Hello community!

Anyone up for a long one? :)

Thank you to everyone who is still with me on this, especially our kind reviewers. You are valued beyond measure! As before, I am posting piecemeal whenever I can, to do a small part in keeping people amused at home. In these trying times, please stay home (if you can), stay safe and stay kind :) Stay connected if you can too, and drop me a line whether it is about this fic or if you have other concerns :)

Some housekeeping: The Epilogue is getting longer and longer but is still at 3 interludes lol. Below is Interlude #2. Part of my usual Afterword will be posted after it too. Last time I tackled the Timeline, this time there will be notes on Characterizations and Themes.

I hope you enjoy the reading as much as I enjoy the writing, and as always, constructive C&C's are not just welcome but genuinely cherished. Best Wishes and Good Health to everyone!

And so without further ado:

# # #

Epilogue

# # #

Interlude 2/3: Strangers, and Old Friends

T.A. 3018 in Rivendell, After The Council of Elrond

# # #

Every step brought him closer until he was suddenly, almost simply there...

Strangers from distant lands and friends of old have all descended upon the House of Elrond. They were brought together by providence, each one bearing a piece of the puzzle that depicted either their collective end, or ultimate victory over Sauron.

They were still putting it together.

Glorfindel, like all the most senior members of the Household, had been summoned posthaste to sit for the Council which included, to his great surprise, the fair countenance of a cherished one he had not seen in half a century.

Legolas of the Woodland Realm.

He and a handful of Mirkwood elves had, for a reason that would be known later, made the perilous journey to Imladris. They caught each other's eye immediately, even in a crowded hall. They drifted toward each other across that stretch of strangers' sea, navigating around the swells and currents of people who have somehow become nothing but shadows.

They settled beside each other, shoulders brushing.

"Are you real?" Glorfindel murmured at the other, this time. It echoed Legolas' question of their recent past, but gave no voice to the reason behind the tender inquiry: I think of you often.

For Glorfindel had. He imagined Legolas in just these precise settings, beside him. Glorfindel's borrowed home was magnificent too, and too often he had dreamed of sharing it with the distant, beloved ernil.

"Last I checked," Legolas murmured back with a slightly jaunty, tender smile. But the levity was fleeting. He had a strained look about him that Glorfindel recognized easily: Rossenith's potion at the edges of its remaining effectivity.

"I can smell blood on you, Legolas..."

The younger elf gave him that princely, dismissive wave. "It will hold," he said with certainty. "There are more immediate concerns."

Elrond called for the Council to begin. They parted, and both sat in their respective designated places, each amongst their own people. All too quickly, the reason why they were all there unfolded before them.

Legolas, for his part, came bearing ill news: the escape of the wretched, tormented creature now known as Gollum. They all bemoaned this loss and all that it implied for the evil in their midst, Aragorn most of all: "How came the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust?"

It was a hasty condemnation, and Legolas had been rightly distressed by it. The more he said though, it was clear to everyone that the elves of Mirkwood had paid handsomely for accepting Aragorn and Gandalf's charge of holding Gollum their prisoner.

They were still paying for it, as far as Glorfindel could tell. Legolas' reaction to Estel's words had been open and passionate, with little trace of the princely reserve Glorfindel knew him for. The glacial blue eyes also held a kind of cobbled restraint to them... and Glorfindel could tell Rossenith's potion was barely powering him through the Council.

They all came to a collective conclusion on the best course of action: the destruction of the One Ring where it was forged, to be borne by the Ringbearer, Frodo, with a very few, yet-unknown cast of comrades. The composition of this group would require further thought and deliberation, though Glorfindel grimly expected he would be a part of it.

Before any move could be made from Rivendell however, scouting parties had to be sent out on all possible routes to Mt. Doom. Planning for this required a smaller party of tacticians, and Elrond dismissed the Council and set a later meeting over the matter with a more intimate group.

"I would like to offer the services of myself and my soldiers in this endeavor," Legolas said, quickly coming over to Elrond upon the conclusion of the Council . "Certain areas in the northeast are our expertise, and with our recent arrival our observations of the road are the most timely."

"I was hoping you would ernil-nin," Elrond said with a small bow. "Thank you. But I would see you and your men looked after first. You've just arrived, and from what I can surmise – it was rough going."

Legolas set his jaws and pressed his lips together in annoyance, and Glorfindel saw it in his eyes – indignation, impatience, urgency, and profound dissatisfaction with the slower progression of things here after his harried journey. He took a deep breath and began, testily-

"With all due respect, my lord-"

"Legolas."

It was Estel, who appeared at Legolas' side. He looked contrite, which Glorfindel knew from experience raising the adan in Imladris that he had realized the undeserved harshness of his words and was now going to be irrepressibly repentant. Legolas, who glared at Estel and rolled his eyes up to the heavens in fond exasperation, apparently knew it too.

"I will see it done adar," Aragorn told Elrond. He took Legolas assuredly by the elbow and steered him away, in a forceful familiarity the wood-elf somehow not only allowed, but found huffing humor in.

"I can smell the blood on you, foolish wood-elf," Estel reprimanded him too – echoing what Glorfindel had said earlier. Unlike Glorfindel though, he was not dismissed and he was bold enough to be more irreverent and intrusive. "A moment of proper tending will clear your mind and make you more effective. You seem well enough, but just so I'd know to steer you either to guest quarters or the healing halls, would you at least tell me what you have done with yourself?"

Legolas laughed, albeit wearily. But his mad eyes softened, warmed, crinkled at the sides. "Rooms, if you please, mellon-nin. You would know to fix me best, I suppose."

Glorfindel watched them walk away.

"You cannot know what he's come to mean to me," Legolas had told him once, of Estel. Glorfindel did not know what it meant then or now. What he did know was that love could be such a capricious force. It made him feel mighty, as if he could do anything for the younger elf who claimed his heart. But at the same time it also made him feel helpless against the objectively small... for wasn't jealousy so wretchedly petty, looming larger than it deserved, compared to all the danger upon them?

Glorfindel sighed, and wondered if he had perhaps already been replaced.

"Damn it all," muttered Legolas suddenly, and Glorfindel stepped their way, for though he could only watch their backs with his view from behind, he saw the wood-elf raise his hands and his fingers were bloodstained.

"Legolas-!" Aragorn barked at him, biting back a scolding in favor of stopping them both in their tracks and looking for the source of the bleeding. Legolas swatted at him impatiently.

