Title & Chapter Number: Fate's Mirror 1/?
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website:
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: do not own these characters, they are the property of Tolkien, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this…
Warnings: This story is rated NC-17 and contains male slash pairings and explicit sexual content. If you find this offensive, or you are under-age, I strongly suggest you stop now.
Betas: Larian Elensar
Cast: Erestor, Glorfindel, Gildor, Thranduil
Timeline: SA
Spoilers: None
Summary: Set during the second half of the second age. Reincarnated Glorfindel returns to Lindon from the Halls of Mandos to pledge his service to the High King.
Notes:
April, 1693, Second Age, Lindon
Glorfindel stepped off the great ship onto the docks of the Grey Havens. The wind whipped his cloak and he drew it tight around him, the last remnants of winter blowing in and across the sea. He adjusted his pack and trudged into the wind, making his way to the High King's court. His golden hair was pulled into a single braid behind his head and he was dressed in simple leggings and a tunic, the hood of his gray cloak pulled over his head.
Mandos rewarded him for his service to the last High King by sending him back to Middle Earth to serve Turgon's successor. There were still some things he did not remember about his former life, but unlike the others who had been sent back, his life did not start anew. He returned to Middle Earth as an adult elf, his identity intact and the memory of his death fresh in his mind.
Few noticed him as he passed by; he was just another elf arriving in Gil-galad's court. He approached the King's seneschal, bowing his head in respect, his hand covering his heart, eyes cast down to the tips of the Counselor's black boots.
"My Lord, I am seeking an audience with the High King and his advisors. I have traveled from Valinor to offer my life in service to him."
Erestor regarded the elf before him carefully. His clothes and belongings were humble; he carried only a small pack, his bow, quiver, and sword. While to many he appeared to be a simple soldier, there was an air about the elf that spoke of something greater. He addressed the newcomer flatly, "Those who wish to serve the High King must first take audience with me. Look at me."
Glorfindel raised his head and gazed into the Noldo's eyes, his piercing gray gaze was somewhat intimidating, but he was devastatingly handsome; dark, mysterious, an air of confidence and control surrounded him.
Erestor stroked his chin thoughtfully as he looked upon the elf; he appeared to be a Vanyarian. Though his cloak covered his head, Erestor could still spy a bit of golden hair underneath it; only the Vanyar had hair of that particular color. "What is your name?" he asked.
Glorfindel cleared his throat and softly replied, "Glorfindel, my Lord."
Erestor's eyes widened slightly before he covered his surprise and he leaned forward, as if to study the elf closer. "Glorfindel, is it? That is a distinctive name, how did you come about it?"
Glorfindel steeled his gaze and quietly replied, "It was given to me by my mother and father, my Lord."
Erestor nodded, stroking his chin once again. "Ah, of course. Well, what type of service do you offer, Glorfindel? Cook, stable boy, scribe?"
"Soldier, my Lord. I am skilled with both the bow and sword." He squared his shoulders, drawing up to his full height. As the great doors behind him opened, a gust of air blew through, knocking the hood from his head and exposing his shining golden locks.
Erestor grinned slightly. **This is indeed a handsome and formidable elf…** he walked around his subject slowly, looking him up and down. The Vanya was taller than himself, broad of shoulder and chest, yet not over large, long legs and arms, well muscled. "Well, you do have the build of a warrior, that is apparent." He clapped his hands and motioned to a young elf standing against the wall to come forward. "Follow this youngster here, he will show you to the barracks. Report to me on the training grounds at midday, we will see if your confidence is backed by your skill."
Glorfindel bowed his head, a wisp of hair falling forward against his alabaster cheek. "Aye, my Lord, at midday." He turned on his heel and followed the young elf to the soldier's barracks.
~*~*~*~
As he stowed his pack beneath his bunk, he sat upon the side of the bed, a deep sigh escaping him. He closed his eyes, weariness overtaking his senses as he hung his head down. His hand drifted to his side and he absently rubbed the scar that remained, his reminder of Melkor's evil. He thought to himself that he would have preferred to stay dead, but the Valar had their own reasons for what they did.
"Tired, meldir?"
He opened his eyes to see two brown boots in his field of vision and looked up to see a soldier standing before him. "Aye, it has been a long trip."
The soldier took a seat on the bunk opposite him and smiled kindly. "I am known as Gildor, from the house of Finrod."
Glorfindel smiled and extended his hand, "Mae Govannen, Gildor. I am Glorfindel."
Gildor smiled wisely. **So it is you…** he thought. "Mae Govannen, Glorfindel. From where have you traveled?"
Glorfindel took a deep breath and smiled. "From Valinor, I arrived just today."
Gildor nodded thoughtfully. "Well that is a long trip, from the Halls of Mandos to Lindon."
Glorfindel's eyes widened. "Pardon, my Lord?"
Gildor smiled. "Glorfindel of Gondolin. I dreamt you would be coming, Mandos was generous to send you to us." He bowed his head and continued, "It is an honor, Lord Glorfindel. I imagine you will receive your own regiment."
