Chapter 7: Healing

“Elrohir jumped off the bridge into the river?” asked Elrond incredulously.

“He did,” answered Glorfindel softly. “I would have thrashed him if I had not been so proud of his courage and selflessness.”

“His actions were unnecessary?”

“In hindsight, yes. But had Arwen fallen out of the wagon, Elrohir would have been her only hope. She might have been sucked beneath the debris and never found.”

Elrohir heard snatches of the conversation as he fought towards wakefulness, the words drifting through the haze that clouded his mind. He stirred slightly, and felt a warm body pressed close to his own. He realized without opening his eyes that it was Elladan, a presence as much a part of himself as his own body. Elladan’s hand covered his own, and he squeezed that comforting grip gratefully.

“Elrohir? Are you awake?” Elrohir felt Elladan’s breath on his cheek, the words whispered in his ear.

“Yes, but I think Glorfindel is going to throw me back in the river,” answered Elrohir with a tentative smile.

“I am sure he will wait until you are fully recovered,” replied Elladan with a low laugh. “Adar is here.”

Elrohir felt tears pool in his eyes. “I heard his voice,” he choked.

“Elrohir, what is it?” asked Elladan, concern in his voice.

Elrohir drew in as deep a breath as his injured lungs allowed, attempting to gain control of his emotions. Before he could answer, he felt the presence of another standing near and finally opened his eyes. His father stood before him, his face unreadable. When his father did not speak, Elrohir closed his eyes again as tears ran slowly down his cheeks.

Suddenly his father was on his knees beside him, carefully lifting him into his arms. His touch was tender, and Elrohir pressed his face into his father’s tunic, the warmth and scent of his father a soothing balm to his senses. He felt the hand that he still believed could fix anything stroke his hair. Even as he accepted his father’s comfort, he grew angry with himself that his father’s approval still meant so much to him that, even now as an adult, he could be reduced to tears by his father’s displeasure.

“Elrohir, are you in pain?” asked Elrond gently.

Elrohir was in pain, but he knew that to answer yes meant only more drugs that would numb both the discomfort and his mind. He shook his head, keeping his eyes closed.

“What is wrong, Elrohir?” asked Elrond again.

In his pain and confusion, Elrohir was unsure how to respond, but he had been a compliant child and that aspect of his personality was not going to change overnight. “I would do it again, Adar,” he rasped out, his face still buried against his father’s chest.

There was silence for a few moments, and then sounds of movement near him and gentle laughter. “Elfling, look at me, please,” came Glorfindel’s musical voice.

“Not an elfling,” answered Elrohir without thought as he opened his eyes. He found himself looking into the amused yet tear filled eyes of his father, and beyond him the twinkling blue eyes of Glorfindel.

“Yes, you are,” laughed Glorfindel. “All grown up into a wonderful adult, but still my elfling. Now listen carefully, for you heard only a little of what we said and your mind is clouded by the potions we keep pouring into you.”

Elrohir never could stay angry with Glorfindel and found himself smiling at the golden warrior who teased him while making him feel loved. He nodded.

“You made a split second decision when you saw Arwen falling into the river. Decisions like that are always proved right or wrong based on their outcome, and hindsight fails to take into account what might have happened. It turns out you did not need to jump into the river. But how much worse would we all feel if Arwen had drowned because we rescued the wagon and she was not in it? Your brave, wonderful, courageous and selfless act remains all of those things, for it was your willingness to sacrifice that made it so, not its ultimate necessity. Am I clear, elfling?”

As Glorfindel spoke, his knuckles gently caressed Elrohir’s cheek.

“Yes,” answered Elrohir.

He turned his gaze back to his father, then, and the expression on his father’s face nearly took his breath away. Elrond leaned forward and kissed Elrohir on both cheeks and his forehead, and Elrohir could feel his father’s tears. “You think I could be angry with you for what you did?” he murmured.

Elrohir smiled, a feeling of warmth spreading through him at the touch of his father’s hands. He felt like he was floating, and was reminded of the one who had held him up. “And Elladan saved my life again. He pulled me out of the water so I would not drown, just like when we were young.”

Elladan laughed. “Now you owe me twice, muindor-nín,” he teased his twin. “And Adar threw caution to the wind and came after us, just like when we were young.” He paused, thinking. “Adar, if you and Naneth have any more children, I think you should skip the year of their thirteenth begetting day. Or at least not allow the elfling anywhere near water.”

Everyone laughed, and Elrohir closed his eyes again as he enjoyed the sound as well as the feeling of safety that came from being in his father’s arms. “You are breathing much more easily, Elrohir. How is the pain?”

Elrohir opened his eyes again, his thoughts drifting from how wonderful it was to hear his father’s voice to amazement at how heavy his eyelids had grown in just the short while he had been awake. “The pain is lessening,” he answered.

“I am still going to give you something to dull it.” Elrond started to ease Elrohir back to his blanket, but Elrohir grasped his sleeve.

The smile that covered Elrond’s face was radiant, and it was Glorfindel who mixed the pain draught and held it so Elrohir could drink it. Elrohir slipped back into sleep content, rocked gently in his father’s arms.

* * *

Arwen was sure she was dreaming. The sun was warm and bright, and she was snuggled comfortably in her father’s arms. She must have dozed off on the swing again, she decided. She always liked waking up in her ada’s arms. He held her just right, not too tightly but tightly enough so she felt very safe and secure. Her eyes slowly came into focus, and she looked up to see her father smiling down at her.

“Ada,” she murmured sleepily.

“Hello, Arwen,” answered Elrond with a smile.

She snuggled closer for a moment, sighing, but when she moved her hand it ached. Memory slowly returned to her, and she realized the last time she had seen her ada he was on the other side of the river from her. She stared at her father, speechless for a moment, but then grabbed his tunic with her good hand. “Ada!”

Elrond laughed and leaned forward to kiss her. “I am so glad to have you safe in my arms again,” he said as he hugged her close.

“Oh, Ada,” she said softly. “I do not want to ever leave home or be away from you and Nana again.” She closed her eyes and sighed, still held tight in her father’s embrace, her face buried in his hair. She loved the smell of his hair.

“How do you feel, sweetheart?”

Arwen began stretching her limbs as her father relaxed his hold, then reached her uninjured hand up to touch the back of her head. She felt the matted hair at the base of her skull and ran her fingers through her long mane, drawing some strands forward so she could see them. She frowned, for her hair was dirty and lifeless, and it even smelled bad.

She pushed her good hand against her father’s thigh, trying to raise herself into a sitting position, and was grateful when he helped her sit upright and supported her. She fingered the material of whatever it was she was wearing, and pulled it up slightly to look at her legs and feet. Her feet were dirty. She bit her lip, trying to hold back her tears, but they spilled down her cheeks anyway.

“Arwen, what is it? Where does it hurt?” asked Elrond, concerned.

Arwen felt her cheeks grow warm and she blushed. Her father pulled her back against his chest, her tears dampening his own tunic.

“Ada, I am filthy,” she whispered, embarrassed, then added, “and I am not wearing anything underneath this . . . whatever I am wearing.”

Elrond laughed aloud and kissed the top of her dirty head. “You are wearing one of Glorfindel’s tunics, and it does not matter to me how dirty you are. You are alive and you are safe in my arms. I care about nothing else, little one.”

Arwen was silent, her lower lip still trembling as she considered this. Her father tipped up her chin to look at her face, and his laughter stopped, replaced by a sweet smile. “If your wounds are healing well, I think we can give you a bath. We can heat some water and wash your hair, and you will look and feel much better. Would you like that?”

Arwen nodded and nestled back against her father’s chest. Ada could make anything better.

* * *

Erestor slowly breathed in and leisurely counted to five, then released the air while completing the count to ten. His fingers tapped impatiently against his thigh, and he jabbed himself hard in the flesh as he considered the long list of grievances he held against the Lord of Imladris. Shorter jabs followed, each signifying an item on the list, and it was only when he realized that his leg was getting sore that Erestor ceased the self-abuse. I am going to have a bruise. He stared down at his thigh for a moment, then jabbed it hard one last time. That is his fault too! He stared ahead at Celebrían’s back, the sting of her words still fresh. In her mind, he was the one keeping her from her children, and that made him the enemy.

“Erestor, we will stop here for the night,” announced Athranen. The captain spoke to Erestor, but his eyes strayed to the Lady Celebrían. Erestor nodded, indicating his agreement, and watched as the soldiers began to dismount and lead their horses to an area sufficient for grazing. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply before nudging his own horse into a trot. Several of the guards scrambled out of his way, and others were already remounting to follow him. As he passed Celebrían, he deftly reached out to grab the bridle of her horse, then leapt on to the path when the horse obediently stopped.

“Lady Celebrían, we stop for the night,” he informed her politely.

Celebrían glared at him. She nudged her horse in the side, and the poor animal whinnied in confusion at the one telling him to go while another told him to stay. Erestor held the reins firmly in hand.

“You may stop for the night; I plan to continue,” said Celebrían finally, steel in her voice.

Erestor leaned against the horse, murmuring soothing words in its ear as he himself began counting again.

“What are you doing?” asked Celebrían, exasperated when he refused to get out of her way.

“Counting.”

“Counting what?”

“Numbers. I have just reached twenty.”

“Why?”

“Because ten is no longer sufficient,” snapped Erestor.

Celebrían slid from her horse and grabbed the bridle, but Erestor refused to relinquish his hold. “No longer sufficient for what?” she demanded as she tugged on the leather strap.

Erestor’s eyes darkened as his grip on the bridle tightened. He forced himself to breathe evenly as he faced the irate silver elf before him. “No longer sufficient to ensure that I choose my words carefully, reminding myself that you are the Lady of Imladris and have suffered a grievous several days with regards to your children,” Erestor almost snarled in return. “We are moving with all due haste to the bridge to meet Elrond and your children, but the horses must rest, the scouts must be relieved, everyone must eat, and this includes you.”

Celebrían released the bridle and stepped back, the expression on her face changing from anger to shock to embarrassment. She looked back down the path at the guards already stopping to set up camp, and there was obvious relief on her face that no one was watching them. She turned back to face Erestor.

“I. . .,” she began, then faltered. She turned away again, this time her gaze to the northwest where she knew her family remained. “I am sorry, Erestor,” she said softly. “I just want to be with them.”

Erestor felt his frustration dissipate and compassion again filled his heart, as he forgave and forgot her doggedness and determination to do as she wished in spite of their counsel. Her children are injured, he reminded himself. She cannot help that she was born to such stubborn and powerful people, or that she inherited these qualities from them. I certainly cannot blame her because her husband made me responsible to ensure she did not follow him into certain danger either. He touched her gently on the arm, and then escorted her back to the camp, the horse following at their heels.

Celebrían chose a high flat rock on which to sit, her back to the camp and her gaze to the northwest. Erestor laid out a bedroll on the smooth surface, and wrapped another blanket around her shoulders. As darkness fell and she finally lay down to rest, he moved to stand behind the rock, one watchful eye on the one he had been chosen to protect and the other on the darkness beyond her.

* * *

Elladan sat next to the fire with Arwen wrapped in a blanket and snug in his arms. Her hair was freshly washed and drying now in the heat of the fire, again glowing with its normal sheen. Elrond had bathed her, using care around the still healing wounds, and even had made her giggle as he pulled out still more pieces of plaster from her skin. He had expressed his pride at how she had born the pain, but Elrond could tell the whole process had tired her. Elladan had been brushing her hair, but now she was leaning back against his chest, relaxed. He pulled her hair from between their bodies and braided it into one thick braid that he laid over her shoulder.

Elrond watched them from across the fire, needle and thread in hand as he further altered Glorfindel’s tunic. He kept a watchful eye on Elrohir, who still lay sleeping a few feet away.

“You should sew a flower there,” commented Glorfindel as he sat down next to Elrond.

Elrond looked up at the tall warrior, expecting to see mirth in his eyes, but found none. Glorfindel seemed quite serious.

“It already has little golden flowers,” he answered with a smile as he pointed to the tiny embroidered flowers near the hem.

“Arwen needs brighter colored flowers,” replied Glorfindel as he studied the drowsy elfling in Elladan’s arms. “Bright blue, or pink or red.” With that he stood and began rummaging through the items that had been salvaged from the wagon and their own packs. With a triumphant laugh he held up bright blue and red ribbons. A few more moments of searching and he had a needle and some gaily colored threads. He sat back down next to Elrond and waited patiently until the alterations were done.

“Now it is my turn,” Glorfindel informed them as he took the garment in hand. He grinned at the confused look on Arwen’s face, then took the red ribbon and cut a length of it and began sewing it to the tunic. After a few moments work, he took up green thread, with a single strand of yellow mixed in, and completed the stem of the flower. He shook it out and admired his handiwork.

“Glorfindel, when did you learn to do this?” asked Elrond, admiring the work.

“May I see?” asked Arwen, curiosity brightening her eyes.

