Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.
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"Sit up straighter, Jeren," Elrohir commanded. "Slouching throws your balance off."
He had repeated this phrase what seemed to him a million times. He was guiding Two around the corral in a small tight circle using a single long leather rein. Before listening to the sharp retort she was about to give him, he plowed right on, saying, "I know you feel as if you have no balance, but I'm watching you. I won't let you fall."
"How will you prevent it from way over there?" Jeren asked, her teeth clenched with fear. She needed to keep them clenched tightly; Elrohir had Two going at a tooth-jarring trot, considering the size of the circle they ran. She had a part of Two's mane bunched up with the reins, and she was holding on for dear life.
"You're in no danger—I'm very quick," he said with a laugh. For the life of her, Jeren could not see any humor in the situation. As for Elrohir, it was either laugh or cry.
This was the third day this week that the two of them had been working on Jeren's riding skills—or lack thereof. She tried very hard not to show her fear, but it was useless; she could not control it, and she was sure it was written plainly on her face. In truth, Elrohir was no more than four feet away, but to Jeren, it might as well have been a full league.
She'd been riding alone since she was six years old and, long before that, her father had held her in front of him as he rode. She'd ridden Jones from the time she was ten, and Jones had been such a peaceful mare any child could have ridden her. Jeren felt a familiar stab of conscience as she remembered just how Jones had died—being a shield against Orcish arrows as Jeren attempted to escape that fateful day, ten years ago.
In light of all that, this unmanageable fear seemed ridiculous to her. This was something she was so familiar with, but she shuddered whenever she thought of riding alone. She couldn't even mount or dismount under her own power anymore. She had never stopped to think about just how much one depended on two arms and hands.
The entire thing was galling.
"Bring your right arm up and hold the reins with that hand," he suggested.
"Elrohir, have you taken leave of your senses?" Jeren called out, almost frantically. In all honesty, she was concentrating so hard on sitting up straight that she didn't think she could accomplish trying to move her bad arm at the same time. "I cannot hold this arm up for any length of time, so when it falls and pulls on the rein on that side, she'll turn away from you."
Elrohir walked toward Two and grabbed her bridle with one hand. "You're right about that, Jeren," he said. "I was afraid you would continue to be oblivious to everything but staying up there and would allow me to keep guiding her with this lunge rein." He looked her squarely in the eyes before he said, "There's no bit in her mouth, and if you would have been paying attention, you would have noticed that before you even mounted."
Jeren blushed, but didn't let it keep her quiet. "What's that got to do with anything, Elrohir? Two's a very well-trained horse; she needs no bit to be controlled by her rider."
Elrohir looked at her as if something was dawning in his mind—finally. But it wasn't what was dawning on him that he was trying to point out—it was what she'd just said.
"Truly?" he asked, as if he were amazed at her mental acuity. "Now if that is the case, why are you so afraid that you cannot control her with your uninjured arm and hand?"
Jeren frowned for a moment and then a look of amazement came over her features. Relief rushed through her as she thought about what she'd just said—Two didn't need a bit between her teeth for her rider to guide her. Just the slight pressure of the rein against either side of her neck and Two responded. Jeren knew this. She'd always known it. Why had she forgotten it so thoroughly?
She threw her right leg over Two's withers, intending to slide to the ground. Elrohir placed his hands on her waist, guiding her down so that she wouldn't hurt herself in the process.
As she looked at Elrohir, her face lit up. "I've been terrified for nothing! Why didn't I think of this before?"
She hugged Elrohir fiercely, and he held her close; he loved any excuse to touch her these days. She finally pushed back from him, her left hand planted firmly in the center of his chest.
"And just how long were you going to keep letting me do this?" she asked angrily. She gave him another shove with her hand.
He grabbed both of her arms, holding her back away from him, lest she strike out more violently. "As long as it took for you to remember—you are a rider and you have a good horse that has been well-trained. I never imagined it would take you three long days! You were so wrapped up in fear and doubt that you wouldn't allow yourself to relax enough to think of it on your own before now. Do not ever forget this lesson again."
Jeren was so excited over her new revelation that Elrohir's prolonged lecture hardly registered in her mind. "I want to go riding, Elrohir!" she said excitedly. "Right now!"
"I hate to discourage you, but there are still things you must accomplish before you go haring off on this horse alone."