Glorfindel furrowed his brow and answered, "How did you know it was me? Were you at Gondolin?"
Gildor chuckled, "Well your countenance gave you away, first of all, any who knew of you before the Fall of Gondolin would not be apt to forget your face or bearing. I arrived as one of the contingent of those who were allied with King Turgon, but we were too late. I witnessed Echthelion's fall as we fought back some of the Orcs that spilled forth. But by that time, the city had fallen, and all was lost." He sighed, "Many a song has been sung of the valor of your kin, not least among them, you. Were it not for you, Tuor and his offspring would have perished." He reached across and placed a hand upon Glorfindel's shoulder. "We all owe you a debt of gratitude, my Lord. The High King will be most pleased to hear of your arrival."
Glorfindel put his hands up and sat back. "I would prefer that my identity not be revealed any more than is necessary. I do not want to be treated differently than anyone else is, I do not want to be given special privileges because of my rank or station. Besides, my house is no more, all of my kin have fallen."
Gildor smiled and nodded. "That I understand well, but the King does not stand on ceremony and we all share the burden of hard work here." He put his hand up. "But I will honor your request. I daresay, there are few who will not recognize you, especially when you tell them your name." He clapped the Vanya on the shoulder. "Rest well, meldiramin. Erestor will be looking for you soon enough."
Glorfindel nodded and lay back upon his bunk, crossing his ankles and folding his hands behind his head.
**Blistering heat, choking smoke, then nothing. Soft breezes, lilting voices, peace. `You have much to do yet, Glorfindel. You are still needed in Middle Earth.' Gasping for air, pain wracking his body, pain he cannot put words to. Bright light, warmth, heaviness.**
His eyes snapped open and he sat up in his bunk. He took a deep breath and swung his feet over the side and to the floor, slowly rubbing his temples. He had the same dream each time he closed his eyes, his death, his reincarnation. Here he was in Lindon, all that was left of his House gone, no family, no friends, but one purpose. Protect Gil-galad. Or so he thought; the Valar told him to go, told him to serve the High King. Mandos said he would be needed, that there was one here who would need his protection. He looked out the window, noting the position of the sun in the sky, and rose from his bunk, grasping his bow and sword and walking to the archery field.
~*~*~*~
Erestor stood with his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Glorfindel enter the training ground. He noted the weariness in the warrior's bearing and wondered to himself just exactly what the Vanya was all about. He wondered if it was possible that he was looking upon the same Glorfindel that fell at Gondolin, he had not heard tell of one being returned from the Halls of Mandos as an adult.
Glorfindel came to a stop before him and bowed his head, placing his hand over his heart in respect. "My Lord, I am here for my test."
Erestor clasped his hands behind his back. "Shall we commence?"
Glorfindel nodded. "Aye, my Lord."
"We shall begin with the bow." Erestor escorted the warrior to the archery field and was pleased with his level of skill, Glorfindel was perhaps the best archer he had ever seen. After lengthy trials with bow and spear, Erestor called forward an assistant. "Now we shall see your skill with the sword and in hand to hand combat."
Glorfindel turned and came face to face with Gildor. Gildor was the best Gil-galad had in terms of close combat, not one member of their army had defeated him in sparring. The Noldo Lord smiled and handed the warrior a wooden sword used for training. Glorfindel took the proffered sword and bowed his head, and he and Gildor moved to fighting stance.
They slowly circled one another, watching each other's movements, gauging one another's reactions. Gildor was first to make a move, spinning and swiping the sword at Glorfindel's midsection. The Vanya leapt backward, avoiding the blow and blocking with his own sword. They danced around one another, parrying and thrusting with their swords, occasionally making contact with one another. Gildor ducked and spun again, this time landing a sound blow upon the warrior's side.
Upon impact of the wooden sword, Glorfindel felt a blinding pain shoot through his body, he felt the searing heat of the whip, and heard the roar of the Balrog. He fell to his hands and knees, dropping his sword as Gildor knelt beside him.
"Glorfindel? Have I injured you? Are you hurt?" the Noldo Lord asked.
He was unable to speak for a moment and shook his head, his hand coming to rest upon his side. He gathered his composure and replied softly, "Nay, my Lord. It is an old wound that will not seem to heal. I will be fine, do not worry."
Erestor placed his hand upon the warrior's shoulder. "Nonsense, you are pale, Glorfindel. I insist you see the healer immediately."
Glorfindel rocked back upon his heels and held up his hand. "There is no need for a healer, my Lord. There is nothing a healer can do for me."
Erestor frowned and tugged the warrior to his feet. "I will be the judge of that. You will come with me to see the healer immediately."
Glorfindel furrowed his brow and acquiesced, "Aye, my Lord."
Gildor picked up the training sword and watched them depart. "Why would Mandos send him back in such a condition?" he whispered to himself. "He is clearly vulnerable." He shook his head and returned to the barracks.
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