Some Futile Hope by Luxa

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Part One: Chapter Three

Glorfindel, in the course of one night, realizes why he's been sent back to Middle-earth.

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Second Age, August 29th, 1685, 9:13 P.M.

Glorfindel was again humming a favorite Valinorian tune of his when Gil-galad finally opened the door to Elrond's office. He was alone, but his cheer wasn't visibly diminished and he smiled at Glorfindel. Glorfindel edged in the door and stood against the wall, feeling a pale blue drape shiver under his fingers.

"Look," said Gil-galad, holding up a picnic basket. "Dinner."

Glorfindel trailed after Gil-galad to their usual spot in the gardens and sat next to Gil-galad, unsure whether or not to mention Elrond's conspicuous absence.

"Elrond's training," said Gil-galad helpfully, taking a huge chuck out of a large platter of venison, chewing with his mouth open. If Glorfindel were inclined to slander his High King and liege lord, then he would have not hesitated to call him a unrepentedly violent eater. "I do believe you've created a monster, Glorfindel."

"I wha-I'm sorry, I've done what?" he spluttered, his mind making connections to Morgoth and Ungoliant and orcs and all heathen creatures he could think of.

Gil-galad snorted with laughter at Glorfindel's reaction, nearly causing wine to come spurting out the King's nose. "It was merely an expression. I only meant that my dear Elrond has become rather obsessed of late. He gets up earlier than I do to train, which often leaves me cross when I wake up to find myself alone, inevitably tangled up in the sheets as I get. And he is late for our usual trysts, which, to say the least, is just plain upsetting. He tells me that he is making up for lost time, and that I should not worry, but all the same I would like for you to ask him to ease up a bit."

"Your majesty," began Glorfindel seriously. "That is something I would never do and you know it. I'm not going to ask Elrond to stop trying to better himself. He has reasons for doing what he is, and once it's all over I'm sure he'll tell you. He is taking matters into his own hands and I respect him for that."

Gil-galad was silent, and Glorfindel began to worry that he had spoken too bluntly. Yes, the King was amazingly amicable and a pleasure to be with, but Glorfindel had never seen him roused to anger. And as Glorfindel had learned spending a lifetime in Turgon's inner court, a King who knew his power was a dangerous one. Glorfindel had no doubt that Ereinion Gil-galad had no doubt as to every inch of his strength.

Gil-galad's face broke back out into its customary smile, and Glorfindel was immensely relieved. The King poured another goblet of wine for himself before saying, "Yes, you're right of course. I trust Elrond. I was guilty of much the same thing relatively early in our relationship. I never stopped appreciating him, but I let my royal duties overtake my personal ones to an absurd degree, and Elrond rightfully knocked some sense into me. If Elrond gets to that point, I'll say something."

"I doubt he will, your majesty."

"Gil-galad," reminded the King.

"He is doing quite well," said Glorfindel, returning to the subject of Elrond's swordplay. "He has obviously been working hard, both in our training and on his own."

"Is he?" asked Gil-galad eagerly, slamming his goblet of wine back on the table hard enough to make a terrible cracking sound. "He refuses to let me watch him. Says it would be too embarrassing."

"He may have started out as a...well, a complete novice," admitted Glorfindel. "But over the past month he has more than proven himself capable of hard work, and he has a certain affinity for the art that can only come from natural talent. It will take some time, however, before he could hope to match you in battle, my liege."

Gil-galad raised a thick eyebrow. "You've never seen me fight, Yellow Flower."

Glorfindel rolled his eyes. "If you refuse to let me be complimentary about skills we both know you possess, then let me say it will be some time before he could face me in battle."

Gil-galad appraised this statement for a long moment. "That's good enough for me. Still, I worry. I fear that I have forced his hand into his position and now he feels obliged to fulfill duties he never wanted in the first place. I sometimes regret the decision to make him war minister, but he tells me that until the day he cannot perform his duties he will not resign."

Gil-galad seemed to have a better grasp on Elrond's inner thoughts than Glorfindel had expected. "You know him well, Gil-galad. That is exactly what he told me."

"He would be much happier if I had let him continue to breathe books rather than air...one day I will make it up to him. One day I will prove to him that I love and understand him."

Feeling that the conversation had taken a heavy turn, Glorfindel sipped at his wine and smiled weakly at the stormy-faced King. Gil-galad was twisting a chicken leg around so hard that the bones cracked and ripped apart. When he finally popped it into his mouth, he gave a groan of pain as pieces of splintered bone punctured his gums.

Glorfindel couldn't help but laugh. "That's why you don't play with your food."

Second Age, September 4th, 1685, 4:23 A.M.

"Lord Glorfindel."

Glorfindel was roused from a waking dream by a sharp tapping on his door. Blearily opening his eyes, he found that it was still dark, cool air blowing in through the large window behind his bed. Knowing that it must be important if he was being woken up this early, he jumped out of bed with the same speed and determination that helped him save so many refugees of Gondolin.

