Home is where the heart is
21st September, 3019 (Third Age)
It was deceptively mild, even for autumn's fringe. Dusk was just beginning to fall, painting the sky in a beguiling mix of tangerine, gold and coral pink. To the east amassed a velvet twilight, with the faint points of early stars glittering upon it like tasteful jewels.
Elanor inhaled as deeply as she physically could, stretching her lungs to capacity in an effort to drink in the delicious scents. The aroma of pine trees hung heavy upon the air. It was a smell associated with both Imladris and Glorfindel, and thus doubly welcome as the company on horseback jogged quietly along the stony path. Said road wound between small grey boulders and green trees, which grew steadily more dense as they travelled and hid the magnificent sunset from Elanor's eyes.
They had been in the saddle for many hours and Fundanár was weary, yet Elanor found herself glancing about with renewed vigour as the path began to slope downwards and all traces of grass gave way to rockier terrain. Before she could fully comprehend the thudding of her heart, the path twisted sharply and the group upon horseback found themselves confronted with the vista below.
Home! sang her heart.
Rivendell.
By some unspoken agreement, the company paused in reverent stillness to absorb the magnificence of the Last Homely House. Glorfindel, to Elanor's left, met the sight with his usual transparency—a cheery grin and contented sigh; Gandalf was smoking his pipe with a large degree of equanimity, surrounded by three miniature figures on Hobbit-sized ponies all chattering nineteen-to-the-dozen. It took Elanor a moment longer to locate Elrond, for his black horse blended effectively into the growing gloom, and only the faint light upon his grey eyes belied his presence. His countenance was veiled, yet there was a hardness about his jaw which caused her a flicker of concern. This was brushed aside half a second later as Glorfindel flashed her a challenging smile and urged his horse downwards towards the house.
The full impact of the homecoming hit Elanor like a bucket of chilly water, prickling her skin and leaving her lips parted in a soft o. With a merry laugh, she nudged the valiant Fundanár to one final effort and he broke into a gentle lope down the path after his rider's betrothed. The track was broad and clear despite the fairly steep descent, and the Elvish gelding was exceptionally sure-footed. A few moments later she pulled alongside Glorfindel, who had slowed.
Words were but an encumbrance for those perfect minutes. Rivendell was a cluster of graceful columns and lofty roofs beside the rushing Bruinen, surrounded by trees of flame as it had been almost twelve months previously. The clear, sweeping water and dusk-gilded columns made the whole scene appear as a picture wrought from glass and translucent gems.
Home.
"Happy, meleth?" spoke Glorfindel softly, in the Elven-tongue.
Elanor merely laughed in response, perfect happiness personified. They rode some thirty metres ahead of the rest of the group, and with plaintive disregard for watching eyes, Glorfindel drew Asfaloth alongside Fundanár and reached for Elanor's hand.
"You are bold this evening, sir," she teased, though she did not loosen her returned grip on Glorfindel's strong fingers.
"I follow the whims of my heart," came the airy reply.
Elanor smiled down at Fundanár's glossy neck. It had been a fairly tedious journey north and west from Minas Tirith, for the company had sojourned in Rohan to honour Théoden's death as was custom, and the pace had been leisurely to the point of painfulness. The large and cheery group of travellers whom had set out had gradually withered away, for Arwen and Aragorn had turned back at Edoras and the Elves of Lórien had departed over the Misty Mountains. Gimli and Legolas had taken their leave and embarked on their own travels, rather vague about where they should go but adamant they would visit Rivendell before too long. The greater contingent of Elrond's household had already reached the Last Homely House, having continued homewards from the outset without pause.
For the first time in some months, Elanor also found herself without Georgia's presence. The younger Ravenscroft girl—having celebrated her eighteenth birthday whilst they were in Minas Tirith—had begged leave to remain in Edoras with Éowyn. The soon-to-be Steward's wife had welcomed Georgia with unfeigned warmth, and Elanor had ridden away with no small amount of relief mingled with concern. Her sister would join them in Rivendell after Éowyn's wedding early in the following year. Georgia had neglected to grow up despite becoming a legal adult, but Éowyn was a sensible companion and would keep the former out of any real mischief. Still, Elanor felt rather like she had palmed off responsibility for Georgia to another party and that made her look decidedly sheepish.
