Thank you, Nilmandra, for the beta.  All mistakes are still mine though, darnit.  

Chapter V:  The Pull of Two Worlds

~*~*~

The lure of hot water and being clean won out over food by only the smallest of margins, even though it meant lugging buckets of heated water himself, since Círdan had given the small staff he kept in his home a day free of their usual chores. It gave him, he had told Glorfindel with a smirk, time to do nothing but that which he wanted.

Stripping off his travel-stained clothing, dropping it all in a heap with his boots, Glorfindel winced as the heat of the water made his foot tingle. Oh...it was lovely though. Maybe not quite as nice as the hot springs they had in Imladris, but after days on horseback, riding in pounding, icy rain, the heat of the water was bliss.

Inching in until he was submerged to his chest, Glorfindel sighed in contentment. He gazed at the fire for a time, content to do nothing but luxuriate in the heat. A long tendril of golden hair clung to his arm as he wiped his face, and he grimaced. His hair might not appear dirty, but he could feel the dust and grime sticking to the fine, silky strands. It was his vanity, of course, that hair. In a haven like Imladris, surrounded by his darker Noldor cousins, he was a striking contrast. Though he had long left any peacock tendencies behind with his youth in Valinor, he was still vain enough to want his hair clean and shining. Sinking even lower, he wetted his head, dabbed his fingers in a paste-like goo which smelled exactly like the soap used in Imladris, and set to scrubbing himself from head to toes. He was determined to rid himself of the last of wet horse smells before he left the room.

There was a slap on the wooden entry, announcing someone was outside the bathing room and he ducked under the water, coming up sputtering slightly at the taste of soap on his lips as he slicked hair out of his face. "Enter!"

"I thought you'd want to sit and soak a bit, and knowing how fastidious you are..." Círdan set the two large containers of water down with a grunt. "I figured you'd want to do so in clean water. Don't burn yourself now." He turned to leave. "Be right back with the cooler water, so you might want to let the dirty water drain."

Amused at the thought of the Lord of the Haven tending him personally, Glorfindel found the drain plug with his toes and watched as the water began gurgling down, out of the tub. It wasn't chilly, not with the large fire burning, warming the room, and he had lost all self-conscious body shyness long ago. After several hundred years of living (and hearing it from the elders) it finally dawns on each young elf that a body is just a housing for the fëa, and though delightful, amazing in the countless varieties of beauty, strength and agility, it was only that. A body.

Time in Námo's presence had taught Glorfindel to treasure the soul and mind far more than the mere hroä, not only in himself, but others. Elves cherished beauty, both in nature and in beings, but his gaze was deeper than the mere hroä since returning from the Blessed Realm. It was very hard to hide the true nature of oneself from the Eldar, and amongst the elves, no one felt any need to do so.

He stood, slicking his hands down his chest, mulling on his thoughts. Eöl and Maeglin were sometimes accounted as evil, but he had been alive then. Had seen with his own eyes, and could only shake his head sadly and say the darkness of Morgoth tainted all of Arda, and with it, those who were bound to her. Why else had the Valar felt it necessary to sink Beleriand? The taint of Morgoth had gone too deeply into that land. Too much blood spilt, and too many dark deeds, it had touched them, every last one.

The scuff of a leather shoe alerted him of Círdan's arrival and he stepped out of the tub, walking over to pick up one of the containers of hot water. The intake of breath made him look up and arch an eyebrow.

"When did you gain that?" Círdan frowned, gesturing with a nod to his back.

"Ah." Glorfindel twisted slightly to look over his shoulder, wincing at the pull of muscle over the bruise. "Nembrethil spooked when we accidentally flushed some Shire children out of a hiding hole." Offering a rueful grin, he glanced in the tub to be certain the drain was closed and began pouring the hot water. "He chose an unfortunate place to rear and I tested the strength of a tree limb."

"It looks as though the limb won, lad." Círdan chuckled, shaking his head as he poured a small amount of cold water in the tub. "If you want I'll get some liniment from Bronwe. That looks to be a deep bruise, and it would ease the ache."

Pouring in most of the second bucket of hot water, testing it with a hand, Glorfindel climbed in and sank into the water with an appreciative sigh. Grinning at the mariner as he rested his head against the edge of the tub, he closed his eyes. "You'll spoil me yet, Círdan, and turn me into that vain court cock you claim I was in earlier Ages."