Glorfindel moved to sit near Arwen, his face lighting in a smile when he saw the joy in her face.

“Glorfindel, this is beautiful! It is a perfect rose!” exclaimed Arwen. “Please, make another one?” She suddenly sat up straight and looked at her father. “Ada! In my bag I had a pink ribbon! Did my bag survive?”

Elrond rose and began searching through the bag that had held his daughter’s playthings. In the bottom of the bag was her embroidery. “Arwen, all of your embroidery is here!” he called to her.

Soon Arwen was in Glorfindel’s lap, and the two were surrounded by ribbons and thread. Arwen sat mesmerized as Glorfindel showed her each step of making the ribbons and threads into a beautiful garden of flowers. “Here, I will hold the ribbon and you sew it,” encouraged Glorfindel. Even with her left hand she was able to draw the needle in and out while Glorfindel held the ribbons and maneuvered them for her.

“I did not know Glorfindel could sew. Am I dreaming?” came Elrohir’s hoarse voice.

Elrond rose to grab a water skin, while Elladan carefully helped his twin sit and then sat behind him to support his weight. Elrohir drank thirstily and then allowed his brother and father to tend to his needs. The healing touch of his father lessened his pain, and he smiled gratefully at Elrond. And even though he told his father he was not hungry, he obediently ate bits of lembas that Elladan held to his lips.

“Elrohir, Glorfindel is making flowers!” called Arwen. She smiled at her brother, remembering how he always helped her pick out colors for her embroidery.

“Glorfindel, when did you learn to do that?” asked Elrohir, his interest piqued at the garment Arwen held up for him to see.

Glorfindel smiled tenderly at his other elfling and answered, “I learned this in Valinor.”

Elrohir’s face brightened and his eyes cleared somewhat. “Glorfindel, please continue your story. You were waking up in your new body,” he remembered.

“So I was, and an odd experience it was too,” recalled Glorfindel, momentarily stopping sewing as he thought back to that time. “The next time I recall awaking, my mind and body seemed a little more coordinated . . ..”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

His eyes focused as his mind came into awareness, and a smile crossed his face as Glorfindel recalled that he was re-embodied. He stretched his arms and legs, moved his hands and feet, and then paused to contemplate how soft the linen coverlet over him felt. Music could be heard, but its source was not obvious to him. Overhead, a carving of trees and birds so detailed it appeared real caught his attention, and he gazed at it, fascinated.

“There is much to look at, much to entice the senses,” came the voice of Olórin.

Glorfindel looked about, but did not see him. He pressed his hands down against the couch upon which he was lying and attempted to rise to a sitting position. Suddenly Olórin was standing over him, smiling. He picked up Glorfindel’s hand, and Glorfindel grasped the hand with pleasure. Olórin slid an arm behind Glorfindel and helped him to sit.

The world seemed to spin for a moment, but gradually Glorfindel gained his bearings. Olórin sat beside him, smiling, and he seemed to take as much joy as Glorfindel did in each new experience. After a few moments spent learning control of his body, Glorfindel turned to Olórin. “Stand?” he said and laughed at his own voice. “May I stand?” he repeated.

“You may do whatever you desire!” laughed Olórin in return. He pushed the coverlet off Glorfindel and kept an arm near as Glorfindel swung his legs off the bed and rose. He nearly fell, but Olórin wrapped an arm about the waist of the joyous elf and steadied him.

Glorfindel immediately began to move towards the sunlight he could see streaming in from a nearby entrance. His first step was a stumble, but his feet quickly learned to work in tandem and Olórin moved in stride with him to the opening.

“Ai!” he cried as he stepped into the golden light. He spread his arms out wide and closed his eyes as he turned his face up to Arien’s rays. He breathed in deeply and felt a tear trickle down his cheek. The warmth was like a caress upon his skin and he reveled in the sensation. “I know I shall rejoice when I see the stars again,” he said, “but it has been long since I have felt this kind of warmth.”

He opened his eyes again, and began to take in his surroundings. He knew he was in Valmar, but he had last seen these lands when he was just a child. He had attended festivals in the city of the Valar, and he searched deep to recall the memories of those times. He turned and looked around him, and would have begun walking had Olórin not gently grasped his arm.

“Not yet, Glorfindel,” laughed Olórin. “I think before we venture out, you are in need of a few things.”

Glorfindel looked at the Maia curiously. When he did not answer, Olórin’s eyebrows raised in amusement and his gaze swept down and then back up Glorfindel. Glorfindel looked down at himself and then back at Olórin.

“I am not wearing any clothing,” he finally said, his brow furrowing.

“They do not come with the body,” laughed Olórin. “However, we did think to have some made. Come with me.”

Glorfindel walked back into the antechamber with a last, wistful look at the sun that caused Olórin to laugh again, “This will not take long, my friend.”

Several boxes were stacked on a table inside, although Glorfindel had not seen them earlier. Olórin began opening and rummaging through them, drawing forth light silk undergarments. After a few comical attempts to don them, Glorfindel laughed and let Olórin help dress him. His movements seemed to be growing more coordinated by the minute; however, the tiny fasteners were too much for his fingers.

“Here is your tunic,” said Olórin as he opened another box and pulled out a white tunic made of the softest silk. Glorfindel drew in his breath at the beauty of the garment before him. It was long, with a finely stitched hem at the bottom and along the edges of the slit that would come up to the top of his thigh. Embroidered all along that hem were tiny golden flowers along a vine of veined green. An occasional blue flower provided contrast. The stitching of tone-on-tone threads was of the same vine pattern and covered much of the tunic. Along the front of the tunic on either side of the flap of the fabric covering the fasteners were more flowers - turquoise blue, mixed with golden yellow again, only this time cunningly wrought from ribbons. Blue braid edged the collar and the end of the sleeves.

“The colors of my house,” he murmured as Olórin helped him slide his arms into the sleeves and fasten the long row of clasps down the front. The trousers followed, less ornate, but still exquisitely done. “These were made for me.”

“Yes, of course,” answered Olórin, puzzled, as he slipped shoes on to Glorfindel’s feet. “You seem surprised.”

Glorfindel did not answer as his mind raced with questions. Did someone from his house make the clothing? Did they know he was again in Aman? Were there others, also re-embodied and waiting for him?

“No, Glorfindel,” came Olórin’s answer to the unspoken questions. “Everything has a time and a purpose.” He paused, his searching gaze considering Glorfindel for a few moments. “Now you are dressed and may walk about Valmar.”

Glorfindel did not rise however. His brow still furrowed, his thoughts seemed to swirl around him. There was much to see and experience – textures and colors and smells and tastes. There was such joy in just being in his body again! But already a slight discord was pervading his spirit. There were none left of the House of the Golden Flower. Those he served were either in Mandos’s Halls or still in Middle-earth. He had no purpose, except to himself.

“Come, Glorfindel. Let us walk about Valmar and visit the gardens of Lórien, where you will be staying. It has been long since you have held a harp in your hands, and that kind of practice will help you to gain the fine control of your fingers. Vairë’s handmaidens made your clothing; we will meet them and you may see what other items of beauty they have created. Perhaps they will even teach you!” As Olórin spoke he had pulled Glorfindel to his feet and guided him back into the sunshine. His soothing voice and plans gave purpose to Glorfindel’s steps, and his words reminded Glorfindel that he had much to master before he could again serve anyone. “In time, Manwë will wish to speak to you and then your future will be discussed.”

Glorfindel remembered those words through all of the days he stayed in Lórien with Olórin. He again played the harp, painted and even did learn at the hands of Vairë’s handmaidens, who found him a willing and apt pupil. But all the while his thoughts drifted to the mansion of Manwë and Varda. He wondered if he would stand in the Ring of Doom to hear his fate before all, or if it would be a more private meeting. Then one morning Olórin came to him.

“Eönwë, herald to Manwë, has summoned you,” he announced. “I shall accompany you.”

Glorfindel dressed in the garb given to him that first day, and braided his hair in the style of his house. He walked between Eönwë and Olórin, who spoke as old friends, Indeed, Glorfindel reminded himself, both were servants to Manwë. In the distance, outside of the golden gates of the city, Glorfindel could see that the thrones at the Ring of Doom were empty. Eönwë led them instead to Manwë’s mansion and into his receiving Hall. Of all the items of grandeur and beauty in that place, none surpassed the one sitting on the throne. Even before Eönwë announced his presence, Glorfindel had fallen to his knees before Manwë, King of the Valar, and bowed his head.

“Rise, Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower,” commanded Manwë.

Glorfindel rose to his feet and faced Manwë. He actually trembled, not with fear, but with awe of being in the presence of one who alone had the ear of Ilúvatar. The face of the Vala was strong and stern, yet also wise and just. He seemed to know the depths of Glorfindel’s mind, to test the purity of his heart and the strength of his will with his powerful gaze. Glorfindel did not flinch at this invasion, but bared his heart.

“A task I set before you, Glorfindel,” said Manwë unexpectedly. “You desire to serve your king.”

“Yes, my lord,” answered Glorfindel.

“Elrond, son of Eärendil, yet resides in Middle-earth, where shadow again grows. You may return to Middle-earth to protect and serve Eärendil’s son.”

“Yes, my lord,” answered Glorfindel as joy filled his heart.

Eönwë approached at a nod from Manwë and presented to Glorfindel an ornate sword. Even as Glorfindel accepted the sword, he could feel power coursing through its metal. He pulled it from its scabbard and could hear it hum and feel it vibrate. Runes of protection and power were carved into the length of the metal. Stunned by the power and majesty of the sword in his hands, he suddenly realized that his attention had strayed from Manwë to the sword. He quickly looked back at that Valar, who appeared amused.

“That sword will never fail you. Servants of the enemy will flee when you wield it against them.”

Glorfindel swung the sword in an arc, feeling the perfect balance and grip of the hilt. He lifted it high into the air, and then slowly lowered it. With the sword still unsheathed, he knelt and laid it at Manwë’s feet.

“Will you accept my oath of fealty in the absence of my king?” he asked.

Manwë actually smiled. “There is one who may accept the oath on behalf of the King.”

From a side entrance, a figure entered. He stopped and bowed before Manwë, and then walked to face Glorfindel. He seemed ethereal, and a star was bound to his brow. A great sea captain he seemed, yet the dark hair and grey eyes . . ..

“Lord Eärendil?” Glorfindel finally asked.

Eärendil smiled. “I am he,” he answered. “I would know you anywhere, Lord Glorfindel. Chief of the House of the Golden Flower, mighty captain of Gondolin, Balrog slayer. I watched you die defending us. Yet you are willing to return?”

“Aye,” answered Glorfindel. He placed the sword at Eärendil’s feet and knelt before him. Even as he swore his oath and Eärendil accepted his service on behalf of their king, Glorfindel was stunned by the sense of sadness he perceived in Eärendil.

Later, after being excused by Manwë and allowed to return to the gardens of Lorien, Glorfindel sat quietly by a reflecting pool, the sword laid across his knees.

“Eärendil accomplished a great mission, one foretold by Ulmo,” explained Olórin as he sat down next to Glorfindel. “Because of his sacrifice, the hosts of the Valar returned to Middle-earth and fought and bound Melkor. The price to Eärendil was great, however. He was not allowed to set foot ever again on the lands of his birth. His sacrifice meant leaving his young sons to whatever fate befell them. As one of the half-elven forced to choose his doom, he allowed Elwing to choose for them both and she chose that of the Firstborn. His heart is rather with Men, as his son Elros chose. He sails the skies each night, a lonely existence, but there he is happiest, for he is free.”

“And his son, Elrond, has chosen the fate of the firstborn?” asked Glorfindel, though he already knew the answer.

“He has. He and Elros were raised by Ereinion Gil-Galad, grandson to Fingolfin, and Círdan the Shipwright. Gil-Galad is as a father to Elrond, but in his life he has suffered great loss.”

“As has been the fate of all the half-elven,” replied Glorfindel, his eyes straying to the edge of the garden where Melian dwelt.

“Yes,” agreed Olórin. “Tomorrow we shall begin to prepare you for your journey. Rest well, my friend.”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond looked in surprise at his long time friend, for Glorfindel had never told him about the experience of being re-embodied or meeting his father, or even this explanation for why he had returned. Glorfindel grinned at him and said, “You have never asked.”

Elrond sat speechless for some minutes, grateful for a moment to think while his children were speaking to Glorfindel. This elf had left the bliss of Valinor to return to a cursed land to protect him, because he was the great grandson of King Turgon. He watched as Glorfindel laughed with Arwen and the twins, and knew the love the golden warrior felt for each of them was genuine. He thought of how this unassuming presence was always where he was needed, thought of how that sword had protected his back at Dagorlad. Glorfindel teased him and pushed him, and most of all, loved him and loved his children.

“You really want to try this?” Glorfindel was asking Elrohir.

