Some Futile Hope by Luxa

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Part One: Chapter Five

Glorfindel's dairly routine is distupted by two things, only one of them related to matters of state.

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Second Age, November 23rd, 1685. 3:12 P.M. 

Winter was slow in coming, thought Glorfindel decidedly as he watched two low-level trainees clashing swords, both drenched in sweat. The air was chill, perhaps, but not nearly as cold as it should have been, and the trees had yet to shed any leaves.

He was dealing with the new influx of trainees admirably well, he privately thought. Most had come completely unprepared for war; most were barely past their majority and nervous about the idea of combat. It pained Glorfindel to think that soon many would lose their young lives in combat against a foe they hardly understood. He and the warriors Elrond had rustled up were devoting as much of their time as possible getting these Elves into shape.

Deep in thought, he glanced to the left and raised his eyebrows in slight surprise.

Alcarin was running towards him wearing a look of great excitement, his dark hair falling out of its braid. Glorfindel waited for him to approach, and when he was within earshot, said, "What's the big news?"

"Lord Celebrimbor has arrived!" he said, looking both thrilled and nervous. "He's come from the South, not from Eregion, and he says he must council with the King!"

"Lord Celebrimbor?" repeated Glorfindel, thinking that this was a surprise.

"Yes! He's adamant about council with the King!"

Seeing Alcarin's flushed face caused Glorfindel to realize that there were precious few Princes of any Elf-kind left, let alone Princes of the Noldor. He thought of the days when Beleriand was split between a dozen Princes, all worthy of their titles (regardless of their personalities). He also realized that the sounds of swordplay had stopped, and saw that everyone in the training field had heard Alcarin's loud proclamation. The faces in front of him ranged from stormy to wistful to curious to downright hostile. Glorfindel reflected that Lindon was composed of all races of Elf. from all of the surviving kingdoms, and any surviving members of Doriath or Sirion weren't likely to be well-disposed to a Fëanorian.

He whistled with two of his fingers, bringing their attention back to him. "Hey! Now isn't the time to worry ourselves with the affairs of court. Get back to training!"

He needn't have bothered, because no more than five minutes later an irritated loremaster Glorfindel vaguely recognized stormed into the training field, bearing a message for Glorfindel.

"The King would like you to report to Lord Elrond's office at your leisure," said the Elf, looking positively alarming. Glorfindel remembered his name; Erestor. "And by like, he means go, and by at your leisure, he means now."

"And he sent you?"

Erestor did not seem happy about this; his expression soured further. "My point exactly. I happened to be discussing a piece of literature with Elrond at the time and was the only other one in the room. Please tell the King that I am not a messenger and that I do not take kindly to being used like a bird."

He turned on his heel and left, Glorfindel calling, "Thank you!" after him. Again, all activity had stopped, but Glorfindel didn't have time to think about it as he excused himself, told them all to keep practicing, and raced towards Elrond's office.

When he arrived, he found that it was only Elrond and Gil-galad waiting for him. Elrond, he was surprised to see, looked like he was barely containing his delight.

"Ah, Glorfindel, there you are. I trust Erestor delivered the message?" said Gil-galad, watching Elrond pace the room with ill-concealed amusement. 

Glorfindel laughed sheepishly. "Yes, but I don't think you should rely on him for carrying messages. He wasn't exactly pleased." 

"No doubt," said Elrond absently. "Next time you would do better to go yourself, Ereinion. Erestor is no errand boy."

"Not even for his King?"

"Not for messages. I pray you don't hang him, though, he's as good a scribe as I've ever seen and has a real passion for the texts. Don't you think Celebrimbor should be done at the stables by now, Ereinion?"

"He'll get here when he gets here, love," replied Gil-galad, giving Glorfindel an 'isn't he precious?' look that Glorfindel wasn't planning to return.

Elrond ran his hand through his hair only to discover that it was intricately braided and actually growled in his annoyance. Glorfindel was quite relieved when an Elf entered and announced that the Lord Celebrimbor was almost there.

When the knock on the door came, it was Elrond who ran forward and answered it. Glorfindel and Gil-galad followed him down the hall, where Celebrimbor was looking at all the portraits on the walls.

