Author's note: Aww, you folks made my day with your well-wishes for chapter 50! Thanks so much :D Sip on your water, look at something pleasant, and be nice to yourselves!
Kathleen: Not super much is really said about Glorfindel in books, except that he's hugely powerful, brave, selfless, and has a 'joyful' face. And that he was very well-loved by the folks in Gondolin. An all-round good egg it would seem, both in Tolkien's works and in my own interpretation. I don't think he's happy all the time, though. That isn't especially healthy. I'd say he's inclined to optimism but he cries too often to be called Mr. Nonstop Happy. What could, perhaps, be said for him is that he is well-adjusted and happy to express emotions of all natures as needed. That's about as much as any of us can strive for, really.
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The ride to Minas Tirith was long but pleasant. I hadn't ever been this far south before (with the exception of when I first arrived, of course), and it was fascinating to watch the landscape gradually change. The north was almost eternally lush and green, the sort of place you'd find featured on a Swiss postcard. Here, though, the plants and trees were of a more yellowish hue, reflective of the region's sparser rains and much hotter summers. Not that it wasn't fertile here, of course. This was wine and grains country, and there was an abundance of both, among many other crops.

I felt a fullness when I looked out at the vast swathes of wheat bending in the breeze, or the fat cattle that grazed contentedly in the fields. Even if things went to hell in other aspects, I could at least content myself with the knowledge that we could expect a good deal of wheat coming our way by Christmas. I don't encourage comfort eating as a full-time coping strategy, but all the same, I'd rather cry with a piece of cake in my hand than without.

Boromir was a lovely travelling companion. Always attentive and courteous, he had an incredible ability to read the room (we'll ignore the fact we were nowhere near an actual room for now, if you please). He never spoke too much, nor was he overly reserved. Whatever he did say was thoughtful and interesting, and never in poor taste.

It was also apparent from early on that Boromir was deeply fond of his brother and took his role in the running of the Kingdom very seriously. With the information I had gleaned about his father, it seemed that Boromir had the exact opposite character to him, not that Boromir ever spoke hatefully about him. Facts about Denethor were relayed without a hint of vitriol, despite the sadness and hurt it had obviously inflicted. I couldn't help but be terribly impressed with him.

All told, the journey south took two months, and my god, the sight of Minas Tirith was worth every minute of it. The city itself sat in front of a mountain, and it looked like someone (or many someones) had taken one single, massive block of white marble and carved it into a fortress that glowed radiantly in the gentle morning sunlight. A passing breeze rippled the banners that dotted the huge walls here and there, and I could hear bells ringing from somewhere within this splendid labyrinth.

When I glanced over at Boromir as we rode up to this colossus, a happy look passed over his face that warmed my cockles. He really loved being where he lived- not in an overly patriotic way, but rather with an appreciation for the beauty and sentimental value of it.

Arriving at the front gate, the four guards monitoring it looked genuinely pleased to see Boromir and bowed to him respectfully.

"Welcome back, my Lord," the tallest one said.

"Good morning," Boromir replied with a smile. "Finishing the evening watch, are we?"

"Indeed," he answered with a laugh. "The time for rest draws near, I think."

"Never near enough, though," Boromir answered, laughing as well.

It was nice to see a figure of authority make friendly, meaningful rapport with lower-ranking people. I found that to be a good sign of his capabilities as a compassionate and wise leader. That sort of treatment seemed to continue right up until we got to Denethor's throne room, which was a very promising indicator. The warm greetings and small talk from civilians and children to high-ranking officials made it clear that Boromir was a very well-loved figure here.

As we stood outside the imposing throne room, I felt uneasy. How was this actually supposed to proceed? Usually my role as a psychologist was very well defined: people came to me, asked for help, got it. If they were brought to me by a concerned person, I would assess them to see if they fit the legal definition of being capable of making decisions, and go from there. This ambiguous business didn't sit well with me at all.

Still, though, I supposed it was too late to fake an illness or preemptively announce my retirement and speed on back to Rivendell, because the huge oak doors opened and we went inside.

I must have been on autopilot the entire walk down this long atrium to get to Denethor's throne, because I had no idea how I got there when we eventually reached this guy.

At first glance, you could hardly see the resemblance between Denethor and his son. They had nothing in common at all. When I looked a little closer, though, I realised my mistake: they looked so dissimilar because they were the opposites of each other in bearing and expression, but in reality, their features were very alike indeed. Unlike Boromir, who was inherently approachable, Denethor radiated coldness and lability, and without even having spoken to him, I instantly felt like I was walking on eggshells in his presence. He squinted at Glorfindel and me in a vaguely hostile manner, and when his gaze went to his son, it barely softened.

"Where have you been, my son?" Denethor asked as we got within talking distance.

