Chapter 36 - Sunstar and Golden Flower

AUTHOR'S NOTE: 1. Many of the segments of this story are taken directly from Tolkien's work. Full credit goes to him for these; I make no pretence at claiming them.

2. I am, unfortunately, going on hiatus for a few days - perhaps a week. I'm trying to focus on my study as exams are coming up soon. I don't have a stack of work to get done, but I think I need to take a break from fanfic-ing (as I have been doing some intensive writing over the last few days) and get my priorities sorted. It's been fun doing such a big writing stint - and I promise to return soon! More details at the end.

3. THANKYOU to those who took the time to leave such lovely reviews in the last few days; I received some truly lovely feedback and feel super blessed to have so many people reading my work. :)

Now...

Enjoy the long-awaited scenes! :D

25th March, 3019 (Third Age)

Elanor stretched out her slender limbs until she was sprawled across the width of the bed. The sheets were cool to the touch, clinging to her damp, feverish skin. The watery sunlight was just cresting the mountains to the east, a welcome sight. She sighed. Her eyes were darkly shadowed, and her once-tanned face pale. Her sleep had been interrupted, tossing and turning from one side of the bed to the other.

Today's the day. Today we'll know if…

But what if… there aren't any guarantees…

She rolled over until she was facing the direction of Mordor, her chest tight with anxiety. This last night before the dawn was by far the worst Elanor had known. Her bed was a rock-hard stretch of barren land, lonely and comfortless. Every arrangement of her slender form was beset with aches, and her arms and legs a frenzy of restlessness. For many hours she had wept, wishing with every facet of her being that Glorfindel were beside her, strong arms holding her close, and not about to ride to battle.

I just want him home… I may be completely selfish, and care nothing for the fate of the rest of Middle-earth, as long as I get Glorfindel back… there is no shadow, I don't feel… there is… nothing… nothing save loneliness, and longing…

Her own egocentric behaviour was repulsive, yet Elanor could find nothing in herself to counter it. She had lost her family and lover once already; she could not bear to do so again. For days she had worn her mask well, chaperoning Georgia as she marvelled at the delights of Minas Tirith, and speaking with Boromir on occasion. The previous evening, Elanor had retired early, unable to put aside her fear any longer. Falling into bed, she had endured the night in agitation and solitude.

Sitting up, Elanor rubbed her face. Weariness was like a constant ache, but she could not sleep; would not, until this day were over. Climbing out of her bed, she moved to the wardrobe like a white-clad wraith, her nightgown flowing behind her. A moment later she had stripped to the skin, shivering as she donned the silky undergarments of Gondor. She tugged upon the bell then, summoning a maid without paying any heed to the hour. Settling onto a chair to wait, she began to pull her hair from it's braid, fingers moving thoughtlessly through the curls.

Today. Today is the first piece of news, and then…

How long must I wait for sight of him again, if he indeed still lives? A week? Two weeks? Three? I cannot bear to…

A gentle rap upon her door was heard then, and Elanor bid the serving woman enter. The maid smiled demurely despite the early hour, and helped secure Elanor's corset with deft efficiency. When her gown was laced and hair pinned, she bid the woman depart. The mirror beside the wardrobe showed a lady tired and weary, yet proud and determined. Elanor tugged a heavy mantle about her shoulders and swept out of her chambers.

As she passed out of the Citadel to the walls, a great gust of wind snatched at her raiment. No tidings had yet come, and all hearts were darkened. The weather, too, was bright no longer. It was cold. A wind that had sprung up in the night was blowing now keenly from the North, and it was rising; but the lands about looked grey and drear.

Standing upon the wall, Elanor clutched at the stone parapet as the wind clawed through her thick clothing. She looked northward, above the grey hither lands, into the eye of the cold wind where far away the sky was hard and clear. Her heart was heavy within her chest, and despite her anxiety her thoughts were still. There were no paths of the mind which remained untrod, and she had no desire to revisit the many concerns troubling her.

