Again, thanks to my lovely betas – Ellisk and Yavanie (her first time and she rocks!)

In the case of my fic, elves are at times referred to as boy, girl, man, woman, etc.

Quotes: Lord Alfred Tennyson, Don Marquis and the Thompson Twins

Big thanks to SpaceWeavil for the Sindarin

58 years old? You don't look a day over 55

Círdan left Anaiél in the open field at the foot of the White Tower when he went to consult the palantir. Although the whispering had been more vague than in times past, he felt a great need to come here this day. He looked out the window at his daughter standing in the tall grass, and smiled.

Moving away from the window, his gaze met the Stone of Elendil. It glowed with a strange aura he had never seen before. He moved closer, his grey eyes reflecting the light as the dimmest apparition of a familiar figure appeared within. Círdan tilted his head in confusion as the message was revealed. He recognized the face of Beldír, and his eyes grew wide with horror as he watched what unfolded.

Anaiél stood barefoot in the grass as the salty ocean breeze blew her hair back from her eyes. She felt the light of the sun radiating warmth, and she laughed as a butterfly lit on her cheek, tickling her skin. She raised her face to the sky and was gathering her hair at the back of her neck, when she felt the first stab of pain explode behind her eyes.

Círdan placed his hands on the cool surface of the pedestal where the palantir rested. His silver hair fell over the stone, covering the fading image as he lowered his head in shock and grief. His hands clenched into fists as he pounded once on the smooth marble before standing upright and looking away.

Her eyelids flew open wide in shock, as she fell to her knees and covered her face with her hands. As the pain intensified, she began to see images in her mind. She saw the forest, archers on horseback riding through the trees, a hideous creature confronting them. The riders were from Lorien; she knew that horse.

"Ada!"

Anaíel's scream pierced through Círdan's anger, the sound chilling him to the bone. He looked out the window and saw her on her knees in the grass, blood streaming down her face, crying for him. She put her hands to the sides of her head and pulled at her hair as she clenched her fists.

Círdan raced down the spiral stairs, nearly falling over the railing; his only thought was to reach his child. He burst through the door at the base of the tower and ran to her, falling to his knees as he took hold of her.

"What is it Anaiél, tell me?"

"Ada, please make it stop," she sobbed.

"Anaiél, make what stop? Look at me sell nín, let me see your face." He took her face in his hands to still her.

Then, as suddenly as the pain had started, it was gone. Círdan removed his shirt and tore a piece of the material to hold it to his child's bleeding nose as he smoothed the hair from her face and laid her head against his chest, tucking her beneath his bearded chin, as he had when she was small. When he had calmed her a bit, she began to speak to him. Círdan felt his fury rise as she recounted the vision he had seen in the palantir; it had been hideous to watch, even for his battle worn eyes.

Anaiél sobbed as she tried to explain what she had seen. "Ada, it tricked them, it tricked them, and when they came close, it tore at them: their eyes and their flesh. It cut and they screamed so many times, Ada. It hated them and it ripped at them but it would not let them die, not for hours. Ada, they tried to run but it hacked at their legs and it killed them all…" She caught her breath and went completely still.

"Ada, Naneth." Círdan could barely hear her voice, but he knew she had seen Merilin as well.

The pain in her eyes tore at his heart; he was so enraged he could hardly breathe. He held her close and whispered to her, soothing and rocking her, speaking to her in Quenya as he had done all her life whenever she cried. He looked across the green hillside, and out over the sea, tears of sadness and rage filling his eyes. The calm water began to stir, each wave rising higher than the last as Ossë wept into the tide.

"We must go now Sell-e-faeren. We must prepare to make for Imladris quickly."

She nodded. Círdan took a deep breath as he rose, helping her up and holding her close to him again. He could not bear to watch her face as he related his own vision of what she had already seen.

"They are taking Merilin to Imladris. Beldír is gone and Merilin is fading to her end. They look to Lord Elrond to help her, yet she will not be spared. Her grief has overtaken her." Her father's voice sounded thin and sad.

Tears streamed down her face as Círdan held her tight.

"Haldír," he heard her anguished whisper, and the silent rage flared.

Traveling light, and as swiftly as the horses' well being would allow, they made their way to Imladris. Anaiél was pale and distracted, Olossë and Tirin's best attempts at cheering her fell on ears too clouded with grief and concern to heed them. As they rode, Anaiél thought about what had happened at Elostirion.

