Chapter Thirty-Seven: Hecilë

Turgon, the second son of Fingolfin, built a city in his hidden valley which was inaccessible except by a hidden passageway under the mountains that only Turgon knew of. He brought his people there – thousands of Noldor and Sindar that had taken him as their king – and sealed the way with seven gates.

The city was called Ondolindë in Quenya, the Rock of Water Music, but in Sindarin they called it Gondolin. No one came in, and no one ever went out.

In Hithlum, Lalwendë had begun to grow restless. She began to wonder whether travelling Middle-earth might be the cure to her melancholy. Her nightmares were interspersed with dreams of the lands she hadn't yet explored; this was the land in which her father had been born, and she had only seen a fraction of it.

At last, she decided to talk to Fingolfin about it. He was reluctant to let her go.

'What if something were to happen here?' he asked. 'I need you by my side.'

Lalwendë shot him a look. 'Come on, melda. You don't need me, you just want to keep an eye on me.'

Fingolfin pursed his lips. 'And is there anything wrong with that?'

'I'm fully grown,' she said, 'and fully capable of taking care of myself.'

'But you haven't been the same since you came back from Angband,' Fingolfin said, lowering his voice though they were the only ones in the room. 'You are my little sister, and it is my duty to take care of you as much as it is my duty to care for our people.'

Lalwendë looked down. 'You think that in order to be – well again, I need to go back to being my old self,' she said quietly. 'But this is how I am now. The best thing you could do for me would be to make me happy, and letting me travel will make me happy.'

Fingolfin stared at her for a moment, the worry plain in his eyes. Then he sat back and sighed. 'I won't stop you. But I'll miss you. All my children and their families have left me – Fingon is in Dor-lómin, Turgon and Aredhel have disappeared off the maps and into their stronghold, and Argon…'

Lalwendë reached out and squeezed his hand. Argon, Fingolfin's youngest, had been killed by orcs in a battle hundreds of years ago. Fingolfin had been devastated, and even more so because he hadn't been able to share his grief with his wife.

'Fingon is but a few days' travel from here,' Lalwendë said. 'And besides, you are surrounded by friends and a people who love you. You can spare me for a few years.'

'A few years?' Fingolfin exclaimed. 'By the Valar, I thought you just wanted to ride that damned horse through the mountains for a few weeks!'

Lalwendë smiled at his antics. 'Thank you, Fingolfin.'

He sighed again. 'If I ordered you to stay, would you? It's dangerous out there.'

'I am your sister, not your servant,' she replied. 'But I heard that Finarfin's sons are riding south to visit Galadriel in Doriath. If I leave in the next few days, I can intercept them, and we'll go together.'

'To Doriath,' Fingolfin said. 'Then you'll have seen more of Middle-earth than I.'

'I can take a message to Thingol and Melian if you like,' she said. Fingolfin shook his head.

'I have nothing much to say to them, except that if you come to harm on their land I shall leave Angband behind and declare a new enemy for the Noldor.'

'Dramatic as always,' Lalwendë said, rolling her eyes. 'Well, if I have your leave, I'll go tomorrow morning.'

Fingolfin eyed her carefully. 'You'll be safe, won't you?' he asked. 'You won't lose your head and do something foolish?'

'I'm foolhardy, never foolish,' she joked, but he didn't laugh. Instead, he got up from his seat and came over to crouch before her.

'Don't forget the curse of Mandos,' he said quietly. 'There's a doom on all our heads, and I'd rather you were here where I can protect you.'

'You've let your children and grandchildren go,' she said, placing her hands on his shoulders. 'You need to let me go too. I've survived this far, and I know I can make it a little further.'

'I suppose all that is left to do is to wish you a safe journey,' Fingolfin said. 'Tell Angrod and Aegnor I think of them.'

'I will.'

'Goodbye, Lalwen.'

'Goodbye, melda. I will see you soon.'


She rode for weeks, through the mountains and into Dorthonion, where Finarfin's second- and third-born, Angrod and Aegnor, ruled their kingdom. Both were golden-haired and the spitting image of their father.

They were surprised when Lalwendë arrived, but they embraced her and welcomed her presence on their journey south. They soon proved themselves excellent travel companions, chatting and joking incessantly. Lalwendë didn't sleep, afraid she would dream, but the days passed swiftly and pleasantly.

