The Curse of the Balrog Slayer

A/N: R&R SVP!

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Don't sue me. I get no profit from this but a sense of satisfaction whenever someone reviews. ;)

Warning: Vampirism.

The Curse of the Balrog Slayer

Glorfindel had been concentrating on his book so much he did not see the elf enter silently. The change in lighting made him turn to see if someone had set another lamp in the room, since the sun was retreating behind the misty mountains. His green eyes met hoary, grey ones, and he feigned shock at the elf standing silently.

“Sweet Glorfindel, how are you?”

The legendary captain of Rivendell closed the book, still unable to take his eyes from the ethereal elf, “Gildor” He whispered, not trusting his voice to be strong.

He bowed his head, silver tresses falling over his shoulder, “How have you been, love?” Gildor asked, settling himself on the other side of the couch.

“I am well- or as well as can be.” His beautiful eyes, two deep pools of sadness and wisdom met Gildor’s pewter gaze.

He smiled, “I have come to see if you would like to rejoin us.”

“I would like that, but there are now matters to attend. I cannot ignore them.”

Both knew what matters that concerned him. The ring had resurfaced, Gildor himself had delivered that interesting piece of news to Elrond after encountering a group of halflings. “Manelwen misses you.” He whispered, “I miss you Glorfindel.”

Hands trailed down Glorfindel’s flaxen tresses, it was so soft and it held a hue in it that no other elf could ever duplicate. As his hands left his hair and travelled down his back, beneath the silk he could feel the jagged skin, a scar from his battle with the Balrog. The scar was a badge of his rebirth, and of his love for his deceased wife; Manelwen. It ate at him slowly, and no longer did he radiate with that inner glow that all of the ancient races had. He would fade and then blink out like the stars, but his loss would go noticed and many would grieve. Gildor would grieve.

Glorfindel caught Gildor’s hands and held them, “Gildor, I wish that I could travel as you do. As carefree of the world’s doings as you can, but alas I cannot simply ignore such a paramount issue. The ring must be destroyed and I must do all in my power to make it so-“

Those grey eyes grew hard, and narrowed. Silver eyebrows drew down and the smile on his lips faded, “Do you think I don’t know that!”He yanked his hands from Glorfindel’s and placed them on his shoulders. Shaking lightly to get the point across, Gildor hissed, “You are killing yourself!”

“Aye, that I am, but as we all know I cannot die! I should have died when I fell from that cliff, but here I am stuck in this decaying body.” Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, “When everyone has gone, here I will remain.”

“You are Noldor like me, but you were presented with a golden opportunity to save us! If you cannot pass, that means I will not pass and Galadriel will not pass, nor will Elrond and his children!” He shook Glorfindel with every name mentioned, hoping to pound home what everyone else was trying to say to the resistant elf.

“They will pass! What have you done to deserve the curse of the Noldor? The kin slayers? Nothing! You were naught but a few years old when it happened. I killed!” He professed, the tears now flowing freely. “I know his name too. He tried to run away and I was ordered to run him down! What was I to do? Disobey? I killed him senselessly and here I am, a curse all in itself.”

Gildor could feel the self-loathing emanate from his skin. It tasted like ashes in his mouth, it smelled like decaying flesh to him and he was repulsed by it. The other elf caught his disgusted look and took it for disgust at his secret that he had kept hidden so long ago. “Even you, Gildor, are disgusted with my actions. As is all who know. I am unforgivable. I had no reason of my own to kill one of my own kin, and here I take on the brunt of the curse.”

The glow from Gildor’s skin began to fade as Glorfindel sank deeper into his depression. It was as if the other elf was draining the life force from him, he felt himself weaken to the point where he doubted his limbs could move. Scrambling to get away from the other elf, Gildor fought fatigue desperately and finally making it to his feet, he left as quickly as his heavy, stumbling legs could take him.

He fell against a wall, hugging it for support when Elladan cried and caught him in his strong arms, “What is wrong?”

“Glorfindel! What is he?” The elder cried, struggling to stand.

Sighing, Elrond’s son half dragged, half carried the elf down the hall to his rooms, “He is cursed far beyond the Noldor deserve.” He whispered, settling Gildor on his bed.

His thoughts feel on the fair maiden that Glorfindel had courted after his death. She had faded for no apparent reason, but now that reason came flooding back to him. Gildor gasped softly as he thought of Manelwen, who he had loved and protected just as fiercely as Glorfindel. Although his love was different from the Golden haired lord, it was to the same degree. He had literally killed her with his love for her. He had sapped the life from her until she had no more to give, and then he watched silently as she died due to him!

“Now you know what killed Manelwen the Fair.” Whispered the twin, ashe hhe had read Gildor’s thoughts.

“You knew?”

The elf nodded mutely.

Taking a deep breath, he brought himself back under control and gazed at the young elf coolly, “Elladan, I would like to speak to your father.”

Elladan nodded, “I am sure you will find him in his study, but he is concerned with the location of the Halflings.”


Elrond grumbled over the maps as he read the last dispatch. There were signs of the Halflings entering a man town called Bree, but the scouts refused to enter so they watched the gates intently. His foster son had disappeared long ago, and Elrond yearned for his expertise. He also was a man and could enter the town with ease, unlike his elfin scouts.

