Book 3: Of Riddles of Doom and Paths of Love

by Soledad

3rd Boromir story. Final chapter is up. Between returning nightmares, Boromir has some very interesting encounters. Implied mm interaction. Completed.

4. Chapter 4: The Affairs of Wizards

OF RIDDLES OF DOOM AND PATHS OF LOVE
by Soledad Cartwright

Disclaimer:

The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I'm only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun.

Rating: PG – 13, for war-induced, violent images and implied m/m interaction.

Author's Notes:

Chapter Four basically contains Gandalf's detailed story about what happened between him and Saruman during his captivity in Isengard. I mostly follow the books with it, as I always do, but here I inserted some small lines and descriptions from the movie, too – not the fact that Saruman showed the palantír to Gandalf, for that would have interfered with later stories. As before, I removed this tale from the Council scene of economical reasons.

Boromir's dream had been inspired by Adrienne's beautiful shortfic ''Weitblick und Stimme.(1)'', which can be found here, on ff.net. The only line quoted letter-by-letter is between double slashes // //.

[Lines in brackets] mean telepathic communication.

The title of this chapter, of course, refers to Gildor Inglorion's statement to Frodo:

''Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.''

The Fellowship of the Ring, Ch: 'Three is Company'

CHAPTER FOUR: THE AFFAIRS OF WIZARDS

They are coming, roaming the banks of Anduin, covering the ruins of our once-beautiful city like ants, moving with the horrid, boneless quickness of insects, their foul and defiling stench laying heavily in the air, leaving a poisonous taste on one's tongue after every single breath.

Breathing becomes very hard, some of our younger soldiers have already fallen to their knees, dry heaves wretching their drained bodies, for they have long had naught more to throw up. This endless battle has lasted many a fortnight by now, and we are running out of resources, including food.

//The Standard of Gondor ripples high above the heads of my men and I, its battered and war-torn fabric cuts thorough the gloom of morning, flying proud.// My brother looks at me, his fair face nearly unrecognizable, smeared with gore and blood – his own, that of his fallen Rangers and with the black blood of our enemies, and in his clear eyes there is a weariness that I had not known before: the utter lack of hope.

And they are coming, the hideous minions of the One Enemy, and though I have battled them before, I still cannot wonder why our young men start retching by the mere sight of them. For they look like Death itself, with their dirt-grey, shrunken skin and yellow, rotten teeeth, with slanted yellow-green eyes and long, pointed ears, like rotten corpses of large, blood-thirsty cats awaken to unlife by Falcraft and wizardry. Their appearance is just as foul as their stench is.

They reek of malice and death.

But how comes that I cannot hear them?

I can see them shrieking their vicious battle cries full of hatred and blood-lust, maws wide open, glistening yellow fangs snapping after every new cry, yet no sound can reach me. How can it be? I have been there, under this very ruined bridge all the time, every cursed day of this cursed battle that seems to have no end, and always have the shrieks of these foul creatures been deafening. Why cannot hear them now?

Now a disturbance seems to raise among their endless rows, as when an aunt-hill is stirred up by a bored child, and the ugly faces turn skywards where a huge, winged Shadow emerges from the clouds, quenching the last sparkles of the fading stars, black and terrible against the first light of the morning, and with it comes the maddening fear of unspeakable evil. And now the eerie, deaf silence is finally broken, by a long-drawn wail that rises and falls, and ends on a high, piercing note, leaving all our men frozen and chilled to the bone with mindless terror.

It takes me some time til I realize that the answering, dreaded shriek is mine.

Then the host of Orcs, blackening the ruins of Osgiliath, suddenly swings into motion, flowing down the river banks to the broken bridge like a dark wave of unstoppable destruction.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Boromir jerked awake, sitting up in the comfortable softness of the large Elven bed, shaken by cold shivers. His whole body was clammy with cold sweat. This had not been the first time for him to dream of that dreadful battle in Osgiliath. The nightmare had returned almost every night during his last few weeks at home, in Minas Tirith, and time and again even during his long journey, though he seldom slept deep enough to dream.

