Chapter Summary: Alfirin discovers the opposing rook, and the ivory knight reminds his lady of his passion for her, no matter what they face.

Author Notes: Summer break people…YEHA!

"You saw them together?" Alfirin asked, frowning.

"Indeed I did. And dear Elemmire seemed very eager and understanding," Anaron replied, before taking another sip of his wine in her sitting room.

"How…quaint," Alfirin replied quietly after a long silence.

"What is your plan in dealing with her?"

"I won't. Elemmire is not a woman I worry over. Silmarien is a different matter. All I need do is keep Barahir's mind fixed on what he sees as my love, and she will lose."

"Thou art a cold and heartless woman," Anaron chuckled darkly, standing. "But your cunning amuses me in this woman's war. To your victory, Lady Alfirin!"

With that, Anaron toasted her as if she were already the crown princess of Dol Amroth and departed.

It had been several days since Glorfindel set out from Rivendell to return to the White City, the home of his beloved lady. The Misty Mountains still stretched southward as he rode as quickly as he dared ask of Asfaloth. The elf lord had always respect for his steed, and spoke to him of his troubles. Asfaloth offered whinnies and snorts occasionally, to signal his disappointment and sympathy.

The sun had set an hour ago, and Glorfindel dismounted, patting the white stallion's nose gently. "Forgive my demands, Asfaloth," he spoke quietly in his own tongue. "The need is great, and my heart is heavy."

Asfaloth nosed his tunic as if to bid him to rest, and went to graze and sleep. Glorfindel sat against an old, fallen tree in the ruins of the land of Eregion, the lost haven of Elves and Dwarves. He stretched out his long legs, tossed his cloak aside and untied his tunic so that it was part way open. Sighing, the Noldorin lord looked up at the night sky.

"Duveniel," he murmured, "ah, my Erbain. Would that I could hold you in my arms this night and kiss away your fears."

A thought crossed his mind, and he immediately acted upon it. Crossing his legs, Glorfindel rested his elbows on his knees and closed his eyes, clearing his mind and concentrating hard on the thing he wanted most.

There was darkness at first, and then he found himself in a little grove in Rivendell. Rising from his lowly position, Glorfindel looked about him and pursed his lips. He did not expect to be here. He smoothed out his now silken tunic and set out to seek what he wanted. He wanted her.

After a few moments, Glorfindel came upon a clearing. There was a bench, on which the figure of a woman sat. She seemed Elven, though he could not see her face. A veil covered her head and fell down her back. She heard him approach and turned her head only slightly.

"Do not look at me," she said. Glorfindel knew that voice, though it was flattened greatly by the burden of much sorrow.

"I will look at you," he replied. "You are my promised one."

"I am not worthy of your company. Not now."

She stood and made to depart, but Glorfindel was quicker. Catching her roughly by the arm, he turned her, pulled her closer to him so she could not escape in his arms. Ungently, he tore away the veil, ignoring her frightened whimpers. His frown increased when he looked upon her, and she did not meet his gaze. Her hair, those raven locks which he so desired to comb with his fingers every night were shorn above her shoulder. She shied away when she felt his hand upon her head, smoothing back the lock that had strayed.

"Look at me," he said quietly. His temper was quickly growing hot, and was displeased even more when she did not comply. His request was made a louder, snarled demand.

She winced and met his gaze. Glorfindel had no pity, for already she was providing that luxury for herself so much that he didn't need to offer it. Roughly, his hand clutched at her hair and held her head as he claimed her pouting mouth and ravished it. Admittedly, he nipped a little too hard than he meant, but he couldn't help himself, even if he wanted to.

When at last he pulled away, she was breathless, confused as she licked at her very swollen lips. All she could manage to say was, "Why?"

"First, to remind you that I am yet madly in love with you," Glorfindel answered, as if it were common knowledge. "Second, to show you that I care not if Alfirin painted you with tar and feather, but that I shall deal with her accordingly. I have the lover's rights – to woo, to abandon, to avenge. Worry yourself not with the details."

Her eyes grew wide as he spoke, for his hands roamed her body as if he were her lord and husband already, settling just under her backside as if he would lift her off the ground. "Glorfindel," she murmured, trembling under his touch. "Glorfindel, come now. I beg of you to come. I desperately need you."

