Story is finished. Yay. Talk about procrastination, but at least it's done. So enjoy!

Scaling up the redwood tree after dragging Reggie back from his open field (the poor thing was struggling to put back the weight he had lost), Tera noticed a knot amidst the fastidiously combed vinyl 'mess' covering a—her—open window. Leave it today, pay for it tomorrow. She took a moment to untangle the vines before launching herself through the sill into the room. And yes, her room. Her own room, her own furniture, her own little place; she had forgotten the simple joy of living alone.

It was smooth sailing after the orc was killed. The usual, ornately elven welcome procession, which she failed to appreciate whatsoever, being at that moment slung across Glorfindel's accursed white stallion like a pair of saddlebags: "You cannot ride injured" "The way your bloody donkey's going, I'm going to die from internal organ failure before my miracle human healers can save me" "This is an elven horse, his strides are smoother than fresh-river water". Elrond was remarkably glad to acquiesce to her demand for a speedy exit—fresh clothes, good food, a half-kilo of oats, and she was finally relieved of any pointy-eared company, which was a good thing—is a good thing. As long as she kept reminding herself of that.

She left the night they returned, and was gone before Glorfindel had realized. Perhaps that was Elrond's goal. The constant, bickering hostility surrounding the two had somehow turned into a constant, bickering, half-heartedly amiable closeness—the kind of closeness two individuals share when they face fear back to back. Perhaps that was something to fear in itself. It hardly mattered anymore, anyway.

And now here she was, in a brand new town—a half-day's ride from Bree, in a rich man's province, a little house secluded far to the east with more vines engulfing it than red bricks forming its walls. New home, new life. New down payment, though that's hardly a bother.

Not anymore at least. Elrond had offered to pay her well, and that he did—more, to be sure, simply because she was so quick to leave. No matter: leaving quickly had been her choice, and one she would have made with or without the promise of extra gold. Another reason to escape flowed like liquid fire across the dark-wood gleam of her bedside table.

Rubies, miniscule multitudes of them entrapped by greenling tombs of crystal and swathed by elusively dancing diamond stars, orbiting a halo around and through in a constant motion of light-reflecting dazzle. The figure had originally been mounted on a similarly beautiful piece created from glasswork bent and twisted into a hauntingly gnarly form. She had fallen in love with both; it was only the upper, smaller piece, however, that she could afford to smuggle out unnoticed. Which was a pity, really—by itself, it was a wonder that the human eye could barely hope to encounter. United with its partner, however, it was a wonder that the human soul could barely begin to comprehend, let alone describe—so fond of blundering through endless categorizations that cannot even begin to match the miniscule interpretations of a single commonplace (individually unique and uncommon) essence, how could one even attempt to shatter the wonder of such a creation through an entirety of description? No, the piece was not to be described through art or poetry.

Rather, it's to be stolen, secreted away in isolation.

Like every truly beautiful thing. Like every truly fantastical experience, or every truly experienced emotion. Which led, as always, back to that damned elf. Or not. Not admittedly, rather—

Or at least not until she nearly collided mid-swing with a strikingly familiar, golden-haired figure.

Who was waiting there. In her room.

"But what on Earth is it with you and breaking into my home."

"I can hardly comprehend your surprise—I rather thought you'd be expecting me." Poker face. Almost imperceptible smirk. That wasn't simply imperceptible solely for the pleasure of her irritation. Of all the damnable elves, I just had to pick this one. No, not pick—I was lumped together with him from the start. She sighed audibly and obviously, just to make clear the state of matters.

"What do you want, elf."

"To talk. Do you have tea?"

"Brewery down the street. Restaurant to the left. Door's that way."

Glorfindel stared at her oddly, and in less jest than she would have liked.

"Weren't we friends before we parted, at the very end?" Before you disappeared, rather; that was the unspoken but densely questioning cloud of—what? Hurt?—that echoed through the sentiment.

Which was exactly what Tera had wanted to avoid: emotional sentiment. Hurt, wonder, hope, anger, amazement—she didn't need those things; she needed calm. She needed to think. She needed to get out of all this.

Like the knot against my window sill. Tangled one day, trapped the next.

"We were trying to survive, Glorfindel," she said, suddenly very, very tired, "I don't—can't afford—to have friends. Why don't you just leave, I'm—I don't want to think about this right now."

"I have a knife. I can cut things moderately well. Could I be an expedient friend? I could be expedient, I'll practice. Come, see? I brought you an offering. Peace offering, if you will, like they made to the great, legendary lords who sniffed at lesser folk all day long, and ate and slept of course, and stank. You're a bit on the small side, of course—could be a dwarf lord. Tea? You left this behind."

He motioned behind him, where familiarly entwining shades of colour battled upwards in crystalline form. Its stolen partner lay on the table still. Suddenly she didn't know what to do.

"Does—did Elrond know?" There was absolutely no way...

"I won't tell if you don't." There was that smirk again, a laughing glint that found an unwilling partner as Tera shook her head in disbelief.

"He'll kill you, you damn elf!"

"Hang us, you mean. The both of us. Quick, we need to hide! Is it safe here?"

Laughing didn't come naturally, not to the two. They were too old—in experience, in soul—to ever find humour so easily again. But they were young, as well, all of a sudden; at least for a little while, as they found common laughter in their shared crime, in their shared joke.

"So I guess you'll be visiting then?"

"To check if you finally managed something so spectacular that you've ended up dead? Of course." He was still smiling. Then again, so was she.

"I'll check up on your horse on the way out, then," Glorfindel said as he turned to make his way—finally—out of the door, "I remember hearing him on my way here." No noise on the carpeted floor. Got to change that carpet. Damned if I don't learn to hear his footsteps.

"He won't be glad to see you," she called as he went through the motions of leaving, "and Glorfindel?"

The elf turned to the question with a ghost of the former laugh in his eyes.

"My name's Tera."