It was becoming unbearable, even though this time he awoke before the grand finale: the image of Minas Tirith, being consummed by dark fire and her smoldering remnaints sinking into a sea of blood.

He got to his feet and paddled over to the adjoining bathing chamber, splashing some cold water onto his face and bare upper body from the white marble washing basin, carved in the shape of a large seashell, and rubbing himself dry with a surprisingly silky towel. Then he put on the robe laid out for him by the hosts of the guest house and stepped out to the balcony for some fresh air.

Sleeping was not an option any more.

Not for this night.

He heard musical Elvish voices and soft laughter from the other side of the Bridge; a few Elves of the valley were standing under the trees on the other river bank, surrounding someone in a long cloak and a tall, pointed hat – presumably an old Man, for he had a long, white beard yet was twice the size of a Dwarf. But no matter how much Boromir tried to make out the newcomer's face, he could not, for the wide brim of that strangely shapeless hat covered most of it.

Now two more Elves were coming over from the main house; one of them tall and dark-haired like most dwellers of the valley had been, wearing the same heavy robes as Glorfindel or Elrond himself. But the other was clad in leggings and a silk-pale tunic only, with long, unbraided hair, pale gold as the moonlight, and a face so ethereally beautiful that Boromir had a hard time to decide whether it was a male Elf or a female one.

They greeted the old Man with all the long-winded ceremoniality that could be expected towards a honoured house-guest and shepherded him away from the bridge, talking to him with voices so low that Boromir could not make out a single word of it. Only the lyrical laughter of the blonde Elf reached his ears, making certain that – no matter how soft it sounded – it was a male voice, for sure.

He looked after them til they vanished in Elrond's house, pondering who the old Man might have been. He certainly looked like one of the wizards, but though Boromir knew that Mithrandir had been expected in the valley for quite some time, the night was too dark for him to see the colour of the old Man's clothes, not to mention that travelling garbs seldom gave away the true identity of the ones who wore them. So, theoretically, it could be even Curunír the White as well as Radagast the Brown, whom the Elves called Aiwendil.

Boromir waited for a while, hoping that they would emerge again or someone else would appear whom he could ask, but neither of these happened, and the night started becoming chilly, even for his hardened nature. So, with a sigh of defeat, he turned on his heels and went back to the abandoned bed, hoping that his demons had had enough for one night.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Over the Bridge, in the main house, Elrond had been hurriedly called from his bed, and so was Glorfindel and even the Prince of Mirkwood. They all gathered in Elrond's study, and while Erestor sent Lindir to the pantries to fetch something to eat and to drink for the long-expected guest, even the Lady Arwen arrived, Elrond's daughter (and the Lady of Imladris after her mother's departure), clad in a long coat of deep, midnight blue, embroidered with small, silver stars.

''We all are glad that you have finally arrived, Mithrandir'', Elrond greeted the wizard gravely. ''We would have need of your wisdom earlier, though; and the Ring-bearer even more.''

''I was delayed'', the wizard admitted reluctantly, ''and that nearly proved our ruin. And yet I am not sure; it may have been better so.''

Elrond frowned. In spite of their long friendship, the old man could truly irritate him at times.

''Play no games with me, Mithrandir'', he said. ''I wish to hear tidings, not riddles; and I wish to hear them now.''

''You shall hear all you wish to hear, my Lord'', the wizard answered. ''We shall have a Council, and soon, I presume...?''

''We have only been waiting for you – well, and for our scouts to return'', Elrond said. ''My sons are still out upon errantry in the Wild; as soon as they are back, we shall summon the Council together.''

''Then on that Council I shall speak of all things of importance'', the wizard replied. ''At the moment I will only say that I was held captive.''

''You?'', Glorfindel asked in bewilderment.

''Yes, I, Gandalf the Grey'', said the wizard solemnly. ''There are many powers in the world, as you well know, for good and for evil. Some are greater than I am. Against some I have not yet been measured. But the Morgul-Lord and his Black Riders have come forth. War is preparing!''

