A/N: Well…I owe everyone a HUGE apology…I AM VERY, VERY SORRY THAT IT'S TAKEN THIS LONG FOR ME TO UPDATE. I won't give excuses…but I will say thank you to everyone who left the reviews even though we haven't been updating for a while…and an extra big thank you to those who read it in one sitting. You deserve cookies, all of you. In the mean time, though…here's Chapter Twenty-Five…finally.
"Stop bloody well doing that!"
Anyone walking past Glorfindel's tent must have been rather confused. Periodically (and getting more frequent) similar shouts would drift across the remaining camp of the Alliance, usually accompanied by Fiona's answering cackle of glee as she beat me – again – at chess.
"What?" Fiona asked innocently, as she once again achieved checkmate.
"Winning!"
She giggled. "You walked right into that one."
"I did nothing of the sort!"
I tend to get indignant and huffy when I don't win. I'm sure Fiona must think that I was whining, but I was most certainly not. I don't whine – and I don't pout either. I snarl and scowl. There's a large difference.
For a while, there was silence as we reset the board and started again. If they hadn't been Elves one could almost see the guards – redoubled since the escapade at the gates – looking at one another and rolling their eyes. Silence rained supreme. And yes, 'rained' was deliberate. You could practically hear it 'plink' as it dripped off the roof.
(You'll pardon me if I stop the story for a long giggle at my stupid mixed metaphor. Fiona just asked me what I was giggling at – she was obviously expecting something about Glorfy. I think I might have just surprised her. She's looking rather annoyed with me, but I suppose in a good way. Anyway…)
"Put my queen back on the board!"
"Why? I took it fair and square!"
"Because rooks can't move diagonally!"
"Shit." I knew that – I was just hoping she wouldn't notice.
The game we were playing was chess, of course, but we weren't playing with modern pieces. Glorfy had spent an entertaining twenty minutes attempting to explain to Fiona and I the rules and regulations of Elven chess. This lasted until he got fed up/called away to General something, and left. So Fiona and I designated the differently carved stone figurines chess pieces and have been playing for the past few hours.
Rather, Fiona has been playing. I have been loosing badly and repeatedly in between catching up on my journal. It's pretty much all I've been doing since I woke up two days ago. Not all I've been doing, of course. A lot has happened since I woke up, as is always the case, and I have something to tell anyone who's reading this – and it may shock you.
I am now Mrs Glorfindel of the Golden Flower.
I know. It took me as somewhat of a surprise too, and I was there!
"Rhiannon? It's your turn."
I flicked a pawn into position without looking at the board. I probably shouldn't do that. Although, chess is a game of strategy – my strategy is to just move bits until I win. I don't have the head for straight logical thought. No doubt you've noticed this.
Anyway, back to the Mrs. Glorfy part.
When I woke up two days ago (well, the night before last, actually), it was brought to my attention that not only was Fiona going to marry Gil-galad in (from that point) four days, I was a small vow away from being married myself.
Perhaps you remember Elrond's rather bland description of the finer points of Elven behaviour? Well, I'd already done some…exploration…in that area that very day (erm…night), so I knew all about that, but…
It was Glorfy who'd dropped the bombshell on me the day after I'd woken up (yesterday), when he referred to me as 'my wife' in front of Elrond who'd come in to check on the bandages and sew up a couple of bits I'd torn when I'd flung myself at Fiona.
Naturally, this had me confused. My experience with weddings has always come from being either in them as a flower girl, or at them watching. But they've always had ceremonies and they've always had long winded speeches, and dresses and flowers and cake and rings and everything that basically hasn't happened to me yet. If someone's going to be calling me "Mrs" anybody, I'd like to be there to find out to whom I'm going to be married.
Furthermore, I'd at least like to have a say in the matter! I don't recall even saying that I was going to marry anyone just yet, even if that anyone was my Golden Glorfy! And now I find that a surrogate mother must speak the vows for me, and a surrogate father for him? And that they could even do it when I'm not there, just so long as Manwë and Varda and Eru and whoever happen to be called as witnesses witness?
This is bloody insane! I'm eighteen farkin' years old, for crying out loud! I should not be married!
Now, in all fairness to Glorfindel, I can see why he went ahead and made all the arrangements and so forth. He has, as you might have noticed, a highly developed sense of honour, and we did bond one another nearly completely…only nearly, because no one had said the vows for us.
Of course, I could always follow my mother's example…though she didn't get married at eighteen – she got married at twenty and had three children by twenty-six.
Children! Good Jebebus! I could end up with children! In the middle of a war! I know how the war's going to turn out, and who's going to win (unless our messing about has caused some serious plot changes…now there's a freaky thought for you!), but I also know that there's at least six more years of watching Elves and Men and horses and Orcs die, and horror, and all the sorts of things that I really don't want to remember, but have seen way, way too much of already. There is no farkin' way that anyone could persuade me to bring children into this – Varda knows there's already too many young boys running about carrying messages, boys that remind me so much of my little brothers…boys that are, at the most fourteen. What are these bloody idiots thinking?
