Hey lovely readers - I alas cannot see any of your reviews for the last chapter, but from the delightfully hateful private message I just got, maybe some of them are full of abuse? I hope not. I put in a trigger warning for abortion, and if you think I write Marxist stories about murdering babies, then frankly, you don't need to read! I don't want readers who don't side with women who are being abused. I am against women being abused, and pro-healthcare - also if you don't know anything about midwifery then that's your choice. Also - yeah I am anti-monarchist. I'm British. It goes with the territory!

Increasingly Awkward Conversations between the Balrog Slayer and the Peredhel: Love

Elves in Love

Five Hundred Years Ago (circa 2,800 Second Age)
Lindon

It was an exceptionally clear day and Glorfindel could see all the way to Mithlond from his tower. But he was not interested in what lay West, for that was where he had come from, and he knew what was across the sea. His thoughts drew him to the sky, and the answers he might find there.

In the early evening, as caught up in his work as he was, it was a while before he realised could hear footsteps; someone was scaling the stairs at speed. He recognised the step and sighed. There was a long list of people that Glorfindel wished to avoid currently and naturally, the person who topped it had found him in his refuge.

"I did not think to see you here, peredhel," he said, not unkindly, as his friend's head popped out the door. Elrond smiled at him, holding a basket of bread and cheese wrapped in a cloth, a jar of olives, and a flask of water.

"I come bearing sustenance!" declared Elrond, and sat down on the flagstone floor, his back against the wall. The white tower was almost two hundred feet high and wide enough to bear Glorfindel's large and strange contraption that he called a 'telescope'.

"Quite the view," observed Elrond at length. Glorfindel was busy with his construction and only hummed in answer. "The sunset is very romantic."

Glorfindel made no reply, and Elrond was content to watch the rays of the sun cast shadows along the land.

The floor was covered in Glorfindel's many instruments, many of which he had invented himself, and a stone was sitting upon a pile of his papers where he recorded his equations. In the fresh air, the light breeze blowing his hair about, his clothes plain and rumpled; in short, he was in his element. Elrond looked over him; his mentor was somewhat of a contradiction in terms. Ill at ease with his position at court where he was pursued by ladies and ladies' mothers yet lauded for his courtliness. Grumpy and mercurial but considered merry and light due to his glimmering countenance. A consummate warrior, but an Elf much happier in a tree, or in his workshop tinkering away.

It had taken Elrond years before he realised that Glorfindel's courtly and courteous manner was an armour that he had built around him so that he didn't have to engage properly with people he did not want to. When he was younger, there was nothing more than Elrond wanted to be than completely Elvish, and he had felt shame for the parts of him that were different. He desperately copied manners, movements, and tried to think like an Elf. He had wanted to be like Gil-galad or Glorfindel, who were the two Elvish ideals of masculinity. Strong, elegant, beautiful, and wise: and both much sought after by elleths. Both were content in their long bachelorhood's, however, and Elrond was not inclined to be so solitary.

But perhaps that was their nature. Gil-galad was oddly detached, Elrond thought. As much as he loved him, he did not want to emulate that aspect of his personality. Once, in his impertinent youth, Elrond had wondered if Gil-galad was to suffer a mortal wound, he would merely touch his own blood, mutter "how interesting," in that mild mannered way of his, and then perish quite peacefully. Elrond felt everything far too much to keenly.

Whereas Glorfindel could veer from joyous to melancholy with a heartbeat. His mood swings and sudden disappearances were legendary among his friends, especially during the period after he had returned to Middle Earth. Elros would have described him, in his prosaic manner, as 'drama incarnate'. But despite his sensitivities, he was endlessly kind and loyal, and it was impossible not to love him. Elrond knew of no one more determined, or self-sacrificing. Elrond was far more comfortable with being vulnerable than Glorfindel was, but then, he had not died and been reborn.

Glorfindel was in pain, however much he hid it, and so Elrond felt a kinship to him with him. Gil-galad would sympathise, but Glorfindel understood.

Elrond knew about pain. He had suffered so much loss, and there was now something he wanted more than he had wanted anything ever before and it was not within reach. There seemed nothing he could do to get what he wanted.

And Glorfindel could get it, indeed he had all but been offered it, but he didn't want her love! In fact, unless Elrond was very much mistaken, the Balrog Slayer was horrified by this turn of events. Elrond thought it was unfair of the Valar: what exactly was he supposed to learn from this? He was already adept at patience and forbearance. And Glorfindel already had more than his fair share of admirers to contend with (avoid at all costs).

