NEW MEMORIES

Once safely in his bedchamber, Glorfindel locked the door and leaned against it, the back of his head pressed against the cool wood. It was a spacious, airy second-level room with a floor-to-ceiling window opening onto a balcony, and an adjoining bathroom. His heart beat rapidly in his chest and he waited until it slowed to a normal pace before striding to his bed and quickly disrobing. He was dressed in light warrior’s garb from his sword-practice earlier, and this he stripped from his body and discarded randomly onto the bed. Crossing the floor to his wardrobe cabinet, Glorfindel selected a light robe, pulled it on, and walked out through his window onto his balcony to let the fresh, cool evening air drift over him and perhaps cool his agitation.

He faced the ornate gates of grey granite through which visitors arrived at Elrond’s house. As Glorfindel watched with curiosity, he saw a small contingent of his fellow Elves from Imladris—a welcoming party—ride out toward the gates. Elladan and Elrohir were with them. He felt a brief stab of guilt that he was not with them.

After a few moments, he saw several horses arrive from outside the gates, traveling in single file, bearing riders dressed in the Silvan costume. He continued to watch, fascinated, as the Elves continued to file one by one through the gates. The hollow sound of clip-clopping hooves was loud to his ears, echoing the hollowness in his heart. The flickering of the torches attached to the gates in black iron sconces caused his eyes to water. His gaze was arrested by a jolt of recognition, as he found himself suddenly looking at his lover of more than five hundred years before.

There was Legolas, sitting astride a sleek white mare, dressed in the Mirkwood green and brown, his long, straight hair caught back behind his head and streaming over his cloak of pale grey, its pale color distinctive from that of the other Silvans. Glorfindel’s legs grew weak, his knees almost buckling as he gripped the railing for support. Many emotions flooded through him, not the least of which was the realization that he was in love. Guilt, regret, self-loathing—all subsequently coursed through the Balrog-slayer as he stood on his balcony looking down at the mingling of Elves, yet only one held his full attention. When the Silvans dismounted in order to follow the Elves of Imladris into the House, Glorfindel retreated into his chambers and lay down on his bed. Presently some servants came in to fill his bathtub. Glorfindel usually enjoyed his nightly bath, but this evening found him washing quickly without much care and then retiring early to his bed.

Glorfindel lay restless in miserable agony, reflecting upon his past misbehavior and negligence in allowing Legolas to be so cruelly taken away from him, and wondering if the prince harbored any ill feeling toward him. He tossed and turned beneath his covers, unable to find a comfortable position no matter how he tried. Presently he heard a knock at the door and leapt out of bed, his heart beating rapidly in foolish, irrational expectation. No, it could not be Legolas. What was he thinking? He was glad of the interruption the knock provided, and his rational self told him that whoever the visitor was, he would probably be a welcome distraction.

“Who is it?” His voice was breathless as he asked the question.

“It is I, Glorfindel. Elrohir,” came the muffled reply.

Glorfindel unlatched and pulled open the door, and Elrohir stepped inside the room. “What do you want?” asked Glorfindel in a dull tone, though he was glad of the company.

“Are you coming to join us in the Hall of Fire?” asked Elrohir. “We are having quite a jolly party.”

“No,” said Glorfindel. “I cannot,” he said by way of explanation. He shook his shaggy mane of golden hair and retreated to his bed. Elrohir followed him and stood before his friend as Glorfindel plunked himself down, wondering why the warrior appeared so distraught.

“Thranduil’s son has asked for you,” said the son of Elrond.

Glorfindel’s face turned bright pink despite his efforts to appear disinterested. “What do you mean, he asked for me?”

“He enquired if Lord Glorfindel was present in Imladris at this time,” said Elrohir, puzzled by Glorfindel’s strange demeanor. “And wondered why you weren’t with the others. I told him that you were, indeed here, and that I would try to find you.”

Glorfindel sighed, and sank his face into his hands, his elbows resting on his thighs.

“What is the matter, Glorfindel?” asked Elrohir. “I think there is something going on here I do not understand.” He sat down beside his friend, brushing back the thick wave of hair that hung down and obscured Glorfindel’s face. “Do you know the Prince of Mirkwood well?”

