Chapter 38 - A cookie-cutter romance scene

I'm back guys! Notes below.

"Aren't you brave enough, Elanor?"

Elanor raised an eyebrow that was a great deal bushier than six months before. She sat upon a chair beneath the canopy of a blossoming tree, Glorfindel at her side and wearing an amused smirk. Elladan and Elrohir had disappeared half an hour previously with Legolas in tow, meaning to spar in a glade near the camp and to allow the lovers some privacy. Her sister had neglected to take the hint and come wandering through with the express idea of animated discussion.

"It's got nothing to do with bravery, Georgia," replied Elanor, a little tartly.

"Well it's not like you're not dressed for it," her sister put in, with blinding logic, gesturing at the workmanlike yet fine tunic and leggings which Elanor wore.

The latter sighed wearily, and Glorfindel squeezed her hand with warm fingers. The previous three days had been without respite. The announcement of the engagement between the Elf and the golden-haired human woman had been cause for much celebration within the camp; Elladan and Elrohir had been utterly amazed at first, though Legolas had been unsurprised.

Should've suspected that, though… he's a quick one.

Georgia had strutted about as proud as a peacock. Her pride at being sibling of the betrothed was unmatched, and whilst the two sisters had more deeply reconciled themselves to each other, Georgia was still as incorrigible as ever. She chattered, frolicked, interrupted, and was quite as cheerfully embarrassing as she'd always been.

After forty-eight hours of barely exchanging more than a few words at a time with Glorfindel, Elanor was growing short-tempered. It appeared that the Lords of the West would remain content to camp at the Field of Cormallen for some time yet. Gimli and Sam had not yet woken from the enchanted sleep Gandalf had bestowed upon them, and even when that event occurred, it would be weeks before they arrived back at Minas Tirith—and the engagement feast between human and Elf could be celebrated.

You need Elrond for that anyway, or else it will be an utter betrayal of his trust. So quit your worrying and fretting!

"I shall come and observe, if you like," proffered Glorfindel, smiling gently as if he could read every thought passing through Elanor's eyes.

Realising this was the best offer she was going to receive, she nodded and turned back to Georgia.

"Alright, G. I'll come."

Georgia grinned in satisfaction. "Excellent. Come on, Glorfy, come support your champion."

Elanor bit back a snarky remark as her sister grasped Glorfindel's arm and escorted him out of the clearing.

And there you were thinking that victory over Sauron would equal instant happiness!

Shut it.

With every step, Elanor beat the ground with her heels. Her face was fixed in a half-scowl at Georgia's back. The trio drew several stares, mostly because Glorfindel was such a distinctive figure; there were few Elves in camp, and the Noldorin Lord was considered fair even amongst the others of his race. Several of Prince Imrahil's advisors passed them with polite smiles, and Elanor attempted to remedy her frown so as not to offend some of Aragorn's chief allies. Passing through to the far side of the commander's glade, Elanor observed Éomer standing with one of his Marshals. The Rohirric king wore the stern expression she had come to associate with him. Elanor braved a smile, her bad temper somewhat lightened by the grouchy Horse-lord's perpetual frown. His grouchiness was almost comical. His eyes lingered on her only long enough to nod slightly, then passed to the pair in front. Glorfindel seemed to glide across the grass, whilst Georgia half-skipped beside him.

Just what I don't want Éomer to see about my younger sister!

Fortunately, they passed the King of Rohan swiftly, slipping amongst the trees and angling in the direction from which came sounds of laughter and metal clashing. Elanor sighed as they neared the conflict, her amusement at Éomer's uppityness waning.

Circling a bush, they emerged into a small sheltered clearing. The forest floor was fragrant earth coated in pine needles and mercifully free of roots. In it's centre stood Legolas and Elladan; the former held his two knives, whilst the latter carried an elegant broadsword of Elvish make. They whirled faster than the eye could observe, almost seeming to dance in deadly unison. Elanor halted unconsciously. She had avoided the sparring grounds and soldier's camp since the battle, for even though the good-natured tussles drew no blood, it still stirred a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her sister's request that they spar made her want to spit bile, and struggled to reconcile itself with her desire to lash out physically.

