The Bonds of Friendship

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever written Gil-Galad. I wanted to write a friendship fic about him, Elrond, and Glorfindel, and the plot sprang up from too much Silmarillion on the mind. For plot purposes, Elrond’s about equivalent to a human’s age of twenty or so, Glorfindel sixteen or seventeen, and Gil-Galad a few years their senior. Yeah, I have a thing about hair...

“Gil-Galad, I must speak with you,” said Elrond Peredhil, the heir of the High King Ereinion Gil-Galad.

Gil-Galad looked up abruptly from the reports he’d been examining. When the Half-Elf called him by his name (he usually called him “my king” or some other ridiculous title), it was usually important. “Yes, Elrond?” he asked seriously.

Elrond looked troubled. “There seems to be something wrong with Glorfindel.”

Gil-Galad furrowed a brow thoughtfully. “What makes you say that?”

“He is brooding about something, and when I asked if he wanted to spar, he told me to go away,” Elrond said.

“Where is he?” asked Gil-Galad.

Elrond pointed out the window. The Elvenking swept back his forest-green cloak as he walked up to it, following Elrond’s finger to see the Elf-Lord seated outside under a tree, still but for his graceful hands tearing at the grass, his unbound hair falling messily over his shoulders and face.

“I had forgotten,” said Gil-Galad with a sudden realization.

Elrond looked at him, confused. “About what, my king?”

“Today is the anniversary of Glorfindel’s death.”

“Death?” echoed Elrond.

“He never told you?” asked Gil-Galad, his voice filled with surprise.

Elrond shook his head.

“Do you know of the fall of Gondolin?”

“Yes.”

“You know of Glorfindel the Valiant, the Balrog-Slayer, who fell at the hands of the Balrog?”

“Yes…” Elrond was skeptical. “Do you mean to tell me that that Glorfindel is this Glorfindel?”

Gil-Galad nodded.

“B-but how, Your Highness?” asked the Half-Elf. “How is that possible?”

Gil-Galad shrugged in a very un-kingly way. “The Valar saw it fit to send him back.”

Elrond gazed at Glorfindel, who now had his head bowed, his face hidden behind a curtain of hair. “Should we go talk to him?”

“Yes, I think we should,” said Gil-Galad.

Glorfindel sat under the tree, sunlight falling through the leaves, leaving dappled patterns where it fell on his silver-blue tunic. He was usually playful and good-humored, but when it came to be this time of year, he remembered it all. The screaming, the dust, the smoke, the terror…but the Balrog most of all. He could still smell the burning city, hear the crack of the creature’s fiery whip, feel the heat of its flames as it had washed over his skin in waves. He knew he should do something to get his mind off of it, but then he’d see his people, the Gondolindrim, and tell himself that someone had to remember them. If he didn’t, who would?

His face buried in his hands, he didn’t see the two new arrivals. He only realized that someone else was there when thin arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Come, Glorfindel. Do not grieve like this,” said a gentle voice.

Glorfindel looked up to see Gil-Galad’s concerned face behind the shoulder he was resting on. Turning his head, he saw that the arms belonged to Elrond. With a sad sigh, he buried his face in the Half-Elf’s shoulder and returned the hug.

“I am sorry I alarmed you, mellon-nin,” he apologized after pulling back.

Elrond shook his head. “I just did not know why you had thrown off your usual cheerful personality. His Majesty told me that you do this every year.”

Glorfindel threw Gil-Galad an angry glare over Elrond’s shoulder. The Elvenking grinned. Glorfindel’s eyes narrowed. “I see you find it amusing to turn me into a melodramatic fool?” he said.

“Only when you act like one,” smirked Gil-Galad.

Glorfindel wordlessly pushed Elrond out of the way and threw himself at Gil-Galad, who attempted to dodge, failed miserably, and ended up getting a punch from Glorfindel.

The Balrog-Slayer sat up and ran a hand through his hair, attempting to right the tangled tresses. It was a lost cause. Gil-Galad stood and straightened his circlet over his own chestnut hair. “Do you feel better now?” he asked.

Glorfindel sighed again. “Not particularly. You deserve a good dunking in the river.”

“I do not see that happening anytime soon,” replied Gil-Galad.

“Neither do I,” said Glorfindel, shaking his head. “I must find a suitable revenge.”

Gil-Galad laughed. “No doubt you will. But leave your dark thoughts behind you,” he coaxed, taking Glorfindel’s hands and pulling him to his feet.

“I try, but it becomes harder and harder to, especially with darkness returning to our land,” said the Balrog-Slayer. “I can feel it inside. Some shadow is descending.”

“I feel the same,” said Elrond, joining the conversation. “I wonder why?”

“Foresight, perhaps. I think it’s simply intuition.”

“I hope you’re wrong,” said Gil-Galad.

“I do, too,” said Glorfindel, gazing into the distance.

“Do not dwell on it,” said Elrond, laying a hand on his arm.

“You are right, my friend,” said Glorfindel, covering his hand with his own. “Truly the bonds of friendship are greater than any,” he said with a grin.

“I could not have put it better,” said Gil-Galad. He then wrapped the two of them in a tight embrace, and they knew that they were not alone as long as they had one another. “After all, what are friends for?”

A/N: This fic is dedicated to my darling siblings, my dearest friends Warp and Vela, and all my OL friends. They say you’re never alone with friends, and I’m surrounded by so many wonderful people that I’ll never be alone! Thank you everyone, for being so fantastic!