All other thoughts were banished from her mind, save one phrase which ran like a broken record: Eru, let them be saved. Every fibre of her consciousness was thrown skyward as she pleaded with this God who she did not quite believe existed. The prayer blotted out all else, as she lost her very self in the robotic echo.

For what felt like hours, Elanor embraced the fury of the breeze. Her body shook with chills, yet she could not relinquish her vigil. Some time after the sun had cleared the eastern mountains, she heard the sound of soft footsteps. A tousled brown head appeared at her elbow, small face uplifted to gaze over the landscape.

Merry did not question her, nor did he make idle conversation. In quiet companionship, woman and hobbit stood together, scarcely aware of one another in their own unease.

"I stand upon some dreadful brink," whispered Merry at length, "and it is utterly dark in the abyss before my feet, but whether there is any light behind me I cannot tell. For I cannot turn yet. I wait for some stroke of doom."

"Yes, we wait for the stroke of doom," sighed Elanor. And they said no more; and it seemed to them as they stood upon the wall that the wind died, and the light failed, and the Sun was bleared, and all sounds in the City or in the lands about were hushed: neither wind, nor voice, nor bird-call, nor rustle of leaf, nor their own breath could be heard; the very beating of their hearts was stilled. Time halted.

Though Elanor was not filled with dread by the menace which lingered in the east, every moment seemed a lifetime. And as she and Merry stood so, their hands met and clasped, though they did not know it, comforting one another in the absence of those closest to them. And still they waited for they knew not what. Then presently it seemed to them that above the ridges of the distant mountains another vast mountain of darkness rose, towering up like a wave that should engulf the world, and about it lightnings flickered; and then a tremor ran through the earth, and they felt the walls of the City quiver. A sound like a sigh went up from all the lands about them; and their hearts beat suddenly again.

Every pulse of blood flowing through Elanor's veins screamed Glorfindel! and her mind knew naught else in that moment. As she waited, full of desperate hope, other voices were added to the cacophony: Elladan… Elrohir… Gandalf… Aragorn… Éomer… Eärendur… Legolas… Sam… Gimli… Pippin…

God, can't you just finish this! her mind screamed, every nerve stretched to the point of fraying. Bring an end! Let them live! If they are to perish in the saving of Middle-earth, I no longer wish to remain; if we are to succeed and I must live, save them also!

And as she stood, Elanor began to cry. Tears rolled unheeded down her pale cheeks. This burden, this war—it had been thrust upon her, and she could not help but feel she was unequal to the task. The world was surreal; she had dwelt upon Arda for many months, and yet the notion that she was in another world and facing the end of all things was so bizarre that her mind could not wrap it's feeble tendrils around it. It was one thing to accept the people of Middle-earth as home, but the brooding possibility of an apocalypse and death for the mass innocent was too vast for her to conceive. Instead she bent her thought upon those who mattered to her, for even if this world was alien and impossible—love was not. Love could be grasped, felt, embraced; love was all that remained to her, and she would bind herself to it as long as those whom she loved endured.

"Do you think that darkness is coming, Merry? Darkness inescapable?" Elanor asked, her voice low and filled with sorrow.

The hobbit turned to her, his own face damp, and yet a light was in his eyes. "No," he said, looking up at her. "I do not know what is happening. The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days. But my heart says no, and all of my limbs are light, and a hope and joy are come to me that no reason can deny. I do not believe that any darkness will endure, Lady Elanor." And with that he squeezed her hand.

And so they stood on the walls of the City of Gondor, and a great wind rose and blew, and their hair, brown and golden, danced upon the breeze. And the Shadow departed, and the Sun was unveiled, and light leaped forth; and the waters of Anduin shone like silver, and in all the houses of the City men sang for the joy that welled up in their hearts from what source they could not tell.

