When Glorfindel finished her wings, Elenya stood and stretched, rolling her shoulders and opening her wingspan all the way till her flight feathers brushed the walls. She released a content sigh and Glorfindel realized that he had never noticed her so relaxed.
"No to complain, for I really didn't mind doing that," he began as casually as he could. "But why don't you ever just dunk your wings into the water."
Elenya was walking about her home, dumping the water and putting the cloth into a pile of what he presumed was to be washed. She hummed lightly to herself in thought.
"While these wings are good for flying... they were never really made much for water. Have you ever seen a blue-jay swim?" Glorfindel shook his head 'no' as she continued to speak. "My wings get waterlogged easily... they're heavy and don't do much against current... I'm sure you can image that I learned that the hard way."
Memories of the Grinding Ice assaulted Glorfindel as he recalled the way gaps in the ice would open without warning, leading to elves dropping through cracks that quickly sealed shut. There was nothing that anyone could do when that happened, they were just forced to watch through the semi-translucent ice as the one trapped underneath was pulled by the current, quickly out of their sight and to the depth of the black sea underneath.
"I'm sorry," he pushed as much genuine sorrow into his words as he could.
Then Nightshade was back and seemed rather pleased that Elenya was in a better mood. Glorfindel would swear that the wolf nearly smiled at him as it puttered about the cabin before curling up at the hearth. In turn, Elenya was seeing to her weapons- a near daily ritual. As she tested the edge on her blade and gently worked a honing stone across it, Glorfindel's eyes kept wandering towards Nightshade.
He knew that his capture, his imprisonment, had to be at the orders of Sauron. Who else could forge a chain such as the one binding him? It was no great mental leap to assume that the price for this untainted home that Elenya had was his capture... but what about Nightshade? Glorfindel once fought in the War of Wrath, he knew the fierce pride of Morgoth's most trusted lieutenant and thus he couldn't believe that he would give so much... life to the wolf and the home for merely his capture.
There was also of course the question as to why Sauron would bother to make bargains with Elenya... did he know something more about the girl? Sauron took what he wanted... he didn't make deals nor did he forge bargains with others. What about Elenya was special enough in his eyes for him to do such a thing?
"You know," he smiled lightly, "I dreamed about you for many years after I was reborn... some night the dreams were so real, I relived that day in Gondolin."
He didn't miss the way her spine instantly stiffened. Nightshade was staring at Elenya as if waiting to see if she would respond, which she eventually did.
"As did I," she whispered, refusing to turn to look at Glorfindel when she spoke.
"You, you did?" He gasped in surprise, instantly sitting up only to be yanked back by the metal collar still around his throat. He braced one hand against the steel as he coughed to catch his breath. This sound finally encourage Elenya to turn around, frowning slightly as she did.
"I was just a kid... I had nightmares for years," an edge of coldness crept into her tone, but Glorfindel wasn't deterred.
"How old were you?"
"...sixteen."
"Sixteen?! But, by Edain that is just-"
"A child... yes, I know."
"You were brilliant," he said after a long bout of silence. "You- I've never seen such courage before. You saved an entire city and now-"
"I don't care," she suddenly exploded, turning around as her wings flared up behind her. "I don't care about saving anyone!" Glorfindel flinched back at her outburst, the force of her wings beating in the enclose space was enough to pin him against the wall. "I tried to save lives then what I was a kid, and I tried again when I was first dumped here and I'm done trying!"
"Elenya... Elenya please- I-" Glorfindel opened his mouth to apologize, but he couldn't get a word in. Elenya was furious, he recognized the mark of pent up rage before him. He too had had the occasional fit in the years following his resurrection in Middle Earth. He wasn't certain how long Elenya had been in Middle Earth for, but it had become quite apparent after his first few days with her that she wasn't centuries old. There was a gap of missing years between the fall of Gondolin and her return... he wasn't certain how but he knew that it was the only explanation.
Her grief was still fresh, far more raw than Glorfindel's for he had centuries and the support of Elrond to guide him through his re-birth.
She had been alone.
"I hate you all, you're-you're all part of this. You're world can die for all I care!" Her voice was crackling as she started to back up towards the door. Nightshade was by her side and glaring at Glorfindel with an accusatory stare.
"No, Elenya please," he was straining forward against the collar again, ignoring the pressure it put on hit throat. "Please you're better than this-"
"No I'm not. I've already started it... Mirkwood is ash and the King rules no more."
"Did you-" Glorfindel's eyes widened in shock, but Elenya continued to back up, shaking her head and wiping her arm furiously across her face.
"Don't you know... it's already started," her voice had dropped and was eerily monotone. "The war is coming... and I don't think I care."
"You can't mean-"
"This world can burn, and I don't care," with those words she turned and fled out the door, Nightshade hot on her heels as the pair disappeared into the forest.
He recognized the type of outburst that she just had. Such a thing hadn't been uncommon in his soldiers the time when they crossed the Helcaraxe, or at times during the War of Wrath when it all became too much. It was the breakdown of a battle-weary soul who yearned for peace and who had grown tired of fighting a war that they thought they would lose.