Until she makes some careless comment about your home-world in front of Thranduil or something, and you're trying to restrain her. Éowyn will be fine with her, quit worrying and enjoy the freedom. You'll have Georgia back safe and sound in plenty of time for your wedding to Glorfindel; that'll be soon enough.
Elanor found she could not argue with such blinding logic, and glanced up from Fundanár's mane. She and Glorfindel had almost reached the valley floor, and she could observe the lithe forms of the Elves moving about Imladris' open corridors. They were clad in clear colours and with their dark brown and black tresses in perfect, glossy arrangement. Soft melodies on flute and harp drifted through the evening air; as the company neared the gates of the house, those within it floated to greet them with as much fey grace as the performance of the musicians. Smiles lit up their faces and their voices were gilt with laughter.
Many called Glorfindel's name, both those who had seen them in Gondor and others whom had remained behind; Lindir met the golden-haired Elf with cheerful banter, and Elanor even spied several grizzled Ranger men turned out to inspect the new arrivals. Halbarad's comforting face was not amongst them—a pang struck Elanor's chest as she recalled the memorial service for the staunch leader—though she did spy Hithraur, the Ranger who had cooked each night upon the mad ride southwards. He spared her a gruff smile before Elanor found herself in the embrace of Indilwen, chattering nineteen-to-the-dozen in Sindarin.
The wave of delighted Elves dissipated slightly as Elrond, Gandalf and the hobbits joined the fray. Fundanár was led away, and Indilwen grasped Elanor's hand to escort her from the entrance with firmness which brooked no argument. Rather overwhelmed by the horde of people and the Elf-woman's insistence, Elanor glanced about anxiously for sight of Glorfindel. Her fiancee was conversing with Erestor, but his blue eyes met hers for a fleeting moment and he smiled in reassurance. Her pique at being dragged away from him swiftly dissipated as Indilwen traced the familiar path back to Elanor's old room.
Everything was as she had left it, and the memories so poignant that it quite overwhelmed her. Fortunately, Indilwen was busy moving about the chamber and did not observe the single tear Elanor could not quite repress.
"All is freshly cleaned, Lady Elanor," the Elf said, as she gestured towards the rest of the room. "I have fetched hot water for thy bath also, as I am sure you shall wish to refresh yourself before the feast. Do you have need of aid in dressing?"
"No thankyou, Indilwen," Elanor replied. "Though if you would come and fetch me in time for the feast—"
"Lord Elrond shall ring the bell."
"Ah. In that case, I will be quite right on my own. Thank you."
Indilwen smiled, the expression merely serving to heighten the beauty in her Elvish features, and departed. The room was suddenly still and mournful in her absence, but Elanor shook herself. The scent of the soaps was tantalising, and she stripped naked as she stumbled towards the screen which hid the bath. It was a profound relief to peel off the fine shirt, tunic and breeches, for they had become excessively grimy and the prospect of getting clean harried all her other bewildered thoughts away. Indilwen had filled the bath almost to the brim, and Elanor sank into its steamy embrace gladly as she discarded the last of her garments.
This… is… bliss.
Elanor started awake at the sound of her door clicking open. She was still fully submerged in the soapy water, which lapped at her collarbones and around her protruding knees.
Oh goodness, what time is it…
From where she lay in the bath—which was now lukewarm—her view of both door and windows was obscured. Still, the room was dimmer than before, and she knew it must be perilously close to the time of the feast—hence the unannounced intruder.
"Hello?" she called hesitantly, easing herself upwards out of the water with prune-like fingers.
"Elanor?"
No no no… you can't be in here!
"Glorfindel," she half-stammered, rendered almost mute in shock. "I'm in the bath."
This statement was met with a moment's silence, followed by a hearty laugh.
"My apologies, meleth," he chuckled, "I merely came to find you, as the bell for the feast will ring in about ten minutes time. I shall wait outside the door whilst you ready yourself."
Crouching awkwardly in the bath, Elanor heard the door open and then close again. Her face felt the colour of a ripe tomato as she waited to be sure her betrothed had departed the room.
That could have been mighty awkward… I dunno how the Elves feel about nudity, but… goodness…
Shaking her head in embarrassment, Elanor stepped gingerly onto the floor so as to avoid a graceless, very naked fall. Heedless of the puddles she caused, she peered around the screen to make sure that Glorfindel had definitely left the room. Reassured he had been true to his word, she scarpered across the floor—littered with her discarded clothes—and to the wardrobe.