Back when I was alive I sometimes went on rants about how stupid the age-restriction systems in Canada are. Someday I'll tell you about them, but for now, let's just say that as asinine as Canada's age-restrictions are, they're shit loads better than Gondor's.
I know this doesn't make much sense, in the context that I'm writing in. Canada, as I know it, doesn't even exist. I don't even know if we're in the same dimension as the Canada I know, or whether the land around here is going to change so much that it becomes the Canada that I know, or even Europe. And, on top of that, most people around here don't even know what a democracy is or means, and probably wouldn't like if we told them about it. After all…how can the majority be more right than the king?
The other day – You know what? I'm going to save this bit of rant for when I'm a little less emotional about it. Suffice it to say, children do not belong in war. When I'm better again, I'm going to have a long talk with Gilly and Elendil. The men might go pissy and blather on about honour and so forth, and it might not occur to them that putting children in armour and telling them to die is wrong, but I'm going to have words nonetheless. Hopefully before we get moved into Mordor.
In the mean time, I still haven't finished telling you about how I became Mrs. Glorfindel.
Yesterday afternoon, Berialagor slipped into the tent, gave Glorfindel and Elrond a pointed look, and then sat down by my side. It was only after Glorfy and Elrond left that I began to speak.
"I can't believe what Glorfy just said!" I glowered. I was not in a happy state when Berialagor found me, and it was largely over that comment of Glorfindel's I mentioned earlier. "His wife indeed. We haven't even been married yet!"
Berialagor was silent a moment, studying me closely.
"And to be married to him is a bad thing?" she asked eventually.
"No, it's…I mean…" I clamped my mouth shut. This was working out to be an interesting afternoon. "I don't know. I'm only eighteen." That last really should have explained everything.
"I have been delegated to explain to you what it is you must know," she said slowly. "Why it is that Lord Glorfindel referred to you as such." She took a deep breath. "And, I must ask your consent on a matter very much important."
"Shoot," I said. She looked confused for a moment.
"Ah. You mean 'continue.'" I nodded. She continued. "You are getting married today."
I sat straight up, this time remembering to hold the blanket to my chest.
"What?" The question came out as a squeak.
"You are only half bonded," Berialagor continued. "The vows must be said in order to make the bond both legal and binding."
I stared at her and then slowly lay back down. "Bloody hell." So that's why Glorfy had referred to me as his wife! Because I damn near am. Well paint me purple and slap me silly! I wanted to apologize right then to Glorfy, but when I tried, I realized he was keeping his mental distance. Oh well…plenty of time for that later. "What do I need to know then?"
Berialagor smiled, and gave me a basic rundown of the upcoming ceremony and what it meant.
"I have one question," she began after she'd finished, and after a lengthy silence wherein I attempted to process what had just happened.
I nodded, and looked patiently at her. Or, at least, it might have been patiently. There was a numbness creeping up from my toes that had nothing to do with smelly medicine or battle wounds and everything to do with the need to grow up being suddenly dumped on my shoulders.
"I have already been granted the honour of acting as your sister's mother in her up coming marriage to the Lord High King," Berialagor began. The numbness reached my stomach as I realized what was coming next. "I would ask, if you would permit, that since you are sisters I act as your mother also." She stared anxiously at me.
I blinked up at her.
"This is all a ploy to get me to settle down, isn't it?" I asked, most certainly not the right thing to say at that moment. Berialagor looked hurt, and then swallowed her obvious disappointment. She looked down and away from me.
I felt bad, through the numbness. I know that sentence doesn't make any sense, but tiddly boogles. That's what I felt.
"Sorry," I continued, grabbing the Elf-maiden's hand. "This is coming as a bit of a shock. I'd be honoured if you acted in the place of my mother."
Berialagor looked up and smiled prettily. Armour really didn't suit her as much as she'd likely want it to. "Thank you, my Lady."
"If you're going to be my mum," I said dryly, "calling me 'my Lady' probably isn't the best way to go about doing it."
"I believe you are correct, my La-" My eyebrows shot up. "Minaimîr," Berialagor finished, a faint blush about her cheeks.
Afterwards, Berialagor stood from my side and went to where my pack was propped up against Glorfindel's desk.
"Your sister mentioned that the Valar found it fit to give you an evening gown upon your crossing," she said. "May I please look for it in your bag?"
I nodded, though it wasn't until after she'd opened it that I remembered that, not only was there a great deal of chocolate in that bag, but a box of condoms also. I hoped that she wouldn't ask questions about them, like Glorfindel had done that day of the Chocolate Incident. I didn't, of course, protest the idea that the Valar and Valier had seen fit to give me a gown on my crossing. Berialagor could be dead wrong, but then, she could also be dead right. And until another explanation of how we got here presents itself, I'm willing to go along with that thought.
When she pulled out the dress and unfolded it, she tsked a little to herself and shook it out. I got my first look at it, and I must say, I wish I'd looked at it properly before, because…well, hot damn!
In the colours of twilight, that really deep blue that I absolutely adore, shimmering fabric made up the bodice and skirt. A netting of sparkling silver extended from the waist over the deep blues and purples, all the way to the hem of the skirt. The sleeves weren't so much sleeves, as translucent, silver straps, wide enough that they would cover most of my shoulder, and then splitting off to form draping trains that reached nearly to the hem too. And there was a built in cape! In a smoky colour of dark bluish purple, it attached to the neckline, dipped down way in the back to just below the shoulders, and trailed out behind the skirt in a flowing, waterfall-like train.
