Chapter 1

Being reborn as an elf was something disconcerting for Hermione.

Adventures typically happened for Harry, not her. But since it already happened, she rolled with it. It helped that her parents were so obviously grateful to have her and showered her with everything she wanted. If she didn't have Hermione's memories, she'd be a really spoiled child.

Her new name, Meluinir, took her a while to respond to. It …didn't exactly roll off the tongue like Hermione, but it was all she had and she went with it too, though she frowned at her parents' every time they called her by her full name. They caught on and started calling her Melui.

Sindarin wasn't exactly hard either, something about her new body made learning the language easy and instinctive, like there was a word lingering at the tip of her tongue.

Her parents called her a precocious child, very wise for her age. Hermione just wished they would stop dragging her away from the library. Because, apparently, she needed sunlight and time to run around. (It was supposed to be a prerequisite for being a child.)

Sword fighting and archery, when she found out about it, was welcome, even if her parents would never approve. They wanted her to be raised as a lady, not a warrior.
Hermione wanted to sigh in exasperation. They wanted her to run around, but not to learn how to defend herself. The disparity was confusing her.

Still, it wasn't like it was the first time she'd learned things on the sly. She sneaked lessons from the amused guardsman and tried not to make too many rips on her dress. The maids took pity on her sniffling when she tried to darn them together and poked holes on her delicate fingers (Those were really the times she missed magic.) and gave her some trousers and a spare tunic.

When her secret eventually spilled, as all secrets were won't to do, she planted her feet on the ground and glared at her father until he caved. To her surprise, he turned to her mother and sighed, "She's your daughter, Lanthirel."

Her mother laughed.

.

She met him on border patrol.

They lived near the sea and were the last settlement of elves that their people usually saw before leaving for the Undying Lands.

It was, however, the first time someone came from the Undying Lands.

Her patrol leader pointed his spear at the elf and Melui strung her bow, though she did not yet string an arrow. That didn't really matter. She had been drilled for years on the fast draw that it was burned in her body.

Their target was beautiful though, and she really meant that. She wasn't like the rest of her kind that pronounced such things without reservation. He had lovely golden hair, really like liquid gold. His eyes looked like they contained starlight.

"I do not mean to be a bother," he told them, voice soft. "I am Glorfindel of the former house of Gondolin."

Melui gasped along with the rest of her squad. She had grown up on tales on the glory of Gondolin, and of how hard it fell. This elf, if it really was him, was the sort that belonged on legends. The sort that belonged in the company of her friend, Harry.

That was alright though. Hermione was used to being in the company of heroes.

They escorted him to the king and her curiosity ate her.

.

He trained often in the training courts and it annoyed Melui. The Hermione part of her pointed out that people used the library often too, and it was of no consequence to share. The more logical side of her retorted about the library being quiet and well separated by bookshelves.

With a sigh, since he was practicing with his sword, she took up her bow and settled on the practice targets.

Even with the small meter that separated the space set aside for both practices, the annoying elf still treated her practice like it was a show. He stopped and rested his sword on the wall and admired her form.

"Is something entertaining you, my lord?" she asked.

He appeared startled. "No," he said, sounding slightly amused. "But you draw very well, my lady."

"Thank you," she said. She let loose three successive arrows, all of them in hitting the target dead center. "You are very kind."

He chuckled and backed away, hands going back to his sword. Melui smirked.

.

"You sing very well, my lady," he murmured.

"Thank you," she replies, not even looking at him.

Her father, watching this, choked on his glass of wine. Later, he confronted her about it.

"Melui," he started. "What have you been doing to that poor elf?"

She laughed wickedly. "He's very annoying, father. He's always around whenever I'm in the training courts. But he doesn't do well to being ignored."

With another sigh, her father looked up and murmured, "This won't end well."

Her mother laughed with her. "So you're teasing him!" she exclaimed.

Her father started to grin. "The poor, poor elf," he reiterated.

.

After a fortnight, Melui found a flower in between her books.

The librarian winked at her when she looked at him inquiringly and shrugged.

She was touched by the gesture and tucked the flower behind an ear, continuing her studies into the history of men and dwarves.

This continued until she found the culprit to be a golden-haired hero, guiltily tucking a lily between the pages of her favorite book.

"So it is you," she remarked.

He laughed quietly, an easy smile on his face. "Do you mind?" he asked.

Despite herself, a smile rose up her lips. "No, I don't," she muttered.