"Like what?" she asked, with a defiant tilt of her head. Elrohir wanted to shout for joy. It seemed as if—finally—she had completely come back to herself.
"Mounting and dismounting by yourself, for one thing," he said.
"I know I can do that!" she said. "I'm going to try right now."
So he held Two's head while Jeren put her toe in the stirrup and her left hand on the saddle horn. She pulled and strained, but without at least a small bit of help from her right hand, she could not complete the action.
"Try again," Elrohir said quietly.
Breathing hard, Jeren nodded. She tried again, her foot in the stirrup and her left hand gripping the saddle to pull herself up. Elrohir planted a hand in the seat of her pants and shoved her the rest of the way upward, so that she could swing her right leg over the horse's back.
Elrohir smiled and shook his head slightly as he told her, "Well, that was awkward, and you did need some help, but you're getting there, Jeren. Eventually, your legs will strengthen so that you won't need the help your right arm used to give you—or—that arm could improve on its own."
She was breathing hard, but her smile was glowing. "Thanks Elrohir," she managed to huff out. She nudged Two with her heels and the horse started walking. Jeren urged the mare again with her feet, and Two began to trot. She gripped the mare's sides with her knees for added security, but otherwise let her body take over and remember how it felt to ride a horse. Jeren gained confidence the longer she was in the saddle this time. She was no longer off-center with an arm that didn't work. She felt like a rider should—as one with her horse.
She suddenly felt free, as she hadn't in so long. She wanted to jump the fence and go flying through the fields—an easy thing for her before—but she knew it was foolhardy. She needed more practice riding before doing something so advanced. And besides, Elrohir still held the lunge line attached to Two's bridle.
She pulled back lightly on the reins and Two slowly came to a stop, exactly as she had been trained to do.
Elrohir walked up to the horse and rider as they came to a standstill a few feet away. He smiled at her as only he could.
"It seems as if I am not the only one who has found his way back to life. You're back, too, Jeren. Finally."
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Jeren had taken Elrohir's advice and had not brought up the subject of Glorfindel with the Lord of Imladris. In fact she'd seen him only at meal times for the last few days, ever since Elrohir had begun to train her in riding again. Even had she thought to ease her conscience by explaining to Lord Elrond why Glorfindel had refused to train her, she'd not had the opportunity yet.
But tonight Elrond had invited both her and Elrohir into his study after the evening meal. Neither knew exactly what the Elf lord had in mind to discuss with them, but they were curious to find out.
Meal times had been strained ever since Glorfindel and Elrond had argued. Jeren wondered why the Arms Master did not take his meals elsewhere, since he sat rigidly, not saying a word, at any of the times they were gathered at the table. While he did not in any way appear hostile or angry, it was obvious to all that his humor was less than ideal.
The quiet between the two Elf lords put a somber mood on all present. While he did not speak to Glorfindel at all, Elrond would try to engage the others in conversation, but the results were always weak, and awkward silence inevitably filled the room.
So after the meal this evening, the three of them retired to his study. Elrond led them beyond his desk, to the more informal setting near the fireplace. There was a sofa perpendicular to the hearth, with a low table situated in front of it. On the other side of the table, two matching overstuffed chairs in rich burgundy brocade threaded with gold stood side by side, facing the couch.
Elrohir sank into the luxurious sofa, his arms draped along the back of it, his ankle crossed over one knee. Jeren sat beside him and Lord Elrond seated himself in one of the chairs opposite them.
"Now, would you tell me what has you so excited?" he asked Jeren.
Somewhat taken aback by his abrupt question, Jeren asked, her smile growing with every word, "How do you know there's something I'm about to burst over?"
"All one must do is look at you, Jeren, to know that something is afoot. I tried to get the conversation going during our evening meal, but no one would respond." Elrond raised his brows as he went on, "The air in the dining room lately has been, shall we say, a little icy? So I thought to bring you in here to get the story, for I'm sure there's a story to be told."
Jeren and Elrohir looked at each other for a moment, both wearing artful smiles. And then Jeren turned back to the Elf Lord, saying, "I'm riding again. Really riding."
"That's wonderful news!" he exclaimed. "You are taking it slowly, are you not?" This last comment was directed at his son.
Elrohir sat up a little. "Had I taken it any slower, I would have probably fallen asleep!"
Jeren elbowed him in the ribs and he laughed, cringing away from her.