"It's fine it's old," Legolas said quickly, "I just didn't realize... I hope I didn't make a mess-"

"Lord Glorfindel," Elrond called for him to join a small party of the Household's senior-most elves.

He hesitated. But Estel seemed to have things well in order and he was needed again, and so he came toward Elrond.

He worried though he shouldn't have - Estel put the Woodland Prince promptly back in working order and elf and man were both present and participative at the tactical meetings that followed Council.

The hands of the King, Glorfindel recalled, were indeed the hands of a healer.

As for the heart of a prince... who knew what in all of Arda went on in there, and whoever owned it now.

# # #

Once resolved, all who were invested in the conclusions of the Council of Elrond decided to move quickly and decisively. The night was spent in rest and preparation, and the dawn marked the time they had to leave for scouting.

The two golden elves were objectively the best fighters of their militarily active kin. This was why they had to be on separate troops for the scouting missions that would set out from Rivendell in various directions, with the goal of plotting the best route for the Ringebearer and his yet-unknown Fellowship to go to Mordor.

Glorfindel concluded his affairs early, and headed for his rooms. As he walked down the winding residence halls of Imladris, he stretched his otherworldly senses and opened his soul out to Legolas' – wherever the wood-elf was. Glorfindel unobtrusively welcomed him through, if he so desired.

It was like beginning a familiar tune low on the breath and waiting for someone to join in and make it a duet...

Just as he had done before, Legolas' sweet strains followed as hoped.

The quiet hum of their old song, made and learned and remade together long ago beneath the eaves of Eryn Galen, first followed Glorfindel as he walked. It dogged his steps and then overtook him, and he could only scramble to follow it. Suddenly his heart knew the way, and his feet brought him there – the intricate double doors that led to Legolas' princely quarters.

It was unlocked and he let himself in.

All the balcony doors and wide windows were thrown open, letting in the moonlight, letting in the sound of waterfalls, letting in the soft bite of the coming winter, letting in the smell of autumn leaves, letting in the cool evening breeze. The latter stirred at the gossamer curtains, and they cast ghostly shadows about the room.

From their light billowing folds, that wild child of the dark forest pounced, and Glorfindel breathlessly wondered if wood-elf princes ever came onto anyone with any modicum of sanity, just before his world spiraled and the ground fell beneath him.

Suddenly his back was to the bed, and there was an insistent mouth over his lips –open from the very moment they touched, and now biting too... eventually drawing blood. At the salt of it on his tongue, Glorfindel thought – by the gods, he had well over a century of pent-up, hungry longing too.

His fingers tensed and curled to claws.

He grabbed Legolas at the nape and pulled him closer. The golden tresses tangled in Glorfindel'a digits, and he knew he had pulled at hair because the elf straddling him released a soft yelp and a huffing laugh. Glorfindel swallowed it, and they kissed smiling.

Legolas was incendiary, and Glorfindel was on fire...

When the night deepened, they said good night and parted.

When the dawn came and they met in Imladris' grounds, they greeted each other good morning.

It was almost simple.

"You keep flitting in and out of my life," Legolas told the older elf, quietly and face nonchalant as they checked their provisions and weaponry at the quartermaster's office.

The two elves were surrounded by similarly occupied comrades, and some not-so-occupied ones who pretended busyness to be in their proximity and not-so-discreetly watch them.

"I could say the same of you," Glorfindel murmured. "Thankfully you've some similarity with Garavon's birds."

"Evasive? Fluffy? Enjoys fu-"

"You'll know your way back to me," Glorfindel told him fervently, setting aside the humor.

Legolas' lips curved into a slow, indulgent, generous smile. It was a rare but familiar expression, one Glorfindel had only seen benevolently granted upon a view of Eryn Galen not so long ago.

Now bestowed upon Glorfindel, he felt as expansive and precious as the Woodland Legolas loved, the land the prince would kill, die – and hopefully – live for.

# # #

Legolas beat him back to Imladris when they returned weeks later.

Glorfindel arrived after his company's own scouting route, and he was delighted to hear the wood-elf had already been safely back for a few days by then. He sought Elrond first to debrief with though, only to be told the Lord of Imladris and the Prince of Mirkwood were in the same place: the training grounds.

He stalked straight for it, not even bothering to divest himself of his traveling clothes and gear. That Legolas would be there was no surprise. Elrond, on the other hand, was a rarer sight lately owing to his other more pressing duties.

Once there, Glorfindel found what he could only describe as an exhibition. A loose circle of spectators and undoubtedly bettors making wagers on the outcome, surrounded two combatants on dulled sparring swords. A good number of the spectators were bruised and bloodied soldiers, apparently having had their turn and lost. They cheered and jeered mostly good-naturedly at each other.

Legolas was in the center of it all, and Glorfindel felt his heart swell with pride for the prince's obvious, almost easy prowess. It was a warm feeling, like basking in afterglow, or the nimbus of having been first to see it, and thus owning it somehow.

Legolas was truly a wonder to watch in combat. Not for his exceptional skill, as abundant as they were – a lot of the eldar had that and some were even technically better than he. But he had something rarer; dynamism and creativity. The late Silon had said it best – Legolas had occasional recklessness and fallibility, but quick correction and innovation.

"The full breadth of what he is capable of is stifled in group formations," Silon had said with reverence, "You see, he does not seek control of the environment, he controls only himself. He is...a force of nature..."

Glorfindel took a deep breath, and sent a quiet prayer up in remembrance of the poor, besotted warrior who'd lost his life so tragically for Legolas. He focused on the fight instead of lingering on this old, recurring ache.

Space was made for Glorfindel as he walked closer to the action, and he settled in beside Elrond, who watched Legolas fight with such keen interest he barely spared Glorfindel a nod.

The Woodland Prince, Glorfindel noted, was roughed up – this was obviously not his first match. But his superiority was clear, and by the slight, blink-and-you'll miss-it sidelong glance and that lip-quirk of a smile he threw Glorfindel's way, it was apparent when he started playing with his increasingly frustrated foe to give the cherished new arrival a bit of a show.

Glorfindel crossed his arms over his chest, and shook his head at the prince with amusement. Elrond sensed it too, and he opened his hands up at the prince as if to urge him to get on with things.

As if it were so easy, Legolas did as he was bid – two moves, one strike, the blink of an eye – and his opponent's sword was tossed to the air. Legolas vaulted up and snatched it, landing on the ground not only with all the weapons, but with a flourish.

