Some Futile Hope by Luxa

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Part One: Chapter One

Glorfindel returns to Middle-earth to find, not war, but friendship in his new King and his lover, Elrond Halfelven.

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Second Age, June 24th, 1685. 12:15 P.M.  

It was without trepidation that Glorfindel approached Elrond Halfelven's rooms, whistling an old tune as he tried to find the pockets in the formal robes that had been laid out when he had woken up. He hated them, always had, and it did not seem as though the style had changed in two thousand years.

Ereinion Gil-galad, the new High King of the Noldor (not so new, really, hadn't been new for a long time, just new to Glorfindel), had directed him to Elrond, saying he had to go through him in order to join Gil-galad's small standing army. Glorfindel had agreed and had promptly gone to bed, deciding to face whatever was in store for him in the morning. Once awake again, he snuck around the kitchens and listened to some of the gossip, which he found enlightening, storing it in his head for later. Then he had finally gone off to visit the son of the famous mariner.

He knocked on the polished wooden door, which was unusually thick for an Elvish design. Elrond's chambers were on the edge of the royal court, surrounded by lush gardens teeming with animal and plant life. Glorfindel almost found himself lost among the wild grasses on his way, barely managing to stay on the stone path long enough to find the Elf's living quarters.

There was no answer, so Glorfindel waited a moment before knocking again. A tense moment passed before he heard a voice call faintly, "Come in!"

Glorfindel eased the heavy door open and stepped into the entrance hall. It was decorated with light gray drapes hung over the walls, partially obscuring many of the old portraits hung on the walls. He recognized a few- the old King of Gondolin, Turgon,  looking resplendent and regal, had a place on the wall, although a drape almost completely covered him. Next to him was a portrait of the King of Doriath, matching Turgon's strength with an air of unbeatable vigor combined with undeniable wisdom. With a jolt, Glorfindel recognized a portrait two of the sons of Fëanor- Maedhros and Maglor- on the walls, Maedhro's red hair outshining his hard eyes, Maglor with his hand on his brother's shoulder as to protect him or to stay him from rising. Glorfindel couldn't be sure which.

Glorfindel found as he travelled along the hall that he liked this soft style of colors, the natural blend of cool drapes and the pale wood of the walls. It differed from the normal Lindon style, which was brasher, louder, as though it was trying to get your attention.

He emerged from the corridor into a large room, mostly empty, with a large pale-colored desk on one end and a few hard-backed chairs on the other. The only other object of furniture was a large cabinet, made of a pale wood that matched the desk.

Glorfindel sat in one of the chairs, resting his forearm on the sides, letting his fingers trail along the engravings of ancient Tengwar carved there. The chair proved to be highly uncomfortable, so when the Elf behind the desk didn't seem like he would say anything, he stood back up.

Elrond Halfelven was nothing like he expected. The portraits in the hall had been of hard-jawed, proud Elves with steely gazes and thick muscles, men and women alike. This was not to say they weren't beautiful- they were all extremely handsome, but like a diamond, hard and impenetrable. Elrond Halfelven was nothing like this.

The Elf in front of him had ink-black hair tied back in several intricate braids, so black in looked as though it had been dyed. It contrasted with his pale skin, which said more than anything about the hours he spent engrossed in books. He was extraordinarily tall, yes, but that seemed to be the only trait of his ancestors that bled through, for his large gray eyes that were so dutifully fixed on his paperwork were framed by impossibly thick, long eyelashes. In the Blessed Realm, Elves would have lauded his handsomeness, proclaiming that he fit the Valinorian standard of beauty- high cheekbones, a strong brow, and full lips that seemed made to be coyly bitten. His body was no warrior's body, slender and willowy, and his long fingers were perfectly formed to be a scholar. He watched those fingers dip a quill into a pot of ink and poise it against the new line, keeping his hand well above the page as he scratched out a thin, wavering line. The position was so awkward that it took Glorfindel a moment to figure it out; Elrond was left-handed.

Glorfindel noticed a portrait behind the desk, a portrait of an Elf- or was it a Man?- who was almost identical to the Elf sitting at the desk. Perhaps his eyes were smaller, or the portrait had another laugh line here or there, or maybe a slightly larger frame, but those were the only differences that he could see. However, this was a perceptible difference in the Elf in front of him and the person in the portrait, and Glorfindel knew that it wasn't of Elrond.

Glorfindel could understand now why Elrond caused so much gossip in the kitchens.  He opened his mouth to greet him when Elrond, without looking up, beat him to it.