For a few minutes, she simply watched Legolas and Elladan and attempted to quell her annoyance. Her foster-brother and friend struggled to best one another and she lost herself in the clashing of blades, glad to drown out Georgia's chatter to her fiancé.

Fiancé… he's my fiancé…

Elanor smiled.

It's not like you're actually getting to be engaged, though. He's spent more time with Georgia and Aragorn than you lately!

Her smile faded.

It seemed that neither Legolas nor Elladan could gain the upper hand. Walnut hair mingled with raven as they began to slow, and eventually flew apart as if stung. Both breathed slightly harder than normal.

"An even contest," smiled Elrohir, from the far side of Glorfindel and Georgia.

"I shall best you one day," huffed Elladan to Legolas, his sword dangling at his side.

"Never, brother-of-my-heart," the Silvan Elf laughed, sheathing his knives. "Lord Elrond may be my ada's superior, but he saw that I should never fall second to one of the Noldor."

Both exchanged merry glances and burst into laughter as they moved side-by-side towards the gathered onlookers.

"Ah," Elladan smiled at Elanor as he noticed her, "I see that my sister and her betrothed have graced us with their presence. See, hanar! It is Elanor!" He reached out to tug the braid which rested upon her shoulder, and she struggled to force a grin.

"I saw you this morning, Elladan," she retorted weakly.

"And ever since you have been closeted with your betrothed!" added Legolas. "It is insupportable, Elanor. We cannot do without her!"

She held up her hands to stay the protests and found tears smarting at the back of her eyes.

"I've hardly seen him!" she wanted to screech. "I've barely had a chance to talk to him, I've been so busy dealing with Georgia and politely sitting whilst Glorfindel's in meetings! Or walking alone, or with Georgia, which is… almost worse. So just—"

Instead, she swallowed hard and rolled her eyes to disguise the tears. For once, Georgia's inability to be silent worked in her favour. The younger Ravenscroft laughed and broke in.

"I had to drag her out of the glade! But she's promised to spar with me, if we can find some weapons," she beamed, glancing about. "Might I borrow your knives, Legolas?"

If the request offended the Elf, he gave no sign. Still, Elanor could have beaten her face with the palm of her hand as he flicked the knives out of their sheaths and passed them hilt-first to her sister. Weapons were not lightly surrendered in Middle-earth, even during times of peace.

"Will you use your sword, El?" Georgia asked, nodding at the slender blade at Elanor's hip.

She gave a curt nod and strode forward to stand in the centre of the glade. She made a great show of fiddling with her sword belt and unfastening the sheath as she blinked away the moisture in her eyes. Pulling her blade free, she tossed the sheath at Legolas, who caught it with one deft hand and a cheery grin.

"Do not shame me, Elanor," he called cheerfully, "or else I shall no longer claim the pleasure of being your teacher!"

Thanks Legolas, that really helps.

She did not look at the well-meaning Elf, instead fixing her eyes on Georgia. Her sister wore an arch expression, and allowed Legolas' knives to roll about her fingers. She approached upon her toes, her natural athleticism made evident in the easy movements.

It appeared that her inner cynic had decided that this was the most opportune time to make a reappearance.

It'd probably be a safer wager to bet on Georgia…

You're not helping either!

Elanor fixed her eyes upon her sister and stood stock-still. She had little patience for the playful dance before the battle commenced, and instead chose to observe her sister with an appraising eye.

She had fought Georgia often enough before to know her sister's strengths and weaknesses, and that she was certainly no stranger to a pair of knives.

Weren't we doing this only… six months ago?

Yeah, and you lost.

Elanor narrowed her eyes and willed herself to loosen the grip upon her sword's hilt. A tense hold would merely condemn her to loss and embarrassment in front of her friends and, worst of all, her betrothed.

Georgia darted forward several times, feigning an offensive with a playful smirk upon her face. Elanor's cold determination seemed to amuse her.

