“So I am to return?”

“Yes.”

“To Gondolin?”

“Gondolin fell.”

“To…New Gondolin, then?”

There was something happy, like laughter, but it was difficult to tell. He wondered how much went on here that really did, and how much his mind made up to pass the time. How many other times he had imagined being sent back, and now, he wondered if it was truly real.

“To a place called Imladris.”

“Catchy name. Any clues about who my new nana and ada are to be, or is that to remain a secret?”

Now there was a pause, and it began to confirm his suspicions that he was simply creating another delusion for himself.

“You are not going to be reborn.”

“Finally came to your senses about the old Balrog Slayer, didn’t you?”

“We have a ship ready for you.”

The silence that befell them was not of the Valar’s making, but his own.

“A ship.”

“You will sail East. When you have come to Mithlond, you will know. Leave your boat there and walk to Imladris. You will know the way.”

“Walk? I have to walk? Can I not use a horse?” When there was no answer, Glorfindel added, “Someone must have an extra one somewhere. You can not tell me the Valar don’t have a spare horse.”

The elf considered his words during the next break in conversation. Demanding a horse from the Valar probably wasn’t the best of ideas. They were the Valar, after all. However, he was not yet keen on the idea of merely walking into a realm he did not know without a horse claiming to be who he was. The thought of it just seemed silly.

“I will borrow my horse to you.”

The voice was different than the others that had spoken, but he could not place it.

“Thank you, Lord…”

“Orome.”

“Lord Orome. How shall I return your mount?”

“When you have finished your tasks, you shall return him to me when you sail West.”

“Am I not to stay very long, then?”

“No, you shall be needed for much time. But Nahar is no ordinary horse. He shall not perish and shall not succumb to illness or wound. It is important that none of the enemy know you have him.”

“I suppose calling him ‘Nahar’ would be out of the question, then.”

The first voice again spoke.

“I shall miss your wit.”

“I shall miss your halls.” A lengthy pause followed before Glorfindel added, “Not really.”

“Then do not linger in them any longer. Awaken, Glorfindel. Awaken, breath, and live.”

The first gasp of air was the most surprising. He felt so many sensations at once, and all more so than he had ever before. Air filtering into his lungs, millions of grains of sand beneath him poking at his skin, water from the great sea before him, reaching up to nudge his feet and legs. He felt every droplet as the foam slid back from the shore.

Sitting up, he let his hands touch his face, arms, toes, anything they could find, just to make sure it was no illusion. With a great whoop of joy, he picked himself up and ran.

And stumbled down into the next wave.

“Not too steady on your legs yet, are you?” laughed the second voice he had heard when he was last in the Halls of Waiting.

“Hmm? Ah, Orome. Mae govannen, Lord Hunter and Horseman. Uhm, Horsevala….Horse…”

Orome led a white steed with gentle eyes over to Glorfindel, still sitting a bit dazed on the beach. “Orome is suitable, no other titles necessary. As promised, Nahar shall accompany you, but you shall have to rename him for your time together.”

Glorfindel brushed off his legs as he stood, and saw Orome frown. “I’m sorry, should I go back to sitting, my lord?” asked Glorfindel, motioning to the ground and making to sit again.

“No, not at all.” Orome shook his head and waved his arm. Glorfindel noted that the sensations of air, sea, and land against his skin had lessened, and found he was now clothed in rich golds and reds fitting of his birthright. “As you can attest to, Namo does so love his little jokes.”

Glorfindel reached his hand forward to pat the muzzle of the proud horse, ignoring the fact he had literally been dumped naked on the beach by Namo. “Mae govannen, Nahar.” The horse snorted in disdain, and Glorfindel remembered the task at hand. “Not Nahar. Mae govannen, horse that is NOT called Nahar.” Nahar dipped down and nuzzled Glorfindel’s neck. The golden-haired elf thought he could hear the horse laughing into his shoulder. “I amuse you, do I?” The horse nodded and Glorfindel rubbed his hand under Nahar’s chin. “Still got it,” he bragged.

Orome waited expectantly for some time as Glorfindel patted Nahar. Hours later, as the sun set, Orome finally cleared his throat.

“I’m thinking…thinking…” Glorfindel closed his eyes, scratching Nahar behind the ears. “How about…Nahar.”

Orome didn’t so much as blink. “Now I begin to understand what Namo meant when he called you ‘Difficult’.”

“Wait, I’ve got another one. What about…Rahan.”

Orome considered it for a moment. “Rahan? I do not know what that means.”

“Rahan means…Nahar, but…backwards.” Glorfindel said, quite proud of himself. Nahar made a noise of discontent. “No? Not Rahan? Rohan? Rohir…Rohirri…Rohirrim…” He was regarding the horse now, completely ignoring Orome. The Vala leaned close to the other side of Nahar, whispering into the horse’s ear. Glorfindel was busily continuing to suggest names and did not see Orome depart. “Lothlin…Lorin…Lorien…Lothlorien…Laurelin…Laurelindorinan…” The last name received a loud snort and Glorfindel laughed.

“You remind me of the horse Ecthelion rode in Gondolin,” admitted Glorfindel, stroking Nahar’s long neck. “Do you know what we called that horse?” Nahar nudged Glorfindel forward. “Lord Whinneykins.” Nahar snapped his teeth at Glorfindel and the elf laughed as he was pushed again by the horse. “No, I would not do that to you! But the horse’s name, the horse’s real name, was Asfaloth. Flower of the shore. It fits, in some ways.” Glorfindel said, regarding the beach. Nahar nudged the elf once again until they were at the boat.

“Well?” Glorfindel stepped into the boat after Nahar came aboard. As he sat down, the horse nestled its head on Glorfindel’s lap. “What say you to Asfaloth?”

Nahar considered the name and snuggled closer, nibbling at Glorfindel’s hand with affection. “Excellent,” announced Glorfindel as the boat slid out onto the water on its own accord, “for the only name I had left was Lord Whinneykins.”