Story Note: Third Age 2510 Celebrían departs over Sea, a year after being waylaid by Orcs and receiving a poisoned wound. Elrond would not see her again until after TA 3021 when the bearer of Vilya finally departed Middle-earth. This story was the result of a discussion about the intervening years and what a certain golden haired Elf Lord might do to occupy himself until called upon to ride out and lend his horse to a Hobbit. Consider it AU, for the Professor himself never told us of Glorfindel's fate.

Huge thank you to Dragon Confused who first listened, encouraged and beta'd this, and to Nilmandra, who also did these things, a few years later.  This was originally written 4/03, and now I'm re-writing to the end.  Mille grazie!

Chapter I:  A Little Nudge

~*~*~

"Glorfindel." There was more than a touch of exasperation in Elrond's voice as he finally looked up from the book he was trying to read. Trying, but the incessant pacing of his friend kept distracting him. "I do not require a constant watch by you and Erestor to be certain I do nothing rash." He held up a hand as the elf opened his mouth to speak. "Don't bother denying it, old friend." Setting the book aside, he stood. "I can promise I'll do nothing impetuous, which is obviously what you two expect."

Glorfindel stopped pacing, but the frown did not leave his face. "I will not see you grieve to death, Peredhel, nor berate yourself continuously for what you could have or should have done to ..." Glorfindel sighed, running a hand through his hair. Nothing had been the same since Celebrían had departed. Tainted in soul and body by a wound that would not heal, Celebrían had sought the peace of Aman and the healing offered there. Glorfindel could not fault her for that, even if it did leave her children and husband to find their way without her.

"You may speak her name, Glorfindel." Elrond's sigh as he sat was weary. "Everyone is tip-toeing around here as though I am going to come unhinged at the mere mention of her name." Grey eyes rose to meet blue. "I miss her, yes. I suppose I shall until I sail myself and we are together again, but please...."

The plea in the tone of voice did not go unnoticed, and Glorfindel frowned to hear it.

"...do not deny me my memories of a beloved wife."

Huffing, Glorfindel sat across the table from him. "I would deny you nothing, you know that."

"I know."

Both were silent for a time, the only sounds in the room the pop and sizzle of the wood as it burned in the fireplace.

Elrond smiled suddenly, earning a suspicious look from Glorfindel. He'd not seen that particular smile in a very long time, but it spoke only of devious things. "You say you would deny me nothing."

Glorfindel frowned, golden brows drawn together over a rather testy gaze. "I've said it before. What of it?"

"You denied me that sword whilst in Orodruin. What say you of that?"

Staring at the lord of the haven as if he'd lost his mind, Glorfindel pursed a lip. "You were over-tired, over-taxed and half-mad with pain, Elrond. Slaying Isildur would have only enraged the humans and possibly embroiled us in a conflict with them." He shrugged, settling back in his chair. "The young one came to his end soon enough through his own folly. There was no reason to hasten that."

Glorfindel’s comment left Elrond to once again wonder just how much his friend truly did know of events before they unfolded. Prying information out of Glorfindel when he was in a good mood was difficult. When he was surly or stubborn one might as well go try to discern how many drops of water were carried past in the Bruinen.

"My point is you have denied me things." Elrond graced his words with an elegantly arched eyebrow and a smirk quite unbecoming for one said to be so peaceful in nature.

Shaking his head, Glorfindel reached out to trace a whorl in the wood of the table. "I try to steer you from that which would cause you pain."

"Is that why you tried to keep me from marrying Celebrían?"

A snort, and the blonde elf looked up, blue eyes twinkling. "No, that was to keep you from having Galadriel as an in-law. She is wise, but I warned you, did I not, that she is formidable?"

"Aye." Elrond shrugged, suddenly weary again. "And yet for all of her power, even she could not keep her daughter from sailing." Not adding aloud that Celebrían was now where her mother was forbidden to return, something he had no doubt greatly grieved the Lady of the Golden Wood.

Glorfindel was silent, but didn't miss the pointed look cast his direction. What he had seen before returning to life again was, at best, hazy. Half-memories that sparked to flame upon hearing the certain turn of a phrase, certainly nothing he relied on as solid warnings of a possible future.

It caused no small amount of annoyance that many looked at him, the slayer of a balrog, one of the rare elves who were returned to life in Middle-earth, as a source of divination.

As if he could say what the Valar would do?

Any who ventured such questions were met with the acerbic replies with which Glorfindel was known for. He'd pointed many towards his cousin, towards the mirror she prized so highly. Let them go to Galadriel for foretellings. He lived in the present and preferred to keep it that way. Let the future take them where it would.

He truly did not want to know the future, for if the Valar had some grand scheme to have him die valiantly a second time... No, he most certainly did NOT want to know that before hand.

Heroics were far overrated in his opinion. How many heroes had been normal people who simply did the most they could in the given situation? Ecthelion certainly would not thank him for weaving tapestries that showed him in semi-deification, or sing those blasted awful songs minstrels made up glorifying a heroic death.

The truth was it had hurt like blazes and he *still* didn't like talking about it.

Ecthelion probably wouldn't either, for that matter. How many times had his friend already heard how ironic it was for the Lord of the Fountains to drown? Glorfindel should probably be glad it wasn't a balrog bearing a huge flower-shaped sword that struck him down.

Sometimes the Valar had very wicked humours, and it never did serve to try and gain their attention. No, far better to live a life not entangled with that of the Powers. He snorted at his own folly - how likely was that given that the father of his current lord was a star?

"Go to Mithlond."

"Eh?" Called back from his mental musings, Glorfindel blinked owlishly at Elrond.

Smiling indulgently, Elrond dismissed his captain with the regal wave of a hand. "Go. I have Erestor to talk me out of any mad plans I have to walk a rope over the falls or throw myself in..."

A snort spoke volumes. If anything, Erestor's tongue was far sharper than his own. Between the three of them they suffered fools, but not entirely willingly. "I believe it was Elrohir who attempted the rope walk, and dangled there above the falls for a candlemark before his twin stopped lecturing him." Glorfindel's lips curled up at the memory. "Just as well Elladan did talk him into the safety rope."

Elrond shook his head. Sometimes it surprised him that the haven had survived his sons. "'Twas your fault you know."

"Mine?!"

The outraged expression on his friend's face was enough to encourage Elrond to continue. "Who told the twins the tales of whitewashing the towers of Gondolin, and how you and Ecthelion would walk the ropes between towers simply to outdo one another?" Glorfindel glowered at him. Though Glorfindel was the best of friends, most loyal of companions, and a formidable warrior, he had not always been the best of influences on two lively boys.

With a haughty frown Glorfindel looked away. "I didn't tell them to do so. I never advise anyone to try half the bone-head things Ecthelion and I did." He crossed his arms. "And as I recall 'twas I who typically wound up fixing whatever it was those two did."

"You," Elrond pointed a finger, "were the only one who knew how they had accomplished half their stunts!"

"Yes, yes, and you and Elros were the perfect images of innocence." Glorfindel arched an eyebrow, mouth curling upwards. "Shall we hunt up Maglor and verify it with him?"

"Stars above, no!" Elrond shook his head, rubbing his forehead. "I'm only thankful there was only you to fill their ears with tales." Storm-grey eyes twinkled in good humour. "My point, however, before you distracted me..."

Glorfindel snorted, shaking his head.

"...was I will be fine. I..." He sighed, dropping his head for a moment. "I want to go on with my life, my friend. If that means for a time pretending that I am fine,..."

"I can grant you that." Nodding, Glorfindel tilted his head. "If I hear you're moping about, however, I'll be back, and Erestor will hear of it!"

A smile quirked Elrond's lips. "Just go. Go and say hello to Bronwe and Círdan for me."

"I will." Standing, he started to turn, stopping as Elrond held up a hand.

"Glorfindel...."

"Peredhel?" Allowing his amusement to show, Glorfindel arched an eyebrow. "Did you change your mind and decide to accompany me?"

"Hardly." Gazing at his friend, Elrond chose his words carefully. "Think on your own life whilst you're there. On what you would do from now until we sail some day." He nodded in satisfaction at the annoyed scowl aimed at him. "You cannot wait upon me forever you know."

"Truly?" Said in the driest tone possible, Glorfindel swept a mocking bow. "Then I shall attempt to find something to amuse myself beyond watching over you and your kin."

"Do." Elrond nodded, suddenly very serious, and turned back to his book before the other elf could comment. "Safe journey. Give my best to everyone there."

Clearly dismissed.

With a frown of annoyance, Glorfindel nodded and pivoted, to stalk out of the library, entirely missing the curl of Elrond's mouth as he smiled.

~*~*~

TBC

Thank you for reading. :) 

In Chapter I we saw Glorfindel being told to vacate Imladris and stop badgering Elrond. Thus, we continue Glorfindel's tale of exile. Thank you, Nilmandra, for the beta!

Chapter II: Wonder as I Wander

~*~*~

"Will your brothers escort you then?"

Arwen paused from packing, grey eyes much like her father's going to the figure seated on the window box. It was amusing to her that one so renowned for his prowess on the battle field should be so comfortable in a ladies' sitting room, seated amongst the scattered bits of her outfits. It had always been thus; Glorfindel was as an uncle to her and her brothers, and nothing seemed to faze him. Then again, she'd heard tales of him refusing to hold the newborn twins for some unreasonable fear of hurting them, but she was much younger than her brothers. Her earliest memories of the golden-haired elf were of sitting in his lap, ear pressed to his chest, listening to his voice rumble in his chest. For Arwen, her father and Glorfindel had always represented security. They were rocks: steady, weathering the years with hardly a scratch, and seemingly would do so forever.

"No." Tossing aside a deep blue velvet gown, she sat on a lounge. "Will you speak to them before you leave? I worry for them, Glorfindel...and for Adar, should anything happen to them."

He nodded, frowning. "We all do, Undómiel. They are not entirely sane right now, either of them, but ..." Sighing, Glorfindel moved his feet, careful not to step on any of the gowns scattered as though a wind storm had blown into the room. "...they do not ride alone."

"Rangers?"

"Yes." His gaze lingered on Arwen, the jewel of Imladris. Was this right, letting her go, now of all times, to Lothlórien? To travel the very track that had led her mother to such suffering? "Take this." He pulled a sheath from his boot, holding it out to her. "Carry it with you at all times on the journey. I taught you to defend yourself, Undómiel, and you honed those skills on your brothers, but with them you showed mercy." He leaned forward to clasp her hand as she slowly accepted the weapon. "Orcs will not be so kind. We have sheltered you here, protected you from the harsher things of life, but I see your father's tenacity in you. Use this if you must and show no pity, Arwen."

As the larger, strong hands squeezed hers, Arwen bit her lip and looked at Glorfindel for a long moment. He had bounced her on his knee when she had been a baby, and often was worse than any when it came to protecting her from harsh things, but Glorfindel had also shown her how to shoot a bow and wield a knife. It was he who had taken her to the pells and shown her where best to strike an enemy and driven it into her head that while she was not allowed to ride out as her brothers did, she was expected to know how to defend herself and her realm if it came to that.

Arwen was no wilting daisy. "I will not suffer my naneth's fate, Glorfindel." Voice quiet she drew her hands back and pulled the dagger to examine the silver blade. Slipping the blade home in the sheath, she met Glorfindel's gaze and let the worry in her own show. "Adar will be all right, won't he?" She suddenly looked much younger, anxiety stripping away the sophisticated poise. "He's not..."

"He will be fine in time, Undómiel. He grieves, but not to death." Standing, searching for a clear path, Glorfindel leaned over to kiss her forehead. "Be wary, bright star. I know you chafe at times under our burdensome protection, but we would not lose you to the same fate as your mother."

Gazing solemnly up at him, she nodded. "I'll stay with the escort." A pert smile curved her lips. "And I have the bow Adar gave me."

She was much like her father, a fact that always reassured Glorfindel. "See that you do. Oh, and..." Bending, he picked up a blood red gown, pursing a lip as he held it up. "...you certainly will brighten the lives of the Galadrim with that."

Snatching it out of his hand, she swatted his arm. "Leave it be!" At the arched entry to the room, she plucked at his sleeve and Glorfindel stopped, turning with one eyebrow arched in a silent question. "You be careful as well, Gofi."

Huffing at the nickname the children all loved to tease him with, Glorfindel gave her a mock glare. She giggled and he capitulated, sweeping a gallant bow before leaving the room.

~*~*~

Erestor was next on his mental list of people to check on before leaving. No doubt Elrond's Chief Councilor would be thrilled to have him out of his way for a while. The raven haired, dark-eyed Noldo was organized to the smallest detail and kept the household running so smoothly everyone took him for granted.

Just as well, since Erestor was not afraid to remind everyone just how much *he* did.

It amused Glorfindel endlessly to do small things to annoy the other. In bad weather, he tromped in from the practice fields wearing muddy boots and dropped his wet cloak over the Noldo’s chair. Days he worked in the stables, he would meander into Erestor's office, smelling of horse and leaving horse hair on the gorgeous burgundy cushions of the councilor's chairs.

Erestor was delightfully predictable in his ranting.

Breezing into Erestor's office, Glorfindel picked up a stack of papers and dumped them on a low table, freeing up the chair he always took when visiting- the same one Erestor tried to keep occupied with all manner of things. Ignoring the annoyed huff, Glorfindel sat and grinned. "You'll be pleased to hear I'm leaving."

"Forever?"

Was that dismay in the dark eyes? Surely not. It was gone before he could be certain, replaced with overt relief. "Thank the Valar! I'm sure your family in Valinor will be pleased to have you home again."

"No doubt, however I'm only going to Mithlond." With nonchalant disregard for the highly polished surface of the desk before him, Glorfindel rested his boot on the edge of the desk and peered at a minute scuff before raising his gaze to Erestor's. "I know you'll miss me, but try not to schedule yourself into oblivion before I return, hmm?"

"I had no idea you cared." The sarcasm was unmistakable as Erestor leaned forward to shove the boot off his desk. "Farewell, safe journey then." He bent his head to the papers before him.

Chuckling, Glorfindel slouched deeper into his chair and didn't move. "I simply don't want to have to take over your duties when you collapse, Erestor."

The dark haired elf snorted, but didn't look up.

"Erestor, one last thing." The jesting tone was gone, and he waited until Erestor looked up. Glorfindel knew it didn't have to be said, they had long ago agreed on this task, but doing so was a gesture in trust. "I know you will watch over him but if he falls in despair --"

"Glorfindel, I assure you," the dark eyes gleamed as Erestor looked at his friend. "You will know as soon as is possible should that happen." Dipping his quill in the ink pot, he paused and arched an eyebrow. "What, still here?" The eyebrow rose higher, dark eyes widening as Glorfindel rose and bowed, before turning to leave, not even leaving the door open, but shutting it quietly.

