Chapter 41 - A pair of silver rings

26th June, 3019 (Third Age)

It felt to Elanor as if a pipe had burst somewhere in her chest, and was now spurting warm liquid joy throughout her entire form. It was only mid-morning—a beautiful day, as if the sky had been freshly laundered and dew was crisp in the air—yet already her face hurt from perpetual smiling.

"Hold still, El," mumbled Georgia, severely impeded by the pins held between her lips. "Otherwise I'll get this all wrong!"

The two sisters stood alone in Elanor's bedchamber. The latter faced the window which opened to the East, eyes twinkling as she stared blindly. Georgia, blessed with an uncanny knack of arranging hair, was busy gathering Elanor's curls into a soft knot on the top of head, encircled by an intricate braid. To this she added the aforementioned pins, tiny flowers made of silver and adamant.

"It's a bit unorthodox," she said, placing the last pin and finally free to speak properly, "but a high-bun always suited you very well Ellie. And it's only the family, so no one will mind."

"Can I look in the mirror now?"

"Yep."

Elanor shuffled carefully to the full-length looking glass, a luxury even in the high circles of Gondor. She had always known that she was quite pretty, and could even manage to be bordering on beautiful when she made an effort. Today her figure—her greatest asset, in her own opinion—was wrapped in deep blue; Oxford Blue, almost inky black. The relatively-light silk gown was embroidered in a pattern of silver stars and flowers, tucking in at the waist—as was Elanor's preference in any dress—and covered in tasteful nips and pleats. It had elbow sleeves and the neckline was a wide v-shape, high enough for modesty yet showing enough of her smooth collarbones as to become her. It was the grandest dress she had ever worn, most probably because to Brúnel, the housekeeper, 'engagement' translated to 'extravagant'. The Elanor in the mirror had managed to outdo herself, for she looked undeniably beautiful that day.

Still, I feel as stiff as a starched apron, and not quite like myself.

"You look amazing, El," breathed Georgia, clasping her hands together in rapture.

Elanor smiled softly. "I feel pretty amazing." She turned to embrace her sister. "Thanks, G; my hair—it all looks perfect."

They pulled apart as someone tapped on the door and a maidservant in the black and white livery entered with a curtsey.

"The Queen is here to speak with you, Ladies Elanor and Georgia," she murmured.

"Oh! send her in, please," beamed Elanor, full to capacity with good spirits. A moment later, Arwen entered.

The foster-sisters had only been afforded a chance to speak the day after the wedding. Arwen had glimmered like the starry sky in her joy at being united with Aragorn, and the foster-sisters had enjoyed a thorough chat when the bustle had died down. Georgia had been drawn into this meeting, yet whilst she and Arwen were cordial, they had not become firm friends as the younger Ravenscroft had with Éowyn. They were almost the antithesis of one another, and Georgia's flightiness seemed to set Arwen echelons above her.

Still, the latter smiled warmly as she caught sight of Elanor.

"Sister," she spoke, moving forward to grasp the golden-haired woman's hands. "There are few words to speak of this joy; I am ill-suited to such a task. Yet come, for thy family awaits to celebrate thy engagement."

Elanor grinned. "We are ready. Let's go, Georgia."

Elrond Peredhel, numbered amongst the Wise, stood patiently in one of the Citadel's many corridors. His fair face was creased a little in study, yet one could not help but remark that he appeared rather content. This premonition was magnified as a door nearby opened and three figures emerged.

He smiled broadly and turned to greet them, taking a hand of each of the foremost two women. Arwen he released after a knowing squeeze, before grasping Elanor's fingers more closely and searching her face with all the earnestness of a father.

"Ada," she smiled, whilst Arwen tactfully led the third woman away to ready herself for the feast.

Elrond drank in the sight of her, the slip of a girl whom he had found it impossible not to love.

"Elanor," he replied, pulling her into an embrace.

How long has it been since Lord Boromir delivered her, unconscious, to my care?

Elanor's eyes beseeched him as she withdrew, suddenly serious.

"Father—is this alright? I would never want to make you angry, and I realise that Glorfindel—Glorfindel and I—we're—"

Elrond chuckled warmly. "Elanor, do not trouble yourself; I am delighted in your happiness, and in that of my dear friend's. His has been a hard road, as yours has been, and—" He petered out smoothly, caught by a sudden gust of emotion. "Come; the others have not yet gathered, and I thought that we might walk for a time before the feast begins." He offered her his arm. "I have not had the pleasure of speaking alone with thee since we arrived."

