A huge thanks to my best friends, betas, and ruthless spell checkers Kiya Namiel and nienna14.

T.A. 3019
Grace

Glorfindel shook Grace's shoulder, waking her to the morning sun peeking through her eyes.

"Five more minutes, Bellethiel," she muttered, then started awake, remembering where she was. She pushed herself off of the hard ground, apologizing profusely to Glorfindel.

"It is well," he told her with a smile. "I let you sleep as long as I might, but now we must be off. I aim to reach Tharbad tonight after dark, and we shall join the Grey Company in their journey the next night. Come, let us eat and away." He handed her a small biscuit. She accepted it with thanks, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

Less than ten minutes later they mounted the horses and were off, at a walk at first, so that Glorfindel could explain to Grace what exactly was going on with her age. He began with a question.

"Do you know anything at all about elflings?" he asked her.

"No, 'cept for the fact that they are very, very rare," she replied. "I've never seen one, and I don't think there are any in Rivendell."

Glorfindel nodded. "You are correct. There are none in Rivendell, though there are a few in Mirkwood – Prince Legolas's children are three, I believe, and I have heard of the birth of a son in Lothlorien. Your friend Anessen could doubtless tell you more about him than I. But that is how it is. The Eldar, and especially the Noldor, never have children except when there is absolute peace. The Sindar ar a little different, and will have children when there is relative peace, as shown by the young ones in Lothlorien and Mirkwood. Elflings age much more slowly, in both body and mind, than do the children of the Edain, the Men. That is why you are so odd. From what you told Lord Elrond, and what he has told me, you were a child of the Edain for the most part of you life, is that correct?"

"Yes." Grace nodded.

"And when you came from your world to Arda you were an elfling, correct?"

Grace nodded.

"And that is the problem. You see, if you were an elf, at your age, you would be around, roughly, eight or nine in the way the Edain count time. You would have the body and the mentality of a mortal child of the age of eight or nine. But now that you are an elf, you did not lose any years on your age, but neither have you aged any since you are here. Your body, while being that of a forty year old elfling, believes itself to be thirteen and needs the same amount of rest and nutrition as a thirteen year old would. My theory, and the theory of Lord Elrond and Miril, is that you shall not age, mentally or physically, until you have attained forty years, when you shall begin to age at a normal rate, coming of age around seventy years of age."

Grace's eyes bugged out of her head. "I'm an elf." It began to sink in for the first time. "I'm an elf." She repeated herself. Lord Glorfindel looked at her, then reached over and gently took the reins from her unresisting hands. He slowed the horses to a walk, then to a standstill, then slid off of Asfaloth, and reached up and picked Grace off Maerwen. He held her close, soothing and rubbing her back.

"Yes, you are an elf." He told her. "You are an elfling now."

A long silence passed. Grace stood still in Glorfindel's embrace, trying to take it all in. Then the image of her sister rose to the front of her mind.

"What about Sarah? She's not an elf."

"No," Glorfindel told her, seeing the question she had left unasked. "She is not. She has Dunedain blood, I can see it in her, and she shall live for much longer than the average span of a man's life, but she will not live forever."

Grace's lip trembled, and she clenched her jaw, fighting tears desperately and to no avail. Her eyes welled up and she broke into quiet sobs. Glorfindel held her close. They sat thus for almost half of an hour, the two elves, the tall, ageless being and the young, out of time and body elfling.

Finally, Grace pulled away. Her eyes were puffy and her nose was red. There were red splotches on her face. Let it never be said that elflings cry and still have a perfect face after the fact. Glorfindel placed his hands on her shoulders.

"All will be well, pen tithen," he said. He paused, as though considering carefully what he was about to say. "All elflings, if they do not have a parent alive, receive a guardian, normally next-of-kin, close friends of the parents, or, if none of those exist, the Lord of their particular house. Lord Elrond is your guardian, as he is the Lord of Rivendell, but, if you should like, I shall be your guardian. There is no house of the Golden Flower, and Gondolin does not exist, but I am still a Lord of the Eldar."

