This story is co-written by Levade and she suggested that I put it here, so I do with her blessing. We'll be both responding.

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Chapter I

Valinor, 1603 S.E.

The ship was almost ready to depart, but they were waiting for the Maia to join them. As Glorfindel did not know the mariners, he opted for staying at the deck. Olórin was certainly taking his time...

Finally he came, but he was not alone.

"No." Glorfindel stated firmly and crossed his arms, as he saw an elf following the Maia.

"I beg your pardon?" Asked Olórin's companion with feigned politeness, stepping swiftly on the deck, with a bag over his shoulder and a sword by his side.

"I said 'no'."

"'No' as stating negation, as 'I'm not coming', 'I'm not going to work with you' or 'that was not part of the deal'?" The new elf looked at Glorfindel arrogantly. "Frankly, I don't care which, as it wasn't my idea either."

"I think you are done with the pleasantries." Olórin interrupted them. "I'm sorry, Glorfindel, but I'm afraid that is the Valar's decision. Whether you like it or not, Fëanaro is coming with us."

xxx

"I despise ships."

"You know, you could have gone across the ice," suggested Glorfindel friendly, leaning against the railing. He had to admit that the mighty Fëanaro hanging over the side and throwing up his breakfast was quite a sight.

"I would, if it was still an option," grumbled Fëanaro as he sank down the railing and hid his head between his knees.

"You elves can be peculiar," they heard suddenly. Glorfindel turned and Fëanaro raised his head reluctantly and they both stared.

The voice was Olórin's, but the Maia changed. He took a body like an elf, only a very odd one. His hair was long and grey, so was his beard. He had ridiculously long eyebrows and his keen eyes were sparkling with mirth. His skin was wrinkled and only after a moment of staring did Glorfindel realise where he had seen such skin. Olórin looked a lot like the aged Secondborns Glorfindel had a chance to see during Nirnaeth.

Fëanaro clearly had no reference, as he continued staring, all his seasickness forgotten.

"WE are peculiar?" He asked with a hint of amusement.

"You know, you two could try to get on, instead of bickering and throwing insults at each other. At least you have something in common."

"And that would be?" Glorfindel arched his eyebrow questioningly.

"Well, you are both Noldor who went to Middle-Earth and were slain by a Balrog."

The remark left both elves speechless. Olórin chuckled and walked away.

"At least I managed to kill mine," muttered Glorfindel and he followed the Maia, leaving Fëanaro to his sea loathing.

xxx

"So? How was it?"

"Don't talk to me," grumbled Fëanaro from his spot, where he was clutching a bucket and seemed unwilling to make a slightest move.

Glorfindel had none of it. He sat cross-legged in front of his companion and regarded him with visible interest.

"Olórin did tell us to get along," he reminded him happily. "So? The Balrogs. Was there more than one? I've heard so."

"Many. Too many," admitted Fëanaro. "You?"

"One. He dared to grasp my hair!" snarled Glorfindel, heated by sudden anger at the memory of the fiery hands grabbing his golden hair. "We fell together."

"Lucky you." Fëanaro summed up. "At least it was quick. I wasn't so fortunate."

xxx

Numenor was stinky. That was Fëanaro's first impression. Stinky and noisy, with people all over, yelling at one another, haggling over fresh catches and others yelling orders. He shook his head as they pulled into a berth. "So these are the Secondcomers."

"They prefer Edain, or Men," Olórin told him. "And they are a power in this Age, Fëanaro. Their ships sail all points of Middle-earth."

"Fascinating," Fëanaro said, clearly bored. "Can we get off this ship now?"

Glorfindel stood at the stern, staring at the scene before him in fascination. "This is the island the Valar raised for the Faithful."

"Faithful to what?"

"Did you not look at any of the tapestries in Mandos?" Glorfindel sighed at the scowl he was given in answer. "They were faithful to aide our people in the fight against Morgoth."

"And they got an island." Fëanaro crossed his arms. "All our eons of faithfulness and we get exiled and doomed."

"You are hardly doomed now, Fëanaro." Olórin walked to the plank, now in place, and turned to meet the elf's gaze. "Merely sea sick. Come, we must find a ship willing to take us to Middle-earth."