And before the Sun had fallen far from the noon out of the East there came a great Eagle flying, and he bore tidings beyond hope from the Lords of the West, crying:

Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor,
for the Realm of Sauron is ended for ever,
and the Dark Tower is thrown down.

Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard,
for your watch hath not been in vain,
and the Black Gate is broken,
and your King hath passed through,
and he is victorious.

Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West,
for your King shall come again,
and he shall dwell among you
all the days of your life.

And the Tree that was withered shall be renewed,
and he shall plant it in the high places,
and the City shall be blessed.

Sing all ye people!

And the people sang in all the ways of the City. But while this message of hope was proclaimed, Elanor bid Merry a half-hearted farewell and slipped back towards the Citadel. A maidservant informed her that Lady Georgia was in her suite, desiring to speak with her.

Blinded by tears, Elanor muttered a hasty excuse to avoid company and stumbled into her own chambers. Body shaking, she fell upon the sofa. These tidings brought no reassurance of her friends' survival, and yet she could not help the welling up of relief which calmed her spirit. For some time she sobbed, and when she could weep no more she rose and washed her face.

So the first battle is won, and now—we wait once more.

She knew she out to be glad beyond measure, and whilst she heard the glad rejoicing within Minas Tirith, Elanor's heart was not yet at rest.

I'm so… selfish and worrisome and cowardly… why can't I be glad simply that the battle is won, as Merry and Éowyn are?

The question was met with silence, and she sighed heavily. She would go to her sister, and to the others who dwelt in the City, and she would be joyful for their sake because there seemed naught else to do; still her heart would not be satisfied until a certain golden-haired Elf held her in her arms, and several others stood behind him ready to do the same.

The days that had followed the triumph of the Lords of the West were golden, and Spring and Summer joined and made revel together in the fields of Gondor. And tidings now came by swift riders from Cair Andros of all that was done, and the City made ready for the coming of the King. Faramir did not go, for now being healed he took upon him his authority and the Stewardship, graciously given by his brother, although it was only for a little while and his duty was to prepare for the one who should replace him.

For Elanor, the interlude was full of desperate impatience. The flood of good news brought no tidings of Glorfindel, though a message from Lord Aragorn on behalf of her foster-brothers pronounced their survival at the very least. A summons had come with this message, bidding that Elanor ride with the wains to Osgiliath and thence by ship to Cair Andros. Full of trepidation, she had prepared to depart. Merry had also been summons, and whilst Éowyn remained with Faramir, she had been reluctant to leave Georgia behind. Thus, the younger Miss Ravenscroft had been assigned a horse, and joined the fifty-mile journey to the Field of Cormallen.

The first day of their journey had been utter torture, during which Elanor longed to kick Fundanár into his light-footed gallop. The carts bearing great stores of goods, intended for the triumphant army, moved with a blithe disregard for the peculiar woman's impatience. They had then boarded an elegant ship, leaving Fundanár regretfully behind, and journeyed north upriver. They were escorted by a small company of soldiers, comprised from the mixed garrison left behind to defend Minas Tirith, under orders from Lord Boromir.

He did not have to give you an escort, you know… you're not technically, well… anybody.

Elanor glanced down at the deck of the ship upon which she stood. The boat rose and dropped with the swell caused by the fresh spring breeze which also tousled her hair as she lingered near the rail.

Too be honest, I didn't even really spare half a second for that…

She had been received by Boromir on more than one occasion in his private suite over the previous days, and though she had hardly been in the mood for social calls, there was something comforting in the gruff companionship of the almost-Steward. For an instant she had contemplated that perhaps her behaviour all those months ago in the corridor had stirred some deeper feeling than friendship within the elder son of Denethor.

Rubbish, she told herself. I would be a poor choice politically, for I have no connexions to speak of, and I am almost twenty years his junior! He could be my father!

…coming from the woman who professes to love an Elf several thousand years old?