Grace stared at him in silence for a moment. The golden-haired ellon knelt before her, his hair held off his face by two braids, his expression one of hope warring with concern. She thought about his offer. Sa-Sarah was mostly like going to die by the time she had reached her majority, and Momma and Papa weren't around. She didn't know what they were doing right then. Lord Elrond, to put it simply, scared her. Glorfindel scared her too, but in a different way. He scared her because he cared so much. No one except Mamma, Papa, and Sarah cared that much. Slowly she nodded. Her stomach gave a flip-flop, but she nodded. Glorfindel's face broke into a large grin, and he pulled her to himself again.

"Henig," he murmured. They stayed thus for a long time before Glorfindel broke the hug. He reached into his pouch at his side and pulled a small, round white stone from it, on which was inscribed a small flower, it's full petals folding out from the center. It had a small hore bored in the top. Through this he strung a leather cord, tied it once right above the hole, and then tied it again at the ends. He then carefully placed it over Grace's head, sweeping her hair out from under it when it was on her neck. It hung at the middle of her chest.

Grace's eyes watched him intently as he did this. "This is the symbol of my house," Glorfindel told her when he had finished. "The flower of the house that is no more. You shall wear it, and when I next see my Lord Elrond, then I shall have it made official. Until that time, however, it would be best to wear it under your tunic and to tell no one."

Grace nodded her understanding, and tucked the white stone under the cloth. She glanced up at the sky. The sun was already high up. "We should probably get going," she pointed out. "Don't we want to try and reach them tonight?"

"Indeed," Glorfindel confirmed. He got to his feet and helped Grace back up onto Maerwen. He swung up onto Asfaloth himself, and they were off, traveling along the new grass, alternating between galloping, cantering, and walking. It was getting on towards evening when they came to the Loudwater again. It had gotten much deeper, and was more swift than it was near Imladris. Both elves dismounted their horses and lead them forward, feeling their way carefully through the swift-moving stream. The water swirled in little eddies around Grace's legs, trying it's best to tug her off balance. She wrapped her arms around Maerwen's neck and hung on tightly. Twice she almost lost her footing, but recovered it at the last minute. Finally they reached the other shore, and made their way up the bank and onto the dry grass. Grace heaved a sigh of relief, which was quickly cut off with a shudder and a sneeze.

A cold wind blew from the north, chilling her through her wet cloths. She shivered, and decided to change.

"Um… Lord Glorfindel?" she asked. He turned around from where he was soothing Asfaloth. "Can I change?"

Glorfindel nodded, and then turned pointedly away, calling over his shoulder. "Let me know when you are finished."

Grace quickly slid her pack off of her back, followed by her quiver and bow. A minute later she was stripping off the wet trousers and pulling new, dry ones on, ignoring the more-than-slightly uncomfortable feeling of Glorfindel's presence, even with his back turned. Her tunic she let be, considering only the bottom part had gotten wet, and the skin under it was covered by the trousers

"I'm decent!" she called, and then held up her wet trousers and frowned. She didn't want to put them in the bag wet, but neither did she want to wave them behind her like some sort of flag. She settled for spreading them out on Maerwen's rump after she was mounted.

The air grew chillier as the evening drew on, and the shadows darkened. At last the stars and moon came out, and they were traveling under cover of darkness.

Glorfindel opened his mouth to call a halt for the night, when Grace's keen eyes caught sight of a flickering, orange light in the distance. A fire. "Look!" she whispered, crouching down on her horse. Glorfindel looked, and evidently his eyes were much keener, as he recognized it for what it was.

"The Dunedain," he informed her. "That is their meeting place. We shall join them late tomorrow. For this night we shall sleep here."

With that, they dismounted and made camp. Once again, Glorfindel refused to let Grace take a watch, saying that he could go several more nights like this, and that she should get some rest, because if he knew the Dunedain, they would most likely be riding late into the night to catch up with Lord Aragorn.

Grace had a hard time getting to sleep that night, her mind caught up in all that might happen when she reached the camp. She wasn't sure how'd she'd explain herself, and she was terrified that Halbarad would be mad at her. She doubted very much that 'Dan and 'Ro would, considering that 'Dan had wished her luck back at the leave-taking, but the butterflies in her stomach just wouldn't let her rest.

Softly, as he had the previous night, Glorfindel began a lullaby, this time in Quenya. Grace couldn't understand a word of it, but it lulled her off into the path of dreams.