So, this is meant to be a one shot, for the moment. If it gathers some enthusiasm, I'll consider writing the full story ? I have an outline, I just lack the time.
In one of Tolkien's works, it is implied that Glorfindel left a lady love in Valinor. This is my own version with a twist.
A whiff of summer wheat and earth danced in the heavy iodine, stretched and discreet, but his heart leapt in anticipation. After weeks of sailing – such a short time in the life of an elf, such a long time for his restless mind - , the ancient lord welcomed this change with both dread and relief.
He stood still, but no less vibrant at the prow. Yet, no one could ever mistake him for the figurehead, for the Lord of the Golden Flower had no equivalent on middle earth. An elf of the first age, with such spiritual power that he dwarfed even the lady Galadriel in his better days. He, alone, had been mighty enough to chase the Nazgûls with just a display of his inner light.
Distasteful creatures; they now resided in the void, as did Morgoth and his servant Sauron the deceiver.
Middle Earth would now have to fend for itself; he'd left in the hands of little Estel, who had grown to be a great man. His time had passed – at last ! Too many years serving his purpose, looking after Eärendil's house, protecting them to a fault until his inner self was too frayed to go on.
Ocean Spray graced his glowing skin, the eager elements welcoming him back in Aman; a place he had left with reluctance in pursuit of King Turgon after the fall of the Great Trees. A haven where his heart once dwelt.
Not anymore.
For sure, renouncing the lands of his forefathers would pain him, especially to cross into this crass world plagued by noise, stench and absurdity. But he didn't see any other way.
A compassionate hand landed on his shoulder; he remained still. Not many dared touching the legendary Balrog Slayer.
"Soon…"
Elrond, son of the elfling he'd died saving, had a knack for hiding his visions in the midst of obvious statements. Who, better than a seer, to lay the harsh truth before him ? He held much respect for Elrond; he'd fought by his side, followed his hints when needed, and kept Imladris safe in good intelligence for thousands of years. That his friend would be ready to sacrifice so much for his sake… to let him go, even after he'd lost his own daughter to mortality, was a statement of devotion.
Glorfindel, formerly known as Laurëfindelë, barely nodded at his friend. Soon, he would set foot in Aman once more, after 4500 years of absence. Soon, his feet would grace the ground where he was born. Soon, he would petition the Valar to send him away on a distasteful piece of land, called England, where she awaited his return. Was she even alive ?
So weary… he was so weary of war, of struggling against the shadow. Less than a year with her had awakened the need for a peaceful life. More than four thousand years later, her memory was as vivid as ever. The shape of her almond eyes, the flecks of gold in her gaze, the deep blood red of her wavy hair, the sheer beauty of her smile… She had been the one he called upon every time he needed the light to burst forth. He carried her in his heart.
For an age, Glorfindel, as they called him in middle earth, had been akin to the sun, wrapped in the greater power of the first age elves, shining like a beacon of hope. The lonely Balrog Slayer, with a merry disposition and a gentle heart. Untouchable… for he belonged to someone else. Someone far from those shores, further even, than Valinor.
Her absence had weighed heavily, but nowhere as much as the past three months where the bond, dormant until then, had started manifesting with much more accuracy. Joy, sorrows, fears, contentment… he had felt all of her emotions keenly, as if she was just waiting next door. Days, months and years that usually passed in a blur had stretched to a point he could hardly breathe in anticipation.
Glorfindel's blond eyebrows suddenly knitted.
"She's worried."
Elrond's grey eyes searched in the distance, taking in the high peak of the Taníquetil with the awe of someone who had never set eyes upon the white shores of Aman.
"Celebrían, too," he stated.
Instead of doing a giddy dance, his heart constricted. So close… yet so far. Was had worried their respective wives ? And for the millionth time in the past months, Glorfindel wondered why he could feel Elanor with such clarity, when she dwelt in another world entirely.
Soon, he would now. Because the moment he set foot on the beloved fields of Valinor, he would mount Asfaloth and climb the Taníquetil to petition the Valar.