She pushed that notion aside. To all intents and purposes, Glorfindel looked like a man of twenty-five to thirty at most; with all of Elanor's reading on the previous ages of Middle-earth and university-acquired knowledge, it was possible to forget the extensive age-gap. Boromir, on the other hand, wore every day of his forty years, perhaps due to the many years of fighting he had endured both on the battlefield and in the home. It had taken Elanor but a moment to discern that the relationship between Boromir and Denethor had been strained at best, despite the father's pride in his eldest son.

Besides, if Glorfindel doesn't have a problem with the age gap, neither do I…

Well what happens when you grow old and die and he lives on forever?

…I'm certain Boromir doesn't have a thing for me. He was merely being kind, and it was thoughtful of him. He's ensured that I appear as someone of rank, of importance. Considering all that he's already done for me—and that I embarrassed him properly by drunk-kissing him—it was exceedingly lovely…

That's not the point! We're not talking about Boromir, we're talking about an Elf…

Elanor gripped the rail with white hands.

It's just another thing I can talk to Glorfindel about when I get there, if he's…

She shook her head to cut off the thought. Glancing to her right, she saw Georgia speaking with Merry at the rail further towards the stern of the ship. Her sister's countenance was brightly animated, and the hobbit seemed in good spirits also. Whether the conversation was appropriately guarded or not, Elanor did not know; and, as she returned to her perusal of the river's gleaming surface, she found she did not care. Georgia was a secondary concern to reaching the side of her beloved.

If he's alive.

Can you stop with the fatalistic comments already?

As the sun arced overhead from east to west, Elanor kept her lookout upon the Anduin to the north. She had very little idea about how long it took to traverse the fifty miles from Minas Tirith to the Field of Cormallen in North Ithilien, but any length of time was too long in her mind.

Elanor trod carefully upon the gangplank, placing each foot with precision so as to avoid tripping and falling headlong towards the bank of the river. Before her walked Merry, chatting as befit his nature with one of the soldiers of Gondor who accompanied them. Georgia walked at her right hand, hazel eyes busily taking in all that she could, and behind were two more soldiers, one of Gondor and one of Rohan.

The ship had docked upon the eastern shore of the Anduin. The sand of the bank met a stretch of green grass, and thus became a cluster of beech trees. Through their young leaves the noonday sun glimmered, green and gold. all the air was full of a sweet mingled scent.

Elanor's heart thudded within her chest. Her eyes, wearied from lack of sleep, took in the fragrant beauty of Ithilien as though it were surreal. The strip of beech trees was sparse, and through it Elanor observed a wide green land. Behind them lay a wooded isle—Cair Andros. She felt distinctly light-headed as her slippers trod the springy grass.

Merry and the Gondorian soldier led the way past the thin screen of beech trees to the meadow, and upon it were passing some other men-at-arms. They were clad in various degrees of armour, milling about upon the green or in company with one another. There were not a great many, but Elanor spied other glimmers of plate armour amongst the trees surrounding the meadow, along with rows of snowy white tents. It appeared that the majority of the army were at rest, regathering their strength within the camp rather than standing to attention.

Georgia's gaze roved about the meadow as they crossed, busily drinking in these heroes of the war. Elanor's grey-green eyes were fixed directly ahead, for across the stretch of emerald grass the trees resumed, and amidst them was an archway which led through the well-tended greenwood. As they stepped beneath the boughs, the path wound beside a flower-bordered stream, bubbling merrily. Beyond was another grassy space, this a smaller lawn, bordered by dark-leaved trees laden with scarlet blossom.

About this lawn was positioned many tents, bearing the various standards of the leaders of the Armies of the West. Foremost among these was the banner prepared for Lord Aragorn by Lady Arwen, and to it's left was a white horse running free upon a field, and to the right, silver upon blue, a ship swan-prosed faring on the sea.

These three pavilions were divided in two halves, the front being a sitting room of sorts and open to the sweet air which flowed across the lawn. There were several other tents pitched about, presumably belonging to the various commanders—and, Elanor hoped, her foster-brothers and Glorfindel.