Glorfindel let out another sigh. “I suppose I could tell someone about our mutual history,” he replied. “It is an interesting story, but one that does not have a very happy ending. I am afraid that I do not come out of this looking very good.”

“Why? What have you done, Glorfindel?” asked Elrohir with concern, his warm hand massaging his friend’s back.

Glorfindel began to relate the story of finding an Elf who was thought to be Telerin upon the battlefield of Dagorlad, and how eventually this Elf they called Lemberas was discovered by the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood to be their own lost prince.

When Glorfindel paused in telling his story, Elrohir asked if he could disrobe and get into the warrior’s bed with him while they talked. Glorfindel looked shocked, although it was not the first time he and Elrohir had spent the night together.

“Elrohir, I am sorry, but Legolas and I were lovers,” said the Balrog-slayer, “and while we have been apart for many years, I do not wish to taint our relationship further by bedding you or anyone else.”

“But Glorfindel, you and I have been lovers in the past,” Elrohir reminded him.

“Casual lovers,” corrected Glorfindel, “and at the time I thought I would never see Legolas again.”

“And you have not,” said Elrohir. “Yet why not? Why have you and he become estranged?”

Glorfindel dropped his head, a flush coloring his face. He swept a hand through his mass of golden hair, pushing it behind his back. A frown puckered his otherwise smooth forehead. “He told me he loved me at the end, while he was being led away by his kinsmen who found him and me,” said Glorfindel. “He was distraught and wanted me to stay with him. He didn’t know his kinsmen at all, yet they knew their own prince. It must have been terrifying for him to have been wrenched away from me, the only person he knew well in the world.” Glorfindel wrung his hands in distress, his face a mask of self-recrimination.

“Surely you followed him to see him safely home, Glorfindel,” said Elrohir. “You were almost there.”

Glorfindel brushed away tears beginning to fall from his azure eyes. “No,” he whispered. “At the time I felt a fool. Legolas’ sudden declaration of love caught me by surprise and I – I faltered. I froze. I did nothing. I stood silent and said not a word, and let them lead my loved one away from me. And then I turned my back on him and returned home.”

“Oh Gods, Glorfindel!” cried Elrohir.

“Now do you see how I cannot face him? I cannot look him in the eyes and greet him as if nothing has happened. I must now think about what I should do. I shall have to talk to him, but not at this moment. I cannot talk to him yet. I need more time to consider what first I shall say to him.”

“Have you never discussed this with anyone before now?” asked Elrohir. “What about Father? Did he know of your relationship with Legolas?”

“No,” said Glorfindel. “He knew that we were comrades but nothing more. I tried to put it all out of my mind, thinking that I would never see Legolas again, and that I could make myself forget him.”

“You have been a fool, Glorfindel,” said Elrohir. “Father could have arranged to bring you together before now.”

Glorfindel allowed one loud sob to escape his throat. “I am a fool. I am in agreement with you wholeheartedly, my friend,” he said.

“Let me stay with you tonight,” begged Elrohir. “We need not engage in anything of a passionate nature. You need advice, and someone close with whom to discuss your dilemma. I can surely help you come to a decision on how best to approach Legolas and how to explain, if he is still upset about the circumstances of your parting, why you acted the way you did.”

“Very well,” Glorfindel conceded with a shudder of exhaustion. “I do feel I need someone to talk to, now that you mention it.” He crawled under his covers and gestured for Elrohir to go over to his wardrobe. “You may leave your outer clothing in my cabinet, and you should find a clean nightshirt in there that you can put on.”

When Elrohir had disrobed he climbed into the spacious bed with Glorfindel, and the two Elves talked long into the night, eventually falling asleep together in each others’ arms. Save for a light kiss on Glorfindel’s forehead and a friendly tousle of his hair, Elrohir did not otherwise make any overtures toward the golden warrior, and neither did Glorfindel to Elrohir.

In the early hours of the morning, Glorfindel’s servants entered his room, moving silently to build a new fire in his grate. It was not lost on them that Glorfindel had a bed partner, nor that person’s identity. They left extra towels and a robe for Elrohir, and then made their exit, and within a couple of hours the whole of Imladris knew that Elrohir had spent the night in Glorfindel’s bed.