Chapter 32 - "Gi melin."

"You look scarcely any worse for your ordeal, Éowyn."

"I feel well in body, save my arm only; but I shall sicken anew, if there is naught that I can do. Are there no tidings of war? The women can tell me nothing!"

Elanor smiled slightly.

"I have but few tidings; I had a visitor yesterday who spoke of a council of the Lords of the West. They were to decide a course of action by last night, and I have hope that we might hear word of their doings today," she said, trying to soothe the other woman's spirit.

Best not to tell her that I already know what will happen!

Éowyn's face brightened at this. She was paler than usual, but her grey eyes were clear and sharp. She sat half propped up in her bed with one arm carefully wrapped in a linen sling. Aragorn's treatment had gone a long way towards her recovery, for apart from her broken arm and a weary expression, she bore few traces of her encounter with the Lord of the Nazgûl.

For her part, Elanor felt almost normal. Her sleep had been reasonable—whether due to her desperate plea to Eru for good rest or not—and she had been eager to escape her room that morning. After breakfast, Ioreth had entered leading two young serving women to tend her. They brought with them fresh raiment—a dress, the first she had worn in many weeks.

Unlike the Elvish and Rohirric fashions, Gondorian sleeves were not miles long but were either fitted or puffed, drawing close about their wearer's wrists. This particular garment was a medium blue-grey velvet, with a waist that cinched about the narrowest part of her slim form, a high collar, and slim sleeves heavily embroidered. The embroidery thread also traced the bodice and about the hem of the skirt, the heavy folds clinging pleasantly to her slender form.

The serving women had then turned themselves to her long curls, which Elanor had washed the night before. With deft fingers they had fastened it back into an intricate knot at the nape of her neck, pulled softly away from her face in pleasant loops and twists. The whole effect was surprisingly pretty, and much nicer than the braid she had become accustomed to whilst travelling.

Feeling cleaner and fresher than she had in weeks, Elanor had been led to Éowyn's chambers. The Rohirric woman was brightly awake, and greeted her with unbridled joy.

"It irks me to be so confined, Elanor," Éowyn muttered, eyeing the former's attire and freedom of movement with envy.

"Confined? You are not clad in the corsetry of Minas Tirith!" countered Elanor, running her hand over the stiff, boned garment which went under the gown. Whilst it didn't shrink her waist over-much—she was slim enough already—it yanked her shoulders back and forced her to adopt rigid good posture.

"Aye, I have heard as much," said Éowyn darkly. "Give me the raiment of my own people!"

Elanor laughed, rising from her chair and moving to the other woman's window. This one afforded a better view across the gardens, and she was admiring a bush about to burst into flower when Éowyn spoke again.

"From whom did you glean your information about the war, Elanor? Perhaps I shall seek him out also, for there is much I wish to know."

She turned, but did not resume her seat. The corset was too confining.

"Legolas. Or, I suppose, Prince Legolas, as he is rightly to be named. He is the younger son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood, a kingdom far to the North," she supplied, at Éowyn's confused expression.

"An Elf, then?"

"Yes; two of my Elvish friends visited yesterday."

"And the other?"

"Lord Glorfindel, who dwelled in Lord Elrond's house with me before I came hither." Elanor smiled slightly. "He was mightily upset that I had followed you on this desperate errand, Éowyn."

The woman sighed. "Speak not of it, Elanor, for my heart is heavy. Théoden was dearer-than-father to me."

Kicking herself inwardly for the indiscretion, Elanor sought hurriedly for another topic of conversation.

"I shall have to introduce you to Legolas and Glorfindel."

Éowyn nodded absently. "I should like that. I wonder who commands in the city, for surely Lord Aragorn and my brother shall both ride to battle once more."

"I believe that Lord Faramir—" Elanor suddenly cut herself off.

Faramir, the Steward… but no, because Boromir… Boromir's alive! I wonder if Denethor killed himself anyway… I'll have to ask Glorfindel. Goodness, that could throw a spanner in the works! I wonder if Faramir even got sent to retake Osgiliath with Boromir still alive!

"Is all well, Elanor?" inquired Éowyn as she noticed her companion's anxious expression.

"Oh, yes, of course Éowyn. I just recalled that there are many questions that are yet to be answered. My understanding of Gondor and it's workings is, I believe, rather outdated."