Elanor flushed pink with pleasure, rather like a small child. Elrond restrained a chuckle as he led her from her rooms to a quiet garden in the High City, near the Citadel. They trod the gravelly path for several minutes in silence, the woman's hand clasping his arm as if his nearness brought her comfort.

You have missed her greatly also, Eärendilion. Arwen's departure from Rivendell has been in itself a source of sorrow; yet you cannot deny that Elanor's presence brings you pleasure.

Nay, indeed. There is no comfort upon Arda for the loss of Arwen, yet if any might gladden my heart a little in the days that remain to me—it is Elanor.

"So you're not upset with us?" she half-whispered, disturbing his thoughts and capturing his attention with the wide, lash-framed green eyes.

"Upset? Elanor!" Elrond paused, grasping her shoulders with his hands and smiling down upon her. "Little cause do I have to celebrate a union between Elf and Mortal, yet I am gladdened in the depths of my heart! There is naught that is simple or easy in the wedding of the two kindreds—well do I know it." He rubbed her arm with gentle fingers and, spying a seat placed amongst the garden beds, led Elanor to sit upon it before he continued. "Iell, I foresee clearly the difficulties you shall encounter in wedding Glorfindel, yet I find no cause to counsel against it."

Elanor frowned. "I thought—I suppose I assumed you might be a little—disgruntled, at least. Glorfindel has been your advisor and I know he is well regarded amongst the High Elves of the First Age." She gave a rueful smile. "It seems rather like prying, but I read in the books from my home-world how you were reluctant to allow Arwen to marry Aragorn, at least until he had become King, for you are directly descended of some of the noblest of the Elder Days."

Aulë above, she is uncanny at times!

Elrond chuckled. "I confess that I was, yet it is hardly the same in this instance, iell, if that is what concerns you. I shall not withhold my blessing because you are not a Queen."

Elanor didn't manage to look convincingly cheerful. "I—I don't mean to cast any shadow upon your character, ada, for—" She flushed and then glanced at him steadfastly "—I think you're the most wonderful person in Middle-earth—don't tell Glorfindel—and I wouldn't ever want to disregard your counsel or make you unhappy. I had made up my mind that if you were even a little uncertain about our wedding, I would listen."

"Thank the Valar such a course was unnecessary," replied her foster-father, with a wry grin and silent burst of pride. "Nay, Elanor; this is utterly different to Aragorn and Arwen. In that matter I lose a daughter, yet in you I have gained another. I shall make no pretence, for you are not the Evenstar, and none shall replace her in my affections. But am I so foolish a father as to disregard the one whom the Valar hath blessed me with as a comfort in her stead? You are no ordinary mortal, and neither is Glorfindel the same ellon who dwelt in Gondolin. In this I shall speak truly, in saying that you have my blessing, for there is precious little that is still wholesome and good left upon Arda, and I should see love flourish where it is planted."

Elanor struggled valiantly against tears, before several slipped past her dark lashes and Elrond pulled her into a comforting embrace. She did not weep for long, but sat backwards and dabbed at her eyes with dainty fingers.

"Thank you, ada," she laughed, shakily. "You move me with your words. For many months I have set myself to become part of Arda, and to forget my heritage; 'tis a peculiar prospect to now consider it a pleasing attribute. I ceased to celebrate the ways of my home-world ere I had been here two weeks!"

Elrond smiled gently and entwined his large fingers with Elanor's slim ones. "Do not surrender all of your heritage, Elanor. There is much in it that is good and noble, and I love thee for it."

Several tears leaked out as grey eyes met green, before his foster-daughter nodded.

"I will remember that."

"Now, speak to me of your plans; your engagement must stand a year at least, and we shall ride to Edoras and thence to Imladris at the time appointed for King Théoden's funeral. Where do you desire to dwell during such an interlude, Elanor?"

"Oh," she said, without a moment's pause, "in Rivendell! My heart has longed to see it for months now. Minas Tirith is beautiful, but it is not the Last Homely House. I will remain with you until the wedding, next summer—at home."

