Fields of Gold 2015

Chapter X: Questions Under the Stars

There was a serenity to Lothlórien, a sense that you could leave and come back two hundred years later and nothing would have changed. Arwen supposed it wasn't true, but little had changed since she had first begun visiting with her mother as a small child. Perhaps a mallorn or two had fallen, and such events were always important, but other than that? Arwen sighed and felt like a butterfly floating on a gentle breeze as she walked along the paths in the trees. After the turmoil in Imladris for the past several years, she craved the solitude and peace of her Grandparent's haven. Oh, she loved her father fiercely but there was nothing she could do for him. In so many ways, she was a painful reminder of her mother.

It was useless to ask why, but the question haunted her. Why had her mother been attacked? Why had they tormented her? Was it truly a mercy that the orcs had not killed her? At times, Arwen wondered, though her mother had been incredibly strong, even on her most pain-filled days, and insisted she was grateful she had not been killed.

Arwen was mourning as if Celebrían had died. And why not? Her mother was gone from her life until some unforeseeable future when she might be healed and they might be together again. That was a great too many mights for Arwen. She still had so many questions! And she had expected to have her mother there for all the occasions they had dreamed of seeing: marriage, the birth of Arwen's children.

Now those dreams were dead and Arwen was angry, because what had she or her mother ever done to deserve such a fate? Blinking back tears that burned her eyes, she found a quiet corner where no prying eyes would see her and ask questions.

But there was someone there already, and Arwen didn't hesitate to run forward and accept the invitation of his open arms. "Ah, Undómiel." Celeborn closed his eyes as his granddaughter sobbed against his shoulder and stroked the long fall of her hair. What words could he say that would ease her broken heart? The aching loss of his daughter was painful, but he had deep well of experience gleaned from thousands of years, years that had been filled with many losses and many joys, and though it seemed an impossible thing, Celeborn knew that in time the wound would not hurt so fiercely. "Sit with me, Arwen." Leading her to the bench, he held her until she pulled back.

"I'm sorry, Daeradar, I just..."

"No apologies." He handed her a square of soft cloth. "I weep still myself. It is a grievous loss."

Dabbing at her eyes, Arwen gave up and blew her nose. Unladylike or not, there simply was no way to cry and look beautiful! "Daernaneth seems to hold up better."

Celeborn reached to pull a long swath of hair out of Arwen's face and tucked it behind a delicately pointed ear. "She puts on a better front, Arwen, that is all." The smile was gentle. "Your grandmother spent long ages when appearing weak was dangerous." He shook his head. "It it but habit now to show a strong face."

Pulling the beautifully stitched edges of the handkerchief, Arwen sniffled. "I'm so angry. Why did it have to happen to Naneth? Why couldn't Ada heal her?" She looked up, eyes red from weeping. "How many times has he been lauded as the mightiest healer of all time?"

"He is not a Vala, Undómiel." Taking her hand to spare his handkerchief from mutilation, Celeborn sighed. "He is many things, and many of them are more than anyone should expect of him, but he is not Ilúvatar."

"Then perhaps I should be angry at him!"

Though not a child, Arwen had led a sheltered life, safe, pampered, the only daughter of doting parents and brothers who adored her. Oh, there were squabbles, but nothing like the tales his wife had told of her siblings. "You can, if that is what you wish."

Peeping from under lashes that were sticking together, Arwen stared. "I...you aren't going to admonish me to respect the One?"

Celeborn shrugged a shoulder. "The Powers, though I have never met them myself, seem quite able to handle whatever messy emotions we lesser beings hurl at them." When she continued to stare, he smiled. "Arwen, do you think them so fragile of ego as to crumble into anger because in our pain and distress we lash out?"

"You think they understand?" Offering her best skeptical look, Arwen shook her head. "Glorfindel has said much the same, but I didn't expect it from you, Daeradar."