"I'm glad you will be by my side, mellon nin."
The hand squeezed his shoulder with affection and retreated.
"You have been my most trusted support for more than an age. How could I not be there when, for once, you need me ?"
And Elrond would vouch that his task was complete; he was, after all, the descendant of the line of Idril and Tuor, the son of Eärendil. His Atar, now, was but a star in the twinkling sky.
Glorfindel nodded to his friend, his blue eyes returning to the sharpening shores of Aman. His restlessness took precedence over the relief of returning home; he couldn't afford to dwell upon the beauty of Valinor. If he had his way, those lush mountains and vibrant shores would become a memory. His immortal friends, just as well.
He would wither and die like a mortal in a world without magic, a world that couldn't sustain his Feä. But he would die happy, cherishing the last fifty years of his life beside the woman he loved, for what use did he have of another eternity on his own ?
Trepidation filled the great ship, white sails slowly being stowed as they passed Tol Eressëa, elves massing upon the deck to contemplate the shores of the undying lands for the first time. But even though the crowds thickened, none dared approaching him. He heard their excited chatter, looking for familiar faces in the docks. Husbands, searching for their wives. Parents, expecting their wayward children. Families, friends about to be reunited.
A tall elven figure, grey hair and fair of face, eventually sidled up with him. His height was greater than his, an unusual feat, and his blue eyes sparkling with joy.
"Olórin, I haven't seen you without your disguise in a long time."
The former Istar just smiled, exposing pearly white teeth.
"The barrier dissolved it. Home, at last."
Glorfindel could relate; the most trusted servant of Manwë could once more appear in his true form. Gandalf was no more, revealed by the magical beauty of Aman. And he was most impressive, even to him, for he shone brighter than any star.
"Take heart, Laurefindelë. Your trials have come to an end."
"There is one last task requested of me before I find peace."
To petition the Valar was a bold move, even for him.
"I fear it is not peace, but happiness that shall find you."
Even though he didn't wear the wrinkled face of his old self, that familiar twinkle in his eyes was unmistakable. Glorfindel glared at the Maiar, unabashed to make him feel how frayed his nerves were.
"You know," he stated.
Olórin didn't dither under his scatheful look, a smile causing his lips to twitch.
"Aye."
For the first time in his long life, the former general of Imladris' army felt like strangling his old friend.
"Will you not tell me why I feel her so readily ?"
"It is for you to find out, my dearest Balrog Slayer. Fear not, you shall know before the sun dips into the sea."
The Maiar eclipsed himself before the Balrog Slayer could wrestle him overboard, leaving a very distraught elf in his wake.
And thus, after a little eternity, the ship accosted onto the shores of Aman, and Glorfindel burst forth the bridge on Asfaloth, followed by a mind blown Elrond. His former friend had not found Celebrían waiting on the docks of Tirion, but he didn't seem overly worried over the fact; after all, Valinor spread over leagues and leagues.
They climbed the Taníquetil with haste, the high peak reminding him so strongly of his patrols around Gondolin that nausea danced in his stomach. Even after all those years, the reminder of his death still haunted him.
Eventually, both elves were admitted in the great palace of Manwë without delay, much to Elrond's disbelief. For him, the Valar were deities, revered and feared, called upon and prayed to. But Glorfindel had met them once, right before they had sent him to middle earth on a mission, promising that he would be reunited with his wife once the task completed.
Four thousand and five hundred years had passed since then. Yet here he was now, standing in front of the mighty Valar, basking in their light, in their might. They sat regally upon thrones of white stone, like the court of King Thingol of Gondolin. His heart filled with awe, their energy pickling at his skin such was their might, their beauty ageless and benevolent. He suddenly felt like an ant, and had to pull Elrond peredhel alongside him. Overwhelmed, the elf Lord, master of Imladris and seer, sunk to his knees with tears running down his face. Glorfindel bowed low, but he resisted the urge to close his eyes and bask in their power.