The messenger was badly startled when Glorfindel practically ripped the door off its hinges, his hand poised for another knock. Seeing that the city wasn't burning and there were no screaming civilians, Glorfindel relaxed slightly.

"What is it?" he asked tensely.

The messenger gulped and said, slightly nervously, "A meeting's been called, sir. There's been an emergency meeting called in the High King's office."

"And I've been summoned?" asked Glorfindel, surprised.

The messenger nodded. "The King says your expertise and judgement may be useful in this situation, sir."

"I'll accept that. Lead me there then."

Glorfindel followed the messenger to Gil-galad's office, marveling that he had never been in it before. The morning air was brisk, the black sky holding only the merest hint that it would relinquish its hold on the sun and allow light to flood Middle-earth. Things were indeed different than they used to be, more different than anyone born after the destruction of the Trees could fathom.

Pulling himself out of his reverie, Glorfindel followed the messenger past Elrond's offices and Elrond and Gil-galad's shared rooms. It was only a short time after that that that they arrived at a solemn, official-looking building with Gil-galad's heraldic symbol emblazoned on the front.

When Glorfindel entered, he walked down a short corridor to a spacious office where a boar's head was indeed stationed about a carved wooden desk, behind which Gil-galad was standing, dressed in a tunic hastily thrown over nightclothes. Elrond, standing beside him, wore a heavy, deep red nightgown. Gil-galad yawned as he entered, but Elrond looked perfectly awake, hands crossed tightly behind his back.

"What's going on?" asked Glorfindel immediantly. He looked around and saw five or six high-ranking ministers and council members. The messenger dipped his head and scurried out of the room, leaving Glorfindel unsure of what to do.

"We have received a messenger," said Gil-galad gravely. He was far more serious than Glorfindel had ever seen him, his piercing eyes narrowed as he silently considered their options. "From Galadriel."

Glorfindel wasn't sure if this was a good or bad thing, so he looked around and saw that the minister and council members' faces were stricken with fear and worry. Not a good thing, then.

"She has confirmed to us that Annatar, who visited Lindon several centuries ago, is Sauron the Deceiver, formerly in the service of Morgoth. She says that he is amassing an army, attempting to rival the might of his predecessor. and let us hope that he never succeeds."

Gil-galad paused, giving them a moment to let this sink in. Glorfindel, unlike the others, was struck with a sudden deep sense of purpose. This was why he had been sent back to Middle-earth. It was for this that he was the only reborn Elf to return to Middle-earth. He needed to help Lindon, and all free peoples, survive this new might of Sauron. His newfound power began to seep through his remade skin and he had to consciously reign himself in so that he didn't begin to shine. 

Gil-galad and Elrond exchanged a look heavy with meaning before Gil-galad continued. "We need to begin to prepare for war, whether or not it comes. Ministers, begin preparations respective to your areas of expertise. I will conduct meetings with each of you in turn to determine our exact plans. As for the councillors present, I expect each of you to relate what I have told you to the rest of the council. We will hold a meeting as soon as I am able. Remember, this is top secret- if this leaks out to the court I will have someone's head, understand? You are dismissed."

Everyone in the room nodded and Elves began moving towards the dooor. Glorfindel moved with them, still curious as to why he had been summoned.

"Lord Glorfindel," said Gil-galad sharply. "I haven't dismissed you."

Glorfindel turned around, startled, and walked back up to the High King and Elrond, who had remained silent. His gray eyes darted to Glorfindel's face, containing a level of depth that Glorfindel was unprepared for.

"You have been sent back to Middle-earth to help us with this, haven't you?" asked Gil-galad.

The day before, Glorfindel wouldn't have known how to reply. Now, he said, "Yes."

"Then I am right in telling you this. Galadriel has also informed us that Celebrimbor has contacted us."

"Celebrimbor?" asked Glorfindel. "Not the son of Curufin?"

"The very same."

"Didn't you say he had a union of metalworkers? The...the Gwaith-i-Mírdain?"

"Yes," said Gil-galad. "I am telling you this, and no one else, because I know that no matter how hard I try, things will leak. What Celebrimbor has sent us cannot leak. If you have been sent by the Valar then you will understand."

Glorfindel glanced at Elrond, whose face was carefully free from all emotion.

"I understand."

"Celebrimbor has forged Rings, Lord Glorfindel. He, with Sauron's help, forged nine Rings for the race of Men and seven for the Dwarves. Sauron, using this information, has forged himself his own Ring, the One Ring, to rule all others with. The Rings that Sauron helped forge will slowly bend to his power. Sauron will be able to control all of MIddle-earth if we don't stop him."

It was Elrond who spoke next. "Things would look bleak, very bleak, if Celebrimbor has not forged, without Sauron's help, three more Rings. Rings for us, for Elves, that may serve as a refuge in the storm that is to come. One, he has given to Galadriel."