"Wow," I said when Berialagor had finished shaking the wrinkles out. I was somewhat surprised that in all the beatings that pack has taken, nothing in it was damaged. The Orcs that had captured us hadn't had the time to go through it, and the Men that had kidnapped us from our tent had only thought to bring it along to act as evidence of our running away.
Well, I suppose that aside from that, the packs hadn't been through that much. But still…they were hardy little things, and weren't torn at all. But they were rather dirty. At least, the outsides were…Anyway my point is that the dress wasn't damaged. And it was beautiful. Definitely what I'd call an 'Elf Dress'.
Berialagor helped me put it on, making sure that my recently re-fixed wounds weren't reopened again. The dress fit perfectly, which I was more-or-less expecting. If the Valar were the ones who'd given it to me, then I suppose having it not fit would have been silly. After I'd gotten the dress on and smoothed over my hips and so forth, Berialagor sat me down at Glorfindel's desk and went to work on my hair.
I don't know where she'd gotten the hair clips and pins and combs and generalized stuff from, but they were gorgeous. Silver and gold and some white metal, twisted and hammered and forged into knots and complex, flowing patterns held my hair back, dangled from my ears, circled my waist and arms, and…was that a crown of sorts that Berialagor just put on my head? After my hair was up out of the way, she produced vials of powders and other sorts of make up. I don't know where she got these from either, but I wasn't complaining. I wouldn't have thought that Elves needed make up of any sort, but I didn't complain about that either, when she held up a Glorfindel's small mirror so I could judge the effect. And I was rendered speechless. I must say – I looked damn good! Glorfy had better like it.
"I am proud that I can act as mother to a bride as beautiful as you," she said into my dumbfounded silence. Which didn't help with the silence, but certainly brought tears to my eyes.
"So am I," I managed. I cringed because I sounded rather…egotistical, but then…I did look damn good.
"There is just one more thing for you to wear, but the Lord Glorfindel will give it to you. You must give him this." She held out her hand, palm up, offering me a thick, silver ring. "Put this on the first finger of his left hand."
"Okay," I said slowly, wondering what it meant.
"It is a sign that you are engaged," she explained. "Ordinarily, you would have worn this ring for a year and a day at least, but…times being as they are, it is understandable why you and Glorfindel have chosen to perform the ceremony now."
I didn't say, 'you mean, why Glorfindel decided to perform the ceremony now, right?' because that would have been rude. And, truthfully, if Glorfy and I hadn't done some…exploring…then I probably wouldn't be in this mess right now. So I really only have myself to blame for all of this. Damn my impatient hide!
When Berialagor had finished helping me prepare, she left. A moment or two later, Glorfy and Elrond came back in. I tried to smile at my Elf, but it didn't work quite like I'd wanted it to. My facial muscles just didn't want to comply, and I felt strangely distant from my surroundings. Even the pair of them bowing low to me and uttering the most flowery of speeches – or did only Elrond speak? Glorfindel, I think, was rather shocked. I don't remember him speaking, even in my mind.
But none of this really phased on me. As I put the ring on Glorfindel's finger, and he put a matching one – though smaller – on my left hand, I realized that I really wanted to talk to Fiona before anything else happened. But she wasn't there and Berialagor had told me that she was now staying in Círdan's camp.
Elrond bowed apologetically to me when I asked him about this.
"Your sister accompanies the Lord High King in the processional," he said. "It would be out of place for her to enter the tent."
I only nodded, not having the energy to protest this. Elvish customs are convoluted and complex, no doubt owing to their unbelievably long observance.
"I would that your wounds did not mar the beauty you are, especially clothed such," Elrond continued. "But I fear that there is naught I can do to make such wounds invisible at this time. Be glad that they will not heal with scars, save for the deepest on your leg and shoulder."
I knew that the bandages looked something awful next to the richness and beauty of the dress, but there was nothing I could do about that, so I simply nodded. It was the most I could manage at that point anyway. I wasn't really listening that well. Why would it be out of place to talk to my sister before my own wedding?
"You are fit to walk, my Lady," he began again and then checked himself. "Or, rather, fit to be moved." I bit back a sarcastic comment about how this would have been good information to have before Berialagor had gotten me up and dressed.
Glorfindel, with a strange look on his face, picked me up and took me outside.
At some point, while I was out cold, someone had given me a bath. I'm suspecting Glorfindel, though – really – I think it might have been Berialagor. She'd definitely be a better option than Elrond. Whatever – point is, I didn't smell bad (except for the lingering of Elrond's medicines) and the dirt and grime and dried blood was no longer covering every part of me. Which made me feel a lot better. There was no sign whatsoever of that skimpy bit of armour that I'd worn into battle, but I'm hoping that it will never be used again. Or copied. Or spoken about. Ever.