"I am coming as quickly as I can. I shall wear out my horse if I were to ride as fast as I would like," he replied, caressing her face. "I shall ride again at dawn. Until then, I shall force you to see that I am not a quiet elf lord as some may think…nor am I a tame lover."

Again, he took her mouth roughly, licking her teeth and palate as if he were a thirsty man with a keg of water. This time, he seemed to be drawing her out of her shy depression. Her hands slid up past his neck, into his hair, pulling him closer, deeper into her mouth. A soft moan escaped her lips, and he swallowed it, smiling roguishly.

"Ah, now I begin to see the passion of your heart," he muttered, teasing her. "Is it only because we meet in dreams of the night? I wonder if my reception in Minas Tirith will be colder."

"No," she sighed breathlessly. Her eyes were darkening, and he had no doubt she would be dreaming of very wicked things until he set foot on that white stone of her city. He would make her yearn for him. Unbearable? Perhaps. He knew that at one time she had been a wild one, a lady who prayed for adventure. He read it in her eyes when he first took her hand and kissed it in the gardens of Dol Amroth. Glorfindel desired to stir her up again. How much of a wildcat could she be?

Glorfindel smirked as he watched her struggle with the elvish buttons of his high-collared tunic. When he laughed outright at last, she looked up almost angrily as she let her hands caress his exposed chest.

"I am of a mind to depart, Glorfindel," she hissed. "But then my night would be restless."

"I would make your night restless whether you departed or no," he replied. "But I had thought you were a woman of propriety. Is this what you dream of often?"

She frowned deeper. "You tease me with these things, and expect me to wait for you. What, would you have me languish and merely pine for your presence? I think not. You ignite a fire to my flesh and I shall return its blaze."

"That will remain to be seen, then," he smirked as she began to sear his sternum with kisses from her velvet lips. Glorfindel forced himself into silence, though his eyebrows knit together. His raven was never a woman to be left helpless, no matter how difficult her situation.

"If I am to ache for you, then the sentiment shall be returned. Come, you cannot be as calm as you put on," she smirked back. "Surely, you covet me."

She pulled away and gazed upon him, waiting. He took a deep breath and composed himself. "What a wanton night it shall be after we are wed," he grinned like the wolf he was. "I do lust for you, my Silmarien. But I prefer you to be whole when I return."

"A little late for that, don't you think?" she snorted as he sat upon the stone bench, drawing her onto his lap. "I will only be whole when you return."

"Then I fear we'll both have to wait," Glorfindel sighed, drawing away the fabric of her gown from her shoulder, licking the skin of her throat and collarbone.

"Seems you don't want to," she laughed before sighing so tauntingly. His warm breath tickled her senses, driving her to nearly begging for more.

"But I shall," Glorfindel replied. "I think I've reminded you enough."

Silmarien's eyes snapped open. That dream...that wonderfully erotic dream. And he just left her, forced her to wakefulness and find herself in her own bed. What a cruel lover! Grabbing her pillow, the frustrated daughter of Gondor screamed into it, pounding at her matress. Glorfindel would pay, when he returned. Oh, how dearly he would pay.

"He humiliated us," one brawney man hissed. "His people humiliated us. I do not see why we are here."

"We are here to make peace, and seek his mercy. If we show him we are willing, the King of Gondor will perhaps grant us the good things he offers to the other lands under his protection," another said.

"And accept his dominance? Never!"

"Tergon, calm yourself. The war is over, and if we do not ask for mercy, he may have a mind to destroy us all!"

"Better to die than to be made his slaves, Bahti," Tergon spat. "You were always weak. It shouldn't surprise me that you would be so quick to beg for his mercy."

With that, Tergon left his fellow Haradrim, who had been in council together to decide what terms they should ask of the man who had crushed their attack on Minas Tirith. Stomping down the corridor, he made his way outside.

"I hate this place," he snarled to himself, looking about him at the courtyard. Casting his eyes to the night sky he frowned. "Even the stars are different here."

"You have a hate for my people," a voice suddenly said. Tergon whirled about to see a Gondorian lord. He frowned, not wanting to incriminate himself.

"You do not need to fear me," the man smiled, coming closer.

"Who are you?" Tergon asked, still suspicious.

"I am Anaron," the man replied. "I have a proposition for you."

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