As the company of half a dozen reached the brink of the lawn, a tall golden-haired man stepped moved forward to greet them. Half an instant's observation revealed to Elanor that this was not Glorfindel, but Éomer, and his eyes roved between halfling, soldiers and the pair of women.

The Rohirric soldier at the rear of the company saluted the new King of Rohan.

"My Lord Éomer," he said.

"Léod; where is my sister, the Lady of Rohan, if not in Ithilien?"

Elanor barely managed to stop herself from frowning with impatience. Éomer's brow was lowered, and though he appeared tall and kingly as he stood before them, she had no desire to listen to his tirade about Éowyn's absence. She knew perfectly well that Éowyn had elected to remain behind, conflicted about her feelings towards both Aragorn and Faramir. Having encountered Éomer's pride and suspicion on more than one occasion, it took all of her self-control to bite her tongue. She cared nothing for the moody king's tantrums.

He's already wary because I dwell in the company of Elves; no need to make things worse, she reminded herself. Above this mental remark was a musical yet haunting chant: Glorfindel.

"Lady Éowyn bid me bear these tidings, my lord: that she would remain within the White City, awaiting your return, for she elected to dwell a little longer in the Houses of Healing."

Éomer's frown deepened, and he gave a curt nod.

"Thankyou, Léod."

He glanced past the soldier to those who stood behind, and seemed to see them for the first time.

"Lady Elanor; Master Meriadoc; it is well you have come." His sharp blue eyes turned to Georgia then, and gave her an appraising stare.

"Thankyou, your Majesty," replied Elanor, her tone rather snide as she dropped a fleeting curtsey. "This is Lady Georgia, my sister."

Éomer's frown did not lighten, and after another moment he inclined his head. "You are welcome, Lady Georgia; it pleases me to meet one of Lady Elanor's kindred."

Elanor braced herself internally for a gross faux pas, but was pleasantly disappointed. Georgia curtseyed gracefully and smiled up at King Éomer through her thick lashes.

"I am honoured, my lord."

Éomer made a low hmph sound in his throat before returning his attention to Elanor. "The Lords Elladan and Elrohir occupy a tent upon the eastern side of the lawn, my lady; behind the pavilion belonging to Lord Aragorn."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Elanor smiled. "Thankyou, my Lord King."

Éomer bowed rather than mincing words, and strode off in the direction from whence they had come. Feeling as if she would scream if she had to bother with the courtly courtesies any longer, Elanor smiled to the soldiers who stood nearby.

"Thankyou for escorting us thus far; my sister and I shall no longer be in need of your protection."

"As you wish, my lady," said the one whom Éomer had called Léod. The three men departed in various directions.

"Where are you heading, Merry?" Georgia inquired of the hobbit.

"I don't rightly know," he replied, glancing around. "I suppose I will go in search of Pippin, but I'm unsure of where he is, precisely."

Georgia smiled. "That's all right, you can come with us."

Great. Thanks Georgia.

"Come," Elanor said instead, striding forward. Few people stood upon this smaller stretch of grass. The Prince of Dol Amroth could be seen within the outer part of his pavilion, but Aragorn was nowhere to be seen. Striding past his tent with little regard for Georgia and Merry following, Elanor's bleary eyes sought for sight of her foster-brother's dark heads.

Many smaller tents were pitched behind those of the Kings and Prince. Elanor felt her stomach begin to flutter with anxiety, and her heart was palpitating as if she had been running. Rounding the corner, she plunged headlong into a dark-haired figure: Legolas.

"Aiya! it is Elanor!" he cried, catching her hands up in his. His waist-length brown hair floated behind him like a satiny mane, and his cerulean eyes sparkled. "Here is a surprise most welcome and yet unlooked for!"

"Legolas," Elanor smiled through her weariness, as the merry Elf twirled her once around. "I am pleased to see you safe and well."

