"You love her."

It wasn't a question.

The golden haired elf glanced up in surprise, guilt written across his handsome features as the slender woman quietly seated herself beside him. For several long moments they sat in silence, watching a young elf maiden dance to a song that only she could hear. It wasn't until the elfling had wandered off that either of the couple spoke.

"Since the first night she danced," Glorfindel admitted softly, his blue eyes flickering up to meet those of his lover.

His companion only nodded, her wavy flaxen tresses shimmering in the sunlight. Pale pink lips pressed together in a fine line and they sat in silence once more. The daughter of Finarfin was not hurt by the admittance; both knew that their relationship was not born out of love, but of a simple need for the touch of another…a need for quiet acceptance and understanding.

"She's still very young, Glorfindel," she cautioned.

"Don't you think I've realised that, Artanis?" he replied, voice tinged with a warning tone.

She held her hands up in a soundless apology.

"You're a good elf, Glorfindel," she said, "but you shouldn't pine after a young girl for too long. Little Idril isn't going to be the type to settle down easily and you know that Turgon will be more than protective of his only child."

The lord of the Golden Flowers turned to look at his lover and in that moment they both knew that whatever they had had was gone. Never again would Artanis, Daughter of Finarfin and Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower hold such close counsel. He stood silently, bending at the waist to press a chaste kiss to Artanis's forehead, then walked away, his long strides carrying him into the distance until all that could be seen of the lord was the sunlight's glimmer off golden hair.

The little princess was mad, some said; though they shared this, wisely, behind closed doors and far from the ears of Turgon Son of Fingolfin. She was sometimes seen playing alone, but speaking as if a playmate were sitting alongside her.

Glorfindel saw not madness, but a lonely little girl whose peers avoided her. His heart, had it not already been captured by the child with flaxen hair and cornflower blue eyes, would have been seized as he watched over Turgon's daughter as she played alone in the fields of Valinor, quietly carrying on a conversation with a boy who was not there.

"Who is your playmate, Idril?" he had asked once, moving through the tall grass to seat himself beside the elfling.

She looked up at him through eyes the colour of the summer sky and replied quite seriously in her youthful voice, "He is very shy, Lord Glorfindel. But his name is Elrond-Yet-To-Come."

All the girl's odd behaviour was suddenly explained in that one statement.

"Yet to come? What does that mean, pen-neth?" Glorfindel asked as he watched Idril gesture animatedly to the empty space beside her.

She looked up at him again and, waving to her invisible friend, crawled into the elf lord's lap to rest her head against his chest.

"He is yet to come," she repeated, her small arms twining around his waist as she leaned against him. "He has not yet seen the light of ithil…been birthed of a mother," she explained, her words far advanced for a girl of her youth.

"The others are afraid of it…the yet to come," Idril tugged on a slender braid of his golden hair, "Glorfindel, do you fear the yet to come?"

"Sometimes I fear what may happen to my loved ones if I am not there to protect them," he replied softly, looking down upon the crown of her head.

"Like your ada and naneth?" she asked innocently, little fingers toying with the sleeves of his robes.

"Like them…and others," Glorfindel affirmed with a distant smile, thinking of the fae child he held in his arms as he absently smoothed the flaxen silk of her hair.

She was not like the other elven children, this delicate vision of fine bones and fair features. Idril was different, older, but younger at the same time. A whirling maelstrom of contradictions that baffled even the most brilliant scholar and tugged insistently at his heartstrings. His little silverfoot was as fragile as porcelain, but somehow, Glorfindel knew that she might outlast even the hardiest Noldo…even if she couldn't last the day without a nap.

Smiling down at the angel in his arms, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and climbed gracefully to his feet, little Idril carefully ensconced in his embrace. He bore her home and set her upon her bed under the watchful eyes of Elenwe and Turgon. Careful to keep anything other than brotherly affection from his eyes, he bent over to brush a strand of golden hair from the little girl's brow, then straightened to incline his head to her parents and left.