''That much we already know'', Elrond replied drily, ''from Gildor Inglorion, from Glorfindel here and from the adventures of the Ring-bearer. What I wish to hear tonight is the reason of your delay, and I fear I must be rather… persistent in my wish to hear about it.''

[Do not deny him the right to learn of this, Olórin, my friend], Glorfindel warned the wizard gently, with words not spoken but sent from mind to mind. [This fight had been entrusted to him much earlier than you were chosen.]

The wizard gave him a long, hard look – then he sighed.

''Well, well, I shall tell you the most urgent parts'', he gave in, ''but the rest has to wait til the Council. 'Tis dangerous to discuss certain things openly, unless one cannot avoid it.''

Elrond leaned back in his big chair, his narrowing eyes cold like the grey winter frost.

''Then I shall be content with what you can tell us now'', he said.

The wizard sighed.

''As you wish. Now, where should I begin? At the end of Nárië(2) I was in the Shire; the land of the hobbits'', he added for anyone present who might have not known this, though such a thing was rather unlikely in Elrond's household, ''but a cloud of anxiety was on my mind, and I rode to the southern borders of that little land; for I had a foreboding of some danger, still hidden from me but drawing near.''

''And right you were with the dark hints in your heart'', Legolas said, ''for the messengers of Mordor have come as far as Dale and the kingdom of the Dwarves; and now we can see how all the forces of the Enemy are slowly coming in motion and tightening His grip around the remaining free realms.''

''So I have heard'', the wizard nodded, ''for messages reached me of war and defeat in Gondor, and when I heard of the Black Shadow, a chill smote my heart. But I found naught save a few fugitives from the South, seeking shelter by their northern kindred; yet it seemed to me that on them sat a fear of which they would not speak.''

''Dúnedain from the South, coming to the Angle?(3)'', Glorfindel repeated with a frown. ''That is… unusual, to say the least. The need of Gondor has to be more desperate than we have thought.''

''They were not from Gondor'', the wizard replied, ''but from the borders of Dunland; people who are friendly to the Rohirrim yet serve them not and now found themselves caught between two fires. They have fled to the North with their families to seek refuge in Dale, or probably settle down among the ruins of Laketown(4) again. I gave them a letter to King Bard of Dale, whom I have known since his birth, but in my heart I very much doubt that settling in Bard's realm would save any one on the long haul.''

''And you are right with that, again'', said Elrond; ''or at least that is what the Dwarves say. The realms of dwarves and Men are aimed at, and I fear that Mirkwood shall suffer greatly, too.''

'''Tis something we have grown accustomed to'', Legolas commented drily. ''Not a year of peace have we enjoyed, ever since the dark tower of Dol Guldur has been raised to poison our woods.''

''No-one of us shall enjoy peace in the times that come, I fear'', answered the wizard. ''Now, after parting from the fugitives I turned east and north and journeyed along the Greenway; and not far from Bree I came upon a traveller sitting on a bank beside the road with his horse grazing beside him. It was Radagast the Brown, who at one time dwelt at Rhosgobel, near the borders of Mirkwood. He is one of my order, as you all know, but I had not seen him for many a year.''

''Nor have I!'', Lindir – who had been found by Radagast as a little, orphaned elfling and raised by him and lived with him more than three hundred years – cried, clearly delighted. ''How is he faring? What has he been doing all these years?''

''I know not'', the wizard shrugged. ''He has always been a stranger to these parts of the West, for he seldom came over the Hithaeglir, never being a traveller, unless driven by great need. Yet he was seeking for me. He was sent on an urgent errand by Saruman the White: to tell me the evil news that the Nazgúl are abroad again.''

''So Curunír had known about it all the time?'', Glorfindel asked in a less-then-friendly tone. ''And he felt not the need to warn us? This is peculiar, indeed.''