~*~*~

Packing his saddlebags was easily done, and it was only mid-day when Glorfindel rode out of the valley. Finding the twins was a bit harder than tracking anyone down in Imladris, but he had helped train those two and knew many of their tricks. He'd rode and fought with the Rangers many times and knew best where to go looking for them, though they were like grey ghosts in the forests and not easily found.

Just at twilight, he picked up a faint trail and followed it. It led to a thick stand of old woods where a group of human men were gathered. Watching them silently for a time, Glorfindel watched as the twins slipped out of the deepening shadows, dropped down from a tree, and sauntered towards him.

"Look here, brother!" Elladan crowed, well-pleased. "Our old mentor spying on us."

"You did well." He nodded to them, approval showing in his smile. "I only spotted you as you moved into the last trees."

"I told you that was too close." Elrohir hit his twin's shoulder, earning a non-committal grunt. "What brings you out here? Boredom? Or has Adar sent you away again for pestering everyone?"

Shooting a look of mock annoyance at the younger of the two, Glorfindel shook his head. "We'd best alert your companions to my presence before they come seeking to fill me with arrows."

Elladan caught his brother's gaze and nodded. In other words, Glorfindel didn't want to talk about it yet. "They'll be happy to see you again."

Elrohir nodded, stroking the nose of Glorfindel's horse as it lipped his tunic. "It's been some time since you rode with them."

"There was much to do." And he would not leave their father's side until he deemed it safe, everyone knew that. Loyalty and honour might have sent their family this guardian, but the twins knew it was love that bound him.

As predicted, the Rangers were happy to welcome the blonde elf, introducing him to several of the younger men who had not ridden with them in previous years. It wasn't long before Glorfindel was regaling them all with a wild tale of Beleriand as they sat around the fire eating.

They traded stories, men and elves, late into the night, until some sought their bedrolls. When only the three elves were left to keep the watch, Glorfindel spoke to them in quiet Quenya. His words were for them only, and he would not have the Rangers think he was berating the younger elves if indeed any could hear him, for he spoke so softly as to carry only to the twins ears.

"Will you be gone long then?"

"I do not know as yet." Glorfindel met first one's gaze, then the others. "Your sister leaves to visit your grandparents in a day or so. It might ease your father's mind, and your grandparent's as well, if you accompanied her." He squeezed Elrohir's shoulder as the younger twin sighed. "I know it is hard, Elrohir."

"Just...being there, in Imladris, is ..." The younger elf shook his head, grey eyes almost silver in the moonlight. "Everywhere are reminders of Naneth."

Elladan moved so that his shoulder touched his twin. "We've done much to cleanse the trail between Imladris and the pass over Caradhras." He met Glorfindel's gaze, frowning. "Is Adar ordering us home?"

"No." He almost smiled at the defiance in the young elf’s gaze. "I only wanted to find you and let you know about your sister, Adi."

Nodding, mouth still a touch surly, Elladan relaxed his tense shoulders. "We could accompany her."

"And see Daernaneth and Daeradar again?" Elrohir nodded slowly. "It might be a comfort to them as well."

It didn't surprise Glorfindel when Elladan simply shrugged. The twins looked identical to those who did not know them, but for all their similarities they were very different. Elrohir had always been far more sensitive to emotions, tempering his fiery brother. "We'll return to escort sister at dawn."

"And where do you go, Gofi?" Elrohir's smile was teasing. "Going to while away some time in Mithlond?"

Elladan snorted, joining in the teasing. "Why don't you just ask her to stay in Imladris and save all the jaunting to Mithlond?" He pretended to consider the thought, ignoring the glare pinned on him. "Then again, seeing the real you might be entirely too shocking..."

"Oh, no..." Glorfindel turned them with a hand on their shoulders, giving each a push forward. "My personal life is not up for discussion, younglings, and most certainly not when on watch."

"Right." Snorting, Elladan nodded to his brother, and drifted into the forest.

"Send her my greetings, Gofi." With a wink, Elrohir disappeared in the opposite direction of his brother, leaving the elda alone.

Shaking his head, Glorfindel took up the third direction, melting quickly into the silence of the dark woods.

~*~*~

"That's the fourth one washed up in a ten-day period."

Bronwe knelt next to Círdan, reaching out to stroke the grey and black feathers of the dead bird. She shook her head as she examined the carcass. "I don't see any wounds, nor broken bones."

"It was a young bird." Gazing out at the ocean he loved so deeply, the shipwright shook his head, silver hair catching to float on the breeze. "What is killing them?"

"You've not found any seals?" Wiping her hands in the sand and dusting them together, the healer sighed. "Could a group of whales have wandered into the Gulf again?"

"No seals this far from the quays and dunes, and no...I've not seen any whales except in the open sea." Standing, Círdan pursed a lip. "Be careful, Bronwe. If some illness is killing these creatures we might not have to worry...."

She nodded. "But my human patients would not fare as well. I will."

"Let me know if you see or sense anything odd, or if anyone comes to you with strange stories." Frowning, the lord of the Grey Havens stroked his beard.

Shivering as the breeze puffed against her, Bronwe rubbed her arms. "Should we warn the men at least? Not to eat the fish?" The plague, though it had been nearly a millennium ago as humans counted time, was still vivid in her mind. Too many had died throughout Eriador, and she would not see it happen again for a lack of warning.

Círdan shook his head. "No...we don't want to alarm them needlessly and fisher folk are already superstitious enough." He stretched his senses out, trying to discern if there was illness in the waters of the gulf. "I sense nothing amiss."

"I need to get back." Leaning forward to place a quick kiss on the ancient elf's cheek, she squeezed his arm. "Glorfindel sent word that he's coming for a visit."

"Oh?" Silver eyes twinkling in amusement now, he titled his head. "And you dressed in one of your oldest gowns?" Tsk'ing, he sighed, pretending to ignore her indignant stare. "Bronweya, if you truly want to impress the lad..."

"Stop right there." Bronwe rolled her eyes, well aware that one of Círdan's favourite games was to tease her about eligible males. "How long have I known him? Haven't we been but friends the entire time?"

"Child...." Now he chuckled, lifting a hand to stroke back a lock of nut brown hair. "How long ago did you and Arantar break your betrothal? And since then..." Círdan sighed, seeing that she was not going to listen. "Let me know when he arrives. It will be good to see him again."

With a nod, and a half-hearted smile, she turned and walked back up the beach, towards the wooden walks that led back into the haven.

~*~*~

Bronwe had just returned from gathering herbs and roots in the forest when she heard the shouting. It was coming from near the market where the fishermen sold their catch every day. A small group of humans and several elves had gathered, staring at the dunes just beyond the wooden walkways. Not far from the dunes the trees grew large and the forest deepened. Often the seals came close to the market, attracted by the smell of fish. Usually they were content to sun themselves near the dunes and rocks, ignoring the humans.

Unless they were offered food.

"It's there! It bit my son and went back in!"

"They normally are happy to be left alone, on the shore of the sea. Are you certain the boy did not try to touch or feed it?"

Walking over to stand next to the elf speaking, Bronwe saw a young boy huddled against the skirts of the woman who had shouted. He was holding his bleeding hand to his chest, and whimpering. "What happened?" Speaking quietly, she met the woman's angry gaze.

"A seal bit my son. Damrod was just curious and knew no better. He only wanted to see it closer, but he did not touch it!" The mother glared at the two elven marchwardens.

"May I see?" At a nod from the mother, Bronwe knelt, smiling softly at the boy. She spoke quietly, but loud enough to for the child to hear as the crowd continued to speak to the other elves. "Were you curious about how its skin felt, Damrod?"

The child nodded, sniffing.

"I see it." Failon glanced at his companion. Both were Silvan, fair of hair and eyes, and often patrolled this side of the city so near their beloved woods. "It does not look well."

Thalos spread his hands. "Milady, the animal is most likely sick. It has not retreated to the sea and is alone."

A low growl and rustling from the tall sea grass near the dunes drew everyone's attention back to the creature. It was making odd gurgling noises and lay on its side, making no effort to get back to the sea. Failon grimaced and moved forward, singing softly.

"What will they do to it?" Damrod bit his lip, tentatively holding out his hand to the healer. He knew her from a previous visit when he'd fallen from a tree and broken his arm. She was gentle and had made it stop hurting. "Will they kill it?" He'd seen a horse killed once when it had broken a leg.

Bronwe glanced at Failon who was still singing softly, quieting the sick creature which began to moan piteously. The sound was wrenching, reminding the elves that darkness was ever spreading over the lands that had once known no blight. "I think they must, Damron, so that it will not suffer or bite anyone else." The animal was already too sick to be helped, she could see that as Failon moved suddenly, holding the seal's head and twisting up and to the side, hard and fast. The creature didn't even blink or gasp, but fell slack as the elf gently laid its body on the ground.

"I am sorry." Failon looked up at the crowd, eyes sad. "He was quite ill and could not return to the sea." He ran a hand down the seal's body. "It feels as though he might have been thrown against the rocks. Perhaps by the high tides during our last storm."

"Or a whale hunting it." Thalos turned to the healer. "Bronwe, you'll treat the child?"

Bronwe nodded, meeting the mother's worried gaze. "If you'll come with me?"

"Nana..." The boy, trembling now, reached for his mother. "You won't let them snap my neck, will you?"

"Damron!" Scooping her son up with a forced smile, the mother cuddled him close. Her gaze went to the healer, who now stood. "Of course not."

Bronwe nodded, meeting the frightened gaze. "We'll need to wash it out and wrap the wound, but I believe he'll be fine."

"We'll take care of this." Failon nodded as they passed and his companion shrugged.

"That's all, my good people. Let's get back to business!" A city guard, dressed in a dark blue uniform, made a shooing gesture. "Go on, let the wardens do their job and get back to yours, eh?"

~*~*~

Winter had yet to release the land and it was chilly, a breeze blowing in off the ocean, carrying with it a thick bank of dense fog that crept in over the hills and trees. Bronwe walked through the garden behind her cottage to the ancient pines that stood as silent sentinels, smiling at the fog swirling around her. Leaning against one of the trees, she sighed, and looked up.

It was too foggy to see the stars from the ground, but up in the boughs....

With hardly a thought, she leaped up, grabbed the lowest branch and was soon high up in the branches, comfortably seated on a limb, leaning against the trunk. The view here was always spectacular, and she sighed in contentment, watching the fog slowly creep up the coastline, obscuring the gulf in a blanket of silvery grey.

Lifting her eyes to the stars, the healer relaxed and let her mind wander, safe in the embrace of the old pine.

~*~*~

TBC

Thank you for reading! :)

When we last left our heroes, Glorfindel was attempting to avoid being a pincushion for Ranger arrows, the twins were thinking over a lot of things, and odd events were happening in Mithlond.  Nilmandra, thank you for the beta and encouragement!

Chapter III:  Where to Go From Here

~*~*~

"You ride by yourself?" Elladan pushed his horse's head aside as it turned to nuzzle him, obligingly scratching under its chin. "I realize you are able, Glorfindel, but the orc tribes have been virulent this season."

"How many times have you told us not to let our arrogance lead us to our deaths?" Elrohir ducked under his mount's neck to quirk an eyebrow at Glorfindel.

Shaking his head at being chided by elflings whose father had not even been born when he first walked Middle-earth, Glorfindel finished fastening the saddlebag and turned to face them. "I will be wary, trust me. When am I not?" Seeing the stubborn expressions so much like that of their father, he chuckled. "It is not arrogance that I ride alone, it is confidence. I have ages of experience you know."

"Yes, and Adar has said it made you cocky in the past." Elladan, never one to back down, crossed his arms and stared at his former teacher. "Ride with the Rangers, they're going towards the Shire at any rate. It is on your way."

"And if you are attacked you'll have back up." Elrohir nodded, taking up the argument where his twin left off. "These orcs have not been as stupid as they were in the past, Glorfindel. They know the terrain, and use it best to their advantage." Stepping forward as the elda opened his mouth, Elrohir placed a hand on his arm. "Please, Gofi. We lost Nana to them. We would not see any more of our family lost."

Elladan nodded. "And I doubt Námo wants to see you in his halls again so soon." He smirked at the frown aimed at him. "Imagine what Ecthelion would say were you killed this time by something so mundane as an orc."

Glorfindel stared at Elladan a long moment, his ire with the taunts disappearing as he discerned the concern that prompted them. Finally he laughed, and reached out to clasp each twin briefly. "I'll wait and ride with the Dúnedain so you two don't fret yourselves to bits."

Almost as one, the twins swung up on their horses. Elladan lifted his bow in a salute as they wheeled their horses and rode into the murky light of dawn just breaking over the trees.

Smiling to himself, Glorfindel stroked his horse's neck as he listened to the sounds of the Rangers readying themselves to ride out. He loved those twin rascals, despite the silver strands he always claimed they gave him and regardless that none could find any such shade in his hair.

Elrond's words came back to him and he sighed. He had been sent back with rather murky instructions, typical of the Valar, and sometimes wondered precisely what they would think of the life he had made for himself. In no hurry to find out however, Glorfindel swung lightly into the saddle and kneed his horse towards the Dúnedain. Time to let them know their unexpected visitor would be riding with them for a time.

~*~*~

"Milord?" Erestor hesitated in the arched entry, uncertain whether Elrond wanted company or solitude. It was hard to tell these days, harder than before... The councilor almost sighed, but Elrond looked up just then, grey eyes dark with the melancholy that haunted him almost ceaselessly.

"Hmm? Oh,...Erestor." Blinking once, as if clearing his gaze, the haven lord offered a weary smile. "Come and join me."

Pleased at both the company and hoping he could distract Elrond, Erestor entered and settled in the chair opposite his lord's. The fire was warm, the flames somehow comforting, even as the chill air of night drifted in the open arched doors and windows.

It was something that had at first shocked Erestor; building without closing out the elements at least in the height of winter? But no, Elrond had wanted the rooms of his haven to always be full of fresh air, open to all breezes that tickled past the trees to tease the elves' hair.

He'd protested, imagining no small armies of insects, animals, snow, rain and leaves entering, unhindered. His own birth-home, now lost to the ravages of Sauron and his armies of orcs, had seen a great deal of snow during winter, close as it was to the higher mountain ranges. Valleys were deep, and must surely fill with snow!

Ah...youth. Erestor smiled, staring into the flames. He'd been young then, much younger. Still grieving, sharp-tongued in his anger, and pain at losing his family and home in Eregion. Even so, he had not wanted to stay in Mithlond where the High King ruled. The same king who had left so many to the mercies of Sauron, regardless that the smiths had been fooled.

None of them deserved the black hoards that swarmed from the hills, cutting down infant, female and male alike. Help had finally come, Elrond and the armies of the king.... Too late.

Elrond had offered them an alternative - a new haven he was founding for wounded to come and find healing. A sanctuary for all who might seek and find it. Erestor had followed...and never once looked back.

During the building of the haven, Erestor had protested against the open designs. How could they possibly defend against any enemy? How could they keep things that were best left outside...outside?

