The next day, a storm blew in, piling sand grains and howling gales against the shutters of the inn.

Lindir didn't mind the storm; while it was raging and screaming outside, he could imagine it was howling his own rage and despair, and it helped as he entered the next stage of his recovery. For now the shock was over, the immediate physical pain receding, he was awash with lightning mood changes and great swoops of emotion, carrying him from relief he had survived to the blackest gloom when he remembered the prying, poking fingers and almost casual menace of Briot's assault.

Glorfindel proved himself an unremitting, insistent friend.

When, during the remnants of the first night at the inn, Lindir had woken up clutching his throat and with the remains of a scream hanging heavy in the air, there had come a gentle knocking on the wall of the chamber, swiftly followed by a tapping at his door.

'It is I, Glorfindel,' his friend had said. 'Are you all right?'

'I am sorry, I disturbed you! I am fine. Go back to bed.'

'Oh, I shall presently. I have brought my bedroll with me and will lie against your door with my back to it, so that you know you are guarded. Or would you like me to come in and bear you company for a while?'

Lindir sighed and went to unlock the door.

'Glorfindel, you have been so kind a friend. The last thing I want is to become an annoyance…'

'Elladan is an annoyance. Elrohir is an annoyance. That potboy who stares as if he doesn't know whether to worship us 'elsh' or run away, he is an annoyance.' Glorfindel closed and secured the door behind him. 'You are not. You are my friend, a fellow-survivor, if you will.'

He took a seat near the window, watching as Lindir sank onto the bed, his hands so tightly entwined that Glorfindel wondered whether the minstrel would be able to untangle them without help.

'This is usual, Lindir,' he said. 'I will not say, normal, for these are not normal circumstances. It is your fëa's way of purging you of the horror of the experience; while we sleep, we can be braver than when we are awake.'

'I did not feel brave. In… in my dream, I did not lose consciousness. In the dream, he…'

Lindir fell silent, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs. If ever he needed a comforting arm, a pat on his back, it was now. But Glorfindel held back with a sigh. It was also potentially the worse possible moment to touch his damaged friend, so he reached out with words instead.

'Well, if you can consider the matter objectively for a moment… we are elves, we know everything – or we like to think we do – and any blank or gap in our knowledge is impossible for us to bear without trying to find out what we have missed. Your mind is simply trying to fill in the blanks.'

'But I do not want to know!' Lindir protested, although as soon as he said it, he began to wonder.

'It happened, mellon-nin. I think, if I may say so, that your actions in losing consciousness will have hastened the end of your ordeal. He would not have stopped, no matter what, but I am sure it was less fun for him that you were not awake to hear his taunts, to appreciate some of the finer indignities.'

'Glorfindel, I know that your own experiences will have been far worse than my own, and…'

'No. No such thing, Lindir.'

'But, mellon-nin… I… ran away from the reality…'

'To refuse to give him power over you. To protect yourself. My own experience? Yes, it was very different. But you and I are very different. I am a warrior, used to violence of one form or another, taught almost to expect such treatment if captured by the enemy. You have been sheltered, unused to warfare. My attack took place in the long ago, yours, almost in the now.' He shrugged. 'Truly, it is not the same. But that does not make your suffering any the less.'

Lindir thought for a moment, then nodded, accepting.

'Ultimately, we are both survivors,' he said.

'And we will continue surviving. More than that, we will live, and we will love.'

'Have you, Glorfindel? Have you been able to love, since?'

The golden haired warrior nodded, eyes wary, preventing Lindir from asking further.

'I'm not going to pry, do not worry,' Lindir said swiftly. 'I simply thought… perhaps I have been lucky, to have Kovalia's kindness so soon after… to find so quickly that I could still feel comfort from the physical act of love.'

'I was in no such case – months from home and from the one I cared about. And I did worry it would be spoiled between us. But I decided I would not let that happen, and I had time to strengthen my resolve. It was not easy, but we weathered the storm together. May I ask, has it always been females for you, Lindir?'

'Yes, until now. But not many. Yourself?'

'I have always responded to the person, giving less attention to matters of gender. At the time, I was with an elleth of great beauty, but after we parted, I found I could look at no ellon without trepidation. So for a time, I was changed.'

'I find I miss her, Glorfindel. I wish Kovalia were in my future and not my past. Is that… usual?'

'That I cannot say,' his friend replied. 'I would be inclined to think it not connected with the attack. It may be that she is simply a nice woman who gave you comfort when you needed it.'