"Yes, I know I'm something to look at," said the Elf, his voice deep and dry. "I'm quite aware. However, as I'm sure we both have better things to do than have me endure your stares, do you think we could move on?"

Those gray eyes glanced up at him, and Glorfindel felt disarmed. If only that soft face weren't so feminine, he could deal with this. Masculinity never appealed to him.

Elrond's left eyebrow raised, and Glorfindel cleared his throat to speak. This Half-elf was stronger-willed than he expected.

"King Gil-galad sent me to you. I am looking for a position in Lindon's army."

Elrond placed his quill on the desk, careful not to smudge his hand against the ink. He raised his eyes to meet Glorfindel's for a long moment before he flashed a quick, humorless smile and said, "Glorfindel of the House of the Yellow Flower? Forgive my manners, I have been quite busy of late. It is an honor to meet the Elf who slew a Balrog and saved my father in the process."

Elrond's voice was carefully measured as he spoke, and when he was done he rose and bowed to Glorfindel, a bow deeper than a descendent of Kings would normally give to anyone other than a liege-lord. However, such bows were warranted when in the presence of one who has saved one of your kin's lives in the past, but you are just now meeting. Whoever had taught Elrond the Noldorian customs had done a good job, and Glorfindel wondered who would bother these days. Gil-galad certainly didn't seem the type.

Glorfindel shook his head, and Elrond abruptly rose, his braids swinging back into place. On closer inspection, they were slightly frizzy and tangled, as though he had slept in them for several nights.

"I would rather leave my old life behind, if I can. Doubtless people will recognize me, and I will not disguise my name, but I would rather not go by that title."

"I understand completely," said Elrond gravely.

Elrond sat back in his seat, which was identical to the seats across the room. Glorfindel wondered if his serious demeanor would improve given a better chair.

"You wish to join the standing army? Well, as you have more than enough battle experience, being a guard of Gondolin and slaying a Balrog and all," said Elrond, only the barest hint of a smirk evident on his face. "I think, after a training session or two for the other officers to gauge your worth, we can set you up with a well-earned position as one of the captains. Does that meet your request?"

"It's more than enough," said Glorfindel. He hadn't expected to be welcomed so warmly into their military, even considering his past.

Elrond caught his tone and said, "Our nation is primarily made up of Elves under the age of five hundred whose parents have recently sailed to Valinor. They were born here and are determined to stay here, but they lack elders to teach them everything they need. Elves like you are sorely needed, Lord Glorfindel, and I promise you will not find yourself under-worked."

"I still find myself determined to fill the position," said Glorfindel, who had always relished a challenge. "Young Elves are a pleasure to work with. They have not yet acquired the stuffiness that seems to come with our race."

"I am inclined to agree, Lord Glorfindel, although I am afraid that I personally would count as one of those stuffy Elves," said Elrond, still maintaining a serious expression. He deftly unlocked a small drawer on the right of his desk and pulled out a slip of parchment, on which he wrote his instructions to the military officers regarding Gil-galad, signing it with an illustrious, highly illegible signature.

Glorfindel accepted the slip of paper and read it quickly. He furrowed his brow when he got to Elrond's title, and looked up at Elrond in surprise. Elrond was watching him with a look of wry resignation.

"You're the head of all military operations out of the capital city?" asked Glorfindel in disbelief. He recovered himself hastily, realizing that he may just has offended Elrond. "Not that I don't think you're capable, but there hasn't been a major war in Lindon in a long...in...ever. There's no way you could have the experience- I mean, you may be short on older Elves, but there has to be at least one Elf in this country who could do this job."

Elrond folded his long pale hands in front of him. "Yes, I agree whole-heartedly. I have never experienced the battle-field. I was too young to fight during the breaking of Thangorodrim, although I witnessed it. As for wars before that...my experience with war has been on a far more personal level."

Glorfindel shifted his weight onto his other foot and thought about it. "Then why were you appointed to this position?"

"Can I be frank with you, Lord Glorfindel?"

"Yes. In fact, I would prefer if you dropped the Lord."

"Fine, then, Glorfindel. I will assume that you have heard the rumors about myself and the High King," said Elrond, being far more blatant about it that Glorfindel had expected. "I will not deny it. The nature of my relationship with Ereinion is such that he likes to prove to me how capable he thinks I am, so he forced this position upon me, despite the protests of nearly the entire Council, not to mention my own. I suppose I have proven to be an acceptable war minister in times of peace, but I fear to be in this seat during a time of war."

"I hope it won't come to that, Lord Elrond."