The spectators cheered and so did Glorfindel, albeit more quietly and ending abruptly... for Elrond beside him looked pensive.

"A fine showing, Thranduilion!" Elrond proclaimed, "No one's toppled you yet!"

Glorfindel realized then why the elf-lord would be so intense in his observations of Legolas: Elrond was determining the makeup of companions to send with Frodo Baggins into Mordor, and someone of Legolas' skill was bound to catch his eye. Of all the Noldorin luminaries in Rivendell, Legolas of the Woodland Realm could be sent toward Mt. Doom.

Glorfindel couldn't quite bear the thought of it.

"I try my best so that it wouldn't come to that," Legolas said wryly – pointedly at Glorfindel – who was thus reminded of another training ground and a different duel, a lifetime ago in the Mirkwood. His throat felt dry, and he knew what he had to do.

Because of their prowess, it stood to reason that any wartime mobilization would separated him from Legolas, to spread out their skills. Their most recent, separate scouting missions exemplified that. It meant that almost certainly, only one of them would be sent with the Ringbearer to Mordor... and Glorfindel did not want it to be Legolas.

If he wanted to be picked for the Fellowship instead, he would have to beat the Woodland Prince in fighting.

Soundly.

"I am up to the challenge," Glorfindel said suddenly, with certainty. Because he was an exemplary warrior, yes. But perhaps the greater reason was that he also felt a certain desperation.

Heads swiveled Glorfindel's way.

"Well?" he asked Legolas, whose head tilted at him thoughtfully. The ernil's elegant brows furrowed for a moment, for he was uncertain as to Glorfindel's sudden seriousness.

Legolas glanced at Elrond, prompting Glorfindel to do the same. The head of the House's eyes were narrowed. Around them, Imladrians and a few Mirkwood soldiers held their breaths in anticipation.

"I confess this is something I would like to see for myself," Elrond said tentatively. "If the ernil is up to it, after defeating so many foes already."

Legolas' lip turned up in a wry smile. "My Lord Glorfindel is just arrived and must be weary himself. Fair game, I would say. This might be a rare chance at winning over him."

Glorfindel scoffed, "Don't play me for a fool now, hir-nin."

Legolas' eyes turned steely. "Shall we turn to our weapons of choice then?"

"Oh by all means," Glorfindel said dryly, "Let's keep it friendly."

Legolas grinned. His eyes were still hesitant, as if he wondered why Glorfindel seemed mad – Glorfindel wondered at it, himself. But crossing swords for the first time was something they've never done before, and the outcome was intriguing to them both.

One of Legolas' soldiers appeared with his twin white knives, while Glorfindel removed his traveler's wares and drew out his trusted sword. The elves around them murmured excitedly, and wagers started being thrown around.

"You're not planning on holding back, are you?" Legolas asked.

"You know I won't."

"Good," Legolas said with satisfaction. "Neither will I."

I will beat you, Glorfindel thought, And I will hurt you if I have to. If it means I can spare you from that trip to Mt. Doom, I will do it. But if you are better than me, Legolas, show me now and win.

For the sake of my heart, win.

I need to see it.

I need to see with my own eyes you are the best, and ready, and able to survive what is to come.

I want you to conjure it, the incarnation of you that is invulnerable.

It was a self-delusion Glorfindel was aware of, for hadn't he dissuaded Legolas from it in that long past duel in Mirkwood, when Legolas wanted to see how good his father was in a fight?

No one is invulnerable, Glorfindel had told Legolas then, You will always worry for him, just as he does for you no matter your prowess. That is... that is just the nature of loving.

Glorfindel decided he would ignore his own advice.

"First blood wins?" Glorfindel asked faux-mildly, for he felt very much on edge. The two golden elves started circling each other warily.

Legolas shook his head. "Too easy."

Glorfindel had to agree. Nothing fired him up quite like someone sneaking a hit on him, and he had a feeling Legolas was the same.

"No disarming either," Legolas said, "and no surrender."

It meant this fight could go on without weapons and into fists.

"First to three simulated fatal wounds then," Glorfindel said. "You should be familiar with that. Neck, heart, gut. No holds barred."

Legolas nodded in satisfaction. As the game went in Mirkwood, the winner would be whoever it was between the two fighters who could first complete three fake strikes to the said body parts.

The crowd of spectators around them thickened, and from them, a huffing Estel emerged, elbowing with his adopted twin brothers for a view. They have apparently just come from their own missions, too.

"I will officiate!" Elladan volunteered, and he was duly motioned to do so by his father. "If you are ready, my lords?" he asked the two golden warriors.

Both gave him a solemn nod.

"Have at it then!" he declared, wisely backing away.

# # #

The Woodland Prince wasn't like his father, the sublime, technically flawless Thranduil, whose every move was efficient. Legolas was more kinetic, sometimes wasteful of energy – but good gods he was fast, and he meant what he said when he decided first blood would be too easy.

He came at Glorfindel in a seemingly reckless, full-speed frontal assault. Glorfindel blocked, and Legolas twisted one of his white knives with the other's sword at a lock, before sacrificing it at a release and summersaulting over the other warrior's head to land behind him.

"Neck!" Legolas proclaimed victoriously, and Glorfindel felt the cold, sharp tip of the white knife at his nape. One small thrust and it would have gone through.

"Neck!" Elladan acknowledged.

Legolas backed away. In respectful acceptance of his initial defeat, Glorfindel picked up the knife Legolas had dropped and handed it back to him hilt-first. Legolas accepted it with a grim nod, and they began again.

This time, Glorfindel took the offense. Legolas' expertise was speed and movement – Glorfindel knew he wouldn't win there. He focused on his advantage instead of playing on Legolas' terms. He and his weapon were stronger and heavier.

He struck from above, swinging his sword down. Legolas blocked just as he was expected to, crossing his knives over his head. Their blades met with a resounding clang, and they pushed against each other. Legolas expected a hard press because of Glorfindel's bulk and weapon, so Glorfindel immediately softened his assault contrary to expectation. Legolas' committed pushback sent his knives upward with the sudden lack of pressure, opening up his chest for Glorfindel to attack.

The ancient warlord duly took advantage, thrusting his sword from the bottom upwards, such that the tip of his sword ended pressed against Legolas' chest, angled up toward his heart.