He wouldn't be intimidated; he now had demands. Like a petulant child who had completed his lines of writing, he now came for the reward.
"Balrog slayer," came Manwë's booming voice. "You come to petition us uselessly."
There was no censure in the Valar's voice, but his tone brooked no argument. Glorfindel's heart sank, despair flooding him with such strength that he, also, sank to his knees before his gods. A sharp pang into his chest shook him out of his daze; he'd come to recognise this sensation as anguish and pain coming from his beloved.
Glorindel's icy blue eyes caught those of Elrond, and his friend's gaze sharpened with determination. Suddenly, rightful ire rose in his veins, ready for an implosion, and he lifted his head in defiance. By his side, Elrond rose gracefully.
"Laurefindelë has completed the task you asked of him. He has protected my kin to the very end."
Would they object that Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen still dwelt in middle earth ? That he should have remained to watch over King Elessar's descendants?
A long hum vibrated in the roofless room, speculative. Glorfindel pushed himself to his feet, ready to defy the greatest servants of Eru Iluvatar with no shame. If Elrond could stand proud and tall before their gods, then so could he.
"I spent an age on and a half in your service, sacrificed what I held most dear. What more could you possibly ask of me ?"
"Nothing," came the heavy voice of Manwë, his words weighing upon his shoulders with so much strength that he nearly staggered. Another sharp pain, dulled by the bond, caused him to reel. A feminine voice cut in, sweet and deep, dispersing the oppressive tension that sat upon their frames.
"Your wife had joined us in Aman, Balrog Slayer. She resides with Celebrían. Make haste, or you shall miss the beginning of your new life entirely."
Glorfindel blanched, his thoughts coming to a standstill as his eyes connected with those of his dearest friend.
What ?
"Make haste !" the Valar repeated, several voices interlacing to push them out of the door. Suddenly, they found themselves outside the palace, the sun shining down upon them, horses at the ready.
"Do you have any idea where Celebrían is staying ?"
Elrond nodded, then pushed him onto his horse.
"Somewhere in Tirion."
And thus, two elven lords galloped down the mountain at breakneck speed, long golden hair flowing alongside raven tresses. And even though adrenaline flooded his veins, Glorfindel couldn't help the worry that spread in his very core.
Pain. There was pain, and worry, anguish and despair in his beloved's heart. She was here, in Aman, at arm's reach. And in excruciating pain. Had the Valar allowed her to cross the border of her realm, only to allow her to die ? Could she even survive the magical land of Valinor without burning ? Surely they wouldn't be so cruel ?
Elanor ! He tried to push through the bond. I'm coming, hold on.
Their mad dash ruffled the merry city's feathers, but Glorfindel had not a care in the world as he interrogated elleths and ellons on the whereabout of Celebrían, the silver haired beauty that had captured Elrond's heart.
Another pain, sharper this time, caused his worry to increase tenfold. He grabbed Elrond's forearm, pausing at the absence of armour upon his tunic.
The war is over.
"She's in such pain, Elrond, how could you handle such a thing ?"
When Celebrían had been hurt by Orcs, and nearly raped, Elrond had run himself ragged to heal his wife. And if, beyond closed doors, Glorfindel had found him in the brink of despair, the gentle elf never crumbled under the pressure. His respect for the son of Eärendil increased tenfold now that he could feel Elanor's pain. Grey eyes suddenly narrowed, a flicker of recognition passing through when Elrond asked:
"How long since you were gone ?"
"I don't know. Time isn't matched here and there. A year, perhaps."
He could easily see the cogs running in Elrond' mind, but his impatience won over.
"Does it matter ?"
The dark-haired lord blinked, then shook his head.
"… not yet. Let's go, I know where they stay."
Glorfindel almost dissolved in relief, but he had not been a general for three thousand years for nothing; he would not cave under pressure, even though his heart was shattering all over again. His need to aid Elanor took precedence over the fear that ate away at his sanity.