"You always did take everything seriously Ellie," she called in a sing-song voice, twirling the knives neatly and swaying from side to side in a half-crouch. Seeing this produced no effect, Georgia hurled several more taunts in her direction, finally passing to, "C'mon El, you know you're going to lose; may as well get it over with!"

Elanor could almost see her inner self roll her eyes in impatience.

You've done it now G.

Feeling rather disgusted with the whole activity, Elanor flicked her sword upwards with relative ease. Lunging forward, she aimed an overhead cut at Georgia with speed previously denied her in their childhood sparring. The younger flung Legolas' knives up just in time, catching the Elvish sword mere centimetres from her head as she locked them in a v-shape. For a moment the pair paused, Georgia's eyes wide as she stared up at her sister's face in something akin to shock.

Elanor's full weight was behind the cut, and Georgia's arms began to shake beneath the force of the blow. Elanor stared back, full of icy frustration and resentment. The downward pressure on Legolas' knives meant Georgia could not move, lest her sister slice her from shoulder to groin.

Elanor felt as if her nerves were frayed to the point of snapping; the relief she had expected at their victory had been a harsh disappointment. Every part of her longed for silence and solitude, and for the return of the blissful routine afforded her in Rivendell. Instead, she was caught in a wearying quandary which ought to be delightful but forced her into agonised silence.

I want to sit and play chess with Bilbo, her eyes shouted into Georgia's. I want to go riding with Legolas! I want to lie on Elrond's sofa and read while he sits at his desk, and hear nothing but the scratch of his pen on parchment! I want to wander with Glorfindel beneath the trees, and kiss him, and have a home and a family! I want to sleep in a house! I want a proper hot bath in my tub in Rivendell, and a new tunic. I want to see Indilwen come in with early morning tea! I just want peace.

And if I never have to fight anyone ever again, it will be too soon.

She held her deadly advantage for a moment longer, before snatching the sword away so quickly that Georgia's arms buckled.

"This is over, G," she whispered.

Whirling about, Elanor dropped her sword upon the needle-covered ground and departed the clearing as swiftly as she could.

Elanor stumbled into the trees as the tears began in earnest. It took a moment before she heard voices from the clearing behind her, but she blundered forward regardless of pursuit.

Her breaths were raspy and laboured, though it had little to do with the physical effort of her flight. She could feel her body shaking with frustration and her face was damp and sticky. She believed she had fled in the opposite direction of the commander's clearing, and after a few minutes lost the will to run. She stumbled to a halt, one hand reaching out to lean against a great pine tree as she gasped for air.

Is it too much to ask that we all go home and spend forever eating and sleeping and riding?

Probably. It's Middle-earth, not Disneyland.

Elanor blinked until she could see clearly. She stood in an a maze of trees, and there was no sign of the campsite in any direction. Shuddering slightly, she moved to a broad tree root and flopped down. One of the Elves would find her easily enough, if she paused to wait. Their tracking skills still struck her as uncanny.

Pulling her knees up, Elanor rested her chin upon them. The air was warm and cloying beneath the thick canopy of leaves, and the earth moist. She sat for a time, slowly allowing her breathing to return to normal. After some minutes, Glorfindel's figure sprang into her vision; his soft footfalls had not reached her ears.

Elanor stared at his boot-clad feet, arms wrapped protectively around her legs.

"Come here, Elanor," Glorfindel said softly, crouching so she was forced to meet his eyes. His fair brow was furrowed slightly in the depth of his concern.

Feeling like a sullen child, Elanor rocked forward onto her feet. Glorfindel stood to his full height and caught her as if she possessed all the fragility of a glass vase. A moment later her damp face was pressed against the soft fabric of his tunic.

Elanor allowed him to hold her, breathing deeply of his mint-and-pine scent. She felt strangely numb, suddenly unable to find the tears which had threatened to assail her for many days past. She merely stood there, vaguely enjoying Glorfindel's closeness and feeling utterly spent.

"What plagues you, jewel of my heart?"

Elanor half-shrugged, shoulders tucked beneath his arms.

"If I could discern aught of what troubled me, it would be of no import."