"Heart!" Glorfindel exclaimed.

"Heart!" confirmed Elladan.

The two golden elves stepped away from each other for a beat, before promptly rushing at one another. Their blades sang, and sent shafts of light reflecting everywhere. It was good swordplay, but Glorfindel had a specific motivation the other elf perhaps did not have.

I will beat you.

I will hurt you if I have to.

He gave Legolas a feint, and the younger elf spun to adjust. With a single grip strong enough to hold a powerful sword, Glorfindel freed his less dominant hand and he viciously grabbed at Legolas' long hair as the archer sped past. Glorfindel twisted the tresses in his fist and wrist, mercilessly. Legolas' head jerked back, and Glorfindel heard gasps around them when he pulled Legolas to the ground headfirst by the hair, slamming him to his back.

Glorfindel straddled him and thought he had the victory, but he should never have doubted Legolas' resolve. The Mirkwood soldier actually used one of his knives to cut at his own hair stuck in Glorfindel's grip, trimming close enough to make Glorfindel's fingers bleed. He freed himself, while Glorfindel had one hand tangled in the shorn golden strands.

Legolas bucked and reversed the straddle, twisting and pressing Glorfindel to his face and chest on the ground. He slammed the hilt of one of his knives against Glorfindel's sword hand once, twice, and then a third perhaps unnecessary hit – for he could play mean too. Glorfindel's grip loosened, and Legolas reached to throw the sword away.

The move shifted his balance on Glorfindel's back, and in such close quarters, Glorfindel's sturdier built was hard to contain and easy to lose with the slightest imbalance.

The older elf dazed him with a backward head hit, and from there he was easy to lift not merely off of Glorfindel's back, but be thrown off of his feet. Legolas landed, bewildered and breathless on his back, and Glorfindel grabbed his sword and stalked toward him, meaning to strike before the younger elf could get his bearings.

He raised his sword and sent it down in a vicious thrust, and he kept it descending. The Mirkwood elf looked up at him unflinching, not even blinking when the gleaming tip of the weapon sank to the ground beside Legolas' neck with such force it whipped at some of the hair splayed about his shoulders.

"Neck!" Glorfindel barked.

It was taking Elladan a beat to acknowledge it though, and Glorfindel raised his head to see him hesitate. Elrondion was looking toward his father and brothers. Elrohir looked hesitant too. Everyone was beginning to sense there was more to this match than met the eye.

For Glorfindel, the stakes were clear. Spectators were betting only on sporting outcomes. Glorfindel on the other hand, was playing to win because he had no plans of betting on winning the War with Legolas' life.

I will beat you.

I will hurt you if I have to.

As long as it is me on the road to Mordor, and not you.

Strangely though, as increasingly alarmed as everyone was becoming, Aragorn and Elrond looked sternly resolved to see things through to the end. They both, surprisingly identically, jerked their heads at Elladan to continue.

"Neck," Elladan declared.

"Try not to kill each other!" Elrohir yelled out in an effort to defuse the thick tension rising from the match, courting uneasy laughter.

Legolas hopped to his feet and shook his head to clear it. His lips were bleeding and he spat red liquid out on the ground. Glorfindel did not derive much victory from it – he was pretty sure the wood-elf broke skin on his left knuckle, not to mention a finger or two from his dominant arm which would have consequences on his fighting.

The wood-elf knew it too – he started specifically targeting Glorfindel's right side, now much harder to defend. With a flurry of deft strikes and dizzying moves, Legolas locked down a tying point.

"Gut!" he exclaimed, breathlessly for he had moved much and catching a warrior like Glorfindel deep into the side did not come easy.

"Gut!" Elladan acknowledged.

"Now all I have to do is get your heart," Legolas murmured, for everyone's ears except Glorfindel was the only one who knew he did not mean it within the context of the game.

It hurt very, very sweetly.

And it moved Glorfindel into a more desperate victory.

He assaulted Legolas quickly, so as not to give him any chance to recover his breath. The younger elf fought valiantly, but Glorfindel was peerless in many ways. He disarmed Legolas, sending the twin white knives aside one, then the other, with his forceful blows.

Even without weapons though, Legolas was clever and relentless. He went to kicks and fists, and he had one ace: Glorfindel, who had previously secured hits to his heart and neck, had to catch him at the gut to win. He protected his middle with singular determination.

They bloodied each other, even while everyone knew at that point it would only be a matter of time before Glorfindel won.

"Stand down, ernil!" not a few elves urged the prince respectfully and earnestly, without jest or ridicule. He had bested most of them, after all. But he bared his teeth at them and valiantly – foolishly? - pressed on.

It was Elladan who finally called an end to the bloodbath and as officiant of the match, Legolas and Glorfindel had the ingrained warrior's discipline to listen to him.

"Enough!" he called out. "Enough, my lords. Let's leave some of it for the orc, eh?"

He looked at his father grimly, jaw twitching in restraint of censure. But even if he said nothing directly, it was clear to all who were there that Elrondion was displeased with his father for letting the fight go on so long.

"I think we've all been sufficiently entertained," he said. "Damn good show, Thranduilion – but Glorfindel wins."

The declaration was met by cheering for the victor, but also with respectful applause for the young warrior who presented him with such a challenge.

The two warriors shook hands, and their grips were firm and lingered, before they were cheerfully separated and spirited away by their respective comrades.

# # #

A few hours later, Elrond – for reasons all his own – declared that Legolas Greenleaf would be the one to join the Fellowship of the Ring on behalf of the elves.

Glotfindel had defeated Legolas soundly and proven he was the better fighter. Yet why was it that he would be the one to stay?

He bit his tongue at the public announcement, but Glorfindel wouldn't let this decision pass without challenge.

# # #

They had a strange relationship, the Lords Glorfindel of Gondolin, and Elrond of Rivendell.

On the one hand, Glorfindel: the golden-haired ancient hero born in the Years of the Trees. Descended from princes, he had died in noble glory and was duly reimbodied and beloved by the gods. Returned to Arda as their agent, he was wealthy with their favor and the mission and power that came with it. No one was a match for glorious Glorfindel. But all at once, peerlessness came with a unique poverty – he was a noble lord without a House, an ancient warrior with dead friends.

