The Seventh Avenger by ElrondsScribe

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Chapter 4

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Disclaimer: All rights belong to the Tolkien Estate and to Marvel Studios.

Edits as of 1/3/17.

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The central command center of the Helicarrier was bustling with activity. The floor was lined with rows of computer stations, with an agent seated before each screen and a supervisor hovering here and there. More agents were hurrying in and out, and each of the two entrances was guarded by two heavily armed men in black.

On a raised round dais in the middle of the room stood Director Fury, surrounded by an array of screens and controls of his own.

"All engines operating," barked a surprisingly young woman (she couldn't have been more than thirty) on the tall side of average height with securely drawn up chestnut hair and an earpiece attached to the right side of her head. "SHIELD emergency protocol nine-one-three-point-six in effect. We're level, sir." The last words were addressed to Fury.

"Good," said the Director. "Let's vanish!"

Vanish? Glorfindel wondered.

But when the woman turned and shouted "Engage retro reflection panels!" he understood. This must be new technology for keeping out of sight.

Then Fury stepped off the dais and approached the large round table where Glorfindel was sitting with Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner (the latter still hanging around Glorfindel and obviously uncomfortable). "Gentlemen," he greeted them.

Steve got up and silently slipped Fury a ten dollar bill on his way past him. The smug smirk on Fury's face as he took it told Glorfindel that he'd won some kind of bet with the Captain.

"You good?" he then asked Glorfindel.

"I could use some coffee, but otherwise I'm fine," said the Elf. "Still waiting to try on this amazing uniform you were telling me about."

Fury turned his head. "Hill?" he called.

The woman with the earpiece who had been giving orders earlier came up to the table, and Glorfindel saw that her name tag read 'Deputy Director Maria Hill'. "Right this way," she said, and he got up followed her out of the central room. As they left he heard Fury say, "Doctor. Thank you for coming," and Bruce reply, "Thanks for asking nicely. So, uh, how long am I staying here?"

"He seems nervous," he commented.

"If he can find the Cube soon, he has nothing to worry about," said the Deputy Director.

"If all you're after is the Cube, what exactly am I doing here?" asked Glorfindel.

Hill threw him a look. "You are here because we believe you're best suited to cross Loki off if need be."

"Indeed." Glorfindel nodded. "Then why do I get the distinct impression that you're the only person I've met on this Helicarrier so far who wishes I wasn't here?"

Hill pulled up mid-stride, obviously startled. Then she resumed walking at a speed which Glorfindel knew (but she possibly did not) was just slightly faster than before. "That's not so," she said defensively.

"No?" asked Glorfindel. "My mistake. You're merely uneasy."

She threw him another look. "All of you together - the Avengers - are an unknown variable," she said. "And unknown variables are rarely advantageous." She had by this point led Glorfindel up to a glass compartment built into the wall of the level below the central room. "Here's what we've got," she added. "Try it on and see what you think."

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Glorfindel gazed critically at his reflection. The chain mail he was wearing was relatively light and flexible, and the green surcoat over it bore a nearly exact replica of his old device, the eight-rayed sun.

In his hands was a longsword such as he had wielded long ago, such as he had wielded in the Battles of Beleriand, the fall of Gondolin, and the wars against Sauron. He inspected the sword, and some pattern on the blade caught his eye. He looked more closely, and saw that there were lines of Quenya and Sindarin words etched in Tengwar into the steel.

Laurefindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Ondolinde

Glorfindel, Master of Arms in the House of Imladris

There was only one maker who could have etched such perfect Tengwar in such fine lines.

"These all came from Aiglos Creations, didn't it, or is that classified?" he asked of the Deputy Director.

To her credit, Hill refused to take the bait. "Technically, yes, it's classified," she said. "But I might have accidentally broken protocol when I made the commission, and AC sends their regards."

There was just the barest hint of a smirk in her voice, and Glorfindel arched a brow. "Oh, did they say that?"

"Well, the boss's actual words were 'tell that straw-headed mutt he can tell me if he wants any adjustments made to the mail or the blade.'" Hill's tone and inflection did not change. "Same difference."

"Son of a gun! That's about what I thought," Glorfindel chuckled, thinking of how Egalmoth had so strategically capitalized on the new Lord of the Rings craze. "Well, the device looks perfect, and I can move about pretty well in the mail. And as for this -" he slung the sword into its sheath at his hip. "I'll need a bit of practice with it, but it should be all right."

"Good," said Hill. "I've got to get back to the central command room." And she turned and left.

Glorfindel unbuckled his belt and struggled out of the hauberk. He set both against the far wall, walked into the middle of the room, and went through his routine morning stretches, twice. Then he retrieved the sword, and took about an hour to re-familiarize himself with it.

