Glorfindel has the patience of a saint and I certainly don't.
This chapter drove me crazy and your support keeps me going.

Credit to Marvel and Eminem/Ed Sheeran for the quotes and I still don't own anything.

To answer some questions/comments: Yes, she has a lot of names, maybe that's why I have her primarily go by Ariel (for now). She is called a half-helf because of her lineage: Elrond's great-grandfather Beren was human, but he married Lúthien, an elf, who chose to become mortal for him. The offspring coming from this family are therefore called half-elves and can all choose between a mortal or an immortal life.
This owuld therfore apply to Elrond, but also to his brother Elros (who became mortal), Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen, and Ariel

Viryóre - II

When she steps back into Rivendell, for a moment, she feels like a stranger. Her mother is gone, gone, gone, gone.
She feels small, and alone until she looks to her right side and finds that, in fact, she is not. Arwen is looking down into the valley with just as much anticipation and questions, and Ariel pulls her into her side while the brothers literally stand behind them, they protect their backs. For a moment, all just survey their realm, huddled together, very much like when they were watching Celebrían's ship leave.
Their father has already walked down, and she wonders what he will be like now, whether he will become cruel like Tywin, cold and unfeeling. Then she will have to protect Arwen from him because she promised.

She finds she has not, her father does not suddenly turn into some kind of monster, only the lines around his eyes get deeper and his smiles sadder. He is concerned, about his home and probably even the world - at least he looks as if he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Maybe she should talk to him, but they still don't really have that close kind of connection, so it is Glorfindel she goes to, even though she can see the loss of his lady has taken a toll on him as well.

They spar and she is vicious and angry and just so much better than she was before - about one and a head taller as well, and stronger, even though she still has to rely on speed to have even the least of a chance against Glorfindel. However, she finds she truly can keep up with her brothers now. Both like practicing with her because she is a challenge and because she is just as determined as them - train to hunt, to kill the orcs that hurt their mother. After her growth spurt and practice, they are evenly matched with swords, but she is even a little bit better with a bow, thanks to her Lórien education. She keeps building up her strength, because one day, she wants to be able to shoot a Lórien bow, even though she feels they are a bit inconveniently long for traveling.
She annoys Arwen into joining them, because otherwise, that girl would drown in her grief - fury is better, at least it makes you DO something.

She vaguely hears something about developments further South, close to Lórien, because there is a battle, but it doesn't truly concern the Elves. Instead, it is about the establishment of a new kingdom, of horse lords. It doesn't sound like trouble, not like the Dothraki. Lord Elrond feels the same, she thinks, at least that's what her observations tell her. The Rivendell people don't do anything, really, they stay North, support the Dúnedain, but that's about it.

One night though, when she is sitting on her favourite bridge, something unexpected rips her out of her reverie.
At first, only one person appears and she sighs quietly - Erestor, not exactly who she wanted to see. He is walking along the path into the valley, his steps light, a lot lighter than she would have expected. He always seems so serious, somewhat old, even though his face still looks young. Suddenly, trees rustle and another figure breaks out of the trees to the side. Ariel would recognize this way of walking, of almost leaping, anywhere, and her jaw drops when the figure snatches Erestor around the waist and pulls him back into his body. They must be talking, but she can't hear it, still she thinks she can hear dark laughter before the two of them disappear around a corner.
Well, seems like Glorfindel finally got his act together, she thinks. Maybe that's why the councilman looks less sullen these days.

A couple hours later, her father sits down next to her.

"Haven't we been here before?" she snarks, she simply can't help it.
"I believe we have. A long time ago."
Her father looks at her gravely.
"You have grown, and you have changed, not only on the outside. I like to believe much for the better. And I loath to ask it of you -," he stops for a moment, "because it is a dangerous path. Still, I am sure you will accept, which maybe worries me even more."
Ariel frowns. "What is it?"
"Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, has asked for an envoy to come to his palace in the Northern part of the woods. More precisely, he has asked for one of my daughters."
Her father stops and Ariel crosses her arms in front of her chest.
"He wants a match for his son, doesn't he?"
"He might, I am not sure."
"Ada, don't toy with me! Of course, he does!"
"You are nowhere near of age!"

For a moment, Ariel is taken aback. Cersei was considered of age when she was sixteen, which is almost what she is now, physically. Besides, most people only care about flowering anyway.
Ada isn't Tywin.
She has to remind herself once again.

