Hi! Alright, I know it's late, but it's still within my five day range.

Just be glad it's here at all--things have been busy/annoying today.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Iluvenis: Sorry if things aren't clear/mushy enough. Like I said at the beginning, I tried a slightly different writing style on this story--it's a bit more subtle and intuitive rather than bashing heads in with the obvious. Maybe this chapter will give you a little more insight into what Glorfindel was feeling when she fell... If not, let me know, and I can explain a bit.

LJP: I don't have time at the moment to go back and see exactly how much time (somewhere around 2 1/2 months, if I'm remembering right). The trials are ahead, and Carathwan isn't going to be a part of them. Glorfindel, Haldir, Legolas and Lunian, however, are.

Alatarial Elf: Three months have passed since Carathwan got into the argument with Ethwan. Lunian and Legolas walk either daily or every other day or so between the house of Thranduil and the house of Elrond. They may even make the journey twice--it's not that long, even by foot, so it's not that troubling for them to do, though it would eventually get boring/annoying. They're still newlyweds, though, and trying to work out the kinks.

I think that covers all questions.

On to the story!

Chapter 10 Persistent creature

Carathwan hesitated outside the large, ornate door.

He had looked positively splendid, dressed in armor like that which he had worn…

When he died.

She shivered at the thought and rested her forehead against the wood, closing her eyes.

He had looked splendid, yes.

Glorious.

Magnificent.

Strong.

Beautiful.

Wise.

Powerful.

Every inch the commanding Chief of the House of the Golden Flower, the Lord in a house of princes.

Every inch the Balrog-Slayer.

The Golden Glorfindel.

The beloved hero of Gondolin.

And she had not known him.

The quiet elf she had somehow gotten to know through barbed conversations and twisted advances was not the elf she had seen today.

That elf was a hero among heroes, one who would forever be set apart as somehow superelven even amidst the great feats of the others.

And all because he had killed a Balrog.

They didn't see him.

Not as she had seen him.

They hadn't seen what she had seen.

They weren't worried about him.

They didn't suddenly understand something…

Something she knew she should have known from the day he insisted Lunian remember her own death.

With a shaky breath, she opened the door, stepping inside.

The splendid golden armor was set on a chair, on the table, gently, carefully placed, every piece.

If it had been her, she would have tossed it all.

He was lying on the bed, one arm cast over his eyes, head turned away from the door, as if he could no longer bear to see the world that made him into something he didn't believe himself to be.

She looked at the fire in the hearth, then slowly approached the bed, sitting on the edge.

He looked sharply over, his finger reaching under the pillow. He stilled when he saw her.

"You keep a dagger at the headboard?" she asked, before snorting. "And here I assured Lunian that Legolas was unusually paranoid."

He blinked. "What are you doing here?"

"Seeing you."

He shook his head slightly. "Why are you here?"

"To see you."

He frowned. "Why?"

"I wanted to be sure you were alright."

He snorted, shaking his head, resting his forearm over his eyes once more. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Are you ever?"

He moved his arm, peering out at her. "What are you on about?" he sighed.

She echoed the noise, and looked back at the gleaming armor. "Why do you have it, anyway? I know you can't have wanted it."

"What?"

"The armor."

"It was… gifted to me. In recognition of my… heroics."

She shook her head. "Are they all so blind?"

He glanced sharply at her. "What?"

"You don't want it. It's not who you are."

He blinked a few times, then let out a long breath. "They want to see heroes."

"So they make them where they can. Dress you up, parade you around."

"Sing songs of great deeds… when it was all a bloody mess."

"You killed a Balrog," she murmured quietly.

"Yes," he agreed softly. "And to this day I don't know how."

"A sword through his abdomen, according to the historians."

"Reading up on the fall of Gondolin, were you?" he asked quietly.

"No. On you."

He looked at her again, and slowly shook his head. "Carathwan…"

"You started this," she declared fiercely.

He closed his eyes. "I'm aware of that."

"What happened that day?" she went on, her voice quietly insistent.

"I died."

"Before that," she rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

He sighed, sitting up. "I remember what happened, Carathwan. It makes no difference."

"It does to me. I want to know the truth."

"Why?"

"I want to know if you're a hero or a fool," she declared savagely.

He flinched, starting to look away from her, but that led his gaze to the flames. He shuddered, looking swiftly back at her. "I'll save you the trouble—I'm quite a fool, a fact that has only been reinforced over the years."

"Let me decide for myself. Isn't that what you wanted me to do?"

He looked at her silently for a long moment, and then sighed. Slowly, wearily, he nodded. "Persistent creature," he sighed once more. Then he turned from her, staring at a tapestry of Gondolin, his eyes clouding. "The beginning has no doubt been told well enough. I was leading my house, we were put in a trap, most were killed… eventually, after far too much fighting and death we were the rear guard for those who were yet alive, the she-elves, the children, those too infirm to fight, or to continue to fight. There was a Balrog behind us, orcs all around. We kept him back for a time…"

"But?"

He sighed. "But in his fury, his desire to annihilate us, he jumped onto the cliff wall, then past us all, right for the others. I…" he let out a breath which almost sounded like a laugh, but she imagined it closer to a sob. "I didn't think. I followed him. I'd been fighting for so long, I was already so weary…"

She bit her lip, having seen him spar. He was not one to tire easily.

