My interpretation of Galadriel is what it is; I know there may be others.
Quotes: Blue Oyster Cult, Euripides, William Shakespeare
Mellen mellon – friend mellenen – my friend ada – father miruvor – elven cordial
"And if one day she comes to you, drink deeply from her words so wise. Take courage from her as your prize, and say hello for me."
The traveling party managed to arrive in Imladris without further incident. Lord Elrond seemed to know the precise moment that they passed through the gates. Elves from the stables stood waiting to take their horses, and a young elleth came to escort Anaiél to her room. Anaiél recognized Merineth, and they greeted each other warmly. Excusing herself from the rest of the party, she followed the elleth across the courtyard toward Lord Elrond's home.
Anaiél looked around the long terrace that stretched the eastern expanse of Imladris as warm memories flooded her mind of meals taken in the great dining hall and long walks through gardens that seemed to go on until becoming part of the beautiful valley surrounding Lord Elrond's home. She recalled summer days rolling in the grass of the lawns with Haldír, or splashing in the water, which flowed from falls and small pools all around the grounds.
Most fondly of all, she remembered cool nights spent in her favorite room of the house, the Hall of Fire. Some nights, the room rang with laughter and music as friends gathered to sing, recite poetry or discuss philosophy, with Master Erestor as moderator. Often they would sit talking until sunrise about politics, art, healing, or the favorite subject of her ada and Lord Elrond, history.
There were other nights when, although filled with people, the hall was as quiet and peaceful as a shrine, each person present lost in their own quiet reverie. Lord Elrond could usually be found on these nights, engrossed in a book as others worked at some craft, or simply stared into the huge fire in the center of the hall, enjoying the absolute peace of the moment.
They arrived at her quarters as Anaiél brought herself out of her own thoughts, smiling at Merineth and thanking her. The elleth informed her that Lord Elrond would see her at dinner, leaving Anaiél to recover from her long trip in peace.
Several hours later, bathed and rested, Anaiél headed for the dining hall. As she entered the room, her eyes immediately lit upon Lord Elrond's end of the table. As this evening's meal was an informal affair, he sat not at the head of the table, but at the side of his beautiful wife, Celebrian. Across from them, Lord Celeborn, and his wife Lady Galadriel joined them.
The Great Lord and Lady sat talking and laughing easily with their daughter and her handsome husband. Anaiél went to the table to formally greet the illustrious quartet. She bid a warm good evening to Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian and gave them the latest news of her father and the havens. She felt equally comfortable as she met Lord Celeborn's gaze. She had not only met him many times in Imladris, he often traveled to Mithlond to meet with her ada.
Anaiél then turned toward Lady Galadriel, and as she spoke her greeting, she felt her face flush. She had always felt slightly awkward in her presence. She did not know her as well as she knew Celeborn, for the lady rarely traveled to Mithlond with her husband, and the times that Anaiél spent in Lorien had been fully occupied with Haldír and his family.
Anaiél realized that it was something more than simple lack of familiarity that made her feel clumsy and awkward in the presence of Galadriel, however. She had a magnificent presence that radiated from her fëa and overwhelmed Anaiél. People spoke highly of her compassion and wisdom, and most notably, her ability to connect with a persons mind and heart. Anaiél knew that the lady wanted to meet with her for a purpose, and that was the greatest cause of the child's unease.
Lady Galadriel's interest confused her. What could Anaiél possibly have on her mind that she would find anything more than childish and insipid? Anaiél also knew that the lady was one of a select few people in Arda who knew of her true origin. This group was limited to Lords Elrond, Celeborn and Glorfindel, as well as her father's friend Mithrandir and of course, unbeknownst to any of them, Haldír.
The child knew how the others regarded her, they had all spoken to her at length on different occasions, making her feel accepted with great affection, but she wondered about how Galadriel felt. Did she find her an object of curiosity as many other, less informed people did? Did the lady find her offensive or crude or resent her cheek at imposing herself on others as if she were truly a descendant of the great Telerin, Lord Círdan? All these things passed through Anaíel's mind whenever she thought of the impending meeting.
For all her reservations and fears, Anaiél bore an intense curiosity regarding what she herself might see, if anything, in Galadriel. She new much of the factual history of the lady, but wondered at how she had dealt with so much loss and sorrow.
That evening, as everyone gathered in the Hall of Fire, sipping Lord Elrond's miruvor, and enjoying the quiet of the evening, Lady Galadriel invited Anaiél to join her in the garden. Anaiél felt her stomach leap with anticipation and fear as they walked out onto the terrace and the western expanse of the lawn.