"And I you!" he laughed. Glancing over her shoulder, he noticed Georgia and Merry. "And Master Meriadoc! A joy multiplied. Yet I am afraid I know not the identity of the fair one who accompanies you both." Releasing one of Elanor's hands, he stepped towards Georgia. "What is your name, lady?"

Georgia was grinning broadly. "I am Georgia; Elanor's sister."

Legolas's face registered his great surprise. "Your sister, Elanor! 'Tis a glad day indeed! The Shadow is vanquished, and your family hath been returned to you. I am delighted to meet you, Lady Georgia. I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, of the Woodland Realm." With that he bowed, twisting his fingers in a gesture of greeting common amongst the Elves.

I've never been able to manage that one, Elanor mused.

C'mon Elanor, focus! Where on earth is Glorfindel…

Georgia laughed, her cheeks bright. Holding up her right hand with palm flat, she separated her pointer and index fingers from the fourth and pinkie. Elanor could have buried her face in the turf knowing her younger sister had just greeted Prince Legolas with the Vulcan salute.

Legolas, however, took this in his stride, and attempted to mimic the gesture. "I am not well acquainted with the courtesies of your people, Lady Georgia," he smiled, though his deft fingers formed the sign easily enough.

That lady sniggered, stealing a mischievous glance at Elanor. "I can teach you later, don't worry. We have lots of gestures Elanor may not have taught you."

Eru save me…

Wanting to slap her sister, scream, cry and fall asleep all at once, Elanor touched Legolas gently upon the arm.

"I hate to shorten this joyous greeting Legolas, but would you be so kind as to bring me to my foster-brothers? I desire to see them."

The Elf nodded, several strands of russet-coloured hair slipping over one shoulder. "Of course; you must long to be reunited." He looked at Elanor a moment longer than necessary, his blue eyes twinkling, and then gestured in the direction they should go.

Does he know…?

How could he, unless Glorfindel has told him?

Well, he might have, you never know… maybe they get all deep and meaningful when they're faced with the possibility of death…

Elanor was rapidly losing any concern for propriety or for ceremony. Hurrying that they might lower the chances of meeting anyone else, she stumbled towards the opening to the tent which Legolas had indicated. A grey-cloaked Ranger stood near the door, but she paid him no heed; brushing the flap aside, Elanor nearly fell inside.

Four figures were seated upon mismatched chairs; two identical Elves crowned with raven hair facing the tent door, a dark head that Elanor did not recognise from behind—and a golden-haired lord who also sat with his back to her.

He's alive! He's alive! He's alive!

Her knees grew weak as the song of utter delight and triumph filled her being. Her mind echoed with the harmonious chorus—Glorfindel was alive and well.

And Elrohir! And Elladan! And Legolas!

"Elanor!" cried Elladan, rising from his chair so hastily that it fell over. Elrohir joined him on his feet, scarcely a second behind his twin.

Elanor faced those she called brothers, yet her gaze moved unconsciously to the golden-haired figure who had whirled to face her as fast as he could manage. For an instant her eyes met his, and she saw in Glorfindel's handsome face the light of relief, joy—and love.

Then she was seized by the sons of Elrond, who in their delight at the victory over Sauron and pleasure at seeing her seemed to disregard all propriety. Elladan seized her about the waist, whirling her up and about like a dancer in some kind of movie. A moment later Elrohir had clutched her hand and embraced her in his turn. The fourth man within the tent—whom Elanor recognised as being Halbarad's second-in-command when she saw his face—seemed utterly different when a smile lightened his weathered countenance.

"And who is this?" Elladan smiled, leaving Elanor to Elrohir and half-dancing towards Georgia.

"I am Georgia, Elanor's sister," the latter heard her say, mirth in her tone as Elrond's sons frolicked forth in joy.