It was a sunny morning when they finally rode into Doriath, let pass by the border guards. A few hours later, they intercepted Finrod, Finarfin's eldest son.

'Brother!' Aegnor exclaimed, and they all dismounted to embrace. 'I almost didn't believe you would come.'

'Too busy ruling Nargothrond, the largest and prettiest Noldor kingdom on the Hither Shores,' Angrod agreed, clasping Finrod's hand. 'Do we have to curtsy in front of you now? I always forget.'

'Be civil or I'll box your ears,' Finrod said with a grin. 'Ah – hello, Lalwen! I didn't know to expect you.'

'No one did,' Lalwendë smiled. She stepped forward and hugged her nephew. 'I'm glad to see you again, Finrod.'

'It's been too long,' he agreed. 'Now – shall we ride on? We aren't too far from Menegroth.'

It took them another few days to reach the cave-city. The closer to Menegroth they came, the more and more elves they came across. They were greeted with a mixture of friendliness and cold wariness that confused Lalwendë.

'The Sindar are suspicious of us,' Finrod said in a low voice as they rode along the tree-shaded road. 'They don't know the full story, but they have guessed that we weren't exactly sent here by the Valar.'

'If they knew about the kinslaying, they'd reject us outright,' Aegnor said in a low voice.

'The kinslaying wasn't our fault,' Angrod replied darkly. Lalwendë pursed her lips.

'And yet we too are under the curse,' she said.

'Look ahead!' Aegnor cried suddenly. There was a lone rider on a white horse, cantering towards them on the road. Long, silver-gold hair billowed in the wind, and Finrod laughed.

'Three guesses as to who that is,' he said.

Galadriel greeted them with tears of joy. The years had changed her, Lalwendë could see; she seemed… less headstrong, perhaps, a little more peaceful and a lot wiser.

'The Galadriel of old would have scoffed to see these tears, little sister!' Angrod exclaimed as he hugged her, looking a little wet-eyed himself.

'I am crying at how ugly you have all become, nothing more,' Galadriel joked, wiping her cheeks. 'Oh, I am so glad to see you all! And Lalwen! Another joy unlooked for!'

'Hello, melda,' Lalwendë said, pulling Galadriel into a hug. 'It's been too long.'

'By the Valar it has,' Galadriel agreed earnestly. 'Thank you for coming, mellon nin.'

'Sindarin?' Aegnor said, raising an eyebrow. 'Is Quenya not in fashion down here, sister?'

Galadriel glanced back down the road as though to check there was no one watching them. 'You joke,' she said, 'but I suggest we switch to speaking Sindarin now. The Sindar are hearing rumours of what happened on our road to Middle-earth, and they are not feeling over-welcoming towards us Noldor.'

'Do you think Morgoth is spreading lies again?' Finrod asked, his hand fluttering closer to his sword.

'I wouldn't doubt that this is his doing, yes,' Galadriel said. 'But they are not lies. They know that we left Aman against the will of the Valar, and that there is some kind of curse that lies over us. But they don't know what, or why, or about the –' her voice dropped in volume '– about the kinslaying.'

'Manwë's breath,' Angrod muttered.

'Let us not think of it now,' Galadriel said briskly in Sindarin, linking arms with Aegnor and Finrod. 'We are together again, and we ought to be joyful.'

They laughed and talked the rest of the way to the caves of Menegroth. They were led inside by a steward, and Lalwendë was awe-struck by the beauty of the underground city.

The way was lit by lanterns that cast a soft silver light everywhere. The further in they went, the higher the ceiling became until Lalwendë could barely make it out for shadows. It was held up by a great many pillars, like trees in a forest holding away a canopy.

She could hear the sound of running water too, and sure enough, they soon came across sparkling fountains, carved into the rock. Menegroth meant a thousand caves, but with the fresh air and wide spaces, Lalwendë almost felt as though she were outside.

They were led to a throne room, where Thingol and Melian were sitting. Melian – the Maia who had fallen in love with the elven king – was exceptionally beautiful. Her hair was long and midnight black, and her eyes were like the sun on the ocean.

Thingol stood when they stopped and bowed before him. He came forward to clasp hands with Finrod, Aegnor and Angrod.

