A/N: This is a rewrite, starting much earlier and hopefully it will be much better than the original story.

Chapter Two

Asfaloth made a good companion in the ship. Glorfindel spent the days on deck reacquainting himself with his body, using the sword Aulë had gifted to him. At first he dropped it repeatedly, forgetting how his limbs worked. Slowly it returned to him, little by little as the ship passed over the endless sea. Nothing appeared on the horizon as the days went by, no island or other vessel. The sun rose, he felt strength return to his useless limbs, the sun set and he practiced speaking to Asfaloth, using his voice when for so long he had been silent. The horse never fussed and moved around his wide stall.

"Soon," Glorfindel would promise him daily. Soon the steed would be able to run free, once they reached their destination. Wide lands, Glorfindel remembered, that had been the promise that had drawn his people forth an Age before. He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest in Asfaloth's stall, the horse nuzzling his head gently as he spoke of anything that cross his mind.

He had not slept since waking in Mandos, although he felt in need of it he only let himself fall into waking dreams for short bursts before rousing himself as soon as he saw the flames. Those remained etched in his mind, the more he remembered about his life the more vivid his death became. Rebirth had not healed that, and slowly Glorfindel understood why. Finwë had been the first elf to die and never had that been the intention when their race was born. Therefore it could not be healed as their bodies could. Or so it seemed to him in the long hours he spent talking to Asfaloth, never getting more than a muzzle or a whiny in reply. He tried not to let himself think of who he would meet. Ecthelion he knew was dead, Turgon as well. His mother and siblings had not answered him when he called them, they could not have been in the host that fled Gondolin. Idril, he remembered had gotten as far as Eagles' Cleft with Tuor, Eärendil and Egalmoth. What had befallen them afterwards was a mystery to him. One face pained him, etched as the last thing he saw before the flames and darkness rushed past him. He prayed to the Valar, even before he thanked them in his thoughts that the young dark haired elf had walked free from the agony of death.

The ship required no sailing on his part, he would have been lost had it needed manning. Instead a favourable wind bore it forward and the sea carried it without him having to tend to it. He did not linger too long on how it came to pass. He watched the stars some nights, plotting his journey by them. East, always east. His memory of Aman objected, saying that it was impossible for him to have come from the Halls of Mandos to the sea in the east in one step. His lingering awe at those who had greeted him when he woke muffled those queries.

He saw an island, after losing count of the days he had spent aboard the white ship. Glorfindel did not have the knowledge to steer towards it, nor did he want to. He would not pass it by if it was his destination. For three days he could see it to the south and he watched as the single peak on it slowly faded into the distance. It was not Tol Eressëa, and as the days wore on he knew it was no outlying island in Middle Earth.

He counted almost two full turns of the moon before he saw land, more than just an island it stretched out before him and he knew he had the coast in sight. Of the supplies that had laden the ship there was little left, calculated perfectly to get him through the voyage. The headlands glided forward to meet the ship, passing either side of it. It was not the coast of Beleriand, Glorfindel saw at once for he had seen maps drawn of it and nowhere did it resemble the gulf through which he sailed. He watched with foreboding as the shore approached, completely lost as to his whereabouts.

The gulf was long and at times narrow, but crowded. Glorfindel stared at the other ships as they passed, tall graceful white, grey and blue hulls with white sails flying banners he could not recognise. The crews looked back, elves from what he could see but none approached to run alongside until he was close enough to the end of the gulf to see a city of grey stone rise against green hills. By that time Glorfindel's ship was flanked by a blue vessel on each side that flew banners of deep blue and silver vines. They were not those of Ecthelion though Glorfindel almost mistook them for his friend's House at first. He gathered his belongings, the sword and seed that had been gifted to him as well as the clothes that were on board and cleared the lower deck so that Asfaloth could leave his stall once they docked.

"Mae govannen!" an elf on the quay called to him. Glorfindel looked down at the ropes in confusion. The elf continued speaking in what he gradually realised was Sindarin. Glorfindel cursed himself for never learning the Moriquendi tongue as well as he should have. He threw down a rope and hoped for the best. Again the ship appeared to manage itself and with the help of the elf on the dock he was down on dry land at last. After so long at sea his feet tripped on firm footing, the world strangely still around him.

Others had arrived to join the dock hand, Glorfindel did not miss the fact that they were armed.

"Your ship flies no banner, from where do you sail?" the blond Sindar Glorfindel took to be the captain asked.

"From the West."

"Lord Círdan-" Círdan. Glorfindel latched onto the name as the first familiar thing he had come across. The harbour and city were unfamiliar, yet it could be Sirion for all he knew.

"Your name?"

"Glorfindel." Wide eyes met his answer and hastily the Captain bowed. Glorfindel was shocked, no lord of Gondolin except for Turgon would be known in Sirion.

"If you would follow me." Asfaloth nudged him in the back to follow the Captain. Glorfindel was in no doubt that the horse could rival him in intelligence.

"He could use a run," Glorfindel murmured to the dockhand who already had befriended Asfaloth. The Captain led him along the quay towards the tall bridge that spanned the river. Built within and below the bridge was a house, all of grey stone and built with precision so that it did not touch the river until a ramp led down from the huge hull-like body. Glorfindel was led into the wide main room and stared down at the ship mid construction down below. He was left to gaze at it as his guide vanished momentarily.

"Suilaid, greetings traveller. Such a strange ship has not been seen in this harbour before." Glorfindel recognised Círdan at once, although they had never met there were few elves who had the age to wear a beard so long. "I am Círdan, welcome to Mithlond."

"Mithlond? This is not Sirion that flows beneath us?" Surprise crossed the old elf's face followed by a brief sadness.

"No, Sirion flows no more." Círdan did not give him a moment to ponder this over. "The Captain tells me your name is Glorfindel. There has been but one elf by that name and he is dead. Tell me how this can be." Glorfindel sighed, floundering slightly as he searched for the Sindarin words.

"Death I have known, in the mountains above Gondolin. I have no reason why I was chosen to bear this task, yet bear one I do and I was sent here to fulfil it. I cannot offer proof, unless you take the ship as evidence that I am not from Beleriand."

"There is no Beleriand." Glorfindel looked at him in confusion. He stood with Cirdan, Master of the Teleri and Lord of Sirion, yet the old elf was telling him that Beleriand was no more and Sirion itself no longer swept through the land. "Come, I need no more proof than who I see before me. Not in the Noldor of Valinor was there held such power. I shall tell you the sad tale of Beleriand, my Lord, and aid you if I can."