"Yes, he's taking it slowly," she said, and in a perturbed tone she added, "had he not been so stubborn, I could have been riding three days ago."
Elrond frowned, as if he needed much more detail, so Jeren said, "He knew all along I was afraid, and he also knew that if I would just calm down and think it all through, I would realize there was nothing to fear. But he did not let me in on his knowledge, so I spent three agonizing days being afraid I would fall." She finished with an insolent stare at the younger Elf in the room.
Elrohir looked at his father and asked, "Could you explain to me why it was my responsibility to tell her something that should have been second nature to her?" As he finished his sentence, he looked smugly at Jeren.
Elrond simply shook his head. "I fear you both are speaking in circles around me…" Secretly the Elf lord was more than pleased to see the playfulness return to these young ones.
"I feel ridiculous, so I must blame someone other than myself!" she said, looking at Elrohir again. Glancing back to Elrond, she added, "It is only that I—for reasons unknown to me—seemed to have forgotten everything I once knew about riding. I forgot how well trained Two is, and that she would never allow harm to come to me. I know there's always a possibility when riding, that a horse may become startled and might shy, but that happens so rarely—especially when riding on the grounds of Imladris—that I truly had nothing to fear. I just did not remember it. I cannot understand how I allowed this to happen and go on for so long."
Elrond sat forward, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair. "I think having the use of one of your limbs taken from you left you feeling vulnerable and afraid, which is a natural reaction. I have had the occasion to minister to warriors a time or two who have entirely lost an arm. Even though all of their other faculties are intact, they pull back at first. And every one has always said exactly the same thing—they feel exposed, as if they are in hostile territory alone with no weapons. It is truly difficult to come to terms with such a catastrophic injury, Jeren. I'd say you aren't that unusual, as far as wounded soldiers go."
"I told her that she had just needed something to remind her that she knew how to ride—how it felt to be on a horse before she was injured." Elrohir grabbed Jeren's right hand for emphasis, which had been lying on the couch between them. "Once she remembered that Two could be ridden without even a bit in her mouth and would respond to subtle commands, she relaxed and was able to ride, almost as well as before."
Elrond looked at the joined hands of two of the people he loved most in the world. By now Elrohir was exercising Jeren's stiff fingers, folding them over his own hand time and again.
Elrond wondered if Elrohir had approached Jeren yet, proclaiming his love for her. She seemed unchanged, as if her feelings for his son were ever the same. She certainly did not appear to be aware of the love that shone clearly in Elrohir's eyes.
He would not speak of it to either of them. He'd learned a harsh lesson with Elladan a few years ago, about meddling in his children's affairs of the heart. If he were truthful, he would have to admit that he had learned it where his sons were concerned, but when it came to Arwen and her desires—well, that was another matter. She was his daughter and he could not allow her to throw her life away in the manner in which she seemed determined to do. And Estel? The anger and hurt of Aragorn's proposal was still fresh in Elrond's mind, even though the subject was years old. It did not bear thinking about at this time.
He wondered if Elrohir was setting himself up for a fall. Jeren had professed her love for Elladan for years, to no avail, since Elladan's feelings for her did not run in the same direction as hers had. It had taken her a long while, but she seemed to have finally gotten over her infatuation with his other son. She'd fallen in love with Rhyse—a Man—as it should be. What if Jeren would not—or could not—return the feelings that Elrohir seemed to be wearing on his sleeve these days?
He hated that his son was risking his heart in this way. The chances that Elrohir would be hurt were staggering. But, on the other hand, it was terrifying to think about what would happen should Jeren accept Elrohir's love. There was always the matter of 'the choice' in the back of Elrond's mind.
The Elf lord was caught off guard when Jeren startled him with a question he did not expect.
"Lord Elrond, was the argument between you and the Arms Master because of me?" She heard the quick intake of breath from Elrohir, but continued anyway. "I've wanted to explain something to you about what happened with me and Lord Glorfindel for awhile, but—"
"No, Jeren," Elrond answered quietly. "The current difficulty between Glorfindel and me involves only the two of us."
"Truly?" she asked. At the Elf lord's nod, she went on, "He will not train me because I was grossly insubordinate to him. He told me to meet him one morning, and I purposely did not. I wasted his time."
"I appreciate your honesty, and I regret your lost opportunity, but I have no chastisement for you since you are well versed in the paying of consequences for ill deeds. For what it was worth, I asked him to give you another chance, but his stubbornness won out."
