“There is power in Rivendell to withstand the might of Mordor, for awhile: and elsewhere other powers still dwell.  There is power, too of another kind in the Shire.”

Gandalf to Frodo in Rivendell

J.R.R. Tolkien The Fellowship of the Ring, ‘Many Meetings’

Glorfindel, Eldarin Lord of Gondolin, Balrog Slayer and Defender of Imladris, strode through the starlit halls of the Last Homely House, his blond mane flying.  Before him scattered household folk and guests alike; even the darkness seemed to part way as with such legendary strength and singleness of purpose did he travel.  His destination:  the Hall of Fire; his goal:  to have some fun.

It was long beyond time.  For nearly a fortnight he had been scouring the fields and forests between Imladris and Amon Sûl for the Dúnadan and his charges, and before that tracked Nazgûl over every fen, barrow and forsaken place from here to the Baranduin.  And while Asfaloth was good company, Glorfindel was ready for a little rest among his own kind.  These past four days he had seen few others than Elrond, Erestor, Gandalf and Aragorn, as they sat disgorging all they knew of the Enemy’s movement.  True, tonight he had feasted with all the household and their many guests, but the conversation at the head of the table was foreboding and portentous at best:  all business.  He needed to relax; and frankly he disliked being so long without female company.

Indeed, so focused was he on his goal that the Hall’s opening door almost smacked him in his aquiline nose; only his legendary warrior’s balance and agility allowed him to save his looks.  Grabbing for the door, he guided it safely and slowly open to reveal two small Hobbits leaving the celebrations.

“Ah!  Ah, Lord Glorfindel, looking for some well-earned relaxation, I imagine.”

The lined and smiling face of Bilbo Baggins shone up at the Elf-lord and gave him a conspiratorial wink.

Chuckling, Glorfindel inclined his head and smiled brightly at the aging little Hobbit, even as Bilbo continued:

“I gather it is to you, in great part, I owe the thanks for having my dear Frodo with me here at last.”  He patted his ward’s arm lovingly where it supported his own.  “And I do thank you, most gratefully.”  Somewhat creakily and slow, the old Hobbit bent his fragile frame into a bow, which the Elf-lord most humbly returned.

Rising, Glorfindel replied “No thanks are necessary, my Perianvuin; I am glad to have improved the company in the House of Elrond for you with some of your own kind.  Now perhaps we Elves will no longer have to endure the incessant praising of all things Hobbit!”

Amidst the shared laughter Frodo couldn’t help but admit “It will probably only get worse!” 

Now Glorfindel turned to regard the Ringbearer, and noticed with relief the strength and calm emanating from his fond face, despite the palpable evil still hidden about his small person.

“And I rejoice to see you looking so well recovered, Frodo Baggins.  It is repayment enough for any effort.”

But Frodo had hardly opened his mouth in reply before Bilbo was speaking again.  “Ah, well … that’s as may be, Glorfindel, that’s as may be, but if you can stand to have yet another lay composed in your honor stop by my room sometime and you can tell me all about your search for the Dúnadan and finding my dear Frodo, here.  And don’t bother to be modest!  I’ve already talked to Aragorn and Merry and Pippin and have heard their sides of the story; it will be no use but I must glorify you.  Yes, come by; do, if your responsibilities will allow it.  I would enjoy it very much.”

“As would I.”  The Elf-lord bowed again and then stood, smiling fondly, as the two Hobbits, one bent with age and the other bent with his unseen burden, made their way down the corridor.

Then, at last! Glorfindel turned and entered the Hall of Fire.

Everywhere about he saw ellyn and elleth enjoying themselves: singing, listening, drinking, playing instruments or just sitting quietly.  Someone had just struck up in a hymn to Elbereth and the sweet sound of that solitary voice fluted through the air and drew him in.  By habit of deference Glorfindel’s eye sought out Elrond Peredhil where he sat in the golden glow of the firelight contentedly enjoying the company of his daughter and the Dúnadan; the golden-haired elf inclined his head and three dark ones bent deeply in respectful reply.

Nearby stood Erestor, engaging a younger ellyn in heated debate and seeming to roast his companion over the hearth; Glorfindel turned with a silent prayer and a smirk that it was not he, this time.  At the Hall’s far end he could now see the fluting voice belonged to Lindir, the showoff, sitting at the center of a knot of musicians now raising their instruments and voices to join him.  As the music soared to serenade the stars Glorfindel mutely applauded his friend; Lindir added a particularly ostentations trill to his final cadence in answer and greeting.  The Elf-lord sighed and, turning once again, rubbed his hands together in glad satisfaction at the bounty before him.  It was another gloriously peaceful evening in the House of Elrond.  What to do first?