"All that gold and white gleaming as you rode out..." Snorting, shaking his head, Círdan took up the empty containers, a fond gleam in his eyes. "You were a target, Glorfindel. A large, gleaming target that screamed to be hit."

A shrug was not an eloquent answer but all Glorfindel was inclined to offer in his relaxed state. He didn't even open his eyes when, a bit later, Círdan came back in the room.

"Liniment and your saddle packs," he informed the reclining figure. "I know you're not the least bit shy of padding around without a stitch on, but let's not push Bronwe's sensibilities, eh?"

Glorfindel just snorted, and sank deeper into the water, leaving Círdan to chuckle as he walked out.

~*~*~

"...was some nets and a bit of sail. No trace of any ship. Just like they'd been sucked up and away."

Glorfindel, feet bare, wet hair gleaming again and dripping down the back of his clean tunic, padded into the kitchen, following the voices of his friends. Pushing fingers through the thick, wet gold of his hair, he smiled at the pair who looked up as he entered. "Now I feel fit to keep company with you." He settled into a chair to the left of Círdan, across the table from Bronwe and gave a longing look at the bare table. "Wasn't there some mention of food?"

Bronwe stood, waving Círdan down. "Sit and talk, I'll get it." Shaking her head and smiling, she set about putting water in the kettle and hanging it over the fire.

"How is everyone in Imladris?" Turning a wooden figure in his hands, Círdan studied his work, and went back to his carving.

It was a careful question, and Glorfindel pursed a lip, tapping a finger on the wooden surface of the table. "They are getting on with living again, learning to do so without Celebrían."

Setting a still-warm loaf of bread on the table, along with a knife, fresh butter and honey, Bronwe straightened and bit her bottom lip. "We saw the twins when they escorted their mother here." Looking down, she shook her head. "I almost did not recognize Celebrían, so worn and weary was she. I cannot imagine what it was like for..." She turned, walking to the fire, keeping her back to them.

A frown darkened the sapphire eyes as Glorfindel nodded, gaze following her. "Elrond nearly wore himself to nothing in attempting to heal her, but the wound never did fully heal. He blames himself."

Círdan shook his head as Bronwe turned, frowning. "He knows better than that." The ancient elf looked up, meeting eyes almost equally old. "He's a gifted healer, but no Vala."

"Tell him that!" Glorfindel shook his head, sending hair slithering forward over his shoulders. "Stubborn peredhel. As though that Maiar blood should allow him the miraculous."

"He's accomplished the miraculous before," Bronwe pointed out. "I can imagine the pain and frustration it caused him to be unable to help his own wife."

Glorfindel nodded, expression grim as he met her gaze. "Yes, and it rendered him largely unable to deal with the twins, who insist on attempting to rid all of the forests around Imladris of orcs, in vengeance for their mother."

"Elladan has always dealt with pain by direct action."

Círdan nodded slowly. "It can only lead to trouble though." In his eyes, as he looked up, was the deep, melancholy and wisdom of the oldest elves. "Fixing attention on one thing is never healthy."

"I know." Glorfindel bowed his head, frowning as he drummed his fingers on the table. All three of them had lived through Fëanor and his sons’ insane pursuit of the Silmarils. All of their lives had changed due to an oath and the actions taken in carrying it out.

Setting the steaming teapot down on the table and sitting, Bronwe ran her fingers over the handle of one of the thick mugs Círdan preferred over the more fine tea cups. "Elrohir might be able to temper him...once the initial pain is purged."

"That is my hope." Glorfindel met her gaze, nodding. "Elrohir has some measure of his father's healing abilities, and is not as fond of the slaughter Elladan favours for vengeance. I think he will eventually tire of the killing, and hopefully, talk Adi into returning to more sane pursuits."

"They're good boys." Círdan scowled, slicing deep into the wood in his hands. "Yet Elrond's blood was as hot as theirs when he was younger." He looked up, nodding. "Peredhil blood runs hot."

Glorfindel offered a neutral expression. "I hope you're right, but the twins have always favoured the tales of old."

"Then they must know many of those very tales ended sadly."

