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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: Hardly a PG-13, I would think, but I shall leave it 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 old soon, 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: Apologies for the excessive delay in updating, for anyone who is actually following this story; it was my intention to post this chapter come labor day weekend, but in the words of a very famous wizard, I was delayed, due to work and family matters, though it would certainly sound more impressive if I could say that I was imprisoned in the tower of Orthanc.

As Glorfindel grappled with his newly gained troubles, and inadvertently found his way into the house of Tom Bombadill through an incredible stroke of luck, finding little hope that, even with much work, he would soon be back in his own body, the wizard Alatar the blue was making haste to track down another fellow wizard.

Alatar had previously resided in the east, Rhun as the elves knew it, and called the orient by its own people. He had gone forth with two of his fellow wizards, Curunir and Pallando, but the former had soon developed a deep loathing for the land and had journeyed back to the western lands to take up residence, as Alatar had heard tell, in an old fortress tower of men that he renamed Orthanc. Alatar himself had been deeply surprised that Curunir had not enjoyed the wonders of the east. There were scholars and learned men in the arts of math and science with whom the blue wizard would have thought Curunir could identify, being, himself, so intelligent. When once he voiced this thought aloud, the elven soul, Tithennon, who followed him ever had casually replied that perhaps it was harder to be respected and to gain admiration and an elevated position in the world when a person was only one wise man among many. Alatar had thought hard on that, but hadn�t made much sense of the comment, and he had soon given up attempting to puzzle out the elf�s response - for Tithennon rarely elaborated or explained his often cryptic comments; Alatar thought it highly likely that the elf enjoyed being ambiguous and often did so purposefully. The east had always held great fascination for Alatar, however, even if it hadn�t for Curunir, greater than the west ever had.

There were only men in the east, no elves or dwarves or halfling creatures to be seen, and there cre called the Easterlings. Their civilizations, though greatly varied from clan to clan and region to region, were beautiful, and while several of the sects had fallen prey to the power of the Dark Lord and were under his dominion there were still many good people to be found there who yet resisted. Some spoke openly of their alliances with the Dark Lord - these areas were, of course, generally unpleasant and avoided by Alatar - while others were staunchly defiant of him, or tight-lipped over where their loyalties lay. Strictly speaking, the wise never mentioned outright with whom they were sided, those who wished no trouble or those who waited for better offers to sweeten the pot, but held their peace, for neighboring clans had a habit of making war upon each other if their interests were conflicting; better to let your enemy believe you his ally than to speak against him. The east was not a unified nation, with one king over all, but each section of it claimed their own leader.

The Easterlings were a culture that had accomplished many tremendous achievements, being collectors of knowledge and writers of poetry in a writing system of their own unique device; they built structures of exceptional wonder and strove for perfection in everything that they did, turning all things to which they put their hand into a form of art. There were temples erected and dedicated to the gods and spirits that guided the people where religious chants rang through the air at specified times of day sacred to those gods, and some of those tenders of the holy places took life-long vows of silence which the loquacious Tithennon would have been hard pressed to keep for a day, let alone for life in a temple of solemnity.

Alatar had been amazed, left speechless, the first time that he had ever seen an open-aired city market in the east, where for miles on crowded city streets vendors set up wood stalls and booths covered with material designed to keep off the heat of the mid-day sun and sold their wares by shouting over one another to the market browsers to buy their merchandize. There one could find, well, just about anything. There were men who sold geese, goats, carpets and rugs, inks and expensive dyes, specially made fabrics as light as a feather and like water to the touch, ceramic pots and gilded jewelry and decorations for fine ladies. There were also entertainers, who abounded at the markets, dancers in exotic garb, fire eaters and flutists who charmed desert snakes with their pipe music, jugglers, acrobats, storytellers and other performers. Stalls of strong drink were available, which you could buy by the cupful or the barrelful. And there were desert beasts of burden in a few places which some Easterlings rode in places of horses, and they could, it was said, survive for days unaccounted under a scorching desert sun without a single drop of water. Yes, Alatar thought, the east was a marvel, what a pity Curunir had so quickly dismissed its virtues.