"Where did you get the one of Elenwë?" asked the Elf, pointing to a portrait of a young female Elf of great beauty. She was positively beaming at the painter, who had expertly captured her emotions. 

"A group of Green-elves had it in a collection of relics from Gondolin. They had no idea what it was. I think it might be the only one of her outside of Valinor."

"You're probably right, Elrond," replied the Elf thoughtfully, turning to Glorfindel and Gil-galad.

"Your majesty," he said, giving Gil-galad a low bow with an extra flourish that Glorfindel found amusing.

Celebrimbor faced Glorfindel for the first time and Glorfindel got his first good look at the Elf. He was rather shorter and stouter than, not only Elrond and Gil-galad, but Glorfindel too, who was more average height. He kept his black hair tied back with a thick cord and his face and hands were tan and weathered from extended exposure to fire. He had a large scar running from his left temple to his right eyebrow that had faded with age, and he wore worn clothes that would not look out of place at his forge.

Elrond enveloped the smaller man in a crushing hug. "It's been forever."

"I know, but you always decline my invitations to Eregion," replied Celebrimbor with a twist of his lips. "We are both busy men, it seems. And who is this?"

"Glorfindel," he said as they moved into the main office. "You may not remember me, but we have met before."

"Of the House of the Yellow Flower?" said Celebrimbor, his eyes narrowing as he remembered. "You were one of Turgon's marchwardens, were you not?"

"Yes, I was. I'm surprised you remember me."

Celebrimbor gave a bark-like laugh. "Who doesn't? Although I admit I had more pressing matters on my mind at the time, your defeat of the Balrog is legendary. I was just trying to place you in my memory. We attended many of the same feasts in Hithlum, I think."

"You were much younger then, weren't you?" said Glorfindel, recalling a young boy who sat with the sons of Fëanor, looking impatient and often rather sooty.

"That's what it means when something happened long ago," said Celebrimbor, sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs Glorfindel hated so much. Glorfindel raised his eyebrows, and Celebrimbor chuckled. "No offense meant. I used to get in trouble with my elders for my attitude."

"Ada used to speak of it quite often," said Elrond fondly. "He always teased us and told us we'd grow up as bad as that Celebrimbor."

This caught Glorfindel off guard. Why would Eärendil know anything about Celebrimbor's upbringing, especially considering his history with the Fëanorians? He caught Gil-galad's meaningful look and realized; Maglor. Elrond was referring as Maglor as his father.

Celebrimbor grinned for a second before his face fell into lines of misery. "As much as I'd like to reminisce, I'm here on a far more important errand. I assume Lord Glorfindel is here because he can be trusted?"

"Implicitly," said Elrond, smiling grimly.

"You recieved my news that Sauron is amassing an army?"

"Yes, we did," said Gil-galad sharply. "Do you have more news?"

"Yes," said Celebrimbor bitterly. "I do. He has subtly begun to position his army around various places in Eriador. I wouldn't know about most of them if I hadn't nearly ridden right into them on the way here. This makes me thinks there are countless encampments of his troops hidden in Eriador, most of them centered around Eregion. He has spies, Gil-galad. His spies are hidden everywhere."

"By everywhere..." said Gil-galad slowly.

"Everywhere," repeated Elrond softly. "Even amongst the court of Lindon, I presume."

Celebrimbor nodded swiftly. "Do not take it as a personal slight, your majesty," he said. "It is the truth. If I am honest, your country is faring far better than mine in terms of traitors."

"Is that how you, the Lord of Eregion, came to be doing recon?" asked Glorfindel shrewdly. "It's not usually common practice for the rulers of a nation to sneak around looking for orcs."

Celebrimbor laughed harshly. "Yes, it is. I've found the need to take a break from my own people, people who are hopelessly divided between Lady Galadriel and her foolish placeholder of a husband and myself. When Sauron begins to rain arrows down upon us I fear we will be too busy squabbling to take heed. I fear for Eregion."