Gracefully lofting a goblet and ewer from the passing tray of a particularly willowy elleth Glorfindel examined his options.  Fill the hours singing star hymns and hero ballads with Lindir and his gang?  Hmmm, not tonight.  Grab a spot by the fire to hash over the events of these past few weeks with Erestor?  No, that was just what he was trying to get away from.  Have a dance? a game? a drinking contest?  No, no, and he’d already drunk everyone in the room under the table so where was the fun?  There was only one thing for it … Now, where had that little elleth with the tray gone?

Spinning in his steps Glorfindel found himself facing a small cadre of dwarves guffawing over tankards of foamy ale; Oops, not that way.  Then his piercing blue eye fell upon an incongruous shape slumped against a pillar.  Glorfindel paused, his quest for female companionship momentarily forgotten.  It was unusual, even in this large and bustling a house, for something to lie about so seemingly overlooked and out of place.  Still, there were many guests and strangers about the house this eve; perhaps one of them had left a bag?  A cast-off cloak?  Perhaps it was just a foolish dwarf already bettered by a flask of Dorwinion wine.  But with a step closer his elven sight revealed the crumpled form to be that of Samwise Gamgee, fast asleep.

The Elf-lord straightened, his smile fading.  He had not parted in such good graces of this most tenacious of Hobbits and wanted on no terms to renew an argument that might disrupt his evening’s pleasure.  But, as Sam lay there, looking most uncomfortably folded against the marble, he was dreaming.  Beneath his shuttered lids some figure of wonder chased his eyes about and brought a smile so equally mixed of marvel and contentment to Sam’s face that it completely arrested Glorfindel’s attention and drew him down to squat beside the little Hobbit, just as a long log broke and fell into its glowing ember bed with such a resounding crack the elves about all broke into laughter at their own surprise and Sam awoke.

For a moment Sam thought he was still dreaming, still back in his little bed in #3 Bagshot Row and so smiled, looking about him.  He was getting better at dreaming elves, he thought, before the glacial blue eyes and strong brow of one elf in particular intruded on his vision.  Then memory flooded back to him – leaving the Shire in all of a hurry, Longshanks at the Prancing Pony, knife fights on Weathertop, and his own dear Master Frodo galloping away faster than even eyes could follow with rank evil close on his trail. 

Sam straightened himself against the warmed, veined marble, his mood spoilt, and grunted.

“Oh, it’s you.”

Glorfindel’s mood also darkened, then, as those Elves within earshot twittered about him.  The Defender of Rivendell straightened on his heels, scowling; Sam wondered how he managed not to fall over.  Glorfindel leveled his gaze at Sam, ominously.

“I might have expected more respect from you, Master Gamgee, for one who has saved your life.”

“Well …” Sam straightened himself once more against the pillar, gaining a little height.  “I don’t mean no disrespect, Sir.  I am grateful for … for your helping us out of that scrape back there with those Black Riders but” – Sam tried to hold back his feelings, but in a moment was standing before the astonished Elf-lord pointing a ruddy finger, afire with umbrage – “handsome is as handsome does as we say in the Shire, and all I know is your handsome face drove my master near to exhaustion back there and brought on his sickness and then separated us just when he needed me most!”

The merry sounds in the room dulled for a moment around Sam’s outburst, and then swelled again.  Sam sat down all at once with a huff, flushing slightly.

In his considerably long life the Elf-lord had led armies of Gondolin and Rivendell, come face to face with Nazgûl, Dragons and Balrogs – even the Valar themselves, but never before so often faced the wrath of one hostile hobbit.  Glorfindel shook his head, ruefully, somewhat sobered.

“Now, Mr. Gamgee … I will not apologize yet again for separating you and your master when to do so saved his life, and yours.  What else would you have had me do?  Would you have accompanied Frodo on his ride to the Ford?  Asfaloth would have borne you had I commanded it.”

“Well …”  The thought of being tossed like a sack of potatoes onto the back of that enormous comet of a horse, even for the sake of his ailing Master, still turned Sam’s stomach.  “But to let him go alone with those black riders after him and only a horse for protection …!”

“Only a horse!”  Glorfindel rocked back on his heels and let out a tremendous, rollicking laugh, like thunder, Sam thought, if thunder could be made out of sunshine.  “Do not let him hear you say so, Mr. Gamgee, or you may not be able to sit at your master’s side for some time!”  Then the Elf’s tone gentled somewhat.  “Asfaloth is a great warrior, greater in someways than even myself.  He has a mighty heart and fierce loyalty; there are no greater weapons in the fight against darkness.”