Glorfindel pushed her out so he could stare into her blue eyes and raised an eyebrow in contemplation.

"You know, Elanor Ravenscroft," he mused softly, "you impress me with your wit and swiftness of speech. From the first moment I beheld you, you bewitched me. Weary, bedraggled and starved, I found you fair indeed and full of sorrow. Your joy and beauty blossomed and grew as weeks passed, and I could find naught to lessen my regard for you." He paused to smile and brush a stray hair from her cheek. Elanor swallowed hard. "Yet I see that this war has laid heavy upon your heart. Your foresight is no easy burden to withstand, and you have borne it gracefully. Victory has come! And still do you appear forlorn and sad. Speak, Elanor, and speak from the heart I have come to love so well; your adeptness in mimicking the manner of the Elves is admirable, and yet—" He laughed dryly. "I cannot help but prefer the direct speech of your home world. That is the manner in which I first heard you, and I would not see you give it up—not for me, or any other beneath the heavens."

Suddenly, the tears returned. Confronted by the depths of Glorfindel's blue eyes, Elanor cried and fell back against him, weeping with unbridled fervour. The Elf cradled her gently, not attempting to placate her with false comforts. When she had spent her sobs, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off her feet. After a few steps, she found herself being placed carefully upon a convenient log. He released her. When Elanor's tear-filled eyes opened, she saw that he knelt upon the moss before her, his hands resting on the log either side of her. She placed her fingers over his and held them tight, drawing them up to rest on her knees.

Elanor smiled weakly.

"I don't really know what's wrong," she said at last. "I suppose—it's weird, having Georgia here. Strange, I mean. Suddenly, I've got a decision I hoped I'd never have to face, and so does she. I'm happy in Middle-earth, with you. I am, totally. But what if Georgia goes back and I remain? It's makes the decision harder, worse somehow."

The Elf nodded. His face was caught in concentration, brows lowered slightly as if he were thinking hard. Elanor's stomach lurched.

"I wouldn't leave you, not for a second," she cried, half-horrified at the thought he would contemplate her departure. "I couldn't."

Glorfindel's lips curled in a soft smile, and the pressure on Elanor's fingers increased slightly. His eyes flickered with something like nostalgia or dull sorrow, brushed aside as he spoke again. "I would not press you to stay, Elanor. But," he continued, holding up a hand to quell any argument, "I rejoice that you desire to remain."

She smiled in return, then sighed. "As am I. But I'm frustrated too, Glorfindel. Everything's happening so slowly, and all I want to do is get back to Minas Tirith, and see Elrond, and announce our engagement and—get married. But we're waiting here for Gimli and Samwise to waken, and then we'll wait weeks to get back to the city. I'm sick of camping, I'm tired of so many people around, and—just you wait, this is the worst part—sometimes I cannot stand Georgia." Elanor bit her lip to stop herself crying again. "All I want is to go off and live my own, quiet, pleasant life, and leave all the problems of Middle-earth to someone else. Sounds selfish, doesn't it? It's almost like… I'm sick of caring about these big causes. I'm sick of the nightmares I still get sometimes, since the battle. Goodness, when Georgia made me spar just now—"

Elanor's face wrinkled in distress. The memories of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields had been easier to dispel since rejoining her companions from Rivendell, but on a restless night she still struggled against the jarring images of the dead and maimed.

"That sword from Elrond could be called naeth," she mumbled bitterly, stung that such a beautiful gift should be tainted by the horrors of war. She might spar again, after time had healed her spirit; but she would never again wield that slender Elvish weapon.

Glorfindel released one of her hands to cup her chin. "You need never fight again, Elanor, save for enjoyment amongst friends," he said seriously.

She shrugged listlessly. "I don't really even want to try that. Not yet, anyway."

"Then you shall not."

Elanor forced a smile, touched by his concern but lost amongst her bewildered thoughts. Absently, she berated herself for selfishness. She felt so overwrought after the months of tension and of missing Glorfindel that the thought of remaining unsettled at the military camp was unconscionable, in her mind. War was base and repulsive, and she longed to flee from it's influences as far as possible.