His answering smile was as bright as the moonlight.

She went easier on him…a little. He deserved it because those flowers really were lovely. She'd never seen such bright colors and she wondered where he found them.

When she went on a patrol, she found her horse already brushed and a rose cleverly wound on the leather straps of her saddlebags. Her squad mates chuckled and her captain looked long-suffering. She realized Glorfindel must have pestered her captain on telling him when her schedule was. The poor fellow.

"Sorry, sir," she told him sheepishly. "I suppose he must have made a nuisance of himself."

Her captain looked amused for a moment, looking at her disbelievingly. "Only you, Melui, can look at that legend and call him a nuisance."

They laughed again, even as they headed out.

She shook her head. "If I don't treat him practically, he'll get insufferable."

In that, they understood. Melui's practicality was fast becoming legendary on its own.

.

Somehow, long walks became part of her routine before she could even think about it too much. He'd just asked her after dinner for a walk among the gardens and she'd agreed before her mouth consulted her brain.

Her parents smirked when she came back flushed and wearing a crown of woven flowers. "So you finally decided to put that poor elf out of his misery?" her father asked.

"I heard him moping in the kitchens," her mother added. "It was adorable. The cook gave him cookies."

Melui blushed and refused to answer, barely refraining from stomping back to her rooms. Her parents laughed behind her back.

.

Laughter seemed to be a difficult thing to recall, once her king announced an alliance with the King of Gondor, to battle the evil of Sauron.

Glorfindel sought her out, on the eve of the departure, to press chaste kisses on her hands.

"My lady," he whispered in her ear. "Hear me out. I know you do not wish to retire from fighting, but if you die, I do not think I can bear it."

The elves, and their damnable inability to live without their partner. The Hermione part of her had screeched after she'd learned of it. The more elvish part of her – and it was getting stronger and stronger since memory faded – pointed out how painful it would be, to live without a reason.

"Do you not have faith, Lord Glorfindel?" she asked him. "If I were to think about this practically, I would worry more for you, with your post next to the king. I am with the archers."

He didn't patronize her, thankfully. "No," he whispered. "But archers eventually run out of arrows."

Very annoyed with his fear and his annoying need to look at her like she would vanish, she grabbed his long golden hair and brought him down for a fierce kiss. He froze for a moment, before he wound his arms around her and responded.

"Do not doubt me," she whispered in his ears. "And I will not doubt you. We will see each other in this world."

In front of his frozen figure - and yes, she did just propose to him - she unwound the blue ribbon that bound her waterfall of dark hair and tied it around his wrist.

"A promise," he breathed.

She nodded.

He wrapped her in his arms and he trembled.

.

She did not want to recall that war. The Battle of the Last Alliance, the people were calling it.

She wanted no part of it. Had not wanted a part of it. Was this the reason why her father had tried to prevent her from learning the sword?

But no, she learned and she dealt with the consequences.

Glorfindel was a comfort. Elves might not need to sleep and could go on days without eating, but she had trouble dealing with everything she saw. Glorfindel held her hand and his simple presence was enough to make her unknot.

The aftermath, with the death of King Gil-galad, was tragic. The mourning song rang out of the halls and it inspired weeping. Every time she thought she had her grief handled, she would hear the damn music and she'd cry.

It was a different grief. She knew grief, as Hermione. She mourned her dead friends and her dead headmaster. Being an elf, she felt grief differently. It was somehow stronger, more acute. She felt it more deeply, more keenly.

She didn't even serve under the king directly, more often serving under her captain. She was so far from his command chain that it wasn't even funny.

But she knew he was kind. He was soft-spoken and very smart. And Glorfindel had loved him too.

"It will pass," her mother told her, face closed off and remote. "We will weather it and it will become an old grief. And it will pass."

She hoped so. She really, really hoped so.

.

They moved out of Linden, under the leadership of Lord Elrond.

A lot of them opted to stay, but many more wanted to go. Glorfindel didn't even need a moment to think, immediately agreeing.

Melui was torn between her parents and Glorfindel. Her mother practically pushed her out of the house.

"You only find a love like that," she whispered fiercely, shoving her bags at her. "Once in three centuries. Do not waste it, Meluineth."

She agreed and wryly told the steward she was going as well. It annoyed her that they apparently had her name down since Glorfindel agreed. She didn't like to be so predictable.

He squeezed her hand. "Thank you," he said. "It will be fine, you see."

She smiled back, and on his hand glinted a blue ribbon.

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