She had been curious about what her father would see in the palantir. As she stood in the grassy field at the base of the tower, she had tried to focus on it, straining to picture it in her mind. Suddenly, she felt it searching her out as well. When it found her, she tried to stop it, to hold it back, but it seemed to crash into her thoughts and overwhelm her. The physical pain it had caused was blinding; the pain of what it showed her went far deeper, altering her forever.

The incident had frightened her and infuriated Círdan. He had made her promise that she would never attempt this again. They would discuss the issue with Lord Elrond and Lord Celeborn when they reached Imladris. She never mentioned the incident with Lady Galadriel; it made her feel as if she were revealing secrets that were not hers to tell. She simply told Círdan she would do as he bid. It was the first time she had ever lied to her father.

As they drew nearer to Imladris, Anaiél grew restless. Círdan spoke to her as they rode.

"Anaiél, we will be arriving soon. You will remember, the formality of Lord Elrond's home is not as lacking as in Mithlond."

She looked up at her father and smiled wanly. He was disappointed that he did not get a more animated response. Less than a month ago she would have teased him with threats of drinking miruvor from the bottle or talking with food in her mouth.

There had been few events during her childhood in Mithlond, and her travels to Imladris and Lorien, that had marked his child. The vision of Beldír's death had done more to bring an end to her youthful innocence than all of those events combined. Círdan mourned the loss miserably.

Elladan and Elrohir, Anaíel's two favorite tormentors, met them at the gates of Imladris. She greeted the twins playfully, but Círdan could see her heart was not in it. Elrohir helped her dismount and Elladan took their horses. Elrohir turned to Círdan, not at all surprised by their unheralded arrival. He knew that Lord Círdan received all news of import long before the swiftest rider could carry it to him. He never failed to appear when and where he was most needed, much like his grandmother, the Lady Galadriel.

"Lord Círdan, my father and Lord Celeborn have been expecting you. Lord Celeborn arrived two days ago with Beldír's sons and, their mother." Elrohir looked at the ground as he finished. "Lord Celeborn is in Arwen's garden with Rúmil and Orophin now. He has been with them most of the morning."

"How are the young ones faring?" Círdan asked, concern etched on his face.

"The younger two have wept a great deal and are struggling to understand," Elrohir told him. "It is difficult, given their ages, but it is Haldír who seems most altered. He is angry, and yet he tries his best to show no emotion at all. He refuses to see his mother, and will allow no one in his room. He has not spoken with anyone of Beldír's…" Elrohir's voice began to break and he was unable to finish his sentence. After a pause, he continued sadly, "He has hardly eaten and Ada is worried for his health."

Círdan placed his hand on his shoulder to comfort him as Elrohir turned to look at Anaiél mournfully. He took her hand but she could not meet his gaze, his grief was too much for her now. Instead she stared straight ahead as they walked, her eyes filling with tears. Lord Elrond met them on the terrace. He looked worried and tired. He greeted Círdan warmly and put his arm around Anaiél. Lord Elrond looked in her eyes, speaking directly to her,

"Merilin is fading quickly child, she has no desire to remain here without Beldír, her only wish is to follow him. I am afraid I can not cure her will, she will have her wish soon."

Lord Elrond then spoke to Círdan.

"We must prepare her sons as best we can, but I am afraid Haldír's hurt goes far too deep, beyond what a shoulder to lean on and words of comfort can ease.'

Círdan nodded in understanding then lowered his head as he thought of how Haldír had always idolized his father, and adored his mother. Círdan knew that left on his own, without support from those who cared most for him, this loss had the potential to devastate Haldír. He also knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that with the help of those who loved him, Haldír would emerge from this anguish not unscathed, but with a new strength of character that would serve him well."

Lord Elrond spoke, recalling Círdan from his reflection. "Come Mellon, I will take you to Merilin."

Elrond took Círdan's arm, giving his son a pointed look as he led his friend away. When Anaiél could no longer hear them, they began to speak of Beldír.

"Has anyone been able to determine what it was that killed the wardens?" Círdan's face was angry as he spoke of his friend's death.

"No one knows for sure Mellon, only that it was a slow and vicious end, they were tortured and left to bleed to death over time. They are speculating that it was orcs, but orcs kill with abandon, for blood lust, not for sport."

They fell silent, each left to their own thoughts regarding this evil as they walked toward the room of the fading Elleth.

"And out of darkness came the hands that reach thro' nature, molding men."