"How'd you get through it all, Glorfindel?" she asked, softly. "How did you not fall apart from fear and grief, in battle after battle? How did you watch Gondolin burn, and come back to Middle-earth without those you loved?"

The moment Elanor had uttered the words, she wished she could have swallowed them. Later, she kicked herself for the foolishness which led to so much frustration and grief. Glorfindel's eyes were like windows, and she saw his mind working swiftly through surprise, distant pain and regret.

"Elanor—"

That lady grimaced and waved hastily. "No, I'm sorry, that was a horrid question. I shouldn't have asked it."

"Elanor, no," insisted Glorfindel, rising lithely and planting himself on the log beside her. "You have every right to ask it; we have not spoken of such things since that night in Elrond's study. And I would not wish to withhold any secrets from you."

Secrets?

"Perhaps I know a little of the loss of your family," the Elf admitted, slipping an arm about her shoulders. "Your grief moved me, for I had known such grief and pitied you all the more for it. Especially the loss of your beloved, Tim, for I know you admired him greatly." Elanor glanced over at his countenance. He appeared troubled, and almost as hesitant as the moments he had longed to confess his love for her.

"It is a hard thing, Elanor, and harder still for you. I was a knight of Turgon, a warrior from birth and well-suited to the task. Little love did I possess for violence and slaughter, but neither did I endure the horror which I read upon your face. Gondolin—it was ruinous, Elanor. Little else could drive me to throw myself from a height, locked in an embrace with one of Morgoth's spawn," he replied, wryness masking the pain beneath. "But Idril—" He broke off, as if lost for words.

Turgon's family obviously meant a lot to him…

Glorfindel stared down at the moss upon the ground. The arm around Elanor was stiff and unfeeling, as if he were so lost amongst memories he wasn't aware of her presence. It was a peculiar sensation, for the golden-haired lord was generally possessed with an irrepressible light-heartedness and interest in his surrounds.

"I have compared the two of you often enough, have I not Elanor?" he said, after a moment's pause. His tone was rather distant, and Elanor recoiled in surprise.

"Yes, and a great compliment it was too," she replied, confused. "What's wrong?"

Glorfindel removed his arm and rubbed his face with his hands. He sighed and sat up erect, but did not look at her.

"I loved her. Idril was the light of Turgon's court, beautiful beyond compare, fleet of foot and graced with wisdom beyond her years. I revered her—and loved her. And I was not the only one. Yet her affections did not turn upon me, but rather to Tuor, when he entered Gondolin. I could not press my suit, for she loved me not. Thus the only lady I have ever desired, until you, was lost to me at the hand of a mortal man, and in a final desperate demonstration of my affection I sacrificed my life to save those of Lady Idril, Lord Tuor, and their son—Eärendil."

The silence that fell between them was thick and clammy. Elanor's fingernails bit into her palms as she struggled to process her fiancee's confession. Glorfindel had always spoken of Idril as if she were a beloved sister, but as Elanor struggled to recall previous mention of the Elf-woman, she realised such statements might easily be misconstrued.

And why shouldn't he have loved her? By all accounts she was beautiful, clever, graceful and kind. Glorfindel was sworn to protect the family; he was highly-placed, and just as intelligent and powerful… it makes sense… too much sense.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" she asked quietly.

Glorfindel gave a sharp shrug. "It is a painful subject, Elanor," he snapped.

Stung by the abruptness of his remark, Elanor shifted so she no longer sat pressed up against his side. The stare she turned on him was blazing with accusation. "And so you didn't tell me that you were in love with this perfect Elf-maiden from Gondolin? You talked about her so often, Glorfindel! You were always saying I reminded you of her. What you really should have said was that I was the—the consolation prize; the mortal woman you decided you'd have because you couldn't get Idril! I look like her, so that's good enough, is it? You'd take me because Idril was lost to you? You died saving her, came back to serve her grandson, and—oh look, isn't that convenient? A lost, alone, human woman who happens to look like your old love, who's foolish enough to take you!"