When Elrohir nodded, Glorfindel stood and placed a very sleepy Arwen into Elrond’s arms and then exchanged places with Elladan. Once Elrohir was settled comfortably against Glorfindel’s chest, Glorfindel threaded the needle and placed the ribbon in place, and showed Elrohir how to make a ribbon flower.

“There,” said Elrohir as he finished, a yawn escaping him at the same time. “In Arwen’s garden, she is this tiny pink flower. I have made my flower, and an identical, although straighter, one to be Elladan.” He grinned at his twin. “El can make one for Naneth and Adar has to add his. Glorfindel, you have made many, but you must make one that is you.”

“Yes, Elrohir,” agreed Glorfindel, and Elrond watched as he gently took the tunic and supplies from Elrohir’s hand as weariness overcame his son. Glorfindel kissed the injured elf on the forehead, and rocked him gently back into sleep.

Elrond did not try to stop the tear that ran from the corner of his eye down his cheek.

* * * * *

Author’s Note: When Glorfindel returned to Middle-earth, or why, is not known. Christopher Tolkien in HoME Vol XII reconstructed some of his father’s writings on Glorfindel, and speculated that he knew Olórin, that he returned to fight shadow. But, this interpretation is all speculation on my part.

 

* * * * *

Chapter 8: First Meetings

* * * * *

Elrond sat quietly in the growing darkness, watching as one by one, his children settled into sleep. He had dressed Arwen in his silk undertunic, and she lay near his feet and close to the fire. Elrohir was also close to the fire, with Elladan curled protectively around his twin. Elrond had taken first watch, for his mind was too preoccupied to sleep. Not far away he could see Glorfindel lying on his back on a flat rock beneath the stars, and he knew the elf was finding his rest in the twilight.

Elrond's thoughts drifted towards his friend as he thought back to the story Glorfindel had told them about meeting Eärendil, Elrond's father, and swearing an oath to return to Middle-earth to protect the line of King Turgon. While he intellectually knew these things, having heard them straight from Glorfindel lent the tales new credence. Elrond understood the attitude of servant leadership. Gil-Galad had practiced this, and Elrond did as well in leading the household of Imladris. But Glorfindel had taken serving to a higher level in choosing to protect and serve Elrond and his family. Elrond smiled as he recalled the first time he had met the golden warrior, and the interaction he had witnessed between Glorfindel and Gil-Galad.

Glorfindel rose from the rock and returned to sit next to Elrond. "What thoughts fill your mind this night, mellon-nín?" asked Glorfindel.

"You," laughed Elrond quietly. "I was thinking of when I first met you."

Glorfindel smiled indulgently. "I do recall that time well. Middle-earth had changed much, and I was surprised when I had sailed from Tol Eressëa to Númenor, to find that the loyal Edain had grown into a great seafaring nation, and that on their ship I would return to Middle-earth. . . ."

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Glorfindel stood at the prow of the ship, watching as the Númenorian captain maneuvered the ship deftly into the port at Mithlond. Overseeing the berthing of the ship in the Havens was a tall, old, bearded elf, and a broad smile crossed Glorfindel's face as he realized it could only be Círdan. He waited patiently, his white cloak blowing in the breeze, as the gangway was lowered and the ship secured. Círdan was greeting the captain and inquiring about the trip, yet Glorfindel noted that the old mariner's eyes never allowed him out of sight. Finally, the time came for him to disembark, and he walked slowly down to meet the old elf.

Círdan was silent as he regarded Glorfindel thoughtfully, looking him up and down, and then peering into his eyes as if seeking the answer to questions unspoken.

"Círdan," Glorfindel acknowledged the elf.

Círdan walked in a slow circle around Glorfindel, finally stopping in front of him and folding his hands together with a sigh.

"I can hardly believe it is you," said Círdan gruffly. "Songs are still sung of your fall, and even as Beleriand fell into the Sea your grave was remembered."

Glorfindel inclined his head in a slight bow, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. One seldom rattled Círdan, and he had to admit he was enjoying it.

"Why do you return?" asked Círdan bluntly. "I would not have thought you tied to Arda, and the lands you knew well are gone. Turgon is dead, and Idril, Tuor and Eärendil all reside in the West."

"My work was not completed," replied Glorfindel lightly.

Círdan snorted. "Death in battle, protecting the line of your king, was not enough to call your work complete? Do you deserve no peace for your sacrifice?"

"Peace I have found, and the sacrifice was willingly given. I would give so again, should the need arise."

"You always were a strange elf," answered Círdan incredulously. "How did you manage to be released from the Halls of Mandos?"

Glorfindel smiled. "I do not know."

Círdan snorted again. "Well, come. Dinner is waiting."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, amused that his presence had caused Círdan, one of the oldest of the Firstborn, to be thrown off guard. "You were expecting guests?"

"My cook always fixes enough for six. Elros used to eat enough for three or four, and she has never broken the habit of fixing far more than what the household can possibly eat."

"I would like to hear about the sons of Eärendil," said Glorfindel suddenly. "You helped raise them, and Elrond still lives in Lindon?"

Círdan stopped walking and eyed Glorfindel suspiciously. "So he is your 'work'?" Glorfindel again inclined his head slightly in reply. "You will like him. He is an intense person, very loyal to Gil-Galad. He holds his feelings inside, more so than the average elf. He experienced much loss in his early years; but, then, I guess many did in that age." Círdan paused and then added quietly, "He has an important role yet to play in Middle-earth."

Círdan resumed walking, and Glorfindel fell into step beside him. They moved through the streets of the Havens in silence, allowing Glorfindel to take in the sights and sounds of the elf haven. It reminded him very much of the Falas, which he had last seen before the completion of Gondolin early in the First Age. They rounded a corner, and as they approached Círdan's home on the hill above the docks, Glorfindel could see a shining city across the bay.

"That is Lindon," explained Círdan. "The Palace sits at the end of the long courtyard. It is a beautiful building, yet very practical and warm. Ereinion was strongly influenced by the architecture of the Falas and Balar, and that style is reflected throughout Lindon. The library, where Elrond can usually be found, and amphitheater are to the left, visible through the trees. The adjacent rose gardens are among the finest I have seen."

Glorfindel could not help but notice that beneath the gruff exterior that he remembered in Círdan, a very proud and paternal demeanor was present when he spoke of Gil-Galad, Elros or Elrond. They entered Círdan's home, and Glorfindel followed Círdan to the dining room, where, as predicted, far more food than his house could eat was prepared and waiting for him. Another place setting was laid on the table, and they sat down to a meal of fish and vegetables.

"Well, what do you want to know?" asked Círdan without preamble.

"Tell me about what is happening in Middle-earth," replied Glorfindel. "I had never been beyond the Blue Mountains; irrelevant now, perhaps, as they appear to have changed much."

"Most of the Noldor and many of the Sindar sailed West after the War. Gil-Galad founded Lindon, and here all the remaining elves stayed initially. Recently Amdir and Oropher, Sindar from Doriath, have led some of their people east, searching for lost kin. Word came recently that they have settled in the forests on either side of the Anduin with the Silvan elves, who have accepted their rule.

"More recently, Galadriel and Celeborn have founded an inland settlement at Ost-in-Edhil, the city of the elves in the land of Eregion. It is directly east of us, near the juncture of two great rivers and the dwarven settlement of Khazad-dum in the Misty Mountains. The dwarves have discovered Mithril there. Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, has founded his Gwaith-i-Mírdain nearby."

"Brotherhood of the jewel-smiths," repeated Glorfindel slowly. "A fitting occupation for the grandson of Fëanor, yet the mere name fills my heart with trepidation."

"As maybe it should," answered Círdan reservedly. "His motives are good - to create and heal and preserve - to slow the decay of time and the fading of these lands. Rumor has it that he possesses the skill of his grandsire in capturing the essence of life and knowledge in these jewels."

Glorfindel ate his meal in silence as he listened to all Círdan had to tell him of the elven realms in Middle-earth. The captain of Númenor had told him of their voyages and inland explorations to the south. He knew the dwarves inhabited the Iron Hills and the Ered Mithrin, but their main stronghold was Khazad dum.

"Sauron was not destroyed when Angband fell. Rumors have come from the east that he rises in power and strength," finished Círdan.

Despite this gloomy news, Glorfindel sighed contentedly as he finished his meal, then leaned back and looked around the room. Maps covered one wall, and he pushed back his chair and walked to them, carefully learning the layout of the new geography of the Ered Luin and all the lands to the east. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of Círdan finishing his dinner.

"You will stay here this night," announced Círdan. "Your trunk is upstairs in the guest room, second door on the left. I will have wine on the balcony, should you wish to watch the stars. Tomorrow I will take you to meet Gil-Galad."

Glorfindel turned and nodded his acknowledgement of the elf's offer. He easily found his room, and washed and changed into a comfortable robe. He found Círdan on the balcony off the hall as promised, wine poured and waiting. The sun was setting as they settled into cushioned chairs, and they sat in companionable silence as Anor set and the stars appeared. Glorfindel bowed his head slightly as Eärendil flew overhead, and it seemed as if the great ship tipped its sail in reply.

* * *

It was early morning when Glorfindel rose and returned to his room for a few hours' rest. He bathed in the tub he found prepared for him in a side chamber, and dressed and braided his hair carefully. His clothing and grooming bore reflections of the House of the Golden Flower, but was understated. He did not know Gil-Galad or Elrond, or what signs of outward loyalty they might require of him. Repacking his trunk, he left it where it had been deposited, trusting that it could be sent for when he knew where he would be residing. He stepped into the hall as Círdan appeared from his own chamber.

Círdan looked the golden elf up and down with a critical eye. "They will not care how you dress," he informed Glorfindel.

Glorfindel laughed. "I did not mean to be obvious."

"You are not. For all your status as an Eldar of Valinor, and reborn, I can still read you like an elfling."

To this Glorfindel merely grinned. Olórin had told him as much, that his innocence had returned and he appeared transparent to those he trusted. Círdan was trustworthy, and Glorfindel knew he would remain a friend for the remainder of years they all spent in Middle-earth.

After a light breakfast, the two walked to the docks and took the Mithlond ferry across the bay to the north side of the Lune and the city of Lindon. Círdan declined transportation for them at the dock in Lindon, and instead they strolled comfortably about the city streets with Círdan identifying important city buildings, the citadel of the Lindon guard, and other points of interest. It was mid-morning when they reached the palace. The guards nodded respectfully to Círdan, allowing him to pass without question, and thus Glorfindel as well.

"I have gained an audience with Gil-Galad alone. You may wish to explain your purpose without Elrond present," said Círdan when a guard escorted them into a private chamber.

To Glorfindel's surprise, Gil-Galad was waiting for them. The young king did not stand on ceremony, but rose from his seat and bowed to Círdan before embracing him. Glorfindel barely heard the exchanged pleasantries as he instead studied the High King of the Noldor, and acknowledged king of all the elves remaining in Middle-earth. His resemblance to Fingon and Fingolfin was unmistakable, and Glorfindel knew he saw some of Turgon in Gil-Galad as well.

He was tall, dark-haired and slender, and carried himself with a proud but easy bearing. He was approachable, and gave his full attention to Círdan in a manner that Glorfindel thought would endear him to his people if he treated them with half the courtesy he did his mentor. He did not dress as a purely Noldor king, but wore a unique style that Glorfindel thought reflected the heritage of his people. Glorfindel reined in his thoughts as he noted that Círdan and Gil-Galad had turned to face him. Quickly making his decision, he bowed before the king.

"King Gil-Galad," he said as he knelt.

"Please, rise," responded Gil-Galad. His clear eyes met Glorfindel's as Glorfindel rose, and it seemed as if Gil-Galad was at a loss for words.

"I am pleased to meet you, my lord," continued Glorfindel, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He had never met Turgon's young nephew before Gondolin's fall, so he knew the elf could not be surprised by his presence as Círdan had been.

Círdan whispered in the king's ear, and Gil-Galad replied, "Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin. It is my pleasure to meet one of whom so many tales have been told and so many ballads sung."

Glorfindel smiled and nodded nearly imperceptibly. To his pleasure, Gil-Galad quickly regained control of this audience, and motioned for him to sit.

"Círdan said he had a surprise meeting for me, and he is correct. You have the light of one come from Valinor, and your presence reminds me of King Finarfin and the elves we fought with against Morgoth. I wish I had seen Gondolin and met my father's brother."

"You bear some resemblance to your uncle, but more so to your father and grandfather," he told Gil-Galad, glad for the smile of pleasure from this young king who barely remembered either.

They exchanged news for a few moments, and then Gil-Galad asked, "Many an elf has left these shores since pardon was granted for our return, yet never before has an elf returned to these lands. Why have you returned to Middle-earth?"

Glorfindel laughed at the bluntness of the question. "I can not say exactly why, as I do not know. But I come to serve and protect the line of my king."

"Does Elrond know this?" asked Gil-Galad as the implication of Glorfindel's words became clear to him.

"No, my lord."

Gil-Galad studied him for a few moments. "In what way do you mean to serve and protect him?"