"You are very attentive to your labours," said Elrond, pointedly. Glorfindel sighed and put down his tools and shuffled over to his friend and the basket full of food. He pulled a handkerchief out of his shirt (Elrond made a mental note to copy him; somehow, he had made the everyday movement look dashing) and wiped his hands. Then, he tore into the load of bread.

"Others may be content with sundials, but not I," said the Elf lord, as a way of apology.

"The golden elf-lord who has eyes only for the stars," mused Elrond, nibbling on some olives. Glorfindel hoped he was not going to be subjected to poetry; his nerves were strained enough already. It had been a few hundred years since the younger elf had taken up sonnet writing, and he hoped that recent developments would not induce him to indulge in the activity again.

It would be more than Glorfindel could endure.

"What takes you from court?" asked Glorfindel, delicately. He did not really want to discuss the last month of festivities for the visiting party from Lothlorien, but he cared about his friend more than he disliked being uncomfortable.

"Nothing that you are not already aware of," said Elrond, blithely. Glorfindel considered flicking bread at him. Elrond was acutely self-conscious and adverse to imposing himself on others; a relic of his erratic early life, fostered by a strange coterie of Elves who had been ill-suited to look after the twins. He wished Elrond would learn to take up more room, to push when he needed to, and to assert himself more. Then, perhaps they would not be in this situation.

But perhaps that was unfair. Imposing was not Elrond's way, and Glorfindel could not fault him for his nature. Glorfindel drew strength from deep within his soul.

"Imagine I am entirely ignorant and not involved in the situation whatsoever. What would you then wish to share with your friend? How am I to ease your soul?" asked Glorfindel, a little roughly but not unkindly.

Elrond's stormy eyes met his. This was a tricky situation, Glorfindel thought, and not only was it making everyone involved miserable, but it had also become political. Politics were Gil-galad's game, and now Elrond's, but never Glorfindel's. He was bound by honour and duty to never upset a lady, however, and had thus far, been as congenial and gracious as befitted his station. But not without a cost: it was fraying his nerves. Glorfindel had found that everything has its cost.

His friendship with the precocious half-Elf was one of his most important, however, and there was nothing he would not do for Elrond. If Elrond wished to speak to him, he would hear it, even if it were on a subject that would cause pain.

"I am not the diplomatic nightmare Gil-galad seems to think I am," Glorfindel said, softly. "If you have any wish to speak openly to me as a friend, or to ask my opinion of anything that you may have in contemplation – as a friend, indeed, you may command me. I will hear whatever you like. I will tell you exactly what I think. And I believe, I truly believe that we will weather this."

Glorfindel reached out and clasped Elrond's shoulder.

"Gil-galad said that. He said that all the pieces will fall into place eventually," said Elrond, softly.

"Suitably vague, even for our enigmatic high king," muttered Glorfindel. He wished Gil-galad had some practical advice for this situation. Somehow, despite being in charge, Gil-galad rarely had any practical advice. He mostly laughed at people and said something enigmatic and then the course of action just revealed itself. It was very unfair, Glorfindel always thought.

Elrond smiled at him.

"Last night, I had a dream of a child… of a daughter. My daughter. She had her clear cerulean eyes and my long dark hair," said Elrond, wondrously, looking at his hands.

Glorfindel resisted the urge to jump off the tall tower and throw himself into the sea. Now the half-elf was dreaming of children?

This was much, much worse than poetry.

How had it come to this? Elrond had only met her six weeks ago. But he could tell as soon as he saw his face: the half-Elf had fallen in love at first sight.

"Do all such visions of yours come to pass?" asked Glorfindel, knowing the answer, and turning back to his work. Visions were not commonplace for Elrond, but they did seem to come at pivotal moments of the young Elf's life and heralded big changes. Elrond put much stock in them.

"No," said Elrond, passing him an instrument. Glorfindel saw that he did, indeed, need it. Elrond was always good at anticipating needs. "But it gives me hope."

Much went unsaid.

"I would have her happy above all things," said the half-Elf, carefully.

"That is not and will never be in my power," the older elf told him, softly. Elrond looked up at him. "I have weathered many millennia without falling in love. I know my own heart."

"They do say that your heart isn't likely to be touched," said Elrond, lightly.

Glorfindel snorted.

"Or that you're in love with Gil-galad."

"A handsome elf as ever there was," came the sardonic reply, "I could do worse. He could do better, however."