"Come this way Ana, I will show you to Haldír's room." Elrohir led Anaiél into the hall.

As they passed the Hall of Fire, Anaiél paused, comforted by the warmth and fragrant smells that emanated from her favorite room. Elrohir took her as far as Haldír's door. He turned to her, hugged her warmly and without a word discreetly walked back the way they had come.

Anaiél stood near the door, summoning the courage to do what she knew would not bode well with her father. She did not want to think of Ada at the moment; she wanted to help her friend. She knocked softly on the door of Haldír's room.

"Please, leave me in peace." A deep, arrogant voice spoke.

Anaiél was shocked by the sound of it. It had been nine years since she had last seen Haldír. Since the falling of shadow that brought the blight to the forest home of King Thranduil, Anaiél had not been allowed to travel to the east. Her father feared for her safety without him, and had been unable to accompany her. Beldír had also begun to travel between Imladris and Lorien much more frequently so Anaiél and Haldír had to make do with writing one another, waiting patiently for messengers traveling from one realm to the other. On rare occasions, the twins, Lord Elrond himself, or one of their ranger friends would arrive with news or a letter.

She had not thought of how they had both reached their maturity since last they had seen each other. It seemed that such a short time had passed.

"Haldír? Open the door Mellonen, please?" Her voice was steady, belying her apprehension.

"Anaiél?"

"Yes, please let me in?"

Anaiél heard him stir and the door opened. She carefully pushed it further and walked into the room. She looked to where she expected to see his face and saw only a broad chest wearing a linen shirt. She followed the shirt up to the neck then raised her head even further until she found his face.

She saw his eyes, Haldír's eyes, but sad and angry, yet just as blue as ever, and she smiled. He reciprocated with a tight smile that did not reach the eyes that she knew so well. They, in turn, seemed not to know her at all.

They were filled with a rage she had never seen before, and under the rage, a loneliness that she understood all to well. Her childhood friend was barely discernable through the mask of pain. They looked at each other for a few moments before Haldír broke the silence.

"How are you Anaiél?" He said coldly, "I trust your trip went well. Has your father accompanied you?"

He inclined his head slightly, with a look of disdain as he did so, making it appear as though he thought himself above acknowledging her. His voice was painfully polite, void of all emotion, thick with his newfound shield of arrogance. It was as if he were speaking down to her and the tone in his voice made her cringe.

She frowned, and a crease at the bridge of her nose appeared from nowhere, a warning he knew: a tirade was about to be unleashed. But she took a deep breath and began speaking to him softly.

"Haldír, you are my dearest friend. You have always been a friend when I needed you, and now I offer you the same. You forget, I know who you are, Mellonen, and I know your heart. Your tone does not fool me, if it fools the others, so be it. You will not hide from me however, not if I have to stand here for as long as it would take Elladan to find an elleth in all of Arda stupid enough to marry him."

Haldír shot his eyes at Anaiél and laughed, just for a moment, but genuinely. It was truly as deep and rich as that of his father, and it brought tears to Anaíel's eyes. Letting his guard down momentarily, he hugged his old friend warmly. They talked quietly of things that had happened since they had last seen each other, and how grown up they had both become in so short a time. Once the pleasantries were out of the way however, an uncomfortable silence settled around them and they stood looking at each other, neither sure how to approach the situation which had brought her to Imladris.

Haldír was no fool, he was wise enough to realize that he had to make a decision: either he could open up now, to the one friend he knew he could trust, or he could allow himself to be swallowed up by his fear and anger, remaining alone and lonely in his bitterness. He thought of Anaiél and her paralyzing fear of being alone. If he made that conscious choice for himself now, abandoning his promise to her, not caring how it would affect her, she would hate him forever and he would hate himself. He made up his mind that he would trust his friend, as she had always trusted him. He took a deep breath saying,

"He is gone Anaiél; it was a horrible death and he has left me here alone, and now my mother wishes to leave this place as well."

He became agitated and began to pace the floor as he spoke, his voice filled with anguish.

"Why did my father have to be so foolish? He knew of the growing problems in Dol Guldur, and the rumors of danger at the edge of Mirkwood. Why did he ride into that place, what could he have been thinking?"

He sat down in the chair next to his bed and hung his head in frustration as he ran his hands through his hair. Anaiél sat on the edge of his bed and put her hand on his knee.