That was the last time he had underestimated Elrond.

In Ost-in-Edhil, Erestor had seen the great smiths at work, the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, and been in awe of what they could craft from mere metal. Designs that nearly breathed, flowed, took on a life of their own.

In Imladris, he had beheld another sort of Elven craft at work, one more foreign to the Noldor. Here, there were more Sindar, and a handful of Silvan, quiet folk who wrought wonders in wood and seemed able to nearly become one with their beloved forests. They had shown the secrets of blending Elven will with the forests, until the haven almost breathed it was so alive.

Such was Lothlórien, or so he had heard. He'd yet to make a trip there, but someday....

"Where do you wander tonight, friend?" Elrond's smile was relaxed as he held out a half-filled glass of wine.

Accepting it with a nod of thanks, Erestor drew in a deep breath, letting the delicate aroma of the wine tease his senses. "The beginnings of Imladris."

"Indeed?" Arching an eyebrow, Elrond stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. A slight smile lifted the melancholy from his expression. "And what takes you back to those early days?"

Gesturing to the openings where the dark forms of trees danced against the brilliance of the stars, Erestor quirked a smile. "The chill in the air, actually. I thought we would all wake to find ourselves covered in snow and wild creatures."

Elrond nodded, gaze tracking the path of the brightest star for a long moment. "You weren't alone in that, you know. Glorfindel had been used to encircling walls, and very thick, well-guarded ones at that." A smirk curled his lips. "The Silvans despaired of ever convincing him...until one of them happened to mention that even such defenses had not saved Gondolin."

"True." If his smile was a touch bitter, it was excusable. "The valley itself is a protection."

"Yes, as is the Ford, and the very trees around us, should such a need ever arise." Shrugging velvet-clad shoulders, Elrond pursed a lip. "Silvans are quite...unknowable in some ways. They are not given to speaking as much as the rest of us, nor are they fond of divulging their secrets." The grey eyes met the darker gaze of the councilor. "Give them the opportunity and room to work, however, and you may well see the wondrous."

Erestor nodded. "As I recall, the Silvans in Lord Thranduil's haven are fiercely protective." A rueful smile tugged at his lips as he remembered being surrounded before he could even twitch a thumb towards his sword, staring at the pale wraiths that had somehow soundlessly encircled their travelling party. "Loyal to a fault."

"Quite...once you prove you are someone worthy of that trust." Elrond smiled for his rather bookish friend. "There is something to be said for the 'primitive' clans."

He took no offense, as none was meant. Both of them were of Noldor descent, though Elrond's was such a mixed lot that it was no surprise he seemingly was related in some way to almost every major family in Middle-earth. Elrond shared Erestor's love of learning and lore. That, beyond all other things, had won him utterly to this one elf's side.

"It seems so peaceful this night." Slouching a bit in his seat, drinking the wine with deep appreciation, Erestor pretended not to notice his lord's grin as he kicked off his shoes and wiggled his toes before the fire.

"As it should be without the valley's worst troublemakers." Elrond chuckled, tempted to tell Erestor that Glorfindel had a habit of wiggling his toes exactly that way. The golden and raven-haired councilors were opposites in many ways, and yet much alike. They typically offered him views from the extreme of the other, but it granted him what he needed: balance. "My sons and Glorfindel," he clarified, seeing the politely blank expression offered to him. "Erestor, you may speak freely, my friend. I should hope you know that after so long."

Sighing, the younger elf nodded. Like everyone else in the haven, he had been the brunt of many of the twins' pranks at one time or another, and they had been sat down and made to listen to sharp lectures countless times. Elladan and Elrohir were lively, bright and had their sire's rather quirky sense of humour. Or maybe that was all Glorfindel's doing. Ai! The elda was nearly as bad at times! How could an elf who possessed so many sterling qualities also be such a contrary, insubordinate creature?

Elrond called it mischievous, tolerating it with amused affection. Erestor had, more than once, called Glorfindel treasonous, and wondered why...WHY his lord didn't send him packing. No doubt it had something to do with that re-embodiment folderol, and charm that seemed to win so many over. Not him,...oh no. He didn't miss Glorfindel tracking in mud, leaving horse hairs all over his cushions, breezing in to disrupt whatever it was he was doing.... "When will they be back?"

Was that a rather plaintive note in the councilor's voice? Suppressing a knowing smirk, Elrond offered a negligent shrug. "I suspect the twins will spend some months in Lothlórien and Glorfindel gave no time for his return." He offered a genuine smile. "I miss them too, but they'll be back soon, probably with the spring rains, and we shall bemoan the mud in the halls again."

Erestor nodded, suddenly chuckling. He lifted his glass. "To laughter and our sanity, milord." The smile it garnered made him pleased that he had done so.

"Well said, Erestor." Elrond raised his glass to clink it gently against the other. "Well said."

~*~*~

TBC after January 30th

Apologies for another short chapter -- I promise the next will be longer and more interesting now that everyone is gathered.  Thank you to Nilmandra for the beta, and for asking for more.  Thank you to you, the reader, as well! 

Chapter IV:  Mithlond

~*~*~

Healers were summoned at all hours of the day, be it dark or light. Both births, and death from age, happened most often in the earliest hours of the morning, and so as Bronwe hurriedly dressed, her sleepy mind fell into the pattern of habit. Swinging a cloak around her shoulders, grabbing a kit near the door for just such emergencies, she stared for a moment at the man who had run to fetch her. "Say again?"

"The quay, where they unload --"

Bronwe was gone without a sound before he could finish his sentence.

A summons to the quay was generally not for a cut hand or minor injury. Fishermen were a hardy folk, fiercely proud and independent by nature. They also knew how to treat anything from a hand sliced open by a gutting knife to a broken bone. Most of the men were proud of how hardy they were, and if they indeed did need a healer, they always, always found a way to make the journey themselves. Only the most serious of injuries ever necessitated a healer coming to the quay for anything other than bartering on some fresh fish or crab.

A crowd was already gathering, word spread quickly in the city, and it was easy to find which quay to go to simply by following the bobbing torches and lanterns. Círdan's voice carried over the sound of the crowd like a clear bell, and he stood on the deck of one of his own ships, addressing the people gathered. "Remain calm. We do not yet know for certainty what has happened, nor if, indeed anything. I urge you all to stay calm."

There was a near compulsion in his words, a force of will that quieted nearly all of the crying women. Bronwe slipped through the crowd to get to one person she could see laid out on the ground, a young woman and several children kneeling at her side.

"We know where they were headed, and that is where we will first look." Círdan's eyes swept the gathering, his silver eyes daring any to dispute, yet his expression was calm. "No more than five ships will join us in the search, and you will follow my lead." There was no disputing that tone of command, and it was a reminder to all that though he seldom acted as such, Círdan was Lord of the Grey Havens. His word was command in times such as these. "Organize yourselves however you determine. We will wait for you at the mouth of the gulf. Go!" Swinging down, he began barking orders to his own crew, readying the great swan ship to weigh anchor.

Bronwe nimbly dodged out of the way as the men were suddenly mobilized into action, yelling to one another as they sorted out which ships to take and who would go. Reaching the woman prostrate on the ground, she knelt. "What is wrong with her, do you know?"

"She collapsed when they said father's ship was lost." Brethil, the oldest daughter, held her mother's hand and gazed at the healer with fearful eyes. "He was due back with the rest of the fleet last night."

Bronwe nodded as she felt under the woman's chin. "When is your mother due to have her baby, child?" She ran gentle hands down the distorted abdomen, pausing to look at the girl and boy crouched there with her. They were young, so young. The boy still had his milk teeth and the round body form of a baby.

"Soon, Mistress Healer. Very soon." Tears filled the blue eyes and she reached to pull her baby brother, sitting silently next to her, closer. "Is she...?"

"I think she only fainted." Letting her senses go outward, Bronwe's eyes unfocused as she shifted her hands lower on the woman's abdomen. After a silent moment she blinked, refocusing on Brethil. "The babe's heartbeat is strong still."

"Thank the stars," breathed the girl. She looked up at several other women standing behind the healer, watching. "She's fainted."

"We need to move her away from here. How far is home?"

"My home is nearer, we can take her there." Walking around to slip a hand under the unconscious woman's shoulders, an older woman, stern of face but gentle of eye, met Bronwe's gaze. "Do ye think the babe will come for this?"

"I don't know yet." Handing her small bag to the girl, Bronwe slipped her hand under the other arm of the fallen woman, and helped lift her slowly from the ground, watching to see if there was any reaction. Only when her head lolled back and to the side did she groan in pain, and Bronwe saw then the blood matting in the dark hair. "Come, let us get her comfortable and get you children out of this cold."

They scampered after her, the small boy clutched in his sister arms. "Glows, sissy!"

Brethil shushed her brother, but didn't miss the kindly smile the healer turned on them. "She's an Elf, Gelmir. You have just never seen them at night."

"Oooh..." Sticking his thumb in his mouth, the boy held on tightly as they hurried on through the early dawn.

~*~*~

The city was strangely quiet, an eerie place to the golden haired elf riding through the streets. Mithlond was a busy city, full of human men, women and children. On a usual morning the rambling roads would be alive with women hanging washing, children laughing and playing and over there.... Glorfindel frowned at seeing the group of benches beneath the spreading old oak tree empty. There was always a group of old men there, playing chess and arguing.

Seeing a city guard walking towards him, he reined the stallion in and nodded a greeting. "Where is everyone?"

"Ah..." Sighing, the man scratched at the chest of his dark blue uniform. "Down at the docks. We lost three vessels night before last. Nary a soul saved on any of them, and all three ships gone down from the looks of things." He peered up at the elf, noting the travel-stained garb and dust on the white stallion. "On your way to the Havens, are you?"

"Thank you." Glorfindel kneed his horse forward, and soon the clopping of hooves on the cobblestones was the only sound. A dog barked nearby and several gulls flew overhead, crying loudly.

It was a short ride through Mithlond to reach Grey Havens, which truly was set apart from the city. There was a sprawl of thick woods here, and some rolling hills that tumbled down towards the ocean. The Elven haven was nestled amongst the trees, nearly blending in with the scenery, and had an entirely different, older feel to it than Mithlond.

Urging his stallion to a canter as the cobblestones stopped, Glorfindel rode towards Círdan's sprawling home overlooking the ocean. Built on a solid rock bluff jutting out from a hill, the house was built from stone, and had withstood some of the worst storms of many, many sun 'rounds. Indeed it looked as weathered as the rock it crouched on, almost as if it had grown there.

No one was there, which did not surprise him, and he led the horse down a zigzagging, narrow path down to the beach. Círdan's shipyards were near, within sight for anyone with Elven eyes, and he could hear the sounds of a gathering carried in on the wind blowing off the ocean.

The tang of the breeze made his horse snort, nudging him, nearly knocking him from the path. "Calmly, you ridiculous creature. If I fall, I'm hanging on to your reins, and you..." Stopping to turn, Glorfindel gazed into the stallion's deep brown eyes. "...are going to hear about it should I survive."

Snorting again, Nimbrethil pawed a hoof against the sand. Glorfindel tugged gently on the horse's right ear. "Great lout, you can wallow about in the sand soon enough, but for now...mind yourself."

They finally got to the bottom and the blonde elf once again swung up in the saddle, taking the horse down to the wet, packed sand, chiding the impatient stallion who wanted to flat-out run. Settling on a nice canter, they soon reached the shipyards, and Glorfindel again dismounted, leading Nimbrethil towards the crowd gathered on a long, wide pier.

Círdan was at the end of the pier, standing on a tackle box, speaking of those lost.

Three ships. That was indeed a harsh blow to the community, a great loss of life that would impact most everyone. Most of those gathered were human, but Glorfindel saw nearly a dozen elves in the crowd, heads bowed as they listened to the words spoken, honouring those lost. Even the stallion picked up on the mood, quieting and contenting himself with lipping his elf's cloak.

"We consign their souls to Ilúvatar's keeping." Turning to face the ocean, Círdan lifted three evergreen wreaths high and held them there for a moment, before tossing them into the waves.

All around him, people did the same, murmuring quiet words before sending the wreaths out. The water was soon awash with greenery that slowly, seemingly against the pull of the waves, travelled out towards the deep sea.

Glorfindel stayed put, watching as the crowd gradually began to leave, small groups of people, arms around one another, walking slowly back towards their homes.

Safe for another day.

His gaze went to two figures standing at the head of the pier still, one, with silver hair streaming in the wind, the other's hair the shade of chestnuts. She was leaning into his shoulder, and Glorfindel could hear they were speaking, but couldn't make out the words.

Círdan never showed a great deal of emotion. He was ancient, and had seen much sorrow and loss in his time, as well as great joy. Like any who endured so long, and enjoyed life yet, he took the losses as part of the natural rhythm of life. They saddened him, sometimes angered him if they were losses from foolish causes, but Círdan remained stoic most of the time. Calm, unruffled by all but the greatest storms of life.

Bronwe was a healer, and as such, another creature altogether. Glorfindel had come to know their temperaments well, after living with Elrond for so long. Elrond, who even now berated himself for not being able to heal his beloved wife. He grieved her loss, and the pain of separation. Healers felt the joys and pains of life more keenly than most, their senses far more honed. Elrond had trained Bronwe, and she held the same ideals of treating any who came to her, regardless of race.

She was feeling the strain of so much grief, Glorfindel could see it in the way she stood, shoulders curled forward, head down as if to ward off physical blows. He was walking before he consciously realized it, aware of Nimbrethil's hooves making a dull thud against the wood of the pier.

Both elves turned after he taken only several steps, facing him. He smiled wearily, dropping the stallion's reins to step forward, arms slightly open. His invitation was clear, and she did not ignore it. He had been a bulwark of strength in other times, a loyal friend who had been there to dry tears, comfort and encourage. Wrapping his arms around the slender form as Bronwe stepped into his embrace, Glorfindel could feel the tension in her, and rested his cheek against the silk of her hair as she pressed her face into his shoulder. He had been on the road with the Dúnedain for days and smelled of sweat and horse, dust and rain. She didn't seem to care, hugging him tightly as his cloak fell around her.

"Good to see you, lad." Círdan smiled a welcome as he walked slowly up to stand with them.

Nodding, Bronwe pulled back to quirk a smile at him. "Why is it we see you only in the best and worst of times, Glorfindel? Perhaps you did spend too much time in Mithrandir's company...."

Smiling at the teasing, the blonde elf arched an eyebrow. "The road leads both ways, my lady, and there are friends in Imladris who would delight to see you again." Blue eyes went to the shipwright. "You as well, old barnacle, though prying you from your ships is near impossible."

Círdan snorted, shaking his head. "Come along. I've no doubt you're weary from riding so far, and if I know you..." Humour lit the silver eyes. "You're longing for some mead and fresh bread."

Glorfindel nodded, expression one of distaste. "And a bath. Dúnedain truly have no use for such things whilst on the road."

