Author's Note:
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Éowyn
They met again in the armoury, where Éowyn presented him with her sword. She watched him carefully. Glorfindel held her sword in wonder. Then he wielded it into powerful, practiced strokes before returning it to the table between them.
"It was a worthy blade." Glorfindel said. "Will you not have it repaired?"
"My time as a shieldmaiden has ended." She touched her shield-arm. Glorfindel's eyes lowered to it.
"May I?"
Puzzled, she complied. The Elf Lord touched her arm gently, and she felt warmth soak into her limb. Her ache ebbed away under his touch. Then he shook his head.
"It is ill-mended." Glorfindel said. "There will come days when your arm will ache, and there is nothing that can be done for it. Such is the outcome of war. It is not all for the sake of glory."
"Ironic, since it was glory and death that I sought in battle."
"Well, I am glad you received the former and not the latter."