The chuckle was deep and soft. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know...perhaps a more...heretical point of view, given your opinions of certain things the Noldor hold to be true."

"Ah, Undómiel." Circling her shoulder with his arm, Celeborn squeezed her shoulder. "The Noldor are some of the biggest heretics alive. Well, some of the most heretical Noldorin are in Mandos, but were the Noldos in your father's haven so pious?"

"Not pious. Just...cautious, as if they expected a bolt from the blue to strike them down for speaking something."

Shaking his head, Celeborn lifted a hand. "No bolts."

"Not yet." Arwen couldn't help the tiny smile, but it faded as her mind circled back persistently to what burned so painfully. "There is no reason why then."

"Not one we understand."

"That is truly horrible."

"Would you want to understand everything? In all the world?"

Pursing a lip, Arwen considered that for a moment. "Perhaps just this one instance to start?"

She did not lack for boldness. Celeborn loved that about his granddaughter. "Was your naneth able to explain why she had to go?"

The shrug was as casual as Arwen could make it, but it did not belie the protective hunch of her shoulders. "To remain was to fade and truly die. She said she was too weak, though she fought to delay her leaving so very hard."

Celeborn hugged her closer as a sob shook her shoulders. "Your mother is a fighter, Undómiel. Never doubt that. There is nothing short of death that would have taken her from you and your family. Nothing."

"I want to believe that!" Tears ran down her face again. "But she did leave us!"

"Arwen." Shifting, Celeborn took hold of her shoulders. "She was fading. Death would have come, a slow, agonizing loss of self, bit-by-bit until all that was left was a mere shell of the person she had been. Is that what you wanted? To watch your mother's soul crumble to ash?"

"No... No! I just want her to be here, with me!"

Too soon. Too soon to expect her to reason, with too little experience of life learned. In some ways it was a mercy. In others, such a burden. Celeborn pulled her close again, and let her weep her rage into his chest.

Sometimes all you could do was be there, to listen, to hold them. Healing would come in time but for now...

Celeborn rocked Arwen slowly as he had when she was an infant, humming a low cradlesong that he had learned from his mother. "I will be here for you, dear heart. Until the last bird sings and the sun and moon die, I will be here."

"You cannot promise that." Murmured into his shoulder by a very weary young woman.

"But I can, and I do."

Arwen leaned back to meet his gaze, the silver-blue eyes full of starlight and wisdom, the eyes of one who had seen countless ages pass, the loss of family, of home and now, of his only daughter. She was too weary to question it now, and part of her, like a child, just wanted to believe. Arwen tucked her head under his chin and leaned into his embrace. "I love you, Daeradar."

"I love you too, my Undómiel."

The ladies of Lothlórien were annoying her. Weaving, singing, dancing, those were things Arwen had learned from her mother. She did not want to do them right now, not when the remembrance of such things hurt so badly. There were a few female elves who were defenders of Lothlórien, but none of them were in the city at present, nor near enough to find and speak with. Galadriel was little help. Oh, she had shown Arwen the secret of weaving her will into a cloak so that it might hide the wearer from those seeking him and that was fascinating. But it wasn't enough. It didn't help drive the memories that hurt so much away. She needed to be active, to be moving.

Life in Lothlórien seemed to move perpetually in slow motion, as if time itself was slowed. There was no sense of hurry or urgency, and few outsiders were allowed so far into the Golden Woods. Arwen was guarded, watched and admired and this too was nothing new, but what was beauty? Inner beauty was as esteemed as outward appearance and certainly it helped to be intelligence and witty if you wanted anyone to do more than simply admire your hair, skin or gowns. In appearance, she was truly Elrond's daughter, with his storm-cloud grey eyes and midnight black hair. She knew others considered her beautiful, even Glorfindel, who was himself considered one of the fairest elves in Endórë. Beauty wasn't enough for her. She wanted to be strong, to ...to do something!

