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The Trials and Misfortunes of Lord Glorfindel	By : GAMercy Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1133 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Story Title: The Trials and Misfortunes of Lord Glorfindel

Story Author: GAMercy

Story Overview: Another story in which Glorfindel of Gondolin is prominently featured, as well as many other well-known inhabitants of Imladris and several slippery Istar.

Rating: I�m leaving this story at R, just to be safe and cover all of my bases.

Pairings: Elrond/Glorfindel and no other side pairings that have yet cropped up.

Warnings: Obviously AU in nature, owing to the fact that it is not at all likely that the following events, as recorded by myself, occurred the same way in Tolkien�s conceived version of Middle-Earth, but one never knows. And material containing mentioning of homosexuality, and so on and so forth.

Summary: The story of a recently reborn Glorfindel's return to Middle-Earth, and more importantly, the valley of Imladris, is plagued by misfortunes of the magical kind upon his meeting of a particularly odious wizard looking for a little mischief. Hopefully the joke grows olon, on, having only just been re-embodied, Glorfindel really would like that body back.

Disclaimer: I am not under the impression that I own the rights to any of Tolkien�s characters or settings, though I might secretly envy the literary genius of his work and long to take it for my own. It is not mine. This story is purely out of the depths of my own imagination and is not intended as an infringement of copyright and no profit is being made from it. The Lord of the Rings and all other Tolkien works are the soul property of the Tolkien Estate.

Author�s Note: All mistakes are most definitely mine, as I�ve no beta reader, and it was the best I could come up with after what seems like constant revision. I can only catch so many of my own mistakes, however.

When Glorfindel came to once again he was exhausted, bruised, stiff, and aching all over. He cracked one eye open slowly, hoping that all of his fuzzy and disjointed memories that lurked on the surface of his mind were only reminders of a terribly disorienting dream. And so he listened intently for a moment for the sound of the rushing waters of the Bruinen, but all he could hear was a far off trickle which certainly couldn�t be the Bruinen, and also, more predominantly, the low, plaintive whine of a creature in pain, which seemed to thrum through his body. Then he fully opened his eyes to be assailed by a brightness that hurt his head as if he had taken a bit too much drink, and realized that he lay crumpled on a forest floor of rocks, dirt and moss all covered by a thick layer of rotting leaves without a bedroll of any sort, and a hairy golden paw was stretched out before him. A paw! Then he knew that the creature he had heard had been himself.

It had been no dream. For whatever reason, that foxy blue wizard Pallando had truly turned him into a dog! A filthy, flea-ridden mutt. Now he was going to join Elrond�s house by posing as Glorfindel himself. And who would question? No? Not Elrond, the half-elf had never met him, only, perhaps, heard tell of his rebirth, and if a warrior with the fair complexion of the Vanya and long golden hair were to come to him and claim to be that elf Glorfindel, he would believe the claim, for what reason would he have to lie? Gandalf, perhaps, would recognize the deception, but he was many daysrneyrney at least, depending on where it was that Pallando had sent Glorfindel with his last spell.

Why, why, why? was all Glorfindel could ask himself. What purpose did it serve for Pallando to be in Imladris? Gandalf had trusted him little, Glorfindel thought, so it was clearly mischief. Hopefully mischief that could easily be sorted out and undone, but Glorfindel�s main concern was that the sneaky wizard was doing it with his body and tarnishing his name and reputation! If things went too far - Elrond would never trust him when he came Imladris.

If he could even make the Lord of Imladris realize what had occurred, he thought with a sickening jolt to his stomach. He certainly couldn�t communicate as a dog, the half-elf would gain no understanding of anything from the barks and growls of a stray mongrel. He should find Gandalf and hope he understood his situation, but that might take him weeks of traveling, without knowing in which direction he was going. Or, he could go to Imladris and try to keep Pallando from being able to get into too much trouble with his body until someone discovered what was going on. Neither choice seemed very hopeful, the way Glorfindel looked at it.

What action should he take in his current situation? Find Gandalf? Or head to Imladris? Imladris and Elrond won out in the end. At least there was a true path to Imladris and it never changed location, unlike Gandalf. He had to hope that the wizard would come to Imladris soon after leaving the havens, whatever his plans were. But he needed to be able to keep a watchful eye on the new �Lord Glorfindel�.

Now he simply needed to get out of the woods into which he had been dumped and find some sort of civilization, so that he might get his bearings and discover exactly how bad his situation was. Then he would brave haste to Imladris. Probably easier said than done. Of se Pse Pallando had probably deposited him miles from civilization. And the very bones of his new dog body seemed to ache as though they had been recently over exerted, and it would be slow going whatever direction he chose, he thought glumly. But even as he was beginning to mourn his pitiful fate - surely the Valar had not intended to send him back ive ive as a dog for the rest of his life? - he lifted and cocked his head, for he heard in the far distance a strange noise unlike any forest creature he had ever heard.

