The Re-embodied Elf

His arms ached, though less than other things - it was something he could focus on to help forget the rest of it. The wooden training sword in his hands wasn't weighted correctly - too heavy towards the tip for his style, he had to force each move into correctness, rather than relax into the long-practiced pattern.

He'd say he preferred it that way, but really he'd been trying to get clear of the building before he was searched for. This particular training pell was far enough from the house that he should be left in peace for some time. Of course, almost as if caused by that thought, the birds in the trees nearby stopped singing. The trees held themselves tense, not a leaf fluttering in the breeze.

"My lord." He called without pausing. Not court manners, this... not any sort of manners at all except poor ones, but he'd hoped to avoid Elrond's ire for just a bit longer. He didn't try to hide how his muscles failed to hold steady in certain moves. That was a useless tactic - trying to feign haleness in front of the person who so recently was patching you back together was worse than useless. Let him at least see that he's not in agony.

It doesn't help. Elrond doesn't answer, though he can see his lord out of the corner of his eye, watching stone-faced. Glorfindel does his best to ignore the disapproving stare. It almost works, for a time. The effort it takes to keep his form correct lets him put Elrond from his mind... right up until his lord is right behind him, gotten close during his inattention, and pressing a firm hand along his side. There's a bandage there to protect the wound, but that warg only recently tried to make a meal out of him, and the touch is sudden and painful and unexpected enough to unhinge his knees.

Elrond is kind enough to not let him drop into the dirt, catching him under his arms before he can collapse entirely.

"Will you stop this foolishness now?" Elrond gripes, irritation warring with worry and fondness in turns. "Or must you wear what strength you've gained into nothing?" Glorfindel grimaces, both at Elrond's tone and the faint hum of Vliya against his chest where it rides on Elrond's finger. He replies with a weary shake of his head, letting his unusually untidy golden mane hide his face.

"I can't..." He trails off, with too many options to finish that sentence. He can't sleep where Elrond left him, so close to where many of his patrol and the Rangers who helped them lay injured or dying. He can't shift the blame away from himself - he had a hand, in part or whole, in the training of nearly everyone present. He can't stand down, not while his mind races and his muscles burn with the need to make this day not exist at all.

Elrond tsks in his ear, and shifts from steadying to supporting, looping one of Glorfindel's arms around his shoulders. Elrond keeps Vliya firm against Glorfindel's skin, he notes sourly as he falls into step - not exactly by choice, it's clear his lord means to drag him if he proves reluctant.

So Glorfindel walks, paying no attention to where he puts his feet other than to place them where he's been told, chaffing at the close contact of the ever-hated ring. Glorfindel understands the ring, and it's potential, and its beauty. He has just seen too many die for precious creations, and has seen too many twisted by owning them.

Besides. He just never liked Celebrimbor.

He's so lost in his thoughts that the shock of cooler air makes him stumble. They aren't back in the healing wards as he expected, but up near the top of one of the waterfalls, the crashing roar of the pool below a distant rumble. The ground is jumbled heavy stones, all man-sized or greater, all sun-warmed and worn smooth with wind and water. Here the wind that kicks up over the plains can reach him, tugging at his hair. It's a place that he doesn't visit often, but reminds him of a spot along the encircling ring of mountains that protected Gondolin. He pulls away from Elrond just enough to give his lord a look of askance, utterly confused.

Elrond shrugs.

"You can't. Here, you will."

Glorfindel is pretty sure he was sat on by a mountain troll. It explains how he feels at the moment - flattened and disinclined to rise any time soon. He's not sure how to account for some very strange mangled memories between the fight he believes put him down and now - something about strange stars and Namo calling and Elrond?

He's pretty sure he didn't heed Namo this time - this doesn't feel like that. Doesn't explain memories of Elrond, or how he got somewhere so comfortable - last he remembers, he was on a particularly desolate strip of coastline.

Not that he's complaining - cold wet sand would have been particularly unpleasant.

Since he's explored all avenues of investigation that he can as he is, Glorfindel works next on opening his eyes and focusing on the world around him. This is... harder than expected. Just how close had he come to a personal audience with the Doomsman?

The air is sweet in the clearing Glorfindel had been using as a campsite, and the birds are singing a bright morning chorus. Asfaloth, grazing peaceably nearby, nickers a greeting as Glorfindel leads Sunshine through the treebranch doorway he'd found by accident.

There is no sign of habitation, human or otherwise - Glorfindel could have dropped them on an empty planet.

The air is crisp and clean, with the dryness that comes with elevation. There are a few tall trees - mostly pines, lean and wind-beaten. The rest are low-growing shrubs, growing thickly in patches between outcroppings of rough granite. These are the empty lands just north of the Misty Mountains, and in the caves here, orcs and a few uruk-hai still live.

The pair emerge between two pine trees, one young and hale, the other burnt and and tilted sideways to form a rough and very tall doorway. The sky is the dark blue of the late-afternoon, and white fluffy clouds cluster around the distant peaks. They are downwind of the small hunting party - several humans, mingled with the sweet smoke of their pipes, and the scents of two others which vaguely resemble Glorfindel's scent.
"Now, wait a moment..." He pauses, crouching to scoop up a handful of dirt. "You are not nearly filthy enough to pass as a human."


Yes. He's enjoying this.