But what could a cherished daughter, one who had seen only a short time over two thousand summers, do for a people who were fading? What could she do that her grandmother, known as wise, and powerful, had not done?

Arwen bit her lip and continued towards her talan. Her brothers had found their solution in riding out with the Rangers, and cleansing the lands of orcs. That was hardly something her father, or Glorfindel, even Erestor would ever allow her to even consider.

She was their Undómiel, protected, cherished.

And it grated in some ways. She longed to be reckless and brave, like her brothers...

Arwen's brows drew together at the sound of steel ringing on steel, and she hurried towards her talan, running as she saw her ladies gathered, staring down, towards the ground at something.

"What is going on?" Pushing her way past several of the giggling maidens, Arwen stopped to stare down at the grassy area beneath her tree. "Oh..." A frown, none too maidenly, and certainly not the most attractive of expressions, gathered on the Evenstar's fair brow. "What are they doing?!"

Blades blurred, steel almost appearing fluid, liquid, as the twins danced around one another, dueling with live, wickedly sharp blades. Feet barely touching the ground, one advanced, mirror image retreating. Impossible to tell, at this speed and distance, who was whom. They were laughing, she could hear that.

"Watch your left guard, Elrohir, or you'll be a round ear!"

"Ha! Beware your own guard, brother, or you'll have one less braid!"

And suddenly...they halted, blades crossed, identical faces pressed close, both grinning, before breaking apart.

"You're getting slow, brother. Are you certain you didn't choose to become a Man?"

"You might want to look to your left arm, brother. I believe you're missing a bit of your tunic?"

Elladan quickly looked down and gaped at the slice in his tunic. He scowled, and none-to-gently socked his brother in the arm. "When did you do that?" A laugh broke from him then, and he wiped his face on his arm.

"When you were distracted by a maiden's giggle." Elrohir gestured upwards with a roguish grin.

Arching an eyebrow, Elladan looked up and gave a jaunty salute. "Hello, fair maidens!"

More giggles, and glowers from the young elves standing around the edges of the clearing.

Elladan caught sight of the would-be suitors and twirled a blade. "Who wants to spar next?"

It really was amazing how quickly the elves of the Golden Wood could melt into their beloved trees. They were not lacking bravery, but none truly wanted to go against the Lady's grandsons - both because of their skill, and imagined repercussions with Galadriel and Celeborn should something happen to either grandson.

"ELLADAN! ELROHIR!" Arwen bellowed, grace and poise forgotten. She charged down the sweeping stairs of her tree, the light of a promised battle firing her eyes.

Elrohir winced, and quickly sheathed his blades. It wouldn't do to have his sister using his own weapons against him.

"Oh bother," Elladan sighed. "Here we go again..."

Legs dangling over the edge of the talan, booted feet swinging in empty air with nothing to drum against, Elladan curled his hands around the edge of the wood platform and leaned forward. "Another messenger bird for Celeborn. I wonder what all the excitement is about?"

Elrohir, seeing the precarious perch his brother had chosen, sat next to him, tugging on the back of his tunic. "It's going to be news that the elder son of Elrond tumbled from a talan if you don't sit back. I don't think grandfather would appreciate the sight of you flailing past his council hall, and I know I would not."

Huffing slightly at his brother's sharp tone, the elder of the twins sat back, crossed his ankles, and continued swinging his feet. "I'm bored. It's just so...peaceful here. There's nothing to do!"

Considering the potential trouble a bored Elladan presented, Elrohir pursed a lip. "We could ask to go out with the marchwardens." They had been there long enough to see one full moon, and it was waxing yet again. Entertaining Arwen had lasted all of several days before their sister had chased them off in annoyance, huffing that they were discouraging all of the handsome elves from coming to see her.

Entirely true, it had proven vastly amusing to the twins to spar with their dual blades at the foot of the talan their sister was occupying. Not only had they gained the admiring attention of the ladies attending Arwen, it had also served to remind any of the Galadhrim their sister was a treasure to their family. One they protected fiercely.