Glorfindel walked past him and said, "And don't make the Men mad or we'll be swimming to Middle-earth."

"I might prefer it to another wretched ship."

Smiling, though it was anything but friendly, Glorfindel shrugged. "Best get started then. It's a long journey."

Deciding that firm ground was worth it, Fëanaro followed them off the ship. He immediately felt relief from the constant swaying of the ship and looked around as they walked. The architecture was not half-bad, though clearly they had taken some inspiration from elves. The soaring archways and graceful turrets of a nearby building echoed a style he had seen in Tirion, before being hurried along. The ships were enormous, far larger than necessary, he thought. Musing aloud, he said, "They look nothing like the ships of the Teleri."

"You would know," Glorfindel said, and scowled. "Try not to burn any of these."

xxx

Olórin left the two elves in front of a tavern, with strict instructions to wait for him to return. "I don't need either of you making some pithy comment about their ships that ends up having us stuck here," he said, leaving two very disgruntled elves to fend for themselves.

"Something smells good." Glorfindel studied the tavern and decided it looked decent enough. "Let's go see what they're serving."

"Fish," Fëanaro guessed and looked at the sign, which showed a ship that had beams of light around it. "What language is that?"

"Westron. It says 'The Swanky Star." He watched Fëanaro, who noticed and arched one eyebrow.

"Well?"

"Not going to snap and make a grab at the sign, are you?"

Fëanaro pushed past Glorfindel and opened the tavern door. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

With a cheerful smile, Glorfindel followed. "We'll see about that."

xxx

Seafood was the prevalent food in the pub, served in many ways, though the baby octopus was too much even for Glorfindel. After satisfying their hunger, the two elves sat in a corner table and waited for the return of Olórin.

Glorfindel decided the local brew had to be tasted and a buxom serving girl brought the pints to them, giving them both a saucy smile before returning to her duties. Fëanaro sniffed at the foam, before taking a small sip. "Not bad, though it could use more aging of the -"

"Did you ever try Dwarven ale?" Taking a long drink, Glorfindel set the pint down and smiled in memory. "Incredible drinkers, and singers, as well."

"I died before I saw any of the peoples of Middle-earth."

"Right." Shaking his head, Glorfindel took another drink. "Too bad. They are incredible smiths."

Fëanaro's smile was more of a smirk. "Let me be the judge of that."

"So what brings you back to Middle-earth?" Catching the eager eye of the serving girl, Glorfindel gestured for a refill.

Sitting back to observe the humans in the tavern, Fëanaro wondered what he had been so worried about all those eons before. They had a lovely island and certainly had worked to make it nice, but from what he understood they lived no more than a handful of decades and grew weak and weary near the end of their days. He watched a grey-haired man, did he really have no teeth, smile at a companion and shook his head. "Perhaps that is between myself and the Valar."

"No." Glorfindel thanked the girl for his second pint and pushed the other one towards Fëanaro. "Their ways might be odd, and take it from someone who spent summers in Valinor, they are most decidedly not like us, but they are not capricious." He studied the foam of his ale and grinned. "All right, Yavanna is. I mean, look at some of the creatures she created! Have you ever seen a hedgehog?"

"Is it some sort of porcine?"

Finding that hilarious, Glorfindel laughed. "No, no...I don't know why they are named pigs, perhaps the snout. They are little balls of spines with great dark eyes and soft bellies and they are absolutely adorable."

"Adorable." Fëanaro had to wonder just what the people of Gondolin were doing if one of their great warriors found a pig of a sort 'adorable'.

"Just wait until you see one." Glorfindel finished the pint and offered a brilliant smile when presented with another, brimming full. "Adorable."

"They have spines." Fëanaro finished his pint and started on the next. "How can that be adorable."

"Adorable," Glorfindel insisted. He leaned an elbow on the table and stared at his companion. "Spill it. Why are you going back."

"Why are you?"

Waving a hand, Glorfindel sat back. "Made a promise to Turukáno. Well, Elenwë, actually, but it's all the same."

He wasn't sure he wanted to know. "What promise?" Was there an unending supply of these pints? Fëanaro counted at least five for himself and Glorfindel, but surely they had not been sitting that long, talking?