They talked for hours, until night fell and Elbereth's stars began to shine. They talked of politics, of where the various realms stood in regards to war with Sauron (Oropher's still ignoring me, commented Celebrimbor, mad about something or other my uncles did), of communications with Númenor (send them a letter ages ago and still haven't heard back, said Gil-galad). Celebrimber broguht great light on all the powers and dangers of his Rings, beaming as he described his craft. They formed an official alliance in light of Sauron's approach and talked so long that, by the time they were done, Glorfindel's legs were stiff and aching and his stomach rumbling.

Gil-galad yawned loudly. "Glad we've hashed everything out now. Glorfindel, want to talk a walk down to the kitchens and see if they've got any leftovers? I'm starving."

Glorfindel readily agreed and looked at Elrond, who shook his head and squeezed Gil-galad's hand. The obvious love between the two, however brief, made Glorfindel's stomach twist in an emotion akin to jealously.

"Let's go," he said heavily, forcing his gaze away. "I think my stomach might eat itself in hunger."

"Don't say such things," murmured Elrond, almost to himself as they left. "You never know what could happen."

Glorfindel and Gil-galad left through Elrond's back door, taking a moment as they stepped outside to enjoy the sounds and smells of the night air. They began to walk, and it took some time before Gil-galad spoke.

"I like to give them as much time to catch up as I can," said Gil-galad. "They haven't gotten together for, what, two hundred years now? Elrond misses him, I can tell."

Glorfindel, who hadn't exactly fallen over with joy at Celebrimbor's personality, found this surprising. "Why?"

"They're family. They're all each other has left when it comes to remembering the side of Elvish royalty people try to forget," said Gil-galad, smirking. He plucked an apple out of a tree as they walked and took a huge bite from it.

"You mean the Fëanorians?" confirmed Glorfindel.

Gil-galad made an immensely disgusted face and spat out the chunk of apple onto the ground. Glorfindel saw half a worm wriggling inside it and looked away, suddenly queasy. Gil-galad plucked the other half of the worm out of the apple, flicked it off his finger, and continued eating his apple. Glorfindel stared at him.

"What?" said Gil-galad through a mouthful of apple.

"Elrond lets you kiss him with that mouth?" said Glorfindel in a tone of high amusement.

Gil-galad laughed, spewing chunks of apple everywhere. "You'd be surprised," he chuckled, a gleam in his eye that made Glorfindel wish he hadn't said anything.

Glorfindel stuck his hands in his pockets and said, "Forgive me if this is too personal, but I was wondering...does Elrond...how does Elrond feel about his father?"

"Which one?" replied Gil-galad promptly. He had a knowing look on his face that said he'd been expecting this.

Glorfindel didn't reply immediately, letting that sink in. "So Elrond doesn't hate them? The Fëanorians?"

"No," said Gil-galad. "He doesn't. For a long time he was very conflicted about it, but in the end he's decided to accept that he loves Maglor and Maedhros, knowing full well what they did and why they did it. That doesn't mean he doesn't love Eärendil and Elwing, you understand. It's complicated."

"Yes," mused Glorfindel. "I do understand. He showed me his sword when we first started training, but I didn't ask him about it."

"Really? He wouldn't have done that for a lot of people," said Gil-galad.

They had reached the kitchens, where Elves were cleaning up from dinner. They quickly prepared Glorfindel and Gil-galad a basket to take into the gardens and sent them off with good cheer. Gil-galad couldn't seem to help himself when it came to food; he left bearing not only the basket but had several buttered rolls cradled in his arms and at least two in his mouth.

Glorfindel plucked a roll form Gil-galad's clutches and chewed on it, his stomach churning at what he had decided to say.

Glorfindel was an Elf of action. He did not like harboring secrets, especially ones that felt like they were going to eat him from the inside out. He firmly believed in being open and friendly, and knew that he'd feel better about himself the moment he told someone what was on his mind. That's why, as they settled down under a huge oak tree to eat, he said, his throat suddenly dry and thick and scarily unmanageable, "I'm beginning to harbor feelings for Elrond."

 

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Chapter End Notes

I've been saying 'Glorfindel of the House of the Yellow Flower' and not 'Golden Flower' and I've recently realized that that might be wrong, so they're interchangable now. Yellow's just so much friendlier than gold.