Death's Herald

Over the remaining days of the week, Ára found herself developing a routine. She would break her fast with Gilraen and Estel, chat about various things, and then head to the library. Truly the library was a boon, and far better than the one in Minas Tirith. She would eat lunch in her rooms, after grabbing a plate from the kitchens, which Oroneth had kindly shown her to, and then she would retreat for a couple of hours into Elrond’s private family garden to meditate.

She had really needed to meditate.

After aligning herself with the Song and shoring up her occlumency, she would either eat the evening meal with Elrond, Gliraen and Estel, or either Erestor or Lord Glorfindel or some combination of them all. She had only graced the dining hall for the evening meal the night before, and it had been a trying experience.

Many elves had stared at her, though not quite so much as she would have thought they would. Elrond said he had made some sort of announcement about her and Gilraen and Estel. She’d chosen to sit between Glorfindel and Elrond, or more so she had been led there by Elrond to sit next to him. His twin sons had sat beside him on his other side, and Erestor had sat on Glorfindel’s other side. Gilraen was still uncomfortable with any crowd, as she was dealing with Estel and her grief. Estel had been asking for his father, but he was honestly too young to understand death quite yet, so the situation overall had been hard on Gilraen.

She sometimes joined Ára in the garden when Ára was meditating. Erestor had joined twice since the first time as well, asking more in depth just what she was doing, but left very soon after his questions were answered. Ára and Gilraen had spoken quite a lot on the nature of death, loss, and grief. Gilraen had finally asked how Ára had dealt with so much death over the centuries, and Ára hadn’t quite known what to tell her really. Ára had never had the experience other Maiar and the Elves had, what with death supposed to be an unnatural thing for them. The unnatural part for Ára was her lack of dying, but after so long, even that became normal. She had just become used to being the only immortal being among mortals. Being surrounded by so many young-looking people who were mostly, with the exception of Elrond’s sons, Gilraen, and Estel, actually older than her—though no one knew this, and no one would if she could help it—had actually been very strange for Ára.

Overall, though, Ára quite liked Imladris. It was had a very peaceful feeling, and was quite lovely—the loveliest place she’d been, in fact, in Middle-Earth. It made her wonder about Valinor, about the Undying-Lands. Would Aman be even more beautiful? Would she feel even more at home there than she already was feeling in Imladris? Was that what it meant to be immortal?

Sometimes she wondered if she should have gone to an Elven Realm long before now, though she shook off such thoughts quickly. She’d had a purpose, and it had aligned with the Song. She was sure of that much, at least.

Námo had done right by her, teaching her how to commune with the song, and why it was good and even necessary to do so as a Maia.

Ára was supposed to spar with Glorfindel tomorrow morning, and it would be the first time they would spend any time together on their own. He had quickly told her to stop calling him a Lord, which Ára was thankful for. She really disliked these formalities, she always had, even before she’d come to Arda. She wondered if her Lord Vala knew her thoughts, and how irreverently she thought of him sometimes. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. She hoped he liked her well enough, and if his sense of humor, if he truly had one, was anything at all like hers—he had chosen her, after all, and she was pretty sure he could have chosen someone else—well, he’d probably had many instances of laughter if he was keeping tabs on her, which she suspected he was.

Ára wondered if she would end up telling Glorfindel, and perhaps the others, but mostly Glorfindel, to which Vala she was assigned. Glorfindel was the only one, aside from his cousin, the Lady Galadriel—and that had been a shock to finally find out when Elrond and Glorfindel had told her a couple nights ago—who had even met and spoken with any of the Valar. She wondered what Glorfindel’s reaction would be if she told him she was the Doomsman’s Herald. At least being the Doomsman’s Herald sounded much better than Death’s Herald, though not by much.

Ára was also contemplating tonight, after having had her evening meal alone, how much effort she should put into her spar the next morning. Glorfindel had fought and killed a Balrog. True, he had died, but only because the dying Balrog had grabbed his hair, not from lack of battle prowess. Ára hadn’t fought anything worse than orcs. She had a feeling she could stand against any of the Nine, but she hadn’t had the opportunity to test herself against even a single Nazgul. Truthfully, she’d been very lucky as far as fighting had gone, she thought. The mere idea of the undead wraiths sent a shiver down her spine. It was very unnatural. She knew, though, somehow, she would have to put on a good show for Glorfindel. He had sparred with Eönwë, and Manwë’s Herald was said to be an astounding and great warrior. Was that what she was supposed to be compared to? The greatest of warriors to have ever fought in Middle-Earth.

