CHAPTER 2: NOT WHAT WAS EXPECTED

Aníra was walking through one of Imladris' many gardens with Elrond. In the short time they had known one another, they had discovered a mutual fondness for Yavanna's Bounty. Aníra was expounding her theory that all plants were imbued with their own life-giving Fëa. She had spent countless hours sitting amongst them playing or singing, and she was convinced she had heard them humming their own tunes. She didn't voice her thoughts on this subject too often, for even Gwirith had scoffed slightly when she'd first mentioned it. Maybe it was because she was blind and so moved through life differently from others. Maybe she now had a greater appreciation for the seemingly inconsequential. Whatever the reasons, though, Elrond had been the first to take her seriously, and it had become a particular pleasure of hers to walk and talk with him.

"Forgive me, Lord Elrond."

"Erestor, how many more times?"

"Our riders from Lorien have just entered the Valley."

"Ah, I suppose I should welcome them and hear their report. I must take my leave of you, Aníra. I'll try not to be too long."

Aníra assented readily to this. She had some more tunes to practise in any case and it was a very pleasant day. She would be happy enough where she was. Time seemed to have little meaning when she was playing the lute accompanied by only birdsong, or the steady trickle of water that was so prevalent at Imladris.

As she continued the reworking of her ode to daffodils, Aníra began to hum along, completely immersed until she caught the sound of slowly nearing bootsteps. Letting the notes fade to nothing, she returned the lute to its bag and stood up expectantly. The bootsteps came nearer, only stopping when they reached her front.

"Shall we continue, then? … Elrond?"

There was no reply, but Aníra felt the pads of two fingers gently move across her scars. Her heart began to pound, and her legs shook. She knew that touch. Then, an aristocratic baritone breathed out:

"Aníra, it's me, it-it's Glorfindel."

Aníra's legs finally gave way and she sat down hard on the bench.

"Glorfindel."

Achingly family hands, palms calloused by use, took hers as their owner squatted before her.

"I was sent back by the Valar," he whispered.

"How is that possible?" Aníra's voice was hoarse.

"I, and I alone, have been tasked to act as emissary for Elrond and Imladris. Isn't it the greatest honour?"

"Yes."

"Erestor told me where you were and of course I came straightway to see you. He said you had changed, but I hadn't expected you to be quite so enchanting."

Something twinged deep inside Aníra.

"I couldn't believe it from the back, you being dressed so beautifully, but then I heard you play and I knew it was you. My poor Aníra." He cupped her cheek. "Now you are safe at my side once again."

Aníra felt the air shift directly in front of her.

"Don't," she quavered, putting up her hands to halt Glofindel's advance. She gently extricated herself from his grasp and stepped away. She felt cold in spite of the warm weather.

"What ails you, my love?"

"It's…it's all so sudden."

"That it is." He came up behind her and held her shoulders. "But now we have all the time in the world."

Why should she feel so tense? Wasn't this precise moment what she'd been yearning for, for so long? Aníra brightened suddenly and turned around.

"Your return has given me hope…Baudhiel…"

"Tuh!" Glorfindel moved away angrily. "Don't you ever mention that elleth in my presence. She deserves to be where she is! The two-faced, traitorous…"

Aníra was horrified.

"But she's my sister."

"Some sister! Good riddance to her is what I say. My hope is that she never blights our lives again."

"You've changed, Glorfindel." Aníra's voice was quiet. Cool.

"Not as much as you, I fancy, my beautiful one."

His suddenly playful tone chimed for all the wrong reasons, and his hand ghosting up her side was an unwelcome sensation. She flinched away.

"Don't touch me!"

Silence.

"Forgive the intrusion, my Lady, it was kindly meant."

The boots stomped swiftly away, leaving Aníra hurt, alone, and more than a little confused. She was still standing there when Erestor found her a little while later.

"Why didn't you tell me," Aníra asked him quietly.

The Elf-Lord sighed.

"Glorfindel spends his evenings in the Hall of Fire carousing with his troops. I thought, given your history, you would prefer to meet away from the limelight. I swore Elrond to secrecy also. I am sorry."

"It's not your fault, you were only trying to help." Aníra hesitated before she asked another question. "Has Glorfindel changed, do you think, since he was released from Mandos' Halls?"

Now it was Erestor's turn to hesitate.

"He's always been exuberant, gregarious, proud. Why?"

"He had an…edge to him and he said…Oh, it doesn't matter. I think I should like to go home now."

"Of course. Come on."

Erestor tucked Aníra's hand into his elbow.

"Would you pass on my apologies to Lindir and the others? I don't feel like playing tonight."

"Don't you worry, Aníra, I'll sort it all out for you. I promise."

XXX

Aníra did worry, for she wasn't entirely sure that even Erestor's prowess in the Council chamber could help solve the turmoil raging inside her. She'd always thought she'd feel nothing but joy when she was reunited with Glorfindel. Where had these feelings of disquiet and confusion come from? Hadn't she yearned to be back in Glorfindel's arms again? But then, had she thought about him in the intervening years? If truth be told, Aníra didn't think she had. Should she have done? Losing contact with Aerlinniel and Castien after their binding probably hadn't helped, but even so. Aníra's stomach churned slightly – what if she and Glorfindel weren't soulmates? What had he been like? She couldn't remember his being quite so harsh. Aristocratic and opinionated maybe, but never… It was almost chilling to think his emotions could be so changeable. Had there not also been an element of expectation in him? He seemed to think that she would have remained exactly the same as she had been in Gondolin: trapped, trampled, frightened of her own shadow – waiting for someone to come along and… What had he said? 'Safe at my side'. He'd said something similar on that final day, when he'd proposed Binding. Had it all just been another act of heroism for him and simple hero-worship for her?