Glorfindel had pondered this question. Elrond was hardly in need of a guard at his back while living in the peace of the city of Lindon. "His protection is my purpose, and should he be in a situation of danger, I would see to his safety. In such times when there is not a need, I am at the disposal of my lords to serve as you see fit. I will serve in the defense of this realm or of your armies."

"Is your fealty to Elrond or to this realm?" asked Gil-Galad bluntly.

Glorfindel held the gaze of the king steadily as he replied. "Should the two ever be in conflict, my lord, my oath is sworn to protect the line of Eärendil - Elrond and any children he should sire."

Gil-Galad suddenly smiled. "Elrond is fortunate to have you, though he may not initially think so. I will arrange for quarters for you near his, here in the palace. For now, you will serve in my court as advisor in matters of defense, eastward expansion, and relations with elven settlements and foreign realms. Elrond also has responsibilities in these areas, though I will spare you in matters of lore, herbology and the healing arts that appeal to him, unless they are of interest to you."

Glorfindel returned the smile, then stood and bowed. "It will be my pleasure to serve both you and Elrond, King Gil-Galad."

"Come," said Gil-Galad with a glint of humor in his eye. "It is time for you to meet Elrond."

* * *

Elrond waited impatiently for Gil-Galad to emerge from a special meeting, a meeting he had not even been told about. It was unusual for Gil-Galad to excuse him from any audience with a foreign visitor, which is what the secretary had told him this was. Also of interest was that Círdan had been included, had even reportedly escorted the guest. While Elrond did not believe he needed to know every detail of Gil-Galad's rule, as the king's herald and chief advisor he had never been excluded.

His brow furrowed, he was deep in thought about the situation and thus did not hear the door from the private chamber open, or Gil-Galad approach him from behind. The sound of the king's voice startled him, though he did not show it.

"Elrond, we have a visitor from a distant land. He shall reside in the palace and work with you on matters of advisement," said Gil-Galad, as if such things happened every day.

Elrond arched a brow in surprise, his gaze moving quickly to the very tall, golden haired elf who stood behind Gil-Galad and next to Círdan. He reminds me of the elves of Aman, he thought. He turned his attention back to Gil-Galad, noting the amusement in the king's eyes. He glanced briefly at Círdan, noting the same mirth. His eyes flicked back to the golden elf, wondering if he was supposed to know this person.

"Welcome to Lindon," he finally said in an attempt to be gracious in his greeting. "I hope your travels were pleasant. How long do you plan to be in Lindon?"

"As long as necessary," answered the golden-haired elf with a smile.

"This is Glorfindel, who was well acquainted with your great grandsire, Turgon, and your grandmother, Idril," said Gil-Galad, for though he enjoyed Elrond's look of bewilderment, he also had not recognized the elf.

Elrond's eyes grew wide as he considered the drawings and sketches he had seen of Gondolin, many of which had included Glorfindel. He had been attired as a captain of the city in some, as chief of his House in others, and in battle with a Balrog in most. None of the pictures had adequately reflected the elf who stood before him now. Elrond suddenly realized he was staring, and forced himself to speak. "I am Elrond, son of Eärendil," he finally said, and to his embarrassment, his voice squeaked slightly and Gil-Galad laughed.

"A great resemblance you bear to your sire," acknowledged Glorfindel warmly. "I am pleased to meet you, Elrond Eärendilion."

"As amusing as it is to see Elrond tongue-tied and Ereinion enjoying the occasion immensely, I must return to the Havens," interrupted Círdan dryly. "Glorfindel, my house is ever open to you, should you desire to visit. I would be glad for your company." Círdan moved to take leave of them, then sighed and said, "Ereinion, stop gloating, and Elrond, close your mouth."

Gil-Galad and Glorfindel both laughed as Círdan took his leave of them, while Elrond blushed slightly. "My apologies," he said seriously. "You are a figure from our history books, returned to life in Arda marred, and your presence is rather startling."

Gil-Galad grinned at Elrond's seriousness and might have further teased the younger elf, but Glorfindel turned smoothly to the king. "I have enjoyed meeting you also, Gil-Galad, and look forward to serving in your court. I would like to spend time with Elrond now, if he may be spared from his duties."

"Of course, Glorfindel. Again, we welcome you. Círdan will have your trunk sent to the palace, and I will send word when your chambers are prepared," replied Gil-Galad, and to Elrond's further surprise, Gil-Galad gave a slight bow to Glorfindel.

Glorfindel lightly touched Elrond's shoulder, guiding him out of the antechamber and to the main exit of the palace. "I passed a fountain on the way in. Perhaps we could enjoy its beauty while we talk?"

Elrond nodded dumbly, and allowed the strange elf to escort him out of the palace. Questions were flying through his mind at an amazing speed, and he turned his head slightly to look at the elf next to him, only to find Glorfindel watching him with something akin to . . . affection? He quickly looked away, but his mind raced with wonder over why this elf who had known his father, grandparents and great grandsire would suddenly be returned from the Halls of Mandos and interested in him.

Glorfindel chose an unoccupied bench near the fountain, and they sat in the sunshine, which Elrond noticed Glorfindel seemed to enjoy immensely. Accustomed to silence, Elrond allowed the quiet to stretch out between them as he gathered his thoughts. Glorfindel seemed comfortable enough lounging like a big cat in a sunbeam, he reasoned.

"Cats do seek the simple pleasures," murmured Glorfindel in agreement.

Elrond jumped and moved slightly away at Glorfindel's words.

"I am sorry, Elrond. You carry your thoughts very near to the surface of your mind," apologized Glorfindel.

"I am slightly . . . confused," admitted Elrond. "I feel like I should know you, and you seem like you do know me. Am I to tutor you in the ways of Gil-Galad's court, or do you seek my acquaintance for other reasons?"

Glorfindel looked at him for a long moment, as if further reading his thoughts. "I served King Turgon in Gondolin, and at his command, sought to aid Idril and Eärendil in their escape during the fall of the city. In death, I could no longer serve my king. In my return, I seek again to serve and protect the line of my king."

"Who is your king?" asked Elrond.

"My king will always be Turgon," answered Glorfindel truthfully. "In serving you, however, I will also be serving Gil-Galad, unless your ways should part."

Elrond was too stunned to speak. Unable to even ponder what it would take to part his loyalty from Gil-Galad, he finally blurted out, "I do not need a bodyguard!"

Glorfindel laughed, his voice musical and able to fill those around him with joy. "No you do not, Elrond, and I do not seek that role. I will serve your house, or for now, Gil-Galad's court, in whatever way is most beneficial to you. Should there be need for defense, or should war come upon us again, I will guard your back and seek your well being in battle."

"Why?"

"Because I loved my king, Elrond, and Idril, and young Eärendil, and you are a part of them."

Elrond sat in silence again, pondering all he had heard and wondering what the Valar had been thinking when they sent this servant back to Middle-earth. He had read in formal accounts of Gondolin's history of Glorfindel's bravery and loyalty; and diaries and letters that had survived also spoke of his wonderful sense of humor, a penchant for harmless but amusing capers, and skill in music and song. He was a warrior first, because need had demanded it, but a keen mind and desire to learn new things had made him an enjoyable companion. Elrond turned to face Glorfindel, who watched him patiently.

"Would you like to see more of Lindon? We can tour the palace later. Your rooms should be prepared by then."

At Glorfindel's nod, Elrond stood and reached a hand out to the elf. Glorfindel clasped arms with him as he stood, and the raven and golden elves walked off to explore the city.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

As Elrond finished the story that Glorfindel had begun, he smiled down at his twin sons who were again wide-awake and thoroughly enjoying the story.

"Adar, I cannot imagine you speechless, stunned or tongue-tied," admitted Elladan with a laugh.

"I was all of those things," confirmed Elrond. "It was several days before I gathered my courage to ask Gil-Galad about Glorfindel's arrival. Círdan had apparently enjoyed the same mirth at his expense, for Gil-Galad was also caught unaware. Yet Gil-Galad came to depend on Glorfindel's counsels, and they were seldom at odds."

Elrohir sat up slightly at that, trusting his twin to support him. "You were at odds with the king, Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "No, not really, Elrohir. Go back to sleep, elfling."

Elrohir laid his head back down on his brother's arm, whispering to Elladan, "There is a story there somewhere, brother, and we will get it out of one of them."

Elladan laughed, and the twins drifted off again to the night sounds and the slight crackling of the fire.

"It is my watch, Glorfindel. Get some sleep," said Elrond, one eyebrow arching to effectively silence any arguments the warrior was about to offer. He watched as Glorfindel made himself comfortable near Arwen, using his blanket to further cover her, then stood and walked closer to the river's edge.

Many leagues to the southeast he could just make out a light, and he felt his heart leap as he realized it must be Celebrían's party. Not knowing if she was sleeping, he gently reached out to her through their bond, only intending on whispering his love to her quietly. They had been in contact since the warriors had left with Celebrían, but Elrond had maintained a distance between them as he worked on their children. She knew of their progress and injuries, but her longing and hurt at being apart from them had only furthered burdened him when he needed all of his energy for healing. Now, rested, he wished to tell her he loved her, but was hesitant at the turmoil and anger he felt emanating from her.

I love you, Celebrían, he whispered anyway.

He felt a wall grow between them, then heard in response, How are our children, Elrond?

Healing, Celebrían. Elrohir and Arwen are much more comfortable, and Elrohir is breathing well now, he answered clinically, hiding his own hurt.

I am glad, came the somewhat stiff reply.

Sleep well, meleth-nín, he finished softly.

Elrond turned away from the river, steeling himself against his own pain. He regretted Celebrían's pain, but not his actions. He would no more risk her over that river than he would have purposefully put one of his children in danger. Once she held her children in her arms again, she would forgive him. He returned to the camp, his spirit more melancholy, but he was glad that he had spoken the words he needed to say.

His watch finished uneventfully, and Glorfindel relieved him, leaving Elladan the final watch that would lead into morning. Elrond added a little more kindling to the fire, wanting Arwen and Elrohir kept warm, then took Glorfindel's place on the bedroll by Arwen. He smiled as he realized that in all they had sent over, his bedroll had not been among the supplies. Pulling Arwen close, he wrapped his arms about her and allowed his mind to rest.

He felt the blanket over him straightened to better cover him, and knew that Glorfindel was nearby. As he drifted into elven dreams, a conversation with Gil-Galad replayed in his mind. He had been exhausted, and Gil-Galad had pulled an extra blanket over him.

"Sometimes people become part of our lives whom we do not deserve," he had mumbled, mostly incoherently it seemed.

"Perhaps," Gil-Galad had answered. "Life sometimes balances out that way, with undeserved goodness weighted against undeserved evil. Do not question such gifts, Elrond. Just treasure them."

Elrond fell asleep counting his treasures.

* * *

Author's Notes: Everything about Glorifndel's return is based on the speculation of The Peoples of Middle Earth (HoME Vol XII, the Glorfindel Essays), but is merely my interpretation. Please do not take any of this as set in stone canon - this is definite gap filler material. Also, there are different sources stating who the Lord of Eregion was - whether Celeborn and Galadriel were there, or Celebrimbor only. For this story, I am using the version that Celeborn and Galadriel were there. Amdir is a Sindar elf, but not their son. There are various versions of the C & G story, as outlined earlier.

Chapter 9: Trust

Celebrían felt the tears sliding down her cheeks and brushed them away angrily. She turned on to her side, allowing her gaze to settle on the darkness of the river and the trees beyond it. She had lain brooding for hours over Elrond's refusal to allow her to cross the river after him, his choice preventing her from being with her children. Behind her, she could hear faint sounds of the guards on watch, and she felt Erestor's hovering presence, even though he spoke no words. Feeling desperate to gain control of her emotions, she sought for the bonds with her children. They were all well, and she even sensed peace about them that stemmed from their father's nearness. A soft sigh escaped her as she realized how glad she was that he was with them. A small voice of anger spoke within, though, reminding her that they would be even better if she were with them too.

Elrond's calmness was frustrating too! He had been aloof from her the entire time he was providing aid to Elrohir and Arwen, and then when they were well, he came to her, seeking to comfort her while ignoring her anger. She drew in a deep breath. Be logical, Celebrían , she reminded herself. You knew when you married Elrond that he was logical and calm and pushed emotion aside at need . Suddenly, she laughed. Not loudly, but enough that she heard several elves near her come to attention. It is the middle of the night and I am arguing with myself over whether my husband is too logical and whether he is giving proper attention to my anger . She stifled a giggle . I think I will shelf my wrath and merely push him into the mud when I see him. That will free my mind for more important thoughts now and give me something to look forward to, for I will enjoy cleaning him up afterward . She smiled and lay quietly for a few moments, feeling her muscles relax. After I hold my children , she amended her thought. She concentrated for a moment on each child, and then felt for Elrond. He was sleeping. She pictured him in her thought, for she had always been moved by the sight of him so vulnerable, and tenderness washed over her. I love you too, Elrond , she whispered.