On the other hand, Elrond: younger than the golden Glorfindel, he would never have lived if the ancient lord has not been instrumental in the saving of Elrond's forebears in the fallen Kingdom of Gondolin. It was the battle that cost Glorfindel his first life. Elrond valued the older elf's wisdom and prowess, and was grateful for his sacrifice and continuing contributions. But he had himself grown wise and noble over time, a leader to his people, the master of his own House - beneath which Glorfindel sheltered.

Woven beneath and around and within their complex relations was a tangle of alternating and co-existing affection, deference, respect and gratitude. It was a good thing they seldom disagreed, which would have tested the twists and turns of their intricate power relationship.

Seldom did they disagree...

Perhaps more accurately, Almost never, such that Glorfindel could not even remember the last time they had divergent views and had consequently needed to navigate around each other to find a path forward.

But he couldn't keep silent, not about this.

"I knew you would find your way to me sooner or later," Elrond said from beyond the doors of his private office, even before Glorfindel announced his presence and asked to be let in.

"And yet here we still are," Glorfindel said, attempting to stay wry, yet finding himself steered toward edginess as he entered the room and closed the door behind him. "Here we still are, debating the shall we say, relative merits of your decision on the formation of this 'Fellowship.'"

Elrond sighed. "And what, pray tell, is the object of your displeasure?"

Most of it.

"That I would send hobbits to Mt. Doom?" Elrond asked. "That I would lay the fate of our world on the shoulders of an innocent country child and his undisciplined, untrained lot of friends? That I would send with them two men who have no trust of each other, and an elf and a dwarf almost certainly expected to come to blows at some point of this quest? That Mithrandir is perhaps in over his pointy hat, steeped in it all?"

"There is all that," Glorfindel said wryly, for the years have not dented his appreciation for the ridiculous. "But as we all agreed, this is a mission of stealth and a mission of the heart. My objection lies elsewhere. You know of who I speak."

"Ah," Elrond said, pretending to be obtuse. "You have cause to complain about the dispatch of literally the most able scout, hunter, bowman, horseman and combatant of the Fellowship... and amongst the best of our kin."

"Legolas Greenleaf is all those things," Glorfindel conceded, "but I bested him, did I not?"

"You did," Elrond said. "But I was not looking for an undefeatable fighter in picking who to send out with Frodo."

Glorfindel pursed his lips in annoyance and crossed his arms over his chest, daring the other elf to explain.

Elrond raised a brow, but indulged him. "The Ring is a powerful, seductive force. I need someone gifted enough to be an asset to the Fellowship, but if he is corrupted – as so many have been – someone stoppable by the others. Legolas has exceptional skills but also, some fallibility. If he should stray, as any member of the Fellowship could, Legolas cannot completely overpower them. They would have a fighting chance. Someone like you on the other hand... well, if you should stray, you have the capacity to decimate them."

"You think I would stray?"

"So many have," Elrond said grimly. "Anyone can."

Glorfindel sighed. And so his plan of exempting Legolas from Mt. Doom by defeating him had backfired.

"But I have another cause for objection. Legolas Greenleaf has... a certain aptitude...for killing folk on his own side. I've reported this to you at length before - I do not condemn him for it," Glorfindel clarified quickly. What had both Legolas and Thranduil told him when he was in Mirkwood?

"Killing he is willing to do only because of brutal earned experience and necessity," he added. "Legolas understands its gravity. My worry is that in making him part of the Fellowship, this aspect of his character is actively expected of him."

Glorfindel's mind raced with the prospect of this. The One Ring could tempt friends into foes, couldn't it? Just as the other members of the Fellowship had to be able to stop Legolas if they needed to, the converse was also true.

Was Legolas expected to deal lethal blows amongst any erring traveling companions? The elven prince also had a history of mercy killing – was he expected to cut down the non-combatant companions of his company, who might be captured with vital information? What would such actions do to the flickering light of that sometimes tortured soul?

"What if I do expect it?" Elrond asked, and they stared at each other thoughtfully. "What would be so wrong with that?"

As a healer keeping one of the most welcoming homes in all of Arda, Elrond had a reputation for certain benevolence. But let it not be forgotten he was a fierce warrior too, and a pragmatic elven Lord who had seen – was still seeing – his family and his people through the worst of times. He was equally blessed and cursed with both power and the long view, allowing him to understand and make tough decisions if he had to. Tough decisions including sending people to their deaths...

... or sending people to dealing it.

"My heart failed me in it once," Elrond said, remembering Isildur's failure to destroy the Ring when they were already at the very mouth of the fires of Mt. Doom. Inextricable to this was his own failure to destroy Isildur for it. "Maybe Legolas would have the fortitude."

"It is..." Glorfindel searched for the right word. But there was none to describe what was expected of Legolas on this journey, none to describe the self-punishing cuts on Legolas' arm, none to describe the darkness that marred his soul, the silent screams he made in the night.

"It is a burden too heavy to bear for any single elf," Glorfindel finished. He could see it in his mind – hobbits dead from gold-fletched arrows or slim white knives, and a new torment, a new nightmare, for a burdened wood-elf... assuming he survived their mission in the first place.

"Not any more than the outsize burden Frodo must bear," Elrond pointed out. "Or Aragorn. Or Mithrandir. There are no easy choices to make. We have to believe the prize at the end is worth the cost – be it Frodo's soul, Aragorn's line, Arwen's immortality, or Legolas' sanity."

Elrond sighed. "At any rate it may comfort you to know, I do not send him only for that – convenient though it may be, if needed. I liked it, how he was so clearly defeated by you and still fought on. Furthermore, you spoke of a darkness in him. It is a taint borne by fighting and living close to the enemy for so long. In a mission of stealth, wouldn't you say it has practical uses?"

"Camouflage," Glorfindel conceded. "He can hide the light of our people in a way no one from the more peaceful havens of Imladris or Lothlorien could. He also has an uncanny sense of the orc."

Elrond opened his hands out as if the other elf had proven his point precisely.

Glorfindel exhaled carefully. "Fair and measured as always, mellon-nin."

"I know you would rather I sent you," Elrond said earnestly, "and if you have any other points of consideration I would hear them. But I've already come to this decision with much care and am confident it is the right one. In the short time I've known him, Legolas has earned my respect, trust and warm affection. I have every confidence with his part in this mission."

Elrond paused thoughtfully before continuing. "You've never spoken of it but I know you hold a deep attachment to the ernil. I am sorry if this grieves you. But the decision stands, and I would advise you to seek him now, and spend what time is available to you."

"You will send them out soon?"

"Tomorrow – at dusk."