Perhaps it was a forest dweller, he thought quickly, excited at this possible change of luck. It sounded like a voice raised in song! Snatches of funny little verses drifted lazily to him on the thick forest air, and he heard spoken in the common tongue:
Old Tom Bombadill, he�s a wary fellow

bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow.

None have ever caught old Tom in upland or dingle,

walking on the forest paths, or by the Withywindle.

Glorfindel heaved his unfamiliar body to its feet, determined to follow the voice despite the pain he was in. There was an awkward moment where he could not find his balance. Having four legs was quite a trick, he decided, stumbling about for a bit before he found a loping stride which he imagined looked rather lopsided. The edition of a tail made it even more awkward, but he managed. He was moving forward persistently, doggedly, he thought mirthlessly at his pun.

His legs still felt like leaden weights heavy with a lethargy that seemed to come from the very air of the forest, but still he went forward. When he came to a small river, he threw himself into it without thought, not even pausing to shake the water from his hide when he emerged. He followed the voice as fast as his dog feet would carry him, listening as it grew sometimes nearer, and sometimes farther off. He heard many a merry dol and a derry dol and talks of river women and other peculiarities before he realized, with some relief, that though it faded curiously in an out and changed direction often, whoever it was singing seemed to be moving toward eveneven as he was moving toward whoever it was singing.

It was breaking through a dense patch of trees into a small, brightly sunlit glen that Glorfindel caught his first glimpse of the singer. He looked, Glorfindel thought, as much an oddity as his songs, dressing just as he had proclaimed with his strange verse - in blue with oversized yellow boots that seemed to swallow up his short legs as the beard he wore swallowed up most of his face; bright and lively eyes managed to peer intenout,out, however. His head was covered by a tall feathered cap.

Glorfindel barked, actually barked - a sound that welled up deep inside of his chest and then found release without thought - to gain his attention. And the strange being, Glorfindel could not tell whether he were a small man, a tall dwarf, or the strangest hobbit he had ever laid eyes on, blinked at him in surprise.

�Well, ho, the dog!� he cried, as if he had beepectpecting Glorfindel to happen along sooner or later. His eyes crinkled in a smile so deep that Glorfindel thought they would completely disappeared in the folds that it made around them.

�You do indeed look like you�ve been through a spot of trouble, fine sir. Best come along with Tom, his home will see you better.�

Glorfindel would have blinked, but the man turned around so abruptly and began a hurried pace in the opposite direction so quickly that if Glorfindel were to follow him and had paused, he might have been lost from sight. As Tom, as he apparently called himself, danced in and out of trees singing once more, Glorfindel could only pad along as fast as he might in order to reach the same destination.

Hey! Come derry dol! Trot along, good doggie!

Why, my pretty lady wouldn�t have a guest stay soggy.

To good food, warm bath! Now we hurry home!

They had walked long and night was already falling when they came upon the sight of a small, quaint little house, with a neatly thatched roof and path that led right up to the door. As they approached, the door opened, seemingly of its own accord, and golden light spilled out to welcome them in. Glorfindel stumbled through to the interior, and stood numbly, dripping water onto the floor and hardly seeing what it was he was looking at.

�Pour lost soul,� he dimly heard a compassionate voice say, a sweet, lilting voice like that of the wind sweeping through sunny meadow grasses. And then he saw a lady with hair as golden as the dawn come forth, and she was lovely enough to be an elven maid, though she was clearly not. She was clad in a green raiment that glittered with scattered beads of silver like dew upon the grass with a chain belt of flowers draped around her slender waist. �I am called Goldberry, gentle traveler,� she told him, � and you are welcome in the home of Tom Bombadill. Have no fear whilst you are with us, you will find no evil mischief at work here.�

She reached out to stroke his head with delicate fingertips, and it was in that moment at her touch that Glorfindel felt all of the tension and fatigue drain from his body as though bled from his weary soul, and he was filled instead, near to bursting, with a warm glow that pulsed through the house and was relieved. �I�ve drawn you a bath that should warm you and chase the chill of autumn from your bones,� she said, and as she lead him away he heard Tom still humming and mumbling nonsensical verse to himself from outside of the house.

He was taken through the house to a room with a large low tub filled with steamy water, and though Glorfindel�s new dog body seemed to balk at the thought of willfully immersing himself in it, he forced it with his dominant elven mind to somehow clamber in. He could not remember afterwards how long he stayed soaking in the blissful heat of the water, setting aside for the moment all thoughts of wizards, spells and elven valleys. He left only when it had cooled. The lady Goldberry brought towels for him to dry on, which she lay on the floor before a bright,ry bry blaze which was burning in the hearth and he dried slowly.

They brought to him also a simple but excellent dinner which was put on a platter at his level. Glorfindel ate it with much enthusiasm, thinking it must have been a millennia since he had last eaten, such was his hunger. There was good meat, plain bread and crystal cold drinking water and no such simple fare had ever before tasted so good to him as they did then. He found, once he had finished, that Tom had joined him and was seated comfortably in an easy chair by the fire.