"I forget sometimes that you are an advisor to great lords, Elanor."

Elanor grinned. "None so great, Éowyn, though I do what I may."

And now I'm utterly excluded from the whole thing, until the others come back. Thank goodness Glorfindel promised to come again today, there are a lot of things I need to know!

For several hours, Elanor sat or paced Éowyn's bedchamber, half-heartedly discussing a plethora of topics whilst both women grew increasingly bored and restless. By late morning, Ioreth entered to check on the shield-maiden of Rohan, and Elanor hastily excused herself to walk in the gardens.

The air was slightly chilly, so she donned a cloak left by one of the serving girls and hurried for the nearest door leading out of the Houses of Healing.

The gardens which surrounded this fairly primitive hospital were well-tended and pleasant, though without the magnificence of Rivendell's flora and fauna. It was only early spring, and most plants had just begun to show signs of life. The air was damp and cool, for it appeared that Gondor saw it's wet season leading into summer—a comfortingly familiar notion for a woman who heralded from the sub-tropics.

Elanor soon found the main path leading out of the Houses, passing across a close-cropped lawn and leading towards the city proper. As much as she wished to escape, Elanor knew that she had little hope of locating her friends in the maze that was Minas Tirith. Glorfindel had said the Prince of Dol Amroth and the now-king Éomer dwelt within the city, but she knew that Aragorn, her foster-brothers and other companions had remained camped upon the battlefield. Whilst they would speak on her behalf, she was yet unknown to the other lords of men. A woman wandering alone—albeit a well-dressed woman—would not simply be allowed to march into the citadel without an escort or warrant of some kind.

Unless…

Glancing upwards towards the citadel, Elanor squinted as she attempted to discern the standard which flew above the city. As best she could tell, it was a silvery swan-ship upon a blue background—the standard of Dol Amroth.

Which means Faramir's definitely not in charge… and neither is Boromir… but where is he then? Glorfindel said he was fine, that he had begun to walk towards Minas Tirith. And if Imrahil's in charge, it means that the book has reasserted itself, and both Faramir and Boromir are dead, or just Boromir… at the very least, Denethor's gone… so where are the others? How come Denethor killed himself if Boromir still lives? Goodness me!

Frowning at the path, Elanor sighed.

Hurry up Glorfindel—Legolas—Elladan—someone!

Feeling piqued and desperate for information, Elanor seated herself upon a bench in plain view of the entrance to the Houses. Were any of her companions to come in search of her, they could not miss the golden-haired figure who sat like a wooden sentinel beneath a budding tree.

Legolas studied the buildings with a keen eye as he trod the cobblestoned streets of Minas Tirith. To his left walked Glorfindel, at least outwardly enraptured by the architecture. Much of it was well-conceived, erected by the Men of Númenor in the height of their splendour, for before the line was diminished they had possessed much lore and skill.

"There is some good stone-work here," Glorfindel remarked, as he looked at the walls; "but also some that is less good, and the streets could be better contrived. When Aragorn comes into his own, he ought to seek the services of the stonewrights of Erebor, for the Dwarves might make this a town to be proud of."

"They need more gardens," said Legolas. "The houses are dead, and there is too little here that grows and is glad. If Aragorn comes into his own, the people of the Wood shall bring him birds that sing and trees that do not die."

"That is well; the city's gardens could be much improved were they tended by the hand of the Elves of the Greenwood," nodded Glorfindel, his gaze moving upwards towards the citadel. The Noldorin Elf was sharp in his assessment of stonework, after the manner of his people. The Sindarin and Silvan Elves tended more towards the woods and creatures of the forest, and Legolas longed to see the White City softened by flourishing gardens.

The two members of the Fellowship walked several paces behind the dark-haired figures of Elrond's sons; Elladan and Elrohir walked in perfect unison, speaking in soft voices. They followed the path upwards as it wove across the tiers of the city. Without faltering, they traced the route to the Houses of Healing.

Legolas glanced across at Glorfindel as they climbed a flight of stairs. Elrond's second appeared to have retreated within himself, for his eyes stared unseeingly at the path before him and his lips were pressed tight together. He had returned to the campsite wearing a similar expression the day before. It had taken but a moment for Legolas to read into the clenched jaw and sad eyes. His visit to Elanor had merely affirmed his suspicions.

Yet Glorfindel said nothing.