Elrond nodded in satisfaction, finding it difficult to veil the pride he felt as Elanor referred to the Elvish haven as home. "A wise course."

"Ada?"

"Yes?"

"You're not leaving Middle-earth in the next year, are you?" Elanor stared down at her hands, which rested on the rich fabric of her blue-black gown. He shook his head in an emphatic no.

"We shall pass across the sea ere the end of the Third Age, but not until I have seen you happily settled, iell."

Elanor smiled, reassured.

"Thank you."

And, Elrond added, silently, the Valar willing, it shall not be the last I see of you, Elanor Ravenscroft. If you are to be deposited on this earth against thy will, I shall see the rulers of Valinor account for such matters!

"Are you in need of aid, muin?"

Elanor turned to her foster-father, then glanced back at the chestnut gelding whose reins she held. Fundanár gave a gentle whicker, nudging her shoulder daintily. The proud horse was well over sixteen hands and Elanor realised she had not ever attempted to ride him in such an elaborate dress before.

"I would appreciate that," she smiled sheepishly. Fundanár's saddle was of Elvish make and therefore comfortable, and the full skirt on her gown would allow her to ride astride without compromising her modesty. Elrond lifted her at the waist with ease and placed her side-saddle on her horse's back. Carefully, she swung her right leg over his withers and adjusted her skirt to ensure she was appropriately covered. In the meanwhile, Elrond had sprung upon the back of his black horse with energy which belied his half-a-dozen-thousand years.

"Are we ready?"

"Yes," she replied, and squeezed Fundanár's sides gently so that he moved off in Elrond's wake.

The duo passed swiftly through the city, for horses were scarce in Minas Tirith and the common folk darted out of their way as they trotted briskly past. Elanor found herself oddly taken with the sight of the ordinary people. She had not seen the real citizens of Middle-earth before; both Rohan and Gondor had been armed for war ere she arrived, and her experience limited to the nobility and officer classes.

Weird to be in a feudal society like this, she realised, as a cluster of women dressed in the plain dark blues and greys of the commoners made way with promptness. Makes you realise how 'class-less' it's really become in Australia, how we don't have to dress differently because of our rank. The sight of the simply-clad women with their raven hair and deep grey eyes made Elanor acutely conscious of the extravagance of her own attire, which had been completed with a light silken cloak of grey. Even the clasp on this garment was ornate, and she felt painfully over-dressed as they reached the lowest levels and were given leave to pass the City gates.

Maybe it's time to think about social reform in Middle-earth. You're studying politics, Elanor, isn't it time you—

I was studying politics. Not anymore.

Oh, so that gives you leave to abandon any sense of humanity? There are probably people starving here in the city!

Elrond urged his horse to a gentle canter as they left the City behind them, and Fundanár followed suit at the lightest touch. Elanor was glad to leave the people of Gondor behind, with their poignant reminders about living conditions. They swiftly passed the crossroads, where the path turned due north-south whilst a branch stretched away to the north-east and, eventually, the ruins of Osgiliath. Elrond chose the northward path.

"Elladan and Elrohir informed me of some of your exploits," the Elf said, his voice carrying clearly despite the noise of the horses. "The endurance you demonstrated on the road southwards impressed them mightily, though I ought not to be surprised after the manner of your arrival in Middle-earth," he half-laughed.

"The ride south was unpleasant," Elanor admitted, ruefully. "And more still the tension! I'm sure they also told you I chose a reckless course and rode to war. Rest assured, however; I shall not repeat that folly."

If Elrond sensed the hardness in her voice, he made no comment.

"And you have dwelt among the people of both Gondor and Rohan. What do you make of such lands as these, muin?"

Elanor paused to consider, fighting aside her reproachful inner cynic over the matter of social justice in Middle-earth.

"I am not entirely certain," she frowned, before her face erupted into a sunny smile moments later. "I knew I was no Elf, ada, yet I find I am not of the race of Men either!"

Elrond glanced across at her, amused. He rode with perfect fluidness, sitting his mount's canter as if the powerful animal were a rocking horse.

"To what do you refer?"