Despite being wet, nude and pink with humiliation, Elanor paused a moment to appreciate the beauty of the gowns contained therein. It had been many months since she had enjoyed the pleasure of the Elvish dresses. Reaching out, she brushed the drooping sleeves with her wrinkled fingers and smiled.
Might have to adopt some of the Gondorian fashion trends now I'm a permanent fixture here… these sleeves are nothing but an encumbrance when it comes to eating!
She grinned, recalling several unladylike instances at the dinner table with Elrond and his twin sons. Elladan and Elrohir would not be at this feast, a fact which disappointed her; they had gone on to Lothlórien with their mother's kindred for a time.
Still, there was little she could do at that moment about either her foster-brothers or her sleeves, and any criticism of the exquisite Elf-made gowns was pure ingratitude. She indulged herself in several minutes spent choosing a dress and pulled it on hurriedly. Six minutes later, she tugged open the door to find Glorfindel leaning casually against the corridor wall.
He turned to look at her with a roguish smile, noting the damp hair, flushed cheeks and dress slightly askew.
"Dressed now, dearest?" he teased, blue eyes more like twinkling lights than anything else as he pushed away from the wall moved towards her.
This caused Elanor's colour to heighten once more, before Glorfindel wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her in for a soft kiss. He drew back slightly, lips breathtakingly close to hers as he reached to caress her jawline.
"Forgive me for the untimely intrusion," he whispered, a hint of playfulness in his tone which caused Elanor to fall back in laughter. Her fiancee still held her by the waist, but she glanced up at him with an attempt at reproach.
"You ought to have knocked," she laughed, losing all her self-control. "I'm not quite ready, though; but you're welcome to come in whilst I fix up my hair. Leave the door open," she added, turning in his embrace and gently disentangling his fingers so she could return to her dresser.
Glorfindel did as he was bid and sauntered into the chamber. Elanor glanced pointedly away as she saw him smirk in the direction of her dirty clothes, scattered across the floor. Sitting down as regally as she could manage at the dresser, Elanor pulled her hip-length hair away from her dress. The wet curls had already left marks upon the fabric, and she pursed her lips in mild annoyance.
"It's a lovely dress," remarked Glorfindel, who had moved to stare out of the window. Elanor admired the back of his form for a moment, before returning to her mirror. "On a lovelier lady," came his delayed addition, and in the reflection Elanor caught a glimpse of his cheeky smile over one shoulder.
"You're very distracting," she remarked wryly. "And I've had Georgia doing my hair for months now and I'm not sure what to do with it."
"Leave it out," her betrothed advised. "Or pull back certain strands softly. It looks lovely that way."
Deciding that his plan of action was as good as any, Elanor selected several small curl strands from the side of her head just above her ears and pulled them backwards gently, twisting them so they formed a soft roll. She secured it with a piece of cream silk, rather like a ribbon.
"Good?" she inquired, turning so he could see.
Glorfindel merely smiled. "Perfect."
Elanor rose from her seat and smoothed her dress. It was not particularly ostentatious, but it was a lovely sea-green, nipped in about her waist and had less cumbersome sleeves. Whilst it did clash a little with the sky-blue of Glorfindel's tunic, it was almost a perfect match for her eyes. She was rewarded for her choice by the expression of delight upon her fiancee's countenance.
"Shall we go?"
"With pleasure."
Glorfindel took a small mouthful of the wine, savouring it's taste and potency.
"Fine wine, is it not?" said Erestor, from his left, and Glorfindel smiled.
"Indeed; though you know very well that Lord Elrond only keeps very fine wines," he retorted, laughingly. Erestor merely raised his goblet with a cheery smirk and the two drank in unison.
The feasting table was long, noisy and boisterous; it was not a particularly momentous feast, merely the celebration of the Master's return home. The victory over Sauron had been celebrated with all fullness in Gondor, though still the folk of Rivendell found cause for unusual cheer. Not all of the Elves were present, and Gandalf, Elanor and the hobbits constituted the only guests outside of Elrond's household. To the golden-haired Elf's mind, however, the smaller gathering still managed to be as noisy as one twice it's size.
Glorfindel spared a glance to his right, where Elanor sat in happy conversation with Gandalf. The wizard appeared to be unusually forthcoming with his sunny-haired fiancee, abandoning his usual riddles and concealment in the face of hearty chatter. Grinning to himself, Glorfindel left the pair undisturbed, though eagerly anticipating Elanor's triumphant retelling of the amount she had managed to weasel out of the tight-lipped Istari after the feast was over. Rather than interrupting her success, he turned his attention elsewhere.