'I am glad to have you here, my kin,' he said. 'Sons of Eärwen will always be welcome in my halls.'

He stopped before Lalwendë, and she bowed deeply. 'I am Írimë,' she said, 'second daughter of Finwë. I am not invited, but I hope I am not unwelcome.'

Thingol regarded her shrewdly for a few seconds before nodding in greeting. 'Sister of Fingolfin and Fëanor,' he said. 'I see you have not yet taken a Sindarin name, though many among your people have.'

Lalwendë felt a nervous thrill run through her. It wasn't exactly the welcome she'd been hoping for. 'No, I have not,' she replied. He stared at her with steely grey eyes for another second before stepping away.

'I hope you will all eat with us, to celebrate your reunion with Galadriel,' Thingon said, moving back to his throne. 'You have journeyed far to be here.'

'It would be an honour,' Finrod said.


There was a small feast that had been prepared for their arrival. They ate in a great hall, the walls glittering in the soft torchlight and music echoing from the ceiling. Lalwendë listened raptly, her food forgotten before her.

'The Sindar are renowned singers,' Galadriel said beside her, smiling at Lalwendë's awe. 'Better than most Noldor, except perhaps Maglor.'

'It's true,' Lalwendë agreed, shaking her head. 'I can almost understand why you've spent so much time here. Almost.'

'The music certainly keeps me here,' Galadriel said slowly. 'But I also have a wonderful friend and mentor in Melian. And…'

Lalwendë frowned, leaning forwards. 'And… what?'

'There is something I want to tell you,' Galadriel said quietly. 'I haven't mentioned it to any of my brothers yet, because… well, I will. Soon. But…'

'Spit it out Ne– Galadriel!' Lalwendë demanded, avoiding her friend's Quenya name.

'Well – do you see the elf three to the left of Aegnor?' Galadriel asked.

'Uh… yes.'

'Look at the elf sitting opposite her.'

There was a grave-eyed, silver-haired elf there, eating and listening to someone talk beside him. He glanced over at them – at Galadriel – and when he saw them looking, he averted his gaze quickly.

'By the very stars above,' Lalwendë whispered, turning back to Galadriel. 'Do you mean to tell me you are in love with that very handsome man?'

'His name is Celeborn,' Galadriel said, barely hiding a smile. 'And he means to marry me.'

'Oh melda!' Lalwendë exclaimed, hugging Galadriel from the side. 'Oh – Nerwen I'm so glad for you!'

'Don't speak Quenya here!' Galadriel muttered, but she was smiling from ear to ear. 'I would really like you to meet him, especially since – since neither of my parents can, and there's no one's judgement in the world I trust more than yours.'

'Of course I must meet him,' Lalwendë said gleefully, releasing her friend. 'I doubt I will like him very much, but that's only because no one in the world deserves you.'

'He's wonderful, I promise,' Galadriel grinned. 'Now, enough about me – I want to know about you and Glorfindel.'

Lalwendë's smile disappeared, and she suddenly felt hollow again. 'What?'

Galadriel hesitated. 'You didn't…'

'I haven't seen him since you left us for Doriath a few hundred years ago,' Lalwendë said quietly. 'I don't know where he is, actually.'

Galadriel took her hand and squeezed it. 'Oh, I'm sorry, Lalwen.'

'No, don't be!' she said with false cheeriness. Of course, Galadriel saw right through it.

'There has been no one else?'

'No, of course not.'

'Do you… know if he's alive?'

'No,' Lalwendë whispered, and suddenly misery crashed over her. 'He could be dead, but it hardly makes a difference. It's been centuries, but I – I think about him almost every day.' She shook her head. 'Sometimes I think he must be alive because if he were dead, my heart would break of its own accord.'

'I knew you seemed different,' Galadriel whispered back, her face filled with pity, 'but I couldn't understand why. I'm so sorry.'

Lalwendë's heart twisted inside her, but she was kept from replying by the arrival of a messenger who all but ran up the hall to bow before the king. Thingol beckoned him closer, and the messenger began murmuring rapidly in his ear.

The hall was quiet as the music ceased, and everyone at the feast watched as the king's face turned from bewilderment to barely controlled fury. When the messenger stepped away, Thingol rose from his chair.