"Oh," Elanor shrugged. "I don't have the grace or the beauty or any number of things the Elves have, that much is certain. And still I don't find the people of Gondor or Rohan any easier to relate to, really. They're fairly straightforward, but in many ways they are more distant and polite than the Firstborn! At least amongst the Elves there is merriment and youth as I know it. I no longer find the race of Men peculiar, but I cannot help but feel I fall rather short even among my own kind. They are so proud and graceful—" She bit off, realising that she sounded as if she were begging for reassurance or attention. "It is not a bad feeling, though," she concluded hurriedly. "But it certainly made it far easier to decide to return North with you."

Elrond smiled and inclined his head, acceding to Elanor's amendment. For several miles they rode in silence. Or, rather, comparative silence, for the hoofbeats of the horses and the gentle sighs of the wind would not be quenched merely because Elanor and her foster-father did not speak.

As the City shrank behind them, they approached a glade of trees upon Pelennor, perhaps four miles from the crossroads outside Minas Tirith. There, Elrond angled away from the road and slowed as they neared the trees.

"What do you say to this spot, Elanor?"

The glade, one of several scattered within Rammas Echor, was fairly small. Even from several hundred metres distant, she could observe many figures in fine clothing standing therein. The grass about it was freshest green and rippled gaily. The trees themselves were small—not the aged behemoths of Imladris—but also rustled in greeting as they approached. Perhaps not the place she would have chosen for her engagement party to Tim, but considering that her fiancee was Glorfindel—it's perfect.

Caught by an impulse, Elanor switched to Sindarin. "It is lovely."

"I have not yet been acquainted with your bride, Lord Glorfindel. Elrond has spoken of naught but her goodness!"

Glorfindel smiled into a pair of blue eyes placed almost level to his own. They were deep beyond any capacity to fathom, lit by stars unknown and aged in memory and wisdom. Lady Galadriel had something of a propensity to disconcert him, despite Glorfindel's hearty respect for the bearer of Nenya.

"It would gladden my heart for Elanor to meet thee."

"Elanor?" Galadriel smiled, as if tasting the word on her tongue.

With a knowing look and slightest arch of her brow, the Elf-woman glided away. Her every movement was fluid and practiced, lacking the lightning quickness of the younger Elves. In that moment, Glorfindel's own weighty years seemed of little import. He followed Lady Galadriel with his eyes as she drifted to rejoin her husband at the side of the glade of trees. It was not the first time she had departed a conversation in such a manner, amused by a great joke of her own and with the preternatural knack of disturbing one's comfortable thoughts.

Beneath the dappled shade of the canopy, Elrond's household had swiftly erected a series of feasting tables. These were spread with light cloths and laden with food. There was much laughter upon the air, for it appeared Glorfindel was not the only one feeling young that day, and many of the Elves who had gathered to celebrate the marriage of Arwen and Aragorn had congregated for the betrothal feast. There were but two mortals present; the King of Gondor, who stood in quiet observation to one side with his wife at his side, and Georgia, presently wedged between Elladan and Elrohir.

As a rule, such gatherings as these encompassed the houses of those to be wed. Elanor's race alone made the celebration rather unorthodox, but she had insisted that their betrothal be carried out according to the proper forms in honour of her foster-family. Her earnestness and insistence had brought Glorfindel no small measure of amusement. As Elrond was to stand as Elanor's family in this matter, and Glorfindel's kin had passed over the sea long ago, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel had graciously accepted his request to act in their stead. Glorfindel's fingers sought the small pouch attached to his tunic, running across the band of the ring contained therein.

A few moments later, someone called his name. He turned to observe two figures entering the glade. Elrond, his crown of raven hair encircled by a silver band, towered over the slim figure of a woman.

By unspoken agreement, the chatter hushed in an abrupt decrescendo and those present moved so as to leave Glorfindel standing in the centre of a circle of joyous faces. Elrond stepped forward to greet him with Elanor trailing demurely on his arm, whilst the Lord and Lady of Lórien glided forward to stand at his back. Glorfindel barely noticed.

Elanor's face was heightened with colour. Having found the eyes of her fiancee, she locked onto his gaze with a look that plainly said, If I have to make a ceremonial entrance like this at our wedding, I will scold you so thoroughly your ears will ring for a week!