Arwen, predictably, had not seen it that way. Elrohir wrinkled his nose at the memory of his sister's normally musical voice raised in angry tones at them.

"Find Haldir first and then gain grandfather's approval?" Elladan flopped back on the talan, gazing up at the budding golden leaves of the mallyrn.

"And grandmother's." Yawning, Elrohir settled back, gazing up at the blue, blue sky through the branches of the trees.

Elladan nodded absently. As if there was anything that went on in the haven that Galadriel wasn't aware of. It had bothered him in his adolescent years, to think that his grandmother could read his every thought as if he had spoken it aloud. Celeborn could be as inscrutable as the trees, as overwhelming, in a very different way from his wife. Both were far older than his parents, far more prone to melancholy and somberness. They had seen much of what the twins thought of as history, lived through what had merely been lessons to the boys.

Rolling sideways, swinging a leg over Elrohir, Elladan ignored the frown he gained for grazing his muddy boot across his twin's tunic and stepped over Elrohir, rising to his feet. Shrugging, Elladan offered a hand to his brother. "Come, I'm bored. Let's go find Haldir and discover what messages the birds bring."

Haldir put them to work, something they should have foreseen. He was the Golden Woods version of Glorfindel, only very, very Silvan. Which meant prying information out of him was three times as hard as getting it from Glorfindel, and involved time spent doing something constructive.

After watching them, making certain they were fletching the arrows properly, Haldir returned to finishing the arrows he was crafting. He seemed intent on his work, and Elladan nodded his head towards Haldir. Elrohir shook his head, and glared. It had been his brother's idea to question the Silvan, let him ask! Sure that Haldir was not paying attention, Elladan risked a glance at the marchwarden, only to find his gaze met. "What are you two plotting now?" Smiling just enough to curl his mouth the tiniest bit, Haldir flipped near-white hair over his shoulder as he set his arrow down. "And do not tell me naught. I've known you both far too long to believe those innocent expressions are anything but entirely devious."

"Haldir!" Elrohir stared at the marchwarden in mock dismay, bringing a hand to his chest.

"What have we ever done to gain the description 'devious'?" Elladan wrinkled his nose at a feather that had split, and tossed it aside.

A pale eyebrow shot up, nearly to the elf's hairline. "Shall I begin when you were elflings and go chronologically, or would you prefer only the past few times you've visited?" Spoken in a quiet, droll tone that left no doubt that he was amused.

"The canopies were full of rainwater and gave way from the weight."

Elrohir nodded. "'Twas purely bad timing that Arwen and her friends were under them, weaving at the time."

"Ah." Nodding, entirely unconvinced, Haldir finished tying off the fletching and cut the remainder of the string with his dagger. "And I suppose Rumil's stomach discomfort caused from ingesting those mushrooms was none of your doing either?

"Even grandmother said they looked exactly like the good ones!" Elladan carefully stripped the feather he was working on and set it in place before looking up. "Don't forget we ate them too."

Elrohir nodded, grimacing at the memory. He still couldn't abide the smell of mushrooms, not after becoming that ill.

Shaking his head, the Silvan set the arrows he had finished in a quiver. They were right, he was remembering the pranks they had played whilst elflings. The stigma of being pranksters just seemed to follow them, yet both had settled into adulthood with something of their father's quiet dignity. Which did not necessarily mean one should forget the gleam of mischief that was still prone to appear in either of the twin's eyes when bored. "What is it you two want from me?"

"Tell us what is going on."

"That last hawk looked to be one of Imladris' birds." Elrohir loved the raptors, their fierce pride and the beauty of their flight. "Is Adar checking up on us?"

"No." Pale blue eyes and an inscrutable expression gave nothing away. Haldir sat motionless, patience itself, as he waited for their next question.

A shared look between the twins as they considered their next move, and then Elrohir leaned forward. "What is the news from the Grey Havens? Is all well?"