And hadn’t Glorfindel also sparred with his uncle Fingolfin, who was also known as Nolofinwë Arácano? Hadn’t that ellon met Morgoth Bauglir in single combat and actually wounded the Vala grievously seven times before he’d died?

Who else had Glorfindel sparred against who were such great warriors? Most obviously Ecthelion, who had killed the cheifest of Balrogs, and more than that as well, if she remembered her history well enough.

Ára shuddered, quite quickly her excitement for a true match of sparring was going cold. She would simply not think such thoughts anymore. She had previously been terribly excited to spar against him, or any elves truly. Sparring against Men had become very boring very quickly.

She didn’t know how she would show up against such. Besides, her weapons were not nearly as great as the Elven-made blades she knew Glorfindel carried and would use. Perhaps while she was here she could commission one of the smiths to make her knew weapons. Knives, daggers, and a sword or too. She’d have to ask.

Glorfindel was truly excited this morning. He had yet to get any time alone with Ára the past week, and he was itching to spar against her. He wondered how great a warrior she was. Obviously she’d survived against orcs, but he would have been fairly disappointed if she hadn’t. He’d heard many stories of her battle prowess from several rangers, especially those Chieftains who’d visited Imaldris over the years.

The small bit of time he’d spent in her company, alongside Erestor and Elrond, and sometimes Gilraen and little Estel as well, had been wonderful. She was funny, possessed a dry-wit with a penchant for sarcastic humor that had her and Erestor sometimes bickering back and forth good-naturedly, and her smile was lovely.

Truly, he’d not known any Maiar who he had liked so quickly as much as her. He wondered what her Amanian name was, and if he’d ever met her before. He didn’t think so. He was sure he would have remembered the feel of her, and sure she would have mentioned it by now if she had met him before.

He was also dreadfully curious, though he felt it poor manners to ask, which Vala had claimed her as their own. Eönwë was, quite obviously Manwë’s, as he was the Vala’s Herald. He knew that Melian, Elrond’s foremother, had served Vána and Estë. Radagast the Brown Wizard, who Glorfindel knew also as Aiwendil, served Yavanna. Saruman, who was also called Curunír by the elves, and was known in Aman as Curumo, was one of Aulë’s Maiar. Mithrandír, who Men knew as Gandalf, and was known in Aman as Olórin, had served many of the Valar, Manwë, Varda, Irmo, and even Nienna. Glorfindel had not a clue who the Ithryn Luin truly were, nor which of the Valar they had served. Each Maia Glorfindel had actually met and spent any time with was vastly different to others. Ára was especially different to those Maia Glorfindel knew and had made their presence in Middle-Earth known. Even Goldberry, Iarwin-Ben-Adar’s wife was such a singular being.

Sometimes, it seemed to Glorfindel as if Ára was much, much younger than those Maia he’d known. Perhaps she, like Mithrandír and the other Istari had had her memories blurred and bound, though by Elrond’s account, her abilities had not been bound as the Istari had.

In some ways, though, Ára quite reminded him of Arien, whom he had known quite well under the light of the Two Trees. Arien had been a blazing presence, and no, he did not merely think so because he had sensed her when the Sun first rose. She had been fierce, in many ways, and had a sense of humor that was not very Maiar-like, comparatively. Glorfindel had many conversations with Arien, usually either on or near Ezellohar, or in Irmo’s gardens when he’d wander there less frequently. She’d been striking, beautiful, and witty, and could be quite sarcastic too. They’d spoken much on the Song, and on the nature of Elves, Maiar, and the Valar. She had a unique perspective, being of the Maiar herself, and one who spent more time walking among the Eldar than most Maiar. She likened the Powers to be full of more Thought than the Maiar, and able to Hear more strands of the Song than any other beings in Arda. Glorfindel supposed that was true, though many elves in that Age could Hear the Song. He himself heard it well, he’d thought then, and then, when he’d been reborn, he could hear it even more clearly.

Sometimes he dearly missed Arien, and their friendship. He wondered how long it would be before he could meet with her again. Surely she rested at night, when Tilion brought the moon high in the sky, shining brightly against Varda’s stars. Perhaps she’d have time to visit with him when he eventually returned to Aman.

Ára would quite like Arien, Glorfindel mused, if they hadn’t met before. It was possible. Glorfindel hadn’t met every Elf, and there were many Maiar who had never walked clothed in a Hröa. It made sense if some of the Maiar hadn’t met others, even if they had all Sung the world into being so very long ago. Yes, Glorfindel was sure Ára and Arien would be quite fast friends. Perhaps someday Glorfindel would tell Ára about Arien.