Both Glorfindel, his fiancee and Gandalf were seated upon the high table, at Lord Elrond's right. The Master himself was upon the far side of Erestor, and was presently eating his meal with an unusual degree of solemnity. Appearing to feel Glorfindel's eyes upon him, Elrond met his advisor's gaze and smiled slightly. The tilting corners of his mouth lit the Elf-lord's face with pleasant warmth, adding benevolence to the beauty of the Eldar and the strength of the Edain. His features moved in the same way as ever, yet Glorfindel observed a grimness about his eyes, little to be wondered at; not only were Elladan and Elrohir absent, but the Evenstar should never again grace the table of Imladris.
He feels it greatly.
Naturally; she was the light of his heart, and more so after Celebrían sailed Westwards!
He is not without those who love him, though. Elanor looks upon him as a father! And he loves her also.
Do you really think a human woman, however remarkable, could replace his daughter? Elanor is young and fleeting, and she too will be lost to him ere long. You must understand; you too shall lose her eventually.
Glorfindel pressed his lips together in displeasure at the ringing words. He had attempted to discard such morbid thoughts in the ecstasy of victory, of love and of homecoming, of his impending marriage to Elanor and the delights of slow hours. Years blurred into millennia amongst the Eldar, yet the human lady with the green eyes had drawn him back to an existence of days. The season did not blur into one shifting, writhing mass which appeared to change beneath his notice, but each bud and blossom was remarked of and exclaimed over. Elanor's life might be fleeting, yet she drew from it a kind of patient enjoyment made only more beautiful because she knew no other way. She did not think of life as an age, but rather as a string of moments; Glorfindel was enchanted.
Still, it was but a blindfold which denied truth; that he should endure onwards for centuries in Middle-earth if so he chose, whilst Elanor might greet death ere sixty years had passed.
And now you've spoiled my dinner.
Glorfindel shook himself a little. The prospect of addressing this issue with Elanor was a distasteful one; she held no concerns for herself, being released unto death as was the blessing of mortal folk. Yet still the issue remained.
I'll have to speak to Elrond… though he ought to be given some time, his own grief—
A small hand crept into Glorfindel's own, soft fingers tracing his palm and wrist with maddening slowness.
"Are you all right?"
He smiled, pouring forth as much cheer as he could manage and struggling for words. His mind was thoroughly occupied by her gentle and beguiling caress. "Quite, El. I am—merely concerned for—for your foster-father."
Elanor raised one eyebrow slightly, eyes flickering to Elrond, and then back to his face.
"I am worried for him as well, though I can't do anything to remedy the situation. I'm sure he'll be better once Elladan and Elrohir come back." She halted her fingers' tantalising dance across his, causing him to swallow hard and struggle for composure. "Still, do not think to escape so easily. There is something else weighing upon your mind, and I shall know what it is after we depart the table."
Glorfindel smiled in amazement, searching Elanor's smug expression. "You are far too wily for your own good, my lady."
"Me?" she scoffed, pretending to appear affronted whilst thumb and forefinger drew circles across his palm. "Never!"
Glorfindel wrapped his hand firmly about hers, trapping it beneath battle-trained fingers.
"What are you doing?" Elanor laughed, glancing from their hands to his face. "If you do not like it I can stop."
"I think the trouble is," he said, meeting her gaze seriously, "that I like it a little too much."
As little as he liked halting her affectionateness, Glorfindel was amply rewarded by the hale shade of pink his fiancee turned in that moment and struggled valiantly to suppress a broad grin. He needed to maintain his self-possession, though admittedly her thoughtless touch had scattered the worries of moments before, and for that he was grateful.
"Oh," she said softly, glancing down at her lap in the most demure fashion possible.
He squeezed her hand.
"My wits flee as my heart flutters, Elanor Ravenscroft," he smiled, willing her dark lashes to reveal the brilliant eyes beneath. He lowered his voice and said, "In less than a year's time, it shall matter not."
She went redder still and hurriedly withdrew her hand to grasp her goblet. She took a generous sip, looking everywhere but in Glorfindel's direction whilst her face cooled. Unable to resist, he leaned close to her ear.
"Not wine, I hope?"