"I cannot answer those questions for your father, Mellon, but I can tell you this: your father was fiercely loyal to his family and his people, and the finest warden of Lorien. He would never have let something that he perceived to be a danger escape if there were a chance of it becoming a threat to his home. He would have stood and fought, but not foolishly, Haldír. Your father loved you and your brothers, and would never have risked himself for naught." She continued, "I know what you are feeling, Mellon. I understand alone, and I promise you now as you once promised me: I will be here for you always. Know that you will never be alone. I swear to you, as long as you and I are here in Arda and you can find me, I will be here for you."

Haldír looked into Anaíel's eyes and knew that her words were true. So many secrets, dreams and hopes bound them together, and now, grief would make that bond hold even truer than before. She had been his constant friend throughout his life, and he loved her for that.

But there was the matter of his mother. She had been as much of a mother to Anaiél as she could be, but his feelings were something she could never comprehend. His anger and restlessness returned as he thought of her fading and leaving her sons alone without thought for their wellbeing or their future.

"And what of Naneth, are her sons not enough for her to at least try?"

Anaiél looked into Haldír's eyes, seeing her image reflected back to her in cerulean brilliance. She had known those eyes forever and they had known her. If there had been any doubt in her mind about what she should do, it was obliterated now by the torment in that she saw there, an affliction that would no longer allow him to see her.

"Your anger at your mother I cannot wholly understand Haldír, but if you trust me, I will help you. I will help her. She is the closest thing to a mother I have known, and I would not have her leave you thinking she is weak and uncaring. Will you go to her with me?"

Haldír hesitated for only a moment, before nodding his assent. She took his hand as they made their way down the long hallway to the room where his mother lay, entering quietly to find Círdan and Elrond sitting on either side of the bed. Merilin lay still under the linen, her face as pale as the frost, far beyond the usual pale beauty of the elves. She would not last long in this world; they could feel her fëa dimming.

"Ada, Lord Elrond, may Haldír and I have a moment alone with Naneth?" She asked softly.

The two elves rose to leave. Círdan placed a hand on Haldír's shoulder and felt the young elf stiffen. He looked at Haldír with sad eyes, knowing that this was a crossroad for the boy. If he could not understand and forgive his mother, he would never be able to understand anyone nor forgive himself for never properly saying goodbye.

When the others had left, Anaiél took Haldír's hand and urged him to sit on the bed where his mother lay, fading. He did so reluctantly and Anaiél sat next to him. She put Merilin's hand in Haldír's and held it there. Merilin did not stir and Haldír looked frightened.

"She is so cold." He whispered.

"Yes, but she is still here, can you not feel her?"

"Yes." Haldír's answer was clipped and angry.

Anaiél closed her eyes. Seeking what, in the past, had only come to her unbidden and unexpectedly. But there was no trying; it came to her quickly, the soft voice of Estë singing to her from afar. Anaiél struggled to control her thoughts, then pulled those whose hands she clasped, into the song with her. She begged for Estë to sing to Haldír and Merilin, giving them these last moments to understand.

Though Haldír could not say he heard the music, he did feel it. He felt it in his heart as clear as the dawn. The hand that clasped his own to his mother's radiated warmth and he began to understand a version of his mother's tale that was not his own. Just as he had not heard the music, he did not see her grief, he felt it, along with all her pain and love.

Haldír was given the chance to look into his mother's heart and understand her to a degree, though he could not rid himself of the sorrow or regret. These would stay with him, and he would hide them from the world under an air of serene composure for all his life. He would become a master at holding his emotions close, the ideal of level headed calm in every situation and a brilliant negotiator.

His pain would give him a certain edge, however, that would keep him distant, maintaining relationships at arms length and trusting only a select few who knew him completely. His newfound reluctance to let strangers close would garner him a reputation for cool indifference and even arrogance.

He looked up when he felt Anaiél release his hand. A single tear fell from his eye.

"Thank you, Mellen," he whispered.

Anaiél kissed Merilin's hand and then Haldír's cheek and rose to leave, giving him time alone to properly bid his mother farewell. As she reached the door, she turned back to look at her friend, his mother's hand pressed to his cheek, weeping freely as he softly spoke his last words to her.

Blood will tell, but often it tells too much

Anaiél closed the door quietly and was walking down the hall toward the library when she suddenly stopped short, her eyesight narrowing and the world around her dimming. She was holding the wall to keep from pitching forward when she saw Lord Glorfindel hurrying toward her. As he reached her, she could see he was speaking to her, but she could not hear his words. She was thinking that he had not changed in the long years since she had last seen him, he still looked angry and…

"Anaiél? Anaiél, what has happened to you?"