When I got outside, the world still held a wonderful newness about it, as though everything had been remade since I'd been out of commission. The sky overhead was a bright blue – rare this close to the Mountains of Shadow. Fluffy white clouds sprawled across the sky, drifting slowly in the wind. I inclined my head in greeting to Manwë and Ulmo (Ulmo of the waters, in alliance with Manwë to make the clouds and rain and mist…air and water working together…Told you I'd read some of The Silmarillion.) It was a silly action on my part, to nod in greeting to two supposedly fictional pseudo-gods of the Elves, but then, I was currently conscious in a supposedly fictional world of Elves, so I'm not going to jinx anything by not acknowledging the apparent makers of Arda. Especially when they might just be responsible for getting Fiona and I into Middle-earth in the first place.
I thought, in the juxtaposed beauty of the day, I could hear birds – I could hear crows and ravens and other carrion eaters out on the Dagorlad, but those weren't the birds I was thinking of. On the edge of hearing, songbirds were chirping…
Fiona met us outside, accompanied by Berialagor, Gil-galad, Elrond and…Círdan? Is there any other Elf with completely silver hair? The other Elves bowed slightly, and Fiona came forward a little. I don't think she noticed the sharp look Círdan gave her. I would have given her a hug if I hadn't been in Glorfindel's arms.
"Hey," she said. "You ready for the big day?" She looked nervous, excited, sad, happy…I'm not entirely sure what other emotions there were, but there were several. She too had been made up, and stood in a simple, but gorgeous, dress of pale blue belted with golden flowers. Her red-gold curls were held back with jewelled combs and braids and more of the same twisted metal ornaments adorned her. I noted that someone had done her make up too.
"I'm a little dazed," I confessed. The enormity of the situation still hadn't – at that point – truly sunk into my mind. The numbness was still in the way. All Berialagor had said about the actual ceremony was that I had to hold Glorfindel's hand and listen to the words that were going to be spoken. Of course, she hadn't told me what those words were going to be, but I was suspecting that they'd be in Elvish.
"You look dazed," Fiona agreed. She swallowed hard and looked back at Gil-galad, who was smiling faintly at her, but still keeping up the kingly façade for the sake of anyone who'd walk by.
The camp was nearly deserted. A long column of Men and Elves and horses were steadily marching through the Black Gates. I guess forces had been sent ahead, to make sure that no Orcs ambushed them while they were on the march – that would only make sense. More Elves surrounded us, dismantling the tents and camp, readying provisions and supplies…moving into Mordor to stay. That thought chilled me somewhat.
I would rather that this ceremony take place by the sea, Glorfindel said in my mind as we walked away from his tent, towards the command pavilion. He still carried me, though I barely noticed that we were moving. I found my eyes locked a head of me, staring at nothing. Not from pain, but…from a curious hollowness, a surreal sensation that was telling me that this was all a dream. It was only the throbbing of the wounds in my shoulder and my leg that kept me believing that none of this was, ipso facto, a dream and that I actually was on my way to get married.
"Can't help the scenery," I muttered aloud and Glorfy chuckled. I realized that my nervousness was not simply my own, but his as well and shared through our bond. Ah…so I'm not the only one who's going to be affected by this then… I looked back at Fiona, and realized that there were a few faces in the suddenly larger party that I hadn't recognized.
"Hey, Fiona!" I whispered, motioning her to come closer. She walked behind Glorfindel and I a little, and to the right. Berialagor walked next to her, which I suspect had something to do with family ties. Círdan was the same distance away, only to the left. And I think, if my brothers had been there, they would have been with him. "Who are those two twin hotties back there?"
Fiona giggled nervously, looking behind her. I didn't have to glance up at Glorfy to know that he was staring directly ahead with an expression completely devoid of emotion plastered all over his hot features. I wondered briefly if I was going to be 'punished' for this bit of teasing later.
"Those two," Fiona said, "are Túmagol and Túmegil, the latest additions to my personal guard."
"You mean you get more than just Berialagor? I would have thought our surrogate mum would be enough."
Glorfindel snorted. I ignored this, sensing an almost golden opportunity to have some fun coming up.
"I," Fiona said with mock imperiousness, "am to have a personal guard of eleven, as befits a Queen of Elves."
"Eleven?" I shrieked and I felt Glorfy cringe. "What the bloody hell are you going to do with eleven guards?"
"Not a whole lot," Fiona muttered. "Especially in the getting with child business. What's more, is after that, the number of my personal guard is going to double, or even triple, as befits a Queen of Elves with child."
I didn't catch most of what she said. I nodded and shrugged, and it wasn't until a few moments later that something Fiona had just said filtered through the odd detachment of my brain and did a dance on my vocal chords. My next shriek was louder than the last. "What do you mean, 'with child'?
Fiona winced, glanced around and then motioned for me to keep my voice down. Glorfindel's studious expression was locked forward, although I could feel his amusement bubbling about under the surface.
"I'm not with child, you idiot!" she whispered hoarsely. "But everyone else," she gestured behind us to where Gilly, Elrond, Círdan, some Elf, the twins, Gildor, Isildur and some guy who looked a great deal like Isildur and Elendil were walking along in a stately manner. "Everyone else seems to treat me like…like…"
"A prized brood mare?" I asked, the first grin I'd noticed for a while actually coming to my lips.