Haldir simply stared at them for a moment, considering his answer. "I will leave that to your grandparents to share with you, however I will tell you that we expect visitors soon."

"How soon?" "Who?" Spoken at the same time, in voices too similar to tell apart.

Arching an eyebrow, Haldir smiled slightly, cocking his head. "Before the next full moon, three Silvan Elves, travelling with six of your father's guard..." He accepted the arrows Elladan passed him, placing them in the quiver. "...as well as their captain."

"Glorfindel is coming here?"

The marchwarden didn't miss the grins of delight as the twins looked at one another. His own feelings on the matter were far more mixed, but irrelevant at the moment. "Yes, or so Lord Elrond said in the message we received today."

"I wonder if Bronwë is one of those Silvans?" Elrohir chewed on his bottom lip, thinking.

"Probably, if Glorfindel left Mithlond so quickly. But they went to Imladris first?" A slanted look earned Elladan nothing.

"That makes no sense." Looking to the Silvan sitting before them for an answer, Elrohir received only a shrug.

"I must go." Standing in a smooth, graceful motion, Haldir nodded to the younger elves. "Speak to your grandparents, young ones. If Lord Celeborn says you may accompany us to greet your...Gofi..." He smirked at the nickname. "...then I will welcome your presence."

Elladan bounced to his feet, impatient to go find his grandparents. "We'll find you."

"I've no doubt of that." Another nod, and the pale Silvan strode away.

Elrohir shook his head, intrigued at the mystery. "I wonder what brings them here?"

Grabbing his tunic sleeve, pulling him up, into motion, Elladan gestured. "Let's go and find out!"

Snow was everywhere. On the ground, swirling through the air, in his eyes, catching in his hair, leaving it more white and damp than golden. More of an annoyance than true hindrance; he hadn't expected it to snow. Early spring was unpredictable in the mountains.

For an elf who had crossed the Helcaraxë the cold was negligible. Glorfindel shifted his saddlebag and adjusted the bow over his shoulder. He hoped they wouldn't need it here in such a storm, but he had learned long ago that it was better to always, always be prepared for the worst.

Then be pleasantly surprised when nothing jumped out to bite, slash or try to make you its next meal.

The coastal elves, used to milder weather, were having a rougher time. Elven steps were light enough to walk atop the snow, but when said snow was blowing from three directions, blasting into ones eyes, all the time making one very aware of the steep drop into a deep gorge just several steps in the wrong direction...

They were going a bit more cautiously, amusing the golden haired elf. These same elves ran silent and swift across tree branches, leaping from tree to tree as though it was a wide, cobbled street, barely disturbing a single leaf! Many attempts had been made to teach him the fine art of branch walking, to little avail. He could do it, and do so competently, but Glorfindel had long ago resigned himself to the fact he would never be entirely comfortable in the trees. Not the way Silvan Elves were.

Fortunately, at least to Glorfindel's way of thinking, there were far more places to walk upon the ground, than trees, therefore he had the advantage.

Teleri to their ships and seas, Silvans to their trees. He and the Noldor had the best of it.

Turning to those following behind him in time to see Bronwë nearly blunder into the cliff wall, Glorfindel grabbed her arm to steady her. "Careful." His hair whipped about him like a mane in the howling wind, and yet he stood calm and unruffled. Grinning in fact, regardless that snow clung to his clothing and cloak like a new garment of white.

Blinking snow out of her eyes, looking miserably wet and unhappy, Bronwë nodded to him. Walking on snow was entirely different than walking on the solidness of tree branches. Trees shifted, moving with the wind, but not like this soft, slippery stuff! A gust blew up, taking her cloak upwards until it looked as though she was going to fly away and she held tighter to his arm. "Does it never stop?"

Peering up through the falling snow, Glorfindel shrugged. "Caradhras is grumpy I suppose."

Faelon stumbled into her, grabbing on to keep from falling, and grimaced. "Are we near the pass?"