Bronwe had already left them, scratching Nembrethil's head and speaking softly to the stallion who shoved his head against her chest. "You'll spoil him again," Glorfindel groused. "Even now he slobbers all over my best tunics and cloaks if I ignore him too long."

"Don't listen to him," Bronwe told the horse, taking the reins as they walked, the stallion falling amicably in next to her. Leaning in towards the horse, she whispered, "He's part Vanya. What do they know of animals?"

"I heard that!"

A soft laugh was his only answer, leaving Glorfindel shaking his head as they walked back to Círdan's home. It was good to know some remained constant in a world that altered seemingly all things.

~*~*~

TBC  mille grazie :)

Thank you, Nilmandra, for the beta.  All mistakes are still mine though, darnit.  

Chapter V:  The Pull of Two Worlds

~*~*~

The lure of hot water and being clean won out over food by only the smallest of margins, even though it meant lugging buckets of heated water himself, since Círdan had given the small staff he kept in his home a day free of their usual chores. It gave him, he had told Glorfindel with a smirk, time to do nothing but that which he wanted.

Stripping off his travel-stained clothing, dropping it all in a heap with his boots, Glorfindel winced as the heat of the water made his foot tingle. Oh...it was lovely though. Maybe not quite as nice as the hot springs they had in Imladris, but after days on horseback, riding in pounding, icy rain, the heat of the water was bliss.

Inching in until he was submerged to his chest, Glorfindel sighed in contentment. He gazed at the fire for a time, content to do nothing but luxuriate in the heat. A long tendril of golden hair clung to his arm as he wiped his face, and he grimaced. His hair might not appear dirty, but he could feel the dust and grime sticking to the fine, silky strands. It was his vanity, of course, that hair. In a haven like Imladris, surrounded by his darker Noldor cousins, he was a striking contrast. Though he had long left any peacock tendencies behind with his youth in Valinor, he was still vain enough to want his hair clean and shining. Sinking even lower, he wetted his head, dabbed his fingers in a paste-like goo which smelled exactly like the soap used in Imladris, and set to scrubbing himself from head to toes. He was determined to rid himself of the last of wet horse smells before he left the room.

There was a slap on the wooden entry, announcing someone was outside the bathing room and he ducked under the water, coming up sputtering slightly at the taste of soap on his lips as he slicked hair out of his face. "Enter!"

"I thought you'd want to sit and soak a bit, and knowing how fastidious you are..." Círdan set the two large containers of water down with a grunt. "I figured you'd want to do so in clean water. Don't burn yourself now." He turned to leave. "Be right back with the cooler water, so you might want to let the dirty water drain."

Amused at the thought of the Lord of the Haven tending him personally, Glorfindel found the drain plug with his toes and watched as the water began gurgling down, out of the tub. It wasn't chilly, not with the large fire burning, warming the room, and he had lost all self-conscious body shyness long ago. After several hundred years of living (and hearing it from the elders) it finally dawns on each young elf that a body is just a housing for the fëa, and though delightful, amazing in the countless varieties of beauty, strength and agility, it was only that. A body.

Time in Námo's presence had taught Glorfindel to treasure the soul and mind far more than the mere hroä, not only in himself, but others. Elves cherished beauty, both in nature and in beings, but his gaze was deeper than the mere hroä since returning from the Blessed Realm. It was very hard to hide the true nature of oneself from the Eldar, and amongst the elves, no one felt any need to do so.

He stood, slicking his hands down his chest, mulling on his thoughts. Eöl and Maeglin were sometimes accounted as evil, but he had been alive then. Had seen with his own eyes, and could only shake his head sadly and say the darkness of Morgoth tainted all of Arda, and with it, those who were bound to her. Why else had the Valar felt it necessary to sink Beleriand? The taint of Morgoth had gone too deeply into that land. Too much blood spilt, and too many dark deeds, it had touched them, every last one.

The scuff of a leather shoe alerted him of Círdan's arrival and he stepped out of the tub, walking over to pick up one of the containers of hot water. The intake of breath made him look up and arch an eyebrow.

"When did you gain that?" Círdan frowned, gesturing with a nod to his back.

"Ah." Glorfindel twisted slightly to look over his shoulder, wincing at the pull of muscle over the bruise. "Nembrethil spooked when we accidentally flushed some Shire children out of a hiding hole." Offering a rueful grin, he glanced in the tub to be certain the drain was closed and began pouring the hot water. "He chose an unfortunate place to rear and I tested the strength of a tree limb."

"It looks as though the limb won, lad." Círdan chuckled, shaking his head as he poured a small amount of cold water in the tub. "If you want I'll get some liniment from Bronwe. That looks to be a deep bruise, and it would ease the ache."

Pouring in most of the second bucket of hot water, testing it with a hand, Glorfindel climbed in and sank into the water with an appreciative sigh. Grinning at the mariner as he rested his head against the edge of the tub, he closed his eyes. "You'll spoil me yet, Círdan, and turn me into that vain court cock you claim I was in earlier Ages."

"All that gold and white gleaming as you rode out..." Snorting, shaking his head, Círdan took up the empty containers, a fond gleam in his eyes. "You were a target, Glorfindel. A large, gleaming target that screamed to be hit."

A shrug was not an eloquent answer but all Glorfindel was inclined to offer in his relaxed state. He didn't even open his eyes when, a bit later, Círdan came back in the room.

"Liniment and your saddle packs," he informed the reclining figure. "I know you're not the least bit shy of padding around without a stitch on, but let's not push Bronwe's sensibilities, eh?"

Glorfindel just snorted, and sank deeper into the water, leaving Círdan to chuckle as he walked out.

~*~*~

"...was some nets and a bit of sail. No trace of any ship. Just like they'd been sucked up and away."

Glorfindel, feet bare, wet hair gleaming again and dripping down the back of his clean tunic, padded into the kitchen, following the voices of his friends. Pushing fingers through the thick, wet gold of his hair, he smiled at the pair who looked up as he entered. "Now I feel fit to keep company with you." He settled into a chair to the left of Círdan, across the table from Bronwe and gave a longing look at the bare table. "Wasn't there some mention of food?"

Bronwe stood, waving Círdan down. "Sit and talk, I'll get it." Shaking her head and smiling, she set about putting water in the kettle and hanging it over the fire.

"How is everyone in Imladris?" Turning a wooden figure in his hands, Círdan studied his work, and went back to his carving.

It was a careful question, and Glorfindel pursed a lip, tapping a finger on the wooden surface of the table. "They are getting on with living again, learning to do so without Celebrían."

Setting a still-warm loaf of bread on the table, along with a knife, fresh butter and honey, Bronwe straightened and bit her bottom lip. "We saw the twins when they escorted their mother here." Looking down, she shook her head. "I almost did not recognize Celebrían, so worn and weary was she. I cannot imagine what it was like for..." She turned, walking to the fire, keeping her back to them.

A frown darkened the sapphire eyes as Glorfindel nodded, gaze following her. "Elrond nearly wore himself to nothing in attempting to heal her, but the wound never did fully heal. He blames himself."

Círdan shook his head as Bronwe turned, frowning. "He knows better than that." The ancient elf looked up, meeting eyes almost equally old. "He's a gifted healer, but no Vala."

"Tell him that!" Glorfindel shook his head, sending hair slithering forward over his shoulders. "Stubborn peredhel. As though that Maiar blood should allow him the miraculous."

"He's accomplished the miraculous before," Bronwe pointed out. "I can imagine the pain and frustration it caused him to be unable to help his own wife."

Glorfindel nodded, expression grim as he met her gaze. "Yes, and it rendered him largely unable to deal with the twins, who insist on attempting to rid all of the forests around Imladris of orcs, in vengeance for their mother."

"Elladan has always dealt with pain by direct action."

Círdan nodded slowly. "It can only lead to trouble though." In his eyes, as he looked up, was the deep, melancholy and wisdom of the oldest elves. "Fixing attention on one thing is never healthy."

"I know." Glorfindel bowed his head, frowning as he drummed his fingers on the table. All three of them had lived through Fëanor and his sons’ insane pursuit of the Silmarils. All of their lives had changed due to an oath and the actions taken in carrying it out.

Setting the steaming teapot down on the table and sitting, Bronwe ran her fingers over the handle of one of the thick mugs Círdan preferred over the more fine tea cups. "Elrohir might be able to temper him...once the initial pain is purged."

"That is my hope." Glorfindel met her gaze, nodding. "Elrohir has some measure of his father's healing abilities, and is not as fond of the slaughter Elladan favours for vengeance. I think he will eventually tire of the killing, and hopefully, talk Adi into returning to more sane pursuits."

"They're good boys." Círdan scowled, slicing deep into the wood in his hands. "Yet Elrond's blood was as hot as theirs when he was younger." He looked up, nodding. "Peredhil blood runs hot."

Glorfindel offered a neutral expression. "I hope you're right, but the twins have always favoured the tales of old."

"Then they must know many of those very tales ended sadly."

Smiling suddenly, Glorfindel reached out to squeeze the healer's hand. "Do not worry overly much, Bronwe. Elrond is not unaware of what they do, and keeps watch over them, as do others." He sighed. "Many of us love them as if they were our own."

She squeezed his hand and pulled free. "Enough of this, didn't you say you were famished?"

"I am!" Grinning, Glorfindel leaned forward to sniff the bread. "I only hope Círdan's hand wasn't in the making of this, or I fear we'll have either raw dough or crisped crust."

Shooting him an indignant frown, Círdan set his carving and knife down with a thump. "I'll have you know I am more than a passably good cook!" Looking from one to the other of his companions, he huffed, shaking his head at their pained expressions. "Fine. No, I didn't make it."

"Good!" Glorfindel's eyes gleamed with mirth. "Then I should very much like to have some."

Watching as he eagerly took the tea and bread offered, Bronwe chuckled in amusement as he slathered it in butter and honey, humming in happiness as he ate. "I cannot fault him for enthusiasm, Círdan." Her smile grew as the shipwright grumbled around being eaten out of pantry and home again.

Licking his fingers to catch the last of the honey that dripped off the bread, Glorfindel shrugged. "I'd volunteer to cook for you, but you know what a disaster my own efforts at cooking are as well."

"I think it best to allow Celonriel to reign in this kitchen," Bronwe murmured.

Círdan nodded, reaching for another slice of bread. "Although you're welcome to bring bread any time as well."

Settling back in her chair, watching the two males eat as though there was to be no more bread ever after, the healer smiled into her tea mug.

Glorfindel, on his third slice of bread, sat back to slowly enjoy it. He wanted to ask about the ceremony he'd seen, but decided they'd discussed enough sad topics. "I received word, before leaving Imladris, that Gildor Inglorion would be making his way to the Grey Havens before summer is upon us."

"Oh?" Círdan snorted, smiling. "Nice to have a bit of warning."

"He collects a group from here every year to travel with him." Bronwe stared into the green depths of her tea. "I hope they bring word from the coast." She had distant family members dwelling not far from Dol Amroth, in what had once been the Elven haven of Edhellond. Mostly Silvans, they were quiet folk, and not given to wandering far from their forests.

"He will." Glorfindel nodded confidently. "Gildor knows more of what goes on than anyone."

"That's why Elrond encourages him to come through every time."

"Yes, and the Exiles are a colourful lot, rather a breath of cool breeze at the end of summer. I've wandered with them before." Wry grin curling his mouth, Glorfindel nodded. "They are far more than they appear to be."

"As are most of our folk." Círdan snorted. "We get the visiting families of Men living in Mithlond, some from Gondor a time or two, and they stare at us as though we're going to disappear before their very eyes."

"We keep more and more to ourselves." Bronwe pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. "What they hear is rumour and myth, and I doubt they believe the old legends are truth." With a pert smile, she gathered her cloak from the empty chair and winked. "I'll leave you two to talk to your heart's content and go replenish my herbs."

Shaking his head as she left them, Círdan stood. "Let's go out in the sunshine. We've very few of these fine sunny days left, and rain is coming, unless my weather sense is wrong."

Glorfindel stood, following the mariner outside. "I doubt that, considering you've had how many Ages to hone them?"

"More than I care to count, lad." Raising his face to the sun, wind ruffling the silver hair of his beard, Círdan smiled, and found a pleasant patch of sun-warmed rock to settle on.

Glorfindel nodded with a grin as he sprawled on a flat stretch of grass, content to soak up the sun, listening to the breeze and the rise and fall of the waves below them.

~*~*~

"A bear, marking his territory made the claw marks, but look here." Peeling a section of loose bark back, Failon exposed a black fungus, growing in fan-like patterns and veins.

"What is that?" Bronwe grimaced, leaning closer to peer at the fungus.

"'Tis affecting the growth as well. Look how thin the foliage grows near the crown." Thalos set a hand on the trunk of the tree, above the rot, and looked up. "Did you never see anything like this in Doriath?"

Shaking her head, the healer met the marchwarden's gaze. "Not that I recall. We roamed the Region Forest, often far from Menegroth, but..." Bronwe had been young when Doriath had fallen, not even one hundred sun 'rounds. "When I was a child we stayed in Ossiriand, with Adar's kin." Gaze distant, she let her memory roam back to the earliest days of memory. "I don't remember seeing any disease like this, even then."

"Nor do I." Failon sighed. "All the trees along the shoreline are diseased in this way. We noticed they were thinning and came to investigate."

"Only when the bear marked the tree and exposed this did we see the rot." Thalos looked pained. "We should have noticed them sickening sooner."

"There are few of us in this haven." Bronwe squeezed the warden's shoulder. "And those of us here are too young to recall much of the First Age." Too many of their kin had sailed for Aman, leaving the younger elves to carry on as best they could, but they lacked the experience and knowledge their elders had possessed. Many elders had died in the fall of Doriath as well. Much had been done to preserve the knowledge, by Elrond and others, but no lore, written or spoken, could replace the living, breathing experiences of an ancient elf.

It was times like these they felt the loss of their families the most.

"We should consult with the council." Failon broke the patch of bark off, peeling a bit of the black fungus with it. "If they do not know either, then we can send this to Lothlórien. Surely Lord Celeborn will know?" He looked young and uncertain, gazing at the fungus in distaste.

Bronwe nodded, offering a slight smile. "We have Silvan kin there far older than ourselves. Lord Elrond might have information on it as well. He keeps a large library of information on such things." She missed having the elders of her own kin, even though Círdan was like family. He was Telerin, and his folk were more interested in the sea. Much as she loved the sea, and respected the Telerin heritage of her mother, Bronwe was truly Silvan at heart. When troubled, she went to the trees, to walk and sit, listening to the wind and the whispers of the pines.

"Come, let us go. We must show Lord Círdan as well." Thalos broke his companion's musings, and Bronwe nodded, walking slightly behind the two wardens, back towards the haven. If the land was sickening, that might explain the diseased animals like the seal and the dead birds, but what was causing such darkness? She shivered, hurrying to catch up with the other elves, suddenly not wanting to be alone.