'Leave us,' he said, his voice echoing through the cave. Without a word, the dozens of elves there got to their feet and began to leave. Lalwendë, Galadriel and her brothers began to do the same, but Thingol's eyes were on them.

'Not you,' he said. 'Approach.'

The five of them wove through the tables to stand before Thingol and Melian. The king's silver eyes had turned to ice, and Lalwendë's heart was beginning to race. When the last of the elves had left the hall, Thingol began to speak.

'You have done great ill to me, kinsmen,' he said heavily, 'by concealing such horrors. I have learned of the evil deeds of the Noldor by a messenger from Círdan the Shipwright.'

Lalwendë clenched her jaw, the flames of the burning ships of Thingol's Teleri kin flashing across the back of her eyelids. The kinslaying was catching up with them.

'What ill have we done you, lord?' Finrod asked, stepping forward, his hands spread placatingly. 'What evil have the Noldor committed against your kingdom? I can think of none.'

'You are bold, son of Eärwen,' Thingol snapped, 'to stand before me with the blood of your mother's Teleri kin on your hands, and to pretend ignorance!'

Finrod cast his gaze down and stepped back in line, bowing his head. But Angrod stepped forward now, his fists clenched.

'Their blood is not on our hands,' he snapped. 'We came to Middle-earth guilty of nothing, except the foolishness of believing Fëanor's promises!'

'Do you call me a liar then?' Thingol asked dangerously.

'It was the sons of Fëanor who committed the kinslaying,' Angrod declared bitterly. Lalwendë winced, but he didn't stop. 'They are the ones with blood on their hands! On their heads are the deaths of all those we lost crossing the Helcaraxë, and by their actions were we all cursed by the words of Mandos! Why should we, who were betrayed, be called traitors and kinslayers when we are no such thing?'

'Yet the doom of Mandos lies on your heads too,' Melian said quietly. 'The sons of Fëanor are your cousins, and you followed them here.'

Thingol sat down slowly, and adjusted the crown on his head. He was silent for a while in thought before he spoke.

'With Fingolfin and his people I will keep friendship,' he said, 'for I can see they have bitterly atoned for any wrongdoing. And I will not shut my doors against you, children of Eärwen, because you are my own blood.' At this, he glanced up at Lalwendë. She held his gaze, troubled, as he continued.

'But no Noldo will set foot again in these lands. Let it be known that never in my ears again shall be heard the language of those that murdered my kinsfolk in Alqualondë. None in Doriath will speak or answer to Quenya if they do not wish to be exiled.'

Lalwendë stared at him, a heavy lump in her throat. 'My lord –'

'You will leave as the sun rises,' he said shortly. 'And I suggest you take for yourself a Sindarin name.'


Finrod insisted he would leave with Lalwendë, since the wilds of Middle-earth were perilous to travel alone.

'Come with me and visit my kingdom,' he said. 'You'll like Nargothrond – the caves have been newly wrought, and they are beautiful to behold. Celebrimbor is there, Curufin's son, and Orodreth my nephew.'

'Finrod, you haven't been here a day,' she argued tiredly. 'I am the only one who must leave. I won't ask you to come with me.'

'You don't need to ask, Lalwen,' he said. 'Go, take some rest. I'll meet you at the gate before dawn.'

Lalwendë sighed and smiled at him. 'Thank you, my friend.'

She bid a sombre farewell to Galadriel, who was bitterly upset.

'I will see you again soon,' Lalwendë whispered as they embraced. 'You and Celeborn have my every blessing. Stay safe.'

'And you. My thoughts are always with you, Lalwen. Remember that.'

In the small hours of the morning, sore-hearted, she crept out of Menegroth alone. She found the stables and took her horse and tack, then walked away through the moonlit woods.

She felt bitterly disappointed. Seeing Galadriel again had been a balm to her loneliness, a familiar face and someone to confide in. So of course, only hours after they'd reunited, she'd been forced to leave. It felt fitting, somehow. Fittingly sad for what her life had become.

She hadn't yet decided what to do. She should go north, tell Fingolfin herself what had happened and about the sentence Thingol had pronounced against the Noldor. But she'd only just left, and if she returned, he'd be reluctant to let her go again.