Smiling suddenly, Glorfindel reached out to squeeze the healer's hand. "Do not worry overly much, Bronwe. Elrond is not unaware of what they do, and keeps watch over them, as do others." He sighed. "Many of us love them as if they were our own."

She squeezed his hand and pulled free. "Enough of this, didn't you say you were famished?"

"I am!" Grinning, Glorfindel leaned forward to sniff the bread. "I only hope Círdan's hand wasn't in the making of this, or I fear we'll have either raw dough or crisped crust."

Shooting him an indignant frown, Círdan set his carving and knife down with a thump. "I'll have you know I am more than a passably good cook!" Looking from one to the other of his companions, he huffed, shaking his head at their pained expressions. "Fine. No, I didn't make it."

"Good!" Glorfindel's eyes gleamed with mirth. "Then I should very much like to have some."

Watching as he eagerly took the tea and bread offered, Bronwe chuckled in amusement as he slathered it in butter and honey, humming in happiness as he ate. "I cannot fault him for enthusiasm, Círdan." Her smile grew as the shipwright grumbled around being eaten out of pantry and home again.

Licking his fingers to catch the last of the honey that dripped off the bread, Glorfindel shrugged. "I'd volunteer to cook for you, but you know what a disaster my own efforts at cooking are as well."

"I think it best to allow Celonriel to reign in this kitchen," Bronwe murmured.

Círdan nodded, reaching for another slice of bread. "Although you're welcome to bring bread any time as well."

Settling back in her chair, watching the two males eat as though there was to be no more bread ever after, the healer smiled into her tea mug.

Glorfindel, on his third slice of bread, sat back to slowly enjoy it. He wanted to ask about the ceremony he'd seen, but decided they'd discussed enough sad topics. "I received word, before leaving Imladris, that Gildor Inglorion would be making his way to the Grey Havens before summer is upon us."

"Oh?" Círdan snorted, smiling. "Nice to have a bit of warning."

"He collects a group from here every year to travel with him." Bronwe stared into the green depths of her tea. "I hope they bring word from the coast." She had distant family members dwelling not far from Dol Amroth, in what had once been the Elven haven of Edhellond. Mostly Silvans, they were quiet folk, and not given to wandering far from their forests.

"He will." Glorfindel nodded confidently. "Gildor knows more of what goes on than anyone."

"That's why Elrond encourages him to come through every time."

"Yes, and the Exiles are a colourful lot, rather a breath of cool breeze at the end of summer. I've wandered with them before." Wry grin curling his mouth, Glorfindel nodded. "They are far more than they appear to be."

"As are most of our folk." Círdan snorted. "We get the visiting families of Men living in Mithlond, some from Gondor a time or two, and they stare at us as though we're going to disappear before their very eyes."

"We keep more and more to ourselves." Bronwe pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. "What they hear is rumour and myth, and I doubt they believe the old legends are truth." With a pert smile, she gathered her cloak from the empty chair and winked. "I'll leave you two to talk to your heart's content and go replenish my herbs."

Shaking his head as she left them, Círdan stood. "Let's go out in the sunshine. We've very few of these fine sunny days left, and rain is coming, unless my weather sense is wrong."

Glorfindel stood, following the mariner outside. "I doubt that, considering you've had how many Ages to hone them?"

"More than I care to count, lad." Raising his face to the sun, wind ruffling the silver hair of his beard, Círdan smiled, and found a pleasant patch of sun-warmed rock to settle on.

Glorfindel nodded with a grin as he sprawled on a flat stretch of grass, content to soak up the sun, listening to the breeze and the rise and fall of the waves below them.

~*~*~

"A bear, marking his territory made the claw marks, but look here." Peeling a section of loose bark back, Failon exposed a black fungus, growing in fan-like patterns and veins.

"What is that?" Bronwe grimaced, leaning closer to peer at the fungus.

"'Tis affecting the growth as well. Look how thin the foliage grows near the crown." Thalos set a hand on the trunk of the tree, above the rot, and looked up. "Did you never see anything like this in Doriath?"

Shaking her head, the healer met the marchwarden's gaze. "Not that I recall. We roamed the Region Forest, often far from Menegroth, but..." Bronwe had been young when Doriath had fallen, not even one hundred sun 'rounds. "When I was a child we stayed in Ossiriand, with Adar's kin." Gaze distant, she let her memory roam back to the earliest days of memory. "I don't remember seeing any disease like this, even then."