~*~*~*~

The water was cold, chilling him quickly, but Glorfindel had swam in the ocean off the headlands of Taras-ness when he had first come to Middle-earth. After the absolute cold of the Helcaraxë, the waters near Vinyamar had seemed quite temperate. He had often gone to the sea, and had met and befriended a young Sinda named Ecthelion there.

Wading until the water reached his groin, the blonde elf grimaced and stopped, letting his body adjust to the temperature. Waves surged past him, breaking on the shore and he drew in a deep breath, diving forward as a large wave broke towards him.

Laughing as he broke surface, tossing his head back to clear the hair from his face, Glorfindel struck out for deeper waters. When he had lived in Mithlond, after returning from Mandos' Halls, he had swum often. Sometimes he had coaxed the King's Herald to join him, and once...only once, they had challenged one another to swim across the gulf.

It had been a weary, bedraggled pair that returned to the Palace late that night. Tide had shifted once they reached the far shore, and the drag out towards the open sea had been too hard to fight. They had walked around the gulf, back to Mithlond, each grousing at the other about what a brilliant idea it had been, but their friendship had been forged during that long trudge back. Elrond had talked of his parents, his twin, and how it had felt to be so lost during those confusing times. How Maedhros and Maglor had found them, and, though they were captives, had come to care for the boys, and they for them. How it had felt when Elros told him he was choosing to be a Man, forever sundering the twins. How he had cried the first time he had seen his father's star ship sailing in the night sky.

Glorfindel had listened and truly heard the cry of that heart. Surrounded by elves, even distant kin in Gil-galad, Elrond had felt utterly alone. The elda had made a silent vow to the stars that night as they walked; he would never see this elf, whom so much had been granted, and so much depended, ever alone again. It was a vow he had not broken in many long Ages. He had followed Elrond to the Bruinen Valley and helped him build Imladris. Later, he had helped train elves and men alike to fight, and followed Elrond with them to Orodruin. Seven long years had been spent on those barren plains, and there had been times he had hauled a protesting, weary herald and healer to bed, forcing him to lay still until the exhaustion overtook him.

He had watched over the son of Eärendil as faithfully as he had watched over the son of Idril, daughter of Turgon and Elenwë. Had he ever known how far flung the consequences of that vow to his aunt had been...would he still have made it as she lay dying, freezing to death on the grinding ice?

Impossible to say, but he did not regret it, even though it was a lonely life at times. He missed his family back in Valinor, missed the friends of his youth, and those he had made in coming to Middle-earth. His memories stretched back to the days before the sun and moon, though few were still alive who knew truly how old he was. Even in his eyes the ages did not show as they did in Galadriel's gaze. Only in the power he could summon did Glorfindel's true age show, and many attributed that to his returning from the Halls. It set him apart, made some, even elves, uncomfortable. He had paid the price for words spoken many long ages before. He knew, more than most, the power of words and oaths.

Treading water, Glorfindel looked back to shore, smiling at the sight of the swan ships bobbing next to the piers, like the toys the twins had once played with. Something brushed against his arm, tangling with his fingers, and he shook his hand, thinking it was seaweed. A burning sting startled him and he watched as a near transparent shape moved past him.

To his surpsie, he saw a second and then a third approach, and he swam backwards, wondering what the jellyfish were doing in such cold waters, especially so early in the year. A sting on his leg forced him to again change direction, and soon he stopped, turning himself in a circle. See-through, gelatinous shapes floated through the water on a tide that was drawing them to him, and he began to swim in earnest for shore. Tendril after tendril curled around his legs and arms and lashed his back and abdomen. Trained to ignore pain at need, he fixed his eyes on the shore and swam relentlessly forward. He focused his mind on Círdan's words that something was not right in the waters, but his thoughts were growing fuzzier and he was unable to focus them on anything but his need to reach land. He thought back to the twins’ words about facing Námo again. If he thought he might be embarrassed to admit a single orc had killed him, how would he admit that jellyfish had sent him back to the Halls of Waiting? Then a rush of water filled his mouth and lungs and a red haze enveloped him.

~*~*~

"Glorfindel,...hold still!"

He thrashed, eyes glassy, blinking as his lids began to swell shut. He was burning...burning! Heaviness was spreading through his limbs and he struggled, hearing a rasping noise that he belatedly realized was his own breathing. Had he died again?

"Hold him still!"

He knew that voice. Floating in a fog, he vainly tried to swim upwards, uncertain which way was even up, then felt his hand held and caught in a near painful grip. He sensed an escape opening, a way to leave the painful struggle behind and turned towards what seemed to be a door opening. Another call beckoned to him, and he hesitated, caught between the pull of two worlds.

"Listen to me, Glorfindel. Hear my voice."

Rather insistent, wasn't it? Trying to blink, to clear the fog from his vision, his other hand was taken and held. He turned blindly, mouth gaping at the solid depth of that grip, the sheer presence. Release. Peace. Healing. The fog cleared and solidified into white shores. The colours were suddenly more brilliant, the plants and trees more verdant. The blue of the water and sky were so deep he felt as if he was falling forward.

Home. If he lifted his gaze, Glorfindel knew what he would see; the mountains of his mother's people and the glory of the Valar. His heart ached with sudden longing to see her again, and to hear his father's laugh. He had seen them for such a short time before leaving last time. Somewhere on the mountain horses neighed and he smiled, easily imagining the white horses his family was so well-known for breeding.

His friends would likely be re-embodied by now as well, and it had been so long since he'd seen them. Egalmoth, Rog, Ecthelion, and their lord, Turgon. Would Elenwë be there as well? And Idril, would she be there with Tuor?

They would want to know how he had died, would want to know what had killed one who had slain a balrog. Jellyfish. Glorfindel groaned. No, he could never bear that, nor the songs the bards would sing this time around.

His view swirled and when it cleared he could see he was viewing Imladris, the sound of the waterfalls as familiar as his heartbeat. Slowly his view narrowed from the valley, to the Homely House, and finally, to a single room.

Elrond. Glorfindel recognised Elrond immediately, though his face was shrouded by a fall of long hair as he leaned over a chair, Celebrían's cloak clutched in his hands. Then Elrond sat back and Glorfindel drew in a sharp breath. Elrond's eyes were glassy, and blank. Lost in his grief, he was too pale, his eyes sunken, the light of life almost gone. Glorfindel strained to reach out to him, to speak and comfort his broken friend.

Glorfindel's hands were caught, but the vision swirled away as if blown by winds and he knew; this might come to pass. No, he could not, would not leave Elrond, no matter how his own heart yearned for his home. Imladris was home now, and would be until Elrond sailed. He had sworn to watch over Elrond, but even more, Glorfindel would not abandon his friend.

"Call him again."

A male voice, that one. He knew it...didn't he?

"Glorfindel..."

This time the pull was undeniable, as if someone of great strength had caught hold of him and was dragging him towards them.

"Hear my voice, come back to us. Come back."

He could have resisted, could have heeded Mandos' call instead, but Glorfindel turned from the comforting song that promised so much. He felt himself falling back into a body burning and painful, lungs aching to breathe against a crushing constriction. Gasping, he arched his back, struggling to pull free of the hands holding him down.

"Pour more vinegar on the stings, and if it runs out, use seawater. Don't use fresh water, whatever you do!"

Warm hands caught his face, holding his head still, and he could barely make out the blurred form of someone with dark hair kneeling above him. Energy surged into him, making him gasp again, but this brought warmth and easing of the pain with it, spreading slowly through his entire body. He felt a tingling in his lips and eyes, ears no longer feeling as though they were on fire, and he tentatively curled his fingers, surprised that the flesh no longer felt hot and so swollen he could not bend them. The ringing in his ears stopped, and he blinked, as his vision slowly cleared.

Bronwe sat back, still frowning in concern as he gaped at her. "Glorfindel?" She rested one hand on his forehead, pushing back some of the heavy hair that had fallen forward as he struggled.

"Yes?"

The healer smiled at the weak but surly tone, relieved. If he was grumpy, then he was feeling better. "Try not to move for just a few more moments, and then we'll get you back to your rooms."

"I'm fine," he snapped, though it was more a weak rasp. It was far from the commanding tone that inspired his guardsmen. Glorfindel began to curl to one side, intending to sit up and show them all that he was just fine, thank you.

Círdan snorted as Glorfindel sat up a few millimeters then slumped back to the ground, scowling fiercely. "Weak as a newborn foal, aren't you? You've been healed enough to know it takes a while to settle, lad."

Eyes as blue as the clear sky above them held the shipwright's gaze, boring into them with fierce intensity. "What happened?"

"What happened is you near scared Rimbecalimo to the Halls, crawling out of the ocean more dead than alive." Círdan's tone was caustic, but he let go the blonde elf's hand, setting it on his chest with a tap. "He ran for Bronwe, and I heard the commotion and found you laying face down in the sand."

"Jellyfish." Glorfindel grimaced. "They were all around me!"

"We can move him now. Let's get him up to the house." Bronwe rose to her knees and slowly stood as Círdan and another elf helped Glorfindel to his feet. He was none too steady, but swatted away attempts to help him. Shaking her head at the sight, Bronwe watched Glorfindel stagger in the dry sand, determined to make it up to Círdan's house on the bluff with no aide, probably still not aware or caring that he wore nary a stitch of clothing.

"And you." Círdan arched an eyebrow at her, both watching as Glorfindel's legs gave out even as he grabbed the rock face of the bluff. He sank to the sand and did not move, clearly too drained of energy to move, but too stubborn to accept help. "Are you all right?"

"Just drained." Pale and weary, she sighed. "At this rate he'll never make it. I should have left him unconscious."

"Leave him to me." With a rather feral grin, Cirdan stalked over to the blonde elf, took his arm and slung it over his own shoulders. "Lean on me, you stubborn creature! You nearly died. Again! I won't have you staggering off the path and falling to death after Bronwe went to all that trouble to save you." He gestured for another elf to take Glorfindel's other arm, and together they lifted the injured elf. "Just concentrate on breathing and be quiet."

To everyone's surprise, Glorfindel did just that.

~*~*~

TBC

 A/N:

* Jellyfish stings are not terribly serious, at least where I live. They do sting, though not on purpose, they're quite brainless, and the treatment is very simple (for the common little jellies we have here - the same can't be said everywhere). I've exaggerated it here due to the fact that poor Glorfindel swam into a entire group of them, and that...can be bad.

* Vinegar has amazing properties, is simple enough to produce, and been around for eons. I'm guessing the Elves and Men certainly had some form, either wine or apple. I was also betting any healer living in a coastal area carried vinegar, and no doubt the fishermen too had it about, as a matter of course.

* Again, thank you to all who have read and reviewed and those who read and simply enjoyed. :)

Many changes, indeed! This whole section is re-written and the story takes a different direction than it did before, and compacts several of the old chapters into one. Thank you to Nilmandra for the beta. All errors are mine though (she tried, really she did). Hope it's not too horrid!

Chapter VI: Many Changes

~*~*~

The sound of surf and cries of gulls brought him blinking to awareness, clearing the remnant of dreams from his mind, and for that first blurred moment between dreams and wakefulness, he'd thought he was in Eldamar. Half expecting to hear the voices of his mother and father, Glorfindel turned his head and saw the sun, a giant globe of fiery gold and orange, sinking into the sea, and knew this was not the ocean of his youth. The thought brought him to full awareness.

His skin was crawling with a hundred itching welts, and his hair felt stiff from the saltwater. Grunting, he shifted, scratching his shoulder against the sheets.

"Don't scratch." The chiding voice came from the other side of the bed, and he turned his head, pulling a hand from beneath the covers to rub defiantly at his shoulder.

"You might as well tell a hobbit not to eat." With a grimace, he realized his chest and arms had red wiggles of welts, fading, but still there. From the feel of it, so did the rest of his body.

"We could not bathe you until the poison was out of your body." Bronwe sat forward in the armchair, assessing his condition as he squirmed. "How do you feel?"

"Itchy." He spoke with a touch of surliness, but Glorfindel despised being incapacitated, hated the thought of being a burden. He wasn't even overly fond of healers as a rule, apart from those counted as friends, and only then so long as he wasn't in their care as a patient. Glorfindel was not an easy patient, and many of the healers in Imladris, still learning, refused to do more than assist Elrond in treating him. Fortunately for all, he was rarely in need of their care. He looked up, catching her gaze, knowing his thoughts were probably transparent. "Have you sat here with me the entire time I was sleeping?"

"Yes." She knew it was useless to remind him he'd almost died, had in fact, began to fade when they called him back. It wouldn't matter to him. He was fine now and that was the end of the event as far as he was concerned. Standing to shake out her wrinkled skirts, Bronwe looked out the window. Picking up the book she'd been reading, she arched an eyebrow. "I'll leave you to your bath. Be sure you eat, and drink plenty of water."

She was just going to leave? Glorfindel sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and stood, holding the sheet against his body. To get to the door, Bronwe would have to go around him. "Are you all right?"

"Yes."

There was nothing he could pinpoint, but though she met his gaze, there was a weary expression in the grey eyes. "You're fatigued, Bronwe. Was I so difficult a patient?"

That earned him a small smile, but she nodded. "Indeed, the worst by far."

He watched as her gaze dropped to his chest and he began scratching the red welts on his chest. "How long will these remain?"

"Another day, possibly two." Bronwe was trying to remain detached, to keep the cool appraisal of a healer with a patient, but the winding trail of red welts left on Glorfindel's skin were a visible reminder of how near he had come to dying. "There is ointment on the bedside table for them, both to reduce the itching and to help the welts fade."

He grimaced. "That long?"

It was too much. Bronwe closed the distance between them, and grabbed his hand, pulling it away from his chest. "You nearly died, Glorfindel. In fact you were fading and for a moment we did not know if you would come back!" Expression grim, she held his surprised gaze for a moment before letting go of his hand. "Don't. Scratch."

The quiet command concerned him far more than the outburst. "I'm sorry." Glorfindel wasn't even certain why he was apologizing. It wasn't as if he had deliberately swam into the jellyfish, but there was something in Bronwe's gaze that unsettled him. There was a distance that hadn't been there before, as if she was guarding against his gaze. "Bronwe --"

The deliberate scuff of leather on wood alerted them to someone approaching, and a moment later Círdan entered the room, silver eyebrow climbing higher as he looked from one elf to the other. Slowly nodding, he didn't bother to hide the concerned look. "I came to see if you were still sleeping, Glorfindel."

Bronwe plucked her cloak from the armchair and stepped around the blonde elf. "Awake and alert enough to growl at me, Círdan." Touching the shipwright's arm as she passed, she added, "Get him to eat, and see he drinks water. Water, Círdan...not mead."

"Where are you going?"

Turning at the door, expression somber, it was clear her thoughts were already moving onward. "We want to see if there is ought that can be done for the trees before we go."