Through trial and error he had learned the cure for such ailment, a painfully simple one. The cure was simply to hold the individual, to clasp them tight when they screamed that they wished to be left alone, to promise them that they were loved and that they mattered as they raged their hatred for the universe. But, at the moment he couldn't do that. He couldn't launch himself at her and claps her tight, he couldn't wrap his arms around her as she beat her fists against his back and wept into his shoulder. He was still chained to the ground, still trapped in the little room whilst she was alone, only her wolf to remind her that she wasn't completely alone.
This left Glorfindel to sit in silence, to wonder where he went wrong in speaking to her, and where the world went wrong in abusing her.
"Silwena, it is good to see you," Aule said to one of the two Maiar standing guard outside the gates of a home he once knew all too well.
"You are not welcome in the home of our mistress," the female with flowing auburn hair stated plainly.
Aule switched tactics and attempted glared daggers at the Maiar, but she and her companion refused to move. They were loyal and unswayed by the anger of the Valar. The pair stood guard holding long wooden staffs, each appearing to have living vines climbing up the wood and blooming beautiful flowers. They stood before a gate made of living brambles and a moss covered path leading to a home built into the trees. Once, Aule had been welcome at the estate... now, and most especially after his last visit, the followers of Yavanna refused to even send a message to their Lady.
"It's alright, Silwena," Yavanna called, walking down the steps of the tree and approaching Aule. The Maiar respectfully bowed her head before retreating a short distance, though she didn't open the gate for him. "What do you want?" Yavanna demanded.
"No pleasantries?" He smiled, attempting to tease out the banter that he and the other Valar once shared.
Instead, she glared at him across the bramble fence with a cold expression on her face. She waited in silence for him to answer her first inquiry and it became apparent that she wasn't about to rise to his bait. His face fell as he realized that she had most certainly not forgiven him.
"I came with news of the... Child."
"And what new have you that you presume I lack?" Yavanna crossed one arm over the other, impatience coloring her eyes.
"A favorite Firstborn of mine, I-" he began, but was quickly cut off my Yavanna.
"Yes I know of the armor. What of it?" She snapped.
"Well," he, unlike Mandos or Este, was not known for his patience. Yavanna's sharp tongue was quickly getting on his nerves for he intended to arrive to make peace, instead he was not even so much as allowed over the threshold. "I thought you should know that despite my doubts, I am helping the Child-"
"After everything, everything that has occurred," the Giver of Fruits grounded her words out from between her teeth as she seethed in rage. "You finally put aside your petty hatred of the Child to invest the slightest amount of effort into a cause meant to save all of Arda, and now you want praise for it?"
"I only meant-" his voice rose with indignation, but Yavanna once again beat him to it.
"Go," she demanded, pointing over his shoulder in the vague direction of Mandos' halls. "Go off and lament with the Feanturi over injustices if you wish but leave me be. I have a meeting with Orome and Varda and I have no time to waste with you."
With those words, she turned and left. Her Maiar were immediately back at their posts and once again, though this time more forcefully, refused Aule's request for access. Eventually, he gave up and returned to his own home, briefly checking on the Eldar smith who still worked on the armor meant for a wolf like no other. The smith was laboring away diligently at his forge, hammer striking the steel as he molded it into shape. Aule was comforted in the fact that he had at least one follower who still remained loyal to him.
Arwen could practically hear the anxiety emanating from her father's study. She knew that he and Erestor were still awake as they poured over the rosters of Imladris guards. There had been no word of Glorfindel's whereabouts, not even the wandering company of Gildor Inglorian had heard news from him. Between the lack of sightings and Asfaloth sitting in the stables, she knew that it was a safe bet that Glorfindel wouldn't be riding out to find the Ringbearer.
So now, her father and his chief counselor were pouring over the guard rosters trying to find individuals who were powerful enough to ride against the Nazgul with at least a sliver of hope for success. There were precious few who were both strong and fast enough. Her brothers had already been sent out, but as of the last message that they received from Mithrandir... they were on the wrong path. It seemed that the path most likely for the Ringbearer to be one was still left untraveled. No one was coming for them.
Her mind made up, Arwen rose from bed and donned her gray leathers. Her father was fiercely protective of her for she was his youngest, but, she had been raised with two brothers and under he guidance of her grandmother Galadriel. Most importantly however, she had the blood of the Maiar flowing through her veins. She was a descendant of Melian and was one of the few left alive with such power flowing through them.
She crept through the halls and to the stables where she found Asfaloth, Glorfindel's loyal steed, standing still and serene. He was awake though it was deep in the night and Arwen suspected that the stallion somehow knew what his task was. Although he was notorious for not allowing any but the Golden-haired captain ride him, he remained still and cooperative as Arwen saddled him. Unlatching his box, she hopped astride without the slightest protest from the stallion and he followed her willingly as she guided him out.
The moment they crossed the bridge, they took off like a flash of lighting. Beneath the moon they rode, sprinting down the path where they were to find the Ringbearer.
Arwen clutched Asfaloth's mane and crouched low so as to aide the stallion in his flight. The life of her beloved and the fate of Middle Earth rode with them, and she could feel their lingering weight.