"But the truth is that you are in love with the stars," said Elrond, now more at ease. He stretched out to lie on the floor of the tower, his arms behind his head, and looked up at the sky. "I cannot blame you, they twinkle so nicely. And they are very far away and demand nothing of you."

Glorfindel looked him askance, then returned to his telescope.

"I patiently await the day when I become acquainted with the free spirit that captures your wild heart. She will need grit, I think, and bravery. And no small amount of stubbornness."

"Is that in one of your visions?" asked Glorfindel, tersely.

"No, indeed, my visions all pertain to my doom, not yours."

Glorfindel made a dissenting noise, but Elrond didn't react. He was well used Glorfindel's grumpiness.

"Do not make this into a prophecy, then, peredhel. Between protecting the Free People of Middle Earth and attending to my duties as a lord of Lindon, I have no time for courting an elleth, and would not have you with your elusive but potent magic laying down more prophecies of the future. My list of tasks grows long," he snapped, glaring at the setting sun.

"You see love as a prison or at least, an additional duty," observed Elrond, inoffended and at ease.

"I see only duties and responsibilities that I can fulfil with my full attention and only my full attention. I was not sent back to fall in love," he snapped.

"No," agreed Elrond. "But that is why I think you will. We cannot be content with duty alone. And you are very dutiful."

"Were I to fall in love, indeed, it would be a different thing; but I have never been in love; it is not my way, or my nature; and I do not think I ever shall," said Glorfindel, who sounded uncertain even to his ears.

Elrond snorted. "I hope to know myself better by the time I am as old as you!"

Glorfindel had no answer to this but was glad that Elrond was being impertinent towards him; it denoted a rise in spirits. "Is this the only reason you have followed me to my refuge?"

"No, indeed, Gil-galad was of the opinion you might have forgotten to eat breakfast and lunch in your passion for astronomy, and so bid me bring you dinner," said Elrond.

The high king had, in his casual way, said that it was very likely that Glorfindel was falling into one of his black moods again. It was highly unfortunate that this had happened when the Lothlorien visitors were here, he had told Elrond, clearly amused, but they could not be without his presence. That was Gil-galad for: go and straighten things out between the two of you and make this slightly less awkward.

"Astrophysics," muttered Glorfindel, petulantly. He had forgotten to eat, it was true, but he was never hungry when he was distressed. He knew Gil-galad wanted them to talk things through. But it was awkward.

"He does ask that you return for the festivities, for your absence was missed greatly at the archery contest yesterday afternoon. And Lord Celeborn wishes to talk to you about King Orophin. He says that he is… alarmingly volatile."

Glorfindel made no reply. There was nothing he disliked more than athletic feats in tournaments. He considered it showing off, and trivial. War, to his mind, was no game and no prizes were won. And Orophin was volatile. But he liked to be in the midst of a battle, so Glorfindel approved of him.

There was a long pause.

"It is a hard thing to fall in love with someone for whom you know you will never be good enough," said the half-Elf, suddenly.

"Elrond," said Glorfindel, alarmed.

But Elrond had moved to look through the telescope.

"And how is daddy? Shining brightly?" asked Elrond, peering into the telescope, and moving it until he found his father. "More powerful than your last one."

Glorfindel crossed his arms, worried. How was he to explain that Elrond was good enough? But how was he to reconcile his love of Elrond with the fact that the half-Elf's ancestry may inhibit his ability to bond with an elleth? What was it to be worthy of someone?

Was love enough to conquer such obstacles? Could an elleth submit to such a relationship? Would it be worth it? What was he supposed to advise? He had never seen the allure of such a partnership, but to have only a half-bond…

He did wonder sometimes if his lack of interest in elleths would continue. Recently he had found himself in flux, changing – perhaps evolving. But there were plenty of Elves who were completely a-romantic and that was fine, normal and accepted, and not commented on. But Glorfindel's passionate nature, and the romantic note he struck in elleth, was deemed to be incompatible with a complete disinterest in love. He had not minded so much about the gossip in Gondolin.

But ever since he had returned, something was missing – something felt missing. He wasn't sure if it were the shock of death, and the trauma of the Balrog, but he knew he wasn't quite himself anymore. The problem was that the gap between dying and returning had been so long that none of his old friends remained in Middle Earth.

He wished he could talk to Idril above all people. She would laugh him out of this melancholy.

He did not want to worry his mother or sister about the matter. They had both been so glad to be reunited with him that he would do nothing to dampen it.

But there was a lingering feeling that he was missing something – or someone – and it would feel like home. Where did that notion come from, he wondered. He did not have a home anymore.