* * *

The scouts returned by mid-morning with news that they would be able to cross the Bruinen without having to return to the Fords near Imladris. The water was high all along the lands of the Angle that were surrounded by the two rivers, but at one particular spot along the Bruinen the walls of the river rose dramatically and the river narrowed, and the elves would be able to build a bridge over the canyon below them. Erestor listened carefully to the details, but noted that Celebrían's attention was only partially on the captain. Her eyes were again turned to the northwest, and her heart to her children.

“We hope to complete the task tonight and cross tomorrow,” finished Athranen.

Celebrían swirled around, her silver hair flying about. “Tomorrow? Did you say tomorrow?”

Erestor nodded to Athranen, and then turned to Celebrían. He gently touched her elbow. “Already the scouts are gathering small timbers to form the platform of the bridge, and planning rigging for the ropes that will bind the logs together and form a guide rail. We will join them in just a few hours and more hands will further speed the work.”

He looked into her eyes, and saw the pain and frustration that filled her, and then, slowly, her gaze softened and her shoulders slumped in acquiescence.

“My head knows that it will be many days until I see my children, yet my heart refuses to believe this is so. Never have I been apart from my daughter. From the moment she was conceived to that day in Imladris, she had never been beyond my reach. I never thought to have an ache such as this,” admitted Celebrían, despair in her voice.

She turned away from him then, alone in her grief, and he was silent as she re-mounted her horse and waited for the signal to ride. He took up a position near her, and they continued southeast to the planned crossing.

They reached the waters of the Bruinen by early afternoon. Erestor saw a sudden smile cross Celebrían's face, and then she was sliding off her horse and running forward to the edge of the cliff. She lifted an arm in greeting to those before her and then, wrapping both arms about her middle, hugged herself as she laughed in joy. For work on the small bridge was well in progress from both sides, aid from Imladris having arrived while they were traveling. While the time saved was perhaps minimal, the lift it gave to Celebrían's spirit made it worth much more than the simple savings of time.

* * *

Garthon had ridden hard for several days, stopping only to rest the horse when needed, and at night he allowed a few hours respite for himself as well. He had left with great haste, yet on the second day he felt a sudden peace that the situation of the children of his lord was not so dire as it had been. Yet he kept on, and now on the morning of the fourth day, he sat on his horse near the marshland of the Nin-in-Eilph, called the Swanfleet by Men. He was within sight of the city of Tharbad and the bridge from The Greenway, built by the Men of the West to connect their Kingdoms in Arnor and Gondor. He had never ridden this far south on the west side of the river, and he took a few moments to assess the landscape and layout of the city before him. Its walls were stockades built of timber, protection from the attacks of the Dunlendings, men never wholly tamed and never allies of the Dúnedain.

The River Glanduin mixed with the waters of the Hoarwell near where he now stood, and the roar of the waters filled the air. He could see that the waters were high at Tharbad, but the flat lands of the Swanfleet and those to the south of the city spread out the volume of water over a greater land mass, lessening the burden on the riverbed.

“Come, Amlug, let us visit this city of Men,” he whispered to his horse. Even as he spoke the name, he was reminded of his mission, for it had been a very young Arwen who had named this particular horse. Arwen had been in the barn and met the young colt as he stepped out in the cold. His breath had left a white mist, and he had whinnied and shaken his head at such an abrupt introduction to the cool air. Celebrían had lifted her tiny daughter so she could pet the latest addition to the stables, an early arrival. Arwen had soothed him and named him the mighty dragon for his misty breath, and the name had never been changed. Garthon smiled fondly at the memory. Arwen was a sweet and generous child, and right now he wished for nothing more than to see her home safe and in her mother's arms again.

He entered at the city gates, greeting the gatekeeper graciously and then giving word of the destroyed bridge to the north.

“The bridge on the Great East Road has been destroyed in the floodwaters. I seek passage across the bridge of Tharbad, that I might return north on the east side of the Bruinen,” he explained.

“Such news must be conveyed to the town mayor and then relayed north to King Valandil. I will escort you to the town hall,” answered the man.

“My return to the North is of the utmost urgency,” replied Garthon cautiously. “I may give these same words to your mayor or you may even do so yourself, but tarry I may not.”

The man eyed him suspiciously then, but Garthon met the look with his own unblinking gaze. The man could not bear to long meet his eyes, and soon turned away.

“I will not keep you from your mission,” the man finally replied. He stepped aside and motioned Garthon through the wooden gates.

As Garthon again nudged his horse forward, he breathed an inward sigh of relief that he had not had to explain his mission further, nor admit that elves lay injured and poorly protected on the banks of the Hoarwell. Although these Men were allies of Imladris, he would not disclose such information without permission from his captain or lord.

He passed quickly through the town, acknowledging those who nodded or waved to him as he passed. Approaching the eastern gate, he felt his heart lift as he saw a banner fluttering in the breeze. The banner of Amroth, King of Lorien, and now he could also see the special banner borne by Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel when they traveled. Lord Celeborn stepped forward as Garthon dismounted and walked forward to meet him.

“Lord Celeborn,” murmured Garthon as he bowed before the elf-Lord.

“You are from Imladris,” replied Celeborn as he motioned for the warrior to rise.

“Yes, my lord, and I seek to return there with all due haste. An unfortunate event has occurred, three days ago at the Last Bridge. Elrohir and Arwen are injured, and Glorfindel and Elladan remain with them. I do not know if other aid has reached them, but Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían do not know that Arwen was stowed in our wagon.”

Garthon had watched Celeborn's eyes widen as he quickly told his tale. He had been part of the guard that had escorted Celeborn and Galadriel on several occasions as they traveled between Imladris, the Havens and Lórien, and never had he seen Celeborn express emotion. He saw surprise followed by fear at the words that his grandchildren had come to harm. Celeborn asked no further questions, however, and instead motioned for Garthon to walk with him to where the Lady Galadriel waited.

“Garthon, warrior of Imladris, tell me what mischance befell your travels and of the injuries to Arwen and Elrohir.”

Garthon calmed his own racing heart, for he had never been comfortable in the presence of the Lady of Light. Yet her voice was soothing and her words guided his telling of the story. He told her of their plans to travel to the Havens, the collapse of the Last Bridge, and Elrohir's courage in his rescue of his sister, whose presence they only then discovered. He told what he knew of their injuries, Elrohir's condition having been quite grave when he departed. Lastly he told them of how peace had come upon him while he rested during the night after the second day, and that he suspected that aid had reached them. As he finished, he had to lower his gaze from Galadriel's face, for her smile was too much for him to bear.

“You have done well, Garthon of Imladris. Part of this tragedy I saw in a vision, but we too have sensed that their need is no longer dire. We will send word north to Imladris while we continue west and north to meet them. You will guide us to where they camp.”

Garthon nodded and bowed his head, unsure if Galadriel had read the desire of his heart to return to those in need, but grateful none the less. He felt suddenly as if a burden had been lifted from him as Celeborn began quietly ordering north those he would send to ensure that news reached Imladris, and informing those at the city gates of their plans to continue through Tharbad.

* * *

Elrohir awoke to find Glorfindel stretched out near him, while his twin finished out the morning watch. He lay silent, his gaze resting on the golden haired warrior beside him. Glorfindel's story had surprised him in many ways, and he suddenly saw his father in a new light. Hearing stories from Glorfindel as a child had been different, for he had not the life experience to be able to imagine himself in his father's place. Now he could try to do so, try to imagine how he would react to the people and situations his father faced. What must it have been like to serve King Gil-Galad, who from all accounts was very charismatic and charming; or be in the counsels of Círdan, one of the oldest elves? An elf I guess we will not be meeting any time soon , he interrupted himself soberly. Or to meet Glorfindel for the first time, an elf renowned for his courage and bravery; re-embodied and sent back from Aman – and then find out this person plans to serve you? I am suddenly very glad that I am Elrond's son, and not Elrond himself, he decided. He had been born in a time of peace, to a house ruled by his father, where his oldest memories included not only his parents, but the family protector as well. I suppose Elladan and I are more like Eärendil, who also would have known Glorfindel from birth . How ironic that in this we have more in common with a grandfather we never knew than with our own father . Elrohir laughed then, not loudly, but enough that Glorfindel awoke.

“Good morning, Glorfindel.”

“Suliad, elfling,” replied Glorfindel as his eyes swept over Elrohir, one hand automatically reaching to touch Elrohir's forehead as he took Elrohir's hand in his other. To an observer, it might seem like a gentle caress, but it was also the touch of a healer assessing his patient. Elrohir smiled patiently, for he knew when his father awoke, he would be subject to another examination more thorough than Glorfindel's. The smile turned into a grin as he met his brother's eyes across the campfire, and he rolled his eyes as Elladan came to sit beside him, his hand also reaching for his brother's head, a stroking caress that smoothed back his hair, touched his temple and cheek to see if he was too warm or too cool, then moved down his neck, checking if his pulse was too fast or too slow, and ended with his hand firmly held in the strength and warmth of his brother's.

“What amuses you so early, brother?” asked Elladan, teasing in his voice.

“I am only thinking,” replied Elrohir. For all that he laughed at how alike he and Elladan were to their father and probably Glorfindel, having learned at their sides, he was grateful when Elladan immediately began to help him with needs he could not take care of himself. He did not need to ask, he did not need to even state his need – for their father had taught them to anticipate such things. Elrohir recalled the first man he and Elladan had ever really known – a soldier named Albast. He had been injured and cared for in the healing rooms of Imladris the same spring they were injured in the waterfall cave-in. He had eventually recovered and returned to his people, but the twins had seen him several times in their adult years. On one of those visits, Albast had told them that coming home had been wonderful and strange; wonderful to be well, but strange having to learn to state his needs or prepare in advance himself, for in his months in Imladris everything he needed had been anticipated.

“Your mind is far from here, elfling,” said Glorfindel. “Of what are you thinking?”

“Do you remember Albast?” asked Elrohir as Elladan washed him with a warm cloth and changed the dressings on his wounds, the hands so gentle and soothing that he had to remind himself to stay aware and not drift off into elven dreams.

“The soldier you met when you really were an elfling,” replied Glorfindel, helping Elrohir sit so Elladan could tend his back and hair easily. “Aye, I remember him. Why is he in your thoughts today?”

“He said something once that I have always remembered. He told me that during his time at Imladris, all of his needs had been anticipated. I was just thinking now how glad I am that all my needs are anticipated, and how alike to Adar Elladan and I are, and to you in many ways, and why that is. I was also thinking about how Adar's experiences were so different from our own, and what I might have thought if I met you suddenly one day, and you told me what you told Adar.”

Glorfindel's musical laugh filled the small camp, joined by Elladan's, waking Arwen and Elrond, while Elrohir stared at the two elves as if they were mad. “I was not intending to be humorous,” he informed them.

Elladan had been brushing out Elrohir's hair, and now pulled him back against his chest as he laughed. “Elrohir, I am laughing because I know exactly what you mean!”

Glorfindel handed Elrohir a skin of water, still laughing. “Elfling, I am not sure how your mind connected all of those topics together, but your deep thought and utmost sincerity cannot be doubted.”

Elladan laughed all the harder at that, hugging Elrohir to him, but Elrohir glowered at Glorfindel much as he had done when he was but an elfling. Glorfindel leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “Knowing your life, I followed the threads and they were connected. Perhaps I too am laughing because of that.”

Glorfindel rose, and with a last wink at Elrohir and Elladan, turned to see to his own morning ablutions. A yawn caught Elrohir's attention, and he turned to see his father approaching carrying a still sleepy Arwen. She never had been one for early mornings, thought Elrohir.

Elrond set Arwen in the arms of her brothers, where she snuggled in against Elladan who settled her carefully next to Elrohir. She smiled at them before her eyes drifted close and she returned to sleep. Elrond looked down at his three children, his expression again unreadable. He seemed to be thinking, and then bent down to adjust a bandage on Elrohir's leg. He smiled then, and though he addressed Elrohir, his eyes were on Elladan.

“Elrohir, you look much better this morning. Elladan appears to have taken good care of you, so I will see to my self first and then start breakfast. After that, I will want to at least listen to your breathing and check your leg.”

“Yes, Adar,” answered Elrohir with a smile.

The twins waited until Elrond had joined Glorfindel at the spring, and then Elrohir snorted, “That was painful, but he did it!”

Elladan grinned as he pretended to smack Elrohir on the side the head. “Adar really wanted to check you over from head to toe himself. He showed great restraint, and trust in me.”

Elrohir rolled his eyes. “Do not start with the ‘I am oldest and Adar trusts me most'. . .!”

“Or what?” baited Elladan playfully. “I am sure you recall that I am the level-headed one, the one who rescues you, the one who. . ..”

“The one who is going to eat dirt when I am well enough to challenge you in unarmed combat,” interrupted Elrohir with a growl, turning slightly to see his twin.