The Wood-elf smiled to himself. He had spent enough time in the company of the golden-haired lord to know that he was inherently straightforward, though with a propensity to puzzle things out in silence first.

He must speak soon, for he has dwelt on this predicament long enough; in any other instance such a thing might be objectionable, but in this case… he is no less unusual than she. One might overlook her mortal heritage were Glorfindel to voice his feelings. No, he shall undoubtedly make himself known soon. Today, if I can contrive it...

Elladan and Elrohir soon turned to the entrance to the Houses of Healing. Just inside the gate, sitting in stately fashion and elegantly clad, was Elanor. She glanced up as she heard footfalls upon the path, and in the blink of an eye had flown across the lawn to embrace her foster-brothers, her cloak discarded on the bench behind her.

The twins pulled her into their arms as one, her golden head lost behind their raven ones. When at length they released her, she wore a blithe smile. She then glanced behind to Glorfindel and Legolas.

The latter grinned as Elanor reached up to hug him also. She released him and stepped to his left to embrace Glorfindel. Legolas watched carefully as he also greeted the young woman, hands barely touching her in their embrace before he stepped cautiously away. If Elanor noticed his hesitancy, she gave no sign. Her delight transcended all Elvish customs of polite greeting. As much as his father and brother would have disapproved, this slip of a woman's bright and affectionate nature was appealing. In most instances she behaved as decorum demanded; today, none would scold her for her unmeasured joy. Truth be told, there was none to observe them, and the happiness on her countenance rendered her beautiful.

Little wonder Glorfindel sees so much in her!

Then she slipped a hand through each of her brothers', leading them deeper into the gardens with a delighted expression on her face.

"Come; I take you shall not wish to enter the Houses, for the gardens are much more pleasant. There are many wounded indoors, and I believe they shall be expelling me without much delay. I hardly warrant hospitalisation," Elanor laughed, glancing from one to the other of them.

Glorfindel forced his countenance into submission as he followed the others across the lawn. Elanor filled his vision; the light glinting on her hair, the trim tautness of her figure, her quick movements and glinting eyes. She smelled of sweet flowers and honey, an intoxicating aroma which lingered in the air.

"I have dozens of questions for you all," the woman continued, pausing at a bench and sitting down. "None here know who reigns in the city, or else they do not inform me if they do know as much. I see Prince Imrahil's standard flying; yet surely Lord Denethor rules Minas Tirith, and both his sons after him?" She waited whilst Elladan and Elrohir positioned themselves on either side of her. Glorfindel joined Legolas upon the grass at her feet. He admired the subtle way Elanor broached the subject without hinting of her foreknowledge to the Silvan Elf.

"Alas!" sighed Elrohir, his grey eyes hard. "Lord Denethor is dead."

Glorfindel could not help studying Elanor's face as the younger son of Elrond uttered the stone-cold words. Judging by the lack of alarm upon her fair features, this was not news to her.

Her prophecies still hold true.

"And what of Boromir, and his brother?"

Elrohir turned to Glorfindel then, who hurriedly gathered his wits and drew his eyes away from the woman.

"I have heard naught of Lord Boromir since his departure from the Fellowship some weeks ago," he said. "The fact that he is not yet within the city is a cause for some concern. Perhaps, though, it is not to be wondered at. Lord Éomer reported many yrch upon the road."

Elanor's eyes gleamed, and she nodded. "And Lord Faramir?"

"Lord Faramir," said Elladan, "was charged to retake Osgiliath, though his company was small and all hope had deserted them. He was brought from the field, grievously wounded. I know not what occurred, but Gandalf was most disturbed by the course of events, and seemed very relieved when Aragorn was able to draw Faramir from the brink of death."

"And so, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth holds Minas Tirith, and with him abides King Éomer of Rohan," Elrohir concluded, one hand absently rubbing Elanor's. "Lord Aragorn does not wish to speak his claim to the throne as yet, and dwells with us."

"Yes," Elanor smiled, "I knew that. Glorfindel told me." Her green eyes met with his for an instant. Something protective surged within him, for there was sadness veiled heavily in those starry orbs.

Worry still plagues her. Aulë forgive me for the pain I have caused!

"And what of the council? What does Lord Aragorn desire to do after this battle?"

