glorfindel faced against the Witch King of Angamar, and it was then by that same elf that the prophecy was spoken regarding the wraith's death.
"The hilly place where my mother waited was overrun and burnt by the forces of Angmar; she and the other people there fled into the forest. My mother became lost, and it was several days before she made her way back to the battlefield." Culdalcar breathed in deeply, eyes bright. "The elf Glorfindel had been lost in battle, she was told, and no one could tell her differently, though they sought and could not find his body." Gandalf harrumphed quietly, eyes twinkling every stronger; Faramir could restrain himself no longer.
"Uncle Culdalcar," he spoke quietly, "I have heard the elves speak of one among their number whose name is Glorfindel." Culdalcar's eyes widened, and he looked to Gandalf.
"Is this a common name among elves?" he mildly questioned. Gandalf puffed quietly on his pipe for several minutes; Imrahil and Faramir could not help but wonder at their complacency.
"It is not a common name," the wizard finally answered, "And I know of but one Glorfindel who fits the description which your father gave you, my dear Culdalcar; and that one is, indeed, here in Minas Tirith." Wizard and half-elf lapsed into thoughtful silence; Faramir and Imrahil exchanged bemused looks.
"I should like to meet this elf," Culdalcar at last admitted. He quickly cut off his cousin's interjection, "But not in this place! I will heal, and take my place amidst my family for the coronation!" The half-elf gave Imrahil and Faramir a fond smile. "I will not abandon one family for another," he assured them.
To be continued...
Author's Note: I did do my research, and the details given in this chapter are accurate as concerns Glorfindel. The circumstances surrounding Culdalcar's birth are plausible, which is much more than is necessary to write a fanfic.
I do try to avoid both plot holes and erroneous errors as regards canon, but this is a fanfic, and is therefore meant to deviate from canon to one degree or another.
It is also, in my mind, entirely plausible that Culdalcar has spent the past centuries without becoming well-known to the elves of Arda, and without ever hearing Glorfindel's name mentioned. He spends a large portion of his long life attending to the line of his mother's family, which is also his adoptive father and brother's family. Culdarcar is, even in his own mind, a son of Men rather than of Elves; it will be shown which of the two he will choose to remain when he must decide whether or not to Sail.