"Nana's injury and the developments have spooked him, am I right?" she asks.
"Maybe," he answers thoughtfully, "there is certainly something there, but his own wife was killed a while ago, and he didn't ask then. So... perhaps there is something more personal at work. Perhaps the King thinks some connection would do the Prince some good."
"Then why not send my brothers?"
"I never said these were his only reasons. You and Arwen are the most eligible ellith on this side of the sea, and you know it. The two of you are everything he could wish for for his son, both in your own way. He truly might have some hope that a connection could form."
Ariel huffs.
"Since you called me - that means you want me to go? Despite your reservations? Why not perfect Arwen?"

Don't be bratty. I know you are just complaining for the sake of it.

Even in her mind, he sounds exasperated, but at least a small smile is playing around his lips. It makes her just a tiny bit proud, to be the one to drag him out of his gloom, at least for a moment.

"Darkness is rising - we cannot afford to cause conflict with our allies. Since I know, for a fact, that you want to see the world - consider that your official invitation to do so. I have talked to Lady Galadriel, but also to Glorfindel, and everyone tells me the same: You are highly trained, you can hold your own. You will be safer out there than Arwen. Besides -" he swallows -"besides, you are grieving, but you are also furious. Arwen is sad, I am afraid in her sadness she might give her heart when it isn't yet to give. You guard yours more tightly, I am not so worried about you."

It strikes her that he only calls her guarded, not heartless.

"You aren't scared I will use the opportunity for scheming?"

He sighs.

"I am sure you will use it for scheming. Actually, ruinig nín, Thranduil's court isn't Rivendell - you might need it. Mirkwood elves are..."
"Silvan, mostly. Sindar, if they are more highly ranked."
"Exactly. You have lived long enough among Sindar Elves to know how closely connected they are to nature, but Silvan Elves are even more so. They are wilder and -"
"- less civilized," Ariel interrupts, earning a dirty look from her father.
"We don't talk about our brethren like that, Ariel!"
"Doesn't make it less true, though," she mutters.

From her father's look and the time it takes him to answer, she can see he isn't quite free of prejudices either. It makes her smirk a little.

"I wouldn't say that to their face, my daughter. But I would pack your bow - they surely can teach you a thing or two about that," he tells her, "consider it a training voyage. And please, try to keep any of our current political ties intact."
"I can be diplomatic!"
"I have never seen you be diplomatic. I have seen you be rude, fussy, entitled and arrogant. Cruel, manipulative and proud. Protective and generous and caring and loyal. You long for the dawn but you have learned to live in the shadows and still you shine like spun gold. You need only look at yourself to understand the king."
"Most days I don't even understand myself," she suddenly admits.

She has no idea where that came from, but as she says it, she knows it's right. Her father only raises an eyebrow.

"You will. Your mother called you Viryóre for a reason."
"The name also is very open to interpretation," Ariel remarks.
"That it is. But I trust you will draw the right conclusions."

A heartbeat of silence passes.

"I have a friend now," Ariel blurts out and could hit herself afterward.

What is she doing, baring herself like that? Why now, and to Elrond, of all people? But he just smiles at her, truly genuinely this time.

"I am happy to hear that. Though I think your siblings would be slightly insulted you do not count them among your friends - they want to be that for you, too."

She thinks about Arwen, her easy affection, the way she almost gravitates towards her. About Elladan, the one who is maybe the most like their mother of all of the four of them, even though that gentleness is overran by resentment right now. Still, Ariel knows he tries to protect her, in a slightly clumsy way, but he tries. Elrohir is more the flighty type, but he has never not included her in any mischief, even if Elladan considered her to be too young.
Yes, maybe they are also her friends, even though she didn't realise it.
Ariel nods.

"They are, I guess." A thought strikes her. "What about Arwen? Will she stay here?"

He shakes his head.
"No, I don't think so. I think she is haunted by too many memories in Imladris, so for now, she is going to return to Lothlórien when you leave. Just for a while, time for her heart to heal. But now tell me about that friend of yours."

Ariel does, maybe one of the first truly candid conversations she has ever had with her father, and while it is not easy, it's not as hard as she has expected either. Maybe it's because she is older now, or because time away has, in fact, changed her, but she feels like they understand each other better, at least a bit. It's odd, especially since she sometimes still feels hard, roaring shards of Cersei in herself which might not exactly contrast, then at least do not totally seem to fit anymore. Well, they never have, since she was born here, she knows that.

~ 0 ~

Before they leave, Lord Elrond calls both his daughters into his study, nothing unusual, and yet, the two girls are slightly confused. It seems excessively formal for goodbyes, especially when he motions for them to join him outside on the terrasse. Here, they can overlook Imladris in the starlight, and Ariel notices it must be around midnight, perfectly between dusk and dawn. Their father turns to face them.

"My daughters, you are both to leave me, and you are going to pass through dangerous lands. I wish for you to be safe, to take care."

