Summary: Wedding preparations and a bit of revenge...backfires.

Author's Notes: This chapter was written with the help of Mercury Gray. Thanks, Merc!

Shout Outs:

Dread Lady Freya - There's ONE MORE problem...

Roisin Dubh - I think he took the hint...

Mercury Gray - YOU'RE BACK!

The Rohirrim dismounted their horses and hailed the King of Gondor with a great many cheers. King Eomer escorted his sister Eowyn into the Halls of the King, where she promptly left his side and raced toward Faramir and embraced him, as if to spite all the finery they both wore. She had returned to Minas Tirith at last, where her heart had been for the last several months. Aragorn and Eomer laughed and left the two to greet each other privately.

Days had passed since the arrival of the Rohirric bride, and Glorfindel peered down the corridor. For as long as he had been in Minas Tirith, Silmarien had avoided him whenever possible, using her brother's upcoming nupitals as an excuse. What could possibly be wrong between them?

At that moment, Eowyn and Silmarien turned the corner, coming toward him. They were laughing as only very happy women can. Glorfindel took note of the rosiness of his lady's cheek, the excited sparkle in her eyes. It disappeared as soon as she caught sight of him. While Eowyn's greeting was cheery, his beloved was quiet and distant, it seemed.

"Lord Glorfindel," Eowyn smiled, as soon as they were close enough for comfortable conversation.

"Lady Eowyn," he bowed, smiling. Silently with his eyes, he plead with Silmarien. What was the trouble?

"I hope I have not stolen Silmarien too much of late," the blonde shieldmaid said with a smile. "Mari, I need you no more today. spend some time with your own fiancee."

Silmarien stiffened only a little, but Glorfindel sensed her discomfort, and took it to his hurt heart.

"Eowyn, it would perhaps be best that you retire as early as possible. It would be a shame if you were not able to sleep well," Silmarien urged her sister in law, emphasising the last few words. "Goodnight."

Glorfindel pursed his lips, finally understanding. A mischevious light leaped into his eyes as Eowyn bid them goodnight and entered her chambers, closing her door. Then he turned nonchalantly to Silmarien, a small smile on his lips.

"Has my lady not been sleeping well?"

Silmarien glared at him a while before turning on her heel and heading down the corridor. Glorfindel did not leave her side, a devilish grin growing as he taunted her. "Perhaps bad dreams have been plaguing you," he said. "Come, tell me of them."

"They are dreams which assault the character of those I love and thought I knew, and disquiet me," she answered, picking up her pace. "They take me places I do not wish to go."

"So they are nightmares?" Glorfindel asked, his long legs briskly keeping pace with her.

"Not...nightmares," she admitted grudgingly. "But rather, very unsettling dreams."

"In what way?"

Silmarien did not answer.

"Are you certain they are places you would rather not explore," he purred in her ear. "Surely one day you must."

"It is not I who ventures to these places, but one whom I love with all my heart. It leaves me ill at ease to remain in their company."

Glorfindel cut in front of her quickly, forcing her to halt. Then he backed her against the stone wall of the corridor, much like he had in the garden nearly a year ago. Silmarien's breath quickened, and her eyes shone clearly with fear of her beloved elf lord.

"Why ill at ease?" he whispered in her hair. "Surely this loved one would never harm you."

His hands were at her waist, and his nose lightly caressed the slender curve of her eyebrow.

"You must learn to trust those you love, Silmarien," he continued. "These dreams shall perhaps come to pass in your life. If you do not trust, then you shall not recieve all the good things which are your due."

"But these things come with patience, and I fear this person has forgotten his restraint, making me the object of my own scorn," Silmarien sighed, rigid in his arms, and yet so longing his touch. Her voice trembled. How warm he was, and how much did she want to stay this near to him. How wrong it was, what she wanted even before her wedding night.

Glorfindel paused, his breath hot upon her cheek. He frowned, knowing that the limits of engaged couples in her city were different than his. But if she was to become part of him and his culture, she would have to learn the ways of his people very quickly. A plan formed in his mind, and he pulled away from her, implementing it immediately.

"Then he shall trouble you no more," he said, feigning sudden sobriety. And with that, Glorfindel whisked away from her, leaving his heart in the corridor.

"She will run to me," he thought to himself. He would drive her to him, and he would merely be himself.

Days went by, days which sped the coming of Faramir's wedding to Lady Eowyn. Silmarien was a great help to the nervous bride, and did what she could to be of use. And yet, when Mari had the fortune to pass her lover in the halls, he was as if made from ice or stone. An unfeeling, distant being, far loftier than the petty mortals he was forced to associate with on a daily basis. Silmarien found herself pining once more for the passionate, wonderful Elf lord who loved her far more than words could tell.

From a lonely distance, Silmarien watched and waited for the ice to melt, bitterly reminding herself that this is what she had asked of him. And then she began to see things that only made her yearn that much more for him.

The way he twisted his ring on his finger when he was impatient. The way his eyes flared with a dangerous light when he was angry. The soft curl that somehow escaped the ribbin when his hair was tied back in a queue. Even the way he rubbed his bottom lip when he was deep in thought. Oh, how she wished she could let her finger dance over the soft skin on his lips!

Gradually, Silmarien's sleep became worse. She dreamed of all those places she desperately wanted to touch on her beloved's body, make him smile, say her name in an irresistable moan. How she chided herself for thinking such things!