"Gandalf spoke first, for the value placed upon his wisdom stems not only from the Valley of Imladris. He is much changed, Elanor, from when you last saw him," smiled Elladan, the gravity of the moment unable to quench the cheerful twin's ready grin. "He raised his voice, and said, 'My lords, listen to the words of the Steward of Gondor before he died: You may triumph on the fields of the Pelennor for a day, but against the Power that has now arisen there is no victory. I do not bid you despair, as he did, but to ponder the truth in these words'."

"Grim words," Elanor said softly.

"Indeed. For then he went on: 'The Stones of Seeing do not lie, and not even the Lord of Barad-dûr can make them do so. He can, maybe, by his will choose what things shall be seen by weaker minds, or cause them to mistake the meaning of what they see. Nonetheless it cannot be doubted that when Denethor saw great forces arrayed against him in Mordor, and more still being gathered, he saw that which truly is. Hardly has our strength sufficed to beat off the first great assault. The next will be greater. This war then is without final hope, as Denethor perceived. Victory cannot be achieved by arms, whether you sit here to endure siege after siege, or march out to be overwhelmed beyond the River. You have only a choice of evils; and prudence would counsel you to strengthen such strong places as you have, and there await the onset; for so shall the time before your end be made a little longer'.

"Then Prince Imrahil spoke, saying 'Then you would have us retreat to Minas Tirith, or Dol Amroth, or to Dunharrow, and there sit like children on sand-castles when the tide is flowing?' Gandalf then said he did not counsel prudence, though victory could not be achieved through strength of arms. He then brought forth a short account of the Ring of Power, and of Sam and Gimli's quest."

Glorfindel stole another fleeting glance at Elanor, noting her desperately controlled impatience. If his guesses were correct, she had heard this tale before; it was told only for the sake of keeping up appearances before Legolas.

And why she does not speak to him of her heritage also, I know not! He should not betray her; she is beloved in his sight also… is it possible…?

He shook himself mentally.

Prince Legolas of MIrkwood—second son though he is—would not give away his heart so rashly as the bold and reckless Lord of the House of the Golden Flower.

Something within him seemed to find this thought sardonically amusing.

"What you mean to say," said Elanor, breaking through his reverie at the conclusion of Elladan's narrative, "is that all of you shall march upon Mordor, though the battle be hopeless and there is every likelihood that you shall perish and never return, even if victory is achieved?"

Silence fell, unbroken save by the chirping of a heedless bird. Elanor searched each face calmly, coming at length to linger on Glorfindel. He felt his stomach clench as he saw the bitterness in her eyes, buried beneath her collected facade. Legolas was gazing at the grass, and Elladan and Elrohir were not afforded a clear view of their sister's face. But Glorfindel read the signs and felt his heart sink for them. She concealed it well, but the previous weeks had exacted a heavy toll on this woman. If her inconsolable weeping the day before had not been enough, this would have convinced him. Whether her anger was directed towards him, he did not know, and in that moment it mattered little. She spoke their fates with calm detachment, and would farewell them bravely—but she would weep at their going.

And this time, none would remain behind to share her burden.

"Yes, Elanor; you have put it most aptly," replied Elrohir, dryly. His movements belied him though, for he clutched at her hand as if it meant more to him than his own.

Elanor bit back a scream of frustration.

She knew she ought to have expected it, ought to have known that the tale would continue as planned. Yet it was poor consolation as she considered those whom she cared for riding off towards Mordor.

Denethor's death was expected; and, perhaps, it is better for all concerned. Faramir will live. But Boromir? Why has he not returned to the city? Surely it does not take this long to walk from Parth Galen to Minas Tirith?

Perhaps the book must always reassert itself, and he has died despite—

No, that can't be. It accepted Glorfindel joining the Fellowship, and Boromir's survival initially. Something else must've happened… something I didn't think of… or is it possible he was just delayed? Goodness, this is too complicated for me to keep track of!

And then there was the matter of the final, coming battle, resting upon the shoulders of Sam and Gimli as they journeyed through Mordor. Were the pair to fail, all would be lost. There was a distinct possibility that her friends might still perish regardless, but were the Ring to reach Sauron's hand, Elanor would also be doomed.

Doomed to die in a world that isn't even my own!

She wanted to allow her lungs to release their full fury upon the world. She wanted to kick and flail like a child having a tantrum. And she would have done so, were it not for the pressure of Elrohir's fingers on hers—and the look of profound understanding and pity in Glorfindel's blue eyes.