''Less peculiar than you might think, old friend'', Gandalf replied grimly, ''but I shall come to that shortly. As I said, Radagast told me that the Nine had crossed the River secretly and were moving westward, under the guise of riders in black, asking for a land called 'the Shire'. I knew then what I have dreaded without knowing it, and my heart sank.''

''Feel not ashamed'', Glorfindel said. ''Even the Wise fear to withstand the Nine when they are gathered together under their fell chieftain. For a great king and sorcerer he was of old, and now he wields a deadly fear.''

''Yet you hesitated not to go against him'', the wizard bowed his grey head towards the Elf-Lord respectfully; ''not now, nor long ago when you led the forces that broke his evil realm in the far North.''

''Nor am I the only one who has fought him valiantly, him and his vassals'', replied Glorfindel. ''Young Erestor here raised his sword against the Witch-King, too; and Legolas and his people live in the shadow of Dol Guldur, held by his second-in-command. But I am holding you back. Forgive me.''

''There is naught to forgive'', the wizard answered. ''But Radagast had also brought me a message from Saruman. A message that said that if I needed his help, he would provide it; yet I had to go to him at once, ere it was too late.''

''And you did go to him at once, I presume'', Elrond said. The wizard frowned.

''Of course I did. Saruman the White is the greatest of my order. Long has he studied the arts of the Enemy himself, and thus we have often been able to forestall Him. It was by the devices of Saruman that we drove Him from Dol Guldur, after all!''

''Was it?'', the Lady Arwen asked quietly. ''I seem to remember, for I have been part of the White Council at that time already, that he had been against this attack for quite some time.''

''And when the Council has finally made its move, it was too late already'', Legolas added grimly. ''Too late for us, for Mirkwood had already been poisoned beyond healing – and too late for others, since all Sauron did was to return to Mordor, to his much greater fortress.''

''True'', the wizard admitted'', yet I still hoped that Saruman might have found some weapon that would drive back the Nine. And so, after having a night's rest in Bree, I rode to the far South, to Nan Curunír, where, in a circle of sheer rocks, the high tower of Orthanc stands: the abandoned watchtower of old Númenor that is now Saruman's fortress. Late on the evening I reached the only gate, and the gatekeepers told me that Saruman awaited me already. So I rode under the arcgh and the gate closed silently behind me.''

''With other words: you walked straight into a trap'', Glorfindel stated, interrupting the longwinded flow of the wizard's tale with his sober statement.

''That I did'', the wizad nodded ruefully, ''for though at first Saruman wore his usual, friendly face, soon had his scorn and haughtiness shown; and I understood that he was our ally no longer. For though white his robes might have seemed, in truth they were woven of all colours, and if he moved they shimmered and changed hue so that the eye was bewildered. And he wore a ring on his finger.''

''A ring!'', Elrond said with a sharp intake of breath; more a hiss than a breath, actually. ''You think he finally found his way to make a Ring of Power himself?''

''Nay'', Erestor said; ''he cannot forge any Ring of true Power. The secret of making a Great Ring died with Celebrimbor; and not even our Lord could have made the Three without the lore that came from the Enemy and deceived him in the disguise of a friend. Just as Curunír tried to deceive you, Mithrandir.''

'''Tis true'', the wizard nodded; ''for that was why he lured me into his fortress: to win an ally in me. To 'give me a choice', as he said.''

''What choice?'', Erestor asked with open dismay.

''The choice to join him'', the wizard answered grimly. ''To bend under the rule of that new Power that is rising in the East. To turn our backs to the Elves who have no hope left any more, and abandon the dying Númenor. To join with that Power and rule side-to-side with it.''

There was deadly silence in Elrond's study. The ramifications of such an alliance were all too clear for all Elves present.

''So you think that Curunír finally had betrayed his mission and fallen from grace?'', Glorfindel said after what seemed eternity.

''I am almost certain of it'', the wizard replied, full of sorrow. ''He spoke to me of hope. Of victory that is at hand; and of a rich reward that would be granted for those that aided it.''