Alatar, afterwards, had always been free to come and go as he chose, bound by no rules save the stipulation that he not attempt to take dominion over any race of that Middle-Earth that he was honor and duty bound to protect, which he could hardly have managed had he even tried. And to that one rule he held and traveled as he desired all over the east, memorizing its cities and people even as Gandalf the grey knew the west. At first, in many places the people had been wary of him and sometimes, often when Pallando had been through an area ahead of him, terrified to see Alatar come in the sea-blue robes which marked him as a wizard or his order. Magician, they called him, and soothsayer, though he knew no more of the future than they themselves did and nor would he have wanted to - the future, he had always thought to himself, was best left to itself. They soon discovered that he was not exactly as altogether powerful as they had originally imagined him to be and rather incompetent in his art to boot, but no one seemed to mind or be too terribly disappointed; village children still adored his visits and found him to be an extraordinarily interesting diversion.

Pallando the blue had never journeyed back west either as Curunir had done - Alatar was not altogether certain that this was because he loved the east, merely that he fount convenience in it for the time - but he and Alatar quickly parted company without much sorrow at their sundering. The two blue wizards had never particularly liked each other, perhaps owing to the fact that they were the only two of their order without much say in whatever councils were taken, as they were the lowest level, and neither was a complete representative of his power, having to share the form of that power with the other. Curunir had certainly seemed to tire of their ceaseless bickering before traveling in their company for very long, and when the white wizard went his separate ways no force on the earth could have kept Alatar and Pallando from parting as well. Each had repulsed the other.

Alatar disliked Pallando for his cruelty. His fellow blue wizard was wily, sly and slimy, cheating others as often as he could get away with. His trickery knew no bound or limit, and he was ever concerned with the matter of furthering his rank and gaining greater power over things; Pallando was not a wise person to trust with power. The other wizard liked him the less because he could only see Alatar as a simpleton, too easy to please, little concerned over the advancement of his own position, blundering, pathetic, spineless and ever subservient to the will of those whom would call themselves his superiors. Alatar privately admitted that he was, perhaps, all of those things, but it was far from his place, he thought, to question his purpose in the world.

So great was their dislike for one another that each strove often to foil the devices of the other. Alatar would put up the illusion of a footbridge over a small stream, just to get a laugh out of whoever attempted to cross it and inadvertently took a swim, and Pallando would see to it that the day turned cold and damp so that the person who was soaked contracted some minor illness designed to keep him miserable and bedridden. Pallando would set an unpleasant, hidden pitfall in the path of an innocent passerby and Alatar would secretly make the ground solid once more just as they were walking over it. It was ever this way with the two, and so it was that many were the unfortunate people whom got caught in the midst of a sort of war between the blue wizards.

Though also free to come and go as he pleased in the lands of Middle-Earth, Alatar had never left the orient, all of which he thought of fondly and looked over with careful concern as an old uncle might watch a favored nephew with inexplicable pride, but never before had Pallando either. The second blue wizard of the order seemed to have no preference over where he performed his malicious tricks, just so long as he could. The day that he first heard tell that Pallando had ventured westward once more, apparently on no particular errand, he was mildly concerned. So was Tithennon, but perhaps more so even than himself.

�Run out of people ignorant of his nasty ways, he has,� Tithennon had said. �Gone off to find fresh victims, mark my words. You had best follow along after him, and quickly, Alatar, to see that he doesn�t get into too much trouble; or, rather, make too much trouble.�

Alatar had made a very reluctant show then, unenthusiastic over the idea of leaving the lands where he felt that he belonged for ones second best to his own. �Oh, well, but the West - I don�t think,� he muttered dispassionately. �Er, that is, there�s Olorin and Curunir to consider. They are the power there, after all, and surely they can handle Pallando themselves -�

�They would not find him out as soon, nor do they know his ways as well as you do,� Tithennon had admonished, glowing at him irritably as was his way - Alatar had always been privately amazed at how very expressive Tithennon managed to be with his emotions when he was lacking a body with which to be expressive - being frustrated with the wizard�s lack of foresight. �Just stop to imagine, if you will, the sheer magnitude of mess he could make given too much time of free rein, and it would not take him long at all, you know that. Off with you Alatar! Bring him back to lands where people can at least handle him, the east will still be here when you return.�

With much grumbling and agonizing self-pity Alatar had conceded that the elven spirit was right. He was still upset that it had to be him to deal with Pallando, however, but he had allowed himself to be convinced of it. Even if he hadn�t have conceded imediately, Tithennon would have gotten him to go anyway, he knew the routine.