Elladan laughed and pulled Elrohir back against him. “I am glad you will be well enough soon to try,” he replied honestly. “I cannot lose you, Elrohir. I could not bear it.”

“Nor I you,” replied Elrohir softly, pulling Elladan's left arm tighter about him. Elladan pulled Arwen to them as well, and she sighed and murmured in her sleep, but did not wake.

* * *

Elrond prepared the morning meal, a smile tugging on his lips as he listened to his children banter. The sound of their voices was something he had always treasured, yet it was seldom he heard all three voices together as he did now. He wished to examine Elrohir, but he also wished to show Elladan that he trusted his work and judgment. Waiting until after breakfast was a slight concession to make, and the laughing of the twins as he had walked away told him they knew what he was doing.

“Elrohir will one day drown if I am not there to save him,” bragged Elladan.

“He was saving me this time, so it does not count,” Arwen defended Elrohir.

“You look like someone painted you with pink stripes,” teased Elladan, but not unkindly. “Do they still hurt, Arwen?”

Elrond looked over to see all three inspecting the many healing cuts and scratches on Arwen. His silk undertunic was so thin and transparent that it was easy to see that she did appear to have stripes on her abdomen and back.

“Not really,” she answered bravely. “Not nearly so much as Elrohir's leg.”

Elrohir tugged her gently to the side, so she lay with her head on the thigh of his uninjured leg. “My leg is healing well enough. Barely a twinge of pain now,” he reassured her.

“I wish Nana were here, though. I think she must be lonely without us,” said Arwen softly.

Elrond closed his eyes and sighed. If Arwen only knew the state Celebrían was in from being apart from her daughter! His attention was drawn away by the sound of Glorfindel approaching from wherever he had been these last few minutes, and he watched as the warrior leapt over a large rock near the fire, landing gracefully in a sitting position in front of it. He leaned back on one elbow as he popped something into his mouth and then chewed it slowly, his face reflecting utter bliss and joy, and Elrond could swear he heard him purring.

Knowing that Glorfindel wanted him to ask what he was eating, Elrond resolved not to. He continued his preparations, ignoring the sounds of Glorfindel relishing whatever it was he had found. Plop . He turned his head slightly at the sound of something hitting the bowl next to him, and he couldn't help but exclaim his joy at the sight of the plump red strawberry before him. Without thought, he grabbed the berry and ate it. He heard his own purr of delight escape him before he could restrain it, but he did not care. It was so sweet and juicy! He swallowed, and then turned to where Glorfindel sat grinning at him.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded.

“One just has to know where to look,” replied Glorfindel smoothly. “The scent alone is enough to draw the attention of a good hunter. Those with poor noses miss out on this sun-kissed goodness.” He finished speaking, and lifted another berry by its stem, lowering it slowly to his mouth. He nipped the berry loose and chewed it with relish, then grinned at Elrond.

“Do you have more?”

“I have a few,” replied Glorfindel, glancing down at something off to his side.

Elrond grimaced and nearly bit his tongue to keep from responding unwisely. “Do you plan on sharing?”

Glorfindel sat upright and looked over to where the three peredhil children were watching in amusement. “I suppose I might share with Elrohir and Arwen, as they cannot go find their own.”

Elladan laughed out loud at that, and Elrond glared at him before turning back to Glorfindel. “Fine. Tell me where they are and I will go pick more.”

Glorfindel seemed to consider this for a moment, but then shook his head. “No, it may be a number of days yet before we travel. I intend to enjoy some each day we are here.”

Elrond found his anger growing, for he knew that Glorfindel was teasing him and trying to raise his ire. Glorfindel knew strawberries were his favorite fruit and yet he behaved comically ingesting them and then declined to share with the rest of them. He drew in a deep breath before speaking. “As you wish.”

Elrond returned to his task and soon had a breakfast prepared that he thought would appeal to Elrohir, who had eaten little beyond a light broth and bits of lembas since he was injured. He served his children first, helping Arwen to sit up comfortably and arranging dishes so Elladan could eat and help his twin. Elrond watched as Arwen shifted slightly so that she was putting no strain on the healing gash that ran from ribs to thigh along her side. It was healing well and she had not voiced any complaints, but he could tell she favored that side. Once they were eating, he returned to the fire where Glorfindel still lounged, now with a thoughtful expression on his face. Elrond fixed himself a plate, then paused and fixed one for Glorfindel as well. Setting it before his friend, he then sat down to eat.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Glorfindel set his stash of juicy fruit next to his plate. Elrond pointedly ignored the elf as he ate, but when he thought Glorfindel was not looking, he stabbed a strawberry with a fork and quickly stuffed it in his mouth. He chewed it with some relish, and was just turning to look smugly at Glorfindel when he saw the elf raise both arms in the air and cheer.

“I win!” laughed Glorfindel in delight.

Across from them, Elladan buried his head in Elrohir's hair as both laughed, chagrinned looks upon their fair faces. Elrond looked from his sons to Glorfindel, and then to Arwen, who sat grinning from ear to ear. He shrugged, and then reached over and took the rest of the strawberries, and proceeded to eat them while ignoring Glorfindel and his children. He did not know what the little bet had been about, but it did not matter when his favorite fruit awaited him.

“Adar, I am so surprised at you!” Elladan finally said, shaking his head.

“I knew he would do it!” replied Arwen. “They are his favorites, and it was only Glorfindel.”

“ Only Glorfindel? Did you say only ?” roared Glorfindel playfully.

Arwen shrieked in delight and pretend fear, hiding beneath Elladan's arm. “But he knows you!” she giggled, trying to explain herself. “He doesn't have to worry about you being mad at him!”

“Adar, I said your good manners would prevent you from taking something not offered to you,” chastised Elladan as he stroked Elrohir's hair. “Stop laughing, Elrohir.”

In his twin's arms, Elrohir grimaced in pain, and Elrond knew the still healing ribs had made their presence known. “I am trying,” groaned Elrohir. “Stop making me laugh!”

Elrond calmly finished his strawberries, his eyes twinkling as his children and Glorfindel argued. He rose then, and kneeling down by Elrohir, helped him to lie flat. He smiled as he felt the pain leave his son as he ran his hands over the healing ribs and fading bruises, and was pleased to hear clear breath sounds as Elrohir inhaled and exhaled. He then unwrapped the bandages covering the splint and gently felt the bones in his lower leg. They, too, were healing well. He rewrapped the linens and settled Elrohir comfortably.

“Properly provoked, your adar will take what he wants,” finished Glorfindel, and Elladan and Arwen both laughed at whatever the golden one had been whispering to them.

“Glorfindel, tell us what you thought when you first met Adar, and how you first provoked him, as you call it,” said Elladan.

Elrond continued his silence on the matter, and Glorfindel laughed at him, and sat down by Elrohir. “Your adar was so serious . . ..” he began.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Glorfindel lay upon his bed, his fingers unconsciously stroking the soft material of the coverlet beneath him. He closed his eyes and soaked in the warmth of the sun shining through the open doors of his balcony, sighing in pleasure at the sensations evoked by touch. He had been in Middle-earth for several weeks, learning about Lindon, its military capabilities and defenses by land and sea, and the relationship between Lindon's leaders and the men, dwarves, and other elves with whom they associated. Learning about Elrond and getting to know him had proved more difficult, however. Glorfindel considered the half-elf thoughtfully, and decided that he was not frustrated. He was reminded of something Círdan had said to him, of how Elrond was agreeable and friendly to all, making him a popular diplomat and aid to the King, but that few knew him well. He chose his close friends carefully, and only with them did he share his private life and thoughts. We do not need to be close friends for me to fulfill my duty , thought Glorfindel. But he will need to learn to trust and depend upon me, and that means I will know more about him personally than he would normally share. Such relationships take time, and time is something we have in abundance. I can be patient .

A slow smile spread across his face as he thought back to the morning. Círdan had arrived early, and though he was not formally expected, everyone seemed to know he would be present. His purpose became clear quite early when he stood and toasted Gil-Galad, and then gifted him with a carved ship inside a blown glass bottle. Begetting day greetings and salutations had followed from those close to the King. Glorfindel had noticed that all had some sort of small gift for Gil-Galad, except Elrond. His curiosity was piqued and he watched Elrond throughout the small celebration. Elrond was his normal reserved self, watching all present, listening to all that was said. Glorfindel had concluded that whatever Elrond had done to acknowledge the day had been done in private. Suddenly he wondered how Elrond's begetting day was spent – did he spend it with his close friends? Have a small gathering in his private chambers? Was it public, due to his role as Gil-Galad's herald and chief advisor? He became curious to know when the day was, and so had asked Elrond.

“When is your begetting day, Elrond?” he had asked conversationally.

Elrond had smiled, something Glorfindel noted, as the half-elf did not do so often. “My human heritage precludes knowing the exact date.”

Glorfindel had begun to ask what date was used instead, but Elrond had turned and left the room, a hint of the smile still on his face. Glorfindel had laughed aloud. Trust Elrond to use this reason to ensure that his begetting day was not acknowledged, at least publicly! Surely at least Círdan and Gil-Galad had chosen a date to use during his childhood, though.

Elrond controls most situations he is in, but in an understated way. Most people do not realize that he has maneuvered them exactly where he wants them to go. Instead, they believe it was their idea . Glorfindel had pondered this for part of the afternoon, and now as he lay in the warmth of the setting sun a plan formed in his mind, almost of its own accord. He would create a situation and not allow Elrond to lead him anywhere. He was fascinated to see how his charge reacted when he was not in control.

* * *

It took several days to put his plan into action. He learned from Gil-Galad that they had used Elrond and Elros's day of birth in place of their conception day, and Glorfindel had readily discovered the date. This information he would tuck away for future reference. He had also told Gil-Galad that he wished to borrow Elrond on a morning he normally appeared in court. Gil-Galad had asked what for, and grinned when Glorfindel had said an experiment.

“Is Elrond aware of the experiment?” he had asked.

“No, my lord,” Glorfindel had replied with a smile. “Elrond is the experiment.”

Gil-Galad laughed at Glorfindel. “Do not be surprised, my friend, if you find your roles reversed by the end.”

“Perhaps,” he had answered. “That is indeed the reason for the experiment.”

Now he was ready to begin. It was early morning, and he knew Elrond would begin his day with a walk around the courtyard. He would wander through the rose gardens then cross to the pavilions and walk back to the palace. He typically spent a half to a full hour, depending on what was on schedule for the day. Glorfindel sat on the ledge of the fountain in the courtyard, waiting. He rose when Elrond walked down the palace stairs and walked to meet him.

“Good morning, Elrond,” he greeted the half-elf with a warm smile.

“Good morning, Glorfindel,” replied Elrond.

Elrond stood in place, waiting for Glorfindel to speak, as Glorfindel had neither fallen in step beside him nor continued past him. Glorfindel smiled inwardly and allowed the silence to continue just slightly longer than what was comfortable before continuing. “May I walk with you?”

Glorfindel knew how much Elrond enjoyed this time alone in the morning. He came early, and walked in the quiet garden with only birdsong for company. He was purposefully invading Elrond's private time.

“Of course,” answered Elrond, without pause. He moved slightly to the side and continued on into the garden, expecting Glorfindel to fall into step with him. Glorfindel did so, but then gently began edging Elrond towards the side of the garden, away from his normal course.

“There is a beautiful new colt in the stables,” said Glorfindel. “He has much potential. Come, let us go see him.” As he spoke, Glorfindel touched Elrond lightly on the elbow, nudging him in the right direction.

Elrond slowed, causing Glorfindel to have to adjust his stride. In that brief moment when they were not walking together, Elrond managed to adjust their course away from the stables. “There is not time before court this morning, but we could come this afternoon, if you are free then.”

Glorfindel pulled a copy of the day's schedule from his pocket. “There is little planned for today. Gil-Galad even mentioned that court would be short and that the young apprentice advisor, Erestor I think his name was, could handle everything.” Glorfindel again nudged Elrond in the direction of the stables.

To Glorfindel's surprise, Elrond appeared slightly flustered. “I am sure Erestor will do well. I have overseen his training myself. However, I have not informed anyone that I would not be present.”

“We can send a messenger from the stables,” offered Glorfindel. “Gil-Galad already said you were not needed.”

Glorfindel watched Elrond and could see the turmoil within him. Knowing what little he did about Elrond, Glorfindel suspected that Elrond had never missed a day of court unless it was to serve Gil-Galad in another way, at the King's request. He forced himself not to smile, and took advantage of the situation, maneuvering Elrond out of the garden and increasing his speed slightly.

Suddenly they were at the stables, and Glorfindel learned something new about Elrond. He loved horses, and knew much about breeding them. He stood aside while Elrond examined the young colt, his face alight in joy as he spoke to the animal, extolling the colt's fine features and potential until even the colt was preening under the half-elf's praise. They then moved through the stables together, and Glorfindel found he was far less interested in the horses than he was in the way that Elrond loosened up. His demeanor change extended beyond the horses.