Arwen looked at him quizzically.
"What have you seen?"
"Too much and still too little. But enough to know dark times lay ahead."

'Gold will be their shrouds,' the thought hits Ariel unbidden, and suddenly she is back in that forest with the witch and a prophecy, a prophecy that turned out to be so right and so painful.
No, nothing good could come from prophecies.

"Don't tell me," she asks of her father.

He hums.
"I won't, not for now. One day, you will need to know. Both of you."

He pulls something from the depth of his robe, when Ariel looks more closely, she can see it is two necklaces, almost identical in design. The pendants are vaguely triangular, like a little cage of what she supposes is mithril, though in one case it shimmers silver and in the other one gold - of course, she thinks. Light is almost dripping out from the inside, or maybe it is pulsing in it like a little heart, a dusky and a dawny one. Their father hands each of the two girls one of the necklaces. far softer and friendlier than expected. Suddenly, she feels Arwen's hand on her arm. She looks at her sister and notices she is holding out her necklace towards her.

"I want you to have it, for now. Until you return."

Ariel smiles, despite herself, and nods. She can do that, it's sappy but no big deal.
It's a little bit like the necklace she gave to Myrcella once - but better not go there. As their ada fastens the chains behind their necks, the blond woman notices how odd the golden colour looks on Arwen. They have become so immersed into their status and role that the exchange truly stands out, a visible sign of a connection. She supposes the Evenstar must look quite the same on herself, but maybe that's the way it is supposed to be.

~ 0 ~

She doesn't leave Rivendell alone, Glorfindel agrees to accompany her, a worthy companion for a lady. They both know he's much more, he's also her trainer and mentor, and yes, another friend, she supposes. This is getting out of hand, Ariel thinks, she is losing her heart far too much, getting dependent on too many people - but maybe these things just tend to happen in centuries of life. It still rattles her, how peaceful this world often feels, despite the horrors that lurk around every corner.
Their swords are always in reach, just as her bow which is fixed to her back together with her quiver filled with a good amount feathered arrows.
Glorfindel only carries a dagger, he doesn't particularly like bows, but she knows he could stab any enemy before they were even able to blink. Her own smaller dagger is hidden in her high boots, a comforting weight, just in case.

They make good way on their horses, Elvish steeds of fine breeding, though while she likes hers, it isn't one she has a particular connection to.
Her companion has told her much about his hoofed companion, about the steeds he rode back in Gondolin, and she hopes he will find such a horse again - and that Arwen and Elrohir will. For her and Elladan it's less important, she supposes.

They have traveled for about a week and have yet to come across a single orc or troll, but still, it is better to be watchful. There are always guards, but for now, the two of them are sitting next to their own little fire, out of earshot of the other elves who are singing close to a lowly whispering stream. Over the last couple of days, Glorfindel has seemed a little bit out of it, lost in thought, and she decides it is the perfect time for her attack.

"So, you and Erestor? How long has that been going on?"

Glorfindel almost spits out the water he has been drinking, satisfactorily aghast, and she smirks. Ariel is fairly certain he is blushing, but then seems to steel himself.

"That depends what you mean. We have been friends for millenia."

She gives him a bit of a dirty look, because she wants the tea, now.

"How long have you been attracted to him?"
"I have known he is beautiful since I have first met him. Just like I have known that about you."
"That is not what you mean, and you know it!"

It occurs to her then that maybe he actually does not know - or he is messing with her, it's hard to say. Probably he is also a little confused because he didn't expect to have to talk with her - still his Lord's youngest daughter - about that.

"But you love him," she presses.

He tilts his head.

"I love him, yes. He has been my friend since before you were born."

Now she is getting frustrated, this isn't going anywhere. Ariel takes a deep breath, her thoughts spilling out in a torrent.

"The way Elves love - I don't understand it. don't know how to embrace it. I don't even understand what I feel. Even though I should, right? It's different and I just - I remember the way it was and it echoes in me and drowns out anything else."

Glorfindel's eyes softens, though he still seems a bit weary.

"I cannot speak for humans. But Elvish love is timeless, and what you can feel for a friend can be very close to what you feel for a romantic partner. It's a deep connection, I think it's deeper than what Men can feel. Still, for us love isn't the same as..." he stops, "it's not the same as what you would probably call passion. In fact, the mental connection is what we search for, primarily. We love with our whole beings, most love across lifetimes and most only once. The connection becomes part of who you are. Physical attraction is often part of that love, but it is not the whole of it. Elvish love encompasses mind, body, and spirit. It is a complete union, a deep understanding and acceptance of one another. Passion is a flame, but it must be nourished and tempered by mutual respect and understanding to endure. Physical ... yearning - what Men might call desire - is more like an afterthought. And usually connected to marriage only, and then to a wish for children."