# # #

Glorfindel let himself into Legolas' rooms, but the Woodland Prince was not within them.

They were guest quarters appropriate to a prince in Elrond's House and so hardly sparse, but it was barely lived in, as if its occupant owned nothing. It was a stark contrast from the busy productivity of Legolas' suites in Thranduil's Halls.

There were a few small things though, so simply laid out it made Glorfindel's heart sting. There was a small, weathered book of Woodland songs on the bed; a traveling cloak thrown against the back of a chair; on the writing desk was a needle and thread and a soft old undershirt halfway through mending – there was a ragged cut across a sleeve.

Beside it lay a pot of ink and a quill, two sheets of mostly blank paper, and apparently, abandoned intentions. One letter began with the word "Adar," and had nothing else on it. The same could be said of the one addressed to "Meleth-nin."

Glorfindel's eyes watered, but instead of dwelling on it, he grabbed the torn shirt, sat on the chair, and started sewing. With gusto.

These set of stitches are going to be the best damned set of stitches anyone would ever see, he thought; only half in jest.

He'd put in the last stitch when the curtains stirred, and from the balcony and beyond it – the Woodland Prince emerged, with leaves in his hair. He startled slightly at the sight of Glorfindel, and he glanced at the unfinished – un-started, really – letter on the desk.

"I've read it if you must know," Glorfindel told him wryly. "It was voluminous but riveting."

Legolas smirked, and walked toward him. "I guess I really do find goodbye letters trite."

Glorfindel rose from his seat, and handed Legolas the mended shirt. The blue eyes – still bruised slightly from their sparring that had devolved into a brawl - lit up in appreciation. He suddenly looked so young.

"Thank you," he said with such tender sincerity that Glorfindel's heart ached again, deeply and dully.

He steered his attention away from the increasingly familiar pain, and jerked his head in the direction of the balcony. "Where in all of Arda did you come from anyway?"

"I was in the trees," Legolas replied.

"These are great heights!"

Legolas shrugged; it was immaterial to him.

"I asked them about you," he teased quietly instead. "All good things, I'm afraid. Either they are lying, or you are well and truly boring."

"I think more the latter," Glorfindel said with a soft laugh. He raised his hands up to Legolas' hair, and started picking some of the leaves off of it. Legolas grinned, leaned closer, and let him.

"You know," Glorfindel murmured with a pretense of distraction, as he moved around Legolas and busied himself with the task, "There are all these glittering elves in Imladris and yet Elrond decides to send Thranduil's son to Mordor. The Elvenking would have much to say about that, I imagine."

"Oh he'll say nothing," Legolas said flippantly, "but he might start a war."

Glorfindel stayed serious. "It should be me to go and not you. I tried my best."

"I know," Legolas said. "I understand now. But it seems Lord Elrond has his own criteria."

"I need you to understand what your mission could mean..."

"I know what it means," Legolas said quietly.

"Are you ready to shoot a hobbit between the eyes?" Glorfindel asked bluntly.

"You know the answer to that," Legolas replied. "The doing is easy. It is the living with it that is hard. But maybe that is optimistic anyway."

"You know you told me once," said Glorfindel, "you always come out at the end, no matter what. You do not believe it anymore?"

"I've faced plenty of adversity before," Legolas said. "Everything about this feels different. We're at a precipice. Victory will be glorious but defeat – unbearable. They are equally likely. I'm glad it's not you."

There were no more leaves to pick from the lovely head. Glorfindel stroked at it instead. There were jagged edges from the hair shorn during their fight. Their ends tickled at Glorfindel's sore and swollen knuckles, also from the same match. Damage on damage, they touched.

"But I think we can win," Legolas said determinedly. "I believe in Aragorn. And I find I have the utmost faith in Frodo. Many people regard hobbits as naïve children but I look at them as something else entirely. You see in all my life as a soldier, the only people who have ever given me any real grief were orcs, dwarves and hobbits. On a per-head basis - that is to say, who caused me the most trouble as an individual - two hobbits top the list. More than any single orc or any single dwarf, it is Bilbo Baggins and later, Gollum, who have caused outsize effects in my home. They are hardy and wily, full of their own brand of danger and at the same time, tantalizing promise. I feel the latter, for Frodo."

Glorfindel moved to face Legolas then, and saw more wisdom in Elrod's choice from the younger elf's enlightened perspective.

"Where will this war bring you?" Legolas asked.

"I will as always be at the disposal of Elrond's House first," Glorfindel answered. "If I can be spared from duties here however, I would ask leave to return with your soldiers and go to Mirk – that is to say, Eryn Galen. It would show good faith I think, for me to speak to the Elvenking personally of Elrond's decision. And since your departure deprives your people of a gifted soldier at a time of escalating aggression, the exchange may be a fair one. I will offer your father my services, however way he would have me."

Legolas took a deep breath, and he exhaled it slowly. He looked relieved. "It would mean the world to me if aran-nin could be appeased and if my home can have someone like you fighting for it in my absence, at this difficult time. I will never forget it, my lord. Those were my only regrets in accepting the assignment. I can leave in peace, now."

Glorfindel winced. He sounded like he was going to his death.

"Legolas – "

The younger elf gave him an imploring look, wordlessly begging him not to contest, to say nothing more on the matter. If he could find peace here, Glorfindel should leave it be. He bit back his objection, and nodded in understanding.

He settled for an attempt at levity instead. He nodded toward the letters on the desk. "If you finish this, I could hand it to your father personally. As for the other one... you need write nothinh=g more. I am actually quite content with the words as they appear."

As the tease left his mouth, Glorfindel realized he had meant what he said. He was fully and achingly content with "Meleth-nin," written in Legolas' hand.

"How do you know that one is for you?" Legolas asked, blinking at the other elf innocently.

Glorfindel barked out a surprise laugh, and he snatched the letter from the desk. "Well, it's certainly mine now."

Legolas snatched it back, and Glorfindel released it only so that it wouldn't break. In one conversation of a few minutes, it had suddenly become wildly precious to him -

The Woodland Prince folded the paper and tore it in half.

"Legolas-!" he cried out in premature horror.

The younger elf handed Glorfindel the blank one of the two halves. "I will give you this," he said of the half he held, where his writing remained intact, "For a fair price."

Glorfindel's lips widened to a smile in understanding. He took the quill from the inkpot and wrote out words of his own:

"Meleth-nin."