The small glowing ball of Tithennon�s spirit would have grown gravely silent until Alatar grew terribly uncomfortable with imagining the baleful elven glare he might have been receiving from the elf had he been embodied with eyes to glare. Then, as he squirmed in his discomfort, Tithennon would solemnly remind him of his own horrible blunder in dragging the elf un-embodied from Mandos, how Tithennon had been forced into dependency on the wizard when he should have been free in the blessed realm, and how Alatar owed him, at least, this one small thing. He always said that! And it always worked too, Alatar noted grumpily. Alatar would always relent in the end, just to please Tithennon, and in this way if Tithennon wanted something done, it was done. But, to be fair, he really only used it under highly important circumstances, the wizard allowed.

So the wizard and the spirit gathered themselves up for a journey and made after Pallando as fast as they might. The road had been long for them, and a good deal slower than it had been for Pallando, owing to the fact that Alatar knew not the roads of the western lands as he knew those of the eastern ones. There was also the terrible cold to contend with; Alatar had forgotten the extreme temperature difference of the regions - not that he ever wore anything other than his blue robes - and, being so accustomed to the heat of the east, was made quite miserable in the damp, rainy atmosphere of the west. Luckily they at least had very little difficulty in marking Pallando�s trail; a cranky, malicious old man dressed in sea blue was not quickly put from the minds of the natives when there were other travelers inquiring into his whereabouts.

He appeared for some time to have no particular destination or purpose in his mind, but rather looked to be learning the ways of the region out of simple curiousity, no doubt to discover exactly what kind of mischief he could get away with there. After a time, however, about in the very heart of the west at a curious place known to the locals as Lake Town, Pallando seemed to have formulated an actual plan for the mischief he was desiring to make, or else he grew bored of his learnings and, doubling back on his previous trail, nearly ran directly into Alatar and Tithennon; it was only through luck and good fortune that Pallando remained oblivious of them. They had only just found him, appearing terribly pleased with himself, and had been reluctant to give themselves away at that time and had instead watched silently from a thick of trees while the wizard whose activities they were tracking met through complete coincidence with Gandalf the grey and a companion of his, Glorfindel.

Tithennon had lit up with excitement at seeing one of his kind, whom had also died and whose spirit resided for some time in Mandos and was now sent back, for there were no elves to be found among the men of the east and having been bereft of their company for some time with none but Alatar for conversation, there was hardly any wonder at his being excited. He went two shades of white brighter and Alatar had to hiss at him to dim himself again lest he give them away. Tithennon had dimmed immediately to a deep gray colour, only occasionally flickering soft white in embarrassment.

Pallando left the wizard Gandalf and friend and traveled quietly on his way, so casually that Alatar and Tithennon were almost fooled into believing that he actually was not plotting anything at all. Until Glorfindel appeared on the scene once more.

�Oh no, oh dear,� Tithennon whispered in his agitation, flickering through his many colors rapidly in his evident distress. �What is that miserable wizard up to? He had better let Glorfindel alone!�

Hidden behind some thickly overgrown blackberry bushes growing as close to the river shore and the confrontation of the two individuals as they could get, Tithennon and Alatar waited, watched and worried. They strained their hearing and held their breaths, hoping for the best. There they saw everything that happened.

Pallando left them little time to interfere, even had their reaction been swift. Almost as soon as the tricky wizard had turned the noble Glorfindel into a long-haired golden dog and had himself taken the elf�s previous form, the real Glorfindel was made to vanish - helped far from his destination, no doubt, by Pallando�s magic. Tithennon gave a small stifled cry of dismay, which Alatar only hoped Pallando hadn�t heard; they might be able to do more good undiscovered and without Pallando�s knowledge of their muddling in his affairs, confronting the wizard himself in that moment would have yielded no answers. But the wizard walked off smirking, leading Glorfindel�s horse and carrying his weapons, not appearing to have noticed the witnesses of his deed.

�He�s gone, he�s gone!� Tithennon exclaimed, �Where would that odious wizard send him?�

Alatar blinked and shook his head slowly, pulling himself out of his thoughts. �With Pallando, there�s no way of knowing,� he muttered. �No way of knowing. Not that, at any rate. But we do know that he must have further plans, besides just making dogs of elven warriors, or he wouldn�t be itching to take this Glorfindel�s place.�

�What now, then?� Tithennon asked. �What shall we do to fix it? We don�t know where poor Glorfindel will find himself.�

�We might not be able to fix it, but we will certainly find someone who can. We will find Gandalf,� Alator informed him decidedly, showing a surprising amount of good sense and intelligence in the matter, which Tithennon usually thought of as being his own particular forte. �He�ll fix Pallando directly.�

Tithennon worked himself out of his panicked tizzy at that statement, and even turned pale yellow in amusement and laughed at the thought of the grey wizard�s ire when he was forced to deal with Pallando�s troublesome mess. �He might not even bother anyone again,� he commented cheerfully.