"Yes!" she hissed. She looked up at Glorfindel, who still hadn't looked our way. I giggled a little, and Fiona and I were silent for a moment, giving me time to think.
Prized brood mare, eh? Well, I suppose that's what you get for falling for an Elf King. 'Lines of succession', and all that. Not that it really matters, in this case, but I can understand why it is the other Elves are so worried about it. Hmmm…would they do the same to me, because I was becoming the mistress of the House of the Golden Flower? Or since Gondolin had fallen in the War with Morgoth, was I in the clear?
My grin slipped suddenly – what was about to happen had finally sunk into my consciousness.
Hold up, lovely, I said in Glorfy's mind. And put me down.
Minaimîr, now would not be the best time to –
I really need to talk to Fiona, I insisted.
But, melyanna, the –
"Glorfindel," I said aloud, in the loudest, firmest voice I could muster, "if you do not put me down right this instant, I swear, I will throw a fit so large you'll have to drag me to the altar, or whatever bloody form of table you're going to be using!" I heard the stately steps of the Elves and Men following us falter and stop. Glorfindel stopped too, looking down at me confusedly. Círdan coughed politely and stepped forward.
"My Lady Minaimîr, this is most irregular," he began.
"Save it," I answered roughly. You wouldn't have thought I was speaking to someone who'd been around since the Elves woke up. "I have to talk to my twin. Glorfy, put me down."
"My Lady," Círdan began again, "the processional has begun and cannot be halted –"
"It's going to be," I said with a glare, "because I have to talk to my twin!"
"Perhaps such conversations should have been held befo – "
"Perhaps they would have been, you daft bugger, if you'd let my twin out of your bloody camp for more than two minutes at a time! Now, if I'm not mistaken, this is my damn wedding, so you are going to stop this processional right now, you crazy sot, or I'm going to get pissed!"
The look on Círdan's face was…priceless. There's no other word for it. It was a mask of shock and horror and nervousness, blended together with a sickly grin…argh…just call it 'priceless' and be done with it.
"'Hell hath no fury'," Fiona quoted in an undertone. She was looking back and forth between Círdan and myself nervously, quite obviously wondering just what the hell I was getting up to now, and whether or not Círdan was going to get offended.
There was a moment of pure silence, broken only by the snapping of canvass in the wind, and a few barely contained sniggers from a couple of soldiers who were supposed to be at work taking down the tents. And then Glorfindel put me down gently.
"Thank you, my darling," I said to Glorfindel, beaming at him with adoration. "I'll be right back." Good boy, I added in the confines of our private communication network. He choked a bit, but was so stunned by my outburst that he didn't respond. "Fiona?" I grabbed Fiona's arm. Thankfully she let me lean heavily on her as I hobbled away a distance on my one good leg, one hand holding up my skirts.
"Holy hell," Fiona said after we'd gotten some distance and I'd borrowed a handy log from an all-to-eager-to-please Elvish soldier to sit on. He was a nice boy – even spread his cloak over top the log to save our dresses. Fiona sat down next to me. "Do you have any idea who you just yelled at?"
I glanced back towards the halted processional. The Elves and Men were milling about like confused sheep. That's not really a fair simile though – you can confuse sheep by bleating back at them. (I'm sure you could confuse an Elf quite sufficiently by bleating at one, but I won't get into that.)
"No," I said sarcastically. "Who was it?"
Fiona giggled. "That's Círdan the Shipwright," she said, though I knew full well who that silver-haired Elf was. "You just yelled at the Ship Builder, one of Ereinion's Generals, your fianc's surrogate father, and one of the oldest living things on this planet. And you called him a 'crazy sot'"
"I called him a 'daft bugger too'", I said with a grin. "Besides," I added with a shrug, "Tom Bombadil's older." I wondered how I'd gone from distant to involved to indifferent in so short a time.
"True," Fiona said with a matching shrug. "Although, it's never really been decided if Tom Bombadil or Treebeard was older."
"Whatever. Think we'll get to meet them? The Ents and Tom Bombadil, I mean."
"We've got eternity," Fiona answered.
We fell silent for a moment, watching the confused bunch of Elves and Men watch us watch them. Glorfindel stood some distance away from everyone else, though he looked instead towards the West, rather than towards everyone else. I gathered the impression from my fiancé that he was praying.
"You reckon I should go through with this?" I asked after a good long while. I could tell that the others were getting impatient. At least, the Men were. Isildur and the dude who looked a lot like him (Anárion?) were talking together and were practically bouncing from one foot to the other like children who couldn't wait one more second in the bathroom queue.
"Well," Fiona began slowly, "do you want to?"
"That's my problem," I answered. "I don't know. On the one hand, he's damn hot, he's mine, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with him." Fiona snorted. I knew she thought Gilly to be the hotter of the two, but her opinion on my Glorfy's hotness wasn't the issue. "And on the other hand…" I trailed off.
"I know," Fiona said. "We're eighteen. We shouldn't be getting married."
"Yeah. We should go exploring first. Check out Middle-earth, and hot Elves, and that sort of thing. Go see Lórien, and the forests, and all those places that are going to change big time."