"Go?" Glorfindel frowned as she walked away, turning his attention to Círdan. "Go where?"

"To Lothlórien, to consult with Celeborn about the trees." Círdan sighed. "I sent a hawk with a message this morning. They only wait upon Celeborn's reply to leave." He eyed the other elf in amusement. "Unless you plan on giving my housekeeper ideas about your intentions, you'd best get dressed."

"A bath first." Glorfindel grimaced, touching the grimy strands of his hair. "I've no intentions of seducing your housekeeper." He offered a wry grin with the last.

Círdan nodded. "Just as well. She wields a wicked broom." Turning, he began humming as he walked, leaving Glorfindel to his much desired bath.

~*~*~

The stars, shining brightly down upon the thickly wooded forest, were not the focus of attention for the three elves who walked down the shoreline as would be their normal wont. The three Silvan Elves were quiet, listening carefully to all the night had to say, from the quietly soaring owl, to the rocks near the waterline. Reaching the sickened trees, each went to wander amongst the grove, gently touching the afflicted pines. When each elf reached the limit of where the sickness dwindled and healthy trees stood, they turned to face one another. Standing in at three points, they closed their eyes and let themselves be drawn downward. Outward. It would be better accomplished with more than three, and better yet if there were Elders present, but they did what they could.

Silvan Elves had not the great power of the Eldar, for they had never seen the light of the Two Trees. Their forefathers had turned away from the Great Journey, become the Avari, and travelled instead deeper into the woods of Middle-earth. Still, there were secrets only they knew, secrets whispered to them by the trees, the rivers, the mountains. The creatures of their lands, from the Great Eagles to the Grey Wolves, also taught them lessons. All of creation was bound together, and though they had never sat at the feet of the Valar and learned from them, their instincts had sharpened them to hear the great song of Ilúvatar's creation.

They knew the darkness as well, having fled from it time and time again. They had not the power to stand against it the Eldar of Valinor wielded, but they were resourceful and cunning. Time had taught them that a subtle nudge, a silence when there were no words, could be as effective as sheer power.

Three was a small number, and these three were still considered young among their kind, but they offered themselves up, merging the part of them humans called 'magic' to that of Endor. Twining their will with that of the wild energy of nature, a bright blur of green behind their eyelids, the three bound the area as best they could. Bound the darkness, contained it and set their wills to holding it in place. It was only a net and temporary at best, but hopefully they would have an answer and cure long before the net was broken.

Failon squeezed Bronwe's shoulder as he came up on her, knowing her healer's senses would enhance the empathy they all shared. "Lord Celeborn will surely have an answer."

"Or the Lady Galadriel." Thalos sighed wearily. "There are the eldest of our kind there as well. This cannot be the first time such a thing has risen."

The healer nodded, looking up at the tree she touched, and began to softly sing. A strengthening song, of healing and light her father had taught to her when the top of her head had barely reached his waist. The other two elves joined in, wandering through the grove, touching the trees as they sang, their song not much more than a whisper upon the wind, the caress of the waves. It was not enough, not nearly as much as they desired, but would have to do for the time being.

~*~*~

Glorfindel shook his head, gazing up at the night sky, tracking the brightest star before finding familiar formations. "There was nothing specific, but darkness...aye."

"As if something were directing the creatures?"

"Maybe." Pursing a lip, he turned his attention back to the shipwright. "It was almost familiar. A touch of some old evil, mayhap..." His eyes unfocused, attention going inward as he searched through memories that stretched back long before the dawn of the sun and moon. "The touch was not malevolent. It was...unfocused. Undirected."

Círdan stroked fingers through his beard, thinking. "If it was truly evil I would have sensed it." He shook his head, annoyed with the mystery plaguing both land and beings. "How would something make its way here without gaining my attention?"

It was a fair question. Círdan was not without resources, including those of the creatures that lived in the depths of the sea. That none of them were answering him, just as the trees had no answer for the Silvan Elves, was unsettling.

"I do not know, old friend." Offering a wry smile, he traced a forefinger in a mindless pattern, drawing in the sand. "What happened whilst you and Bronwe conspired to keep me sleeping?"

Smirking, Círdan sat back. "It was that or listen to you complain about the itching all day." Ignoring Glorfindel's scowl, he stretched long legs out. "We sent word to Celeborn, and requested safe passage for a small group to travel to Caras Galadon." Pursing a lip, he added, "He'll approve, no doubt. We made certain to mention the trees."

"Wood elves," Glorfindel murmured in fond amusement. Imladris was not home to many of the quiet Silvan Elves, but those who did dwell there were well-known to him. "Who goes, then?"

"The two marchwardens who discovered the blight on the trees, and Bronwe."

"Why Bronwe?"

Amused at the question, Círdan paused a long moment. Let the stubborn elf stew a bit, it would be good for him. "They're the oldest of the Silvan in our midst, and the closest to what has happened. If I sent any of my Telerin kin they would only tell of the white rot on trees and dead birds. Celeborn will need to hear what the Silvan Elves know of the trees."

Glorfindel pursed a lip. "I cannot like it, Círdan." His eyes darkened with remembered sorrow. "The passes to Lothlórien grow darker each season, unsafe." He sighed, heart heavy. "Elladan and Elrohir do their best to purge the lands of orcs, and the Rangers toil towards that end as well, but I would not see another elf fall as Celebrían did."

"You think to go as well?"

Nodding, Glorfindel tapped a finger on his thigh. "We could pass through Imladris and see if it is something Elrond is familiar with. If not there are enough of the Imladris guard to journey on with us to Lothlórien." Slanting a gaze at the shipwright, frowning for the amusement dancing in the ancient eyes, Glorfindel snorted. "None of those three have been to the Golden Wood, have they? Or know the way? Well you know travel is not for the unwary these days, and the Lady guards her woods jealously."

Laughing, Círdan held up his hands. "I wasn't going to dissuade you, Glorfindel!" He smirked. "Though I find it interesting that you're here talking to me rather than Bronwe." Getting no response, Círdan sat back and watched the normally decisive elf fidget, almost laughing at the image. "Or am I reading more into that scene today than I should?"

An odd expression overcame Glorfindel's face. "She was upset with me."

"Upset or worried?"

"I told her I was fine and merely complained about the welts."

Shaking his head for the willful obstinate nature of some, Cirdan arched an eyebrow. "Do you realise how close we came to burying you, Glorfindel?" His answer was an impatient scowl. "It's true, stubborn creature, and you know it. Bronwe and I both were calling to you and even then it was a near thing."

"I was not ready to die yet," Glorfindel replied quietly. He met the shipwright's gaze. "I had a choice, and realised there was too much here that I had to accomplish."

"Is one of those speaking of your feelings for Bronwe?"

"Are you playing matchmaker, Círdan?"

A snort as the shipwright shook his head. "Lad, I'm only stating the obvious. If you want to pretend otherwise, that is your choice." Standing, Círdan looked at his friend a long moment. "You know better than most life is uncertain, even for we who are seen as immortal by human eyes. An unforeseen event, like Celebrían's attack, can remove us from those we love, and though we have long days on this land, they can stretch out like those seven years in Mordor. You wait, and keep her waiting, though I cannot fathom why when much happiness could be found for both of you."

"I never asked her to wait."

Círdan said nothing, but stared hard at Glorfindel until he frowned and looked away. "You're being stubborn, so I'll leave you to it. Alone." With a nod, he turned and walked down the shore, muttering loudly to himself. "Never thought I'd see the day a balrog-slayer was afraid of an elleth! Eärendil, drop something down on his head and enlighten him...both of them!"

Scowling, Glorfindel stayed where he was for a long while, though he warily watched Eärendil sail overhead. Finally he rose and brushed the sand from his clothing before turning to walk back towards the Havens.

~*~*~

The scent of roses still lingered in the air, and for a moment he expected her to step out of her rooms and glide towards him, smiling. Foolish Elf, he chided himself. She is gone, beyond the reach of any here. Gone to seek peace and healing only the Blessed Realm could offer.

Elrond walked through the room, pausing to touch the silver-handled hairbrush that still held long strands of her silver hair, glinting in the liquid half-light of the moon. His gaze drifted over the chiffonnier, wood the pale maple she had preferred. It had reminded her of her childhood home, as had the polished convex disk hung above, the silver metal decorated with Mallorn trees around the edges.

He could see her, seated there, as she had been so often, brushing out her glorious hair, smiling at him in the polished silver. Dropping his hand, Elrond turned away to look at the embroidery and dresses still sitting on a lounge where she left them.

Unfinished. So much that she would never again touch. He would not feel her touch -- small, soft hands cupping his face -- until he sailed to Aman. Closing his eyes against the ache of grief that clenched his heart, Elrond sat and pressed his face into the soft velvet she had been mending. One of her cloaks, accidentally ripped when she tripped and caught it against a railing. She had been so ashamed, so upset at the loss of her grace, the loss of what had once been but second nature to her. So weary of fighting the emptiness and pain in her body and mind.

Yes, he understood why she left, why she had to go. It made it no easier to bear. Nights were by far the worst. Night, when no one came to him with the problems of the day, no humans or dwarves stirred, seeking assistance. When the voices of the elves rose in benediction to the stars and sang of lands they longed to see. No slender form, wreathed in silver hair, to distract him, tease, and entice him away from his worries. Only his books, his people and his determination to continue to hold the ground, the peace they had here.

Only his hope that one day one of Isildur's line, the same line that carried the blood of his long passed twin, would redeem mankind and reclaim the throne. A hope that grew more dim with the passing of each Dúnedain Chieftan. It seemed to him Celebrían's leaving had taken much of the light and warmth from his life, leaving him to face the future armed only with duty and determination.

The grief would pass, Glorfindel had assured him on one of those dark nights when he had raged and ranted against the unfairness that composed so many experiences of his life. He had stood steady, compassionate gaze unwavering when Elrond had rounded on him, eyes blazing with a fury that hadn't been present since Orodruin. Oh, he had wanted to hurt someone in his rage, had lashed out, throwing himself against that immovable rock that was Glorfindel...and been met with compassion.

Who else could understand the depths of loss, of sacrifice, and know that there was, without a doubt, hope to be found on the other side? Glorfindel had let him rage, let him weep. Not once, but many times since then, and never said a word against him. He would not. That was Glorfindel. He had steadfastly stood at his side, letting Elrond grieve while he and Erestor handled the duties of the haven.

Slowly, Elrond was beginning to see he might have been right, that there might be joy again. But, oh...it still hurt, this loss.

"My Silver Queen," he whispered, stroking the soft velvet that still held her scent. Letting his gaze go distant, as if he could see all the way to the Blessed Realm by sheer dint of will.

Standing in the arched entry, Erestor turned away, bowing his head as he walked silently back towards his offices. It would keep, this bit of paperwork. His lord had long delayed this grief, presenting a strong front for his children and those who lived in the haven. Sighing, the councilor raised his eyes to the West and sent a silent prayer winging to the Valar; he has borne so much...let him find some measure of peace now.

~*~*~

Celeborn, Lord of the Golden Wood, pursed a lip as he read the parchment. "It seems we'll be receiving visitors soon."

"Milord?" Haldir, waiting patiently to be dismissed, tilted his head in an expression of mild curiosity. He ignored the impatient clucks and chirrups from the hawk perched next to him, staying far away from the bird's sharp beak.

"Your hawk was from Círdan." A slight smile graced the lord's mouth. He knew Haldir was not overly fond of the hawks sent from other havens, delivering messages. The raptors were testy and always hungry when they arrived, nipping impatiently at whichever elf they found first. "There will be a party arriving from Mithlond sometime soon." Nodding, rolling the small parchment back up, Celeborn reached out to caress the white breast of the bird. "See to this one's feeding, will you, whilst I compose a reply."

Not truly a request, nor one he could refuse. Haldir grimaced slightly, but gave a short bow. Curved talons dug into the leather bracer on his arm and he winced, careful not to jostle the hawk as he left to do as his lord requested.

Celeborn smiled in amusement at the captain of the marchwardens as he walked back to the table, sitting to gaze for a moment out at the sunshine drizzling through the golden trees. Círdan's words were brief, but hinted at growing troubles. Taking out a quill and small parchment, Celeborn thought a moment before dipping the quill into the inkwell, and begin to pen his reply.

~*~*~

No one had been at Bronwe's small cottage, and so Glorfindel had wandered down the to the beach. He walked for a while, and stopped when he came to the small stand of trees that grew almost right up to the waves. Here he saw for himself the sickened pines. Something about the area reminded him of the sickrooms in Imladris used for treating the most ill of patients, most often Rangers. There was the same miasma of an almost perceptible scent, and a sense of misery. Something else was there, at the edges of the forest. Glorfindel reached out with hand and senses to lightly touch the invisible barrier. It was not very strong, but it was the same type of barrier the foresters in Imladris used to monitor the valley. If breached, it alerted them. Glorfindel had likened it to a spider's web for the foresters always claimed the alert felt like a tingling vibration.

Glorfindel let his eyes unfocus, and could see the fine weaving that created the barrier. Three anchors held it, and he went to each anchor, strengthening it with his own will, until the barrier was glowing far brighter than before. Satisfied it would remain strong while those who held the barrier were away from Mithlond, he let the weaving disappear from his vision.

Leaving the sickened area, he turned back and walked for a while before sitting. Gazing westward, his thoughts went to what he had seen while in the twilight of nearly dying. His family and childhood home had not been a surprise. Glorfindel had not spent enough time with them after his re-embodiment before duty had taken him to Middle-earth, so it was no surprise to see his mother and father. Nor had he been surprised to see Elrond. The task to shepherd the peredhil through the remaining Ages was his, and even though he shared the duty with Erestor at times, when it came down to it, Glorfindel knew the task had been given to him alone. It dominated his second life.

Until now. Now he had people telling him to think of himself and to look beyond what duty would demand of him.

He had not seen Bronwe in his visions. Was his life naught but duty then? A disheartening thought if true. Digging a hand into the sand, Glorfindel let it run through his fingers. Had he truly frightened her so badly? He and Ecthelion had always done things when younger that no one else would have even thought of, but it had never frightened either of them. It had scared those around them endlessly and they had thought it funny at the time.

It was only in his second life, when Elladan and Elrohir tried some of the very same things, such as walking across one of the waterfalls on a rope, that Glorfindel had finally understood that fear. It was fear born of concern. Fear born of love and protection. Had he really been taking Bronwe's love for granted all this time, ignoring it in the name of duty?

Everyone seemed to think so. It might be valid.

It was time to find out for himself.

~*~*~

The glint of moonlight on gold caught her eye, and Bronwe stopped walking as she saw Glorfindel examining the herbs she had hanging outside the door, drying. He looked up and she continued forward after the slightest hesitation. "If you're looking for something to soothe your skin, that isn't it."

"What is this?" Wrinkling his nose at the pungent odor, Glorfindel fingered the sprays of little white flowers.