She took a deep breath and forced the words out with all the composure she possessed.

"Well, I suppose we may only hope and pray."

Elrohir's grip was like a vice, and Elanor dropped her eyes to avoid the gazes of the others. It was truth, and all save Legolas knew that the original tale proclaimed victory for the Free Peoples.

Eru, let it be!

Elladan then tactfully inquired after Lady Éowyn, steering mercifully clear of Elanor's recollections of the battle. Glorfindel had undoubtedly related the extremity of her breakdown to the twins, and none questioned her. They spoke of several things, lingering upon each but briefly and all failing rather miserably at their attempt at cheerfulness. What had started as a merry gathering swiftly lost momentum as Elanor's spirits plunged lower.

Legolas joined in as the conversation turned to Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, the first time he had spoken since their arrival.

"That is a fair lord and a great captain of men," said he. "If Gondor has such men still in these days of fading, great must have been its glory in the days of its rising."

"The house of Edain from which the men of Númenor are descendant were a proud and noble line," said Glorfindel, quietly. "Imrahil is as much akin to them as any in this age."

"It is long since the people of Nimrodel left the woodlands of Lórien, and yet still one may see that not all sailed from Amroth's haven west over the water," mused Legolas.

"Yes, the people of Dol Amroth have Elvish heritage, don't they?" Elanor inquired mechanically, hoping to disguise the frustration and hopelessness which nestled in the pit of her stomach.

"So it is said," nodded Legolas. "Yet, as Prince Imrahil spoke, never has one of the fair folk been seen there for years beyond count. The Firstborn of Ilúvatar are rare to be seen in these days. Many have watched askance as we passed, and never so sharply as when four pass in company."

Elanor forced a thin-lipped smile. "I can imagine; women appear to be equally scarce in Minas Tirith."

"Lord Aragorn said the people were evacuated," said Elladan, rubbing his chin absently. "And 'tis just as well."

Legolas nodded mutely. There was no need to speak of the destruction which lay many levels below. Elanor was relieved that the remnants of the carnage had not wafted skywards. Her garishly vivid memories were poignant enough.

After a little more half-hearted conversation, Elrohir rose and drew Elanor to her feet. Her heart sunk. Someone had slipped the news to her during their chatter that the army departed early the following morning; too early for any to ride through the city and farewell the forlorn woman at the Houses of Healing.

Which means this is goodbye…

Wordlessly, Elrohir kissed her hand. Then his face hardened and he strode past the entrance to the gardens without a second look. Elladan stood before her then, though he bore a sad smile as he farewelled her with as little ceremony as his brother.

When the twins had gone, Legolas squeezed her shoulder with a gentle hand.

"Heed them not, Elanor," he said. "I have ridden for many days at their sides, and I know the sons of Elrond well. They love you well, and cannot bear to bid you goodbye so often. 'Tis easier this way."

Feeling worn and hurt, Elanor nodded. She too had grown exhausted with the tearful goodbyes. Elladan and Elrohir's unspoken love was enough.

"I know."

Legolas glanced at Glorfindel then, who stood nearby with a pained expression on his countenance. Before Elanor could ask any questions, Legolas repeated the gesture of her foster-brothers and departed after them. Expecting Glorfindel to farewell her with equal haste, Elanor managed a watery smile.

"I feel as if we have seen this scene played out many times before," she managed, with a short laugh.

Glorfindel did not smile. Instead, he swallowed slowly, and knitted his fingers together. Elanor watched in bewilderment as the golden-haired Elf struggled with some internal quandary. After half a moment he seemed to come to some decision. His eyes moved from the ground at his feet to meet Elanor's.

"May I speak with you, Elanor?"

She raised an eyebrow in an attempt at playfulness. "Are you not already speaking with me?"

This seemed to bring him further anguish, for he turned and flopped upon the bench nearby. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and cradled his face in his hands. With a growing sense of alarm, Elanor hurried to sit beside him. She reached out and pulled one hand away from his face.

"Glorfindel, is everything all right?"

One blue eye surveyed her frankly. Then its twin was unveiled as he removed his other hand. Tentatively, he reached out and rested it upon Elanor's cheek.

She jumped at the unexpected touch, and he snatched his hand away as if she had burned him.

"Forgive me—" he gasped, his voice full of unbearable pain. In a flash he was halfway across the lawn, nearing the gate.