As Elanor spat out the final words, Glorfindel sprang to his feet. His countenance was utterly changed, no longer benevolent and thoughtful but tattooed with fury and hurt.

"I make no apologies for such a concealment," he replied. His voice was low and hard. "I had no tryst with Idril, for my love was unrequited. I did not serve only her, but also my King. Such an affection was foolish in it's beginnings, for I knew then it should not end favourably. And to walk upon Middle-earth once again, at the Valar's bidding and to serve their purposes—to find love is almost beyond the realms of possibility! For a time I struggled against this, for both our sakes. I do not wish either of us to regret love, Elanor, yet I marvel at your lack of reason in this matter. You would question my honour, by suggesting I love you merely because you remind me of another?" His voice broke in pain and he moved back half a step. Elanor sat upon the log, gaping at him in horror.

"Glorfindel—"

The Elf shook his head, features written with sorrow. Elanor felt suddenly nauseous at the bitter tirade she had poured forth just moments before.

He just confessed something important to him, and you questioned his motives! Elanor Ravenscroft, when has Glorfindel ever given a moment's hint that he's fickle or false or unfaithful! He's the most virtuous, chaste, genuine person imaginable, and you had the audacity to doubt whether he actually loves you? Hasn't he proven that time and time again? Heck, even if he never said it, the fact he's willing to wed a mortal just about cancels the possibility of him lying! You told him about Tim, and you were far more involved than Glorfindel probably ever was with Idril. Is it so wrong that he admires you for the same reasons he admired her?

"Glorfindel, I'm so sorry," she whispered, more to the ground than the one addressed; the hurt in the sharp blue eyes was like a knife. "I should never have said such things. I—I want to make excuses, but there aren't really any that can account for me being so thoughtless… and unkind." She gave a sad laugh. "I suppose when you've lived about twenty times longer than me, you've got so many more memories, and friendships… I haven't asked about you half so much as I should have."

Still the Elf did not speak, and Elanor braved a glance upward. Glorfindel's fair face was still pained. It felt rather like kicking a puppy.

He's not just hurt… he's wondering how on earth you could question an honour that's written into the fabric of his being, Elanor. It's like his DNA.

Great. Thanks. That makes things so much easier to repair.

"Glorfindel?"

Elanor rose hesitantly and sniffed. Her face was caked with tears and her nose thoroughly blocked. Utterly disgusted with herself, she crept forward until she stood looking up into his eyes. His expression was implacable, like a wall of seamless stone.

"Please," she said, desperate. One hand reached gently out and touched his chest. Seeing him flinch backwards was perhaps most painful of all. Tears sprang to her eyes and she did not observe him leaving the clearing.

It was several hours before Elanor left the clearing—alone. She had indulged in another good cry until her eyes were puffy beyond efforts of concealment and she had a dull headache.

She had realised all too quickly that she had offended her fiancee deeply.

Imagine if he questioned your love for him! You'd be horrified.

That was true enough. He had responded with remarkable grace to her bitter and unfounded accusations, rather than flaring up in kind.

And for that I should be grateful… goodness, if he'd said as much to me we'd probably still be shouting yet! All he was trying to do was explain… and I did ask him… He was honest, and forthright, and I reacted…

Abysmally?

…I suppose you could put it like that, yes.

Her exasperation with the present state of affairs was no excuse for her ungraciousness, that much was certain. The Elf of many ages of men did not deserve a petulant, childish wife, and Elanor could have kicked herself for displaying such undesirable qualities. It was all she could do to prevent herself rushing after him. She had always been pressed by a desire to bring disagreements to an immediate resolution, whatever the cost. This time she was certain she'd allow Glorfindel some time to himself before she barged in and made the situation worse.

Twilight was beginning to fall as she eventually rose from the log. That piece of fallen timber had endured many tears and an emotional rollercoaster since Elanor had fled her sparring match with Georgia. With a sigh, she realised she would have to explain her hasty withdrawal as well as the palpable tension between herself and Glorfindel. Her emotions felt as if they'd just endured a few rounds against a heavyweight boxer, and the self-interested thoughts which had plagued her were far away.