'Yes. Not a sheep, nor a wolf, and not really a shepherd, but a shepherdess. If Kovalia really is the Lady who Leads, then the people will be safe in her care.' He glanced at Glorfindel. 'As I will be safe, for I have friends around me. Thank you for listening, Glorfindel.'

'You know, Elladan and Elrohir have a door between their two rooms which they can leave open. I am sure, if I asked them, they would swap with you and I. But for tonight, I will spread my bed out where I can lie with my back against the door.'

'No need. Spread it on the bed; I will be under the covers and face the window if you put your back to mine and face the door.'

'Very well. And tomorrow we will see about swapping rooms with our twins.'

'What will the landlord say, though?'

'Who cares?' Glorfindel shrugged. 'We can say we didn't like the view. But after all, we're paying him enough.'

The storm hit early the next morning and kept everyone at the inn throughout the day; it was almost midnight before it began to abate. During the evening, to pass the time, some of the locals began to sing. After a few songs, Elladan and Elrohir, quickly picking up the tunes, began to join in the choruses, following with a song of Ithilien, which was not so far away that the melody was unfamiliar, even if the words were unknown. They were applauded and complimented, Erestor translating, and asked for more.

'No, we don't know any more songs except those of home, and Lindir would be better at those!' Elladan protested.

'They are too unfamiliar, I think,' Lindir said.

'No, but you have by far the better voice! It's a while since we heard you sing, why not?'

Elrohir nudged his brother in the ribs. 'Perhaps that's because Lindir has not much felt like singing,' he said.

'No, I think I could sing,' Lindir said quickly, before Elladan could start apologising. 'Our village friends seem to like the shape and sounds of our language, even if they do not understand it. But our twins are right; most of the songs we know are very different from those we have heard, and I am not sure what to give them. I have a thought for a new work, though, and I have been thinking of sharing it with you. It has no words yet, just a melody and harmonies, but I can sing my thoughts and perhaps it will help me see how to shape the verses…'

He began to hum the soft and lilting melody he had composed for Kovalia, and when he had laid down the background melody for the twins to hum along, he began the counterpart, singing his thoughts in Sindarin.

'As she rested against my chest, as she slept, I thought how trusting she was. She had freed me from restraint, handed me a knife and presented her vulnerability to me as a gift…

'She made herself helpless to me as only the powerful can know. As only the compassionate can dare. Her simple need took away my shame, her dignity gave me back my self-respect…

'Her generosity gave value to my suffering. And so that is why I think I am in love with Kovalia.'

He repeated the last phrase again and stopped singing to find his friends staring at him as the room fell still for a heartbeat before the villagers shouted their approval, tapping their tankards on the table tops in their way of applauding the song.

'What's the matter?' he asked a gawping Elrohir, nearest him and generally the kindest of critics. 'I thought it sounded well in Sindarin, and it is but my thoughts for the content, it is not shaped yet into proper words…'

'You think you are in love with Kovalia?' Elladan echoed while Elrohir continued gawping.

'It is but a thought that came to me while I was singing…'

'Well, it's a lovely tune,' Erestor said, turning back from where the innkeeper had been asking him something with a frown on his face. 'But our host doesn't understand why you are singing about a piece of fruit…'

'What?'

'Kovalia. It is a word he knows, it is fruit, very rare, very expensive, hard on the outside and soft and sweet within.'

'But… it's Kovalia, it is about her, that is the name she gave me…'

Linder felt bewildered suddenly, unreasonably. Had Kovalia done it deliberately, given him a false name? If so, then how much else had been false between them?

'I expect it's just a misunderstanding of the language,' Erestor said kindly, seeing Lindir struggling. 'It is not the sweetest of dialects, and the word order is arbitrary and the words themselves change with more frequency than does the weather here… it makes Quenya look simple, really, Lindir… I will tell him it is a song in honour of their Lady who Leads, and that you liken her qualities of strength to endure and kindness of heart.'

'But, Erestor – if she is not Kovalia, how will I find her again?'

'But, Lindir, if she is the Lady who Leads, what could be easier than to send her a message? And if she is not Kovalia, then she might be able to find her for you. I will be glad to help translate such a message if you wish to write one.'

'True. Very true, Erestor, and my thanks. I will do so. I will wait until we get to Gondor, and I will compose a letter… but what if she doesn't want to think of me, or if she is busy?'

'Lindir, you're putting too much thought into it,' Glorfindel said. 'And now isn't the moment; I think they want you to sing it again.'