25th December, 3019 (Third Age)
Elanor pursed her lips and glanced at the table, mentally reviewing the multitude of tasks she had completed that morning in apprehension that she had forgotten one of vital import. She stood within Elrond's study—which still remained her favourite room in Rivendell—and before her was a heavy-laden table. The dishes upon it were generally unknown to the Eldar, and formed a large reason for Elanor's anxiety. There was a large leg of ham, cooked, cooled and standing ready for carving; several bright salads graced wooden bowls, and a peculiar creation which rather resembled a white cloud covered in fruit stood at one end.
Really Elanor, it's the perfect Christmas lunch.
Chewing her lip slightly, Elanor could not help but agree with her surprisingly generous narcissist as she surveyed her handiwork. Considering the limitations she had encountered, Rivendell's first Christmas would not be an utter failure.
Alongside the unorthodox dishes was a collection of mismatched decorations; mainly snowflakes cut from finest parchment—Indilwen had shown a great adeptness for making them—sprigs of holly, and silhouettes of several iconic Australian animals which also served as place settings. Unfortunately, Indilwen's nimble fingers did not extend as far as successfully cutting out kangaroos, platypuses and emus, and they left rather a lot to be desired. Elanor grinned as she glanced at a kangaroo which better resembled a meerkat on it's hind legs.
A gentle tap at the door roused her.
"Elanor?"
Turning, Elanor smoothed her clothes and hurried forward. "Oh, Ada, come in," she said, as Elrond's dark head appeared. "I am ready."
The Elf smiled and stepped inside. He caught sight of her clothes immediately, and paused a moment to survey them. She glanced down at herself, feeling rather self-conscious.
"Is it all right?" she inquired, a little tremulously.
Elrond chuckled. "It suits you, though forgive me if I prefer your regular style of dress."
"I think I do too, personally, after all this time," Elanor admitted, "but it was rather fun getting Indilwen to help me make this." She glanced up with a twinkle. "After all, it's not often you get to wear a snowflake-knitted jumper in Middle-earth."
"Nor such becoming trousers," added a third voice, and Glorfindel's lithe form seemed to materialise in the archway. "Do they look just like that in your home world, El?" he asked, moving towards her and planting a kiss upon her hair. Elrond surveyed them with a warm expression as the Elf slipped an arm about Elanor's waist.
"Not quite," she replied archly. "We call them jeans, and whilst these are the right colour, they're too coarse. Denim—the fabric we make them from—is usually stiffer but still of quite a fine weave, not scratchy. And they normally have much more stitching, because we use machines to make them. The jumper turned out perfectly though," she laughed, rubbing the soft wool. Indilwen, in yet another stroke of brilliance, had helped Elanor create a green, cream and red jumper patterned with snowflakes. The fineness of the wool and the Elf's adeptness with her hands had produced the nicest knitted jumper Elanor had owned, even better than a store-bought one from Myer. She was proud of this creation.
"Perhaps we shall all wear them next December," Glorfindel suggested, with a failed attempt at solemnity. Elanor swatted him playfully upon the arm.
"If you tease me about it, I shall make you one myself! At home we never got to wear jumpers like this on Christmas Day, because it was far too hot. Places like America and Canada and England do, because their Christmas falls in wintertime."
"Like here?"
"Yes. So I'm afraid most of my family's traditions are utterly lost, as they encompass playing cricket, swimming, and a water balloon fight," Elanor sighed, a little ruefully. "Still, we can always try that come summertime!"
"I eagerly anticipate discovering cricket," Glorfindel enthused with the carefree manner of one who knows nothing about it.
Elrond merely laughed. "You have found a champion for your cause, nethig! Who else is fated to join us for this delightful feast?"
"Only Bilbo," said Elanor, smiling blithely despite a fair degree of disappointment that so many were absent. Georgia would not rejoin them for some months, Gandalf had departed on some errand, the twins were still abroad and the hobbits had gone to save the Shire.
It would have been lovely if Gimli and Legolas were here… but I suppose that will have to wait until the wedding…
"A quiet celebration then," Elrond replied, tactful as ever. Elanor caught a flicker of understanding in his gaze as he smiled—he knows as well as you do what it is to miss someone, though he has no hope of ever seeing them again. Whereas you, in your time, might visit Gondor and see the King and Queen, and Boromir and Faramir, and the Shirelings…
"Yes, but I daresay it will be noisy nevertheless," chirped Glorfindel, moving towards the table with keen eyes. "This looks most intriguing!"