�Let us hope not,� Alatar agreed.
Meanwhile, as Glorfindel was waking from a pleasant sleep in the house of Tom Bombadill, and Alatar the blue along with Tithennor set off to hunt Gandalf through the wilds all the way to Mithlond - which they knew to be his final destination - if they had to, there was created quite a stir in Imladris as a lone horse and rider thundered into the courtyard of the House of Elrond, frightening several birds, which took flight in a flurry of indignant squawks and feathers, from their comfortable roosts . The rider of the horse, an elf of tender years whom, despite being obviously well past his fifty year majority, was perhaps not yet past his first century, pulled up short at the steps of the central building with a sharp tug to the reins, so suddenly that the startled animal reared in its surprise. The two of them, between themselves, managed to make quite a deal of noise, and as the rider hurriedly dismounted he called out in a loud voice, �Father. Father!�

This brought many people, not only his father, running.

Lord Elrond, his Chief Councilor, his wife with their four month old daughter and her aide Lindir were only a few of those who came swiftly at his cry, not to mention an elf who was an exact copy of the rider himself, his twin brother. �Elladan!� they seemed to cry as one in their alarm, �what is the trouble?�

�Are you not harmed?� his mother demanded, who, having reached him first, was checking him over for any grievous wounds while clucking her tongue in admonishment. Elladan batted her hands away irritably in his haste to say what he would to his father.

�No, Mother,� he answered hastily, never taking his eyes from Elrond, who was frowning sternly at the young man. Elrond�s eyes warned him to get on with it. �Father, there is an elf come to the borders, who crossed the ford of the Bruinen just this morning and he has said that he has come to ask admittance to your house.�

�Elladan, there are many people who come every year to ask admittance into my house,� Elrond replied, stunned that his son made such a deal of this. �And they are always conducted in a decorous fashion, not heralded with a messenger who rides as if he bears the words of doom!�

Elladan blushed at the reprimand. �Father, what I meant to say was he asks to enter into your household in service. He gave his name as Glorfindel.�

�The First Age slayer of the balrog?� his twin chimed in in amazement.

�I did not ask,� Elladan replied delicately, unwilling as yet to make rash assumptions, but suspicious of the same himself. �But he is fair of complexion with flaxen hair, a warrior's build and manner, and carries the implements of war with him. His steed is a stallion as white as snow and as fine as any I have ever before seen, surely well over seventeen hands high; an impressive animal to carry such an imposing rider. I thought that you would like to know of this Glorfindel before he rode in, Father.�

Elrond nodded in surprise, having listened carefully to his son�s speech. �This must indeed be a reborn Glorfindel come to join Imladris; I had heard rumors that one of that name journeyed far with the wizard Mithrandir. Have rooms prepared for a new guest, Celebrian, and Elladan, return to the borders at once to conduct him back with proper decorum, as befits one of his station. It is flattering indeed that he has chosen to join our household when his connections are so many across Middle-Earth, being also a cousin of your grandmother, the Lady Galadriel, and there will be a party to meet him when he arrives. Today we will welcome him joyously into our home.�
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Notes:

1). I�ve again taken liberties in designing Tolkien�s Middle-Earth to fit my story. I have no idea if the professor�s conception of the eastern lands of Rhun and my own are at all similar, but this is how it will now stand for the sake of my story.

2). I know almost nothing about horses, aside from the fact that they are measured in a unit, hh, which stands for hands high with each hand being equivalent to about four inches. Seventeen hands high sounded impressive enough for Asfaloth, and hopefully I am not being overly imaginative in setting him at that height.
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GAMercy: Poor Elrond has no idea what he�s in for.

Glorfindel: Poor Elrond, indeed, you�re the one dictating this story, do not think that we believe for a moment that you feel any real sympathy. You don�t, or else you would not be writing it.

GAMercy: Yes, well, I have to do something to amuse myself in my spare time.

Glorfindel: So, of course, you find it amusing to make your favorite characters suffer.

GAMercy: Naturally.

Glorfindel: Poor me as well, come to think of it.

GAMercy: Being my most favorite character to make suffer, you mean?

Glorfindel: I�m not certain whether I should take that as a compliment or not.
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The Trials and Misfortunes of Lord Glorfindel