"Father, I have been riding in the north, seeking news from Lord Elrond of Rivendell," Boromir answered, bowing shortly before walking up the few steps to embrace him. "I bring with me two delegates of Elrond: Lord Glorfindel and Lady Rhodri."

Glorfindel and I inclined our heads and touched our hands to our hearts at the mention.
"We very much appreciate your hospitality, Lord Denethor, and are delighted to return to Gondor after so many years," Glorfindel said in his most noble and powerful-sounding voice. Denethor, appearing satisfied, nodded back at us.

When we were dismissed, Boromir showed us to our room.
"I will leave you to refresh yourselves a little before breakfast, which should be ready in about an hour," he said to the two of us with a smile. "The dining hall is downstairs and to the right. I will see you down there, but in the meantime, can you think of anything you need to make your time here more comfortable?"

I looked around. The room we had been given was princely, with a large bed and commode, a writing-desk and two chairs, and had a balcony that commanded one hell of a view over the fields. I could have sworn I could see out to Osgiliath from there.
"I think you could take half the things out of this room and we'd still have everything we needed," I said to Boromir with a laugh. "Thank you, though; you're a most gracious host, Boromir."

Boromir smiled, nodded once, and with that, Glorfindel and I were left alone.

"Denethor seemed a little…" Glorfindel began to say, trailing off mid-sentence as he pursed his lips in concern.

"Mm, I know what you mean," I answered, chewing my lip absent-mindedly. "Still, I suppose, we're here on official business. Our happiness here isn't contingent on his warmth. Thank god for that, too, otherwise we'd be miserable as a couple of wet hens."

Eyes wide, he nodded in agreement, and we left it at that. What else was there to say?

After we'd tidied up a little and put on some fresh clothes, we headed out to the dining hall.

The navigation instructions Boromir had given us to reach said hall, as it turned out, were unneeded. As soon as we stepped outside of our room, we seemed to get hit with the delicious smell of cooking food. Well, delicious in my opinion, at least. Glorfindel seemed a little more sceptical, squinting in confusion as though he were smelling something that ought not to be even cooked, much less eaten.

He didn't have long to stand like that, though, because I had started following the Trail of Tasty, dragging Glorfindel behind me as I did the walking for both of us.

In the hall, I bustled over to the table to see what was for eats, and I felt my little British heart sob with joy at what I clapped my eyes on. The tables were burgeoning with sausages, toast, eggs cooked four ways, fried potatoes, and- and-

"Baked beans," I gasped as I covered my mouth and looked at the huge serving bowl, filled to the brim with the dish of my soul and most favourite food. I'd never tried to make it in Imladris, because I was too terrified of the crushing disappointment that would ensue if it didn't taste the same as what I was used to. But here, they were already made. They looked the same, and when I got a whiff of them, they certainly smelled identical.

"Rhodri, are you crying?" Glorfindel asked in shock, putting a hand on my shoulder in deep concern.

It was at that exact moment that Boromir turned up, and when he saw me clutching my chest and making eyes at this bowl of beans like I was about to say my wedding vows to it, he asked worriedly if there was something wrong.
"I'm fine, thanks," I squeaked at the both of them, drying my eye on my sleeve. "I just love beans."

Boromir's mouth opened slightly, and he looked at Glorfindel with a mixture of confusion, alarm, and disturbedness on his face.

Without another word, I sat down and helped myself to some beans and a piece of toast. I spooned some beans onto my toast and took a bite, and my god. Miracle of miracles, they tasted exactly the same. The joy was intense. I didn't speak again until I'd cleared my plate, after which I looked up contritely at Boromir.

"I do apologise for that short departure from character there, Lord Boromir," I said in my professional voice. "It's my favourite food, and I haven't even seen it in some five thousand years. These beans," I gestured at the serving bowl, feeling the emotion well up in me again, "are a triumph."

Bewildered but pleased, Boromir smiled and nodded. "You will be glad to know, then, that they are a staple here."

"Lord have mercy."

This pleasant news somehow led to me putting away two more helpings of the meal of earthly delights. In theory, I could have consumed the entire serving bowl without any ill effects, but it seemed so unwise. How would I explain it? How would I look into the eyes of someone who had wanted beans for breakfast after that? No, it couldn't be done.

Glorfindel, unfortunately, had a little more trouble finding something that was to his liking, but even he had a breakthrough discovery upon trying lime marmalade on his toast. Four slices later, he was also ready to start the day.

When Boromir was similarly sated (his dish of choice was a huge fry-up), we all stood up and Boromir took Glorfindel and me on a short stroll around, both to help us get our bearings and also to drop Glorfindel off at what was to be the first of several all-day discussions to outline the next decade's defence plans.