Glorfindel wondered sometimes why it seemed that he was the only one to recognize Idril's foresight. His former lover knew, though Artanis never spoke of it. She limited their speech to simple greetings and well wishes; which was all the better for the elf lord, for he suspected that any prolonged exposure to the daughter of Finarfin might result in a long lecture regarding his constant attendance to her young cousin.

It was hard to imagine himself as a caretaker, though he supposed he had appointed himself as such to the noldo princess. And it was not as if the child disliked his attentions. Rather she had attached herself to him, not in the usual hero-worship of elflings her age, but in a cool, matter-of-fact manner that seemed to reason that he was there and he understood…so why should she not accept his presence.

Elenwe had remarked to him at one point that it appeared he was doing the little one good. Her peers had begun to approach their 'odd,' but potential playmate. The Lord of the Golden Flowers was popular among the youth of Valinor, both for his beauty and for his easy manner with both the boys and the girls. For Itarille--for that is what they called her, not by the less formal Idril—to have garnered the attentions of such a great elf, the children believed to her to be worthy of their own attentions, no matter that she still, though less frequently, spoke to Elrond-Yet-To-Come.

Idril had learned, for the most part, that her Sight put others on edge. And, though she did not rein in her lifelong habits when in the presence of Glorfindel, it was obvious that she had begun to make an effort to do so when among others who were less understanding than the blonde lord.

It came as a surprise then, when he came upon her in the meadows and she was talking somberly to the empty space beside her. By now the delicate flushes of adolescence had graced her form. She carried herself not with the gangly movements of youth, but with the shocking calm of one who knew far more than she should. It was yet another sign that his Idril, his lirimaer, was not like her friends.

The words that left his lips were not unfamiliar to him. The memory of a conversation from years ago was flitting to the forefront of his mind. "Who are you talking to?" they echoed.

She looked up at him with the sweetly clear blue eyes that he so admired and answered him as patiently as if he were an elfling she had had to repeat herself to.

"You must ask, Glorfindel?"

"I speak with Elrond-Yet-To-Come," Idril said finally, her voice quiet.

"We will leave Valinor soon. It will be cold and I do not want to leave…but Ada insists and I must go for there are things I must do. There are things you will do as well, Glorfindel."

Her slender hands shifted to her knees as she peered up at him and he felt as if she could see into his soul, as if she could pierce the very veil that hid his true feelings towards the young girl he had played for so long ago. Glorfindel was bewildered by her words. He could not think of any reason to leave their lands on Valinor.

"Naneth loves me. She told me so last night," her bright eyes filled suddenly with tears, "I love her so, Glorfindel. Why must she leave?"

This time he truly was confused. Elenwe was at her home; it had been she who directed him to the field and Idril's location. Nonetheless he put his confusion aside and hesitantly drew her into his arms for a gentle hug. It got harder to do so each year. The more the golden haired princess grew, the harder it was to pretend that he cared for her no more than as a brother for a younger sister.

His simple touch was all the encouragement Idril needed as she threw her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder. Soothingly he ran his fingers through the corn silk of her hair and murmured comfortingly to her. He was loathe to ask what she meant, for he had a sickening feeling that it was not something he would want to hear. Whatever it was would come to pass in time. For now he would do what he could to calm the tears of his beloved.

It was only when her diamond tears had subsided that Glorfindel chanced his question. Her reply, as expected, was not one that he had wished to hear.

"Naneth must leave us…But I do not wish her to leave, Glorfindel. I do not want her to leave me," Idril had said piteously. She straightened in his lap, long limbs suddenly proud. "What is yet to come you will see. Time will tell that which I do not."

The princess went silent for several moments before she looked up at him again, eyes suddenly clouding, her voice ominous.

"You will leave me too, Glorfindel…but worry not for you shall return and care for Him as you have cared for me."