To Travel With Wings

Windswept moors battled the elements as roiling clouds released their frustration in a torrent of rain. The grass became slick with water and mud churned under many feet. Lightning sizzled in the dark mass of sky, lighting the battlefield in succinct flashes. Roars and cries were drowned out by clashes of thunder as titans battled not only on the ground but in the sky.

Beneath it all a golden light shimmered amongst the fallen and falling bodies of Orc. He moved with an innate grace that comes only with an immortal life. His silver blade glinted as it sliced cleanly through body after body, its tip thick with gore. Orcs surrounding him parried and hacked the blade, attempting with their greater numbers to overwhelm the warrior. They could not.

He parried and feinted with ease, his eyes half closed. He seemed almost asleep as he neatly decapitated one and stabbed another. His face was impassive, there was no care in his eyes as slaughtered his enemy. Wave after wave crashed against him, useless. He was rock, unyielding and hard, none could withstand him. The ranks thinned and he seemed to only become more involved, thirstier for blood.

His pristine clothing was stained beyond repair. One could not tell where his blood began and his enemies ended. Golden hair had come loose from its tight braid to whip his face with snaps and cracks. The wind seemed to blow harder, as if answering his unspoken call for the pain. He needed the pain, to forget, if only for a moment.

The silver sword rose and fell until none were left standing. As he finished the last of his enemies, the warrior sank to his knees in absolute exhaustion. He leaned on his sword, the gory point digging into a warm body. Blood ran like a river around him, but he paid it no mind. It was black and sticky, soiling the hallow ground upon which it seeped.

Gradually, his breathing began to slow, returning to normal and his body cooled. Raising his head from the pommel of his sword, Glorfindel stood and surveyed the damage. Perhaps a dozen, almost twenty. It was not bad. Casting his eyes about for a clean spot, Glorfindel was forced to walk a few feet away from the slaughter to cleanse his sword. Rubbing the blade against the damp grass, Glorfindel blew strands of hair out of his face. He peered at his reflection in the weapon, astonished to see the gaunt face looking back at him. What had happened to him?

Closing his eyes could not wipe away the damage he’d wrought on this field. How many other fields had there been? Could he even count the number? Settling on his haunches, Glorfindel bowed his golden head in grief. What was he doing here on these moors so far from his home? For the first time in years, Glorfindel wished for home. He wanted to see the clear falls of Imladris and stroll among its halls. He wanted to see the somber face of the Peredhil and the laughing eyes of Celebrían. Had she bore him a child yet? Most of all, Glorfindel wanted to be close to Silnar and he realized that on these windswept moors, he was farther from her then he’d ever been. Standing, Glorfindel sheathed his sword and began the long process of burning the corpses. It was time to go home.

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“My lord, a rider has been sighted. We believe it to be the Lord Glorfindel.”

Elrond looked up with some surprise from his papers. He glanced over at his wife who bore a bright smile. “Tell young Balahend that we shall be right along,” she prodded, bestowing a smile on the young guard.

Clearing his throat, Elrond nodded at Balahend. “Yes, thank you Balahend, we shall be along shortly.”

Nodding his head to hide a smile, Balahend smartly turned and exited the study. Elrond looked over at his beautiful lover and smiled broadly. “So the wanderer returns.”

She nodded her eyes sad. “Obviously, alone.”

Standing, Elrond knelt and took Celebrían’s hands. “My love be strong. We knew that to hope for her safe return was asking too much.”

Sighing, Celebrían stood, her hand still clasped in Elrond’s. “I know, love, but there was always a seed of hope.”

“And it will always be there,” Elrond whispered, “In all of our hearts.”

The couple walked to the nursery where their two children, Elladan and Elrohir were playing the Last Battle. Elladan was Gil-galad while the unhappy Elrohir was forced to be Sauron. The parents watched their twin sons with amusement as Elladan fiercely beat Elrohir to the wall with their soft swords made of cloth.

“Aha! I win and have vanquished the mighty Sauron. Fall to your knees defeated one!”

Sourly, Elrohir pushed away from the wall. “That is not how it ends, Elladan. Sauron kills Gil-galad and Isildur cuts his hand off.”

Frowning, Elladan said shrilly, “NO! This is my game and Sauron dies by Gil-galad.”

“You can’t change history, Elladan, even if you are older!”

Quickly seeing how this particular argument would accelerate caused Celebrían to interfere. As Elrond watched his patient wife deal with the hyper and impatient twins, he marveled at how much he adored this beauty who had deigned to marry him. There was so much love and kindness wrapped insider her tiny body, he wondered why she didn’t burst. Looking up, Celebrían smiled deeply at him and Elrond knew that she had been peeking into his thoughts. Their bond was so deep; they had no need of the powerful ring Glorfindel had gifted Celebrían with so long ago. He noticed that his wife still wore it though. Glorfindel had been a dear friend of hers as well as his.

“Now, Elladan, Elrohir, an old friend has returned to our home and we go to greet him. I want you to change and I will re-braid your hair. Then, we will go meet him and you will both behave as the wonderful elflings I know you to be.”

Her two identical sons both nodded their heads and then scrambled to their bathing room, bickering as they went. Sighing, Celebrían rose from her kneeling position and hugged her husband tightly.

“Herven*, I love you! You think the most wonderful thoughts.”

Smiling, Elrond pressed a kiss to her smiling mouth. “Only because you elicit them, and deserve them.”

A ruckus in the bathroom beckoned the parents and they went to solve another argument. This one over who would wear the royal blue tunic. Laughing to himself, Elrond knew he would have it no other way.


