Suddenly and unexpectedly pain came over him. Air breached his lungs. And light with all its brutal clarity burned his eyes and there were noises, millions of them, that broke his quiet solitude. He felt heat scrape along bones and coldness revived flesh that had long been ashes. Glorfindel of Gondolin, who had long been gone from this world, was formed again. Was formed from aches long forgotten, from tears that had been the foundation of many a song. Blood flew and fragile limbs radiated warmth again. But this had not been his choice.
The knowledge and experience of a seasoned warrior would be needed in a future not so far away, when an elf with a fea so pure and swordarm so fierce would drive back a Nazgul to protect the Ringbearer on his way to Imladris. This prophecy had led Elrond, Lord of Imladris, into the Woods of Lóthlorien, where Irmo himself was once seen walking in the dawn of all ages. The woods, so the myth stated, still enabled those seeking thruth to contact the Valar in their dreams. And Elrond had pleaded on Arda's behalf with Irmo. With Isildur's failure accepted, he had foreseen hope and doom, closely linked. He hoped to find answers in the Woods of Lóthlorien. He had asked for revelation of the one warrior who would fullfill the crucial part of the prophecy. And the Valar in their unfailing wisdom had not given the Peredhel the identity of said saviour but the elf himself; a legend restored for one purpose.
Glorfindel desperately clung to Mandos' Halls, but his soul was already embedded in a body. There was no way back. The mercy of the Valar granted him one last foray into the darkness and so he lost his consciousness when the impressions of the world he had willingly left were once again filling his senses. But before calmness lulled him, an etheral voice reminded him that in years long passed, a warrior had sacrificed his life in defense of his people. Fire had consumed the fea known as Glorfindel of Gondolin, and thrown him down Cirith Thoronath. That name stirred his memories, but he couldn't grasp the fleeting images of a mountainside, a hidden city and a lake so crystal blue that it rivaled the skies. It hurt to remember. Something pierced his ears. Sharp, unrelenting.
"Wake up!"
"Let him rest, Elrond."
"Nay, I want... "
The noise faded in the background when he felt himself cradled in strong arms and soft material touched his cold skin. Someone was stroking his face and he gave into the need to sleep. He was safe for the moment.
Glorfindel wasn't sure when precisely he woke from his reverie. Colours and shadows had slowly embarked into his calm white dreamscape, forcing him back towards awareness. With sleep retreating the memories came alive. He could recall vividly the fall of his beloved city, the fall of Gondolin. His kin had fought so hard, but their efforts hadn't paid off and his home had burned. Burned to ashes just like him. In their panic and confusion the remaining elves had followed Tuor up the mountain, through the secret passage. Only it hadn't been so secret for Morgoth's creatures already awaited them. A Balrog had blocked Cirith Thoronath and therefore stopped their flight. Glorfindel had fought the fire demon at the top of the mountain. Defeating it condemned him to death, but he he chose this fate realizing that if he failed those following him would die as well. He remembered the smell of sulfour, the burning heat licking along his skin and his determination to keep safe what was left of his homeland, the refugees of Gondolin. His vision cleared. The light still hurt, but less than before. Less than the past. There was mud beneath his shoulderblades and he felt soaked to the skin. There was something warm blanketing his body, a cloak maybe, but his eyes could only make out a greenish shape where his body should be. If Glorfindel was guessing correctly he was lying flat on the ground, his head pillowed on somebody's lap. No smell of fire on him and no sounds of flight in the air. Birds were singing and leaves were whispering a welcome to him. They spoke of `Lorien, though Glorfindel didn't understand why he should lie in woods so far away from his place of battle. Maybe the eagles had brought him here. Maybe Mandos` Halls had been a dream."I think his eyes are moving.
"Is he awake?"
"I'm not sure."
Voices. He was not feeling the calming touch of another mind, but the silvery sound of an elven voice. There was no necessity for sound in Mandos` Halls and hearing felt odd. He forced himself to remain motionless to deceive the elves guarding him. Foes, friends the Valar only knew whom he had to face now that he was here. Wherever in Lórien that might be. With all the strength he could muster, he pulled himself swiftly to his feet, surprising those watching over him. A snarl of dismay errupted from Glorfindel's lips when he found himself naked and without weapons, but the two elves across from him were armed. And obviously they were too busy staring agape at him to defend themselves properly. Wiping his blond hair from his face he took an agressive stance. His muscles protested their use, but instincts honed in another life took over and harshly demanded control of his body. A few glances told him that neither of the two dark haired elves were responding to his silent challenge and so he simply launched at the one closest. He caught the dark haired elf off guard, but judging from the ease with which his opponent blocked his punches he was no stranger to combat. Glorfindel was amazed that the other only reacted to his attacks. Yet he wasn't in the mood to contemplate something else, but how he got his hands on a sword. Soon he had the elf unarmed and pressed the swordblade to the stranger's throat. The other elf looked calmly at the scene before him, and Glorfindel could see him calculate: "My Lord Elrond?" he inquired.
"I'm fine Erestor." the warrior reassured his companion and grasping his hand over Glorfindel's on the sword he said. "Drop my sword. I mean you no harm."
"Drop his sword, Glorfindel." an authoritive voice echoed this sentence behind him. He knew that voice. It reverbareted through his every soul.
"Galadriel! Utúlien o'Mandos sinome maruvan. Si Morgoth-alantiero?" he exclaimed staring in awe at the Lady of `Lórien.
And Galadriel's voice resounded in his head: "Rest my friend, for that old enemy has been defeated long ago."
The sword fell with a soft clatter to the ground and Glorfindel sagged against the elf he had just threatened. His muscles finally protested and he would have collapsed if it hadn't been for the elf called Elrond.
"Get him to my talan." Galadriel instructed the two elves.
"How did you know we would need your assistance my Lady?" Erestor asked, while Elrond lifted Glorfindel into his arms, covering him with his cloak. Glorfindel hated being dependent, but his legs would not carry his weight any longer.
"Your Lord isn't the only one foreseeing events, Master Erestor. Besides the two of you were observed by my Galadhrim." She added with a smile: "They do not like uninvited guests on their territory. As you do know..."
Elrond raised an eyebrow at his friend and advisor, unconsciously shifting the squirming blonde in his arms: "How come?"
The advisor blushed and averted his eyes: "Haldir and I had once a disagreement over a lover my Lord."
Glorfindel tried to follow their conversation but was confused, because while he understood parts of it, most words sounded almost mutilated to his ears. His restless squirming finally alerted Elrond to the fact that the elf in his arms seemed more than a little disturbed.
"Galadriel?" Elrond asked. "Take him to my talan."
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Glorfindel of Imladris by Gasdil
Story notes: This was written for the Secret Santa Challenge, though it turned out differently than expected. Lyric wanted elfslash, angsting and a sappy end: This tale was all I could come up with. Sorry! And one word to the Tolkien Purists: this is not the good Professor's view on things, thus the term *fan*fiction. I took liberties from canon in describing Celebrian's fate and the Nazgul Fight. To Les and Eva, like always.
Beta: Khylea-thank you!