"Yes I know all too well about ill actions and consequences that result. And now, I, too, am regretting the lost opportunity. But Elrohir has agreed to help me train—with your help, of course."
"I will do what I can," Elrond said. "I think the three of us will be able to accomplish what I'd hoped Glorfindel could achieve in less time. He isn't the Arms Master in Imladris for no good reason; he is the best, and could probably have had you back in good form much faster than Elrohir and I will. But we must work with what we have, not wait for something to change and make things more to our liking. That, too, wastes time."
He got up from his chair. "And speaking of time, I never seem to have enough of it these days. I must get back to work." He crossed the study floor as Jeren and Elrohir got up from their seats.
"I could stay and help you, Father," Elrohir said.
"I'll help, too, if I can," Jeren added.
Elrond smiled, but said, "No, no. It is merely research I must do on my own. But thank you both."
They left him there then, and before they had even closed the door he had immediately become engrossed in a book that was already open on his desk.
As they made their way upstairs, Jeren was thinking about what Lord Elrond had said. He'd told her that the difficulty between he and Lord Glorfindel involved only the two of them, not that she wasn't the cause of the difficulty. She'd spent enough time with Elves over the last ten years to know when they were not being completely honest with her. Not that she ever believed Lord Elrond would lie to her; he just might not tell her the entire truth.
This rift between the two Elf lords had her puzzled, but not only that, it was interfering with everyone here in the Last Homely House, especially those that had to be in the same room with them at meal times. The tension was not good for anyone—especially the two that were directly concerned. She decided she was going to find a way to get them to mend their differences.
As she and Elrohir arrived at her door, she paused with her hand on the knob. "Elrohir, you were there the other night when they had their argument. What was it all about?"
Elrohir looked down the hall both ways, and then answered, "Jeren, why will you not just let this go?" When she continued to stare at him without pause, he finally said, "It isn't for me to say. I do not carry tales." He'd lowered his voice, as if he were afraid that someone might overhear.
"I know you do not," she said with a small bit of annoyance in her voice. "But this must not continue, and the only way to mend it is to know what has them both so stirred up."
Jeren opened her door, and Elrohir followed her inside without any invitation from her, quietly closing the door behind him. He leaned against it, his expression showing that he was wondering what, if anything, to say to her.
He took a deep breath and relaxed. "It was and was not about you, Jeren. That's all I am going to say."
"You Elves and your riddles!" she exclaimed, as she whipped around and went out onto the veranda. As soon as she made it to the railing, she said, "I cannot accept that, Elrohir. I know that my behavior started it all. I know that. But how in the world did it get carried so far that neither is speaking to the other now?"
Elrohir had followed her outside and placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it slightly. "Just let it alone, Jeren," he pleaded.
"How would you feel, Elrohir, if you knew you were at the root of a problem, but no one would tell you the facts? Tell me… How would you feel?"
He smiled wanly and said, "You know I wouldn't like it. But if someone I trusted told me I was better off not knowing, I would believe them and do as they asked."
Jeren laughed without mirth. "Oh sure you would, Elrohir! Right after you beat them to a bloody pulp for not telling you what you wanted to know!"
It had been a long time since she'd felt this old spark in her heart; she only wished it was something else that was causing it. She turned around and started to storm back into her room.
But Elrohir caught her left arm at the elbow, effectively stopping her and turning her back around to face him. "It is not my place. I have never involved myself in matters that were not my own."
"Never, Elrohir? Really?" Jeren asked, now angry. "I know of several times you involved yourself in my business, and it was no business of yours. Tell me again how you never intrude."
"Maybe not all, but most of those times, you came to me with the problem, I did not solicit it."
He watched as she deflated, and it hurt his heart. She'd come so far so fast; he hated to see her unhappy about anything. But could he tell her this? It truly wasn't his place, and he could not take the chance that she would try and put it to rights herself. Then his father would know absolutely that he could not be trusted. That had been an issue between them before in his life, and he did not want to open that old wound again. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes.
"Alright; you win. But at least come sit down, I'm tired of standing here arguing." He led her to the table and pulled a chair out for her, and then seated himself closely beside her.
"The argument started exactly how you think it did—Glorfindel came into my father's study—angry, as he had every right to be—and he told my father he was finished with you. My father wanted to know what had happened, and Glorfindel told him that you were not a serious trainee and he was not going to waste his time on you any longer.