Eyes sharp, he galloped away until Elrond penetrated in a courtyard that he would have found tastefully arranged had his haste not been so great. Both elves barrelled in the house, an ominous dark haired lord and a bright comet. Their long strides took them to large and airy rooms until a young elleth ran to them, her cheeks stained with tears.
"My lords ! Oh, you've finally come !"
Elrond reached for the lady to prevent her from stumbling in his lap, but her eyes were strained upon his blond companion.
"Quick ! The lady Elanor has escaped through the meadow, she took the shortcut to the sea once she heard of the ship…"
Escaped ?
Her finger pointed to a path that ran at the back of the estate, large trees partially obscuring the view of the never-ending blue waves. He was running before he registered his feet were leading him on the path to his doom, the elleth's cries echoing behind him. Elrond was not following; no matter. He now knew where to go.
Why escaped ? If those people hurt her, there will be hell to pay.
By now, he was able to quell the pains incoming through their bond, ignoring them in favour of pushing his efficient body to its very limit. Need sang through his heart, as if Elanor played the thread that linked them with her very hands, calling him with the desperation of a dying woman. Long legs and years of training were his saving grace, for he spotted a tail of silver hair in his path, shining under the bright sun.
High, untamed weeds and herbs whipped at his boots as he ran in a meadow filled with wildflowers and butterflies. In the background, white shores and blue sea. The view was stunning, yet his eyes didn't stray from the tall elleth.
At her feet crouched a familiar form, doubled over in pain. His heart skipped a beat, and all breath rushed from his lungs.
The same frame, plump, the same blood red curls, but with an inner light he'd never seen before. What had caused this ?
Elanor !
Behind him echoed the footsteps of another elf, probably Elrond. Instinct dictated he should turn around and ensure he was safe, but his eyes couldn't leave the redhead. Celebrían swept the woman in her arms, trying to hoist her up. To no avail; a sharp cry escaped the form's lips as she curled on the ground once more. Dread fuelled his limbs as he took flight in the dreamy meadow, mad with worry.
"Elanor !" he hollered with all his might.
Silver hair swept aside sharply.
"Lord Glorfindel !" Celebrían cried. "Thank the Valar ! Come quick !"
The frantic plea didn't fall on deaf ears, and Glorfindel covered the remaining distance with such speed that he didn't even remember touching the ground. He crouched at Celebrian's feet, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest as his hand finally settled upon Elanor's hunched form.
She was here. She was truly here !
"Elanor," he called.
She reacted at once, her torso twisting around. Little hands grabbed his tunic, clenching on the fabric with such strength that he expected it to rip. Golden eyes widened in disbelief, tears leaking down her cheeks. He felt, more than he saw, Elrond gather his own wife in his arms beside them.
"Vanya nin! My love ! You have returned," she cried.
He would have wept at the familiar tones, at the familiar epessë she had bestowed upon him so long ago. Hearing her voice once more, after more than four thousand years in service of the Valar, shook his whole frame from head to toe. She caressed his cheek with a trembling hand.
"Am I dreaming ?" she breathed.
He shook his head, too shaken to utter the words he'd sworn he would tell her upon his return. He took in the beautiful lines of her face, the flushed cheeks, the almond shape of her eyes, that pointed jaw that he adored and her little chin. She had put on a little weight; it suited her so beautifully… and her inner glow. Her inner glow was so brilliant that it caressed his senses, coaxed him to fold her in his embrace and never let go.
He kissed her, over and over again, savouring those plush lips that he would never, ever leave again. Then his hand dug into her wavy strands of fire, brushing her ears.
Wait, pointed ears ?
A sudden hiss escaped her lips, and she writhed around in obvious pain. Delirious, he twisted her in his arms, eyes roaming her body in search of an injury, only to find…
"Help me, vanya nin," she quivered in his arms. "Your daughter is impatient, she's a little early."
Daughter ?
Elanor sent him an apologetic smile and took his hand, pushing his palm against the swollen expense of her belly. He sucked in a sharp breath, all thoughts screeching to a halt in his mind. Stunned, he turned to Elrond in complete disbelief, but the elf's grey eyes were set upon the shivering figure of his wife. His severe eyebrows knitted in worry as he addressed her.