"Looks like you could use someone to spar with," said a voice.

I'm getting soft in my old age, was Glorfindel's first thought, for he had entirely missed the Man's approach. Steve Rogers was leaning against the wide entrance of the exercise room, looking much more appropriately respectful.

"Looks like you could use something to do," panted the Elf, prying his loose plait from his neck (he still hadn't put in his warrior braids). "Or an excuse to escape all the prying eyes. Or both."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "They weren't kidding about how observant you are," he said, coming in. "Unless you just read my mind or something."

"I've been around you humans for about sixteen thousand years," said Glorfindel, still catching his breath. "I don't have to read your mind to make a good guess as to what's probably going through it."

Annoyance with himself (probably at having ignored something so obvious) flickered in Rogers' eyes. "Makes sense. So this is your uniform?" He gestured generally to Glorfindel's outfit as he began unbuttoning his plaid shirt.

Glorfindel nodded as he put his sword back into its sheath and leaned it against the wall again. "For now, at any rate." He came back to the middle of the room to meet Steve. "Now come, I want to see for myself how strong you are."

Steve proved much stronger and faster than Glorfindel had expected - in fact was actually stronger than Glorfindel himself, though not quite as fast. The Elf's great height also proved to be something of a disadvantage at such close quarters, for he was always having to stoop somewhat to reach Steve. The Man figured this out very quickly, and got into the habit of throwing his weight to try (often successfully) to pin Glorfindel to the floor or his arms to his sides or his legs under him.

"Ai!" cried an exasperated Glorfindel at length, going limp in Steve's grasp. "All right, I've had enough."

"Already?" Steve mocked, but the effect was rather spoiled by the his sweat-soaked hair and undershirt, not to mention his puffing like a steam engine.

"Let me up, you smug bastard," groaned the Elf, his pride smarting from having been essentially tackled repeatedly by a mortal Man. "Eru, this is embarrassing."

Steve looked like he was on the verge of a smart retort, but as he moved to get up he grimaced in pain. "Ow, damn it!" he hissed. "Knew I shoulda stretched." He pulled himself to his feet, grabbed Glorfindel by the hand, and hauled him up. "Good deal?" he asked, heartily clapping Glorfindel's shoulder.

"Sure, sure," huffed Glorfindel, resisting the urge to reach back and rub his shoulder. I can't believe a Mortal just beat the living daylights out of me.

Well at least I beat the daylights out of him too.

And of course Steve would choose that moment to ask, "So when exactly did I meet you before?"

"At a screening of Captain America and the Siege of Anhalt-Cothen, back in 1943 when you were touring," he admitted. "I'd be surprised if you remembered me, you met about three hundred other people at that screening."

"I don't," Steve looked apologetic, then suddenly squinted. "Wait a minute! Yes I do. Weren't you holding a colored kid with a comic book he wanted me to sign?"

"Yes, that was me," said Glorfindel. "And sixty-nine years have passed since then. You can't say 'colored' anymore."

"Oh, right. Sorry," said Steve reaching for his shirt and pulling it on. "Still, you know, you're kinda hard to miss, what with all that hair and glowin' like a lamp and whatnot."

"The glow is optional," said Glorfindel, choosing to ignore the jibe about his hair for the moment. "Without it I can blend in pretty well when I want to." He didn't add that the ability to tamper with people's perception also helped.

"Must be nice," Steve raised his eyebrows. "So why'd Fury bring you in?"

Really not much for small talk, this one. "Because I once had a run-in with him a number of years ago, and this is his way of thanking me, I suppose."

"In that case, what made you come out of hiding?"

Glorfindel did not bother to say he hadn't really been 'hiding' because he had, after a fashion. "He had intel on me - and a few friends of mine - that I didn't want getting out."

Steve blinked. "How many of you people are there?!" he asked in amazement.

I suspect I'm going to get very tired of that question. "Hundreds of thousands, probably a few million," he said. "Barely a thousandth of the human population of course - which, considering your lifespan and frailty is quite impressive - but there are quite a few of us."

"I'm not even gonna try and figure out if that's a compliment," said Steve. "So I basically could've passed any one of you - uh, what do you call yourselves?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "The most accurate politically correct term is probably 'elf,' but most people think of elves as -" his voice leapt into the soprano register. "- tiny, delicate pixies with donkey ears -" he resumed his normal voice again. "- and I don't appreciate it, so why don't you say 'Quendi' instead?"