Glancing around, Elanor rubbed one eye. She was reasonably confident she'd be able to find her way back to the campgrounds. If not, one of the Elves would certainly find her, but she had little desire to be rescued. Her chief concern was reaching the relative safety of her tent whilst encountering as few people as possible.

Just as she had decided to strike out in a particular direction, a figure emerged from the woods. Her fiancé's face was especially handsome in that moment, lit in the soft light of dusk and with his golden hair glowing.

Forgetting that quarrelling lovers were supposed to live at odds for several days at least, Elanor flung herself at him. To her immense relief, he welcomed her with open arms, her momentum carrying her up onto her tiptoes so that Glorfindel held her high against his chest.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped, spent from crying. "Glorfindel, I've been awful. It's entirely my fault, and I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

Glorfindel moved back slightly and brushed her cheek. His eyes dwelt momentarily upon her puffy eyes and grimy face, and he smiled.

"There is naught to forgive, Elanor; I should have returned sooner, but I thought you might need some time to yourself. There has been precious little of late."

Elanor laughed, and her betrothed's eyes lit up at the sound.

"And here I was thinking I should stay out a bit longer to give you time," she replied, leaning back into his chest and burying her face near his collarbone. "I'm so glad you came back, though. I thought you might be angry—for a long time."

"Learn this lesson well, Elanor Ravenscroft; my temper is short-lived."

"As is mine, silly! About ten minutes in and I had realised what an idiot I was, about everything—honestly, everyone's been through so much, and for me to sit here wishing I was back in Rivendell with you is plain selfish. Plus, I am so glad you told me about Idril—I was completely unreasonable about that too. I'm very sorry, and I wish I'd come to you sooner!"

Glorfindel's laugh was loud and long, so much so that Elanor leaned back to study his now-merry face. "What is it?"

He bent down and kissed her thoroughly before replying. When he spoke, his lips were near hers and he bumped her nose. "I've been standing not a dozen feet away the entire time, just through the trees, watching. I wanted to come back to you the entire time, for I could see the repentance in your eyes the moment after you spoke."

Elanor reached out with both hands and drew his face down to hers until he kissed her softly again. His hands rested gently upon her waist and shoulder, and every movement was gentle and tender.

"I'm an immature idiot, Glorfindel," she said at length, as he finished by dropping a last peck upon her nose. "And now you're stuck with me."

"Happily," he sighed, blithely, pulling her closer.

Elanor's stomach felt as if it would burst with all the exuberant butterflies that had made it their home. For several minutes, the pair stood in each others' embrace, profoundly relieved.

"You know," she said finally, "Georgia would say that lovers from different universes are supposed to be angsty and not make up for ages; and we're supposed to walk into some dangerous situation and you'd sweep me off my feet, and then we'd not be able to resist forgiving one another."

Glorfindel grinned knowingly. "There's only one problem with that, loveliest flower; there shall be no more dangerous situations for you—you've quite had your share. Therefore, Georgia's reasoning is without grounds, and we must simply make do to resolve our conflicts as swiftly as possible."

TRANSLATIONS

naeth - grief, gnashing of teeth in grief (biting, woe).

So! This Glorfanor fantrain is back on track and chuffing away.

I'm sorry I've been inactive for so long; I had exam period, National Novel Writer's Month (which sucked my Elanor inspiration dry) and then moving back home from university to keep me busy. I'm also spending 8 days in Papua New Guinea just before Christmas, but for the next couple of weeks you've got me back full-time. :D

Writing this was a bit tricky, as I had to go back and re-familiarise myself with Elanor's emotional state, her relationship with Glorfindel... all of that. Not to mention the actual events and the present state of things! I had written half of this before exam period hit, so I had to finish it up. That was, perhaps, harder than writing a whole chapter from scratch.

Anyway, rest assured that this fic will be finished and not merely left in the fanfic graveyard. :) Thoughts on this chapter are very welcome, as I'd like to hear whether this sits well with previous chapters or is a bit of a jarring re-entry.

Hope you've all been well and thanks to those who have followed/favourited in my absence.

Finwe. :)