Glorfindel shook his head in despair.

''That old fool! What possible reward could he hope for this treachery?''

''What he always wanted most'', the wizard sighed. ''Knowledge. Power. Rule. Order. You have known him in the West ere he came to Middle-earth – has this not always been what he longed for? To join powers greater than his own and to come with patience at last to direct their curses?''

''It has'', Glorfindel nodded solemnly; ''still, I cannot believe that he has become such a fool as not to see how dangerous his chosen path might prove. For despite all his knowledge and his skills, he still is no match for Sauron.''

''Oh, he knows that'', the wizard said, ''but he hopes he can bide his time. That he can keep his thoughts in his heart, deploring maybe evils done by the way, but approving what he sees as the high and ultimate purpose: to rule in these new, upcoming days when Men take over the world from the older races.''

''So 'tis power, ultimately, what he hungers for'', Elrond said. ''But why would he want to win you over? Cetainly he cannot hope that you would serve his own purposes?''

''He might be an old fool, as Glorfindel says, yet he still is wise enough to know that alone he cannot match the power of Sauron who has learnt his evil arts from the Great Enemy himself'', the wizard answered. ''Right now, he needs my aid for proper balance. I doubt not that he would betray me, too, at the end – when he has laid his hands on the One Ring. For that was it, ultimately, what he had brought me to Isengard for.''

''He knows that the One has reappeared?'', Elrond asked in worry. The wizard nodded.

''Remember, my Lord, that Saruman has been looking for the One ever since Isildur was lost. And he has many eyes in his service, eyes that watch all paths in the western lands – and, as I have come to understand, eyes that watch my paths as well. So he knew that the Nine were asking for the Shire, and he had known of my visits in that small land as well.''

''Did he want you in Isengard to learn of the whereabouts of the Ring, then?'', Erestor asked.

''He did'', the wizard said, ''and there was a lust shining in his eyes which he could not conceal. He has not even seen the Ruling Ring yet, but the desire for it has already enslaved him. 'Tis dangerous to study the ways of the Enemy, even for the Wise – or, mayhap, for them more so than for other people.''

''You refused to tell him aught, I presume'', said Glorfindel. ''What did he then to persuade you? For Curunír is not the wizard to take 'nay' for an answer easily.''

''He is not'', Gandalf agreed, ''and he chose to keep me imprisoned until I revealed where the One might be found – or until it was found in my despite, making him strong enough to break me and punish me for refusing to obey his wishes. His servants took me and they set me alone on the pinnacle of Orthanc where Saruman was accustomed to watch the stars – where I had no chance to escape.''

''And yet you have escaped, as we all can see'', said Glorfindel, ''and doubtlessly, you had time enough to watch what is going on in Isengard.''

''I had'', the wizard sighed, ''and what I have seen almost robbed me of all my hopes. For the valley that had once been fair and green, the flower garden of Orthanc, was now filled with pits and forges; and all the beautiful, huge ancient trees had ben ripped down and burnt in the ovens, deep in those mines. Wolves and Orcs are housed in Isengard, for Saruman is mustering a great force on his own account.''

''In the service of Sauron?'', Elrond asked, but the wizard shook his head.

''Not yet, or so I believe; more in the rivalry of Him – and right now, this is our best hope, for as long as they are still enemies, they also keep each other's forces occupied.''

''For not too long, I fear'', Glorfindel shrugged. ''If Curunír's heart has already been corrupted so far that he turned against his own Order, 'tis only a matter of time that he would succumb to the Enemy – if not for else, then for the rewards he hopes to gain.''

''Which would cause his ultimate fall'', Erestor added quietly. ''With gifts the Dark Lord had once deceived the Jewel-smiths of Eregion, promising them knowledge that would make them able to create things of great beauty and power – and they payed with their lives for those 'gifts' – with their own lives and those of their families. And Celebrimbor was slain by the very hand that offered him those 'gifts', burnt to death by the Flame of Udún(5). Curunír shall receive no better fate, I deem.''