"That irritated my father; I'm not sure why. I suppose because every once in awhile he seems to need to assert his authority, and Glorfindel will not be so easily commanded. So he told Glorfindel that it was unlike him to turn away from any endeavor just because it had become difficult.
"At the time I was unsure why Glorfindel, too, seemed angrier than he should have been, but he was, and he shot back at my father, saying things I would never imagine he would utter."
"Like what, Elrohir?" Jeren asked eagerly. When Elrohir's silence met her question, she insisted, "What else?"
Elrohir didn't want to say more. So he tried to change the subject. "I think you are persisting because you are trying to test my loyalty. The only problem is, I cannot decide which loyalty it is that you are testing—my loyalty to my father, or my loyalty to you. Either way, I think I am bound to fail this test.
"It is not your loyalty at all that I am questioning," Jeren said seriously. "I am challenging what I always thought was our deep and abiding friendship—our love, if you want to say it that way. I have always told you my mind—sometimes you would not leave me be until I did. But when the tables are turned, and it is you who could use counsel, you do not afford me the same courtesy."
Elrohir looked toward the sky, wanting some guidance from the stars that were present. Even the Silmaril he could see shining in the North, on his grandfather Eärendil's brow, seemed remote and offered no counsel.
He knew that if he ever had a prayer of convincing Jeren of his true love for her, he would have to be more open than he had been. And the time was now—she was waiting for him to prove it to her.
He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. He scrubbed at his face with his hands for a few seconds, hoping the right words would come to him. He finally sat up straight again and faced her, his expression as open as he could possibly make it.
"This will hurt you, and I wanted that not to happen. But telling you this will prove to you that you have my love, as I know that I have yours. However, what I am telling you must stay in this room. You cannot approach my father or Glorfindel with this information, trying to help them reconcile. That is up to them, and they will accomplish it when they accomplish it."
"You have my word, Elrohir. I will do nothing with this information, nor will I ever utter a word of it."
Elrohir's gaze bored into hers, and had she any doubt before, she did not doubt it now—if she did not keep this promise, Elrohir would find it hard to forgive her, if he ever could.
The Elf took a deep breath and started talking.
"I know you understand about the choice that my family—my father, me, my brother and sister—had or will have to make one day: Whether to stay Elven or to choose to be of the Human race." At Jeren's nod, even though she had a puzzled frown on her face, he went on. "Well, it seems as if my sister has chosen, and my father was devastated by her choice."
Jeren looked at Elrohir for a moment, concern on her face to hear that Elrond was devastated by anything. But she was loath to interrupt, since she finally had him talking.
"It seems that she and Estel—" He halted abruptly, as if this truth hurt him as much as it hurt his father, and then he hurried on. "They have fallen in love, and Arwen has chosen to become Human, so that she will not live eternally without him once he is gone."
Jeren hated to stop him, since he was being so enlightening, but she didn't understand why he was telling her this. "What has this to do with Glorfindel, though, Elrohir?"
"I am getting to that, Jeren. This subject is very difficult to speak of, but it is relevant to the argument my father and Glorfindel had.
"I am extremely happy for both Estel and Arwen, but that does not lessen the pain that losing her one day will bring." He seemed to try and collect himself for a few moments, and then he went on. "Glorfindel understands more than most the pain death brings to someone and to their kin. But he is of the mind that one must grasp happiness when one can, because life can be so fleeting."
He looked at her appraisingly for a few seconds. "You know Glorfindel's story, do you not?"
Jeren shook her head. "Not really. I truly know only that he is a fearsome warrior."
"That is a fact, but knowing his story will help you understand his motivation for saying the things to my father that he did. He is truly ancient, and in the old days of the First Age, after Gondolin fell, he was among those who left that city, flanking the group of survivors so that he could offer some protection. My kin were among those people—my grandfather, Eärendil, was just a child. As they traveled away from the ruined city, the group was assailed by Orcs on a high mountain pass called the Eagle's Cleft. Glorfindel, and others so armed, fought the Orcs in order to save the Gondolin survivors. But an ancient beast was hiding in the rocks of the pass—a Balrog. They are fierce opponents, corrupted by Morgoth. They are huge and horned; winged creatures with the cloven hooves of a goat. They are born of flame and they can breathe fire as a dragon does, and they wield whips of many thongs. Glorfindel met it in challenge, to give the others time and opportunity to escape, and while they were fighting, both the Balrog and Glorfindel fell from the mountainside into a great abyss, where both died."