"I wish it were that easy," Fiona said after a while. "And it might be, for you. But I've got to marry a king, and Círdan won't let me near Ereinion so long as we're 'unwed'. Did you know Ereinion's mother is still in Middle-earth?"
I raised an eyebrow. "No, I didn't."
"She is. Círdan sent away to her for a lady in waiting for me."
"Bloody hell! Does he ever stop meddling?"
"I know. I feel like…"
"The rug's been pulled out from under your feet and you don't know if the furniture's still going stand?"
"Yeah."
I sighed and rested my head on her shoulder. "What are you going to do when this is all over?" I asked. I didn't ask, "what are you going to do when Gil-galad falls?" because we'd been carefully skirting that issue ever since we'd met him. But Fiona picked up on what I was asking anyway.
"I don't know," she said truthfully. "I honestly don't know."
"Well, whatever it is," I said. "We'll do it together." She nodded. We watched Gilly and Círdan have somewhat of a heated argument, and then I looked back towards Glorfindel, my Golden Elf, where he stood in the sunlight looking more beautiful than I'd ever seen him. His armour had been polished to shine like mirrors. Under his armour, his clothes were finely cut and the greens of summer fields. His hair was braided back in some complex manner…but he looked remote, removed from everyone else, and not just because he stood apart. I could almost sense the physical barrier that held him at distance from the others, could almost see the slight sagging of his shoulders as he feared…
…that I would not go through with this wedding, that I would leave him alone to fade and pass while I gallivanted off about Middle-earth. That, even if I did marry him, I would be claimed by the war because of the belief that Fiona and I had been sent by the Valar. I reached a decision.
"Okay," I said, and felt tears forming behind my eyes. "Help me up."
Fiona stood and offered me her hand, which I grasped and used to haul myself up.
"Bloody hell!" she said, wincing. She waved her arm up and down. "Did you have to grab me so hard?" I stuck my tongue out, and tried to hold the tears back. We stood a moment in silence, looking out over the camp, towards the halted processional.
"I don't want my life to change," I whispered, looking up at my younger twin. There were tears in her blue eyes now.
"I know," she said. "But change is all we have to look forward to now. If we resist it, we'll fade."
I looked around again, and then back up at the sky. It seemed impossible that I could become so melancholy that the colour of the sky wouldn't hold it's beauty for me any more. The clouds drifted across, driven by the wind, and changed their shape. It was an Age before I took a deep breath.
"Let's go," I said. My throat felt thick as Fiona helped me back across the camp, to the halted processional, to my waiting fiancé, and to hers, and to the change that was inevitable.
I now understand why it is that the parents must say the vows, rather than those who are actually cementing their bond, or whatever it is you call it. My throat was so bloody thick, as I stood there next to Glorfy, with Fiona to my right, and Elrond to Glorfy's left, that I don't think I could have gotten two words out edgewise. Especially not over the constant stream of Elvish words and chants and general invocations of various members of the Ainur. But Glorfy kept up a constant translation as Gil-galad spoke, so it didn't all go over my head.
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today –
You're bloody kidding me, I thought at Glorfy. That's not what he actually said!
Glorfy chucked in my mind. I know. I found that phrase in your memories, when you thought of the past weddings you had attended. I thought that by mentioning it, I could relieve some of the tension you feel.
I smiled. It worked, though only a little, I answered. I'm still wound up tighter than a friggin' watch-spring. What's our illustrious High King actually saying? I asked.
He asks that Eru Ilúvatar come forth and witness our union, Glorfy supplied.
Ah. It's Rhiannon's Astute Comment of the Week. I sniffled, and the sound struck me as incongruous in that setting. Sniffles aren't what one expects, in so sombre a moment that stern and/or regal faces were common on everyone's face. Except Fiona's (who was beaming, despite wetly shining eyes), Berialagor's (same expression), Glorfindel's (I know he looked all smooth, but he was scared shitless. His eyes were giving him away), and my self, who found the sudden sound of stopped sinuses amusing.
It made me want to giggle. I smothered the urge, of course, but you know how it is. Always, during an important or ceremonial event, when one is struck by the urge to laugh and smothers it, suddenly, everything becomes very, very funny and the ability to keep the giggles locked inside eventually goes out the window.
This is precisely why I started biting the inside of my lip hard, why Glorfindel's eyebrow suddenly rose as Círdan stepped forward to invoke the blessings and presence of Manwë Súlimo, and why I screwed my eyes shut as Círdan spoke, while at the same time holding my breath.
Minaimîr, Glorfindel warned. This is hardly the time or place.
I know, I answered helplessly as I tried to breathe and not chortle at the same time. That's why I can't stop laughing! I didn't dare look at Fiona's face. One look from her, and I think I would have started laughing outright and wouldn't have managed to stop for anything. I'm half surprised she didn't nudge me with her elbow or something. But I'm rather glad she didn't. It wouldn't have helped at all.
I would have given anything to be allowed to giggle aloud, but you know Elves and their dignity. I forced myself to sober up as Berialagor stepped forward to invoke Varda Elbereth and her blessings. By the time Berialagor and Círdan put my hand in Glorfindel's and then loosely tied a length of white ribbon around our wrists, I was nearly calm again.