She could continue travelling, but though Morgoth was kept at bay, his spies roamed Middle-earth freely. It was dangerous to travel alone, and she had no wish to be ambushed by orcs. So what could she do? What choice did she have but to retrace her footsteps and return to Hithlum?

She saw a glint in the trees ahead, and she drew her sword so swiftly that her horse flinched away. There wouldn't be enemies this far into Doriath… would there?

'Who goes there?' she called ahead, and she breathed a sigh of relief when Melian stepped into view.

'Do you mock the King of Doriath by speaking your native tongue so soon after he forbade it?' the Maia asked in Sindarin, her eyes almost eerie. Lalwendë looked down.

'It was an accident, lady,' she said. 'I was lost in thought.'

'Are you lost in more than thought?'

Lalwendë smiled slightly. 'No, I left early on purpose. Finrod travelled for weeks to see his family, and I don't want him feeling obliged to accompany me away. I cannot take that from him.'

'So you left in secret.'

'Yes.'

'You can put away your sword,' said Melian. 'I do not mean to hinder you.'

Lalwendë awkwardly sheathed her sword, and Melian gestured to the path ahead. They fell into step together.

'Where do you intend to go?' Melian asked.

'I don't know,' Lalwendë said. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded tired. 'Perhaps the road will sweep me away of its own accord.'

'Perhaps it will,' Melian agreed. 'I hope you will hold no grudge against Thingol for casting you out so quickly.'

'I understand,' Lalwendë said. 'All the years we have been in Middle-earth, we have been living with the shadow of the curse hanging over our heads. Bad things are to be expected. And the kinslaying… is not something to be swiftly forgiven.'

'You may expect bad things,' Melian said, 'but that does not mean you should not fight them. It does not mean you must resign yourself to suffering.'

Lalwendë looked sidelong at the Maia. 'Difficult to remember sometimes, when you know that no matter what you do, it will end in death and heartbreak,' she said bleakly.

'Not so,' Melian said. 'Consider that the dwarves and men here in Middle-earth are mortal. No matter how they live, their lives will end in death – yet it is because of this that their lives are so bright, that the things they make are so beautiful and their love so strong.'

Lalwendë was silent for a moment. Melian's words made sense, but agreeing with them would mean agreeing that happiness was possible, and to her, happiness didn't feel possible. 'Maybe you are right.'

'I have been known to be right once or twice.'

Lalwendë smiled at that. 'If I could have stayed,' she said, 'I would have liked to talk with you more.'

'I would have liked to speak with you too,' Melian replied. 'I would have liked to hear why you are so sad.' Lalwendë's smile faded, and she stared at Melian. The Maia held her gaze calmly. 'You are never too late or too far gone to make something good of yourself,' she said quietly. 'There is still every chance that you can be happy, if you fight for it. Sometimes we must give up what we already have for a chance at something more.'

Lalwendë looked down. How was she supposed to cure loneliness, to stop nightmares? She decided to change the subject.

'Will you take care of Galadriel while I'm gone?'

'I am a caretaker of all within these lands,' said Melian. 'You, too, are under my care until you leave. Then you must be careful.'

'I'm always careful,' Lalwendë said with a smile, mounting her horse. 'Thank you for the advice.'

Melian smiled. 'I have a gift for you,' she said, and she reached inside her cloak to pull out a parcel. She handed it to Lalwendë.

'I… thank you.'

'It is lembas,' she said, 'waybread made in the shape of the flowers of Telperion, one of the Two Trees. According to our customs, the gifting of lembas is a responsibility belonging to the Queen alone. And I do not gift it freely.'

'It is a great honour,' Lalwendë said earnestly, putting the package into her saddlebags.

'Head northeast,' Melian said. 'Our border guards turned away a group a few hours ago, some of whom you know. If you ride hard, perhaps you will be able to meet with them.'

Lalwendë stared down at her. 'Well. I'll let you know if you were right next time I see you.'

'I don't think that will be for many ages of this world,' Melian replied. 'Go safely, Írimë.'


Lalwendë rode hard until the sun rose, and then more. She wanted to make sure there was enough space between her and Menegroth so that Finrod wouldn't try to follow her. She wasn't worried, though; riding fast was her specialty, and she had a good horse.