“I had a stallion on Balar, but there was little room to ride and I had little time, regardless. I took him to war, and he was a faithful friend. He was old as the war entered the final stages, and he died before Beleriand broke apart. Nearly all the horses we had with us did.”

“Do you have a horse here?” asked Glorfindel. He loved horses and was pleased that they had this in common.

“Yes,” answered Elrond quickly. He led Glorfindel to another section of the stables and the nickering and whinnying of a black stallion as Elrond approached announced whom the half-elf belonged to.

“This is Reviaur. He flies like the wind. See his marking here?” Elrond pointed to a shape on the horse's head. “A flame. He flies with fire.” He rubbed he stallions nose, whispering to him. “I came unexpectedly, Reviaur, and thus did not come prepared with sugar or apples,” he explained to the horse.

Glorfindel motioned to a passing stable hand, who approached with treats. Another stable hand approached with a white stallion, who threw his head and stamped his foot at the sight of Glorfindel. Elrond turned to look at the horse and smiled warmly at Glorfindel. “Yours?”

“As I am his,” laughed Glorfindel. “He chose me, actually, the day I came to look for a mount.” He motioned out the stable door. “Shall we ride?”

Elrond hesitated only briefly before answering, “Yes.” He shed the robes he wore over his tunic and trousers and led Reviaur out of the stable.

Glorfindel was mounted and warming up his own horse when it occurred to him that Elrond had taken control of the situation. He began to laugh – he had not let Elrond lead him on their walk, had persuaded the half-elf to trust him in regard to changing his plans for the morning, and now Elrond was taking the lead as they rode out together. He heard Elrond shout, and then Reviaur broke out in a gallop across the flat plains beyond the stables. Glorfindel's stallion snorted and he allowed the horse free rein. Soon they were racing neck in neck across the field.

Several hours later they were lying in the sun as the horses grazed and rested. A stream ran nearby, and they had all already drunk and refreshed themselves in the cool waters. Glorfindel sat up and opened the pack that he had brought with him, pulling out fresh fruit, cheese and a skin of wine.

“You planned this,” accused Elrond.

“Definitely,” agreed Glorfindel.

“Why?”

“Eat,” demanded Glorfindel, as he set the food between them.

Elrond obediently ate what Glorfindel had set before him, finishing his fruit immediately and then moving on to the cheese.

“I want to know you,” said Glorfindel finally, “and I want you to trust me.”

Elrond looked at him strangely, but pondered the words for a number of minutes before responding. “I suppose I already do.”

“Trust must be earned,” warned Glorfindel.

Elrond stared at him, as if reading his heart, and Glorfindel made his thoughts and motives as transparent as he could.

“I would not count myself wise if I did not.”

“You seem to be a fair judge of character,” admitted Glorfindel. He had been impressed while watching Elrond interact with petitioners and representatives of other realms.

“Are you going to eat those strawberries?”

Glorfindel grinned wickedly. “No.”

“May I have them?”

“No.”

Elrond laughed, and then reached over and snatched the berries from Glorfindel's plate. He ate them, ignoring Glorfindel's laughter, and then grinned unrepentantly. “That is how much I trust you.”

As they prepared to leave, Glorfindel pondered that statement. For Elrond to act impulsively did indicate trust. He had also gained something this day that he had not planned – he would now count Elrond among his friends as well.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Arwen, had you heard this story before?” asked Elladan as he ruffled her hair. “You knew about the strawberries.”

“No, I did not!” denied Arwen. “I am just right.”

“Adar, did she ask you what you would do?” asked Elrohir teasingly.

Elrond shook his head, a smile on his face. He turned to Glorfindel. “I had forgotten about that.”

“Arwen sees with a child's simplicity. She would take the strawberries from me, but she would likely not take them from someone she barely knew, nor would she take them from me in front of someone she did not know. Trust is like that – it is between two people.” As Glorfindel spoke, he produced another small bowl of strawberries, placing it in Arwen's lap. “The winner's prize,” he announced.

Elrond, Elrohir and Elladan all leaned in close to her. “Will you share with us?” asked Elladan.

Arwen grinned, and everyone knew she wished to say ‘no', to make them laugh and do what Glorfindel had just done. But her young heart was very generous, and even in teasing she could not do that. She set the bowl between all of them. “Yes,” she answered.

* * * * *

Chapter 10: Deceptive Appearances

* * * * *

Elrond lifted Arwen and set her on her feet, keeping a firm hold on her until he was sure she was going to stand without falling. A grimace of discomfort crossed her face as she straightened, the skin around the long gash down her side pulling loose from the scab that covered it. He smiled at her in encouragement as she moved and stretched until the discomfort lessened. He offered her his hand then, and they began to walk slowly around the campsite.

“I am glad to be able to walk again, Ada,” said Arwen solemnly.

“I am glad also, for it means you are recovering. Why are you glad?”

Arwen looked across the campsite to where Elladan was helping Elrohir to sit up and eat. “I can help take care of Elrohir now. I can bring him food and water, or anything he needs.”

“We will be glad for your help,” replied Elrond with a smile. He guided Arwen around the edge of the camp, but noted her eyes did not leave her brothers. She adored them before, he thought, but now she nearly worships them as heroes. They walked slowly back up the slight hill and Arwen beamed as her brothers called their encouragement. Finishing her short journey, she sat carefully on a tree stump next to them, and Elrond could see that already she was tired.

“Do I get to go next?” questioned Elrohir with a grin.

Glorfindel rose from where he had been sitting, a tree branch shaped into a crutch in hand. He had padded the top of it for comfort, and carved into it a twining vine that ran the length of the wood.

Elrond looked at the crutch and then at his son. The break to his lower leg had been bad, and a fall now, if he landed on the still healing wound, would be serious. Yet, Elrohir looked hopeful and Elladan would be at his side. He finally nodded. “You may, but there are caveats,” he warned.

“Of course, Adar,” answered Elrohir. “I shall keep someone by my side at all times and not move out of the area of the camp, which you will have carefully checked for obstacles that might cause me to trip.”

Elrond closed his eyes and shook his head. He looked back at his sons when he heard laughter, and saw Elladan again pretending to cuff his twin on the side of the head.

“He is definitely recovering, Adar, for his sense of humor is returning,” said Elladan dryly. “Shall I smack him again?”

Elrond was about to respond, to comment on how well his son knew him, when he saw Arwen out of the corner of his eye. She had risen off the tree stump, her eyes flashing in anger.

“Do not hit Elrohir!” she cried.

Glorfindel caught her as she stumbled, for she had stood too quickly to adjust for her injuries. Elrond could tell she was shaking in fury, her eyes filled with tears as she reached a hand out to Elrohir.

“Arwen, Elladan did not hit me,” said Elrohir quickly, his face drawn in concern. “He was only teasing me.”

Elrond moved swiftly to Glorfindel, taking his daughter in his arms as she burst into tears. She buried her face into his shoulder, sobs racking her small body, as he walked over to a more private area near the spring and sat down on a large rock. He rocked her in his arms until her sobs lessened.

“I want Nana,” she finally hiccupped.

Elrond cuddled her against his chest, and then bent his head to kiss her on the forehead. “Your naneth is coming just as quickly as she can. She also misses you terribly.”

“I wish we were home.”

“So do I, sweetheart, so do I,” replied Elrond gently.

Arwen’s tears subsided as she drifted into sleep. Elrond continued to rock her in his arms for a while longer, considering the journey they would undertake in a few days. Arwen’s reaction, caused by her fatigue and discomfort, was good reason to wait until the trip would not tax either her or Elrohir. They had adequate supplies, passed over the river in the basket, and no signs of enemies anywhere in the region. They would take their time, and perhaps all would find some enjoyment in the leisurely journey home. Rising carefully, Elrond carried Arwen back to the campsite, where Elrohir was waiting patiently for him.

“Let me hold her, Adar,” said Elladan contritely. “Perhaps when she wakes I can convince her I am not a troll trying to hurt Elrohir.”

Elrond laughed softly. “Arwen was a little tired and uncomfortable, and not in a mind to understand that you were teasing.” He looked at Elrohir, who was poking his brother in the leg and whispering ‘troll’, and spoke to Elladan. “While she is sleeping, you may smack him again.”

Elladan pretended to cuff his twin as he stood, and then leaned over to take Elrohir by both forearms and slowly pulled him upright. Elrohir fell against him heavily, and Elrond stepped towards them, Arwen still in his arms, but Elladan pulled Elrohir to him and held him upright, supporting much of his twin’s weight as Elrohir’s world spun.

Glorfindel slipped the crutch under Elrohir’s arm, then stood protectively behind him as Elrohir fought to stay upright. Elrond watched him struggle for a few moments, then laid Arwen down on her blankets and moved to his sons.

He wrapped his arm around Elrohir’s shoulders and bent down so his head was level with Elrohir’s. Elrohir’s forehead was resting on his brother’s shoulder as he tried to slow his spinning world, his breath coming in short gasps.

“Elrohir, focus on me.” Elrond spoke in a softly commanding voice. “Take a deep breath and hold it. . . release. Breathe in again.” He continued quietly talking Elrohir through the dizziness and pain. Soon Elrohir was able to open his eyes and straighten, though he still leaned heavily on his twin. Elrond let him stand for several minutes, then spoke again, “This is enough for your first time standing. Let Elladan and me help you to the ground.”

Elrohir did not protest, proving to Elrond that this step had been as much as he could bear. They lowered him gently to the ground. Elrohir closed his eyes and threw his arm over his face. Elrond could see the clenched muscles of his jaw, and tear tracks running from his eyes and down into his ears, his frustration obvious. Elladan sat down next to him, resting one hand on his twin’s shoulder but remaining silent until Elrohir recovered.

Elrond waited until Elrohir had uncovered his face and Elladan had propped him up, and then gave him a small cup of miruvor. Elrohir sniffed it cautiously, then lifted an eyebrow at his father.

“It will refresh and restore you, but you must rest. If you wish to stand again this evening, we will help you. Otherwise, tomorrow is soon enough.”

Elrohir drank the contents of the cup, and Elrond was pleased to see his eyes brighten and face clear a short time later.

“I think Arwen and Elrohir both seemed better than they really were,” said Elladan suddenly. “I guess appearances can be deceiving.”

“Adar, Glorfindel, I think I healed much faster when I was a child and you told us stories to pass the time,” said Elrohir, again grinning.

“Your injuries were not nearly so bad when you were a child,” replied Elrond. “But perhaps we can think of a tale you have not heard.”

“Continue in the Second Age,” suggested Elladan.

“The dark times of the Second Age were just beginning, though we did not know it,” replied Elrond, “for creatures of shadow came disguised as creatures of light, and their appearances were also deceptive . . .”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond was in court when word came of a visitor at the gates. An emissary had delivered a scroll, which a messenger now handed to Elrond. Elrond noted the fine parchment, and upon opening it, the beautifully written script. He quickly read the letter.

“Is the name Annatar familiar to you?” asked Elrond. He looked up at Gil-galad, who shook his head in reply. “There is an emissary of Lord Annatar at the city gate. He bore this letter, wherein Lord Annatar seeks your leave to come to Lindon. His claim is great: he is neither elf nor man but bears skills that will aid both. He wishes to come to Lindon to learn of our ways and to teach us even greater skill. He promises that friendship with him will benefit us greatly.”

Gil-galad took the message and read through it himself. “Fair words and even fairer promises, yet he does not say of which peoples or lands he is lord, nor what skills he possesses.” He paused. “Have a message sent to Círdan. Perhaps the name is familiar to him. Invite Glorfindel to join us as well.”

* * *

“Annatar,” said Círdan slowly. “He calls himself a name meaning the ‘Lord of Gifts.’” He paused in thought for a long moment. “This is not a name I know. I would not trust such a message.”

Gil-galad turned then to Glorfindel, who also shook his head. “Nay, Gil-galad. That is not a name I know either.”

“If he is neither man nor elf, then what is he?” questioned Gil-galad. “His claim seems to put him on the level of the Maiar or Valar, for he is certainly not of any mortal species of Middle-earth.”

Círdan’s eyes darkened and narrowed as he stared out over the water. “If the Valar send emissaries on their behalf, we will recognize them as such,” he stated firmly.

Elrond sent word to the emissary that the king declined his lord’s offer, for though Annatar wrote fair words, his missive held little of substance.

* * *

A few months later…

Elrond was in the library when the king summoned him. He met Glorfindel in the courtyard, also responding to a message from Gil-galad, and together they entered his private meeting chamber. He was sitting at his desk, another scroll written in the same elegant hand before him. No words were spoken as he handed the letter to them. Glorfindel read it over Elrond’s shoulder.

“The undertone of this letter is almost threatening,” said Elrond finally. “Veiled, perhaps, but beneath his words of honey lies the sting of a bee.”

“He claims other elves have made his association and prospered greatly, and questions why we want neither the benefit of his association nor the ability to help other realms be as fair and free as Lindon,” mused Glorfindel as he read through a second time.