When Glorfindel had been received by some important-looking guy in velvet, Boromir and I continued on our stroll. Upon my request that we go somewhere to talk without risk of being overheard, Boromir led me to a comfortable, bright office with some deliciously squashy armchairs.

"So tell me, Boromir, how are we supposed to go about this whole thing?" I asked him as I slipped off my backpack and sank into one of these marshmallowy delights. "Your father was not aware that you had travelled to Imladris and you did not tell him the entire truth about your visit. I imagine he is also yet to be enlightened as to the help you would like him to accept from me."

"Indeed," he said with a sigh, furrowing his brow as he tapped his fingers on his armrest.

"Have you ever spoken to him about your concerns for his well being?"

"I… attempted to on one occasion, and it did not end very harmoniously," Boromir replied, grimacing a little. "He became quite angry, and the matter was never raised again."

I nodded and scratched my chin thoughtfully. "Well, if you like, I can fill him in with news from Imladris and bring the topic around your concerns for him, see if he's willing to do something, and we'll take it from there, eh? What do you think?"

"That sounds like an excellent plan," Boromir said with a smile. "Come, I can take you there now, if you like. He is at his most approachable after breakfast."

I glanced at Boromir as I rose all too soon from my splendid chair. "Is that a good deal more than how he was before breakfast?"

"Not especially," Boromir admitted, also getting up, "But enough that I notice."

My heart sank for this poor kid. And he was the favourite! I shuddered to think of how this bloke must have been treating the 15-year-old Faramir.

"Listen, he's going to want to know how I know all this if I bring up any concerns, so can I mention our discussion in Rivendell, or should we sit back down a moment and make a plausible story?"
"Oh, I think you can just mention that I said something to you," Boromir said. "A benefit of being the favourite son, I suppose, is that I am quickly forgiven."

I shrugged and nodded, and with that, we made our way back to the throne room. I didn't like having to walk such a long way upon entering. It was so eerily like those moments where a friend approaches you from a distance but they're too far away to converse with, so for those awkward two minutes, you're smiling and not breaking eye contact. Except, of course, that Denethor was not a friend of mine, and instead spent the painful two minutes of walking time glaring at me suspiciously.

I decided to let Boromir butter him up so that he'd be willing to sit and chat with me for longer than a handful of sentences, using the opportunity to make myself look as friendly and chill as possible.

I was so caught up in monitoring my ostensible state of calmness that I zoned out and only snapped back into it when Boromir nodded at me and departed.

Denethor stood up and beckoned that I follow him. He walked down the few steps leading to his throne and crossed the room, opening a door and waving me through as he closed it behind him. It looked like the same sort of set-up Oropher had had in his halls, a separate room for audiences with visitors. This room was similarly well-appointed, perhaps even more opulent than the one in the former Amon Lanc. Chairs and couches with velvet upholstery (what was it with these people and velvet?) were tastefully arranged atop a huge woven carpet, and the arched stone windows had curtains of a rich red hue pinned up to let the light in.

When Denethor invited me to sit, we began, albeit a little clumsily, a conversation during which I brought him up to speed on what was what in Imladris, carefully avoiding any mention of Sauron-related woes.

"And in interesting medical news, a wild flower has been discovered on the outskirts of Imladris, the seed pulp of which has proved an excellent unguent for burn injuries," I summarised, having dredged up every piece of news I could possibly think of. "I believe Lord Glorfindel will be engaging in some battlefield medical trade deals with your gentlemen later today centred around that particular plant."

Denethor nodded, but didn't appear to have taken all of it in. "Tell me, Lady Rhodri, what prompted Lord Elrond to send you to my kingdom to deliver these messages? From what I have heard about you, your profession has little to do with relaying current affairs."

"What have you heard about my job, Lord Denethor?" I asked, quietly smug that the topic had veered around to this without any effort on my part.

"You advise on matters of the head," he said confidently.

"That's a part of it, yes," I acknowledged. "I also research about behaviour and illness of the head so that I can get a better understanding of what diseases affect which population and how."

"Diseases of the head?" Denethor said sceptically, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, yes, certainly," I replied with a nod. "There's a huge array of mind disorders that require expert knowledge to diagnose and treat."

"I see," he said, his tone no less mistrustful than before.

"It's amazing how many are actually affected by such issues," I continued, pressing a little further. "I have treated everybody from the poorest of the poor to very wealthy monarchs, many of whom were not even aware there was an issue to begin with."

Denethor frowned a little now. "Have you come to my kingdom to proselytise to me about your magical healing powers?"

"I'm not in the business of proselytism," I replied calmly, "and it's been some five thousand years since I was paid for my work, so you can be sure that I have nothing to gain financially from finding more people to treat."

