Chapter 2 - The Library of Imladris

"GLORFINDEL! You are not listening to me at all." Elrond heard the unnatural edge come into his voice and worried. I have got to get a grip. Alright, Elrond, my boy, admit it to yourself. This has not been a good day. In fact, it has not been a good week, and it isn’t even half over yet, and the way things are going next week will be even worse. Just because Galadriel shows up unannounced and without Celeborn, but otherwise with full entourage up to and including that benighted Mirror of hers is not reason to lose sight of centuries of self-control. Elrond wished glumly that she’d sent the Mirror up to Thranduil and kept Celeborn here as he was the only one that Elrond knew in all of Middle Earth who had ever been known to be able to control Galadriel. He took a deep breath and a sip of the wine that Glorfindel had brought with him into the library, and he savored its delicate taste, letting his elven senses participate fully in its delights as he became one with the moment of its being. Three bottles he’s brought. Glorfindel’s not that much of a drinker, so this looks to be a rough night. I’ve never seen that blond git look so upset. Wait? Did I just refer to my best friend as a git? I have got to get a grip." "What ails you, my lord Glorfindel? You are so pale, and your distress pierces my heart." He’s always pale, Elrond. ALL blond elves are pale, and you are currently encircled by blond elves. They’re all here except Celeborn and Thranduil, and the way things are going they’ll probably show up next. How on earth does Thranduil conceal himself with that mane of gold hair up in Taur-E-Ndaedelos? And that ridiculous crown of berries and red leaves of his? Everybody else wears a circlet, but not old Mad-Elf Thranduil. May as well carry a glowing firebrand, so that the spiders would find him easily. Seems to get away with it though. Thranduil has always gotten away with things. Just look at that situation with those dwarves that time. Like to see what they’d have done to me if I locked up dwarves in the dungeons of Imladris. No, wait. We don’t have dungeons in Imladris. Must discuss this with Erestor. Glorfindel no good. He’d just insist we smite prisoners heads off or something like that. A good warrior but no finesse.

"I crave your pardon, good Master Elrond. I have been long closeted with Galadriel, and I fear that my head doth ache a bit."

That explains the wine. Maybe I should contribute an extra bottle? Galadriel is definitely in a major snit about Haldir and Legolas both. Can’t blame her really, but she’s got to calm down. Nice kids those two even if they are blond. Terrible things to have happened to them. Galadriel’s right. It does cry out for vengeance. ."What sought she from you, Glorfindel, if your honor allows you to reveal it?"

"Reveal it? Who needs to reveal it? Half the elves in Imladris must have heard her screaming at me. If you hadn’t been up here with your nose in a book as usual, you would have no need to ask what she wants."

Elrond drew himself up stiffly. "I have been looking for New Zealand."

"Well, that’s important. Any luck?"

"Nay, it appears to be a bewitched land whose shape may shift ever to better conceal itself beneath the mists." That ought to shut him up for a while until he figures out what I really said. Glorfindel’s never been good at silvery speech, although he is a blond so you might expect it. "Pray, Glorfindel, say on. What request had the Lady of the Galadhrim to you?"

"She wants me to convince Námo to send Legolas and Haldir back."

"She wants you to WHAT?" Elrond’s voice ascended into a roar that then ended in a strangled whimper as he caught himself in the nets of self-control he had woven for himself in the ages of his life.

"Send them back. You know, Elrond, like I was, post-Balrog. Says if I could manage it for myself, I should be able to come up with an idea or two now. She says I owe her one or two over the years."

That’s it. I finally have proof. My mother-in-law is crazy, mad as a hatter, completely bats. Can just hear the dialogue. "Excuse me Námo, we’d really like to have Legolas and Haldir back, so how about it?"

"It might work, you know, Elrond. I never told you this, but Námo and I have sort of kept in mind contact over the years. He’s got a pretty grim job after all, and I suppose it’s nice to be in contact with someone whose willing to sing your praises for his restored life for a change. Nice fellow really, Námo."