Much like Erestor, so it seemed, Aníra hadn't liked to think about Gondolin. Or even Baudhiel. That made Aníra feel guilty. Whatever her sister had done, she still deserved to be here, experiencing this wonderful place, where no questions were asked and newcomers could just be themselves. Aníra was proud of how far she'd come. Perhaps Baudhiel would have changed also, but she'd never had the chance. Now Baudhiel's part in the Fall of Gondolin lay – like her – forgotten and uncelebrated… unlike Glorfindel's. Ellyth cast him admiring simpers, ellyn talked of his prowess in battle. Erestor had been correct on one point: Glorfindel did seem to spend an inordinate amount of time, night and day, surrounded by a gaggle of like-minded individuals. It was unsettling. He'd also managed to wring an apology out of his old friend. Although Aníra felt their shared history may have played some part also.

Why did this all hurt so much? Aníra couldn't rest and it was beginning to affect her music. For as long as she could remember, her music had been a source of comfort. It had settled her during the long, lonely hours at Gondolin and afterwards, when everyone had become refugees within their own lands. Music and songs were Aníra's storybooks, and they helped new Elves to look beyond her damaged face. Music had given Aníra a purpose in life, but now nowhere – the gardens, the practice rooms, even her own cottage – could guard against her errant thoughts.

It wouldn't be long before something snapped.

XXX

Away from Lindir and the other musicians, Aníra had gradually drawn a wider circle of friends about her. They knew each other as equals, as Imladrim. If details were not offered, they were not pursued. It was that simple. Like so many others, they would often come together in the Hall of Fire at the end of the day.

The evening had started just like any other. Aníra and Beriana were watching Istuion and Rodwen play chess, while they all engaged in the type of banter that usually develops when wine and good cheer flow.

Aníra's head jerked up. On account of the pleasant evening, many Elves had ventured out into the gardens, so the Hall was emptier than usual. It was easy to pick up on Glorfindel's baritone. He seemed to be regaling yet more sets of eager ears with his Balrog tale. This in itself wasn't unusual, but Aníra had honed in on one particular exchange:

"I'd heard another Elf fought with you and died at your side."

"Oh no, the Balrog's death was all down to me. I didn't have any help."

Aníra's jaw clenched and she set off, her feet carrying her swiftly to Glorfindel's group.

"Excuse me," she said, tapping the Seneschal to gain his attention.

"Yes, Aníra?" he answered politely.

"You know perfectly well my sister was with you. Why do you never mention her?"

There was a slight, familiar scoffing noise.

"I said I did not have help; I didn't say I was alone."

"But surely my sister fought-"

"Baudhiel? Fight? Don't make me laugh." Glorfindel's stinging incredulity quietened the chatter around them. "Have you truly been dining out on that dung – that your excuse for a sister fought as valiantly as I? She's the reason I perished. I could have felled that beast easily had it not been for Baudhiel charging in and clinching at me, spouting some gobble-de-gook about proving her worth. I tried to do my duty even by her, but she was having none of it!"

Through all this, Aníra's nails had been digging deeper and deeper into her palms. She managed to counter Glorfindel's rising diatribe with a forced calmness.

"I have never – ever – tried to profit from my sister's death and I'd thank you to treat her with a little more decency, seeing as she's not here to speak for herself."

"What was decent about your sister? She was a manipulative bully!"

"I don't pretend Baudhiel was perfect, but neither are you. I've heard you, having a little preen here, a little mince there. You'd probably spout your Great Act of Heroism to a floormop if you thought it had ears. I'm surprised you haven't asked Lindir to put compose a ballad and sing it for you!"

There was a long-fingered hand at Aníra's elbow.

"That's enough, Aníra, come on now."

Aníra jerked away from the touch.

"No, I will not 'come on now', Erestor. I'm not one of your quivering scribes you can silence with a look." She turned back to Glorfindel. "Like it or not, Glorfindel, to me, my sister was a-"

"Your sister was nothing more than a conniving snake, who-"

THWACK!

Aníra had slapped Glorfindel's cheek with one direct hit. There was a collective gasp from the on-lookers. Possibly, there was not a single soul – off the battlefield at least – who had ever struck the Lord Glorfindel. When next she spoke, it was with the sort of quiet control that only comes from the truly angry:

"Don't you dare judge my sister, you, who has had everything on a golden platter. I hadn't reached my Majority when my parents departed from this world. Baudhiel, barely forty years my senior, was faced with the prospect of no home, no family, no income. Whatever else she did, she kept us together. Why don't you think about that the next time you're planning to impress your baying public?"

Now Aníra did turn away and it was Gwirith who caught up with her and took her arm.

"Why do you defend your sister, after all she did to you?"

Aníra stopped and slowly turned back round, all the fight suddenly gone. She even shrugged.

"Because she is my sister and if I don't defend her, who else will?"

Whispers, like a breath of wind across the sea, grew up around them, but Aníra paid them no heed, content to follow her cousin's lead out of the Hall.

The night afforded little rest, for Aníra's mind remained stubbornly active, constantly returning to the Hall… and to Glorfindel. Her head and her Fëa ached. He had the whole Valley eating out of his palm. She and her family would be driven out and it was all her fault. She reached out for her one source of comfort in a lonely cottage: Ëarosto's warm weight nestled against her.

Silently begging the Valar for guidance, Aníra tried to relax, but she was dreading the approach of dawn.

TBC