"It is good to see you, nethig," Elrohir smiled, drawing Elanor back to her present state. The younger of the twins looked down upon her radiant eyes—an expression she was unaccustomed to observing upon him. Despite the tension within her, the sight of Elrohir's unbridled exuberance was not without effect. She laughed merrily, relieved to see him safe, well and as full of childlike delight as the other Elves she had known in Rivendell.

"And you, brother," she replied, thinking how different the manner of his greeting was to the stern departure of the days previous.

He shot Elanor an expression of amazement as he moved to join Elladan in welcoming Georgia. She watched in weary amusement as her foster-brothers greeted her younger sister in their ebullient manner, before moving on to Merry. The hobbit stood about with an air of supreme contentment as the sons of Elrond proclaimed their utmost pleasure at seeing him once more.

A gentle touch on Elanor's sleeve caused her to turn around.

Glorfindel stood before her, his blue eyes fixed upon her face. Elanor returned his stare wide-eyed, taking in the sight of his chiseled jaw and fine cheeks, the straight nose and well-formed brow. His long golden hair was fastened back, and he was clad in Elvish tunic which accentuated the clear colour of his eyes.

Without breaking stares, he reached for her hand. Gently, he drew it to his mouth and kissed it, warm lips brushing her hand and causing shivers to pass down her arm. He did not speak, every emotion transfixed in one loving look.

Elanor's knees promptly gave out, causing her to stumble and nearly end sitting on the grass floor of the pavilion. Glorfindel caught her halfway to the ground, strong arms grasping her shoulders and drawing her back to her feet.

"Are you well, sister?" inquired Elladan, anxiously, moving hastily to her side and brushing her cheek with his hand. She nodded, finding that suddenly her eyes were full of tears.

"I—I'm fine, Elladan. I just—I need a breath of fresh air. I am very tired," she added, in explanation, and whilst the Elf did not look entirely convinced, he nodded. "Please, do not be anxious on my behalf. I just need—I need a moment. If I could just go outside—"

Her mind was spinning desperately, as if it balanced upon a needlepoint and teetered precariously in every direction. Her legs did not appear to want to do her bidding, as every hour of lost sleep caught up with her in a sudden rush. It was as if a great damming up of water had been released at this sudden removal of tension, pouring forth in an uncheckable wave. The giddy relief at seeing those she cared about safe and well was enough to utterly bewilder her. And thus, to the great concern of the others within the tent, Glorfindel half carried her to the entrance.

"I shall attend her; do not trouble yourself, Elladan," Glorfindel said, his voice seeming to come from a great distance despite his nearness.

"Do you want me to come?" Georgia inquired, stepping forward as if she would join them.

"Nay, lady," came a new voice; Legolas had entered without Elanor realising. "I am sure she shall recover best in solitude."

Feeling as if she could hug Legolas for his tact, Elanor allowed herself to be led falteringly to the door of the tent. Her vision blurred dangerously, but Glorfindel had an arm positioned about her shoulders and waist. As the brighter light of the meadow assaulted her vision, Elanor dropped to her knees. She shook uncontrollably, bent halfway into the foetal position upon the turf.

A gentle hand slipped itself about her waist and beneath her knees, and an instant later Glorfindel had scooped her into his arms. Elanor squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to block out the light. Her head throbbed.

It was not long before her vision was darkened, and a little time after that ere she realised that they had passed into shade. She begged her eyes to open, and reluctantly they obliged.

She was lying on her back, and about her vision was a frame of blossoming flowers. A tree stretched protectively above her, and foremost within her sight was a concerned face bearing traces of tears which bent over her, cradling her head.

"Glorfindel—" she croaked, reaching up to his face.

"Elanor."

She struggled to sit, and a capable arm aided her. Pulling her legs towards her, Elanor took a deep breath. The fresh air had revived her somewhat, and she was so glad merely to sit upon the springy grass. Glorfindel's arm supported her, and as her eyes regained their focus she realised that he had carried her to the edge of the grove, twenty metres or so from the tents.