Her head was swimming and she felt a blinding pain behind her eyes. She had fought hard to keep visions of Beldír's death from being added to those of Merilin's sorrow. She wanted desperately to protect her friend from that horror, but it had cost her.

Anaiél was swaying on her feet and Glorfindel caught her as she began to fall. She looked pale and her nose was bleeding profusely. He picked her up and carried her quickly to Lord Elrond's library. Erestor heard Glorfindel in the hallway and met them at the door.

"What has happened?" Erestor asked as he stepped back to let Glorfindel by.

"I am not sure, she was in the hallway, coming from Merilin's room. When I spoke to her she did not answer." Glorfindel looked at Erestor. "Please, find her father and Lord Elrond, quickly."

Glorfindel carried Anaiél across the library and laid her on a sofa. He searched the room for something to stop the bleeding, and found a cloth lying on a small side table. Returning to where she lay, he held it carefully to her bleeding nose. He knelt on the floor and leaned over her, looking at all the blood with concern in his eyes.

She seemed to be gathering her senses and was trying to sit up. He put her hand to the cloth so that she could hold it and assisted her into a sitting position. He stood and looked down at his shirt. He was wondering how there could be so much blood from such a small nose when Anaiél spoke to him in a rather dull tone.

"I am so sorry, I have soiled your shirt, my lord."

She spoke through the cloth, which made her voice sound muffled, pronouncing it 'by lord'. She then pulled the cloth away from her face and held it toward him.

"I am afraid I have bloodied your...piece of…this, uh, thing, as…"

Without saying a word, Glorfindel pushed the cloth back toward her face. He looked into her eyes, nearly black with frustration and fear, and he decided to let her have her ill-conceived notion of what he was thinking. He did not want to aggravate the bleeding further by upsetting her, and so, kept his remark to himself.

She rose, somewhat shaky on her feet, and stood in front of Glorfindel. They stared at each other for a few moments, one in annoyance, the other in concern and building amusement, until Círdan came running through the door. They both turned toward him, a temporary truce in their stand off. Círdan looked at Glorfindel's blood soaked shirt then at his child's face, and his heart sank.

"Anaiél, why?" He asked.

Her look of defiance immediately faded to one of anguished regret.

"I am sorry Ada, I wanted to hel…"

"Enough," Círdan said softly as he held up his hand. "Lord Elrond is coming to take a look at you and treat your bleeding if need be, you can explain this later."

His voice was stern and he would not look at her.

A short time later, they sat at a table in Lord Elrond's library. Anaiél was sipping tea that Master Erestor had brought her, elbows resting on the table, occasionally blotting her nose with a cloth to make sure it was no longer bleeding. Lord Celeborn sat across from her and Lord Elrond and Círdan on either side. Glorfindel stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame in his bloodied shirt, as if keeping watch. 'Ever the grand warrior,' thought Anaiél. She wondered if he rested standing at full attention. Celeborn was asking Círdan and Anaiél of the circumstances surrounding her previous episode of bleeding.

"The first time was three days before we set out for Imladris." She told him, trying hard not to look at anyone as she did.

Anaiél silently prayed that lying to Lord Celeborn did not equal lying to her father. She did not see Glorfindel turn his head to look at her sharply as she spoke.

"I had gone with Ada to the White Tower and was waiting for him on the rise. I was wondering what he would see and I…I don't know how to describe it, but I felt for the stone," her voice dropped to a whisper as she said, "that is when I saw Beldír."

Anaiél swallowed hard at the memory. Lord Celeborn raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"I do not know, I felt it, and saw…" She looked at him, hoping he understood.

Celeborn nodded and she continued.

"I felt a pain behind my eyes and my nose began bleeding."

She looked at Círdan; he looked so sad she wanted to scream. She sighed and looked back toward Lord Celeborn.

"Today, I was with Haldír saying goodbye to Naneth. I cannot describe how it happens, but I hear Estë and she sings. I only wished for Haldír to understand," she looked down at her teacup as she continued. "I called to her as softly as I could, I did not want to disturb Merilin's peace, but I had to fight hard to control my own thoughts. I suppose it was more difficult than I realized, and toward the end I felt ill. I left Haldír alone to say goodbye to Naneth, and the next thing I remember, Lord Glorfindel was pushing a towel into my face."

She looked at her father again, who no longer looked sad, but visibly angry. She looked down at the table, ashamed at having upset him.