He was itching to speak to Ára, perhaps even more than he wished to spar with her.

By the time she showed up on the training grounds, which Erestor had taken the time to show her a few days ago, Glorfindel was nearly jumping in anticipation.

She was wearing a plain, cream-colored tunic, dark-green trousers, and brown leather boots. He recognized the style of Imladris, though her clothing had obviously been made to fit her very well. She looked very good, he mused, and quite noble in the clothing. Her fair hair was braided into a single plait which hung from high on the back of her head. She had two knives strapped to her back, a sword on her hip, as well as dagger, and one smaller dagger on her left arm. He narrowed his eyes. Her weapons were well-made, for the race of Man, but she should have Elven-made blades. They would be much better, and much lighter in handling.

When she came within the training circle used for sparring matches she looked at him with a raised brow.

“You need Elven-forged blades,” Glorfindel voiced his thoughts.

Ára snorted, a wry smile on her face. “Where would I have had the chance to commission them?”

“Here, obviously,” Glorfindel waved a hand. “No matter, we can spar with what you have, and then go to the smiths.”

She raised her brown again, but smirked. “Already planning my day for me, my Lord?”

Glorfindel merely grinned, unsheathing his sword, and raising a brow of his own. “Well, of course, my Lady. I could not possibly allow you to wield such inferior weapons.”

“Of course.”

Ára unsheathed her own sword from its leather scabbard. It was a bit smaller in length than Glorfindel’s, but he had no doubts it easily weighed twice as much. Perhaps when she accustomed herself to elven blades she would be all the faster for it.

“Shall we?”

Glorfindel’s lips curled upward, and he knew his eyes were gleaming. “You do not want to stretch?”

Ára returned a wicked smirk. “I already have. I have been looking forward to this almost since I arrived.”

Glorfindel attacked first, faster than he would have done with a new person normally, though not quite as fast or hard as he could have. Ára’s immediate parring was quick, and excellent in form.

For the next hour, both Glorfindel and Ára put each other through their paces, with Glorfindel quickly finding he could go at her with as much speed and strength as he could put into his attack, though he didn’t go to quite a lethal level. He had fought a Balrog, after all, and he did not think she had, Maia though she was. She never failed to block or evade him though, but he had a feeling she was not putting her full ability into the session either. Truthfully, it was one of the best friendly fights he’d had in some time.

Elrond was very, very good. But he did not appreciate friendly sparring much beyond the need for keeping up his skills. Glorfindel supposed he understood that. Elrond had learned to wield weapons as a necessity, and was much more a Healer than a Warrior in heart and mind. Still, the Lord of Imladris was one of the best warriors Glorfindel had known since the First Age.

Celeborn, his cousin’s husband, was also quite good. Even better than Elrond, sometimes, and Celeborn enjoyed a match almost as much as Glorfindel did. Celeborn had also been fighting since before the Sun and Moon rose, longer than Glorfindel had been doing true battle, at least, so it was expected of him. Truthfully, even Artanis—Galadriel— was quite good with a sword and shield. Glorfindel didn’t think she’d been in battle in a very long time, however he suspected she trained with her husband at least to keep her skills sharp. She was old enough, and experienced enough to know it would not be good to allow those skills to wither.

Glorfindel had even sparred with Thranduil multiple times. That ellon was fiercely deadly, and quite an excellent swordsman.

The most competitive spars he’d fought had always been with Arien. He was pretty sure that Maia had been the one to initially teach his cousin to fight, for their styles were very similar in earlier Ages. He’d never won a match against Arien back then, but each had always been fun.

Of all the most memorable persons Glorfindel had matched blades with, however, the best by far had been Eönwë. Glorfindel had never won a match against the Herald, though he had fought to a draw a few rare times. Before he’d been sent back to Middle-Earth, Glorfindel had often crossed swords with Eönwë, at first to get his new body back into fighting shape, and then to truly re-hone his skills.

Ára was very thankful for her enhanced abilities. Her speed, strength, and stamina were probably the only things that allowed her to match as well as she had been with Glorfindel. She hadn’t put forth her full effort, but she suspected Glorfindel hadn’t either. When they finally called a stop to the match, she thought if she’d still been human, she would have been panting, if she could have kept up with him at all.

As it was, she noticed she was lightly sweating, but not much. Thank the Valar for Maiar stamina! Glorfindel was truly an excellent swordsman, the best she had crossed blades with in her long life for sure.