"I understand you had quite an adventure during your trip, Anaiél," Lady Galadriel began, "I trust you are well after your ordeal?"
"Yes my lady," Anaiél replied, "I was quite well protected the entire time."
Galadriel looked into Anaíel's eyes. The beautiful lady towered over her. Nearly as tall as Lord Celeborn, the Lady of Light was no wilting flower. She was powerful and impressive, as strong as she was beautiful. Though there seemed to be no trace of arrogance in her, she had the look of one well accustomed to imposing her will.
Anaiél had often wondered how a woman with Galadriel's strength and bearing could manage to get on so well with an elf lord such as her husband. Lord Celeborn's presence easily equaled that of Galadriel and he seemed unlikely to abide being tributary to anyone. She thought, perhaps she had learned the answer the previous summer, here in Imladris.
Anaiél had come across the couple on the terrace one evening as she wandered out for some air. The two had been so absorbed in their own conversation, that they had not noticed her standing in the shadows. She had never witnessed such an intimate moment between a husband and wife and her curiosity held her in place.
Though Anaiél could not hear their voices, she imagined, from the look in Galadriel's eyes, that Celeborn was saying the cleverest thing she had ever heard. She looked utterly engaged by the sound of Celeborn's voice, and he looked into her eyes as he spoke, as though he could see the very shores of Aman within them.
Anaiél had returned to the hall, wondering if she would ever experience such depth of emotion with another being. The scene on the terrace, and the doubt in her own heart made her feel sad at the prospect of never finding that for herself.
As they stood now on the lawn, Lady Galadriel took Anaíel's hand and smiled softly as she wordlessly asked for her consent. Anaiél nodded and Galadriel smiled in return, she quickly felt herself giving in to the lady's gentle urging. Then Galadriel did something that Anaiél did not expect, she began to let her see. She allowed Anaiél to travel her history for a brief moment.
Galadriel had experienced so much loss. Through the long years of the War of the Silmarils, many of her kin had perished. The horror of the kinslaying had devastated her, she had done all she could but had been powerless to stop it.
Galadriel showed Anaiél her flight to the shores of Aman with the Noldor, and the subsequent banishment of her people from Valinor. Left behind by Fëanor; perceived as disloyal, she later forged her way to Arda across the deadly ice floes of the Helcaraxe, leaving her father behind to seek the pardon of the Valar.
Many more elves died on that long journey across the frozen path to Middle Earth. Anaiél sensed the grief in Galadriel's heart, for she had been one of those who had led her people to their deaths. Those who survived, arrived in Beleriand, and then traveled on to Doriath, where Galadriel met and fell in love with Celeborn.
Galadriel had overcome so much, rising to a position of great esteem and power among the elves of Arda. However, there was one thing that weighed heavy upon the heart of the daughter of Finarfin; The Doom of Mandos. She had been banished from The Blessed Shores for her refusal to heed the warning of the Vala and remain in Aman. Galadriel's grief touched her deeply.
Anaiél felt the focus shift to her own thoughts as Galadriel felt her loneliness and insecurity and sighed in understanding. She could hear Galadriel speaking to her, though no word escaped her lips.
"We are not so different, you and I, little one. We each of us have our doubts and fears. Do not be concerned for these things child, for you will not be left alone." She smiled as her thoughts soothed Anaiél.
Galadriel then began to speak aloud. "A shadow begins to move in Arda, I sense its presence, as yet unseen, forming upon the fringes of light once more. A darkness will cover this land in years to come, through which I cannot see to the other side."
Anaiél looked at Galadriel quizzically and she seemed to grow taller as she spoke.
"If indeed Arda arrives at the other side of this veil, your days here will be just beginning and the passing of time will weigh heavy on those who wait with you."
Anaíel's eyes reflected her surprise as Galadriel spoke of her own future.
"Your destiny lies within a circle, in a far distant future, a future that is ambivalent at best. You must be strong and cling to those you hold dear in your heart."
Anaiél held her breath, praying that Galadriel would continue.
"Though the appointed task lies far ahead, the links are being forged even now, each bringing gifts in accordance with their own strengths. You, Anaiél, must remember; if one link weakens, the entire chain could suffer the fall."
Galadriel looked off into the far distance as if lost in thought. Anaiél felt more confused than ever. She longed for understanding but she could not speak.
"There is much that you know from Ulmo, and yet your knowledge remains a riddle to you. Do not despair, for all you need to fulfill your task will come to you at the appointed time."