Seeing his friends cuddling up, Thalion joined them, grinning slightly at the sight of his disheveled companions. Throwing his arms around the two Silvans, he chuckled. "To think we asked Lord Círdan for the privilege of making this journey!"

"And don't think he wasn't aware of all this!" Bronwë grumped, closing her eyes against another wind and snow blast. "His sense of humor is entirely warped from living so long as to grow a beard."

"A bit more, then we will begin the descent." Glorfindel took the moment to make sure his guards were all right. "Valandil, how is your arm?"

"Fine, milord!" Waving the once-injured arm, the dark-haired elf grinned, unaffected by the snow. He'd spent many winters further north on patrol, sleeping in trees, wrapped only in his cloak. This storm was a mere nuisance.

"So we're the fair weather weaklings," Bronwë sighed. It shouldn't have been a surprise that the soldiers were far more used to enduring hardships than the Silvans.

It was irking all the same.

Warm, strong arms came around, cuddling her back into a slightly soggy, but solid form. For a moment, warm breath teased over the cold tip of her ear and she shivered. Faelon and Thalion smirked, even as Glorfindel chuckled, tightening his arms. "Remember you said that, not me." He grunted as her elbow nudged his stomach and released her. "Come, only a bit more and we will see the sun again!" Turning, he began walking again.

"Is he always this infuriatingly cheerful?" Faelon, not that eager to leave the warmth of his friend's embrace, wrinkled his nose.

"Unless he's wounded or mad at someone for doing something stupid, yes." Bronwë pressed her forehead to his cheek, hugging both of her friends before pulling away. "Sunshine would be most welcome right now."

"Definitely," said Thalion as he nearly walked into a jutting outcrop. "I'm eager to be able to see again."

Faelon just nodded, pulled his cloak tighter around his body and began walking.

Rumil and Orophir were silent, pale shadows behind their brother, hawk like features accented by the morning sunlight filtering through the bare mallyrn branches. Golden, as golden as their beloved woods, the sentries were inscrutable as they watched the twins approach.

Haldir, standing a bit in front of them, waited, a slight smile curling his lips. He hadn't missed seeing the quivers, filled with the white-fletched arrows of Lothlórien, nor the bone-handled swords slung over their backs.

Elladan preferred the duel blades, Elrohir, the single sword, but then Elrohir relied more on wits than his brother, who preferred to wade into a battle and work his way out.

They were alike in appearance, but different in almost every other way. Haldir had long ago learned their differences, and respected them. He and his brothers were often mistaken for one another, something that had annoyed all three of them when younger. It had proven later to be an advantage when facing an enemy who could not tell you apart.

"Hail, Captain of the Northern Border!"

Elladan. Haldir marked the jaunty gait and easy grin, near-black hair braided back from his face, to hang loose down his back.

Elrohir merely nodded his greeting, gaze including the other two Silvan Elves. His hair was tightly braided back, the tail of the braid tucked into his cloak. All the better to not interfere with his vision or aim. He was the quieter shadow walking confidently at the shoulder of his twin.

Haldir nodded a greeting. "Sons of Elrond. Lord Celeborn informed me you would be joining us."

"Is it just we five?"

"No." Gesturing to the trees surrounding them, Haldir's pale gaze flickered to the near-invisible talain perched in the trees. Pale wraiths, half a dozen Silvans dropped from the trees to join them.

Elladan shook his head, scowling slightly. How did they do that? It was one of the things he hoped to coax the marchwardens into teaching him. After all, his mother had been raised in these woods. As her son, did he not have the right to learn the same skills?

Nodding, smiling slightly as he caught his twin's annoyance, Elrohir's grey eyes gleamed with the anticipation of excitement. "Have there been many orcs on the borders?"

"Mostly on the southern side, but they are growing bold." Rumil's soft voice was almost but a whisper in the trees.