Despite the gravity of the story he was telling, Elrohir almost smiled at Jeren's rapt attention. Her eyes had grown larger with each word he spoke; instead of looking like the woman she was, she looked as a child might, who was listening to a scary bedtime tale.
"But a great Eagle named Thorondor fetched Glorfindel's body from the great abyss, and the survivors buried him near the pass. They left his grave mounded, and over time, it was covered in verdant grass and small yellow flowers.
"His spirit was admitted into the Halls of Waiting—Mandos' Halls, you might have heard them called—and eventually he was returned to bodily form. He lived in the Undying Lands for a time, but he ultimately made his way to Rivendell, and he has been here ever since.
"And here, he has witnessed my parents' marriage, and subsequently the birth of their three children. We grew up at Glorfindel's knee; he is as much a part of our family as any of the six of us are." At Jeren's confused objection at the number of people he was including in his family, he enumerated them all: "My father and mother, my sister, Elladan, me and Estel. Six of us. Estel came thousands of years after we were children, but Glorfindel was here for his childhood as well as ours. He feels that the Dúnedan is one of his own."
"All right. I can understand all that," Jeren said. "But that's exactly why this difficulty between he and Lord Elrond is so confusing and so hard to accept. I knew not their individual histories, nor if they shared blood; I supposed not, since their features are unalike and their coloring is in such contrast. But that they were close, I never doubted. I assumed, from the murals adorning many of the walls of Imladris, that they fought together in great battles in ancient times, and when the wars were over, neither wanted to part from the other. Lord Elrond became the healer, and did not fight anymore. But Glorfindel took on the protection of all those under this roof. No one ever told me such; I just always felt this great love between them, even though I had nothing on which to base such a feeling."
"You are very insightful, Jeren," Elrohir admitted. "Yes, Glorfindel has sworn protection for my Father's house for long years. But now comes the painful part for you to hear. Painful for everyone, but for you, in particular.
"Some years ago, Estel went to my father professing love for my sister and asking his blessing on their union. My father was so hurt as to become enraged. At first he denied Estel's request absolutely, without any comment or question. He dismissed him without reason or cause. But after he had some time to consider what Estel was asking, and to remember that Arwen is his only daughter, whom he loves more than his own life, he did change his mind about completely denying their marriage. He told Estel that he must—prove himself—before my father would even entertain the idea of such a union."
"Prove himself?" Jeren asked forcefully. "Has he not proved himself already? He is a valiant leader of my people!" As she finished saying that, though, she looked as if another thought had just occurred to her. "Has this anything to do with the fact that he is the Dúnedain Chieftain, Elrohir? That he is the last direct descendant of Isildur?"
"As I said before, you are very insightful."
Jeren pondered what she had heard, wondering just what it meant and what it had to do with her and the argument between the two Elf lords. How did something that happened years ago have bearing on her now? But she kept her curiosity contained for the moment, and decided to simply consider what Elrohir was telling her. She had spent the last several years learning of her Dúnedain heritage, and that included all the interesting facts about Lord Aragorn. Of course it was all very hushed, as his identity had to remain secret to all but a few chosen Elves and the people of the closely-knit settlement. And then another look of dawning overtook her expression.
"You do not mean your father wants Lord Aragorn to go and claim the throne of Gondor, do you?"
"That is what I mean, Jeren." Noting her incredulous expression, Elrohir went on, "We will not go into the particulars now. You know that Orcs and other vile creatures are breeding in our lands, and have been for centuries. But now they have reached such numbers that no one can deny there is more than mere darkness rising. You know why Estel's real identity must be protected, but we will not speak of it now. Perhaps at another time, you and I can sit down and discuss it more fully, but for the sake of this discussion, Estel, if he wishes to marry my sister, must claim the throne of Gondor, which has been under stewardship for the last several centuries. To say it will be a daunting venture is putting it mildly. There will be more than just the mere opposition of the current steward that he will face."
She raised her brows at Elrohir's last remark, but did not say anything. As he'd just told her, that was a discussion for another time. But all that he'd said still didn't explain what she wanted to know.
"Thank you for telling me all this; you know it will go no farther. But these things you have told me hold no hurt for me. What was said that is going to trouble me?"