At evening meals in the feasting hall, when she thought he wasn't looking, Silmarien would gaze wistfully at him, catch herself and blush. Imagining things she shouldn't. Wishing for things not yet hers.

On one such occasion, Glorfindel suddenly looked up from his plate just in time to see her drop her gaze to her own. He smiled to himself. His plan was working.

At last, Faramir's wedding came, and passed beautifully. Eowyn made a beautiful bride, enough to rival even Queen Arwen. Faramir was regal as the lords of old. Denethor was proud of his son, and told him so at the wedding feast, as he presented his son the Sword of Stewards as a gift. Boromir and Rhoswen presented the newlyweds a tapestry to decorate their new home in Ithilien. Silmarien offered Eowyn a beautiful riding cape, and the colt of her very own palfrey.

Dancing was called for after the meal and general revelry ensued. Wine flowed freely and gossip abounded as couples whirled about the dancefloor. Barahir had recovered well enough to attend, and was bold enough to ask a blushing Elemmire to dance.

Glorfindel stood to the side and did not engage in the lively Gondorian dance. Instead, he peered about him and saw that Silmarien was looking about the room. He had stood near during the ceremony, but not near enough for either of their liking. Bidding the long-winded courtier to his left goodnight, Glorfindel departed, his cream-colored wedding finery billowing behind him.

Mari finally saw him, her fiancee who was all of storming out of the feasting hall. An intense longing for him settled upon her. No one would see, if they met in the darkened hallway for only a small kiss. Decidedly, she made her way after him, fairly running to catch up to him.

"Glorfindel," she called. He did not hear her, and so she called again, this time with pleading in her voice. "Lord Glorfindel!"

Glorfindel stopped and turned, having heard her footsteps on the stone before she even opened her mouth to call his name. Playing hard to get was trying his patience much too thin, and had made him hungry for her. He was glad she had at last come to her senses again, so that he could steal them away. He would make her ask for it first, however.

"My lady," he answered calmly. "Should you not be at the feast?"

"I..." she began a little nervously, once she was at his side. "Why did you depart? Do my people bore you, even in their merriment?"

"Only a little, madam. It is their customs that try my patience. Even in their merriment, they do not allow a happy couple to express how they truly feel for each other. The traditions are a little too stringent for my liking," Glorfindel answered dryly.

Silmarien's eyes fell to her slippers, and Glorfindel knew he had made his point. He fought the urge to lift her head to look at him.

"I wished you would have come to speak to me tonight," she whispered. "You have been cold as of late, and I had...I had hoped you would not be so cold on our wedding night."

"What do you desire of me, Silmarien?" Glorfindel asked, barely mastering his voice. "You say that you do not wish me to lead you places, and then ask me not to be cold. What is it that you desire of me?"

"Simply a...a kiss. A goodnight kiss," Silmarien said. "It..is not so much..."

"Is that all," he smirked, a golden eyebrow rising. Mari felt it was taunting her, daring her to want more.

"I wish for other things I cannot have," she confessed, her gaze falling to the floor again.

"Anything you wish of me is yours."

When she looked up again, he was so much closer to her. Her breath left her, as he came even nearer. His arms encircled her, holding her tightly. "A kiss," he whispered. "Nothing more?"

"That would be treacherous to my father, to ask for more than my right to have at this time," Mari said, her voice and eyes clearly wishing to have everything his body could give her. His lips were so close to hers. Silmarien fought for coherent thought as her gaze focused on the delicious skin that hovered so near.

"I would not have you be a traitor, Duveniel," he answered softly, his breath caressing her own lips. His own voice and eyes were clearly replying that he would gladly give her everything she asked for and more.

After a pause, Silmarien kissed him quietly, quickly pulling away after she had stolen that treasured moment. But Glorfindel did not release her. He had not been satisfied by that too-quick kiss, and sought to make it longer. Her kiss had not been adventurous enough for him.

With an urgency that she had not witnessed of him in even the dreams she had, he kissed her, long and hard. His tonge explored her mouth wickedly, and his teeth nipped at her lips almost vengefully. Everything she longed for came pouring out, and Silmarien clung to him for dear life. Her forefinger found that lock of hair that always escaped, and twirled it about her finger. Her entire body became inflamed with the one desire to love and be loved.

At last he pulled away, leaving her to lick her swollen lips breathlessly. His own eyes were darker, but he had satisfied that impassioned thirst for the wine he would have to wait for until his wedding night.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice still husky from the kiss.

"And I love you more than words can tell," Silmarien replied, becoming desperate. "Don't leave me again."

"But I must," Glorfindel smiled, a little calmer. "If I do not, your brothers will chase me with swords drawn and battle cries upon their lips."

"But you can run faster than their lazy feet can come," Silmarien playfully reminded him, as she embraced him longingly, weeping. "I so wished for you to speak, to call my name, that I could run to you. But you were silent, all for my stupid pride."

"My Duveniel," he whispered, smoothing her hair. "You are too great a treasure for me to use wrongly. Fear not, I shall not leave you. But know that our own wedding draws near, and then even if you wished me to depart, I would not."

Silmarien had calmed herself, and smiled wickedly at a sudden idea. Rising on the balls of her feet a little, she whispered something in his ear. Glorfindel chuckled and nodded, holding her close and kissing her forehead before looking to and fro in the corridor. "Your brothers may find us here," he whispered. "Go to sleep, and find rest, my Duveniel."

And with secret glances, the lovers departed, only to meet again later in the night in a fair garden in Rivendell.

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