"Original," Legolas said wryly, but his blue stare was glazed with warmth and meaning.

With bated breaths they exchanged sheets of paper, and Glorfindel knew that for all the rest of his life he would remember how their hands looked: long and powerful, bruised but graceful, grazing, touching, lingering.

I am content with the words as they appear here.

I am content.

INTERLUDE 3, set in Gondor after the War of the Ring, WILL BE POSTED IN A FEW DAYS. Stay at home and stay safe, friends!

In the meantime, an AFTERWORD ON CHARACTERIZATIONS AND THEMES


I. Characterizations

A few notable items in the characters' depictions in Your Light in the Dark.

A. Glorfindel.

Though it is in the third person, the fic is from his perspective. We do not know what Legolas or the others think of him, other than what they tell him or what he could surmise from their interactions. This is why there are references to him as an "ancient warlord" or "an old fool." He isn't attractive to himself, and he does not make too much of other people's admiration. These lines sum up this idea:

"You are too used to admiration I think," Legolas said grimly, to Glorfindel's chagrin. Was that really why he had suspected nothing, or dismissed the possibility of Legolas' earnest attentions? "You are also busy with your divine missions to bother with the likes of me."

He was aware of other people's awe, but he 'suffered it casually.' For my own good though, hahaha, I think of Glorfindel as being either like Alexander Skarsgard in Tarzan (2016) or Sam Heughan in Outlander: really pretty, really golden, but really powerful – hardly "ancient" or "old," though these are how he describes himself in the fic.

In canon, Glorfindel has been described as tall with shining gold hair, having a fair and youthful face, with bright eyes. I think the actors can work, lol.

Speaking of canon, the book described his as a face with joy, and I wanted to depict that along with Glorfindel's strength and sense of purpose. This is my main reason why he was depicted with a kind of dark humor even after all he's seen so much by this time.

As for Glorfindel's power of reaching out for the fea... I remember reading that when he was sent back to Middle Earth sometime in the Second Age as a kind of errand boy of the gods, he was blessed with powers just short of the capabilities of the Maiar. We don't know too much about it unfortunately, so I drew on depictions of connections in otherworldly planes as depicted in the films, like Galadriel communicating with Gandalf, Elrond and others with her mind; or Arwen connecting with distant and injured Aragorn; or Gandalf describing Frodo as 'passed beyond my sight.' I hope it makes sense!

B. Legolas.

I have written this character so much but finding new facets and routes to explore still excites me. I know I went down a dark road here... I depicted him as a scarred soul, like a light flickering in the wind. The Legolas in Your Light... is a reserved workaholic with bloodied hands whose salvation was in duty and purpose.

But I also wanted him to be salvageable – you can court a smile from him, he can get a good (or a bad) joke, he can love. When I started this fic it was about that shift – Glorfindel bringing a light into his darkness.

As the work progressed though, I was surprised myself that it was the other way around – just like Istor's observation in the last chapter. It was darkness getting to Glorfindel instead.

I pondered on this and wondered if I should track back and change things. But the more I thought about it, I stuck to how it organically developed rather than with now I originally conceived the tale. Eventually, I realized why felt I could live with it – Glorfindel-as-I-depicted him wasn't going to be the light in Legolas' life; I felt that honor was going to go to Aragorn.

After all, Your Light in the Dark precedes The Hobbit films, where Legolas still leaned toward reserved and dark. Whereas the Legolas of the War of the Ring was a lighter being, and in between these two depictions was, I felt, the years he would spend knowing Aragorn, the man his father told him to seek after The Battle of the Five Armies.

C. Why Legolas and Not Glorfindel for the Fellowship? So this is an old question in the fandom. If Glorfindel was so awesome, why was Legolas sent instead? There are many theories, and I've put forth one before via the fic, These Visions of You. In Your Light in the Dark, I am making another attempt at answering this. Apparently someone can be too awesome – Legolas' darkness and fallibility were more useful than Glorfindel's light and power. In some ways this is a dark characterization of Elrond too, in the short period he appears here, because he finds Legolas' utility. But I do believe someone like Elrond is capable of these tough choices.

D. Thranduil and Mirkwood. Speaking of tough elven leaders... The Hobbit films and how they depict Thranduil and Mirkwood were the reasons I found my way back to the fandom. I watched them long after they came out, really just stumbled on them on the telly or something I forget now. But Lee Pace and the new kingdom just stimulated me and here we now are.

Pace's electric depiction now informs all of my Thranduil characterizations: perceptive, impervious, mercurial, with a kind of contrived frigidity that covered for brutal vulnerability. His character history (book or movie) is after all, quite traumatizing: his father, dead. His wife, dead. His population, almost decimated. His kingdom severely diminished. He had some sort of disfigurement (there is some debate as to its extent or continuing existence). His apparently only child, always in danger (and later, would leave him). In short, hahaha – he had some license to be a jerk. Yet somehow, he was more magnetic by it. Maybe I'm a masochist ;)

Anyways, I hope the depiction is familiar and fair.

As for Mirkwood, this has become a character for me too (and always, inextricable from Thranduil). I felt there were so many tales that could be told within its kind of, noble decline. I think of it like being a declining aristocracy (cash poor, land rich, besieged by a new age), or a once-rich mining or automobile town that is slowly dying after the death of its main industry. It gives its people a unique struggle and strength that lately I find irresistible to depict.

When I first returned to the fandom after seeing The Hobbit films, I was fascinated by the place and its fictional possibilities but I was kind of cavalier about it. The more I delved into this benighted place as a character though, I wanted to be more nuanced and respectful of its struggle.

For example, I used to use "Mirkwood" lightly (see Walking Wounded). But eventually I became more sensitive to this as almost derogatory. Would Thranduil or Legolas been so willing to call their home thus, and I felt the answer would be a no. So in Your Light in the Dark, only outsiders called it that. Furthermore, the sharp-eyed may have noticed a little Easter egg about this throughout the fic:

At the bleak start, it was called "Mirkwood." At the sweet middle, it was "Eryn Galen" and Glorfindel would even correct himself at some point about its name. Because the tale was from his perspective, the name was supposed to symbolize his evolving understanding of it. When things were going badly, it reverted to "Mirkwood" again. And as we know – it will be that way until the end of the War of the Ring turns it into Eryn Lasgalen :)

E. Original Characters. I used quite a bit of OCs here, but I hope they served to highlight the main characters rather than distracting from them. Just a few remarks:

Names. As always, I would advise the use of one of those elf name generators online – they are so much fun, and sometimes useful prompts!