When he looked at Celebrian, he felt nothing. He could tell she was beautiful, and she seemed sweet, but she didn't hold any interest in him. She did seem to have avoided her mother's sharpness (in temper and intellect) and instead had her father's patience and forbearance. He wondered if she had inherited any of her mother's magic. He thought so: for Elrond would not be so entranced by any elleth who was not a little out of the ordinary.

He didn't know what romantic love or desire felt like, but he thought it must be a great need, and a tenderness of feeling. All he wanted to do when he saw Celebrian was run in the opposite direction. And he saw such adoration in her eyes. But it was not for him – it was for who everyone insisted on thinking of him as. The returned hero. The triumphant martyr. It made him so angry he wanted to scream.

"Elrond, I want you to know that it is not me she admires, it is but a shadow," he began.

"There are many elleth that admire you," said Elrond, who was clearly a little envious.

"They think me fearless. But true bravery does not mean the absence of fear. They do not really admire me; they admire who they think a hero should be. They would not like me so much if they knew I was often riddled with doubt and fear. And I do not want to be worshipped, Elrond.

"I wouldn't mind being worshipped," came the smiling response.

"Dearest friend, you are good enough. I wish she could see it. Perhaps she will in time. In truth, I don't understand these things at all."

"There is little hope. I know I am not worthy…"

"You are many things, Elrond, but lacking in worth is not one of them," said Glorfindel, downing his tools and looking at his friend, concerned.

"It is unlikely I will be able to bond with an elleth, Glor. I know that. She knows that. Galadriel knows that and will never approve."

"Galadriel may have forgotten that her actions have not always bee approved of," said Glorfindel, darkly.

"Indeed, that is always the way of it. May I never grow so old to become a hypocrite and disapprove of the choices my children might make."

"How is it different? How do you know it's love?" asked Glorfindel, curiously.

"Different than my liaisons with women, you mean? That is a good question," mused Elrond. Glorfindel had never approved, or even understood, of the lovers Elrond took from time to time. He had chosen to stand amongst the Elves – so what was his fascination with human women? "Perhaps it is a matter of validation."

"That you have chosen an Elven princess as your would-be bride?"

"Nay," said Elrond, and explained. He had pursued women because he had been drawn to them, but also because he wanted to feel wanted, and needed, and desired. But this was different, he told his friend. "It's true I want her affection, and love, but I desire more for her to be happy. For Celebrian to have all that she wants and needs."

Unfortunately, what she wanted seemed to be Glorfindel. Both were thinking it, but neither said it.

Glorfindel thought that on one level, it would make sense for him to marry Celebrian – and that was part of the reason Galadriel was pushing it so fervently. They were both from noble houses. She was the daughter of a strong ruler but was soft herself (so unlike her mother) so would need a protector. Glorfindel admitted that he probably needed someone to make talking to other people more palatable. He had returned from death and needed, although he did not want to admit it, emotional support. Celebrian would excel in that, he thought, morosely. Together, they would be what Erestor called "a power couple". Whereas Elrond, whose upbringing was so chaotic that Elros had run to the world of Men and insisted on strict rules on Numenor and found a wife and begot many children, and driven Elrond into the wild. He had travelled far, done all manner of strange things, and befriended the oddest creatures. He had a wildness in his blood, and a wanderlust. He was an exceptional swordsman, but preferred healing – which was not considered a pursuit of Elf-lords. He preferred Sindarin to Quenya. He delighted in confusing people. The half-Elf defied convention so blithely that Glorfindel had half-imagined he would marry a pirate queen. However, that would be too obvious. Perhaps it was unconventional for Elrond to fall in love with a sweet-tempered Elven princess. It was so out of character that it was in character.

Did that mean that Glorfindel would fall in love with the pirate queen instead? It was more likely than giving his heart to any sweet-tempered elleth. How Idril would laugh at the thought.

"You will have to practice patience," said Glorfindel. Elrond rolled his eyes; he was far more patient than Glorfindel was. "Will you speak to her?"

"No. I do not want to cause her pain."

"I wish you would. I think you should."

Glorfindel thought that Celebrian had an open heart and would at least consider Elrond if she but knew that he was besotted with her. He was sure that any spark Celebrian had for him had been fanned by Galadriel. He could see she had a tender heart, and he also knew that Galadriel was trying to wear him down.

The same tactics he had used on the Balrog.