Glorfindel stood and put his fist to his chest. "To defend her children and their children and so on and so forth." He sat down and picked up his fresh pint. "Rather short-sighted really. Should have only promised to protect her children."

"How many descendents are there?"

Counting on his fingers, Glorfindel began to list them. "Idril, who truly needs no defending, but Elenwë could hardly know that, since Idril was just a child. Eärendil, who is up in the bloody sky, so he most definitely does not need *my* help. Ah, but he had two sons, Elrond and Elros." He nodded sagely, as if imparting some great wisdom. "Those are..." Glorfindel frowned. "No, wait. I believe Elros is ...yes. He's dead."

"Dead?" Fëanaro blinked, trying to follow the muddled family line. "Then who are you going to protect?" He snorted a laugh. "Did a pretty shoddy job at it so far haven't you?"

"I'm not there yet, am I?" Rather than taking offense, Glorfindel laughed. "Elrond!"

Heads turned in the tavern at the booming voice, and several people stared.

"The other son of Eärendil," Fëanaro guessed.

"Yes, yes. He's alive. With Gil-galad in Lindon, but..." Pushing his hair back, Glorfindel gestured, spilling ale on the table. "What if he doesn't want to be protected? Heard he's quite deadly." He gestured towards Fëanaro. "Your sons, Maedhros and Maglor, they trained them, or so I heard."

Fëanaro stared at his drink at the mention of his sons' names. "Maglor might yet be alive," he said quietly.

"Alive!" Thumping his pint down, Glorfindel hit Fëanaro on the shoulder, hard enough to make him slosh his drink. "That is a good thing, Fëanaro!"

Pulling his now soaked tunic away from his skin, Fëanaro grimaced. "Yes, I hope so."

"You think he won't wish to see you?" Glorfindel blinked. "You're his atar."

"Yes, and I made them swear that dammed oath."

Sobering a bit at the bitter tone, Glorfindel frowned. "They were old enough to make choices, Fëanaro. We all were, even if we were caught up in the fear and chaos."

Shaking his head, Fëanaro raised his drink and drank it in one mighty gulp, slamming it down on the table. "I will do what I must to find my son!"

Glorfindel grinned. "That's the attitude!"

"And Curvo's son!"

"Wait." Glorfindel pursed his lips. "There are going to be three of you lot running about Middle-earth now?"

"You lot?"

Flapping a hand, Glorfindel smiled lazily. "Don't get your trousers twisted. I liked your sons, though Curufin always had a stick up his-"

Fëanaro interrupted as memory hit him. "You were one of Findis' children."

"Still am as far as I know."

A blink, then another. "We are related."

"Yes, but we're all related in some way, you know." Glorfindel rolled his eyes. "Inbred lot, aren't we? Marrying cousins and -"

"Your mother."

"Still in Valinor. Never going to leave." Glorfindel grimaced. "Was terribly angry at me about leaving again." He met Fëanaro's gaze. "Bet Nerdanel was none too pleased with you."

Fëanaro's lips thinned. "They would not let me speak to her."

"WHAT?" Standing, Glorfindel reached over and pulled Fëanaro up. "We can go back. It's not too late. We shall find a ship and -"

"And what, Glorfindel?" Fëanaro shook his head. "My sons are still in Mandos. Why would she welcome me back?"

Glorfindel slowly nodded and followed Fëanaro out the door, to sit next to him on a bench not too far from a fountain. There were children playing in the fountain, pushing small boats around and laughing as they splashed one another.

"I miss my sons." Fëanaro watched the children with the hungry gaze of a father too long denied the company of his beloved children. "I have so much to say to them."

"Might want to just listen this time," Glorfindel pointed out and shrugged at the glare shot his way.

"Talk to me when you have sons."

"What if I have only daughters?"

"There you two are." Olórin smiled as he came closer, eyes twinkling. "Enjoying the local customs?"

"Just a few." Glorfindel stood and smiled at the children. "That fountain looks lovely."

"Stay here with me." Olórin grabbed his arm to keep him from going to the fountain. "Our ship departs in an hour."

"Lovely." Fëanaro stood slowly. His head was pounding, the sun was too hot, and Glorfindel was singing some absurd children's song about bottles on a wall. It was annoying.