"We grappled on the mountainside. I struck his shoulder, he grabbed me. I stabbed into his stomach… I'm not sure if anything else happened. All I know is he began to fall, and grabbed me by the hair. I fell, too."

She was silent for a long moment, then shook her head. "And?"

He flinched, moving a little bit more away from her. "And I was relieved it was over," he ground out at last.

She shook her head once more. "That's not it."

"Yes it is."

She waited until he glanced at her, and shook her head again. "No, it's not."

He snorted. "Well, if you know, why don't you tell me?"

"You haven't told Elrond. Your remaining friends from Gondolin, your friends from the other shores. You haven't told anyone… but Lunian has always known, hasn't she? It's why she was close to you as a child, there, and why she's grown close to you again. Because she doesn't push you, even though she knows, because of her gift to see emotions as easily as most see the colors of the dawn."

"Carathwan… I am tired of games."

She looked at the weary elf for a long moment. "As am I," she agreed, getting slowly to her feet. She moved until she was before him, until he had to either look at her or into those flames. "When shall you stop?"

He closed his eyes, at length, to avoid looking at her any longer. "I cannot."

"Yes you can."

"No," he shook his head. "You don't understand."

"Yes I do."

"You can't."

"Can't I?" She got up, moved over to the fire. "I saw you out there, today. Dressed as the revered hero, Golden Glorfindel," she murmured, her voice picking up the same cadence as the chants that had filled the air not long ago. "And I saw the hero. The elf who has been in stories and songs since long before I was born."

"Then what else is there to say?"

"I saw him, Findel… not you. You're stuck in here, with this—" she cast a hand towards the fire impatiently, turning suddenly to face him. "Stuck here, unable to move past your own death."

"Carathwan…"

She ignored the warning tone. "You started this, Glorfindel. You could have left it alone, could have ignored it… but you came after me. You approached, you persisted… and you won. But now that you have me, you don't know what to do. Having me is painful, isn't it, because you can't keep me as you did Lunian? I won't be held apart. I won't be silent. I will press, I will prod… until you can reach out—either for me to stop, or to stay. You knew it would be this way when you first 'happened by' where Lunian and I were."

"You're wrong," he murmured, voice low as he got to his feet.

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"I don't think so."

"But it's true. You're wrong—I didn't have a choice."

"If you realize that, then you must understand that you can't expect me to back off now."

He sighed, looking away from her. "You don't really understand."

"I think I do."

"No," he shook his head. "How could you?"

She let out an exasperated noise and moved to the wash basin, picking up the pitcher of water, throwing it into the grate. The flames spluttered, hissed angrily, sent out billows of steam… and then died. "Because you made me grow up," she answered at last. "And you opened my eyes to many things."

His eyes were fixed on the grate, on the steaming logs. He jerked away when she touched his hair. "Carathwan," he growled.

"I am not a Balrog," she murmured softly.

After a long moment, he exhaled. "I know."

"But you still expect it, don't you? The burning, the pain. The smell of your armor melting into your skin, the stench of burning hair, burning flesh—your hair, your flesh. It comes back to you with every unwanted or unexpected touch. You can touch others, to a degree, but even then you brace yourself before you can, or you flinch ever so slightly away."

He tried to prove her wrong when she reached up again, but flinched slightly away despite his best efforts. He closed his eyes in defeat. "I know. I tried to warn you away…"

"When you knew it was too late," she finished. "You've been incredibly selfish, Findel."

Tormented eyes opened, gazing into her own. "I know… but I can't let you go. I do love you."

She nodded slightly, a tear sliding down her cheek. "I know." She drew a deep, shaking breath. "One small step at a time?"

He winced slightly. "I don't want to."

"If you don't, you'll lose me. I will not spend eternity with an elf who flinches from my presence."

"Not your presence, Carathwan."

"No," she countered grimly. "Just my touch."

He closed his eyes, pain settling on his fair features. "I am sorry, Carathwan." He raked a hand through his hair. "I… I know you look at Legolas and Lunian, and…"

She nodded slightly. "With some envy. They're so close—who wouldn't want such as that?"

"Besides me?" he asked, a bit shaky, a small bit of dry humor slipping into the tone anyway.

She shook her head. "No. Including you. You do want that, you know. Why else would you have started this with me?"

After a long moment he nodded. "Yes. But I have been unable to do so for so long, Carathwan, that it has become habit."

"One we shall have to break."

"I don't think it will be so easy as that."

"I don't expect it to be easy. In fact," she sighed. "I rather expect I'll get fed up fairly often, and storm off. Learn from Ethwan's mistakes—give me a while to cool off, and then follow… or don't expect me to come back."

"You ask a lot."

"I know." She looked up at him with wide grey eyes. "So tell me now—do you want to do this, or shall you love me from afar as I search out someone else? Someone who can bear to touch others, who can be touched in turn without mental anguish—even if without obvious outward signs of pain?"

He took a deep breath, releasing it in a sigh as he looked down into her eyes. "Part of me that died long ago reaches for you. The rest of this shell called a hero cringes in cowardice."

"Who shall prevail?" she asked, watching him with fiery eyes.