"What about the other two?" said Glorfindel.

Elrond unlocked a drawer in Gil-galad's desk and pulled out a small, wooden box. He drew another key from the folds of his nightclothes and unlocked the box, opening it with his slender fingers that even now were stained with ink. He turned it towards Glorfindel silently.

Glorfindel suddenly found himself short of breath. Two rings, two beautiful, nearly flawless rings had been presented to him. One was made of pure gold with a blue stone in the center and seemed to shine effortlessly. The other was set with a red stone that blazed as though it was on fire.

"They are Vilya and Narya. According to Celebrimbor, Vilya is the greater of the two. I am keeping Vilya. Narya, I shall soon send Narya to Círdan- it is my belief that we must spread the Rings to the greatest Elvish strongholds so that they will serve as islands of refuge during war, so that Elves may view them as bastions of peace."

This sounded inexplicably elegant to have come from Gil-galad's mouth. Glorfindel hazarded a glance at Elrond, who was keeping a very straight face. If one looked closely, however, one could see a muscle in the corner of Elrond's mouth twitching ever-so-slightly.

"In the words of my esteemed war minister here, of course," added Gil-galad.

"Of course," echoed Elrond, now visibly struggling not to laugh.

"What about Celeborn in Eregion?" asked Glorfindel. In his short stay in Lindon he had tried his best to gather as much information about the politics of the day, and he didn't understand why they weren't at least considering Celeborn.

Gil-galad and Elrond raised their eyebrows almost simulatenously. It was rather alarming.

"I am not supposed to have opinions on matters such as this," said Elrond, his voice calm, "Let it suffice to say that if Celeborn is without Galadriel, than there is no reason to pay him any heed. He has been, if we are being candid, disregarded by both Elves and orcs as a serious threat."

Elrond paused to consider his words. He closed the box containing the Rings and locked it back into its drawer. "We must not forget that Galadriel too has a Ring. When she is reunited with her spouse, it would be unwise of her to be in such close proximity of another Ring...especially given her nature."

"Her nature?" Glorfindel had known little about the mysterious daughter of Finarfin when he had lived in the sheltered Gondolin, and had learned little since.

"She is a beautiful, powerful woman who has the capacity for great kindness...a capacity she does not always fulfill. She has always craved power, and there was a time when she woul not have stopped for anything to attain it. She has changed, I believe, but trusting anyone with two Rings would be a mistake, let alone her."

Gil-galad nodded through all of this and, once Elrond had finished, added, "Elrond summed it all up, except that Galadriel can be a right stuck-up pain in the ass when she wants to be."

"So can you, love," said Elrond, pecking Gil-galad on the check. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you now. It's early enough still that I may sleep an hour or so before I must wake for our morning training session, Glorfindel. Good night."

Elrond bowed slightly before departing, undoubtedly heading for his and the King's chambers. Gil-galad watched him go with a slightly wistful look. "I'm always randy after early morning meetings of state, and he knows it. I'm off to go see if I can convince him to forgo that hour of sleep..."

And he bounded out the door, leaving Glorfindel to spend the next hour trying not to imagine what was happening behind the King's closed doors.

Second Age, September 10th, 1685, 7:47 A.M.

"Elrond?"

Glorfindel watched the stunning Elf sheath his sword, brushing flyaway strands of inky hair behind his ears, his chest heaving. Glorfindel himself felt a strange constricted feeling in his lungs that had nothing to do with with the swordplay.

"Yes, Glorfindel?"

"You're ready to go into the training field, Elrond. You have been for some time."

Elrond's face closed off quickly, but not before Glorfindel got a glimpse of something like fear. "Are you sure I'm ready? I'm afraid that if I go now I'll make a fool of myself and then no one ever will respect me."

"Elrond, these aren't bad Elves. Once they see that you're really trying to better yourself and learn how to fight they'll come around. It's the effort that matters, not the skill."

One look at Elrond's face prompted Glorfindel to continue hastily by saying, "Regardless of that, however, is the fact that you are rapidly approaching the mid-level training stage after only two months. What you lack in experience you have made up with hard work. Many of my Elves only train the few hours that we do directly in the field, but I know you go far beyond that- that's why I'm certain you'll be fine."

Elrond took a deep breath. "Thank you. I will take your words to heart. When do you want me to come train with...with everyone?"

"Tomorrow," decided Glorfindel. "Let's not bother with putting them off. I think I'll have a quick snack before I go over there. Care to join me?"

Elrond hesitated, then shook his head, his mouth set. "No, I think I'll stay here and train a little more."

He drew his sword in one fluid moment, unaware how much he had improved in the last few months.

"Don't wear yourself out, Elrond," said Glorfindel. He had to resist the temptation to look behind him and watch Elrond as he walked away. He didn't think it was healthy to spend too much time looking at a sweaty, attractive, taken Elf.