"Nor do I." Failon sighed. "All the trees along the shoreline are diseased in this way. We noticed they were thinning and came to investigate."

"Only when the bear marked the tree and exposed this did we see the rot." Thalos looked pained. "We should have noticed them sickening sooner."

"There are few of us in this haven." Bronwe squeezed the warden's shoulder. "And those of us here are too young to recall much of the First Age." Too many of their kin had sailed for Aman, leaving the younger elves to carry on as best they could, but they lacked the experience and knowledge their elders had possessed. Many elders had died in the fall of Doriath as well. Much had been done to preserve the knowledge, by Elrond and others, but no lore, written or spoken, could replace the living, breathing experiences of an ancient elf.

It was times like these they felt the loss of their families the most.

"We should consult with the council." Failon broke the patch of bark off, peeling a bit of the black fungus with it. "If they do not know either, then we can send this to Lothlórien. Surely Lord Celeborn will know?" He looked young and uncertain, gazing at the fungus in distaste.

Bronwe nodded, offering a slight smile. "We have Silvan kin there far older than ourselves. Lord Elrond might have information on it as well. He keeps a large library of information on such things." She missed having the elders of her own kin, even though Círdan was like family. He was Telerin, and his folk were more interested in the sea. Much as she loved the sea, and respected the Telerin heritage of her mother, Bronwe was truly Silvan at heart. When troubled, she went to the trees, to walk and sit, listening to the wind and the whispers of the pines.

"Come, let us go. We must show Lord Círdan as well." Thalos broke his companion's musings, and Bronwe nodded, walking slightly behind the two wardens, back towards the haven. If the land was sickening, that might explain the diseased animals like the seal and the dead birds, but what was causing such darkness? She shivered, hurrying to catch up with the other elves, suddenly not wanting to be alone.

~*~*~*~

The water was cold, chilling him quickly, but Glorfindel had swam in the ocean off the headlands of Taras-ness when he had first come to Middle-earth. After the absolute cold of the Helcaraxë, the waters near Vinyamar had seemed quite temperate. He had often gone to the sea, and had met and befriended a young Sinda named Ecthelion there.

Wading until the water reached his groin, the blonde elf grimaced and stopped, letting his body adjust to the temperature. Waves surged past him, breaking on the shore and he drew in a deep breath, diving forward as a large wave broke towards him.

Laughing as he broke surface, tossing his head back to clear the hair from his face, Glorfindel struck out for deeper waters. When he had lived in Mithlond, after returning from Mandos' Halls, he had swum often. Sometimes he had coaxed the King's Herald to join him, and once...only once, they had challenged one another to swim across the gulf.

It had been a weary, bedraggled pair that returned to the Palace late that night. Tide had shifted once they reached the far shore, and the drag out towards the open sea had been too hard to fight. They had walked around the gulf, back to Mithlond, each grousing at the other about what a brilliant idea it had been, but their friendship had been forged during that long trudge back. Elrond had talked of his parents, his twin, and how it had felt to be so lost during those confusing times. How Maedhros and Maglor had found them, and, though they were captives, had come to care for the boys, and they for them. How it had felt when Elros told him he was choosing to be a Man, forever sundering the twins. How he had cried the first time he had seen his father's star ship sailing in the night sky.

Glorfindel had listened and truly heard the cry of that heart. Surrounded by elves, even distant kin in Gil-galad, Elrond had felt utterly alone. The elda had made a silent vow to the stars that night as they walked; he would never see this elf, whom so much had been granted, and so much depended, ever alone again. It was a vow he had not broken in many long Ages. He had followed Elrond to the Bruinen Valley and helped him build Imladris. Later, he had helped train elves and men alike to fight, and followed Elrond with them to Orodruin. Seven long years had been spent on those barren plains, and there had been times he had hauled a protesting, weary herald and healer to bed, forcing him to lay still until the exhaustion overtook him.

He had watched over the son of Eärendil as faithfully as he had watched over the son of Idril, daughter of Turgon and Elenwë. Had he ever known how far flung the consequences of that vow to his aunt had been...would he still have made it as she lay dying, freezing to death on the grinding ice?