Border guards farewelled her coolly on her way out of Doriath days later, and she continued northeast, at the fastest pace she and her horse could maintain. She wondered who Melian had thought she'd meet out in the wilderness, but as the days passed, she began losing hope that the Maia's prediction would bear fruit.

She finally stopped for the night, and utterly exhausted after weeks of waking dreams instead of sleep, she passed out.

She slept for only minutes before the nightmare started.

She woke up screaming, phantom pain racing through her arm. Her horse nickered nearby, and she rubbed a hand over her face. Everything seemed quiet, but she didn't know what was nearby. Her screams could have just given away her position. She sat watchfully for a while, but an hour or so later, she drifted off to sleep again.

It felt like she'd closed her eyes for just a moment when she was jolted awake by the sound of her horse screaming. Hot blood splashed over her face and torso, and she leapt to her feet, wiping it frantically out of her eyes. Then there was a thick arm around her throat, and she was dragged back.

'We've taken your weapons, she-elf,' growled a voice in her ear. Lalwendë blinked through the darkness and saw a second orc standing before her, grinning hideously and holding her sword and dagger. Her stomach twisted.

All that follow you will be slain.

'You didn't take all my weapons,' she grunted. The orc behind her stiffened, and his arm tightened around her throat.

'What?'

'You didn't take my elbows. They're very deadly.'

He snorted. 'Big words coming from a –'

She drove her elbow sharply into his kidney and he bent double, groaning. She kicked him in the face and dove to the ground to avoid the jagged blade of the second orc. She scrambled to where he'd tossed her sword and dagger – by her slaughtered horse – and unsheathed the sword just quickly enough to parry a downward stroke with a cry.

She lunged upwards and impaled the orc on the blade. Then she strode over to the first orc, who was still on the ground gasping for breath, and she buried it in his neck. There was a beat of silence as she stood over the bodies, breathing hard. Her neck hurt, and there was blood in her eyes.

'Looks like I arrived too late to save you this time,' came a voice behind her, and she whirled around, raising her sword again – to come face to face with Glorfindel. She dropped her blade, her hands coming up to cover her mouth in utter shock.

He looked… different. He looked older somehow, though that was impossible. He looked weary, grim-faced – but at the same time, startlingly little had changed about him. Suddenly she couldn't stop thinking about his mouth on hers, him kissing her, his hand in her hair –

She was covered in horse blood, she remembered. She bent and picked up her sword, unable to quite believe what was happening.

Without another word, he came forward and began to wrangle her saddle off the body of her poor horse. Its throat had been cut viciously. Lalwendë watched him work, the whole situation surreal.

'This horse was bred from those that Fëanor brought here from Valinor,' she said to break the silence.

Glorfindel glanced up. 'What was his name?' he asked.

'Olombo.'

He snorted and raised an eyebrow. Lalwendë shrugged, smiling a little despite everything. 'I didn't name him.'

Glorfindel pulled the saddle and bags free, and straightened up. 'I made camp a little way away,' he said. Then he turned and disappeared into the trees.

Lalwendë stared after him for a moment. She wanted to run after him and throw her arms around him and have him hold her so she could feel how warm he was. It was like an itch, an uncomfortable feeling that was frighteningly desperate. She growled in the back of her throat and walked after him.

Glorfindel's camp was about a mile uphill from where the ambush had taken place. He'd been so close to her, Lalwendë thought, and she hadn't even known. She realised he'd probably heard her scream in her sleep, and she winced.

Glorfindel didn't speak to her. He didn't even look at her; he simply sat down by the small fire he'd made and stared into its embers, blank-faced. Lalwendë stared at him for a moment before sitting opposite him.

She couldn't stop staring at him. He was like a statue, utterly unmoving, totally unresponsive. After a few minutes went by, Lalwendë shifted where she sat.

'Will you say something?'

He glanced up at her, then back to the fire. She'd forgotten how dark his eyes were. 'Usually you're the one who says something,' he said. She snorted incredulously.

'Usually? There has been nothing usual between us for half a millennium.'

He looked up at her again, but he didn't reply. She stared back, filled with doubt. Everything still felt unreal, but suddenly she was unwilling to accept reality. What if he'd forgotten about her? What if he'd found someone else? She didn't think she'd be able to handle it. It would destroy her.

