Disclaimer: If you recognise the charecter (and even if you don’t) I don’t own them.

Círdan the shipwright stood on the wharf, his elvish eyes straining to see through the gathering dusk. A ship had been spotted by a young elf from the top of one of the white towers earlier that day. The youngster claimed it was coming from the West. Few believed him—ships went into the West. They did not return.
Círdan blinked. Was that a trick of the light, or was there a grey sail on the horizon? At his side stood the young elf, who clasped his trembling hands together nervously. “I saw it sir—I did.”
The elf lord placed his hand on the youngster’s shoulder. “I believe you, Galdor. We’ll wait here together.”
The sun had set in a dazzling display of glory, a fiery ball that turned the glassy sea into a pool of molten flame. Now, the brilliance faded into dark golds, pinks, blues, and purples. Behind them, the first faint pinpricks of light could be seen.
They waited. The pink and gold faded from the sky, and a velvety darkness descended. High above, the stars came out one by one. Still, they waited. The moon rose, full and white. And there, in the lighted path across the water, floated a ship. It was not large, but it was beautiful. It was white, with sails of shimmering grey and an unlit crystal lantern hung from the bow.
The faintest of breezes blew the moon ship to the edge of the wharf, and Círdan and his young helper took the ropes and made her fast. Galdor’s eyes were wide with wonder, and even Círdan, who had seen this ship before, felt his heart beat faster. Who had been sent to Middle Earth this time?
A figure appeared from below-decks, and the young elf gripped his elder’s hand tightly. The figure came to the edge of the ship, and without bothering to lower the gangplank, leaped over the side, landing like a cat on the solid planking of the wharf. As he did so the hood, which had concealed his features, fell back, and Círdan dropped the hand clasped in his and leaped forward. “Glorfindel!”
The friends met and embraced. Then they stepped back to look at one another. “But how?” asked Círdan, “You fell! They buried you!” Struck with a sudden fear, he added, “You didn’t…did you?”
“Do what?” asked Glorfindel.
“You didn’t do as Luthien did, and strike a bargain with Mandos that will take you from us forever?”
The blond elf placed a finger to his friend’s lips. “Ssshh. Let us not speak of that now.”
Galdor trailed respectfully behind, hero-worshipping. All the elves knew of Glorfindel’s fight with the Balrog in the Eagle’s Crest, Cirith Thoronath, and how the Balrog slayer had fallen to his death in the First Age. And now, he had returned.
Círdan set out a meal for the two of them, and Galdor slipped into his duties as a page, serving what was needed, and standing quietly in the shadows when not.
“I would not have thought you so fond of Middle Earth as to wish to return,” began Círdan.
“I’m not,” said Glorfindel, a hint of his dazzling smile playing about his lips. “But I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving the guarding of escapes to anyone else.”
“You’re a bit late,” chided the shipwright. “You’ve missed the end of the War of the Jewels, and the Last Alliance. Númenor rose and fell, and the elves are waning.”
“Do you question Eru’s timing?” asked Glorfindel, serious once more.
“No!” Then softer, “No. I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“All is forgiven,” said Glorfindel. “Although,” he reached for another slice of bread spread with honey, “I’ll forgive anything if you keep feeding me like this.”
Círdan smiled. “I’m sure the cooks will love you if you flatter them like that.”
“I want them to,” said Glorfindel. “Very few with such exceptional skill in the culinary arts have returned to Valinor, and it was one of the major factors in my return.”
“Of course,” said Círdan.
“Of course,” said Glorfindel, and smiled.
“How long will you stay?”
“Here? At the Havens? For a while, but then I must go on to a place called Imladris.”
“I know of it. Eärendil’s son, Elrond Halfelven, founded it with the remnants of Celebrimbor’s people.”
“What is he like?” asked Glorfindel. Círdan smiled, and began to weave the tale he knew his friend wanted to hear: the story of the Second Age. The telling went on through the night. Galdor, standing in his corner, hugged himself with excitement. Círdan was a master storyteller, and every so often, the guest would interrupt with a, “Do you remember?” The young elf heard many small stories that made him smile. He would laugh later—he didn’t want to be discovered, and miss this golden opportunity.
The other elves found out about the visitor—Círdan was missed at the morning dock inspection—and rumours flew concerning his identity. Glorfindel glanced out the window and began to laugh. “There is a group of gossiping elves down there.”
Círdan looked. “What could be—”
“Me,” said Glorfindel. “They’re curious as to who I am…how long shall we keep them in suspense?”
“Just not tell…there are a few who should recognise you.”
“Ah, my friend, you’re getting as bad as I am.”