There was a long silence as all pondered their thoughts on the mysterious Annatar. “I do not know who this Annatar truly is, nor what motivation lies beneath his veiled threats, but Lindon shall not treat with him,” declared Gil-galad.

“Will you consent to send messengers to Eregion and beyond, to all the settlements, in warning?” asked Glorfindel.

“You think that he poses more danger than he appears capable of?” asked Elrond.

“The misgiving in my heart grows. We know not what he is capable of,” replied Glorfindel, his expression troubled. “He may have strength that we cannot see.” He turned again to Gil-galad. “Send out messengers, my lord. Warn them of danger and not to treat with him.”

“I will send out messengers warning against him, for though fair-seeming we do not trust him. I will not, however, forbid them from making his friendship. The settlements are free, and I have not proof against him,” replied Gil-galad firmly.

Glorfindel bowed his head in acquiescence, but Elrond could see in the stiffness of his shoulders that the discussion was far from over.

Nonetheless, the emissary was again denied, and several days later, messengers rode east bearing messages from the king.

* * *

The following summer . . .

Glorfindel left the city early in the morning, riding his stallion east to the hills and then just beyond into the countryside. There he alternately rode and walked, spending his day exploring the lush grasslands that begged to be farmed. Near midday he rested, allowing his horse to graze in the tall grass while he lay nearby. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the scent of sweet grass and honeysuckle, and listened for the birds, identifying each by call and song. The nickering of his horse, followed by the thud of him lying down in the grass, caused him to open his eyes and sit up. The powerful stallion was rolling on his back in the grass, all four legs in the air as he snorted and nickered his pleasure.

“You overgrown kitten,” laughed Glorfindel. “I shall tell all those beautiful mares you have been courting about your coltish behavior.” The horse snorted at him again. “You shall have no chance for recourse, my friend. And I shall take extra care to make sure you do not see me with a pretty elleth, to whom you might tattle my follies.”

Just then, in the distance, Glorfindel heard a noise, of hooves and the sounds of travel. He motioned his stallion to stay silent and hidden in the grove. He ran lightly across the ground until he had an unencumbered view of the road that led to Lindon. In the distance, a party approached. Guards rode in a loose formation about a tall being on a great horse. His long dark hair was unbound, flowing freely over his shoulders and blowing gently in the slight breeze. He was fair, even beautiful, and his eyes were bright. Dressed in a long tunic of midnight blue, decorated in silver and white trims that sparkled in the sunlight, he was a stunning presence.

Glorfindel watched the being approach with growing uneasiness. Neither man nor elf, yet he carried power about him like a mantle. He had a regal bearing, as one who was not often denied. Suddenly, Glorfindel realized that this must be Annatar. He carefully slipped from sight, waiting until the small procession had passed before returning to the grove.

“We shall take the less traveled paths, much as we came, and your speed will be an extra gift,” whispered Glorfindel into the stallion’s ear.

Glorfindel passed through the gates before the visitors came into view. Dismounting, he warned the gatekeeper of the impending arrival, and then went to the palace. He saw Elrond about to enter court, where Gil-galad greeted visitors and heard petitions, and motioned for Elrond to wait.

“Mae govannen, Glorfindel,” Elrond greeted him. “Did you enjoy your ride into the hills?”

“Suilad, Elrond,” replied Glorfindel. “A visitor approaches. If I were to guess his name, I would say Annatar has come to Lindon personally.”

Elrond’s eyes widened and then narrowed in what Glorfindel read as a challenge. He found himself grinning in spite of himself. “I need to go refresh myself. If you go personally to the gates, I shall go with you.”

“Are you asking to accompany me, or telling me that you plan to accompany me?” asked Elrond, a glint of amusement in his eye.

“Telling, my lord, of course,” replied Glorfindel as he bowed and then retreated to his chamber.

* * *

By the time Glorfindel returned to the Hall, Elrond and Gil-galad were reading through a letter in the now familiar script on a fine linen scroll. A messenger waited patiently nearby.

“You may return to your post,” said Gil-galad.

The messenger nodded and left, not questioning the lack of reply nor what his king might do instead. Gil-galad turned to Elrond. “Question him, but he is not to enter the city. Glorfindel is to accompany you.”

Glorfindel laughed and Elrond glared at him, but they left together with equal measures of apprehension and anticipation. A small crowd had gathered at the city gates, listening to the visitor as he spoke of what Lindon should offer to the rest of Middle-earth, and promising them what good he would bring to Lindon. The visitor continued to speak even as the crowd parted and then fell away as Elrond and Glorfindel approached. The normal guards were visible at their posts near the gates, but others approached, blending invisibly into the walls of the city.

Annatar walked several steps forward to greet them, bowing his head slightly at Elrond. “Greetings, Elrond Half-elven, herald to the high king,” he began. “I am Lord Annatar.”

Elrond studied the visitor for a moment, then asked, “Of what lands and people are you Lord?”

“I have been Lord of many, but now serve all of Middle-earth. My labors are many, yet my work would be greatly enhanced with aid from Lindon, fairest of realms.”

“From where do you come?”

“I come from afar, from my travels in the east, and before that from the north and the west. No lands do I call my own, however. I seek knowledge and understanding of all peoples, to know their ways and the measure of their hearts, to learn of their craft and impart what I have gained from others.”

“What business have you in Lindon?”

“Only to bring what knowledge I have gained in my years of travel, and to learn also from you. No realm have I seen this fair or fine in all of my journeys. Surely wisdom and craft you may teach me, and perhaps I may add to that you already possess.” As the visitor spoke, he turned slightly to meet the gazes of all those near him, graceful hand gestures including all of them in his praise for the realm.

Glorfindel watched the reactions of those in proximity. Most of the guards seemed duly impressed by Annatar, and many smiles were to be found on their faces after he praised the fair realm to which they had contributed. Elrond, however, remained guarded.

“You speak in generalities,” chided Elrond. “You do not name a land that you call home, nor do you speak of specific needs or skills to be acquired. You say you come from the west, yet Lindon is as far west as one may now travel. Did you live once in Beleriand?”

“My travels did take me through Beleriand, many years before its destruction,” acknowledged Annatar. “Such times are long in the past, however. A successful new start your king has made here. Now is the time to end the desolation and the darkness that pervades much of Middle-earth, and make all of elvendom as blissful as your Lindon.”

“Indeed,” replied Elrond. “What knowledge do you possess of Lindon, that you speak of it so?”

“You seek flattery!” cried Annatar in delight. “Word of the grace and beauty of Lindon travels far from her borders. Few have not heard this truth, my friend.”

“Nay,” said Elrond evenly. “It is not flattery I seek, but facts. Still you evade my questions, deftly stepping around them as if our conversation were but a dance.”

“You do not find dancing pleasant? I have heard of your serious demeanor, Master Elrond. But it is true, more serious discussions do await us. Perhaps we should now meet with your king?” Annatar’s voice held a slightly mocking tone, yet his smile was still present and he reached to Elrond, as if to wrap an arm about his shoulders and move into step with him.

Glorfindel moved in that instant, stepping in between them and catching Annatar’s hand in his own. He felt a flicker of power course through him as their skin touched, and a sudden feeling of menacing cold blanketed him. Annatar snatched his hand away and stepped back, and just as quickly the power and cold faded. Glorfindel would almost have thought he imagined it, except for the momentary gleam of anger that remained in Annatar’s eyes.

Elrond had not flinched, but stood firm. As Glorfindel stepped slightly aside, but not out of reach, he spoke, “My king has provided an answer to all your previous emissaries. It has not changed. Lindon will not treat with you. You may camp overnight, if the need is present, under that grove of trees a half league beyond the gate. Our guards will escort you and keep watch, that your entourage may properly rest before you return to wherever it is you call home.”

Elrond turned his back to Annatar and strode purposefully away even as guards materialized from the city walls. He did not see the burning hatred in the glare that followed him, for it lasted only an instant. Annatar bowed after the retreating form of Elrond.

“Alas, it is a great loss for Middle-earth when the mightiest of her leaders will not deign to labor with others to improve the lot for all who love these lands. Come,” he said, motioning to his small entourage, “we will find others more willing to serve.”

Glorfindel watched as Annatar turned, proud and regal, yet apparently greatly saddened, and began to walk down the east road away from Lindon. Several of the guards looked at Glorfindel in confusion, for Annatar’s words had moved them. Did not they all wish to improve Middle-earth?

“Clear you minds of the honeyed words of a deceiver,” said Glorfindel sharply. “Shadow and deception masquerade as light, but at their core they remain evil.” He motioned to a contingent of guards who had stepped forward at Elrond’s earlier command. “Follow them at a distance and ensure they leave these lands.”

Glorfindel walked away, his heart uneasy as he pondered who Annatar might be or whose power he harnessed. Clearly Annatar would seek out the other elven settlements, and attempt to seduce them with the same words he had used in Lindon. Quickening his pace, he strode into the palace and entered the king’s private office, where Elrond also waited.

“He will travel from here to Eregion, seeking from them what he could not obtain here,” he said bluntly.

“Celebrimbor could be more easily deceived,” added Elrond. “He seeks only to improve his craft and will welcome one with goals to rid the Earth of darkness, for they match his own.”

“Messengers have been sent warning the elven settlements to neither welcome nor treat with Annatar,” Gil-galad reminded them.

“You are the recognized high king of the elves of Middle-earth. Demand it,” said Glorfindel suddenly. “Do not allow them to be deceived.”

Gil-galad’s gaze hardened as he looked at Glorfindel. “Only in Lindon would I declare this as rule. Galadriel and Celeborn are in Ost-in-Edhil, and rule over the city. Galadriel will not be swayed by Annatar, nor will Oropher or Amdir.”

“It is within your power to order them not to treat with him,” argued Glorfindel.

“No,” replied Gil-galad, his hand held up to stop Glorfindel’s argument. “I have supported those who wished to settle realms of their own, and their loyalty I have earned by supporting and encouraging them. To demand their action in this could mean an irreparable splintering of the elven kindreds. This is not sufficient reason to take such a risk.”

Glorfindel bowed his head for a moment. “There is a power in him of which I do not know the source. He may be more than we can imagine.”

“If he is,” replied Gil-galad, “it may take all of us to stand against him. We cannot risk the sundering of realms.” Gil-galad held his eyes steadily. “This is not Gondolin, and I am not my uncle. What Turgon could do in a hidden kingdom among a united kindred is not what I can do in realms spread out over hundreds of leagues and including Noldor and Sindar, Falathrim and Nandor, Silvan and Avari.”

Glorfindel slumped into a chair in front of Gil-galad’s desk. The three were quiet, as all considered the import of Glorfindel’s concerns and Gil-galad’s practical considerations. Elrond rose and poured three cups of wine. Glorfindel accepted his gladly. He understood the king’s position and could not solidly argue against it. He knew for fact only that Annatar was more than he seemed. He felt a desire to seek out Círdan, for he knew that Ulmo still communicated with the ancient elf. Perhaps he would have insight that would help put Glorfindel’s mind to rest.

The three drank their wine in companionable silence.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Annatar was Sauron,” breathed Elrohir.

“He was,” answered Elrond, “but we did not know it then, nor for many years to come. He did not reveal himself until he was discovered.”

“Glorfindel, you were right,” said Elladan, a troubled look on his face. “This is what you and Gil-galad disagreed about.”

Elrond looked at Glorfindel, who smiled at him in return.

“We were all right, and which decision would have proved better is unknown,” replied Glorfindel. “The One Ring would not exist, perhaps, had Gil-galad issued the order and the elven realms had obeyed and not splintered their loyalties. Had the order been issued, and a realm both welcomed Annatar and splintered their loyalty from other elves, then not only would the One Ring have been forged, but we might not have been able to drive Sauron out of Eriador and none of us would be here. History will judge our actions, in particular Gil-galad’s, for such decisions ultimately rest upon the king. But while history judges the outcome of the choice we made, it still cannot provide a better answer or say with surety what should have been done, for history cannot predict the outcome of another choice.”

“Choices are like the threads of a spider’s web,” added Elrond. You may follow the silk to a fork in your path. You may choose to meander the way of the right tine and ultimately end up in the spider’s grasp. It was a bad choice. However, you have no way of knowing if choosing the left tine would have ultimately changed your fate, much less led to a better end. The path ahead twists and turns, and you cannot know what other obstacles you may encounter that will further help or hinder your journey.”

The twins were silent, and Arwen still asleep, though now in Elladan’s arms as he did truly intend to ensure she awoke to his loving touch and not to a remembrance that he was beating her beloved Elrohir.

“I suddenly feel very young and insufficient,” admitted Elladan.

“You are very young, but far from insufficient,” said Elrond with a laugh. “None of our decisions were made without council, and I hope that you will always seek out good council for any important choice you must make.”

“Your legs are an insufficient pillow,” grumbled Elrohir. “Arwen has the comfortable spot. Adar, will you roll me a blanket for a pillow?”