Weren’t you the one I heard once describe Sauron as misguided? Or was that Erestor? Yes. Probably Erestor. Erestor really has too much time on his hands." You never mentioned being in touch with Námo before."Elrond took a deep breath to calm himself and made himself sit down tall and regal at his desk

Glorfindel poured out two more glasses of wine and handed one to his friend. "Well, it’s not a constant thing you know, Midsummer, Solstice, the major holidays. . .just to catch up on the gossip. People tend not to confide in him you see, what with him always having to weigh their fates in his balances and all. He gets lonely."

Elrond took a steadying sip at his wine. It’s the blondness. It does this to them. I’m sure of it. Give me fifteen raven-tressed elves, and we’ll have a nice sensible discussion and get something done and it’s over with. Add one blond, and it’s all out the window and the next thing you know they’re proposing a Quest like as not. "Has he been in touch recently?"

"About an hour ago. Said he heard Galadriel shouting and waited until she left. I don’t think he’s really completely forgiven her, keeps muttering about his hand being forced over lifting her ban."

"That’s understandable. Makes him look bad if it happens too often. Think you, Glorfindel, that his heart may soften unto our young warriors?

"Well, Legolas has been talking to him I understand, and Námo seems to be pretty wroth about the matter himself now. Between us, Elrond, do yourself a favor and don’t ask that elfling about the dissection. Námo says it’s enough to turn your stomach. Legolas can be pretty graphic when he gets wound up as I recall."

Mentally trying to picture Legolas’ reaction to being called an elfling even by Glorfindel, Elrond refilled their glasses. "So, you think he’ll do it, my friend?"

"Says he will if I come pick them up. He just doesn’t want Galadriel to know it was easy. Says she’ll start thinking he’s a pushover and pester him every time one of the Galadhrim falls in battle." Politely, Glorfindel drew a veil over Námo’s remark to him that he’d be damned if he’d be stuck in his Halls with nothing but that Imladris bunch for company. For Glorfindel was of the House of Finarfin, and he was courteous. He had no desire to hurt Elrond, who had been his boon companion for lo these thousand years or more.

And Glorfindel lay his hand upon his friend’s hand and did smile sweetly as he began to speak fair words to him to lighten the sadness and despair of his friend’s face.

"Elrond?"

"Yes, Glorfindel, mellon nîn?"

"I shall leave before the coming of the morning light and, if I make it sound very, very difficult upon my return, Galadriel will owe us one. " Glorfindel smiled into the heart of his friend and saw that heart quicken with joy, and it was enough that he knew he had pleased his friend.

"May Ilúvatar guide you in this journey." Tears of joy and sadness both were in his eyes as Elrond raised his hand in blessing over his friend and filled their glasses with wine that they might drink together the parting cup. Every once in a while even a blond will speak with wisdom. And ever after was the great friendship of Glorfindel and Elrond woven into the songs of the First Born.

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Author’s Note: For the purposes of this story, I rule and declare that his Majesty King Thranduil is a blond. ‘Tis a fair thing to be queen!

Ilúvatar: Quenya for "All-Father" In a very over-simplified explanation, the Song or Music of Ilúvatar was the creation song wherein he revealed to the Ainur the three great themes of this music. Melkor created discord therein and the rest is history

Mellon nîn: Sindarin for "my friend"

Galadhrim: Sindarin for "tree people"; refers to elves (primarily Silvan) who dwell in Lórien under the rule of Galadriel and Celeborn; also spelled Galadrim

Námo/Mandos: A Vala. He is the ordainer or judge for all the Valar and keeps the Houses of the Dead. Very rarely, as with Glorfindel, he will be moved by pity or some other motivation and allow a being to return from his halls.

Taur E-Ndaedelos: Sindarin for "Forest of Great Fear", also known as Mirkwood, the Wood, the Great Wood, Eryn Lasgalen (Sindarin for "Wood of Green Leaves") and, originally, Greenwood the Great. "