"Glorfindel! Wait, please!" Elanor cried, snatching up her skirts and racing after him.

What on earth is going on with him lately?!

He slowed to a halt, though he did not face her. Elanor moved so she stood directly in front of him, searching his face in an effort to discern what troubled him. The forget-me-not blue eyes—Tim… bluer than Tim's…—stared back, full of an unintelligible mixture of emotions.

This is what war does…

"Glorfindel," she repeated, "I am sorry. You merely startled me. Please, tell me what's wrong."

The Elf-lord laughed. It was not the merry, hearty sound she had known in Rivendell, but bitter and dry.

"You do not see," he replied.

Elanor almost snorted in frustration. "No, Glorfindel, I do not; won't you be honest with me?"

"You have asked it of me, so I shall," he said, before switching to Sindarin: "Gi melin, Elanor Ravenscroft."

He remembers my real name… he said he loves me, and he remembers my real name…

Glorfindel.

Glorfindel loves me.

Elanor Ravenscroft…

Glorfindel.

Glorfindel remembered my name.

He knows.

And he loves me.

A multitude of thoughts rushed into Elanor's mind as she stared up at the Elf, absolutely dumbstruck. She had never regarded the Noldorin Elf-lord as a potential lover, except as a girlish joke. It was the kind of joke she would have laughed over with Georgia and swift forgotten.

Georgia…

Glorfindel was a High Elf, extremely powerful, and immortal. She was a human, regarded as little more than common due to her unknown heritage. He was immaculately formed, almost too handsome to believe, whereas she sat comfortably in the "fairly pretty" zone. He was a friend, one of the few people she trusted with her past. Someone who had spent time with her in playful, brotherly banter.

Were this an American romantic-comedy movie, Elanor knew she would plead the friend-zone and tell Glorfindel she couldn't possibly think of him "that way". Then, she would come to regret her decision, only to discover that he had found another to love.

And yet, it took but a moment for Elanor to remove Glorfindel from beneath the banner she had created: "Benevolent brother, very kind and likes to tease a lot. Deep in the friend-zone, probably a level 9. Substitute for the 'gay best friend' figure. Totally out of my league." In the four seconds of silence which fell between them, she considered his noble attributes. He was lovely and good; gentlemanly and thoughtful, courteous almost to a fault, and generous. From that first meeting she had liked him, when he had kissed her gently upon the forehead and bid her go towards happiness.

It was as if scales fell from her eyes, for she saw now in all of his kind gestures a hint of something more. The unspoken emotion in his gaze, his gentleness, the time he had spent with her, the affectionate touches… these were not commonplace. He had been silently telling her of his love for weeks, and she had been blind to it. Glorfindel was everything she had admired in Tim—and, she realised, more.

In that moment, she knew without doubt that the "friend-zone" was complete and utter rubbish.

Then she laughed and fell forward against him.

She pressed her forehead against his chest, her hands brushing the soft weave of his tunic. As soon as she had entered his embrace his arms slipped about her waist and shoulders, drawing her closer. She felt his warm breath on her hair, and drank in the smell of him; pine trees, spearmint and fresh mountain air. It was enough to make her giddy.

He grasped her arms then, pushing her a little away from himself so he could see glance down at her face. Elanor grinned stupidly up at him, her heart thudding and a bewildering feeling of elation brushing away the cobwebs of fear and despair.

Glorfindel loves me!

"Ci velethril nîn, Elanor," he smiled, reaching up to brush her cheek with his thumb.

"And you are mine."

Glorfindel laughed—and it was his old laugh, the one she liked to hear so much.

With perfect gentleness, he cupped her chin and kissed her. His touch on her face was gentle, and for an indeterminable period of time Elanor was utterly lost in the taste and feel of his lips on hers. He kissed her thoroughly, igniting her senses and making her knees feel weaker by the moment.

Then he drew back, brushing her mouth with his.

"I love you," he breathed, bestowing a feather-light kiss upon her forehead. "I love you." He moved down to her nose, and kissed both cheeks before returning to her mouth. "I love you."

Elanor leaned closer to him, savouring the taste of his lips before he withdrew once more. He grasped her waist then, pulling her against him whilst he looked down at her face. One hand remained beneath her chin, and as he smiled his fingers traced the line of her cheek and lips.