And worst of all, it was all her fault. If she hadn't asked him to leave her alone, she could have made him love her. If she hadn't been so afraid, so concerned with doing the right thing, he wouldn't have left to find someone who wasn't.

She had made her bed, she thought, and now she would lie in it. However awful the truth, she needed to know it.

'Where have you been all this time?' she asked quietly, doing her utmost to hide the tremble in her voice. Anxiety was rising slowly in her chest.

He hesitated for a long moment before answering. 'I have been in Gondolin with Turgon. I am the lord of a house there.'

Lalwendë's eyes widened, and she forgot her misery for a moment. 'Gondolin? But then – how are you here?'

Glorfindel ran a hand over his face. 'I and two others were allowed to leave the city to accompany Turgon's sister Aredhel to visit Fingon in the north. But she wanted to visit Fëanor's sons instead and – to cut a long story short, we were separated from her. We split up to look for her. I have been riding in these parts for days.'

A sliver of emotion broke through as he spoke: anger. He looked furious with himself. Lalwendë pursed her lips.

'Turgon will understand,' she began, but Glorfindel pounded a fist into his palm, making her flinch.

'Turgon is irrelevant,' he growled. 'I was entrusted with Aredhel's safety, and I failed.'

Lalwendë stared at him with wide eyes. She didn't remember this temper. This wasn't the Glorfindel she'd known. He looked up at her, taking in her shock, and his frown dissolved into remorse.

'Sorry,' he muttered.

She shook her head slowly. 'It's fine.'

'It's just, I should have – done better.'

'You would have done everything you could,' she said, only half sure of herself. 'I know you.'

But Glorfindel shook his head, and Lalwendë's heart sank into her stomach. 'You don't know me. It's been centuries, and a lot has changed.'

'Are you married?' she blurted out before she could stop herself. Glorfindel looked up sharply.

'Are you?'

She frowned. 'Answer the question.'

'Of course I am not married,' he said. 'Are you?'

'No,' she replied. She saw his shoulders relax minutely, and a flicker of foolish hope ignited in her belly. He still wants you. His heart belongs to you.

'I suppose it's because we are still at war,' he said carefully, his eyes now trained on his hands.

'It isn't because of that,' Lalwendë said, her pulse racing. 'We've been near peace for so long… Galadriel is to be married soon, actually. His name is Celeborn.'

'A Sindar elf,' Glorfindel remarked blandly.

'I've heard of a few elves who married,' she went on, desperately trying to gauge his unreadable expression. Her hands clenched and unclenched. 'Since Morgoth hasn't tried to break the siege at all, we're – almost at peace.'

'Hm.'

She could have thrown something at him. Her hands stayed clenched, white at the knuckles. 'Valar, are you going to make me say it?'

He looked up, a flicker of something in his eyes. 'I said it before,' he said quietly, 'and it didn't end well.'

Her heart clenched in her chest and she drew in a deep breath, getting to her feet, feeling that she ought to say it standing up. 'I still – I think about you all the time. I love you. And I regret turning you away before, I wish – I really wish I'd thought differently. I can't tell you how miserable I've been because of it. But what is done is done, and you have every right to turn me away now. I understand if you don't feel like you did. It's been hundreds of years. And I'm happy for you if you found someone else, you shouldn't worry.'

'Lalwen,' he said, slowly standing up and shaking his head. 'You don't need to worry.'

'No, I mean it – I would just prefer to know if there is someone, rather than spending all my life wondering.'

Glorfindel walked around the fire and took her hand gently in his. 'It's because of you that I've changed,' he said quietly, staring down at her intently. 'You made me cold and sullen and angry when you told me you didn't want me.'

'I never said I didn't want you,' she whispered.

'I can't remember,' Glorfindel said. Then he smiled – actually smiled. 'It doesn't matter now.'

He drew her into his arms, wrapped her up tightly and buried his face in her hair. She hugged him back with something like desperation. He smelled good, and he was warm and solid – she'd forgotten how warm he was.

She felt like she was being healed, like a hole in her heart was finally being sealed. She felt right.


A moment of silence for poor old Argon, and Horse the horse. Catch you in a couple. S