"And yet here you are," he murmured, not taking his hard, grey eyes off me as the furrow in his brow deepened.

"Well, for a start, I have a dual role in that I am one of Lord Elrond's top advisors, and the resident psychologist," I explained patiently, "But if you think I am here in my role as a psychologist as well, you would be correct."

"Explain yourself, then," Denethor demanded. "Do you imply I am not fit in my mind? Not clever enough, not sane enough, perhaps?"

"I do not care for those sorts of flawed metrics," I replied gravely. "I was asked to come to Gondor by Boromir, as a matter of fact."

Denethor looked at me like he was itching to give me a clout, but contented himself with asking for an elaboration.

"Your son is worried for you, Lord Denethor," I said with a sigh. "He fears that you have been unhappy for a long time, and that it is impacting how well you live and enjoy your life." I made sure to steer away from mentions of being erratic or potentially bad at parenting and ruling, as I was sure that it would be considered extreme provocation and dealt with accordingly.

"My son is a fool, and so are you," Denethor snapped. "He, because he fell for your clever scheme, and you because you think you can control my mind to relinquish my kingdom to your Lord Elrond!"

I raised an eyebrow, and Denethor grew angrier. "Do not think I am unaware of your plots, Rhodri of Imladris! I know Elrond would have you completely unseat me, but be assured that I will not be dethroned so easily!"

"I don't know what you think Elrond or I would do with Gondor, but we have no intention of usurping you, or any of your descendants, to find out for ourselves. Elrond didn't send me here. I was asked to come by your son," I returned, making the tiniest cynical expression I could get away with. "You know, I've noticed that people who show apprehension or hostility to psychologists could usually benefit from their help in some way or another."

I sat still and watched him, keeping calm and expressionless. Anger was a common reaction to this comment, but was usually followed with a brief period of introspection. If they think it through carefully enough, they usually decide to open up to me, as though they had finally been given a plausible excuse to do so.

For Denethor, however, this sequence appeared to go in reverse order. For a brief moment, he seemed to be experiencing enormous inner turmoil, but it evaporated as his eyes widened in fury.

"You come to offer me insult," he whispered lividly. "You desire my kingdom, and my son was a fool to have any hope in you, Elrond perhaps even more so. Leave my presence, and stay away from my son for the rest of your time here." He shooed me out of the audience room with one hand, and I didn't dare argue at this point. I got up and quickly departed.

Outside in the warm air, I glanced up at the clock tower. 11:30. Must be time for lunch, I decided, making a beeline for the dining hall again.

On the way there, I ran into Boromir, who greeted me happily and watched expectantly for news.

"I'm going to go back to that place we sat and talked this morning. Follow me in a few minutes."

Boromir looked confused but nodded.

When I had spent a short while joyfully sunken into my new favourite chair, Boromir materialised at the door and closed it behind him carefully before taking a seat himself.

"Why are we meeting so clandestinely, Rhodri?" he asked worriedly. "Did the meeting not go well?"

"Got it in one," I replied, nodding regretfully. "He was not pleased about my presence initially, I don't think, but once I mentioned the matter at hand, he was definitely angered. As such, I am now forbidden from speaking from young, impressionable you while I'm in Gondor."

Boromir was taken aback and looked extremely discontent at this news. "But he needs help," he protested to nobody in particular.

"Unfortunately, Boromir, there are a lot of people who would benefit greatly from my assistance who do not want it," I said heavily, Elrond's face flashing through my mind as I spoke.

"But he will worsen, I am sure of it!"

"Here's the thing, Boromir," I leaned forward and looked at him earnestly. "It's hard opening up to a stranger, even if it helps in the long run. You enter a relationship where there is a distinct power imbalance, and it's a terrifying prospect for some. If he's not ready for that, I can't force him."

"Even if he is dangerous?" he returned.

"No, if he is a danger to himself or to other people, then I have to step in whether he wants help or not, or if he isn't of an ability to make decisions on his own. In either of those cases, though, you would have to give me indisputable proof that that was the case."

"What sort of proof?"

"Something that incontrovertibly demonstrates that A: he no longer understands the consequences of his actions, and B: that he does not grasp the reality of the situation at hand, even when it is explained to him clearly. Or that you have proof he intends to harm himself or someone else." I watched him carefully a moment before continuing. "So far, though your father seems a little paranoid, I do not have enough evidence from our discussion to draw the conclusion that he is not capable of making decisions, and I certainly didn't get the impression he was going to harm anyone."

Boromir frowned deeply as he sat quietly, impatiently tapping his foot on the ground as he watched the ceiling pensively. After a minute or so like this, he appeared to have some sort of epiphany, and sat up straight in his chair.

"I think I have the proof you need," he said confidently.