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By the time the rowdy twins were clean, dressed, and presentable, Elrond knew that Glorfindel would have already arrived. Erestor was waiting for Elrond and his family outside the nursery and they all walked together to the library where Glorfindel would be. It was his favorite room in Imladris.

They all stopped outside the gilded doors that were strangely closed. Squeezing Celebrían’s hand Elrond said, “Allow me a moment alone with him, love. I would not want to throw the entire family on him at once.”

Nodding, Celebrían was distracted with another argument, this time whether or not Grandpa Eärendil was better then Grandpa Celeborn. By the time she had settled her children down; Elrond had slipped inside the library, closing the doors behind him.

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Glorfindel stood with his back to the doors. He seemed to be gazing at a mural of Gondolin, but Elrond knew that Glorfindel sensed his presence. Walking to his side, Elrond looked at his dearest friend. New lines graced his ageless face and his eyes were tired. They seemed empty and without hope, so melancholy as they took in the old beauty of a city long buried.

“I would have followed Turgon to Angband had he but asked. I was dedicated to him and his line, though I did not know why. Even after my death and rebirth, the question was not answered.

“Eldatári is the wife of Ingwë and she is High Queen of the Eldar. She said to me, before I left that even though the blood of my Vanyarin mother ran through my body, my heart beat for my Noldorin father. I could not imagine him leaving for Arda without me.

“He died, even before we reached this great Arda to retrieve the Silmarils and find new lands. Turgon’s wife, Elenwë, fell into the cold waters of the Helcaraxë. Without a second thought, even as Turgon was restrained, my father dove into those waters. She was as a daughter to him. Neither one resurfaced. The tragedy bound Turgon and I together deeper then any bond of friendship. His daughter, Idril, was like my own. There was so much of Elenwë in her. I vowed that I would protect her and all of her children with my life.”

“You have fulfilled that vow over and over again, my friend,” Elrond interjected. “My family owes you much more then we could ever repay.”

“It was my vow to make, there is no debt. I wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps in everything he did.”

“What of your mother?” Elrond quietly asked. He felt strange to pry, but Glorfindel had always been so silent about his life before Arda that Elrond wanted to glean as much as he could. Glorfindel knew everything about him, Elrond had no secrets.

“She remained in Valinor. She was Vanyarin and could not bear to part with the Valar. You have never before seen a true Vanyarin, Elrond and I am sorry for that. In Galadriel there are glimpses and in I there are more, but a true Vanyarin……ah, they are too beautiful to behold at times. Of all the Eldar they are most like the Valar in appearance and in mind. My mother was beyond wise and she shone with all the light and grace of the Trees. She would walk there, all the time, before they withered and she would sing with Kementári. Sometimes I would join them and…..”

His voice faltered and grew silent. Elrond knew he would speak no more. The memories were either too painful or personal. Perhaps a little of both. Resting a hand on his shoulder, Elrond gave to Glorfindel what strength and love he could. Shaking his head, Glorfindel focused on Elrond.

“I am home for good, my friend. My days of grief and wandering are finished and I will leave fate in the hands of Mandos.”

“That is all that we can do, Glorfindel.”

Smiling softly, Glorfindel forced his grief into the deep recesses of his heart, locking the door. It was time to live again.

“Now, why don’t you allow me to greet your lovely wife? I have not seen her in ages!”

Elrond moved to the doors and opened them wide. Celebrían entered with a wide smile on her face as she ran into Glorfindel’s extended arms. Over her shoulder, Glorfindel noticed two shy elflings hiding behind Erestor’s crimson robes. Pressing a kiss to Celebrían’s cheek he asked, “Who are those tiny warriors protecting Erestor?”

A few giggles tickled the air. Celebrían moved to her children and pushed them forward. They bowed, albeit awkwardly. Glorfindel solemnly returned the bow. “I am Glorfindel of Imladris. Who enters the halls I call my home?”

More giggles, but no words escaped their mouths. Laughing, Celebrían said, “My sons have decided this will be the day they forget their words. Believe me when I say that happens none too often. This one is Elladan and this is Elrohir. Say hello, boys.”

Two very shy, piping voices murmured greetings. Grinning broadly at the elflings that looked so much like Elrond, Glorfindel reached into his armor to find two pieces of sweets. He handed each child one and laughed as they scampered off, shouting thank you.

“They go to show off their prizes,” Elrond said, smiling. “They shall be the most popular elflings for a week.”

Celebrían gripped Glorfindel’s hand and said, “We have missed you, Glorfindel. Please say that you have come to stay?”

“I have, sweet Celebrían. I have already missed so much.”

“We are glad that you have returned,” Erestor added, as he hugged his friend. “Now someone can ease the load of work.”

Laug, th, the four left the library and began to walk to the dining hall. The lunch bell began to ring, announcing that the food had been set. Glorfindel paused at the doors.

“You go ahead; I will join in a moment.”

The three did not protest and entered the hall discussing an upcoming festival. Glorfindels wandered out of a side door and into the gardens. He paused before a patch of elanor and memories flooded his senses. This was the place where he had fallen in love with her. She had stood here, bathed in the sunlight, glittering in its light. Despite the pale sickness that had still dominated her, despite the weakness of her body, and the frailness of her face, he had loved her and thought her the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. He had looked into her eyes and saw passion and love, gentleness and empathy.

“I am home Silnar, and I will not leave you again.”


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*Herven means husband in Sindarin.