"I am afraid it may be too late for that. I am grateful to have an Elf like you with us, to help us fight the tide of evil that may soon approach."

Elrond pulled his paperwork in front of him again, and Glorfindel assumed that meant he was dismissed. He was halfway to the hallway when Elrond said, "Oh, and Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel looked back to see two bemused gray eyes briefly leave their paperwork to flit towards him.

"I believe Ereinion would like you to dine with us tonight, if you would so care. We usually dine around nine. If you wish to come, then meet us in this room around then."

Elrond's face may not have been smiling, but his voice was. Glorfindel left the room feeling dazed.

*                       *                       *

Second Age, June 24th, 1685. 8:58 P.M.

It was with some trepidation that Glorfindel approached Elrond's chambers at nine o'clock that evening. He had barely knocked when the door opened and he was swept into the hallway by the High King himself.

Ereinion Gil-galad matched Elrond's height to the inch, but other than their height they had little in common. Gil-galad's eyes were green, bright green, and no matter how loud and boisterous he was acting (which was usually very), his eyes were always serious. He was a broad-shouldered and muscular Elf, with thick calluses on his hands from holding a spear all his life. He had a dark tan and his black hair was bleached brown from his excessive time outdoors. Instead of robes he was wearing a worn tunic tied with an empty sword belt. From the little time Glorfindel had spent in the presence of the High King, he seemed to be one of the least uptight Elves he had ever met.

Needless to say, this was refreshing.

"Lord Glorfindel," greeted the King, the title rolling off his tongue. "I'm pleased that you came. It's been some time since we had a decent fighter arrive in Lindon, and I'm looking forward to seeing you in action."

At Glorfindel's puzzled look, the King amended his statement to add, "In training, of course. We haven't had a real war since Thangorodrim."

"In that case, I'll be pleased to show you what I know. Also, please call me Glorfindel. I've never liked titles."

"Me neither," agreed the King. "So call me Gil-galad. Not in the presence of anyone important, though. The Council might just faint from shock. Ah, Elrond, there you are!"

Elrond had emerged from a door in-between a portrait of Queen Melian and a faded old sketch of the twins sons of Dior. He had evidently just taken out his braids, as his hair was exceptionally wavy and apparently unmanageable, as the Half-elf was attempting- and failing- to comb it.

"This is ridiculous," said Elrond, his voice calm but his narrowed eyes speaking volumes about his irritation. "I am an adult. I should not have to fight with my hair every time I take it out of its braids."

Gil-galad reached over and mussed Elrond's hair with a large hand and said, "I love your hair no matter how messy."

Elrond replied sharply, "Ereinion, we have company," but Glorfindel noticed that he stopped trying to fix it, slipping the comb into his dark red robes.

"No, no," said Glorfindel hastily. "I don't mind."

"Out into the gardens we go then," announced Gil-galad. He turned on his heel and opened the front door, ushering Elrond and Glorfindel out.

"So it's to be a picnic?" asked Glorfindel, pleased by this. He always ate outdoors when he could. It was something about the trees that he especially liked. If the mood took him, he could close his eyes and sing to the trees forever.

"Yes," said Elrond, turning his face towards the sky. The light had almost completely faded, turning the gardens into a world of shadows lapping at his feet. There were a few flickering candles in the distance, and it was enough light for all of them.

Elrond directed them to a table located under a weeping willow, his hand resting on Gil-galad's arm as they walked. Glorfindel felt rather like a third wheel, and began to wish he had something interesting to talk about. With Gil-galad he could talk about war tactics and fighting styles, but he had no idea as to Elrond's hobbies or interests.

When they sat, Elrond uncovered several dishes that sat on the table. Gil-galad reached for a place of pheasant, ripping at the meat and chewing it gleefully, without regard for the grease dripping down his sleeves.

"Ereinion," said Elrond. "You really are disgusting."

Glorfindel tried very hard not to laugh, but failed as a loud snort escaped from him. Neither Elrond nor Gil-galad called him on it, so he reached for a buttered roll and pretended it had never happened.

Elrond pulled a plate of venison towards himself, thankfully lacking even a marginal resemblance to Gil-galad's rather revolting display.

"Glorfindel," said Gil-galad through a mouthful of meat. It sounded more like "Grrrferndill" than an actual word. "Drrrrd you stahhhp at Vahhhlllinrrr bffrrr..."

Gil-galad continued in this strain, and Elrond smiled thinly as Glorfindel sat there, halfway between bemused and worried.