Impossible to say, but he did not regret it, even though it was a lonely life at times. He missed his family back in Valinor, missed the friends of his youth, and those he had made in coming to Middle-earth. His memories stretched back to the days before the sun and moon, though few were still alive who knew truly how old he was. Even in his eyes the ages did not show as they did in Galadriel's gaze. Only in the power he could summon did Glorfindel's true age show, and many attributed that to his returning from the Halls. It set him apart, made some, even elves, uncomfortable. He had paid the price for words spoken many long ages before. He knew, more than most, the power of words and oaths.

Treading water, Glorfindel looked back to shore, smiling at the sight of the swan ships bobbing next to the piers, like the toys the twins had once played with. Something brushed against his arm, tangling with his fingers, and he shook his hand, thinking it was seaweed. A burning sting startled him and he watched as a near transparent shape moved past him.

To his surpsie, he saw a second and then a third approach, and he swam backwards, wondering what the jellyfish were doing in such cold waters, especially so early in the year. A sting on his leg forced him to again change direction, and soon he stopped, turning himself in a circle. See-through, gelatinous shapes floated through the water on a tide that was drawing them to him, and he began to swim in earnest for shore. Tendril after tendril curled around his legs and arms and lashed his back and abdomen. Trained to ignore pain at need, he fixed his eyes on the shore and swam relentlessly forward. He focused his mind on Círdan's words that something was not right in the waters, but his thoughts were growing fuzzier and he was unable to focus them on anything but his need to reach land. He thought back to the twins’ words about facing Námo again. If he thought he might be embarrassed to admit a single orc had killed him, how would he admit that jellyfish had sent him back to the Halls of Waiting? Then a rush of water filled his mouth and lungs and a red haze enveloped him.

~*~*~

"Glorfindel,...hold still!"

He thrashed, eyes glassy, blinking as his lids began to swell shut. He was burning...burning! Heaviness was spreading through his limbs and he struggled, hearing a rasping noise that he belatedly realized was his own breathing. Had he died again?

"Hold him still!"

He knew that voice. Floating in a fog, he vainly tried to swim upwards, uncertain which way was even up, then felt his hand held and caught in a near painful grip. He sensed an escape opening, a way to leave the painful struggle behind and turned towards what seemed to be a door opening. Another call beckoned to him, and he hesitated, caught between the pull of two worlds.

"Listen to me, Glorfindel. Hear my voice."

Rather insistent, wasn't it? Trying to blink, to clear the fog from his vision, his other hand was taken and held. He turned blindly, mouth gaping at the solid depth of that grip, the sheer presence. Release. Peace. Healing. The fog cleared and solidified into white shores. The colours were suddenly more brilliant, the plants and trees more verdant. The blue of the water and sky were so deep he felt as if he was falling forward.

Home. If he lifted his gaze, Glorfindel knew what he would see; the mountains of his mother's people and the glory of the Valar. His heart ached with sudden longing to see her again, and to hear his father's laugh. He had seen them for such a short time before leaving last time. Somewhere on the mountain horses neighed and he smiled, easily imagining the white horses his family was so well-known for breeding.

His friends would likely be re-embodied by now as well, and it had been so long since he'd seen them. Egalmoth, Rog, Ecthelion, and their lord, Turgon. Would Elenwë be there as well? And Idril, would she be there with Tuor?

They would want to know how he had died, would want to know what had killed one who had slain a balrog. Jellyfish. Glorfindel groaned. No, he could never bear that, nor the songs the bards would sing this time around.

His view swirled and when it cleared he could see he was viewing Imladris, the sound of the waterfalls as familiar as his heartbeat. Slowly his view narrowed from the valley, to the Homely House, and finally, to a single room.

Elrond. Glorfindel recognised Elrond immediately, though his face was shrouded by a fall of long hair as he leaned over a chair, Celebrían's cloak clutched in his hands. Then Elrond sat back and Glorfindel drew in a sharp breath. Elrond's eyes were glassy, and blank. Lost in his grief, he was too pale, his eyes sunken, the light of life almost gone. Glorfindel strained to reach out to him, to speak and comfort his broken friend.

Glorfindel's hands were caught, but the vision swirled away as if blown by winds and he knew; this might come to pass. No, he could not, would not leave Elrond, no matter how his own heart yearned for his home. Imladris was home now, and would be until Elrond sailed. He had sworn to watch over Elrond, but even more, Glorfindel would not abandon his friend.