After she’d sheathed her sword and refastened one of her daggers that she’d drawn near the end of the match, just to see what would happen, she turned back to Glorfindel and grinned.

He was grinning too, and his eyes were bright with more than the remnants of the light of the Two Trees. “That was truly an excellent match!” he said. “The best I have had in quite some time.”

“It is certainly the best match I have had since coming to Middle-Earth,” Ára agreed, though she silently added it was the best match she’d ever had at any time.

“We shall have to do this again,” Glorfindel said. “It was truly enjoyable.”

Ára mentally groaned, but smiled and nodded in acceptance before taking off all her weapons so she could stretch. Glorfindel followed her example and they went through their own stretching routines in silence.

Ára was also mentally shaking herself, because she’d nearly been caught out in the match against him, due to his sheer presence. She’d thought many times over the past week that he was by far the most attractive person she’d ever seen. Her grandfather Malfoy would have been supremely jealous of Glorfindel’s hair, and probably his physique as well. Ára didn’t know what was wrong with her. Sure, she’d seen many attractive men through the past centuries, and she even found Gildor to be quite fair of face, Elf that he was. But she had never actually been attracted to anyone, strange as she found that now. Perhaps it was a Maia thing, but she was unsure. Ára’s mentality still seemed more human than not, though there were parts that had gradually developed over the long years that she knew were distinctly non-human.

But still, Ára did not understand this new attraction. And she had spent the least amount of time with Glorfindel compared to others, save Elrond’s twin sons, who had quickly left Imladris after only staying for a couple of days. Truly, they were wanderers after the rangers’ hearts.

It was true enough that Glorfindel was beautiful, but so were all Elves. And sure, Glorfindel had presence like no other, but Elrond had a unique power and presence as well. Even Gildor had been singular. Ára knew she did not know many elves, had not met enough to truly distinguish some above others, but the ones she had met were singular in their own right. So why then did she feel Glorfindel was the most singularly unique above them all?

Why could she not be attracted to someone else, perhaps even on of Elrond’s sons, who were at least closer to her true age than Glorfindel. Something about that thought felt a bit off, though, but the reason was blurred in her mind, as it had been before when thinking of her age compared to others, and thinking too deeply of Aman.

Ára shook her head, knew Glorfindel saw it, as he quirked his lips in a half smile, but he said nothing.

Sometimes, she really hated being in this world. Things were just so different here, so confusing. Only Men married more than once, and only Men had relations with multiple partners. Even dwarves married once and only once, and did not ever remarry. Hobbits, she knew the least about, but from what she did know, they seemed to marry once only as well, and they were counted as Men, even if their race was very different.

Why, then, could she be attracted to an Elf? Wouldn’t it make more sense to develop an attraction for one of her own kind? In fact, wasn’t the only known union between Maia and Elf Melian and Elu Thingol, a line Elrond descended from? And Elrond was pretty singular in his genetic make-up. She’d had time to accurately pin down his family tree, though she’d learned most of it over the years. In all of Arda, there were only four beings in Middle-Earth, and at least two more, possibly five, who dwelled in Aman, if three had made the choice to be counted as Elves and returned from the Halls of Mandos.

Only one example, Ára reminded herself, of a union between Maia and Elf, and as uncanny as her luck was, she truly did not think that extended to romance. She’d had no romantic relationships with anyone before she’d died defeating a Dark Lord, and none since being remade and put in Middle-Earth. She hadn’t truly felt the desire for romance, even if she thought of it every so often.

She’d figured she wouldn’t get the chance until she eventually sailed West. Perhaps she still wouldn’t. She’d merely have to deal with this budding attraction to Glorfindel and push it out of her mind. She was going to be busy anyway, even if they were essentially living together for the next couple of decades at least.

“Would you like to break your fast with me this morning, Ára?” Glorfindel asked when each had finished their cool-down maneuvers.

Again, Ára groaned mentally. But outwardly she merely smiled. “Of course, where shall we go and eat?”

“I think we can safely claim a spot in the kitchens, it is still quite early.”

“Well, then, lead the way, my Lord.”

Glorfindel offered his arm and Ára took it reluctantly, even as she melted into his side. “Of course, my Lady,” he said with a gentle smile.

Fuck.

Glorfindel had kept up an easy, but light conversation as he led Ára to the kitchens and procured them food. Ára was truthfully dreading the heavier topics, or any conversation when he would bring up Aman in any way, but she could tell he was leading into it.