"Well you'll have to be intrigued a little longer; I'm determined to wait for Bilbo. So hands off!" came the laughing reprimand, as one of the Elf's nimble fingers was snatched back from the peculiar cloud-like dessert.
Elrond reached out to brush Elanor's arm with his hand. "Do you mind if I clear off my desk whilst we await Master Baggins' arrival?"
"Not at all, Ada," she smiled. Elrond inclined his head and moved across the study to his desk, which was, admittedly, littered with parchments and scrolls. Elanor watched him with a careful eye, intrigued by the nimble Elvish movements but also eager to peruse her foster-father undisturbed. The previous months Elrond had not seemed entirely himself, and whilst the reason was certainly understandable, she longed to see him restored to his former quiet good humour. December had wrought much improvement compared to August, but the lines about Elrond's eyes had not yet disappeared. As much as Elanor wanted them to, there was the niggling doubt that the sorrow which touched him—and which had touched his entire life—would never quite disappear until he sailed across to Valinor.
Why do you think he decides to go over the sea, Elanor? His wife's there, his sons will most probably go with him… can you blame him?
No—but I'd still rather these last months with him were happier.
That was an unpleasant reminder; a quick referral to an appendix in her long-ago-stashed copy of The Silmarillion had shown her that he, Bilbo, Frodo and the other Elves would take the ship to Valinor in less than two years. The prospect of losing her remaining adopted family was one she did not wish to contemplate, especially as it also heralded the difficult issue of how she and Glorfindel were to manage.
Best not to think about it now.
"Elanor, what on Arda is this creature?" exclaimed Glorfindel, with a furrowed brow, lifting a long-legged emu from the table and holding it up in amazement.
Glad for the distraction, she moved over to his side with a grin. "We call it an emu; it's a very large bird, with long hair on it's body and slim legs. They run very fast."
"It looks—unlike anything I've ever seen," he replied slowly, grasping for words.
"Australia is known for it's odd animals," Elanor assured him, with a chuckle. "Most other creatures are the same as in Middle-earth; our cows and horses and pigs and sheep, though the animals belonging to the Elves far surpass ours. The horses here—"
She broke off as someone tapped on the door, shot Glorfindel an apologetic look and hurried to answer it.
Standing in the doorway was Bilbo, one hand extended and his weathered, wrinkled face broken in a beatific smile.
"Lady Elanor," he half-croaked, eyes twinkling despite his frailty. "Thank you most kindly for this invitation!"
Flooded with affection for the grandfatherly figure, Elanor smiled and reached for his arm. "You're most welcome, Bilbo! Come in, we're all ready to begin."
Elrond, seeing the final guest had arrived, tossed aside the last of his parchments and strode across to join them. He greeted Bilbo with warm words and guided the hobbit to the table. Elanor was seated by her fiancee, who was still gleefully eyeing the dessert dish.
"Will you carve the ham for us, ada?" she asked, holding out the knife to Elrond. "And Glorfindel, you might pass the salads to Bilbo."
"These are most interesting salads, El," the Elf mused, passing them to the grateful Bilbo, who dished a generous hobbit-like portion to his plate. "And I'm itching to know what that other object down there is!"
"That," laughed Elanor, "is a pavlova."
"A pav-what-a?"
"Do not get ahead of yourself, my Lord Glorfindel," came Elrond's remark, with a conspiratorial wink at Elanor. "Or your betrothed shan't allow you to have any pavlova."
Glorfindel's mouth curved in a quasi-shocked o. "She would never deny me such a dessert!"
Elanor merely laughed and took his hand with an arch expression. "Wouldn't I?" Then, with a second chuckle, she leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Merry Christmas, love."
I'm sorry for my hugely long hiatus team! Here's your first post-book chapter, I won't call them epilogues because I honestly don't know how long they're going to continue. xD There are still several very important matters to sort out, as I've kind of foreshadowed in this chapter. I'm not going to rush up to Elanor and Glorfindel's wedding because I feel like there are several things to happen before then.
Oh, and we've also got to sort out what we do with Georgia. That'll be fun. *dripping with sarcasm* ;)
Have so loved reading all your kind reviews, let us know what you think of the chapter and the constant Elanor-Glorfindel banter! ^_^
- Finwe.