Truthfully, though, I think my reaction to the sniffle was more of a diversion my mind cooked up to keep me from weeping uncontrollably for joy and sorrow and bittersweet moments, and for the fact that none of my family where here to witness what was happening. Then again, maybe I'm just the sort who'd start sniggering at her own wedding because of a sniffle. Whatever. Point is, I wished my mum and dad and siblings could be here too, and – though I'd buried it – it hurt a lot that they couldn't be.
Oh, I know I had that dream, while Glorfy carried me back from the clutches of Orcs, but…as nice as it would be for the PTB's to let my family members attend my wedding in their sleep, somehow, that just seems like too much sap for the real world to allow.
I know you'd all love more sap (who doesn't?), but I need to get back to the story.
I would that your family could join us also, Glorfindel murmured in my mind. I would dearly like to meet them, though I fear your memories will have to suffice.
How sweet! I pushed tears back behind my eyes as I accepted a simple gold ring from Berialagor. I held it in my hand, and resisted the urge to stare at it as though it was the instrument of the change in my life, rather than this whole ceremony and giving in to carnal delight in the first place – and pushing things ahead by pulling that stupid stunt with the Gates. Instead, I just looked up at the blonde god of my existence and was struck suddenly by how utterly strange the sight of us together must be to anyone else. Barring the children in the camp, I have to be the shortest person here. I barely top five feet, and it's a wonder that Glorfy doesn't make comments about how I'm a Dwarf or something, because he is a skillianth of a willimeter under seven feet. I'm just about level with his elbow. Now picture that from behind, and I won't blame you if you giggle.
Even so, after I spent a moment or two wondering whether or not the other Elves thought I was still to be considered an 'Elfling', I just had to wonder what my dad's reaction to all this would be, and my face split into a wide grin.
Dad would go berserk, I said.
I assure you, my Lady, Glorfindel replied stiffly as he accepted a smaller golden ring from Círdan, that I would behave honourably towards your father, for I would wish his blessing on our union.
And I assure you, my Lord, that my father would throw every single test and method of interrogation in the book your way, put you through the ringer – both mentally and physically – and generally make your life a living hell until he was quite sure that you deserved me. I added that last quite smugly.
Glorfindel smiled himself, the first real expression to make it through the dignity of the situation.
Well then, melyanna, he said as he slipped the golden ring he held onto the index finger of my right hand, unto the end of my days would these tests and tasks be asked of me, for I shall never deserve you.
I damn near dropped the ring meant for him. It took me a moment to rally, but rally I did.
Flattery will get you everywhere, I told him. A throbbing that I'd been ignoring steadily since the whole ceremony had begun reminded me of my wounds. Just as soon as I'm well again, I added, bringing the ring closer to Glorfy's fine boned hands. But then I stopped, hesitating just one last time. I looked behind me, ignoring the pain in my shoulder, to where Fiona stood next to Berialagor. I offered her the briefest (and most bittersweet) of smiles, which she returned with a sniffle.
Laughing out loud, I put the ring on Glorfindel's finger.
So yeah. That's how I became Mrs. Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin, even though Gondolin no longer exists and the mountains it was concealed in are now buried under the sea.
I've lost track of how many games Fiona and I have played now, though I recall only winning (by pure luck) approximately five. I've been distracted, I guess…and no small wonder. That gold ring on my finger is quite distracting. And so, of course, is my new husband.
In my current state, our honeymoon wasn't much. But my dear Glorfindel does have some interesting red welts on the side of his neck that the regimented hairstyle (braided back, that is) won't allow him to hide. I believe even Elrond laughed at him this morning, when he showed up at the command pavilion to assist in the tail end of the tournament and the moving of the camp. I could feel his blush all the way across the camp.
But I can't laugh. I've had my hair down all day to hide the matching ones he left on my neck. Which Fiona had the good grace not to comment on, and I've been pretending they're welts from the Orc collar. Really though, I'm suspecting she's guessed the reason for them and just isn't saying anything.
Or, and this thought just occurred to me now, she's preoccupied with her own upcoming wedding to Gil-galad and she hasn't even seen them, recognized them for what they are, and/or had the will to comment on them even if she did see them…am I confusing anyone?
Fiona's getting married tomorrow. Despite having gone through a wedding myself – and being the bride in that wedding too – this fact still scares me. Not because I'm afraid Fiona won't be happy; I know she will be. Even though we have spent so short an amount of time amongst the Elves, I know very well that Gilly loves my twin with all the fibres of his soul, even if he cannot show it because of his duties. What I am scared of is Gilly's duties and the fact that she will have duties herself as Queen, and they're not always going to be either pleasant or wanted.
For instance, from what I've heard of gossip around the camp (mostly from Glorfy and Fiona), my twin is required to become pregnant at the first available opportunity. This to ensure a royal succession.