"That's kind of sad," Ariel blurts out, which makes both of them first look at each other in silence, then laugh out loud.
"You are so strange, my peredhel," he tells her, looking almost boyish.
She shrugs.
"Tell me something I don't know. But -" she pauses dramatically, " that means you and Erestor don't ..."

She makes a vague gesture with her hand as she realizes she can't even express what she means. Elvish languages don't even have a term for 'fuck around', it seems, and certainly nobody told her in the Common tongue. Well, Glorfindel seems to understand anyway. Ariel also thinks that probably no elleth in the last couple of thousand years ever blurted out something like that, or even thought about something like that.

"That, my lady, is none of your business," he tells her decisively.
"No answer is also an answer. Besides, me, personally, I would like to think these kinds of ideas and rules are more ... generalized terms. I am sure there are grey zones, aren't there?"

His silence tells her there probably very much are, at least for him, and he feels at least a little bit guilty about it. She sighs and her hands clench in her lap as thoughts of Jaime, her brother and once lover, surge forward, clouding her mind with guilt and confusion. She wonders whether he was that one special case for her, such a special once-in-a-lifetime connection.

"In my former life, love was mostly... political, strategic, seldomly enduring. Never pure. It was a weapon, sweet poison, killing you slowly. It made you weak, and should be avoided - the only unavoidable love was the one of a mother towards her children. Love - it's for children."

Glorfindel studies her, his gaze compassionate yet piercing.

"Do you truly believe that?"
"I never had reaason to doubt it. There was someone. I ... for most of my life, I thought he was a part of me, my other half. But I have come to doubt that. Things were all consuming but destructive. It was everything good in my life and everything wrong. There was so much hate in it, betrayal, and manipulation."
"It sounds like you missed out on a lot then. I am sorry. Though, admittedly, here in this world, love doesn't always equal the option to marry either. Or happiness and happy endings. It's not easy, by any means."
"How do you bear the thought he might betray you? If you give so much of yourself?"
"I believe he won't. I trust he won't."
"That's what they all say. But love makes you weak. I am - well, I am much younger in this life, but in my former life, I must have been around the age you are now, as a human. I did love and I did desire and it made my life very complicated but also somewhat very easy. Because in the end, it's so, so easy - the more people you love, the weaker you are. You'll do things for them that you know you shouldn't do. You'll act the fool to make them happy, and to keep them safe. You love them, even if you know it's wrong, even if they are monsters."
"I am not sure that is true."
"Believe me, it is. It's all good until someone takes a head. Stabs a back. Burns them. Or until you let the roof fall on top of them."

It is as if a damn is broken, as if a finely crafted wall has been pierced and water that has been held back comes rushing out, ready to drown her. Now he will never look at her the same, she thinks, almost haughtily, now I am at least back to where I have always been. Alone, and fighting. To her surprise though, Glorfindel just looks curious.

"That... sounds oddly specific."
"It is, believe me. I've been a liar, a lover, a thief, and a cheater. I've killed and I've ruled and all in the name of love."

She thinks he will leave now, but instead, he gets up to walk around the fire and sit down next to her.

"I see you and Erestor, and the other elves, and it makes me realize how lost I am. I don't know how to love like that. I don't know if I ever can. And it infuriates me. I've built walls so high that even I can't see over them."

Ariel's voice cracks, her frustration and desperation evident. Memories of Jaime's betrayal and their doomed love flash through her mind, deepening her sense of despair. Glorfindel's eyes holds a gentle understanding, but there is still a bit of a challenge in them.

"From what I have heard that is not quite true. What about that young Marchwarden of yours?"
"That -" Ariel swallows. She wants to claim it didn't mean anything, but the words don't come out - because it did.

Her mentor nudges her shoulder.

"My point. And might I say, I do believe you can stand me quite well, too. Just as you do love your family, if a bit reluctantly. You worshiped your mother before you even knew what you were doing, everyone could see that. This is a new world, with new ways. Give yourself time, Ariel. You have already changed so much. Allow yourself to feel, to understand. Let the river run. You are not alone in this journey."
"Why are you so nice?"
"Because you are mine. In a way you will only ever understand when you find yours."
"Mine?"
"Yes. I don't know who they will be, that future is still hidden. But you will know when you meet them."

She scoffs.
"You just know?"
"I just know. I sometimes just know things. Just like -" he shakes his head as a memory resurfaces, "I know that when you meet them, what you do then will change the way of the world.
"No pressure. Should I maybe mention I don't have the best track record with people? Or raising children?"