Celeborn tilted his head to see her face, but she would not look up.

"How much do you remember of your begetting, Hênen?"

"I know how I came to be, but I do not remember it, not like the elves do."

"When you were brought into the world, Anaiél, you were given certain gifts." He explained. "These gifts will come to you in your time, but it seems that you have tried to employ them while they are still far stronger than your ability to control them."

She looked up past Lord Celeborn as he spoke and saw Glorfindel quickly turn his head to stare out into the hall. She made a face of distaste, and returned her attention to the table. Celeborn continued to speak to her.

"You must take care, Anaiél, you must not use what you are not ready to understand. I fear you may do yourself harm if you are not careful."

She nodded, "Yes, Lord Celeborn, I have no desire to put my poor nose through any more."

Círdan turned to Anaiél. He wrinkled his brow sternly as he looked at her.

"No more." He said, pointedly.

"I promise, Ada." She answered

Elrond and Celeborn nodded to her, excusing her, but Círdan was lost in thought. He knew that Anaiél was set for a difficult and long path. Though he could not voice it, his heart cried out for her to slow her pace, not to hurry circumstances and events that would come all too soon, and unbidden.

Are you sure they meant you, and not the balrog?

Anaiél sat sideways, straddling the bench in the garden outside her room. Her hair was loose, pooling around her face and cascading down her back. She scratched at her scalp trying to release the remaining braids then wildly ran her hands through her hair.

She still wore the black leggings and boots of her traveling outfit, though she had washed up all the blood and changed into a clean, white linen shirt she had stolen from her father's satchel. She was tired and she wanted a bath, but the early evening air was warm and it felt so good to sit in the garden listening to the rushing water of the falls as the sun began to set.

She drew her legs up to cross them over the bench when she heard a familiar sound.

"Is that something you do just for me, Lord Glorfindel, or do you truly believe that all of Arda cannot hear your awkward, and very unelvenlike gait as you approach?"

Anaiél drew her hand behind her head and swept her hair from her face. She looked up to see Lord Glorfindel of the perpetually raspy throat, all bathed and blood free, looking at her from a short distance away, smiling. She smiled in return then looked down at her hands, which were absentmindedly braiding a lock of hair that she had just unbraided not five minutes earlier.

"Lord Glorfindel, please allow me to apologize for my behavior in the library earlier," she began. "I was tired and frightened, but that is no excuse for my rudeness."

'There, Ada would be very proud of me,' she thought.

He approached the enclosure somewhat tentatively, seemingly unsure whether this were a sign of her maturity or a trap with which to bring her target in closer. She wondered if he had to force himself not to look around for buckets containing foul seawater as he sat in front of her, straddling the bench as well.

"Look at you, Anaiél," he said, raising his hand and brushing her hair from her face. "You are a babe no longer."

She smiled vaguely, remembering their words twenty-three years past. She looked away rather sheepishly, in a decidedly unAnnaiél-like manner.

"You have grown quite beautifully," he said, "your father must be very proud."

He was trying to see her eyes, but she would not look at him. In an attempt at light conversation, something Glorfindel never attempted, he decided to change the subject.

"Did you ever decide to become a healer?" he asked without thinking it through thoroughly. "Or was that Haldír's calling?"

He did not see the flash of ire in her eyes, nor did he see the slight faltering of the smile, but how he could have missed the crease in her brow, he would wonder, this time, and many times hence. Had Haldír been there, he would have seen all the signs, and warned Glorfindel to take flight.

Anaiél ran her hands across her face and up through her hair to emerge from within the raven curtain still wearing a smile. He could see her eyes, too late, as she answered him.

"Why would I bother Lord Elrond or Master Erestor to instruct me in the art of healing, when it would be much easier to come to Glorfindel-of-the-Golden-Throat for instruction on mastering the art of tactless conversation?"

Her smile faded as she spoke, replaced with a look of dry sarcasm. If she were not so tired, she would have ended the question by pushing the arrogant Lord-of-the-Larynx off her bench.

For a brief moment, Glorfindel was going to react, but suddenly, he drew a quick breath and stood up, looking toward the hall. Anaiél froze, looking straight ahead and holding her breath. Glorfindel cocked his head to the side almost imperceptibly and waited for several more minutes. She could see his hands as they fell to his sides. She tentatively looked up and saw in his eyes what she had hoped not to.

"Naneth," she said, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes and rolled down her face.