Unfortunately, he had been forced into spending a lot of time with Celebrian. Court conventions dictated that as the highest-born unmarried elleth, he must lead her onto the dancefloor at the various balls that had been thrown. He also had to escort her about Lindon. Since he had been sent back, Glorfindel found he disliked crowds, disliked conversing with people he didn't know, and wanted to be alone most of the time. He knew his friends covered up his disappearances, as they called them (his sister referred to it as 'running away' which he disliked excessively but was, on the whole, rather accurate). He tried to involved Elrond in any conversation and activity he had with her, but Galadriel kept pulling the half-Elf away to discuss 'the situation' as they kept referring to the threat of war. At least, Glorfindel thought, Elrond was getting to know his future in-laws.

Glorfindel was sure that Celebrian had no idea that Elrond had taken so much notice of her. Glorfindel was sure that Galadriel knew exactly how much noticed Elrond had taken of Celebrian. Glorfindel suspected Celeborn knew exactly how this situation would play out and was watching with much amusement.

After all, Galadriel could see things, but Celeborn was wise. And there was a glint in his eyes that said Celeborn was enjoying his discomfort. And who said that confrontation was the best answer? Perhaps being patient was the way to go. If Gil-galad thought that all the pieces would fall into place, he was probably right. Gil-galad was usually right, which Glorfindel found fairly irritating.

"As you said, I must practice patience," said Elrond. "I want to meet my daughter."

Ai, thought Glorfindel, and there's the other thing that comes of falling in love and bonding – children. He could see Elrond as a father. He would be attentive and nurture his children. They would have everything that they wanted and needed (unlike Elros and Elrond) and most importantly, they would have a stable childhood. But they would also have the choice. And the choice scared Glorfindel.

He didn't know how Elrond bore the loss of his brother – but he saw that he did and balanced it with remembrance. Glorfindel could barely reconcile his own death, bloody and violent and painful as it was. He did not think he could bear the loss of any of Elrond's children if they chose the path of Men. And it would be a fear of any elleth that chose to marry him. Not only was it unlikely he could bond with her, but his children would also all have the potential to choose to grow old and die – and Elrond and his wife would have to watch.

And Glorfindel, who had been sent back to (at least partly) watch over Elrond, would have to watch as well.

Glorfindel felt that only the deepest, strongest, and most stable love between parents could endure that - could endure even the possibility of that.

But Glorfindel could see that Elrond wanted children. Glorfindel felt that he did have a part to play in this, but what it was, he could not see. How did Celebrian's crush on him help matters? How was he supposed to navigate this? If part of the reason he was sent back was to guide Elrond, to help Elrond, how was he supposed to bring together the half-Elf with the object of his affection when she was infatuated with Glorfindel?

He sighed. He had to trust in the Valar. Everything would fall into place, just as Gil-galad said. Eventually.

But he could push a little, he thought.

"I will rejoin the festivities… if you ask Celebrian to dance. Just the once," said Glorfindel, seeing the horrified look on his friend's face.

"That is unfair, for she will be obliged to say yes." Elrond clearly thought dancing with him would impugn her honour.

"If I am obliged to dance with her, she is obliged to dance with you."

"I don't know why Gil-galad thinks you are so poor at diplomacy; you are adept enough at negotiating, by which I mean ruthless," muttered Elrond.

"Perhaps it's because I do away with all the flowery vagueness he deems necessary and cut straight to the chase."

"He dislikes being pinned down as much as you do. But you prefer to pin down other people. But fine, I will ask her to dance. Once. When it is appropriate."

"But you will not hint at your feelings for her?"

"No, Glor, I cannot," said Elrond, sadly. He said his goodbyes, now that the basket he had brought was empty, and Glorfindel had agreed to rejoin the festivities.

Neither one of them was particularly happy - after all, their respective happiness relied on the behaviour of a clueless she-Elf.

Well, thought Glorfindel morose, what was more Elvish than pining for the one you love without making them aware of the way you felt about them? If death was the gift of Men, failure seemed to be the gift of the Elves,. Or perhaps it was just the gift of Glorfindel. He had failed to protect his father on Helcaraxe, failed to keep Aredhel safe – the consequences of which had been far-reaching and fatal, failed to push back the orc forces at Gondolin, failed to defeat the Balrog without it killing him. And now, failed to help Elrond where he really needed it.

And, to cap it all, he was not going to have time to finish his telescope and start measuring the passing of time. Perhaps his sister would help him.

What a disaster falling in love was, Glorfindel thought, in a worse mood than before Elrond had arrived. He thought if he ever fell in love (which he still thought was unlikely) then he would manage it far, far better. Of that, at least, he was sure.

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