Source: First Age... & Third Age?
Disclaimer: The original work is Tolkien's - this is mere speculation.
Beneath his shading hand, his eyes squeezed half-closed against the dazzling glitter of sunlight on water; each curving wavelet a scintillating splinter of light. Glorfindel closed his eyes fully, dropped his arm and lent back, allowing the breeze to tug at his loosened hair, the sun to caress bare skin. Carefully, he filled his senses, making each particle of himself sensitive to this moment, storing it away in memory…
When his eyes opened, the glitter was moonlight flashing off mail-clad backs, the warmth, the meagre protection of a winter cloak, and the breeze… not balmy air, not in these mountains.
Much later, another season, another place… or so it seemed. Time might be playing tricks… he thought. But was unable to pursue that skein of consciousness…
I can see lights, I can… He thought he turned his head, or did the world turn around him, because he felt no motion to his feet… nor his arms, body… just his eyes moved, or at least his vision did…
Candlelight… small bright flames, each wavering gently in the featureless grey…
Later, he groped his way awake, opening his eyes to a room, wavering light… which he slowly realised… was him.
Slowly Glorfindel recovered himself, painstakingly put back in place the memories of other times, though some, reluctantly restored, he vouchsafed the task of returning to… those were dark places, paths not willingly trod again.
But here… was healing; places for reflection, for recovering things lost… After vision, he regained motion, and with motion came strength… and beyond bodily strength came desire, and hunger… He wanted to return to Middle-earth.
Are you sure? The voice whispered. Are you certain?
Above his head, the grey void darkened… became pricked with stars… became… real
“Am I home?” he asked the wind.