�Strange doings it was that brought you into the Old Forest, Glorfindel of Gondolin,� he said calmly, and Glorfindel was somehow unsurprised that he already knew his name, even when he could not possibly have given it. �And it is good that you have found the house of Tom Bombadill.�

The Old Forest, Glorfindel thought, recognizing the name as one Gandalf had told him of, the name of a large area of wood that bordered the Shire that the grey wizard seemed so fond of. Pallando really had put him a long way from Imladris, as had been his intention.

�Thankfully getting back to where you want to be won�t be a problem for you,� Tom continued and Glorfindel thought that surely it must be pure coincidence that the man�s words followed his own internal musings, as though the two were having a normal conversation. �Because old Tom is the master here, and he knows every glade and path, every tree and creature, every leaf and blade of grass in this whole forest.�

Does the forest belong to him? Glorfindel wondered curiously. Is he the forester and owner of all this land? It seemed quite a job to Glorfindel. From what he had heard, the forest was wild and dangerous, as was everything to oundound in it - save perhaps for the house of Tom Bombadill itself. Even the trees were rebellious and could do a traveler harm if they�d a mind to it.

�I have always belonged to the land, and I choose my own borders,� Tom told him, as if in answer to a question he had asked. �One of your kind, the firstborn children of the creator, would call me Iarwain Ben-adar, for I have been here the longest of any.�

Glorfindel cocked his head thoughtfully in surprise, not realizing what a comical picture he might make when he did so. He remembered having heard the name of Iarwain many years prior to their encounter, but he had forgotten him as most people did. Now, however, he listened most attentively, like a star pupil to his master teacher, as Tom leaned back in his chair and began to speak. He spoke on a great variety of things, mostly of his forest as it was - trees that whispered and spoke to one another, paths made by creators as ancient as himself, of willows and badgers and women who lived in the river Glorfindel heard that night. Though he wanted to hear it all and struggled to remain awake, Tom seemed to be weaving a spell over him with the lull of his voice and poetry of his words, the warmth of the fire, a full belly and the glow of the house.

He closed his eyes and seemed to drift off on a boat upon lazy waters that carried him here and there along the way, flowing steadily and softly. He floated in a strange waking dream of tranquility and occasionally still cracked open an eye to see Tom sitting and talking on and on of anything and everything. The last time he opened his eyes he had no way of knowing what time it was, but Tom had fallen silent and was staring ahead into the licking flames of the fire. When he saw Glorfindel watching him he nodded and smiled slowly, as someone with a sudden happy epiphany.

�Come, friend,� he said, �now�s the time for sleeping long. Tomorrow Tom will lead you on safe paths through the wood, to the long road that runs by the settlement of the Bree men. That road will carry you safely all the way to the realm of the elves that you seek, as the river would have.�

He rose then from his chair and beckoned to Glorfindel, who followed him gratefully to the same room where he had bathed in the tub. The water was gone, taken away now, and it had been replaced with piles of soft, comfortable furs into which Glorfindel eagerly buried himself. He slept then the dreamless sleep of the exhausted, blissfully undisturbed, and woke only with the dawning of the new day.
TBC...
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Notes:

1). Yes, realistically Glorfindel probably never went near the Old Forest or Tom Bombadill and Goldberry, but realistically he�s never been a dog either. :P

2). The first verse of Bombadill�s singing was adapted from a verse in JRR Tolkien�s The Adventures of Tom Bombadill, which went:

Old Tom Bombadill, he was a wary fellow

bright blue his jacket was, and his boots were yellow.

None ever caught old Tom in upland or dingle,

walking on the forest paths, or by the Withywindle.

But of course that I had Tom himself singing the verse, not being told about, so I had to change the past tense in the poem. The second verse, I sadly admit, was my own, after having studied Tom�s speech and song patterns in LotR. A sad attempt, I know, but it was the best I could do.

3). All description of Tom Bombadill and Goldberry came from LotR, Chapter 7, In the House of Tom Bombadill, and they remain close to Tolkien�s own without having been copied word for word. Glorfindel�s stay at the house also parallels the hobbits�, as I felt that the house and the actions of the hosts would have very much the same affect on everyone who stayed in it.

4). I believe I�ve heard that dogs can�t exactly see in color (someone feel free to correct me if you know more about it than I do) enough for Glorfindel as a dog to know that Tom had a blue shirt or Goldberry a green gown, but the descriptions sounded better that way...

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GAMercy: And a second chapter done.

Glorfindel: In an almost timely fashion, for you at any rate.

GAMercy: Thank you, Glorfindel, you�re so sweet.

Glorfindel: You�re welcome, of course, Mercy.

GAMercy: Has it never occurred to you that I might be being sarcastic?

Glorfindel: Has it ever occurred to you that your readers might not be the only one who are interested in seeing me quickly restored to my true body?

GAMercy: Hey, don�t test me, or I might consider getting myself a doggy Glorfindel muse. I bet they don�t talk back.

Glorfindel: Just you try and see what happens.
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The Trials and Misfortunes of Lord Glorfindel