Glorfindel looks at her curiously.

"You had children?"

She nods.

"Four. Lyonel. Joffrey. Myrcella. And Tommen."

Only now she notices she has started crying, sobbing out the last of the names. She hasn't spoken about them in so long, doesn't even think about them most days, even though their shadows are always with her, like clouds in her mornings. Glorfindel just pulls her closer and lets her cry, a river of tears for her children, her children whom she could so easily love, even Joffrey.

"I lost them. All three of them. It was my torture and my punishment."

He keeps holding on to her while her shoulders are shaking and she soaks his beautiful golden cloak in ugly tears and he probably glares at the other elves - at least nobody else approaches. After a time, her sobs become quieter, she is feeling tired out and heavy, but also somewhat lighter. She looks up, meeting his eyes.

"What do I do now?" she asks quietly.
"I can't speak as a parent, but I see your pain," he slowly answers, "I feel, the only thing you can do is acknowledge it and keep it floating on. You don't have to forget, but at some point, you need to forgive yourself. You got sent here for a reason. Which means this world is ready for you to try again. And try better. You are stronger and wiser than you realize. And you have many here who care for you, who will help you find your path, Viryóre."
"Is everyone now always going to pull the name-card?" she grumbles, though there isn't any heat behind her words.

Glorfindel chuckles.

"You can bet on it. We love our names and their meaning, and we put the utmost trust in our mothers and their perception. It is also a very pretty name, Viryóre Amaurëa, daughter of Imladris."
"You usually still call me Ariel, though."
"Well, you are proud enough, I don't need to call you "Cautious Changing Heart, Dawn of her Kin and Lady of Rivendell. That's quite a mouthful."

Ariel thinks that "Cersei of the House Lannister, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, Wardeness of the West and Shield of Lannisport" is even more of a mouthful. She doesn't know what to make of that thought.
Then her partner pulls on her long braid, a precaution to keep it from getting too tangled. While some (like him) might want to risk the danger of knots in their tresses, she doesn't want that, thank you, no.

"Besides, I imagine one new name is enough, and believe it or not, it is easier to scream Ariel in training than Viryóre. And I don't really see you appreciate it if I call you 'virya' in front of all of Imladris."

Despite everything, she has to snort because she truly wouldn't.

"So, you have always been Glorfindel, right?" she asks, even though she already knows.
He nods.
"Yes, it's my mother name, though back then, in Gondolin, I was called Laurefindil." He huffs. "It feels like a long time ago. It makes me feel old."
"I suppose it was a long time ago. And you are old," she points out.
"That it was. And I am."

He waits for a heartbeat.

"You were called something else, weren't you?"

Ariel snorts.

"I was called many things. But -" she bites her lip for a moment, "I didn't have many names. I only changed it once, when I got married, and even then I usually still used my former name, for several reasons, but mostly since I felt more attachment to my father's than to my husband's house."

She regards him for a moment.

"They call your house the House of the Golden Flower, mine was the House of the Lion, the House of the West. My family was just as golden as yours, all in their appearance, there was no mistaking us for anyone else."
She swallows when she notices the irony with regard to her children.
"Let me guess, the colours were red and gold?"
Ariel nods.
"How do you know?"
Glorfindel grins.
"Just a stray thought. About a girl who keeps insisting on wearing red, the most useless colour there is."

He gently plucks on her deep burgundy cloak, lined in shimmering gold. It has been a gift by him, somewhat of a parting token, and it's reversible for a more dramatic effect. She pulls on his cloak in return, it's a deep mossy green, though also lined with gold.

"From what people say you were the flashiest Elven knight of all, golden armor and golden cloak as you fought in Gondolin. So, I do think you shouldn't joke too much."
"Truly, I shouldn't. But you are fun to rile up."
"In my old world, there was a knight," she suddenly remembers, "he was called the Knight of the Flowers. He was one of the best fighters there were, educated in many different weapons, a great swordsman, and an expert jouster. He was incredibly beloved, especially by the women," she scoffs, "because he was so chivalrous and handsome. And yet, he didn't care one bit for any, I suppose." She shakes her head. "He wore an armor with vines on it, but his coat of arms, his family's coat, was a golden flower on a green background. Even your names resemble each other!"

Glorfindel laughs quietly.

"He sounds like someone I would have liked to know. What was his name?"
"Loras. Ser Loras Tyrell. He was the third son of a great family." She makes a face as she remembers the other family members . "He was - he also was a bit like my own brother. His name was -"

Her voice breaks once again, but she feels a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"One day you will tell me."

By the way: Virya- can mean change, but standing alone it also means 'fresh'.