"Lady Elanor. How long since Glorfindel departed ?"
"Ten months. I found out a few days after…"
After I left. After the Valar took me away from my pregnant wife.
Teeth grinding, the former general cursed the war – and Sauron - all over again for taking him away from such a miracle. Elrond's eyebrows eased up, his intense stare boring holes into his friend.
"Congratulations, Balrog Slayer. You shall be a proud father soon."
"How soon ?" Elanor panted, digging her nails into his arm as she twitched in pain.
"Too soon to move you around," he responded. Then he stood, and unclasped his cape to lay it upon the ground. "I'll get some supplies. Get her comfortable."
So rarely did Elrond issue orders to him, but Glorfindel could only nod as the dark haired elf turned around, striding away from the scene in full healer mode. Celebrían didn't follow; she knew her husband well enough to precede his demands. He would do anything in his power to deliver this baby safety, even if it meant delaying a reunion he'd waited for centuries. Even if it meant soiling the wonderful black and golden cape, he loved so much.
Glorfindel's mind stuttered in this moment, realising that he held in his arms two of the most important people of his life, and that another would be right by his side in the most shattering moment of his long existence.
A father… he was going to be a father. Panic should have crippled him, to be thrust into such a demanding role without any warning, he that had not been a husband for millennia. But instead of fear; his heart soared in bliss.
Light suddenly burst forth from the confines of his core, flooding the meadow with unparalleled intensity. His very being radiated with happiness, the news settling in the confines of his mind like a warm sun, fuelling him with benevolent energy. And all this time, as realisation set in, Elanor's glorious eyes were set upon his face, tears of happiness gathered at the corner of her eyes. Her features were set in pure wonder, as is he was the greatest miracle of her life.
Didn't she see that she was the miracle ? She, who had hosted their daughter, nurtured her, welcomed her in her womb. He kissed her again, his large hands running along her spine. She smelt like home, and he couldn't have enough. Until she convulsed in pain, her dainty fingers squeezing his nape – hard.
"Mph."
The pang of agony reverberated in his chest, and Glorfindel just held her, riding the wave by her side.
"Get her on the cape," Celebrían asked once the contraction had passed. But Elanor refused to let go of him – and he was loath to detach her body from his - so he just settled with her on his lap. Wave after wave of pain claimed her, and he soothingly murmured in her ear, engulfing her in the joy of his feä, seeking to relieve the strain.
"It is helping," she panted after a harsh contraction had caused her little body to writhe in his arms.
"Not enough," he grimly concluded.
She nodded; her face too pale. Elanor never was one for lies. Tactful, surely, but she never sprouted falseties. The former general turned pleading eyes to Celebrían. In his long years, he'd never felt so helpless, never felt like he wasn't enough. His presence on the battlefield always turned the tide of battles, if only because he brought light to the heart of his fellow warriors. He had faced Nazgûls, kicked the King of Angmar's ass, and laid waste upon orcs and Balrogs alike.
But here, now, the person he loved most twisted in agony, and he knew he just wasn't enough.
"Hold on, melessë," he whispered in her ear.
She was panting, but she found the strength to kiss his cheek in acknowledgement.
Any moment now, Elrond would return, and he hoped he would be able to relieve the pain for his wife because his ow heart was tearing. Celebrían knelt before them, and suggested to change position. They both manoeuvred Elanor into a crouch, and he knelt behind her so that he could cup her large belly. His wife looped her arms backwards, encircling his neck like a vine would ensnare a tree.
He would be that unmovable force for her, the oak tree that supported her weight and her pain until his babe came into the world. When the next contraction hit, Celebrían instructed him to pull gently upon the hard rock uterus; and so he did, with caution and all the strength he would dare applying to his wife's body.
"Better ?" the silvery-haired woman asked.
