Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 8: First Meetings Remembered

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 further 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.