A/N: Hi, all. I hope to keep regularly updating this now I've started writing it again. I owe it to all you guys to finish it. My apologies if the formatting between sections is screwed. Also, there is a very badly translated Sindarin song within, so beware :D

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The next morning, Glorohtar woke to find Farothwen still asleep. He was amazed at how long the Edain slept for, and Farothwen was no exception. She was still tired from the night before, after he had carried her to bed after she fell asleep while he was washing his hands. She had had an extraordinarily hard night, looking after Morandir. Glorohtar felt guilty for feeling jealous when Farothwen was holding him. He was in pain, she was comforting him, that was it. But Glorohtar couldn't help feeling like there was something more.

He looked down at her sleeping face, so full of peace. But as she slept, he could not help but notice that she looked slightly older. Fine lines were beginning to appear around her eyes and mouth. She was ageing, slowly but surely, while he was ageless. Glorohtar's heart ached as he imagined her as an old woman, frail, upon her deathbed. But that would not come for many years yet, he hoped. It would not do to dwell on the future while he still had her in the prime of her life, beautiful as ever. This lovely creature in his arms, whom he was proud to call his wife. He gently brushed her dark hair out of her eyes and was reminded of a dream he had about a dark haired, blue eyed maiden he saw dancing in the woods.

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Farothwen awoke to find Glorohtar gone. She washed and got dressed, and went outside to find him eating a late breakfast in the dining hall, both of them missing the bell. She was still very tired, but she could sleep no more.

He heard her coming, looked up and smiled. 'Hello. I see we're finally out of bed?'

Farothwen yawned. 'I had a long night.'

Glorohtar lovingly adjusted Farothwen's hair. 'I think we all did.'

'I wonder how Morandir is,' Farothwen replied. 'I've been thinking about him all night. Poor soul.'

Glorohtar nodded in sympathy, but his paranoia was troubling him again. 'He will be all right. Dúnedain are made of pretty stern stuff. You are.'

Farothwen smiled. 'I'm sorry that we haven't spent much time together today.'

'Are you still coming tomorrow?'

'Of course! The way things are going, it's the only way I can see you.'

Glorohtar grinned. 'That's true.'

They ate in silence until another Elf entered the hall. It was Beleglor.

'Ada!' Farothwen called. 'Come sit with us.'

Beleglor smiled when he saw his daughter. He sat down on the bench beside her.

'You're a very elusive soul these days, my child. I've hardly seen you. Busy saving lives, I hope.'

Farothwen cast her eyes downward. Almost none of the Elves knew of the events that occurred the night before. Beleglor looked to Glorohtar for an explanation but Glorohtar just shook his head, his face also upset. Beleglor knew not to press further.

'What are you two doing today? Anything planned?' Beleglor tried to change the subject.

'Nothing, Ada,' Glorohtar replied. 'We just wanted to spend some time together, alone. We've hardly had the chance to do so these days.'

Beleglor nodded. 'I understand. You've both been so busy, as have I. Lindir has been pushing me very hard to compose some new lays.'

Farothwen smiled. That was very typical for Lindir. He was very excited when Beleglor and Farothwen arrived, two new minstrels to work with. He tried working with Farothwen a little but she was not really the creative type.

'Have you anything yet, Ada?' She asked, remembering with fondness of when she used to sit in her father's lap as a child while he sang new songs of his own to her.

'No, not really.' Beleglor's eyes sparkled. 'But he liked some of the old ones.'

Farothwen took a while to understand what her father meant by that, but then she grew red.

'Ada! You didn't!'

Beleglor grinned and nodded, cleared his throat and slowly began to sing:

O lu erui le tinnin
Le mennin, hen velui nin
Hin lin celair be giliath
Gannil 'uren, a linnel anno ad
Iell nin, iell nin, melui nin
Galol lagor an dess
Avo awarthad, hen nin
Adar lin gerin anvell cuil

Farothwen looked embarrassed but still was grinning. Glorohtar realised that Beleglor sang that song to her as a child. It was beautiful and full of love. Glorohtar never knew Beleglor could be that poetic.