Elanor nodded, wavy hair curtaining her face as she caught her breath. A sliver of hope rushed through him, and they rode the next waves thus, intertwined like the lovers they once were barely a year ago… for her. The feel of her body against him should have lulled his senses, but her suffering was too jarring. Every whimper tore at his very soul – she would never cry out, Elanor was far too tough to scream. But he could feel how incredibly painful the process of birthing their daughter was for her, and he struggled not to clench his fist on her satiny skin.
Elrond eventually returned, out of breath, and presenting a cup of liquid that had Elanor grimace.
"Pain relief," he told her, the unnatural quietness of the healer taking hold of his persona.
No matter what happened, the Noldorin lord never panicked; keeping a clear head to handle dire injuries was the key to success. Contractions came and went, Elanor sagged in between, her arms trembling from the awkward position. And he… he would never dare admit it, but his own muscles screamed bloody murder from being used so awkwardly. A little while passed, the pains getting closer to the point where Elanor barely had any reprieve.
Elrond produced a long instrument made of metal, asking permission to listen to the baby's heart. For a moment, none of them dared taking a breath. Elanor tensed in his arms, fighting another cramp as he pulled her belly upwards, hoping that he wasn't dislodging anything in the haven of her womb. Her whole body trembled with the effort of keeping still, her teeth clenching forcefully. Glorfindel allowed his nose to nuzzle her throat, curtains of his hair covering the front of her dress to provide reassurance.
Her body relaxed slowly, her breaths heavy and ragged until Elrond straightened with a small smile.
"The baby is fine. Fret not, you are doing well."
Elanor snorted at that, a disdainful noise of disbelief.
"Is the pain any better now ?" he gently asked.
None of them expected the outburst that followed.
"No !" She nearly screamed. "No ! It isn't, damn it !"
The next moment, she folded over herself and crumbled over the cape. Glorfindel tried to follow her movement, rearranging her as per Elrond's instruction – on her left side – until she batted his hands away.
"I'm sorry. Can't touch…", she stuttered.
The General blanched; Elanor only shied away from contact when the pain became too much. This blasted potion had not worked, and no matter how soothing he willed his Feä to be, he was starting to panic. His blue eyes frantically searched for Elrond.
"I can't do this," Elanor groaned. "Take her out, but leave me out of this. I want to go home."
"You are strong, Lady Elanor, you will manage," Elrond soothed.
"Shut up. You have no idea how it feels, to be split from the inside. So spare me the plati… ugh!"
The cutting retort was interrupted by a spasm, and Elanor fell silent. Glorfindel might have laughed at Elrond's open mouth if he had not been so worried. As it was, he decided to lay in front of his wife: if he couldn't touch her, he would keep eye contact to support her.
"Come, love," he heard Celebrían say. "She's right. Let's give her a few minutes. It shall be time soon enough."
Not soon enough.
Glorfindel watched, helpless, tears stream down Elanor's face. His fingers hovered over her cheeks, brushing the pearly liquid away.
"Thank you," he whispered to his whimpering wife. "Thank you for being here, for gifting me with this miracle."
Red strands clung to her skin, crimson lines darkened by sweat that he longed to brush away. Her eyes snapped open, mouth twisted in agony as another contraction hit. And then, to his greatest despair, she started sobbing.
"I wanted an epidural, and a good hospital. I wanted… a baby shower, and modern diapers, and a washing machine…"
Her list went on, interrupted by long silences when she rode the pain. Tears ran like little rivers as she listed all the things she'd had to give up to cross between worlds, to find him here. And he could only thank her, over and over, for the sacrifice she'd made.
"And I wanted… I wanted you, more than anything else in this blasted world. I would have joined you in Mordor, you know, just to be with you again."
His vision blurred, and he blinked tears away, reach for her hand. She grabbed it like a lifeline, squeezing his bones until he felt the pain acutely.
"I am here, at last. And I am sorry it took so long."
She nodded, scrunching her eyes again as another contraction hit.
"How long, my light? How long for you ?" she murmured.
He breathed out, the weight of all those years suddenly settling on his shoulders.