Elrond moved at a stately pace, affording the groom-to-be ample time to study his future wife. Elanor wore a shade of midnight blue, a colour which Glorfindel had rarely observed her in yet which formed a pleasant contrast with her clear gold hair. The latter article was wound in a fashion previously unknown to the Noldorin Elf, gathered high upon her head and studded with tiny flashes of silver; flowers, he realised, which shimmered as brightly as the argent stars etched onto her gown. Her eyes were bright orbs within her smooth face, the cheeks pink under the weight of many stares. Whilst her nose was perhaps a little small and upturned, the thin face with it's pointed chin lacking in strength, and the eyebrows oft arched in childlike earnestness above wide eyes, she was very beautiful. The sparkle from beneath the black lashes held Glorfindel in rapture, whilst the animated expressions made one forget the other deficiencies, few though they were.

Before he could fully realise the fact, Elanor stood before him with Elrond at her back. His fingers darted anxiously to the pouch, and he withdrew the ring inside with damp hands. His fiancee smiled at him, refusing to relinquish her hold on his eyes even as Elrond announced their official betrothal in Sindarin.

Elanor's eyes twinkled with some unspoken joke as she proffered her left hand to him, and he slipped the silver ring upon the fourth finger. He, in turn, held out his own hand, and Elanor repeated the gesture. As this was done, a cheer erupted from within the circle of onlookers—it issued from suspiciously close to where Elladan and Elrohir stood with mischief upon their countenances—and others took it up. The people of Rivendell, who had come to know Elanor's frank ways and friendly manner, cheered mightily; those of Lórien were more subdued, and Glorfindel caught several cooler stares from within that contingent. Fortunately, Elrond beamed and bid they all eat and enjoy themselves; the onlookers dissipated with alacrity and very soon all were clustered about the feasting tables.

Elanor let out a pent-up breath as the formal part of the day concluded. It had been short, certainly, but she was not fool enough to believe that all of the Elves looked upon her as kindly as Elrond's household. To many, the Sindarin and Silvan Elves in particular, the race of Man were weak and fallen far from the mighty Edain of the First Age. There had been bloodshed, betrayal and folly in great measure; it was little wonder that they might look askance at a wedding between Glorfindel of Gondolin and a mere human.

Can I blame them for being so?

Can you blame the dog which bites the taunting child?

Is that really the best analogy to sum up the situation? Really?

Come on, I can't provide these metaphorical examples at the drop of a hat if you're going to be picky.

Added to this was the unvoiced yet palpable assumption that she must be something special for Glorfindel to have forsaken good sense and chosen a mortal to be his wife.

Because life isn't stressful enough without feeling as if half the Elven population is looking you up and down to figure out why you're marrying him!

Irascible dogs do that, you know…

You're talking about the Elves! Quit it, or someone will manage to read you're mind and you'll be hurled off the nearest cliff before you can say "Silmarillion".

Still, these anxious thoughts—enough to make her blush—dissipated as Glorfindel grasped her hand. He winked roguishly down at her.

"Come along, Sunstar, we are wanted at the feast," he whispered, leading her onwards through the throng of people until they neared the head table. The bride and groom-to-be had been allotted seats in the centre, with their immediate family on either side. Elanor glanced nervously for Georgia, aware that her misdemeanours could heighten any distrust among the Elves. This fear was swiftly alleviated; Legolas had taken her under his wing and was amusing her with some form of tale. The latter had been invited by Elanor's special request, defying custom but leaving the merry Mirkwood Elf stumbling for words in thanks.

"Elanor?" Glorfindel inquired, low, drawing her back from a maze of thoughts.

"Yes," she smiled, "sorry. Coming."

Her fiancee led her to the seat upon the high table, pulling back the chair and aiding her to sit. As Glorfindel slid gracefully into his spot beside her, two figures approached to take the seats to Elanor's left.

Oh sweet mother of—

Quick, forget the dog-and-stupid-child analogy!

Lord Celeborn seated his lady as Glorfindel had done, and Elanor's stomach dropped to her delicate slippers at the knowledge she was about to share a feast with Galadriel. Elanor made a pretence of studying the table setting whilst the Lady of Lórien settled in her chair. She turned to Glorfindel, who was watching her in affectionate amusement. Finally, Elanor deemed it would be rude not to address the Elf-woman and allowed her eyes to creep shyly to the latter's countenance.

