Characters: Glorfindel, Elrond Círdan
Source: Early Third Age
Diclaimer: Tolkien created such a vast world; Kortirion merely plays in the sand-box
Many Long Years had passed between Glorfindel’s last journey, from the mountains to the arms of Mandos, and his return to the borders of Rivendell. Arda itself had changed its form; in Lord Elrond’s library where maps showing new configurations, books of histories he knew nothing about, telling of gains made and lost… of others now fallen.
It almost felt too much to assimilate. The last High King of Lindon slain, Lord Celeborn moved south, the Noldor of Forlindon crossing the Blue Mountains only to be seduced by Sauron and finally betrayed… There were memories here he could not grasp.
“Grant me leave to travel to the sea, my lord.” Glorfindel stood before Elrond.
“We need no ‘lord’ between us my friend,” said Elrond, “though… I’d hoped you’d choose to stay in the West… since Mandos placed you here.”
“No,” Glorfindel gave a bitter half-smile, “I do not question His reasons, but… I need to see more, to visit the oldest of us, Círdan of Lindon, and Celeborn and Lady Galadriel…”
Elrond nodded, “Even though you’ve only been here a short time, it gives me no joy to release you.”
He took the elf-lord’s shoulders, kissed his brow. “Return soon.”
The sea’s seduction held no power over Glorfindel, or the elves carefully chosen to accompany him. All were travelled, many remembered Lindon, having marched with Gil-Galad’s Last Alliance.
Their ship scudded over the waves, returning from The Havens. There, elven-hosts were diminished in number, but not valour.
Glorfindel leaned on the rail, the wind tugging his plaits - warrior plaits, combed by Círdan’s own hand. Glorfindel hadn’t felt it right to arrange his hair so… he didn’t know his place… until Círdan confided in him – his place was with Elrond.
“Love, and Fealty, from each to the other,” he’d whispered.