"Four thousand, five centuries and a few years. Give or take."
Elanor gasped, her eyes flying open, the number unfathomable to a former human. Suddenly, she brought his hand to her mouth and pressed it against her lips. Her breath itched… then stopped. Cold dread snaked around his lungs like a vice and he bolted upright.
"Elrond !", he called, his voice frantic. "She's not breathing !"
Both the healer and his wife scurried back, Elrond's brow tightly knit as he watched Elanor in silence. An exhale until the next pain hit her and her whole body tensed again, stealing her breath away. Grey eyes flickered with anticipation, and Elrond caught his gaze.
"It is good. Her body is pushing on its own. Get her upright, you will need to support her weight."
The next few instants were filled with grunts, harsh breaths and awe as Glorfindel eventually realised how powerful a woman's body was. She channelled so much strength as she pushed their daughter into the world with barely a groan; he could feel her trembling against him, crushing his hands as she used him as leverage. And he, battle weary and used to any kind of exertion, marvelled at the sheer power that such a tiny body could muster.
Women are magical.
He marvelled even more when Celebrían exclaimed in glee:
"Oh ! She has your hair !"
"One last push, Lady Elanor," commanded her husband.
One breath later, Elrond caught a healthy bundle in steady hands. Scooped behind his panting wife, the former general couldn't see anything more than the hem of her dress.
For a moment of eternity, time suspended in the meadow. Animals fell silent, and the whole world seemed to still. Even the breeze that caused their hair to mingle in tresses of gold and crimson seemed milder.
Silence. Shouldn't she cry ?
There was no wail, but the smile that lit Elrond's face was so hopeful, so incredulous that Glorfindel allowed his worry to ebb. Celebrían grabbed his own cloak, spun with gold, and wrapped the tiny figure inside, mindful of the cord still attached to his mother. Then, she handed the baby to Elanor's outstretched arms, tears shining in her eyes.
"There, mellon nin. You have done well."
Elanor's trembling hands received the baby, and Glorfindel's arms surrounded them both, locking them in a safe embrace as he, too, relaxed. Thin, golden strands shone like the sun in the evening light, a faint hue of red colouring the halo around their daughter's head. A little button nose scrunched slightly, as if she was trying to take in this new world through smell – so alike her mother. Then her eyes opened wide, and the world stopped spinning.
Glorfindel found himself captured in the endless blue of his daughter's gaze. He knew, in this moment, that he was lost; he would do anything for her. Anything.
"Hello, little star," he rasped, tears trailing down his cheeks helplessly.
Her head moved slightly, as if trying to identify this unknown male who spoke to her as if she belonged with him. Little fingers rose from his cape, and she grasped her mother's pinky in a tight grip. But still, she didn't cry, her eyes piercing him through and through, observing the world like her mother often did. And he… he totally melted, his heart racing faster than it ever had in battle.
Glorfindel, lord of the Golden Flower, had found his master. Subjugated by his daughter's gaze, he could only kiss his wife's temple. She reclined in his arms, drawing strength from his embrace as she whispered.
"She was my light in the darkness. The present your left behind."
Is this how she had felt when she found out she was pregnant ? Glorfindel swallowed hard, stunned that such a mundane even could create such havoc in his mind.
"This is…", he started, his voice almost breaking. "The most important, the craziest thing that ever happened in my life."
Elanor twisted in his arms to catch his gaze; her eyes softened when she took in the expression of pure wonder that graced his noble features.
"Even dying ? Even falling into another world ?"
She had never seen him so dishevelled, so wonderfully panicked. He had never been more beautiful. His blue eyes locked with hers, and his inner light tore the remaining grief asunder.
"Aye," he nodded, dropping a kiss to her lips. "Even that."
She smiled then, a peaceful expression washing over her.
"Welcome home, Laurefindelë."
So, erm. You might find the end a little unrealistic. Don't. When my son was born – at home ! - he spent an hour and a half drilling us with his gaze. He didn't make a sound. It was… eerie.