For some reason, Galadriel unnerved her far more than any of the other Elves. Glorfindel and Elrond were old, certainly, but there was a mischief and sense of youth in them yet. Galadriel surveyed her with eyes swimming in a dozen full lifetimes, but planted in the face of a thirty-year-old woman of exceptional beauty. Silver-gold hair floated in waves almost to her feet—such perfect hair Elanor could not have imagined—and blue eyes punctured the fabric of her being whilst crinkling in an enlightened smile. Just as she was scrambling for the courage to speak, Galadriel broke the silence:

"You are not of these lands, Elanor of…" she trailed off, with a look so knowing it sent shivers down Elanor's spine in defiance of the warm day.

"The Queen's Land," she finished, softly. "Nay—" switching to Sindarin "—I am not."

The use of the Elventongue caused Galadriel's mouth to tilt upwards. "You are thrifty in speech, Elanor of the Queen's Land, yet I perceive there is much you withhold." It was not a demand, nor a question; merely an observation, given in the Elf-woman's low, sonorous speech.

Elanor glanced downwards in something rather like shame, for it was abundantly evident that Galadriel's fabled mind-reading was no jest. The others about them had begun to eat, and she looked extremely chagrined as she passed Galadriel a dish of roast pumpkin.

May as well be up-front about it.

"You are correct, Lady Galadriel; I am from another world entirely, transported by magical means and without any knowledge of how to return. My sister was also brought to Middle-earth thus, albeit at a different time." The other woman was watching her with unblinking eyes of brightest blue. "My life is here, now, though few save Glorfindel and Elrond know of my true origins."

Thank goodness Glorfindel's been helping you brush up on your Sindarin. "Transported" isn't the kind of word that is generally in one's vocabulary.

Galadriel surveyed her a moment more, giving Elanor the feeling that she was probing her motives with shrewd hands. Finally, the Elf-woman quirked her eyebrow slightly, satisfied.

"You are right to speak plainly, for secrets and deceit are the work of Morgoth and yet employed by both Eldar and Edain. In this you reveal goodness, Elanor of Elrond's house."

Oh thank Eru. She doesn't hate me.

Clearly she didn't find the dog analogy…

Elanor couldn't stop the broad smile which spread across her countenance like sunlight. "You have my thanks, Lady Galadriel; thy wisdom is great, and thy kindness unmatched. Much has been spoken of you in days both past and present, and great is my joy in meeting thee."

The Elf-woman's eyes twinkled at this eloquent speech—Elanor felt quite inspired as the honeyed Sindarin words slipped off her tongue—before inclining her head. She appeared amused as an elder is entertained by a fumbling, innocent child. This, the human woman felt, was an indication that their interview was at a conclusion. Galadriel turned ever so slightly so she was angled towards her husband, and Elanor was left to Glorfindel's cheery company. As he poured her a glass of wine—"Just a small one, thank you dear," with a shared look of merriment—he leaned close and spoke in a whisper.

"I take your meeting with Lady Galadriel was pleasant?"

"She had my secret out within half a second," laughed Elanor, weakly. "Perhaps I should have a little more wine; my knees feel quite shaky, and I'm blushing like a girl."

"In which case I shan't give you more," her lover replied archly, "for you look very pretty when you blush."

This chapter was a lot of fun to write! Elanor's had a little chat with Elrond, she and Glorfindel are engaged (officially)... I feel like we've come now to the end of the "planned" part of the story, in that the Fellowship is over, Aragorn and Arwen are wedded... Now, Elanor and Glorfindel find that the world is their oyster, and have to decide what to do with themselves over the coming time. Look to me not for wild plot devices or further adventures; I feel as if the pair of them have endured more than their fair share of excitement and tension!

I will not say the story is completed yet, for there is a lot of fun to be had over the year which Elanor and Glorfindel must wait to be married, not to mention that Georgia's storyline is not yet resolved, and then there's the wedding itself! (Plus I simply refuse to abandon them after the ceremony. I just won't. Life goes on after marriage!)

I hope you're all still with me; if you're not prepared to follow their post-war lives, I would recommend you stop reading the tale now. This is the conclusion of the true "adventure" per say, as The Lord of the Rings is over and now it is the end of the Third Age and the beginning of the Fourth.

Thankyou to all of those who have stuck the story out this far - you have my most fervent thanks for your reviews, PMs and even just the time you've spent reading my work. I super appreciate it and I'm very excited for what is to come. :D

Finwe.