"He is trying to ask you," translated Elrond. "Whether or not you had the chance to visit Valinor before you came back to Middle-earth, and what was it like."

Finally, something for him to talk about! "Yes, I stopped in Valinor," said Glorfindel thoughtfully. "As for what it's like, well, it's blissful. Exactly what you expect. Times have changed, though, since I lived there in my youth. Things are...how do I explain...staler...duller, if you forgive me for saying so."

Gil-galad swallowed the last of his meat and said, "Glad to hear it! Those of us still in Middle-earth are glad to hear a reason for us to stay here. Many of us here are willing to fight and die for this land, myself among them. You?"

Glorfindel grinned. "You have no idea how nice it is to hear that after the political nothings of Valinor. I feel guilty for thinking it, but sometimes I think a big battle might wake them all up."

"How big of a battle?" asked Elrond, seemingly intent on his venison. "A battle the size of the fall of Nargothrond or more like the size of the second battle of the Petty-dwarves in the deep halls under Sharbhund?"

Glorfindel opened and closed his mouth, but had no reply. He'd never even heard of Sharbhund. Gil-galad laughed.

"Elrond spends all his free time reading books. For his first few hundred years in Lindon he never left the library, not even to sleep. He's so well-renowned for it that even that-what was his name, Elrond?"

"Annatar."

"Yes, that evil creature called him 'wise in all lore.' Since then, they've taken to calling Elrond a Loremaster."

For some reason, Elrond didn't look up, his long hair covering a faint frown. His eyes stayed trained on the table as Gil-galad continued talking. 

"Wait, let me catch up. I've missed out on a thousand or so years of politics. Who's Annatar?" asked Glorfindel.

"We don't know," answered Elrond honestly, looking relieved that the subject had been changed. "He appeared several hundred years ago, asking for permission to enter Lindon. I advised Gil-galad that it was a bad idea- I can't say why, but he gave me a bad feeling, and as I am known to have foresight in matters such as this, Ereinion refused him entry."

Gil-galad nodded slowly, picking a piece of meat from his teeth. "I got a bad feeling from him too. He went to Eregion instead and joined Celebrimbor's union of metalworkers, what was it called? Something pretentious."

"The Gwaith-i-Mírdain," prompted Elrond. Glorfindel was beginning to understand that this happened on a regular basis.

"Yes, that. Pretentious. Annatar's been causing all sorts of trouble there. Glad to be rid of him."

"I have a feeling that he'll be back," murmured Elrond. "Hopefully I just worry too much."

Gil-galad squeezed Elrond's arm comfortingly. "Elrond here thinks he is going to age horribly."

"I'm rather hoping for it," said Elrond. "Maybe then people will take me seriously. Nothing like an ugly face to get others to listen to you."

"I listen to you," pouted Gil-galad. "Don't I?"

"You don't count."

Elrond had taken a kidding tone, but Glorfindel could see something in the way his shoulders were slumped that this had been troubling him.

"You listen to Elrond, right?" pleaded Gil-galad, turning to Glorfindel.

"Y-Yes, I-"

Glorfindel was interrupted by Elrond stabbing his fork into the remains of his venison. "Give him time."

Ignoring Glorfindel's presence, Gil-galad grabbed Elrond's hand and said desperately, "Oh, please don't be upset, I can't bear it-"

"I'm not upset," said Elrond, his voice calm again. "And I'm sorry if I upset either of you. I think it was the mention of Annatar that set me off. I cannot believe I let my control go, even a little. So, Glorfindel, have you been impressed by anything you've seen in Lindon? I'm sure it can't compare artistically to Valinor, but we aren't destitute of beauty here."

Surprised at the deftness that Elrond dispelled Gil-galad's worries and changed the subject at the same time, he was flustered into saying, "Er-yes-I like the decorating in your office, Elrond. I've never seen anything quite like it. And the gardens here are very nice too."

"I'm flattered. You're complimenting me more than Lindon itself," said Elrond, his tone light. "I designed both our rooms and gardens, as I refused to live with Ereinion's boar head above me."

"I liked that boar head," grumbled Gil-galad. "The poor thing has been relegated to my office."

"And the Valar know that Ereinion never goes in there," teased Elrond, popping a tomato in his mouth.

Glorfindel hadn't realized until then that the two of them shared quarters. It seemed to cement things in his mind and made him fully realize that Elrond wasn't a sort of high-profile courtesan or the fling of a romance-loving ruler.

He found himself grinning. He was in good company, enjoying a beautiful night in the starlit gardens of a King and the son of legends, and most importantly, he was back in Middle-earth.