This is making me wonder, though I will not say these thoughts aloud to Fiona. I don't keep secrets from my twin, but I don't want her happiness with Ereinion (Gilly, I know you're the king, but once you become family, either by marriage or whatever, I get to use your right name. That's just how it works.) to be diminished because of a certain fate. Whatever. What I am wondering is this:
Is there time enough left before the end of the war for Ereinion to get Fiona with child? And since the Elves did not have a king after Gilly because Elrond refused the crown (and they wouldn't have a new king anyway), doesn't that therefore mean that Gilly never had any children? At least, none that were recognized, anyway?
These are dark thoughts, ones that I'd rather not have. Because I am afraid for my twin – she loves her fiancé as much as he loves her, if not more, and I am dreading the day when they finally destroy Sauron, because that's the day that Gilly falls.
Enough of this, though. Fiona is happy now and untroubled with these thoughts, and I don't want her to think that I'm depressed and try to get the reason out of me. Because, as I said, I don't keep secrets from her, and while she is a capable woman, I'm protective of my siblings and I want to make sure that she doesn't have to worry about this. I probably should say something, but…how can I, when she is worried enough as it is over her wedding tomorrow?
Her wedding, of course, is going to be a huge deal. Mine was pretty big – one of Ereinion's generals getting married is a big deal, at least amongst the brass knobs at the top, and there were a lot of people waiting in the command pavilion that I hadn't even paid much attention to until afterwards. But while mine was a big job, hers is going to be HUGE. True, it's going to take place in front of the gates, but instead of just a few of the top officials mingling after a short (it felt like forever) ceremony in the command pavilion, the entire friggin' army is going to be at Fiona's. Plus whatever nobles and such that could make it in the week that the wedding was announced. Fiona is going to be the focus of attention of every Elf, Man, Woman and child there. And I get to stand next to her while she's doing it.
And, of course, she won't be able to pull anything like my stunt and halt her own processional. Hers is a wedding that must go exactly by the book, and I feel bad. I can goof off, to an extent, but Fiona is under a lot of pressure to be the perfect Queen of a culture she's only been a part of for about a month, maybe more.
So that's part of the reason that we're sitting around in my new tent while my husband (I'm still getting used to that) is off general-ing things. One, to keep her away from Ereinion – though, to be truthful, if he came looking for her here I wouldn't stop him – and two, because it takes a load off her shoulders. Plus, I want to sit with my sister for a while before she gets tied up too much in her Queenly duties. Not that I won't be with her then, but…well, I think you know what I mean.
Really though, I can't see her having too many 'Queenly duties' until the war's over, and, truthfully, I don't know when that's going to be. All I know about this war was that it lasted seven years, Sauron bites the dust and Isildur ends up acting like an ass and thinking that memory is contained in objects. I don't know how many of the seven years it took them to actually get into Mordor, or on what day that the war ended, but I did know that I was not looking forward to spending that much time in Mordor. I said as much to Fiona.
"Really though – what else have we got to look forward to?"
She shrugged. "I dunno. Travelling, children, living in Rivendell, or Lórien…or Lindon! I'd love to go there."
"Yeah, me too," I said. So far, all we'd seen of Middle-earth consisted of the camp, the Dagorlad, several miles of swamp and a few trees. I grinned. "Who knows? Maybe one day there will be an Elf orgy of Oiliphantic proportions."
I don't really need to say that I couldn't really dodge the pillow that was chucked my way, but I was laughing over her indignant "Rhiannon!" anyway so I didn't really notice that it hurt my shoulder where I still had the bandage. I only stopped when I fell over and my left leg screamed.
"Ow," I said between laughs. "Owwy ow ow ow!"
"Serves you right," Fiona said between her own giggles. "You're a married woman!"
"Doesn't mean I can't fantasize," I returned, gasping for air.
Minaimîr! Glorfy's shocked voice flooded my mind. Well, I guess he didn't appreciate the image I'd just send him, one conjured up entirely in my mind, of…well, an Elf orgy of Oiliphantic proportions.
Yes? I answered, attempting to exude innocence telepathically across the camp.
He didn't reply, but I could sense his shock. Not outrage, or anger or anything like that, but shock. As though he really didn't expect me of all people, to have an image such as that in my mind.
Then again, maybe he couldn't answer because I had (as a joke. I swear) pictured Círdan running about in a dress with flowers braided in his long silver hair. That might have scared him more than just a little.
Hee hee hee, I said, and echoed myself aloud.
He didn't answer, and I figured that I was going to have to have a talk with him. I squashed the sudden fear that we might have rushed things just a little too much – getting married after a few weeks? Had we gotten caught up in the emotions and so forth concurrent with large battles? Eternity is a very long time, after all…
Then again…even surrounded by spectacularly gorgeous Elves twenty four seven, I can't picture myself with anyone but Glorfindel. Not a single Elf,
Good lord…I'm a sap. And a tired sap too. I think I'm going to take a nap, since Fiona's beaten me at chess again and has run out to see about a spot of supper. So…yes, I shall leave it here for a bit, and hopefully I'll get back to this when my shoulder isn't screaming and my head isn't pounding and there isn't a lingering smell of pounded herbs and grease.
A/N: Sorry to leave it like that…but I figured that 13 pages was long enough…and you readers have been patiently demanding more for some months now, so I thought it best to get this posted. Hope you've enjoyed…and I'm terribly sorry again for having not posted for so long…still friends?