"Oh..." Olórin 's smile widened. "It will be."

xxx

In hindsight, Fëanaro mused how in Arda Olórin managed to drag the two of them all the way to the ship. Glorfindel was absurdly cheery and ready to wander off to whatever caught his attention, be it a statue, a market place or another tavern. Personally, Fëanaro would not mind the last option, as it would probably not be so terribly bright. He wholeheartedly hated the white stone used for most of the buildings; it was blinding. So, as awful as the prospect of boarding another ship was, he followed Olórin in false hope of finding a quieter place there. Less stinky, if possible.

Now he wondered just how muddled his mind must have been to think it a good idea. The ship was noticeably bigger than the Teleri one that had brought them to Númenor, but it was also impossibly crowded and loaded with various goods. As soon as they left the harbor, Fëanaro realized he missed the neat Teleri boat. At least he had a cabin of his own there. In here, the only possibility of catching a ship to Middle-earth on such a short notice meant sharing. With Glorfindel.

Thankfully, he stopped singing, but it was a small mercy. The ship swayed more violently and as Fëanaro noticed with grim satisfaction, this time his companion too wasn't indifferent to that.

Oh, not good. So very, very, very not good. Fëanaro clutched his arms tightly around his belly, willing it to stop rebelling. His stomach cramped, threatening him yet again to throw up all the good stuff they had had in the tavern. And damn, it hurt! Fëanaro closed his eyes, hoping in vain that at least the pounding in his head would lessen.

"What was in that ale?" he groaned and curled. "Do Aftercomers poison strangers?"

"Do kindly shut up," grumbled Glorfindel from his berth. "Trying to sleep here."

"Not drinking with you again," stated Fëanaro through his gritted teeth. "Should have swam."

"Shut. Up."

"You were nicer," Fëanaro reminded him, trying to establish if it was better to keep his eyes open or closed. "Wanted to go back to my wife."

"Too late for that now." Glorfindel sighed and sat up slowly, wincing at the pounding in his head. Númenórean ale was strong, or he was no longer used to drinking. Both, probably. "I'm going to fetch water. Want some?"

"Yes, please."

With his companion gone, Fëanaro rolled from his berth and grasped the bucket Olórin was nice enough to leave him. Even the best dinner was not worth suffering. And had he already mentioned he despised ships?

xxx

"Where are we?"

"This is the last remaining part of Beleriand." Olórin remained in the small boat in which they had rowed out from the main ship. "Ossiriand. This is what used to be the River Thalos, that is what is left of Erin Luin and to the north, if you follow the coast, is Harlindon, where you shall find many of the Sindar."

"Where are the Noldor," Fëanaro asked. "Where is this High King's seat?"

Pushing off, and letting the boat bob in the tide, Olórin raised his hand. "Farewell. Go north, Fëanaro. There you will find Lindon where Ereinion Gil-galad is building a city, and across the Gulf of Luhn, Mithlond, the home of Círdan's folk."

"So much has changed," Glorfindel murmured, looking at the mountains. "This used to be a land of rivers and mountains that we wondered long what would be found on the other side."

Watching the men row against the surf, Olórin looking quite merry, Fëanaro shook his head. "I would not know." Seeing Glorfindel staring out at the sea, he nodded. "They sank it all, did they not?"

"I was dead. I never saw the War of Wrath but I have read of it." It was incredible to see how much was gone now beneath the waves. "They raised a land for the Faithful and sank ours."

"Namo said the taint of Morgoth was too strong and their battles with him too destructive for the land to survive."

Shaking his head, Glorfindel snapped out of his introspection and gestured. "We go north to find the High King of the Noldor."

"In Middle-earth."

With a smile, Glorfindel nodded, and began walking. "Of course. Finarfin is High King of the Noldor in Aman!"

Glaring at the golden-haired elf, Fëanaro followed. "Who inhabits these lands?"

"No idea. But how bad can it be this close to the elven cities?"

Those words would turn out to be poorly chosen, but they both had trusted Olórin to put them down in a safe place.

Perhaps they had forgotten during their long rest in Mandos' Halls that the Valar and Maiar do have the oddest senses of humor at times.