"The link of power, and wisdom of the ages past, will guide you all. Renewal and temperance shall join with honor, fealty and brotherhood, and at the center, a being of benevolence and love. Far reaching is the compassion and understanding of this link."
The light of the moon and the stars themselves seemed to dim as Galadriel continued, her voice sounding a warning.
"Take heed, child of design, for there is one who will turn away from the rest. The present age shall pass as will others, and the lingering years will deepen his resentment. Though I am not given the grace to see this, I fear in my heart that he will carry a threat through the ages that will not be dimmed by time."
"You must trust the circle, joining your strength to hold fast. No one link can stand alone without the others. The mark of the forging will tell you of those who are true."
Anaiél felt as if she were being spoken to in a language unknown to her, she looked to Galadriel for understanding, but the lady offered none. Galadriel smiled sympathetically as Anaiél countered with one of resignation and gratitude.
Galadriel continued to linger, prolonging the bond she had forged with her until Anaiél felt a dull pain building in her head, as a foreign thought from a great distance began to form in her mind. It pushed at the edges of the pain until it freed itself, and followed the lingering connection to Galadriel.
"There is hope, daughter of the Noldor. If you remain true, you shall pass the test." Anaiél felt the words rip through her, causing a blinding light to stab at her from behind her eyes.
Anaiél gasped as the pain ebbed, and Galadriel began moving away from her thoughts, silently reassuring that she was well, before retreating completely. Anaiél expected to feel a severing of the connection when it was over, but instead felt a peace drifting to her like a soothing whisper, helping to further lessen the pain behind her eyes.
Silently, they returned to the house to join the others. Soon after, Anaiél excused herself and retired for the evening. As she left the Hall of Fire, Glorfindel watched silently from a dark corner, a look of concern on his face as she passed without noticing.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Anaiél felt a breeze coming in through the window as it cooled her face. Though the pain had subsided a great deal since she left the garden, her head continued to pound and she felt slightly queasy.
She noticed a small drop of crimson fall onto the pale blue linen of her dress, and she absentmindedly brought a hand to her nose, feeling the small stream of blood as it trickled down her face.
Anaiél moaned softly as another wave of pain hit her. She remembered little of what Galadriel had told her and what she did recall she could make no sense of while her head ached so.
She cleaned the blood from her face with the hem of her dress, too tired to search for something more appropriate. She dropped her head onto the bed, covered her eyes with the back of her hand, and immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.
From the terrace just outside the window, Glorfindel quietly watched in concern, as Anaiél seemed to sway on the edge of the bed. As she lay back and cover her eyes, he saw traces of blood on her face. He immediately came around to the door of her room, quietly entering so as not to disturb her. He checked her color and breathing then found a coverlet to lie over her sleeping form. Assured that she was well, he left the room, closing the door behind him.
Balrogs, breakfast of champions!
The next morning in the dining hall, Anaiél was lost in thought, trying to remember all that had occurred the evening before. Galadriel had smiled at her so kindly when they met this morning that she was warmed by it still. Her mind raced with all they had spoken of as she absentmindedly pushed her food around her plate, never actually bringing any to her mouth.
Anaiél was completely unaware of her surroundings as she tried to sort her thoughts, when she heard someone clearing their throat. She looked up to see Lord Glorfindel looking at her strangely.
"Good day, Anaiél," he greeted her with a smile.
He seemed to be scrutinizing her for something and Anaiél gave him an annoyed, childish look. She remembered his last words to her at the edge of the Trollshaws on the east road to Imladris and her irritation flared.
"Good day, Lord Glorfindel," she replied.
She attempted to frown, which served only to cause the small pain that remained behind her eyes to flare. This, in turn, heightened her annoyance.
"Off to search for more babes to bruise today, my lord?" She asked quietly but with a great deal of sarcasm.
"You are hardly a babe, Anaiél, although your behavior would prove otherwise," he retorted with a grin.
"May the Valar bless you with a balrog for target practice today." she replied, doing her best to sound cheerful and gracious but with a look of understanding that belied her age, knowing that she would hit her mark.
Glorfindel flinched ever so slightly in irritation, but she had seen, and the look of satisfaction in her eyes made his hand itch to pour the pitcher of water on the table in front of her, right over the top of her pretty little head. Instead, his smile grew brighter, a spark of warning that made Anaiél flinch inwardly, lit his eyes.
"Forgive me," Glorfindel bowed his head almost imperceptibly, and ever so arrogantly as he continued to flash his smile. "I am afraid my turn at minding the nursery brat came to an end yesterday."