"As I said earlier, I did not know why Glorfindel was so angry at first, but it soon became clear. He finally told his mind on the entire subject—of what Glorfindel felt was my father's interference with Arwen and Estel. He'd been holding his tongue for a long time, so that is probably why he was so enraged. He wondered how a father—sire to the most beautiful Elleth in all of Arda—could treat her as my father has treated Arwen, let alone Estel. He thinks it unfair that my father insists on this perilous and next to impossible task that must be completed before Estel and Arwen may wed. I told you before about Glorfindel's view on life—live in the present with all that you have, because no one is promised tomorrow."
Jeren nodded quietly, but Elrohir did not continue. "Yes—?" Jeren prompted, for she had no doubt that more was forthcoming. Elrohir still hadn't told her what she wanted to know.
"Glorfindel went on—I'd not seen him this outraged in a very long while—and he said that my father holds you in more esteem than his own daughter these days. That you were only a woman of the Adan and should not be shown any preferential treatment by anyone of this household, especially not the Lord of Imladris."
Jeren was taken aback. This was hurtful, just as Elrohir had told her it would be. She would never have guessed that Glorfindel felt this way; he'd never shown anything but a basic respect toward her. Condescension, yes, but it was not unusual for him to treat everyone in a superior manner at one time or another. But outright prejudice? Never. And while Lord Elrond had always shown love to Jeren, she never thought for a minute that his love for her even approached the love he had for his daughter. She was sure Lord Elrond loved Arwen as a father should love his child.
She was trying not to take this to heart, but the truth was that she held Glorfindel in such esteem, that to hear that he'd voiced such a thing cut her to the core. She thought back to the day of the training session, before she had known of Lord Elrond's plan, and what the Arms Master had said to her.
"You may take your whining to the Lord of Imladris, but you will find little sympathy there. It is by his order that I train you now. And while you are at it, tell him I said that my dislike of this command he has seen fit to saddle me with does indeed have a basis. He will understand exactly what I mean, if you use the same tone of voice that you are using on me."
She had thought at the time, that it was her whining that Glorfindel had had enough of, not her personally. Now, she wasn't so sure.
"What should I do about this, Elrohir?" Jeren asked solemnly. "Perhaps it would be better were I to go back to the settlement. I can ride now, so it would be no hardship."
Elrohir took her hand into his and held it on the tabletop. The last thing that he wanted was for Jeren to go anywhere. Anywhere near Rhyse, to be truthful. He dismissed that thought as beneath him and enveloped her hand into the two of his.
"You should do nothing about this now. Only remember that Glorfindel is not a mean-spirited Elf. He does not resent your presence here. It is just that he's known and loved Arwen for so long, that he cannot help but want to see her happy. Estel, too. He was lashing out, trying to hurt my father for what he perceives as my father's punishment of my sister.
"Glorfindel said other very harsh things to my father that have no bearing on you, but they were so hurtful that I stood to challenge him, until my father waved me down. But that is why they have not reconciled yet. Much was said, especially by Glorfindel, that has to have time to heal. But it will heal; have no fear."
He brushed the hair away from her face that had escaped her braid. With his voice soft and comforting he told her, "Do not let this hurt you overlong; only for a moment. Then let it go. There is nothing you can or should do about this. I know my father has his reasons for this hard demand of his, but he is not ready to discuss it yet, with anyone. I've tried.
"I'm sure he is waiting for Glorfindel's temper to cool, and when it does, they will meet again and my father will tell Glorfindel his mind on the subject. I would love to be present; my curiosity about the whole affair is boundless. They have fought before, though it has been a rare occurrence, and they have always come to accord quickly. This, too, they will see mended, but in their own time.
"But Glorfindel does not hold prejudice—that I know of—toward Humans at all. It might seem that way at times, but I think he is merely careful of your race, lest he gets too close and hurts boundlessly when they leave him at death."
He kissed her forehead and looked into her eyes. She smiled weakly, but that was not how he wanted to leave things between them. So he went back to old, tried and true tactics to get Jeren's blood going again.
Looking at her with a playful smile, he said, "I tried to tell you that you did not want to know what was said. When are you going to learn to trust what I tell you?"
Jeren laughed and laid her head on Elrohir's shoulder. She could always count on Elrohir to make her feel better. She loved him with all her heart.
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