"Call him again."

A male voice, that one. He knew it...didn't he?

"Glorfindel..."

This time the pull was undeniable, as if someone of great strength had caught hold of him and was dragging him towards them.

"Hear my voice, come back to us. Come back."

He could have resisted, could have heeded Mandos' call instead, but Glorfindel turned from the comforting song that promised so much. He felt himself falling back into a body burning and painful, lungs aching to breathe against a crushing constriction. Gasping, he arched his back, struggling to pull free of the hands holding him down.

"Pour more vinegar on the stings, and if it runs out, use seawater. Don't use fresh water, whatever you do!"

Warm hands caught his face, holding his head still, and he could barely make out the blurred form of someone with dark hair kneeling above him. Energy surged into him, making him gasp again, but this brought warmth and easing of the pain with it, spreading slowly through his entire body. He felt a tingling in his lips and eyes, ears no longer feeling as though they were on fire, and he tentatively curled his fingers, surprised that the flesh no longer felt hot and so swollen he could not bend them. The ringing in his ears stopped, and he blinked, as his vision slowly cleared.

Bronwe sat back, still frowning in concern as he gaped at her. "Glorfindel?" She rested one hand on his forehead, pushing back some of the heavy hair that had fallen forward as he struggled.

"Yes?"

The healer smiled at the weak but surly tone, relieved. If he was grumpy, then he was feeling better. "Try not to move for just a few more moments, and then we'll get you back to your rooms."

"I'm fine," he snapped, though it was more a weak rasp. It was far from the commanding tone that inspired his guardsmen. Glorfindel began to curl to one side, intending to sit up and show them all that he was just fine, thank you.

Círdan snorted as Glorfindel sat up a few millimeters then slumped back to the ground, scowling fiercely. "Weak as a newborn foal, aren't you? You've been healed enough to know it takes a while to settle, lad."

Eyes as blue as the clear sky above them held the shipwright's gaze, boring into them with fierce intensity. "What happened?"

"What happened is you near scared Rimbecalimo to the Halls, crawling out of the ocean more dead than alive." Círdan's tone was caustic, but he let go the blonde elf's hand, setting it on his chest with a tap. "He ran for Bronwe, and I heard the commotion and found you laying face down in the sand."

"Jellyfish." Glorfindel grimaced. "They were all around me!"

"We can move him now. Let's get him up to the house." Bronwe rose to her knees and slowly stood as Círdan and another elf helped Glorfindel to his feet. He was none too steady, but swatted away attempts to help him. Shaking her head at the sight, Bronwe watched Glorfindel stagger in the dry sand, determined to make it up to Círdan's house on the bluff with no aide, probably still not aware or caring that he wore nary a stitch of clothing.

"And you." Círdan arched an eyebrow at her, both watching as Glorfindel's legs gave out even as he grabbed the rock face of the bluff. He sank to the sand and did not move, clearly too drained of energy to move, but too stubborn to accept help. "Are you all right?"

"Just drained." Pale and weary, she sighed. "At this rate he'll never make it. I should have left him unconscious."

"Leave him to me." With a rather feral grin, Cirdan stalked over to the blonde elf, took his arm and slung it over his own shoulders. "Lean on me, you stubborn creature! You nearly died. Again! I won't have you staggering off the path and falling to death after Bronwe went to all that trouble to save you." He gestured for another elf to take Glorfindel's other arm, and together they lifted the injured elf. "Just concentrate on breathing and be quiet."

To everyone's surprise, Glorfindel did just that.

~*~*~

TBC

 A/N:

* Jellyfish stings are not terribly serious, at least where I live. They do sting, though not on purpose, they're quite brainless, and the treatment is very simple (for the common little jellies we have here - the same can't be said everywhere). I've exaggerated it here due to the fact that poor Glorfindel swam into a entire group of them, and that...can be bad.

* Vinegar has amazing properties, is simple enough to produce, and been around for eons. I'm guessing the Elves and Men certainly had some form, either wine or apple. I was also betting any healer living in a coastal area carried vinegar, and no doubt the fishermen too had it about, as a matter of course.

* Again, thank you to all who have read and reviewed and those who read and simply enjoyed. :)