Okay! I'm back with a new story, and this time it is centered on our favorite Balrog Slayer, Glorfindel. Be prepared for angst and friendly fluff. There will be no slash and this is AU.

Glorfindel pushed his food around on his plate, drinking sparingly from his goblet of sweet, red wine. It was a grand party with food aplenty and wine overflowing, but his heart and mind were elsewhere. He had the reputation as a graceful dancer, even among elves, but he was disappointing many ellith; his feet were not moved to dance. His passion was consumed by the heat of the Balrog's flame. He closed his eyes as he felt his skin burn and turn to ash again. He swallowed as he began to sweat. He was overcome by images of his bones breaking and pushing through his skin and the creature of fire and evil closing in around him… and he was gone.

"Glorfindel?" Elrond asked softly.

His eyes snapped open and he found his hands were shaking and his entire body was cold. He swallowed, bringing his desperate eyes to meet those of his lord. He took a deep breath and fought to regain his composure. He offered a shaky smile to ward off suspicion. These were his demons and his to fight. Though, it had been centuries since he had attempted to battle his memories. His intense fear of fire and darkness had increased until he could only stand starlight, which comforted him and soothed his inner turmoil for a time. Songs only reminded him of the deadly roar and even dancing reminded him of fighting the Balrog with no chance of life.

"Come back to us." Elrond bid him softly. "Bring your mind back to the land of the living."

Glorfindel looked up. "I am fine." His shaking voice, however, told a different story.

Elrond sighed and shook his head. He guided Glorfindel from the hall and into the silent corridors. The elves did not speak, instead they journeyed to Glorfindel's chamber and sat in his sitting room. Glorfindel raked his fingers through his free-flowing hair. All words were caught in his throat and he did not know how to express what was slowly killing him.

"What is it that you fear?" Elrond queried, noting the hesitation on his friend's face.

"Fire… and darkness." He whispered. "The Balrog haunts me every moment."

"Do you believe you will sail?" The wise elf lord, for possibly the first time in his long life, did not know how to help his friend, whom had been at his side through Celebrian's departure and seeing his sons fall from grace into anger and despair.

"… Yes." The seneschal admitted. He had felt the calling and had fought it off, reminding himself of his duties and of his love of Arda, and those who would stay until the Shadow was destroyed.

"Glorfindel, if that… is what you truly want, then leave. I beg you, if you believe that will heal your wounds, then go, but if you have a shadow of a doubt, please, do not go."

"I am not myself anymore." Glorfindel looked as if he would continue when two figures burst through the door.

"Elladan, Elrohir, what is it? I thought you were gone for two weeks." Elrond stood up, rushing over to his sons, both of whom had tears streaking down their faces.

"Arathorn… is dead." Elladan panted. "Gilraen as well."

Elrohir held up the bundle in his arms. "Ada, meet Aragorn, son of Arathorn." He said softly, sniffing.

Glorfindel stood up and glanced over Elrohir's shoulder. A tiny face looked up at him and gray orbs of innocence met with his brown ones of pain and something inside of him was soothed, if only for a moment. A rush of powerful love swept over him and he smiled.