Then, for a long moment, darkness seemed to settle between the Hobbit and the Elf-lord, before the Elf-lord spoke again and light returned.

“But come!  Samwise … in this of all places let there be peace between us.”

Sam looked up and, meeting Glorfindel’s glacial blue eyes sparkling with reflected firelight, felt for a moment as though he were back in his dream.  So swiftly, as if he thought his mind might change at any moment, Sam thrust out one square and calloused hand.

Surprised, The Defender of Imladris stiffened for a moment and then laughed at himself, recognizing the gesture.  Firmly he gripped Sam’s honest hand in his own, and shook.

Now the distance of formality seemed erased between them and Glorfindel, the exalted Elf-lord, spun on his toes and sat himself down beside the earthiest of Hobbits, almost faster than Sam’s sleep-muddled eyes could follow.  So Sam found himself where he never could have thought to be: in the last Homely House in the West, safely settled between the warmth of Glorfindel and the warmth of the fire, only barely able to see about over the Elf’s great mountainous knees at the household of Elrond taking its ease.  The fantastic air of his dream wafted by him again, and he sighed.

“Ah, Samwise, I do believe you like it here,” Glorfindel spoke.  “It cheers me to think so; the House of Elrond has become my home, yet it is a long time since I saw it with fresh eyes and such wonder as I see in yours.”

Sam thought for a moment, about all he’d seen in the past four days as well as his conversation with Frodo in the Woody End: ‘they seem a bit above my likes and dislikes …’, and then took a deep breath.

“Well … it’s beautiful o’ course – all them gardens and trees but, beggin’ your pardon Sir, strange, too.  Sometimes I can’t tell if it’s morning or teatime, and one moment I feel like shoutin’ and the rest like I have no words at all …” he faltered, and concluded lamely “if you take my meaning, Sir.”

As if from far off and long ago the Elf replied softly:  “I do, Samwise, I do indeed.”

“And everyone has been so kind and good to Mr. Frodo –”

Suddenly Sam sprang to his feet, his brow creasing with worry.

“Mr. Frodo!” he called.  “Mr. Frodo!  Where’s he gone?  I should never have fallen asleep … what if somethin’s happened to him?”

But a strong arm restrained him before he could run pell mell from the hall; the tender firmness stilled Sam at once and guided him toward his seat again.

“You may calm yourself, Samwise; your master is well and in the company of the Perianvuin – Bilbo, his kinsman.  I have no doubt they are at this very moment ensconced before a good fire, with good bread and wine before them and a great many books and parchments about them.”

“Well,” Sam frowned, still surveilling the room; “if he’s with Mr. Bilbo I s’pose that’s alright.”

Slowly, as if not quite willing to let go his vigilance, Sam bent himself again to his seat.

“You’ll forgive me, Mr. Glorfindel, Sir, but Mr. Frodo’s not past mendin’ yet and sometimes he still needs remindin’.  I mean, I know he’s grown Hobbit an such, but I’ve taken care of him and his ever since he come up to Hobbiton and I’m not about to stop now.”

Glorfindel chuckled to himself.  “No indeed, Samwise, nor should you.  All here know the love you bear your master, and I honor you for it.”  The Elf raised his glass and drained it, and then bent to the ewer resting between his legs.  His glass was filled again and raised to Sam.  “May the Valar reward such devotion as yours, Samwise.”

As Glorfindel drank again he noted the slight flush in Sam’s face.  “Well … I don’t know about that –”

“I do.”

Slowly, Glorfindel lowered his glass until it complained against the floor.

“I believe your kind like stories, do they not.  Well, let me tell you a story, Samwise.”  Glorfindel leaned in and began to speak in a tone low and melodious, but darkened like toast with a layer of foreboding.

“Long ago I lived in a beautiful city, far away from this one, dear to me and as beautiful as your Shire is to you.  Within embracing mountains it was built, filled with the music of fountains and adorned by gold and silver trees.  But it was hidden, safe from the ways of those who might destroy it or sully the dream by which it was made.  There we lived in peace for like unto all time, keeping to ourselves and our own ways, content to remain averse to the world outside; not unlike you and yours in the land beyond the Baranduin.  Then, the kin of our leader returned from the outside and brought with her unwittingly the seeds of our destruction.  And when at last evil seemed certain to seek us out, I left my home in protection of one I loved and honored for my Master’s sake, and that faith led me into glories and dangers I could never have imagined, even unto the limit of my life.” 

Glorfindel sighed, then, and took a long draft from his neglected cup.

“We cannot know what way our steps might take, Samwise, nor what may be born of the choices we make.  In giving my life the seeds of Rivendell were planted, and it has become a sanctuary to many who survived the ages before.  It was to this place I was returned, rewarded and renewed in the chance to fight again for what I love.