He marvelled at Beleglor as he looked at Farothwen. Glorohtar knew why he wrote one line of the song: my daughter, my beloved… Glorohtar knew that Beleglor sacrificed everything for Farothwen. His family was estranged from him, and he had only a few friends. The whole of Mirkwood turned his back on him. He spent every waking hour looking after Farothwen and teaching her his craft. Although she was good, Farothwen did not really want to sing; it was all she knew how to do. The only thing Beleglor had, the only thing he lived for, was her. It was only pure fate that drew Farothwen to the King's halls that night. Beleglor had sung for the King before, long before Farothwen was born. He nor his household even knew of Farothwen before she came with her father. It was only the fact that there was no other minstrel there that Beleglor was even allowed to stay in the halls.

Glorohtar realised that he was not the first to love Farothwen.

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The midday air was chilly, and the wind was getting stronger. Morandir retrieved his cloak gratefully from the laundries of Rivendell, who graciously offered to wash his travel-stained clothes. He did not expect to leave this soon, but he also did not expect Hirgon to die.

Elenion was at the healing rooms, helping two other Dúnedain prepare Hirgon's body for travel. Gilbarad and Berenor lovingly washed his hair and combed it to lay upon his shoulders. Elenion brought clothes of Elven make and laid them out. Lord Elrond had very carefully sewn up Hirgon's death-wound. It was not very long, but it was very deep. Berenor cleaned the last of the dirt and blood off his hands and face, and all three dressed him together. Elenion stood back and watched as the two Men replaced his armour, the gaping hole in his chainmail clearly seen. They folded his hands across his chest and placed his sword in his palm. He was ready to transport.

The camp had moved in their absence; it was less than a day's ride away from Rivendell to accommodate the safe return of the injured.

Elenion stood in the doorway as Morandir was attempted to tie the cart to his horse. Morandir was clearly distressed as he tried to fasten the complex ties. He cried out and threw the ropes to the ground. Elenion silently floated over and tied up one side with his nimble fingers. Morandir was crying; Elenion knew not whether they were tears of frustration or of sadness. Or both.

'Morandir, you should not return so soon,' Elenion said gently.

'Would you deny me the company of my own people?' Morandir replied angrily. 'I cannot stay here any longer. I need to be back with my own kind.' He tied the other side of the cart up unaided. He suddenly looked up, his brown eyes full of anger and hurt.

'It is all right for you, my lord Elenion. You Elves know not the horrors of war. You do not have to know hunger, disease, or death. You do not ride, leaving loved ones behind uncertain of whether you come back alive or dead.' Morandir bowed his head. 'You do not-' his voice faltered. 'You do not have to tell a woman with child that her husband is dead.'

Even though he knew that Morandir was not of his right mind, Elenion was still angered. 'Surely you, those of Elvish blood, know the history of us? Do you not know of the great wars? Do you not know that Elves can die upon a sword, just like you can? Do not speak to me of war. I have seen enough of it.' Elenion sighed. 'My mother and father were lucky to escape the sack of our city alive. So were my uncle, my aunt and my cousins. My foremother and father died at Mordor's hands.'

Morandir was well-versed in Elvish history, more than Elenion anticipated. 'I know of Eregion. I know of the Noldor.' He gave Elenion a disgusted look. 'I know of the Kinslayers.'

Elenion was extremely angry at being associated with the fell deeds of his distant kin. He turned on his heel and walked away. Morandir realised what he had said.

'Lord Elenion!'

Elenion kept walking. Morandir seemed to come to his senses, Elenion's look of pure hatred bringing him out of his anger and grief. Morandir evidently had a death wish. Berenor and Gilbarad carried the wrapped and bound body of Hirgon from the healing room towards the courtyard. Morandir watched them and wished that it was he they were carrying, and Hirgon was still alive, going home to his wife and coming child. But Morandir had someone that needed him waiting for him. And he had to go to her before it was too late.

Elrond and Celebrían came to see them off, and Morandir thanked them for housing the Dúnedain and healing them to the best of their abilities. He still silently resented them for not being able to save Hirgon, whom he loved dearer than brother. But Morandir did not know what his thoughts were at the moment. And he still had the difficult task of telling Gilrían of her husband's death. Morandir was a mess. But he knew as soon as he left Rivendell he would be able to heal. Lord Elrond's medicine could not heal all hurts.

Glorohtar looked out the window and saw the three-horse procession preparing to leave. Farothwen sat nearby, not looking.

'Will you not go to them?' he asked.

'No,' Farothwen replied. 'There is nothing more for me to do.'

There was something in her voice he had never heard before. Regret? Hurt? Sadness? He did not know. He loved her, but sometimes he knew only too well the differences between Elves and Men. Men did not love as Elf-kind do.