''Nay, he shall not'', the wizard agreed, ''but I was in an evil plight, myself. And you, who know me, Glorfindel more so than any one else on this side of the Sea, will agree that I have seldom been in such need, and do not bear such misfortune well.''

''I can be the witness of that'', Glorfindel laughed. ''You are the most short-tempered being I have met in both worlds, and I can imagine how you must have felt. Gandalf the Grey, caught like a fly in a spider's treacherous web! Ha!''

''Yet even the most subtle spiders may leave a weak thread'', the wizard replied with slight irritation; the things Elves might find amusing were at times beyond his understanding. ''At first I feared, as Saruman no doubt intended, that Radagast had also fallen. Yet I had caught no hint of anything wrong in his voice or in his eye at our meeting. If I had, I should never have gone to Isengard, or I should gone more warily.''

''Never would Master Aiwendil succumb to the forces of evil!'', Lindir said, feeling protective about the eccentric wizard, as usual. ''Not even if they disguised themselves as the good ones. He is not the fool the others of his Order seem to hold him for!''

Erestor gave his spouse a sharp jab in the ribs, rolling his eyes in exasperation. But the wizard took no offense on the somewhat tactless honesty of the young minstrel.

''So Saruman guessed'', he agreed, ''and he had concealed his mind and deceived his messenger. Lindir is right: it would have been useless in any case to try and win over the honest Radagast to treachery.''

Lindir smiled proudly that his opinion was valued for a change, instead of being silenced for his light-headedness, and the wizard added:

''He sought me in good faith, and so he persuaded me. And that was the undoing of Saruman's plot. For I asked Radagast to send me tidings through his friends, the birds, and he knew no reason why he should not do so. After our ways had parted, he rode away towards Mirkwood where he had many friends of old, to send them out on this very errand.''

''The Eagles of the Hithaeglir go far and wide, and they see many things'', Lindir said. ''Always have they ben the most true friends and the most reliable messengers of Master Aiwendil.''

''And dire things they had seen, indeed'', the wizard nodded; ''the gathering of wolves and the mustering of Orcs; and the Nine Riders going hither and thither in the lands. And they sent a messenger to bring those tidings to me.''

''But how did they know where to find you?'', Legolas asked.

''There are many paths open for the Wise'', the wizard answered; ''and even a moth(6) can set things in motion that are able to bring down whole mountain-sides.''

The others gave him a bleak look, but he said no more of this matter; instead he continued with his tale.

''So it was that when summer waned, there came a night of moon, and Gwaihir the Windlord, swiftest of the Great Eagles, came unlooked-for to Orthanc; and he found me and bore me away, before Saruman was aware. I was far from Isengard, ere the wolves and Orcs issued from the gate to pursue me.''

There was silence again, while all that were present absorbed the dire news.

''I ask you all not to speak of this matter to any one'', Elrond finally said, ''not even to others of our own kin. I wish not any rumours to be discussed, ere the planned Council gets together; for we cannot know if we are free of all spies in our very valley. And I would not risk for any crucial tidings to find their way out of the dale.''

''You would not even tell Galdor or Estel?'', Legolas asked, frowning. ''And what about he son of Denethor? His people are allied with the Rohirrim; he might know more of Curunír's moves than we do.''

''Gondor has sent a messenger?'', the wizard asked in surprise. ''One of the Steward's own sons? Which one?''

''His Heir'', the Prince of Mirkwood answered; seeing the wizard's face fall, he added: ''And he seems not very happy about our secrecy already. Do you know him, Mithrandir?''

''Not very well'', the wizard shrugged. ''I would prefer to deal with his brother, though, who is more perceptive to reason.''

Legolas raised a questioning eyebrow.

''I found him not unreasonable – but mayhap two warriors understand each other better than it can be expected from other people. In any case, 'tis not wise to shut him out. He has quite a temper.''

''That we have already seen'', Elrond sighed. ''Let us hope that he can restrain himself 'til our Council. Then all secrets shall be laid open.''