He turned and took his leave, certain that but for the presence of Lord Elrond and company, he would surely have been wearing the child's breakfast on the back of his tunic by now. He shook his head and laughed, as he often did after a run in with the daughter of Círdan, wondering if she would ever see her way to forgive him for getting doused with water by an unruly child with a passion for practical joking.
Anaíel's eyes bore into Glorfindel's back as he left the hall. She sighed dramatically and returned to the task of moving her food from one side of her plate to the other.
"To generous souls, every task is noble."
Anaiél and Haldír stretched out in the cool grass of the garden, barefoot and relaxed in the peaceful afternoon sun. Anaiél rested on her back at an angle from Haldír, their leggings intertwined like the limbs of two gangly young colts.
Haldír was on his stomach, knees bent, feet dangling in the air, reading from a book of poetry lent to him by Master Erestor from Lord Elrond's library. The poem was one of Lord Elrond's own, an ode to his beautiful wife.
As Haldír came to the end of the sonnet, Anaiél looked away toward the far end of the garden, her eyes misting as she tried to push away the thoughts that came uninvited, like a cloud to spoil this beautiful day.
"What is it mellenen?" Haldír asked.
"What is what, Haldír?" She did not look at him as she replied.
"Ana," he said sternly, giving her a look of warning that was all too familiar to her.
She knew exactly what he was thinking. She was mad if she thought for one moment that he intended to play that game with her. Something bothered her and she would give it up to him, minus the game of coy ignorance he so loathed, or she would find herself sitting in the fountain that graced the center of the grassy rise where they lay. She raised herself up on her elbows and looked at him.
"I am tired, mellon, and confused, and my head hurts."
Knowing he would not be satisfied with such a broad statement; yet hoping against hope that it would do for now, Anaiél hesitated. Haldír simply looked at her, waiting patiently for her to continue.
With a sigh of resignation and a roll of her eyes, Anaiél laid her head back on the grass and went on. She spoke to him of all that she remembered from the previous night in the garden with Galadriel. When at length she came to the end of her story, she began to voice her fears to him.
"She spoke to me of things which made little or no sense at all. I do not understand. It just seems all so big…so beyond me. I do not know what is expected of me or where I belong in this mystery. It makes me feel small and inadequate…and alone."
Her last words stabbed at Haldír's heart. He knew all too well of Anaíel's fear. She confided everything to him, from what she knew of her begetting and her coming to Arda to her most intimate hopes and dreams, and he was the only other being who knew of her paralyzing fear of being alone.
He knew also of her connection with Ulmo and the time she spent with the palantir. He had often wondered what that must be like for her, to be singled, not understanding why or what it meant. He wondered no longer, for last night as he rested and Anaiél stood in the garden with Galadriel, Nienna had spoken to Haldír from a dream.
"You speak of the circle of hands then, mellen?" He asked with a small smile.
Her jaw dropped and she looked at him in amazement, wondering why those words sounded as familiar to her as her own name? She tried hard to remember if she had heard them last night. Suddenly, a suspicious thought crossed her mind, and she squinted her eyes as she looked at Haldír accusingly.
"You know, eaves dropping on private conversations is an offense bearing penalty of death in my part of this garden. Tell me what you know or move your legs oaf, so that I may away to find a rope by which to swing you from," she said with great flare, though she made no move to rise.
She pulled a long blade of grass with a tasseled end from the lawn. Absentmindedly running the soft fluff across her chin, she looked expectantly at Haldír.
As she awaited an explanation, her smile began to fade; the serious look in his eyes concerned her.
"There is naught to tell you Anaiél, I was asked and I answered," he said.
He looked down at the book he still held in his hands. Anaíel's heart filled with hope and dread. She swallowed hard, unsure if she really wanted to know the answer to her next question. Gathering her courage, she asked anyway.
"And your reply?" Her voice was barely a whisper, and she held her breath as she waited.
"My reply?" He sounded as if she should already know. "My reply was yes, I will wait with you."
He turned on his side, planting his elbow in the grass and resting his head in the palm of his hand. Reaching out to her, he took her hand and made a promise to her that would never be broken.
"I will be there for you always mellen, as I always have been. Do you doubt me?"
His voice held a hint of disappointment, he hated that she seemed unsure of his devotion to their friendship, or that she could believe it to be any less than her own. She saw the hurt in his eyes, and her own eyes filled with tears.