Elanor grinned as if her face had never known any other expression. "I'm afraid you are very forward, my lord."

"That I am, lady," replied he, sounding remarkably cheerful despite the accusation. "War does strange things to one. I have lived many lifetimes upon this earth, and yet I could not follow your foster-kin to battle had I not confessed my love to you, Ellie."

He's… perfect.

She laughed, unable to manage her Middle-Earth-speak in that moment. "I can't even begin to describe how I feel right now."

Shifting so she was tucked against his side, Glorfindel gestured towards the bench upon which they had sat but moments before. Sitting down, he drew her beside him and planted a kiss on her hair.

"You can try."

TRANSLATIONS

Ci velethril nîn - "You are my love"
Gi melin - "I love you"

I feel like a child that's been handed a new toy! Hehe. Except this one is boat-shaped, has "Elanor-Glorfindel" written on it... and has just sailed. ;)

I hoped that by shifting perspectives a few times, I'd be able to give a more holistic picture of what was going on; how Glorfindel's behaviour reads to Legolas vs. to Elanor, how Glorfindel looked at Elanor, and how she misinterpreted him (and has the entire time).

For anyone who was planning to review and say, "WHAT ABOUT EÄRENDUR?" don't panic! I will be sure to address loose ends such as this and tie them up nice and securely in the next chapter. My main priority with this one was being true to Glorfindel's character as I perceived it: as Legolas kind of said, Glorfindel is not a "beat around the bush" kind of guy. He's straightforward. It's the way of the Elves, and even as an individual he's not liable to sit around mooning over Elanor. It's war, he's forthright, and he says something straight up. He doesn't want to leave the following morning without saying something to this woman!

With Elanor's almost-immediate capitulation to her feelings for him... This was something I tried to portray as it was. I have mixed thoughts on the friend-zone. I think it both does and doesn't exist. It's not irrevocable, though you can put some guys in a friend-zone-like state. But the truth is, Elanor, myself, and a lot of women I have talked to (not claiming it for everyone, just a lot from my understanding of things) would receive Glorfindel's advances even though he was previously only a friend to them. She thought him attractive, but had reconciled herself to just being friends. Therefore, when she found out he liked her, the platonic affection she had for him was easily transferred to something more. :)

Another thing I wanted to address was the human-Elf pairing. I know that some people will probably come up to me and say, "This is non-canon (I am aware), this is unlikely, and Glorfindel would never love a human!" At first, yeah, I thought as much. But a friend drew my attention to several things. Firstly, there are a fair amount of mentions of human-Elf relationships in the Tolkienverse (Idril-Tuor, Luthien-Beren and Aragorn-Arwen are only about half, if my memory serves me correctly). Secondly, Glorfindel isn't your average Elf. Yeah, he was high-born, but he's been sent back from the dead, been serving an Elf who is his inferior (I love Elrond but it's true; Glorfy is more powerful) and has obviously had a pretty full-on/traumatic life. He's had time to deal with stuff, but this is very different to if Elanor appeared in Glorfindel's storyline back in Gondolin. Now, he's been scolded by Mandos, and sent back to live out the will of the Valar and ensure Arda survives.

Now take Elanor. She isn't an ordinary human. She may not have a claim to lineage, but she's better educated than all but a handful in Middle Earth, she picks up languages fast due to her education, she has a foreknowledge of events, and she's had braces so her teeth are on point. ;) Even though some (like Denethor) might have looked at her and brushed her aside because she wasn't from a noble house. But Elanor is definitely not your average "noblewoman".

Glorfindel now has no obligations except serving Elrond (who is shortly to depart). He's not King Turgon's advisor/knight/etc., he's not obliged to behave like Legolas would be (can you imagine Thranduil's reaction of he and Elanor had a thing?!) and so who is going to scold him for marrying a human? No one who's going to be hanging around in Arda, that's who!

I don't want to rant on too much more, because I have some internal dialoguing and chatting for Elanor to do with a number of other people (that's a surprise!) and I want a lot of this to come up naturally as part of the story progression. But I thought I'd just toss some stuff out here, to ensure that people who were going to ask about these specific things don't need to. Reviews, are, of course, still welcome on other matters, or if you just want to discuss stuff. :)

Ps. even if you didn't like it, I'd still ship Elanor-Glorfindel anyway. xD

Finwe. :D