"And in the face of evil beauty was lost."

Glorfindel reached down and took Anaíel's hand in both of his, a pained look in his grey eyes. She stood and allowed him to lead her into the hall. She wiped the tears from her face as they walked slowly toward Merilin's room. When they reached the doorway of the sitting room, Glorfindel released her hand and stood aside, allowing her to pass.

The sitting room was filled with those who had known and loved Beldír and Merilin. Their three sons, along with Círdan, Elrond and Celeborn emerged from the bedchamber, closing the door as they came into the larger room. Arwen and Celebrian moved to stand with Elrond. Elladan and Elrohir came in through the terrace as Glorfindel and Anaiél entered from the hall. Galdor sat in a chair near the window with Olossë and Tirin who stood next to him with his hand on his shoulder.

Rúmil, the youngest of Merilin's three sons, turned to look at Anaiél. She had not seen the child before, as he was but four years old. He was the image of his father: beautiful and bold looking. She wondered if he had the same magnificent smile. Haldír leaned down and whispered something in his ear and Rúmil walked toward her, shyly at first, and then, as he began to cry, he held up his hands to her, and she scooped him into her arms. He buried his face in her shoulder and wept freely.

Anaiél crossed the room to stand next to Haldír. She reached down and touched Orophin's head gently. He looked up at her and smiled weakly in recognition, then at his brother and scowled. Ever the shorter version of Haldír, he curled his lip in scorn at his crying sibling.

"Make him stop that noise, Haldír," he said.

He looked over at Glorfindel, who smiled softly at him. Orophin walked toward the elf lord, who knelt as the child approached him, one arm resting on his knee, to be at eye level with him.

"Lord Glorfindel, tell Rúmil to stop," he demanded again. "Make him stop, and bring Nana back."

Glorfindel looked as if the young elf had slapped him. Haldír moved toward Orophin but Lord Elrond put a reassuring hand on his arm to stay him. Glorfindel shook his head at Orophin, as if to deny his request, and reached a hand out toward him. Orophin took it, grabbing his shirt with the other.

"Bring her back Lord Glorfindel, can you go get Nana and bring her home, please?"

Glorfindel shook his head again sadly as he tightened his hold on the child's hand. Orophin tugged at the front of his shirt as he began to cry. He freed himself from Glorfindel's grasp, and grabbing on to the front of his shirt with both hands now, he twisted the fabric in frustration.

"Nana's gone," Orophin said quietly as he began to sob.

He lowered his golden head and pressed it against Glorfindel's chest as he dropped to his knees. As Orophin slid to the floor, he pulled the shirt with him. The front of it came open, exposing the flawless, pale skin. No, not flawless, there was a small, red mark on the left side of his chest, just above his heart. It looked exactly like…

"Valar!" Anaiél swore under her breath.

She quickly turned toward the wall, praying no one had heard her, holding the weeping Rúmil close to her face. Her father shot her a disapproving look and she cringed. She composed her face, and turned back to look again. Lord Glorfindel leaned forward to pick Orophin up from the floor and as he did, his shirt came open once more.

Anaiél closed her eyes in disbelief. Haldír reached behind her, putting his hand around her waist, and pulling her close, he turned his head and bent down, pressing his lips against her ear.

"If you cannot see it, is it still there?" He whispered, almost too softly for her to hear then moved back, looking straight ahead.

Anaiél did not look at Haldír, but she promised herself, when he was feeling better, she was going to drown him. She looked toward Glorfindel again, her eyes moving down his face, his neck, and again, to his chest. She bit her lip and shifted Rúmil in her arms. Glorfindel looked toward her and saw her staring. He looked down and quickly pulled the fabric of his shirt closed with one hand as he helped the child stand with the other, saying something she could not hear as he led him to a chair.

Lord Celeborn came and knelt next to Orophin, speaking softly to him, instantly soothing the child's tears with his words. Glorfindel, still holding his shirt closed with one hand, stood and walked out to the terrace.

Lord Elrond led everyone, save the three siblings and Lord Celeborn, from the room. Arwen and Celebrian spoke with Elrond briefly, and then Celebrian excused herself, citing a need to make preparations. Arwen spoke briefly to Anaiél, then with a kiss on the cheek, left to follow her mother. The remainder of the group drifted into the Hall of Fire.

Anaiél stood with her father talking in hushed tones regarding the fate of the three brothers. Círdan reassured her that they would be well cared for by Celeborn, making sure to add that they would be equally welcome in his own home, always.