"Something used for human women who are having problems with their monthly flow." She arched an eyebrow as he yanked his hand away from the flowers as if stung. "I take it you don't help Elrond with gathering herbs?"

"Rarely." He shrugged. "I recall vividly the ones that made the twins sickest."

"They were sharply curious about all those plants." Gesturing for him to follow, Bronwe pushed open the door to her cottage. "But it was Arwen who always wanted to know what might turn skin a color. Blue or purple I believe were her favourites."

"She was as busy as they were, but thankfully there was but one of her." Following her through the main room into the kitchen he noted the fire was very low and headed for the back door. "Elrohir seems to have retained the most of all those sessions with the healers." Gathering up several pieces of cut wood, he carried them back in, nudging the door closed with his foot.

"He has the most talent in healing of all the children." Standing aside as Glorfindel arranged the wood and encouraged the fire to burn, Bronwe saw he likely was going to stay a while and walked to a cupboard to take down two mugs. "I hope he won't burn it out in all of this killing."

Looking up, firelight flickering on his hair and features, Glorfindel met her gaze. "He won't. They will not always be so bloodthirsty, nor would Elrond see them forsake other duties once this anger has burnt out."

"And what does Arwen do to ease her grief?" Taking a jar of tea leaves down, Bronwe sat at the table, turning the jar in her hands. No matter how much time passed between his visits, Glorfindel always made himself at home as if he had only been gone a short time. It was part of his charm, but she knew he took many things in his stride; like nearly dying.

"Spends time with her Adar, and keeps Imladris well-supplied for any emergency. Between her and Erestor I do not think there is any calamity unprepared for." He peered into the kettle before replenishing the water and hooking it over the fire. "She is leaving for Lothlórien to visit Galadriel and Celeborn. She feels they could use some comfort as well and her father some time to himself."

He had nearly died earlier that very day, and yet he stood, speaking to her as if nothing unusual had happened. Bronwe set the jar down with a thump and gestured. "Sit." Ignoring the arch of his eyebrow, she gazed at him with a healer's sharp assessment. "And you, what will you do?" Reaching forward, she grasped his hand, turning it to see if the blemishes remained. Pushing the sleeve of his tunic up, she examined the skin of his arm, and waited for an answer.

Bemused, Glorfindel allowed the examination. Healers were tenacious creatures, he knew from long experience with Elrond. It was best to let them assure themselves rather than protest, though that had never stopped him from raising a fuss in the past. Wincing as she pressed on a blemish that was not quite faded, Glorfindel tried to pull his arm back but froze as Bronwe leveled a frown on him. For such a normally gentle person, she truly could quail others with one look at times. Undoubtedly she had learned that from Elrond. "My duties have not changed." Scratching the blemish as Bronwe stood and walked to a cabinet, searching through several jars before returning with one, Glorfindel gave her a defiant look. "It itches."

"Yes, and you will have a mark for decades if you don't let these heal without picking at them." She ignored his grimace at the smell of the jar's contents, and took one leaf out, to rub it on the wound. "So you'll harass Erestor, track in mud and glower at visitors who annoy Elrond?"

"Of course." He fought not to squirm as the strongly astringent smell of the leaf proved it was just as nasty as he had suspected. "Why not just cauterize it and be done with it?"

At the sharp tone, Bronwe arched an eyebrow and shook her head. "Pity, but I have no irons here. You'll have to suffer this." She held the leaf to the blemish and ignored his annoyed huffs. "You're still a rotten patient, after all this time."

"I try to avoid healers and their overly-diligent attentions," he shot back, and hissed in relief as the water in the kettle boiled.

"Stay," Bronwe ordered and rose, walking around the table to remove the kettle from its hook. Catching up a small towel on the counter, she walked back around and set the towel on the table, then put the kettle on top of it. She added several pinches of tea leaves to the tea pot, poured in the water, then left it to steep. Sitting again, Bronwe gestured for him to extend his arm again, and picked up the bruised leaf. "Oh yes, that is why you went to Círdan to have him stitch up a wound..." Bronwe cut herself off, knowing railing at him would only make Glorfindel dig his heels in even deeper.

"I didn't go to him," Glorfindel corrected, and reluctantly stretched his arm out on the table again. He had gained that particular wound during the War of the Last Alliance and had only accepted Círdan's help because he couldn't tend to it himself. "He found me and insisted on treating the cut. It was not that bad."

"Yes," Bronwe sighed. "I've seen your idea of not so bad."

The forlorn tone made him frown. "You should have never been there, Bronwe." It was an old argument, and neither of them was willing to concede defeat. "Orodruin was no place for you."

"It was the place I was needed, as was every able healer." Satisfied the swelling of the jellyfish sting was less and the blemish already fading, Bronwe sat back. "How many of those stings are this bad?"

"None." Wrinkling his nose at her politely skeptical look, Glorfindel reached for the laces of his tunic. "Shall I prove it to you?"

Annoyed to feel her face heating at the purr of his question, Bronwe took the leaf she had used on his arm and tossed it at him. "There are more of those, you know. Plenty. I even have several plants outside."

"Bronwe!" Laughing, but surprised at the hint of anger in her voice, Glorfindel sobered and stilled. After a quiet moment of observation, he sighed. "You're angry at me for today."

"No."

But it was too quick and he shook his head. "Yes, you are."

"I'm not angry, Glorfindel." Standing, Bronwe frowned and pressed her hands together and met his gaze. "Seeing you treat nearly dying so casually is alarming to me. Does your life mean so little to you?"

"Of course not." He read the truth in her gaze though; he had scared her badly. "But it is done and I'm fine. Why dwell on it?"

Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head. "Now you aren't being honest."

Drawing in a deep breath, Glorfindel rose to stand, facing her with the table between them. "I chose to live, Bronwe. I was given a choice and I realised I had too much here I wanted to see achieved."

She didn't say anything, but the grief his words caused was clear in her eyes for a breath before she looked away. "Leaving Elrond now would be most cruel." Her voice was quiet but steady.

How many times had he done this and not seen? It made his heart ache, realising how many times he might have unconsciously hurt her, and Glorfindel nodded. "I saw him, grieving and broken, while I was in that between place of life and death. I saw home, my parents and friends I've not seen since Gondolin." Letting out a long breath, Glorfindel walked slowly around the table until he was a handspan from Bronwe. "It took me until this evening to realise I had not seen you." Mentally kicking himself as she closed her eyes and turned her head away, Glorfindel wanted to take that pain away. "Bronwe, forgive me, I keep hurting you and don't mean to!" Gathering her hands in his, they were clenched together, he rubbed them soothingly as he pulled her to sit with him. "I said that poorly. I did not see you, which made me realize how foolish I have been and how lacking my life would be without you in it."

"I'm not going anywhere, Glorfindel." She sounded weary, and still would not look at him.

"Not even if I asked you to?" He could not help the teasing tone, and offered a tantalizing smile when she finally looked at him.

She tried to smile, tried to find the will to play this game of old and answer with an equally flirting tone. "Asked what?" To her ears it didn't sound flirty. It sounded just as she felt, weary of games and longing for something more.

Bringing one hand up, Glorfindel caressed her cheek, and met her gaze, allowing her to see all that he had kept from her. As she blinked, eyes widening, he smiled tenderly. "Asked you if I might court you as you have deserved to be courted all this time. Asked you if you would ever be insane enough to consider undertaking the task of living with me for the rest of our days. Asked if you would leave the ocean you love so deeply to live near waterfalls instead." He brushed the tear trailing down her cheek with his thumb, and finished, "Asked if you would trade all the peace of the Havens for what can admittedly be the chaotic community at Imladris, because I finally realised today that I don't want to go onward through life's journey without you at my side."

Bronwe choked out a laugh and bit her lip for a moment, savouring his touch. "You really know how to make up for lost time, don't you?"

"Not lost." Leaning forward to gather her against him, Glorfindel sighed as she leaned into him to wrap her arms around him in a hug. Resting his cheek against her hair, he smiled. His. There would be no turning back, no hiding now that he had admitted this, and Glorfindel didn't want to retreat. He wanted to throw himself headlong into this future and see where it led them. Both of them; he would no longer be just one. Bronwe's arms tightened and he knew she sensed it as well. "Making up sounds like an excellent idea, however."

She leaned back to look in his face, and smiled. "Were we arguing?"

"Most definitely." He leaned in, nuzzling his nose against hers before pressing closer to brush the lightest of kisses against her lips.

"Oh."

Glorfindel smiled at the soft word and the way her lips curved in a smile against his. "Oh?" Speaking kisses in puffs of breath. Her fingers curled around his neck to tangle in his hair and he liked that even more.

"You said court me?"

"Yes." He let his fingers find and trace a braid near her temple, following it to the end and wrapping it around his fingers. "Does the thought bother you?"

"It's not a custom of my people." She arched an eyebrow, though that close he felt it more than saw it. "It is you Noldor who made wooing so formal."

"Ah,..." Bringing the braid up, Glorfindel kissed it, then used it to brush her cheek and lips. "Trust me, I won't bore you with formality."

"No chaperone?"

"Do we need one?"

"Yes." Bronwe laughed, and turned her head to kiss his fingers. "I do, rather." His smile made her tingle and the small cottage suddenly felt very hot.

"Then I'll have to speak to Círdan tomorrow." His smile was teasing. "And maybe I should ask him just how shameless Telerin maidens truly are."

"What of Silvan ones?"

"I'd just as soon discover that for myself." Pressing a light kiss to her lips, Glorfindel set Bronwe back, and laughed at her pout. "I'll not be swayed from my honourable intentions, Bronwe. A year is not so long." Capturing her hand, he brought it to his lips. "And I will see a silver ring on this hand first..." Something occurred to him and he looked perplexed. "You will wear a ring, won't you? Or is that too Noldorin?"

A soft smile curved her lips and Bronwe used her free hand to caress his face. "I will wear your ring with pride,." A grin and she twined her fingers into a braid hanging over his shoulder, and gave it a light tug. "So long as you wear one as well."

He pretended to consider. "It would be inconvenient while sparring...." Another tug on his braid, not so light as the first, and Glorfindel laughed. "I yield!"

Bronwe's smile was knowing. "I thought you would."

Resisting her lure, Glorfindel gave a knowing look of his own, and freed his braid to take her hand in his. It was far safer to know where those hands were at all times. "Now, tell me about this plan to go to Lothlórien."

~*~*~

After she confided the plans to travel to the Golden Woods, they wandered outside, hand-in-hand, down to the seashore where they sat on a dune looking out to the gulf.

The breeze was cool, and Bronwe pulled off her shoes to dig her toes into the sand as they watched each wave swell before rolling with a rush to crash to the shore. "I could watch them forever," she murmured, content with the music of the waves and the warmth of the elf sitting close enough that their shoulders touched.

"The sea does not call you, does it?" Picking up a shell with his free hand, Glorfindel let his finger trace the intricate swirls of its surface. "Some in Imladris say once a Silvan has heard the sea call there is no resisting its pull."

"Not as it does some of my kin." Leaning against him, Bronwe offered a reassuring smile. "I've lived by the sea many seasons and never has it grieved me with its song."

Tossing the shell aside, Glorfindel turned to study her face. "I cannot sail until Elrond leaves these shores. Even then...should any of his children not sail with him...." It was a possibility. Elladan already showed more of an affinity with Men than Elves. He would not be the first in his line. Where Elladan went would Elrohir follow? He looked at their twined fingers. "It could be long ages, Bronwe."

"Do you long for Aman so?" Tracing the calluses on his hand there from countless years of bow and sword work, Bronwe met his gaze.

"No." He sighed and tightened his fingers to cover hers. "And yes." A slight smile, and Glorfindel looked westward. "I have no regret for returning to Endor."

"That's a relief," she murmured.

He arched an eyebrow, hearing the smile in her voice, and continued, "And you? Will you ever be ready to leave these shores?" He knew how deep her love ran for the forests of middle-earth.

She looked at him as if it should be obvious. "When you go I will follow."

"That uncomplicated?" He meant it as teasing, but her expression remained solemn.

"Yes."

The simple answer, and the honest, open love in her eyes made his heart ache and Glorfindel reached out to pull her close again. So much of his life had not been so simple, so uncomplicated, but here he knew was one he would never need doubt. Holding Bronwe close, he felt none of his normal restlessness tugging at him. He was content.

Cheek resting against her hair, he was almost loathe to speak and break the moment, but morning would come and with it the problems needing attention. "Would you and the other two travelling to Lothlórien welcome a diversion?"

"You wish to join us?"

He hadn't meant that he was the diversion, but mouth curving in a smile, Glorfindel nodded without loosening his hold. "I was planning on it, but what I meant is, would you consider travelling to Imladris first? Elrond might have some answer in that library he and Erestor tend to with unending dedication."

Bronwe was silent, pondering the idea, before pulling away to look into his eyes. He would join them, asked or not, but some other reason had prompted this as well. "Círdan would not agree on our going until we said we would ride with a small escort."

"I know, but they know little of the terrain between here and Lothlórien."

"Whereas the Imladris Guard is more experienced with such journeys." Bronwe arched an eyebrow. "Some might say you were manipulative."

"I protect those in my care," he corrected.

It was open knowledge for those who were friends of those in Imladris that Glorfindel had berated himself for what happened to Celebrían, and had set to grimly righting the wrong done to his lord's lady. The twins had taken up the vengeance where Glorfindel had let it go, knowing no amount of killing would undo what had happened. His vigilance had not waned, but intensified. It would not happen again.

"I'll speak with Thalos and Failon, but so long as we do not tarry I do not think they would pass up seeing Imladris." Freeing a hand, she reached up to caress his cheek, seeking to ease the grim expression.

He caught her hand and held it to his cheek, slowly letting go of the tension that had come over him. "Imladris is changed from when you last visited." Glorfindel sighed and let the sadness show in his eyes. "All who knew her miss Celebrían, but Elrond suffers greatly."

Bronwe nodded slowly, and leaned in to slip a hand around his neck. Resting against his chest as his arms held her close, she drew in a deep breath and wished she was wiser. Maybe then she would have an answer to offer.

"We do what we can," Glorfindel murmured softly, one hand stroking the hair that fell like a dark cloak down her back. "He does not expect any one of us to have answers. That we love him and watch over him is enough for now, even though he growls at us like a wounded bear at times." Leaning back, he met her sad gaze. "He will be pleased that you visit."

"And will he be pleased for us?"

His smile, brilliant in the dark of the night, was still not as bright as the laugh that rang out. "Oh yes," Glorfindel assured her, his smile tender. "He will gloat as though it was his doing."

Bronwe smiled then, for she dearly loved her former mentor and knew his burdens in life had already been far greater than most who lived. "He spoke to you, then?" She laughed as Glorfindel wrinkled his nose, answer already clear in his reluctance to answer. "I see who I have to thank now," she teased.

"Then thank Círdan as well, for he was just as interfering." Glancing at the moon, already sinking towards the ocean, Glorfindel turned back to Bronwe and smiled. "Speaking of whom, I should find him before he immerses himself in wood and tar."