'''Tis your decision, my Lord'', Legolas said in a tight voice, ''But I still think 'tis a mistake. Gondor might become our most important ally; for what forces do we still have left? But when we handle their emissary with mistrust, how can we expect them to trust us?''

''You know my reasons'', said Elrond soothingly. ''That we only keep our secrets from him a little longer for Estel's sake.''

''I do'', Legolas countered, ''I just disagree with you. Or is that not allowed in your house? Makes that my opinion a false one from the beginning?''

'''Tis for a few day only'', Elrond replied, ''then all his questions shall be answered.''

''By then, it might already be too late'', Legolas warned earnestly. ''You should get over your suspicions when Men other than the Rangers of the North are involved. 'Tis their fight as well as it is ours.''

''I know that'', Elrond answered with slight irritation; Legolas constant nagging was getting to him in all earnesty. ''Still, I find secrecy more important at this point of the events unfolding.''

Legolas only shrugged, though his face clearly showed his disagreement. There was no use arguing with Elrond once he had gone all stubborn on someone.

The thick blood of those brick-headed mortal ancestors of him!, the Prince of Mirkwood thought, not entirely without fondness, for those little quirks of very un-Elvish stubbornness were part of what made the Lord of the Valley so likeable in his eyes.

The others seemed to agree with Elrond (or were too tired to fight with him), so the private council was adjourned and all returned to their beds, save Lindir who escorted the wizard to one of the guest chambers. Serving as Elrond's aide aside of being a minstrel, some of Erestor's earlier duties fell to him during the recent hundreds of years, making the seneschal able to take more time for himself – or, to be more accurate, for themselves.

''I see you are still not happy with my decision'', said the Master of the House, wrapping his arms around Legolas' slender waist from behind and kissing him gently on one shoulder.

''You are a stubborn Elf – and so am I'', the Prince of Mirkwood replied, covering the clasped hands in front of him with his own. ''We both have known that from the beginning. I just wish you would listen to me every time and again.''

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

On the theory of Glorfindel having known the Istari from the West and being a friend of Gandalf's:

''In The Peoples of Middle-earth Christopher [Tolkien] published for the first time two essays concerning Glorfindel which his father had written around the time of 1972. The first essay is incomplete, its opening page missing, but it seems that JRRT had decided that several Elves had been sent back to Middle-earth with the Istari "as guards or assistants". One of these was Glorfindel, attached to Gandalf. This essay supposes that Glorfindel, because of his great sacrifice, was released from Mandos early, and he was restored to the natural innocence of the Elves. Living with the Maiar and among Elves who had never rebelled, he probably became a friend to Olórin (Gandalf) and grew in wisdom and power.'' (Michael Martinez: The Wars of the Glorfindels)

Tolkien later abandoned this idea, but it still could be that Glorfindel had met the Istari in their true form (as Maiar), ere he returned to Middle-earth during the Second Age (as Tolkien finally decided he would), to help the Elves in their war against Sauron.

End notes:

(for fanatics only)

(1) Means literally ''Foresight and Voice'' in German.
(2) The sixth month, roughly identical with June. According to JRRT, the Eldar used the Quenya names of the months (in the rare cases they counted the time in months at all; usually they counted the seasons), in a fashion Middle Age-people used the names in Latin. See: Appendix D to ''The Return of the King''.
(3) The lands between the rivers Mitheithel and Bruinen, where - according to Michael Martinez - Aragorn's people dwelt (the majority of them, at least). See: Ranger for Hire: Have Horse, Will Travel
(4) For those who haven't read ''The Hobbit'' (though you should, really): Laketown was the city destroyed by Smaug the dragon ere he was slain. Dale was an ancient city of Men, re-built after the death of the dragon.
(5) To be honest, I have no idea just how Celebrimbor was slain by Sauron. Should it have nothing to do with fire, than consider this as figurative speech. g
(6) You have seen the movie, I presume?