The twins were talking with their father and Master Erestor, the rest of the group sat lost in quiet thought. Glorfindel was leaning against a desk in the corner, arms crossed, staring at Anaíel's back with a grim look on his face. As soon as Círdan moved away to speak with Olossë, Tirin and Galdor, Glorfindel headed toward her.

b "I'll sing you a new song, please don't cry anymore" /b

"You do not look well, Anaiél," he said quietly through his teeth. "Perhaps you would like to step out onto the porch for a moment." It was not a question.

Glorfindel took Anaiél by the arm and led her toward the archway and through to the terrace. As they passed Elladan, she noticed the look he shot at his brother and rolled her eyes at him as soon as she was sure that no one else would see.

"Let go of my arm," Anaiél hissed at him.

She jerked her body around to face Glorfindel, fully expecting to free herself from his grip. That expectation was not met, not by half.

"Keep your voice down, and I will let you go."

Glorfindel looked worried and, as usual, angry.

He looked over her shoulder to assure that no one was watching, as he pulled her further away from the entrance to the hall. He stopped short, and then, either for good measure, or because he was enjoying himself, pulled her several feet further still. She gave one last tug against the hand that held her arm, then gave up and relaxed.

"What is this fascination you have with trying to separate me from my arm, my lord?" She looked at him as if she had never seen such a display of ill manners.

"Anaiél, do not play games with me at this moment," he warned her.

She donned her very best, 'I-have-no-idea-in-all-of-Arda-what-you-could-possibly-mean,' expression and looked him dead in the eye. He practically growled at her in frustration. She would have to work on her very best.

"I know what you saw," his voice was low and rough.

Part of her harbored a great desire to continue the game, if only to see if he would burst into flame, the other part was too afraid of him to try. She decided to take the offensive.

"You have no right to be upset with me for being shocked by your, for lack of a better term, revelation," she emphasized the last word. "After all, you are the one who lied to me."

"I did not lie to you, Anaiél. I do not lie."

He said this with such meaning. Surely, he was not implying that she did.

"You most certainly did lie to me." Anaiél sounded so offended that Glorfindel nearly began to laugh.

"No, I merely declined to divulge information, which is, most definitely, not a lie. Telling your father that you have done a thing twice, when in fact, you have done the thing three times is, most definitely lying."

He looked at her as if daring her to dispute what they both knew was the truth. She looked at him suspiciously wondering how he knew, opened her mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again. She gave herself several moments to collect her thoughts and made another pass.

"You did lie to me, you lied by omission, and that is a lie none the less."

Anaiél renewed her effort to free her arm, but Glorfindel refused to let her go. She was fast becoming frustrated as, for the second time that day, the bridge of her nose began to crease in anger. Haldír would have been thrilled, twice in one day was impressive. She was seriously considering taking a bite out of the offending hand, when she heard the first phrases of a lament to Haldír's parents.

Glorfindel released Anaíel's arm as they looked up in tandem toward the cliffs from where the sound echoed. They stood there for several minutes, forgetting why they had been standing there at all. Then, Glorfindel led her down the steps toward a bench in the courtyard nested within a stone enclosure. They sat, leaning against the wall of the enclosure, listening to the painfully beautiful voices of the elves, under the moonlit sky.

Haldír emerged from within the hall looking upward, visibly moved by the tribute to his mother and father. Moving out into the courtyard, he sat on the bench next to Anaiél, opposite Glorfindel. He laid his head on her shoulder. She took his hand as Glorfindel put his arm around them both.

Haldír's brothers joined them, sitting on the floor at their feet. As Rúmil sat with his cheek pressed against Anaíel's knee, Orophin leaned over and kissed the top of Rúmil's head. He looked up at Haldír and smiled, then laid his head in his brother's lap. Finally, the twins came, sitting on the floor on either side of the young elves. They too laid their heads in their friend's laps, looking up at the stars. They stayed most of the night, listening to the songs that honored the memory of Beldír and Merilin of Lorien echoing through the Merrill Vale.

Lord Celeborn stood just inside the doorway of the library, looking out at the circle of friends consoling each other without a word. He smiled gently as Elrond and Círdan came to stand by his side. Círdan sighed and Elrond laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

From a darker corner of the garden, grey eyes watched in secret. A gleam of satisfaction lighting them, they looked almost feral.

"Do not cry, beautiful Anaiél." He whispered, and then he laughed quietly into the dark.