“Now you, Samwise, have made a similar choice: to leave your beloved Shire and all you know to accompany your master on this journey which I do not believe has yet found its end.  The fruit of such a sacrifice can only grow and be multiplied beyond us.” 

In one last toast Glorfindel drained the last of the wine from his glass.  When he lowered his eyes, he found Sam hugging his knees to his chest and staring deeply into the fire.  His warrior’s heart yearned at once toward the little Hobbit, standing so bravely and so ignorantly on the doorstep of his own future.  Glorfindel passed his arm about Sam’s shoulders and embraced him enhearteningly.

“You must forgive me, Sam; I have drawn your story in the palette of my own.  We will not know yours until it has been written out in full and I, for one, I have no wish to hasten that day.”

So the unlikely pair sat together with their thoughts, and the room about them returned and the music changed, the balads and songs modulating into a lyrical chant.  Many of the Elves about the room took up the tune, singing in unison words Sam could not begin to discern.

“Why, what’s that music?” he asked, dreamily.  “It’s like starlight floatin’ down from the night sky.”

Surprised at his companion’s sudden eloquence, Glorfindel’s laughed rolled deep within his chest, and answered.  “It is a hymn to Luinil, the Dawn Star.  Those awake to see her always greet her rising.  Among Elves she is seen as both as a sign of warning and of hope: with her coming we know the darkest part of night is yet to come, but that morning will surely follow after.”

“It's gone that late?!”  Sam leapt to his feet for the last time that night and turned apologetically to Glorfindel.  “I beg your pardon, Sir, but I must find Mr. Frodo.  It’s long past time he was in bed and knowin’ Mr. Bilbo they could be talkin’ till the dawn comes creepin’ in the window.  I must go."

Glorfindel also rose to his feet.  “Yes, of course, you must, but not alone.  Let me accompany you out of the Hall at least.” 

Glorfindel might have imagined he was guiding the visitor but nonetheless had to dodge and weave his way across the hall to keep up with Sam, so eager was the hobbit to reach his master’s side.  Glorfindel only just reached the door in time to draw it open for his evening’s companion, where together they stopped and faced off one more time.

“Here I will bid you goodnight, Samwise.  I have enjoyed our talk, the more so since I did not look to.”  With a slight smirk of new-found affection, Glorfindel bowed his head to Sam.  “Namárië, Perian ben-goe.”

“Good night, Mr. Glorfindel.  I must say I’m glad to have come to Rivendell and met Elves, though I wasn’t so sure about you at first.”  Sam rose on his toes and nodded up at the Elf-lord, cheekily, then added softly:  “You know I was hoping Mr. Frodo and I’d be headin’ off home soon, but now … well … I can’t say as where we’ll end up, but I’m sure it’ll turn out all right.  The best stories always do, like that one you told me tonight.”  For a moment Sam looked as though he had more to say, and then thought better of it.  “I’ll just say goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Samwise Gamgee.”

Then for the second time in his very long life prophecy touched Glorfindel’s lips; watching the stout form of Samwise Gamgee go determinedly off after his master, Glorfindel knew the Ringbearer could have no better weapon against the Enemy.

This story would not exist were it not for the inspiration, support and help of Anna.  This was all her idea.  Without her I never would have been really introduced to Glorfindel or spent this lovely time with him.  It was originally written for the "Open Scrolls" 'If they'd had a chat' (Keeping within canon (no AU), create a conversation, meeting or vignette between two characters whose meeting is never described by Tolkien but can be reasonably assumed) challenge.

In this story Glorfindel of Gondolin and Glorfindel of Rivendell are considered one and the same, returned from the Halls of Mandos or whatever; don’t make a fuss.

This is not my idiom, hobbits and elves.  Thanks must go to the awesome “Encyclopedia of Arda” to which I found myself referring every five minutes and from which I took a crash course in Glorfindel, Gondolin, Turgon and Tuor.

Notes on Elvish names and phrases:

Perianvuin:  (Sindarin) Perian = Hobbit; Muin = Aged (lenited to ‘vuin’); Glorfindel’s term of endearment for Bilbo.

Ellyn:  (Sindarin) Male elves

Elleth:  (Sindarin) Female Elves

Luinil:  as per this site (http://valarguild.org/varda/Tolkien/encyc/stars.html#Stars), “one of the bright new stars created for the Firstborn.”  Since the star had no other characteristics and I liked the name, I borrowed it for the purpose of this story.

Perian Ben-Goe:  (Sindarin) lit. Halfling without fear, i.e. brave hobbit.