And then she turned to his face.

Tears sprang to her vision as she drank in the sight of him, blurring all her senses until she could see nothing more than the golden outline she loved so much. She felt the fingers of one hand brush her chin, the other stroking her shoulder as he knelt at her right shoulder. Elanor pressed her eyes shut, his feather-light touch causing her heart to swell within her chest. He reached up to dust the tears away.

"Elanor," he repeated, fingers moving across her cheek to the line of her jaw.

She opened her eyes.

He was looking at her with such earnestness that she was scarcely able to quell another rush of tears. The utter devotion in her face was more than she could bear. In it was written everything she had missed and longed for; the loss of her boyfriend and subsequent loneliness, and the aching pain added by the repeated goodbyes.

He's alive. And he's here.

And he loves me!

She smiled then, reaching out with her own hands to grasp his face, one on either side of his jaw. Everything about him was perfection as he leaned closer, whispering her name as their faces drew close. His aroma mingled with the scents of Ithilien, a heady smell which almost sent her dizzy once again. They sat for some time, unmoving; the lady sitting with her legs askew beneath her voluminous skirts, and the fair Elven-lord kneeling by her side.

Tucking a strand of hand behind her ear, Glorfindel smiled.

"May I kiss you, Elanor?"

Elanor opened her mouth to speak, but her voice failed her. She nodded in response. Then her cheeks flushed pink and she looked down, feeling unexpectedly shy as she looked at the handsome Elf before her.

Glorfindel laughed softly and leaned slightly closer. For a moment they hesitated, faces so close that his breath was her own; then he pressed his lips against hers, ever so softly and then with growing firmness. Elanor shifted so her legs were drawn beneath her and she kneeled facing him. She let her hands crawl down his neck and into his hair, marvelling at its silkiness as his kisses intoxicated her.

Barely a second later, Glorfindel slipped one hand behind her head and gently ended the kiss.

Elanor's stomach felt as if a fleet of butterflies had been set loose there, soaring about with flagrant disregard for the fact that insects were not supposed to dwell in one's digestive system. As Glorfindel moved back from her, hands retreating from her back and hair so they clutched her fingers, Elanor closed her eyes.

When she could finally look upon him once more, she gave a watery smile.

"Forgive me; I did not think to inquire if you were well," she laughed weakly.

"I am well," he replied, squeezing her fingers. "Though I was not quite so until I saw you, dearest Ellie."

How did I live without him before now...

She drew one of his hands upward until it was sandwiched between her own fingers and her cheek.

"I love you," she whispered. "I'm so glad you're alive, and I love you."

Glorfindel laughed merrily, removing his fingers from her cheek and clasping both of her hands together between them in his jubilance.

"I love you too, Lady Sunstar."

So I couldn't *not* include the Elanor-Glorfindel reunion in this chapter! Seeing as I'm going away for a few days to a week, I didn't want to leave you all in suspense. There's nothing more frustrating than a cliffhanger just before the two elements of a ship get together! So out of sympathy I chose not to put you in that position by uploading this now, and satisfying the completion of this Glorfanor vessel.

Basically, this was hard to write. I didn't want Elanor to have too convenient a reunion with Glorfindel, nor did I want to draw it out unbearably. I hope I made it an appropriate length, covering her desperate conversations with the others whom she values before moving on to her encounter with her love. ^_^

I really hope the characterisation of Elanor, Georgia and all of the others is ok in this one; I was pretty tired when I wrote and edited it, but I don't really know what else to do. I honestly can't think of any other way to have them reunited, and I struggled to even compile this to begin with. I dreamed about it last night because I was so wrapped up in trying to figure out how my heroine and her love would behave when they saw one another again.

Anyways, really hope you enjoyed it. Let me know if you have any strong opinions or critiques of the writing/plot elements. :)

I hope you all have a great time, and I'll be back in a week or so.

Thanks team!

Finwe.