"We are still children Haldír, why are you being asked to decide this now? It seems it will be a long wait if the time ever comes at all. Ages will pass? What does that mean? That is a great deal to ask of anyone, even a best friend." As she finished, her breath hitched slightly as tears ran down her cheeks
"Ages may be just long enough, Ana," he said with a sympathetic smile.
Her voice wavered as she looked sideway at him, trying to stem her tears.
"Long enough for what?"
"Long enough to teach you how to shoot an arrow into a lake and perhaps hit water."
Haldír laughed, and as he did so, his voice cracked for a brief moment becoming a rather manly, Beldír sounding laugh.
"Haldír?" Anaiél pushed herself up to rest on her elbows again, as she looked at her friend in mock horror.
"Ana?" He raised his eyebrows and waited for her to speak.
"Do you suppose the Valar will give Lord Glorfindel the task of subtle negotiation?"
They looked at each other, both attempting in vain to appear suitably appalled at Anaíel's suggestion that the elf-lord of Rivendel had a tendency to draw arms, perhaps a little too hastily. The two friends rolled in the grass as they melted into a fit of laughter that rang through the garden, and echoed up the granite walls of the canyon, wherein Imladris nestled, hidden from the rest of Middle Earth.
Out, damn spot!
Anaiél stood looking in the mirror, her face horrified as she tugged at the bodice of her dress, and stared at the mark just above her left breast. Her hands trembled as she rubbed at the mark, licked her finger and rubbed at the mark again.
"What in the name of all the Valar?" She asked her reflection.
Anaíel's reflection, of course, had nothing to say on the matter. She adjusted her dress, smoothed her hair, and ran from her bedroom to the adjoining sitting room. Looking around in near panic, she suddenly realized whom she should seek for advice.
"Haldír," she whispered as she bolted toward the terrace.
"Haldír!" This time she yelled his name rather loudly.
Anaiél raced through the arched doorway that led out onto the stone terrace, running headlong into her intended quarry who seemed to be looking in the wrong direction as he came barreling toward her.
Fortunately for Anaiél, Haldír hit the flagstone first, breaking her fall. Unfortunately for Haldír, her landing on top of him did nothing to ease the discomfort of sliding on his back for several feet across hard stone.
"Good morning, Ana," Haldír grunted.
Haldír grimaced as they began to untangle themselves. His arm bent at an odd angle, and each time they moved it sent a pain shooting to his shoulder. They finally managed to get to a sitting position, and being the first to rise, Anaiél offered her hand to him. He took it, nearly pulling her to the ground again as he rose to stand.
"Haldír, you have to see this," Anaiél breathlessly tugged at her dress.
Haldír pushed her hand toward her chest looking around to assure himself that no one had seen her trying to show him her...parts.
"Anaiél, what are you doing?" Haldír's eyes were huge as he continued to look around the terrace.
"Wait," Anaiél was struggling to pull down as Haldír struggled twice as hard to lift up.
"Oh fine," she said, releasing her grip on her dress. Taking his hand, she hurriedly walked him over to the bench near the entrance to her quarters and sat, pulling him down with her. With their heads together, silver and black hair acting as a curtain to somewhat shield them from any casual observers, Anaiél again lowered the bodice of her dress a few inches.
"Is that it?" Haldír looked disappointed.
"Is that it? Haldír, it is horrible," she pouted, then suddenly looked at him hopefully.
"Do you have one?"
Her face brightened considerably at the prospect of not being alone in this branding. She absentmindedly ran her finger over what was essentially nothing more than a small red ring with uneven edges, the approximate size of a grape; a small grape at that. She looked at him in anticipation.
Haldír opened his shirt, "No, I am as flawless as the day I was born."
Haldír nudged Anaiél and laughed as she rolled her eyes. They both looked down again at the mark on her skin.
"Perhaps I will not have to suffer this assault on my person," Haldír said hopefully.
"If you do not, and I am forced to bear this alone, I will bite you on your shoulder every day from now until eternity in order for us to say that we truly share all things." She did not move her eyes away from her chest as she spoke.
"Ana, it is not so bad, and it is in a place that no one will ever see." Haldír patted her shoulder.
Anaiél shot him a look and he raised his eyebrows.
"You are seeing it, breath of balrog," she could not decide if she wanted to look at him or the mark, and her eyes darted back and forth several times.
"Anaiél, as long as you do not go around pulling your bodice down under people's noses, I will be the only one who ever sees it."
Haldír ran his finger over the mark on her skin.
"You know mellen, you're skin is the same color as the people of Gondor, perhaps a little darker."