Aldaron looked up from the load of logs he was bringing in. Círdan was riding out on his seldom-used bay mare, and beside him, on an appropriated workhorse, was a tall, golden-haired elf. The elf lords were laughing together. It seemed to him that he should recognise the stranger. The team stopped and looked back at him, but Aldaron was impervious to their curious stares. Being wise old horses, they dropped their heads and began to eat, satisfied that they would not be called upon for a little while.
Aldaron rubbed at his left arm, a habit he had acquired after being wounded in the Dagor Aglareb. There was something about the elf. “Mae govannan, Aldaron,” said the stranger. “Won’t your horses run off with the load?”
“No,” said Aldaron, shaking his head. “Although I am suddenly thinking that I have taken sick and never left my bed with horses to drive.”
Glorfindel looked at him. “You seem fine to me.”
“Yes, but Glorfindel, if I’m in Middle Earth, reason says I can’t possibly be talking to you unless I’m feverish.”
“Which you’re not, and reasoning then says that I must be in Middle Earth for you to speak to.”
Aldaron gave it up. “Welcome back, mellon nin.”
“Thank you. It’s good to be back—everyone is being very nice to me…once they get over the initial shock, of course.”
“I’m not sure we’d dare to do otherwise.”
“You are too kind,” said Glorfindel, and bowed from the waist.
Círdan grinned—an all too rare sight, reflected Aldaron—and added, “He doesn’t seem to be armed—one could venture a few digs.”
“Oh?” asked Glorfindel, eloquently arching his brows. “Is that so?”
“You didn’t know about the knife he keeps in his boot?” asked Aldaron.
“No,” said Círdan, as Glorfindel immediately wanted to know how and where Aldaron came by his information.
“I saw you use it in the third battle,” said Aldaron, seating himself on the logs. “When you saved my life, that one time.”
The blond elf shut his eyes, reflecting. “Ah, yes! We were chasing the orcs across Ard-galen, and you fell.”
“You doubled back, and threw the knife into the belly of an orc that was about to finish me, gaining yourself time to bring your other weapons into play.”
“I’ll never believe you to be unconscious again,” said Glorfindel. “What else do you know?”
“You don’t really think I’m going to tell you, do you? I never thought I’d see the day when I had the upper hand in an argument with you…but now that it’s here, why should I give up the advantage?”
Galdor, trailing behind on a pony, watched wide-eyed as Glorfindel slid from his horse and picked up a thick branch. “Choose your weapon, Aldaron…let’s see if you’ve improved any…you’ve had long enough to practice!”
Aldaron chose a stout limb similar in size to his friend’s, and dropped into a fighting stance. “Ready when you are.”
Círdan backed away as the two elves began to spar, taunting each other while enormous grins threatened to split their faces. “You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn!”
“At least I don’t trip over my own two feet trying to do fancy footwork!”
“Switch hands—I’m backing you into a corner!”
“Can’t resist teaching, can you? Hah! Fooled you…oh, guess not.”
Glorfindel grinned down at Aldaron from on top of the logs. “I saw that one coming.”
“Sure you did,” said Aldaron, rubbing a stray lock of dark hair out of his eyes with one hand while spinning his weapon in the other. “Now are you going to stay up there, or are you going to come down and give me the drubbing you think I so richly deserve?” He leaped back just in time, and landed a blow on Glorfindel’s outstretched stick, knocking it aside.
“Won’t they hurt each other?” asked Galdor.
“No,” said Círdan. “They’ve done this too many times, and are too well matched to hurt themselves seriously. It’s a delight to watch.”
A crowd was gathering. “I could swear that’s Glorfindel of Gondolin,” muttered one elf. “It looks like him.”
“It sounds like him too,” added another. “Do you remember how he would spar with anyone whenever he left Turgon’s hidden city? He loved to remind us that he was better than most of us…as if we could forget.”
The combatants paused, out of breath. “You’re out of shape,” said Glorfindel.
“What about you?”
“Oh, I’m just keeping you company…I don’t want to hurt your feelings, you know, by being so very superior.”
“And here I was, thinking that I was doing you a favour,” said Aldaron, promptly attacking again.
The blond elf ducked under the swing, and circled back around, his dark-haired opponent turning with him. “I wonder what would happen if we just kept going around in circles…would you get dizy?”
“Try it and find out.”
“I could swear that was Glorfindel,” repeated the elf. “I could! For who else could carry such nonsense off so well?”
“Then do,” said Glorfindel, pausing in front of the speaker.
“It’s impossible.”
“Is that so? Say, isn’t your name Celeblas?”
“Yes…how did you know?”
“Weren’t we introduced at the Mereth Aderthad?”
“You are Glorfindel!”
“I never said I wasn’t,” said Glorfindel complacently. “And you needn’t look so shocked, either.”

All right, friends. Taps table with sheaf of papers. There is more, in which Glorfindel discovers that even a Balrog slayer can meet…things…that couldn’t care less. (i.e. the Old Forest) Or, we can leave him at the Havens and assume that he has a nice safe trip to Imladris where they greet him with open arms. You MUST review if you want more!!!

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