"Rochanarion." Also, I was kind of intentional in not naming the three sons of the fallen soldier Rochanar. You may recall Glorfindel asking one of them who he was apart from being his father's son and he said no one. I wanted the medium to be the message – that they were reduced to being nothing but that in their grief / madness. This was why it was so important for them to embark on their disastrous mission. Their family tragedy was that they became so reduced and single-minded.

Recycled Names. I've used many of these OCs in previous fics: Maenor, Rossenith, Renior and Telion. But as I've mentioned in other notes before, the stories are unconnected – the names and depictions are consistent though. I just use them for convenience so I wouldn't have to go nuts inventing new characters all the time :)

Silon. Silon, however, is new. Created almost only just so he could be killed in a way, so that he can be special for this story... but I may recycle him in a hopefully happier tale in the future!

II. Themes

A. The Evolution of Love. Oh, slow burn love stories. I love them and they are so immersive but they require so much nuance and patience (from both reader and writer!).

How can one depict the magic of the everyday, gradually changing? How could you describe the bloom of a flower in discreet steps? I looked through my own relationships, lol, and outlined specific stages in how I felt love could evolve. Then, I tried to fill them out.

(1) Acquaintance. This is when the two protagonists met and started working together.

(2) Compassion. This is when repeated interactions made them more "human" to each other. Where sympathy is courted by more knowledge and exposure. In the fic, this is when Glorfindel starts to feel for the struggles of Legolas' people. His people, not necessarily just him, but him as a part of a larger collective.

(3) Friendship. When the other person becomes regarded and valued for who they are as an individual, this is when friendship comes. In the fic, this is when Legolas and Glorfindel enjoy each other's stimulating company.

Then it gets murkier, lol:

(4) Attraction and Possibility. I didn't want to jump the gun on this, so I decided I would make Glorfindel realize first that Legolas was attractive to other people: Silon and Tauriel. This made him see the other from a new lens, a kind of social signal. The lens of attraction got him out of the friendship blinders. Other forms of liking and relationships were suddenly possible.

(5) Tension. You like someone as a person and could possibly like them as something else. So what happens next? There is tension, because you start to wonder if they regard you similarly. These are small pulls and pushes that don't rock the boat – you want to see if your interest is shared, but you don't want to jeopardize friendship. You tease and push the bounds. In the fic, this is mostly from Legolas' end, with Glorfindel left wondering :)

(6) Action. This is when the protagonists take the plunge, where, as I think was mentioned more articulately in the fic haha, the end could be a disastrous fall or a miracle save.

(7) Definition and Commitment.

Anyways, I tried to be careful and nuanced. I hope it was somewhat realistic, fluid, and of course, in character.

B. But Love is Not Everything. I wanted this to be clear right from the very beginning, and I tried to stick with this thought throughout. Love affairs, as Glorfindel noted in one of the latter chapters, wasn't exactly in their top 10 priorities in a time of conflict.

They are busy, burdened people with a deep sense of responsibility to the greater good. It's not easy, and Glorfindel is depicted as struggling with weighing his care for Legolas against collective gains and his own work commitments. But he decided toward work in the end; just as Legolas did, until the War was won.

Besides, I felt they love each other partly for their respective selflessness in a way, and neither would want to change that in each other.

I wanted them to have a love that powers the soul, but doing what is good takes precedence for these duty-bound warriors.

My idea of love and how I live my life is like that – it doesn't wholly consume. It carves a foundation and a home for the soul, but from it branches avenues for individual achievement and growth.

This philosophy, matched with the elves' long view and immortality, I felt should give them a high tolerance for waiting. This is why it's a love story that can have gaps of a hundred years, even if it may seem too long for us.

C. Some mood music, just because. Speaking of love... is it just me or don't old-timey power ballads bring out a sense of dramatic romance?

It could be the musical structure mirroring the progression of a plot in the genre: gentle swaying beginnings, hard beats, a rousing chorus, a tense bridge, then a sweet resolution? It could also be the words – power ballads tend to have heart-on-the-sleeve, ride-or-die lyrics perfect for a magnified conflict. Either way, I try to be cool and current on music but when writing a romance, I almost always fall back this way! So for the curious, this is the playlist underlying the strains of Your Light in the Dark:

The instrumental opening of "Sailing" by Christopher Cross is the soundtrack of Legolas and Glorfindel looking at the striking nature views of Eryn Galen together. The story was actually begun from me hearing this on the radio and seeing the scenes unfold in my head... the plot just followed afterwards!

References to light in the darkness were inspired by lyrics from "Somewhere Somehow" By Michael W. Smith and Amy Grant. The part that gets me is "... and somehow, through the lonely nights / I will leave a light in the dark/ Let it lead you to my heart."

The ending goodbye scene prior to the epilogue was brought to you by the feeling and words of "Hands to Heaven" by Breathe. It sounds "cold" to me, like an effort at stoicism to quell the mounting devastation of an imminent parting: "Tomorrow I must leave, the dawn knows no reprieve." The fact that it also had lyrics pertaining to darkness and prayer was a bonus :)

Then there's old reliable Peter Cetera, whose "Glory of Love" is plainly heroic in a cinematic sort of way; and whose "After All" inspires the epilogue and its repeated encounters: "After all the stops and starts, we keep coming back to these two hearts."

There may be more, I don't remember :) Just a bit of frivolity on the part of the author!

D. Now let's talk about the Slash. I am always a bit apprehensive about writing slash fics because my personal identity is not steered this way... I can't help but worry about proper and respectful representation. But as you may be able to tell from the above, I'm treating it just as love. I hope it worked out.

I believe I lost a handful of readers on this journey the moment it started drifting toward m/m romance, though. I respect people's creative preferences and boundaries (I have some, myself) – I can only thank them for their time and for giving the story (and slash in general) a shot.

I've always been forthcoming on the slash direction, and if anyone who is against slash clicks on the tale in curiosity, I think they did their part in being open to new ideas. The responsibility to deliver thereafter shifts to me, to try and make the story and the character development compelling and believable enough for them to stick around and maybe change their mind.

Sometimes I succeed and other times I don't. I am just grateful that people are willing to open up a story and listen to a view that differs from their own. I will just have to do a better job in the future :)

'til the next post, everyone!