"We have not forgotten the torment of your mother, our Lady's daughter." Pale eyes were hard for a moment, almost like a polished agate, then Haldir blinked and it was replaced with the implacable expression. "Our patrols extend out beyond the woods now."

Elladan's expression darkened at the mention of his mother and he shifted his feet impatiently.

Squeezing his brother's shoulder, Elrohir met the captain's gaze. "Let us get to it then."

Glorfindel halted the group as they came down off the rocks, leaping lightly to a large boulder to gaze at the valley below them. "There is Lothlórien." He grinned at the slight frowns the Silvans offered. "Only the outer edges. The mallyrn are well-guarded in the heart of the city."

"Lord Círdan said we would be met at the borders." Thalion gazed at the forest as if he could pick out the guards hiding there, and perhaps he could. It was often said it took a Silvan to discover another Silvan whilst in the trees.

"We will." Glorfindel snorted, shaking out wet hair from his cloak, encouraging it to dry faster. "No one enters without their knowledge and consent." A smirk curled his mouth as he thought of the time he and Elrond had done just that, and surprised the marchwardens.

Leaning against a rock, Bronwë pulled one of her boots off, grimacing as she dumped water out, and pulled the sock off to wring it dry. How snow had managed to get into the boot was beyond her, but she was weary of listening to the squishing noise with every step she took.

"Perhaps a bit of a rest before we enter?" Glorfindel watched, trying to hide his amusement as the healer finally sat, pulling off the other boot as well. "The sun is pleasantly warm."

"Good." Faelon flopped next to Bronwë, sprawling boneless in the sunshine.

"We're almost there though..." Thalion fidgeted before dropping his saddlebags and sitting. None of them had forgotten the reason for their journey, nor the urgency. Seeing how weary his two companions truly appeared, he nodded his assent. Their warding still held. Even at this great distance, he could feel it, like a delicate silver cord binding them to the diseased trees. Lord Círdan was more than able to handle any other problems, and had been doing so for a very long time before three Silvans ever entered his life. Satisfied with his reasoning, Thalion settled back to soak up the sun.

"It's a ways still to Caras Galadon, even once we're met at the borders." Glorfindel eyed the sun, gauging the time. "Though if we enter near dusk, we'll be able to spend the night in talain instead of on the ground."

"That sounds wonderful!" Faelon didn't move, nor open his eyes, but he grinned in delight.

"Seconded." Bronwë pursed a lip as she spotted the guards fanning out to watch the surrounding area. She wouldn't feel comfortable until they were in the trees.

"Dry off a bit then, and we'll continue." Glorfindel pulled his bow, examining the string, before checking to see how his arrows had weathered the journey. A yelp, quickly followed by snickering giggles turned his attention back to the three Silvans.

Faelon wiped water from his face, and glared indignantly at his friends as they giggled.

"It was just snow still frozen in the hood of my cape, Faelon." Bronwë grinned innocently as she shook the cloak out.

"Ummhmm..." Sniffing in insult, the blond Silvan stretched back out, warily keeping an eye on his companions.

"Just like that pine cone somehow just magically appeared in my boot yesterday morning though I had just shaken them out."

Thalion coughed, looking away before Bronwë saw the grin on his face.

Listening to the friendly squabbling, Glorfindel continued to check his weapons, smiling. It was rather like listening to the twins and Arwen, and was oddly comforting. It reminded him of home - both his home in Imladris, and the one of his childhood, where he had often bickered just the same with his own siblings.

Sighing at the memory of long ago days, he sat back on his heels and just enjoyed the moment.

TBC

A/N:

Please don't take the first part of this to think I believe the elves of Lothlórien to be cowards. I know they definitely are not! But faced with the possible wrath of two very protective brothers, who are so kindly demonstrating their mastery over weapons for all of Arwen's would-be suitors, not to mention Arwen is their Lord and Lady's granddaughter... I think it prudent of the handsome young elves to ...wait. *g*