"Kwen-dee?" Steve tried out the word. "Is that - nah, that's not English. Anyway, I'm assuming you Kwen-dee could really be anywhere and nobody'd know, is what I'm saying."

Glorfindel folded his arms. "Why, are you looking for them?"

Steve spread his hands. "C'mon, give me some credit! I just found out today that elves actually exist, and that they can kick ass too." He subconsciously rubbed his back. "Maybe I wanna meet more of you, is that not a compliment or something?"

Glorfindel frowned. "Well, maybe it is, and maybe we just want to be left alone! Obviously this hasn't occurred to you, but when you're immortal and everyone around you is mortal, they usually start to get suspicious and resentful when you don't fall ill or age like them!" His voice was rising. "You know we used to be sacrificed to fertility gods, or cut into pieces and sold for good luck, or hanged and burned for witchcraft, or, or -"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, sorry!" Steve raised his hands, looking startled, and the Elf became silent, drawing breath sharply.

"Okay," said Steve. "I really wasn't trying to trigger anything, and I'm really sorry for what you and anyone like you has had to go through -"

Glorfindel resisted the urge to leap on the Captain and strangle him. "I don't want your self-righteous pity!" he all but snarled.

"I understand that," said Steve. "and I'm really not trying to come off that way -"

"Then why don't you keep your nose in your own business where it belongs, you orc-lover?" Glorfindel shot back, and he turned away and picked up the staff.

". . . Okay, I have no idea what you just said!" protested Steve.

Did I speak Sindarin? I must have spoken Sindarin. "Then I won't hurt your feelings by repeating it," he threw over his shoulder as he stalked off in the direction of his locker.

"Okay then!" he heard Steve mutter as he left.

When he reached the locker he changed back into his clothes and put the uniform and armor back where they had been previously kept. He stared at it for a moment, lost in old memories of days he had lately tried very hard to bury.

None of that was Steve Rogers' fault, nor Fury's, nor SHIELD's either.

But I still don't trust any of them yet. Not really.

He thought of Banner, hunted like a beast to the far corners of the earth, for a condition practically inflicted on him that he could barely control. He must be even more uncomfortable than I am.

Reluctantly he made his way back up to the central command chamber (which was now much quieter) and sat down at the table. He laid the folder he'd been given on the table and opened it, reading once morr over all the other official Avengers' files.

The only Avenger he had not yet met was Anthony "Tony" Stark, or Iron Man, whose cocky smile (among other parts of his body) was all over national and international television, not to mention social media.

This time he heard the quiet footsteps approaching, though he did not look up till the woman Romanoff was across the table from him and about to sit down. Her face was impassive - even her eyes revealed nothing - but he knew perfectly well she meant business. She looked directly at him and asked, "Is it true Elves can read minds?"

No small talk for you either, I see. "In some cases," he answered carefully, shutting the folder.

This was no answer, of course, and Romanoff was having none of it. "Loki brainwashed two of our best, one of which was my partner, Agent Barton. If we find him, can you get his mind back?"

Glorfindel did not hesitate. "I am nearly certain that I can. But I don't yet know what Loki's magic is like, or how powerful it is." He looked closely at Romanoff. "This looks like more than an agent's concern for a fellow agent, if I'm not mistaken."

She stiffened slightly, and her guard slipped just a little. Where's my daddy? came the echoes of the voices of two children, and a dark-haired woman stared anxiously through Romanoff's eyes.

Glorfindel opened his mouth, but just at that moment an agent sitting in front of one of the many screens (Sitwell, by his name tag) called out, "We got a hit! Sixty-nine percent match. Wait - cross-match seventy-seven percent."

"Location?" asked Agent Coulson from where he stood next to Steve.

"Stuttgart, Germany, 28 Koningstrasse," said Sitwell. "He's not exactly hiding," he added dryly.

"Cap, Glorfindel," said Fury. "You're up."

"You've found the Cube?" asked Glorfindel standing up.

"We've found Loki," said Agent Coulson. "That's a start."

"Guess we better suit up," said Steve, and disappeared in the direction of the lockers where the uniforms were kept.

Romanoff's hand clamped down on Glorfindel's arm. He looked down in surprise to find her glaring fiercely up into his face. "Not a word," she hissed.

"Understood," he said, and she let go and walked away.

He was halfway down to the lockers before he realized neither of them had spoken aloud. She had implicitly allowed him to read her mind.

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Chapter End Notes

Obviously I know about nothing about real swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat. And I can't quite make out from the descriptions I've read exactly what was the color scheme of Glorfindel's Gondolin armor. The fight with the Balrog as recorded in BoLT seems to indicate that Glorfindel did not have a shield, so I've made the sword a two-handed longsword.