"Haldír," she poked his forehead with her finger, forcing him to look at her, "that is hardly the issue here. I am scarred for life, the least you could do is conjure up a more poetic comparison."
She waved the thought away with her hand, deeming it less important than staring raptly at the mark upon her person. Looking down again she sighed dramatically.
"It looks like an orc," she pouted.
"You have no idea what an orc looks like," he retorted.
"Well, Tirin calls Olossë orc face, and it does look rather like him," she replied.
As they sat on the bench, beginning to giggle, Anaiél heard the familiar sound of someone clearing their throat. Turning her head slightly she saw a pair of brown boots at the foot of the steps. She pressed her hands to her dress and gasped quietly, looking around desperately under the veil of hair for a way out. Seeing none, she schooled her face and slowly raised her head in unison with Haldír.
"The pair of you are a bit too old to be playing at healer, are you not?" Glorfindel asked, looking more than a little annoyed.
Haldír stood, and began to make his way down the steps to the courtyard and freedom. As he reached Lord Glorfindel, he felt a strong hand grab his shoulder, staying his retreat. One foot on the last step, the other on the courtyard floor, Haldír froze in place, looking blankly at nothing.
"You I will speak to later," Glorfindel hissed as he released Haldír, who immediately fled toward the stables.
Glorfindel returned his gaze to Anaiél who sat blushing furiously, struggling valiantly for the mask of sarcasm she usually reserved especially for him. Her emotions were staging a fierce battle with her features. As was usually the case, embarrassment won out, and Anaiél began to giggle hysterically. Her dark eyes pled with Glorfindel, trying desperately to convey that this display had passed far beyond her control.
Glorfindel slowly walked up the steps toward Anaiél. Having seen this particular outburst on previous occasions, he leaned against the stone pillar at the edge of the terrace. Standing with one leg crossing the other and his arms folded across his chest, Glorfindel settled his shoulder into a comfortable position to wait out the tempest.
Anaiél clamped her hand over her mouth and desperately tried to bring herself under control. She should not have looked up at Glorfindel at that moment. The look of arrogant annoyance on his face was beginning to irritate her, and yet she could not stem the stupid, childlike giggling. She bit her lower lip, dug her nails into the palm of her free hand and tried to use her irritation to compose herself.
Unfortunately, her tactics took her too far in the other direction, and she suddenly burst into tears. Horrified, she buried her face in her hands and prayed for Arda to open up and swallow her…now. Glorfindel pushed away from the pillar and stood up straight, a look of utter confusion on his face. He walked tentatively to the bench and sat next to Anaiél, taking her hands in his, and gently pulling them away from her eyes.
"Ana, are you ill? What is it?" His voice was as soft as it was perplexed.
Anaiél shook her head and looked up at the elf lord, her tears beginning to subside.
"I am not ill, I just, I cannot say, but I…" her voice trailed off and she looked out onto the terrace for lack of a better place toward which she could avert her eyes.
Once again, she had managed to humiliate herself in front of the ever annoyingly taciturn, Glorfindel. She felt utterly embarrassed and the thought of her father hearing of this incident mortified her. She realized that there was little hope of him not hearing of it unless she explained herself to Glorfindel's satisfaction.
After a moment's thought, Anaiél decided that nothing less than the whole truth could spare her father from ever learning of this exploit. With a sigh, she looked up at Glorfindel, then out into the vast courtyard as she tugged on the neckline of her dress to reveal the angry red mark.
Glorfindel could not stand up quickly enough, stumbling as his legs propelled him from the bench; he reached out and grabbed the wall to steady himself. Anaiél stood as well, looking at him in confusion and then alarm as she saw his eyes. He looked… Valar, he looked frightened.
"What is it, what is wrong with me?"
She too was frightened now, and her voice relayed the fact quite clearly. Glorfindel shook his head and commanded his features into a mask of calm indifference.
"It is a red mark Anaiél," he answered a bit too coldly, "you probably scratched yourself while brushing your hair."
Without another word, Glorfindel turned, walking off the terrace and into the courtyard. As Anaiél watched him walk away for what would be the last time until over twenty years had passed, she looked confused.
"Was he mumbling?" she asked herself incredulously, "no, Anaiél, you are mumbling."
She turned to walk inside shaking her head in confusion as she went.
She never noticed the eyes that watched her from across the courtyard as she entered the sitting room; eyes that watched her often, smoldering grey and hungry, biding their time. Time was the one thing that all in the circle would have in abundance.
"There is no hurry, only time, and more time."