The door flew open and Elrond whirled around to meet Gildor’s heated glare, “Did you know that you were harboring a criminal?” He hissed, his finger stabbing at the Raven haired elf accusingly.

His eyebrow’s arched in bewilderment as he stared at the fuming Noldoran lord, “Who is it you so readily accuse, Gildor? Let us put it straight.”

“So you admit that you do harbor criminals?”

“Is it not so that any elf with the blood of the Noldor flowing through their veins is a criminal? Would that mean you call me a criminal? My sons? You?” Elrond asked calmly, and with relief saw the silver lord’s anger evaporate.

“This is different.” Gildor whispered sadly, his grey eyes full of pain, “He killed her, Elrond.”

Then it dawned on him who the exile was talking about, “Glorfindel.” Elrond whispered the name, and Gildor responded with a curt nod, “You have found his disability.”

“This thing he does is truly evil.”

“But it was not of his own doing. He did not know that he was capable of such things until she was long dead. When finally he realized what it was he had done, the war of the five armies had started. I took him as one of my captains.” There was only the sound of birds in the gardens outside, but it was painfully tense between the two elves.

“You knew.” Grey eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Elrond shook his head, “Not at first. I suspected something was wrong with him, he fought like an elf with a death wish and would rush into battle without a second thought. Claiming it was all in the name of his own battalion, we could see there was no need for such risk. We had concluded that it was the pain of his wife, and his wish to join her.

I contented myself with that thought and would not meddle with his personal affairs. He truly did not mean to kill himself, or he would have done it the moment he had made that decision.” Elrond sighed, letting the information sink in before continuing, “ It was not until after the battle, when he settled with me that I was no longer at ease with my excuses for his odd behaviour. He was distancing himself and would keep odd hours. At times, he would be seen wandering the halls of Rivendell in some daze and it came to the point where people were getting scared of him. His grief had consumed him to the point where there was probably going to be no release for him after death and he would come back as he had before.”

Gildor nodded, “That is why he came back the first time.” He sat down in a chair opposite of the one that Elrond had slipped into, but he could not recall the person who had served him the wine. Grateful for it, he took the goblet and sipped it, “He was so tormented by the one elf he had killed that he could not even find rest in the halls of Mandos.”

“Yes, for it is known that if an elf feels such grief and self-loathing that he will literally will himself to live.”

“He found no peace in death, so returned to his body.” Gildor sighed, fingering the stem of the goblet, “I remember the way I found him. He should have died, by all rights. His skull was shattered, his bones stuck out and his limbs could barely function.” The smell of burnt flesh assailed his nose and he felt queasy, as he had that fateful day, “He was irreparable and beyond even your skills, Elrond. My cousin, Manelwen took him and by some miracle, healed him. I suspect it was her love for him that pulled him back from the brink of death, beyond the halls of Mandos. He was hailed as Glorfindel the Mighty; Glorfindel the Balrog Slayer, but no one would question his resurrection.”

He was amazed at his seneschal’s ability to defy death, but this was outrageous. Elrond figured that he had been reborn, but it was as if his spirit haunted his own mutilated corpse and willed it to live. “But after her death, after the war, Glorfindel was certainly changed. He has been haunted by his misdeeds for so long that he has mastered his ability.”

“His ability to what?” He dreaded the answer, because Gildor knew deep within his heart what Glorfindel was.

“His ability to draw the life from anyone.” He took a deep breath, “That is what he did to Manelwen. He sucked the life from her, as he had done to himself so long ago.”

“Like Fëanor.”

Elrond shook his head and after a sip of wine, he corrected him, “Fëanor was able to channel that energy to other things. That is how the Silmarils were made. Glorfindel on the other hand, uses this ability to keep himself alive.”

Gildor was suddenly sickened by that thought, his blank stare suddenly turned into a horrified expression, “He feeds off of people?”

“Manelwen was enough for him to live before the battle and during it, he used our enemy to demoralize it. He is able to control it but if he feels any intense emotions, he cannot concentrate fully on keeping it in check and loses control.”

He swallowed back the bile that had surged from his stomach. He closed his eyes but could see his sister imprinted behind his eyelids. Overwhelming grief flooded his mind, paralysing his thoughts. “He fed off of her.” Gildor shuddered, bringing his shaking hands to rub the tears away from his eyes.

Elrond stood and turned his back to the emotional elf to stare out the window. After a while, the Lord of Imladris spoke, “I will not ban him from my halls. This is his haven; this is his hospice.”

“You think he will die?”

“Eventually. I feel it deep within him. If he does not come to terms with himself and his past, then he has condemned himself to an eternity of wandering Middle-Earth with no rest. I must ask that you not speak to him again. He is already racked with guilt and anger for what he did to his wife, he does not need your anger and hate to feed those flames.” Elrond turned and looked deep in the eyes of the ethereal Lord.

“How can I ignore the one who has slain my dear cousin?”

Elrond’s dark eyes flashed with anger, “Is it not enough that he will never rest? I have told you that Glorfindel is a condemned soul, now let that quench your thirst for vengeance.”

Gildor nodded, having been suitable cowed by the young Lord of Imladris. “I take my leave.” He left the room quickly.

TBC