"You just don't want to get your hands dirty."

"Of course," Glorfindel agreed, and leaned in until his breath mingled with Bronwe's. Holding her gaze, he slid his hands up her arms to hold her shoulders. "I'll find you later," he promised.

She nodded, spellbound, then laughed as he kissed her nose before rising smoothly to his feet. Watching him stride off towards the shipyards, Bronwe let the breath she wasn't aware she had held go and wrapped her arms around herself. Laughing suddenly, she dusted her feet free of sand and slipped her shoes back on before going to find Thalos and Failon.

This was going to prove to be an interesting trip.

~*~*~

Círdan was already at the shipyards, busy with the construction of something smaller than a swanship, and not nearly as graceful to Glorfindel's eyes. "Don't stand there gawking, lad, make yourself useful."

Used to the shipwright's bark, Glorfindel arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "Coating boards with foul-smelling goo that will not wash off easily and leaves its scent behind..." A shake of his head and he ignored Círdan's smirk. "Weren't you going to see the travellers off?"

"They'll not leave until sunrise tomorrow." Shirt off, pale skin gleaming in the pre-dawn starlight, Círdan's lithe body might have surprised some of the humans who assumed he was old because of his silver hair and beard. No wrinkles marred his face, and the well-defined muscles of his chest and arms were proof that he was just as strong as he had ever been in his long-ago youth.

"You know if you shaved that growth off your chin, you might be seen as attractive even."

Silver eyes sparkling, Círdan straightened and arched an eyebrow. "Why would I want to do that?" Without waiting, he waved the question off, and lifted another plank into place. "What makes you think I'm not considered attractive already?"

"Ah, yes. Well, I am certain Mithrandir would agree, seeing that he shares both a beard and a love of pipe weed with you."

"Glorfindel," Círdan huffed, and again straightened to glare at his unasked for visitor. "Why are you here?"

"To protect the line of Eärendil." Ignoring the dire sounding mutterings in Telerin, Glorfindel nevertheless kept an eye on where Círdan swung the mallet he was using to secure the planks. "Actually I came to ask permission of you."

"You cannot sail, no. Now go away." Flipping the long silver braid over his shoulder, Círdan pounded on the plank until satisfied it wouldn't budge. Catching a glint of gold, he sighed and straightened. "All right. I can see you're set on something and won't leave until you get it. Glorfindel's stubbornness was legendary. Setting the mallet down, Círdan walked over to stand before his visitor. "What is it?"

"I don't wish to interrupt --"

"You already did, now out with it before I tar your hair, stick feathers in it and send you off like a peacock!"

Glorfindel grinned. "I want your permission to court Bronwe."

Círdan stared, before blinking once. A broad grin split his face and he lunged forward to catch Glorfindel in a rib-breaking hug. "Ha! I was right then!" Pushing Glorfindel back, hands on his shoulders, Círdan smiled, ignoring the pained look Glorfindel gave him for getting the foul-smelling goo all over his tunic. "Relax, lad, it's not in your hair." Tightening his grip on the younger elf's shoulders, Círdan held Glorfindel's gaze. "I'm happy for you.. I expect you to do this right, and none of this shilly-shallying around you've done for ages. Hurt Bronwe and you'll answer to me, and this goop here will seem sweet smelling, I promise."

Grimacing as the grip on his shoulders became painful, Glorfindel nodded. "I understand."

"Good." Releasing him, Círdan nodded. He grinned suddenly and reached out to slap Glorfindel's shoulder. "You'd best go change out of that tunic, lad. It's filthy! What would Bronwe think?"

Narrowing his eyes, Glorfindel shook his head. "I'm sure she recognizes the fragrance. She's out here enough with you, isn't she?"

"Aye." Gruff expression softening, Círdan looked around the shipyard. "I'm going to miss her when she's gone."

"You could always visit." Leaning closer, Glorfindel grinned. "Pry yourself from your rock, old barnacle, and travel beyond this gulf."

A snort and Círdan turned, walking back to the hull he was working on. "Leave or make yourself useful, peacock!" Grabbing his mallet, the shipwright launched into a song, hammering the planks in a counter rhythm as he worked.

Glorfindel laughed to himself, and turned to make his way back to Círdan's home. He needed to change and gather up his things. Doubtless the three Silvan Elves would be eager to leave, and Glorfindel realised he too was eager to be off. Wrinkling his nose at the odor coming from the goo on his shirt, he increased his pace as if that alone would help him escape the smell.

~*~*~

Leaving the four guardsmen he was sending with the group, Círdan walked over to where the Silvan Elves waited with Glorfindel. "They'll ride with you as far as Imladris before returning," he informed the group. "Bronwe, would you give these to Elrond?" He handed her a packet, wrapped in oilskin.

"Of course." She took the packet and carefully tucked it into her saddlebag. All three Silvan Elves rode without saddle or bridle as was their wont, but each carried a pack as well as a bow and quiver.

"Stay with the guard, you three." Círdan reached out to tuck a stray braid behind Bronwe's ear and nodded. He grunted as she lunged forward to hug him tightly, and returned the hug briefly before setting her back. "You'll be fine. Up with you, now." As the group mounted their steeds, he offered a gruff smile and raised his hand. "Stars light your path, but keep your eyes open as well."

Gesturing for two of the guard to precede them, Glorfindel met Círdan's gaze and nodded. "We'll be careful." Turning his mount's head as the three Silvan Elves urged their mounts forward, he smiled as Bronwe turned to wave to Círdan. The clattering of the horses' hooves on the cobblestones forestalled any conversation until they were past the walls of the city, and out on the open road. Even then, the Silvan Elves seemed happier to ride in silence, enjoying the woods they rode through. Not that Silvans were ever accused of being talkative. Almost as if to prove him wrong, Failon broke into song and was joined by the other two Silvans. Glorfindel listened, unfamiliar with the song, but content with the company, the wind and the sound of the horses' hooves as accompaniment to the song.

~*~*~

A cold storm swept in from the northern wastes, and while weather bothered elves but little, the frozen rain made the horses miserable and the roads a mess. They stopped only to rest the horses and let them graze, though each carried a measure of oats as well and fed this to their mount. Gathered in a hollow near Amon Sûl, the elves rested their horses and watched snow drift silently to the ground.

"This is going to make it harder if it sticks." Failon set his horses' hoof down and bent to pick up the next, checking for rocks as it grazed. "Though I would hate to leave them behind."

Thalos narrowed his eyes as he looked upwards, into the dark clouds hanging over them. "I believe it will hold off, at least for a few days." He turned to Glorfindel. "How far are we from Imladris?"

"If the weather holds, four days of hard riding." Straightening from checking his horses' hooves, he met the marchwarden's gaze. "We will not have to worry once we reach the valley. It is protected."

"Snow would be welcome," Bronwe sighed. "The trail along the valley wall is treacherous when it rains hard."

"Is this library truly as wondrous as it has been made to seem?"

"Elrond is a lore master." Bronwe rubbed her horses' neck as it nudged her before it went back to grazing. "He has collected information on all things, stretching back to the First Age."

Failon offered a dubious look. "But molds?"

"He's a healer, Failon." Bronwe arched an eyebrow. "You've seen what I use in some treatments. A knowledge of plants is necessary."

"But even we don't know of this disease." He gestured towards Thalos, who carried the piece of diseased wood in his saddlebag. "We cannot linger long if he has no knowledge of it, but must make for Lothlórien."

Raising her hands, palm outwards, Bronwe nodded. "I have no argument with urgency, Failon. They will not seek to hinder us."

"We know you have friends there, Bronwe." Thalos sealed his water skin and looked up, glancing at Glorfindel.

"I don't want us to lose the focus of why we are going there first," Failon added, switching to Silvan. He knew Glorfindel had no knowledge of the language from the earlier days of their travel. It would have surprised him had it been otherwise; very few spoke Silvan any longer.

Bronwe frowned, annoyed at what she perceived as rude behaviour. It was one thing to sing a song in Silvan or to speak quietly amongst themselves when no others were around, but to deliberately shut out a member of the party from the conversation by using a language he didn't understand was rude. "I will not lose focus, Failon." She deliberately answered in Sindarin, and held his gaze.

He nodded and looked away, a flush making his cheeks rosy.

"Though it would be understandable if you did," Thalos teased, seeking to ease the sudden tension. He grinned as Bronwe slanted her gaze at him. "After all, the last time we three travelled together, it was Failon who found it hard to focus, though for a different reason."

Eyes widening, Failon turned to glare at Thalos. "I was not unfocused, I was trying to avoid that drunken man!"

"Who thought you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen," Thalos agreed, grin widening.

"He was pished!"

"You are the prettiest of we three," Bronwe offered, failing to hide her grin.

"I believe it was the hair," Thalos said, and pursed his lips as he cast his memory back. "The man seemed most taken with --"

"Your hair is the same colour," Failon fumed, fighting not to turn red as Glorfindel watched with great interest and amusement.

"No..." Thalos plucked up a braid from his tunic and examined it. "My hair has more silver than yours."

"Failon, he would be long dead by now." Bronwe reached out to squeeze his arm. "Besides, he lived in Dol Amroth and we are far from that land."

"He was drunk," Failon asserted again. "He would have had to be to think I was a girl!"

Looking up from checking his arrows, Glorfindel shrugged. "It has been my observation that some men have a hard time differentiating between the male and female of our race. To them we are slender, our hair is long and braided, and our clothing is typically far more elaborate than what they wear. Those things often equate to female in their minds."

Bronwe patted his shoulder. "And you are pretty, Failon." She laughed, and ducked his swat, dancing back. "Though I think Glorfindel might be just as pretty."

"Ooooh no." He used an arrow to gesture at her. "Don't you start on me."

"Your hair is the right shade," Thalos agreed with a grin. "Men seem to be attracted to the fairer of our race."

"Must I remind you of Lúthien Tinúviel?"

"Idril Celebríndal," Bronwe shot back with a pert grin. "Hair the same colour as yours if I'm not mistaken?"

With a mock put-upon sigh, Glorfindel shook his head. "Ecthelion was the fairest of the those in Gondolin."

"Was he blond?" Failon shot a glare at his Silvan companions and moved to sit on the log at the opposite end of where Glorfindel was seated.

"No." Smiling, Glorfindel put the arrows back in their quiver. "His hair was ebony."

"But he was male, so...." Thalos leaned against Bronwe and the two laughed until tears ran down their faces.

Failon frowned at the pair before looking at Glorfindel. "Why is that funny?" But his only answer was a shrug and good-natured grin.

~*~*~

It had been years, possibly decades, since a whale had washed ashore. This one was dead, though there were no marks on it, and it didn't appear to be old to Círdan. Wading into the waves, his hand trailing along the huge body, he walked around the whale, searching for a sign of what had killed it, but found nothing. Shaking his head, he squatted at the head of the giant black and white beast, and caressed its head. "There's not much in the deeps you fear, my friend, so I know not what brought you to this end." The lifeless eyes were clear, and the tongue, hanging down from the creature's gaping mouth, showed no sign of illness.

"Do you wish us to leave it or have it pulled back out to the ocean, Lord Círdan?"

One last caress of the great head, and Círdan straightened. He looked out across the bay and saw, in the deeper waters, black fins amongst the waves. "Her family is out there, Galdor, waiting for her." Pushing silver hair out of his eyes, he turned to nod to the other elf. "Go get some others, and let us return her to the depths."

Galdor put a hand to his heart, and bowed, before heading back towards the haven to find others to aid in the effort.

Círdan stood in the waves next to the dead whale, staring into the deeps. What was causing animals to daily wash ashore, dead? It was not the occasional seal or bird, that was normal for the cycle of life. Something was very wrong, and he could get no sense of it at all. Even the loss of the ships, though rare, did happen, though normally in storms. The currents in the mouth of the bay could be treacherous, especially with high tides but even the human fishermen knew every shoal and shallow. Ossë and Uinen had not answered his call, though in the past they had left the Elves to their own, so it might not be anything in which the Maiar could interfere.

Wind and waves, the ocean could be a harsh lover, and yet Círdan never tired of her voice. There was nowhere else he could imagine living than at her side. For all of her cycles, some violent and dangerous, he would not wish to live without the caress of her waves. Dropping his hands to let the waves wash over them, Círdan sang a song of farewell for the dead whale and waited for the others to arrive.

~*~*~

"I don't see a valley." Thalos slipped from his horses' back to more closely examine the ground. "Nor any path."

They had not believed him and so Glorfindel had set out to prove to the stubborn Silvan Elves that Imladris was indeed called a hidden valley for a good reason. "I see it quite clearly." He did not mention that even Mithrandir sometimes had trouble finding the hidden paths that led to Imladris.

Bronwe shook her head at their antics, and steeled herself to patience.

"You are serious."

"Quite." Glorfindel serenely watched as Failon and Thalos looked around the entire clearing, searching for the way. "Gondolin had a hidden way as well, and only those of us who knew where it was could find it."

Failon frowned, then looked to the Elda. "Even so your people would walk right past ours in Ossiriland."

"True." Glorfindel nudged his horse to the right. "Your folk were ever better at woodcraft than mine, but come, we waste time and daylight. The trail is easier on horse and rider if navigated during daylight."

Failon and Thalos watched carefully as Glorfindel rode forward then seemed to blend into a large outcropping of rock. "Between the tree and rock?"

"No." Swinging up on his horse, Thalos examined the area. "I see nothing out of the ordinary. Horse tracks lead..."

"Shall we?" Bronwe crowded her gelding against Failon's, deliberately herding him forward. "Let's not lose our focus."

A sigh and Failon turned his mount towards what looked like very solid granite. "I don't think --"

"Come!" Glorfindel's voice came to them from just ahead, sounding impatient.

Eyes wide, the marchwardens coaxed their mounts ahead, and stared in amazement as they crossed an unseen boundary. Before them was a deep valley, forested in a blanket of green, and the distant sound of waterfalls sang to their ears. Far below they could make out buildings and Elves moving about.

"The hidden valley of Imladris," Glorfindel said with a smile, and gestured for them to follow. "Stay a horse-length apart. The trail is narrow and rocky, though the rains have made it both muddy and slick." He shrugged. "We've yet to lose anyone on the trail."

"Oh, that's reassuring," Failon muttered, and waited a beat before urging his horse to follow.

Bronwe nodded for Thalos to go before her, and then followed after a moment, letting her horse pick the best path. The guards followed her, though slowly, and it was a relief to finally reach the valley floor.

They crossed over a narrow bridge, arching over a rushing torrent of white water and rocks, to finally arrive before a house just as the sun crept past the valley wall. Waving to the figure ahead, waiting for them on the steps, Glorfindel offered a small bow. "Welcome to Imladris."

~*~*~

TBC

Is it worse? Better? Have a suggestion or comment? I'd love to hear it. Thank you for reading! :)