She felt bad, really, because she knew he had few people with whom he could speak of such things. The only memories she could share with him, weren’t really memories of her own. She sometimes saw images when she meditated to commune with the Song. So she had seen visions of the Two Trees, and she’d spent a long time visiting those images, because they had truly been beautiful. She’d wished each time she meditated on the Two Trees that she could have seen them in person, stood underneath their light, and simply basked in it.

She’d had other flashes of Aman sometimes during her meditations if she concentrated on such things. She knew of Ezellohar, the frankly gigantic hill upon which the Two Trees stood, how truly lovely and clean it was, and still was even with the blackened, marred Trees. She’d seen a few flashes of other places as well. Ára knew she would recognize the Máhanaxar should she ever have cause to visit, and she knew she would at least once when she finally sailed West. Ára had seen Taniquetil, also known as Oiolossë, and had flown over the Pelóri Mountains all in her mind.

Truly, sometimes she was glad to have been remade a Maia, if only for the ability to visit such stunning vistas all within the confines of her own mind.

But when she tried to meditate upon people she knew dwelled in Aman, whether they be Elves, Maiar, or Valar, her mind came up fogged and empty. It sometimes felt as if something should be there, even though she knew that was impossible, but that it was simply locked away.

Ára figured she could view places because they were stored in the memory of the Song, much more stable than people or even the Fëa was. Yes, she could use the Song to sense those around her, or in Middle-Earth, but not those in Aman, and not anyone who had lived before she herself had come to Arda.

It was frustrating.

Glorfindel was staring at her now, though, as she finished the last piece of fruit from her plate. Ára was beginning to become concerned with the intensity in his gaze.

“Do you remember anyone from Aman?” he finally asked.

The breath caught in her throat as she finally swallowed the last bite of her apple. Ára shook her head. She could answer this, but she would have to be careful about it.

“Not really, much of Aman is fogged in my mind. I can view memories of places when I meditate much easier than people.” All she said was true, even if that was really all she could say. She could of course tell him a bit about Námo, but then she would probably have to admit to being his Herald, and she really didn’t want to go into that anytime soon, if ever.

“So you wouldn’t know if you’d met anyone specifically? Like if you’d known Arien, for example?”

Ára tilted her head. There had to be some deeper reason for him asking such a specific question, going so far as to name the Maia Ára knew to carry the Sun in the sky each day. Ára thought about her though, Arien, as she closed her eyes for a few moments. Her intuition told her what to say more than any careful thinking of wording.

“I do not believe I ever spent time with her,” Ára finally said. It felt true enough not to be a lie. Of course Ára hadn’t spent time with a Maia who had been sheapparding the Sun across the sky for three Ages of the world. “Why do you ask?”

Glorfindel eyes shone a bit brighter then, in memory, and he smiled wistfully as he leaned back in his chair. “I was friends with her, and I had been thinking very recently how very similar the two of you are, out of all the Maia I have had the pleasure of meeting.”

Oh, now this was interesting, and if she could get Glorfindel to speak, perhaps he would not ask too many questions of her.

“Well, what was she like? How are we similar?” Ára was very curious of that observation, because she was dead-sure that Arien, at least, had never been human before, even a magical human.

Glorfindel hummed, his bright-blue eyes glazing over slightly as he called up memories from a long ago past. “She was bright, very bright, in aura in presence. It made sense to me that she was the one charged with guiding the Sun’s passage. I felt her when the Sun first rose, just as I felt Tilion, though I sensed him less as I knew him barely at all.”

This had the making of a wonderful story, Ára thought, and one she would very much like to hear, so she hummed slightly to encourage Glorfindel to continue to speak.

“Arien was very different to other Maia I knew and spent any amount of time with in that Age. She was fierce, and I believe she was the one who taught Artanis—she is called the Lady Galadriel now– who is my cousin, how to fight with sword and shield. She was very funny, too, and had a wickedly sharp tongue. She could probably trade barbs with Erestor, and I have no doubt she’d easily win any debate the two had.

“Arien was very intelligent, though of course all the Maiar are, if in different ways. But she was deeply connected to the Song, and we spoke of it often. She hated Melkor the most, even when he was still called so, I believe, out of anyone I knew, and I continue to believe that even now. And I have met very many Elves who hated Melkor more than anything else they hated, Fëanor included, and Melkor slew his father, my grandfather. So you can understand, somewhat, just how very much Arien despised that Vala.

“But she was otherwise also very kind, if she deemed you worthy to speak with for any amount of time at all. She was very easy to speak with, and quite witty. She had an air to her which made me laugh quite often.” Glorfindel came back to himself then and winked at Ára. “She was also very beautiful, of course.”

Ára smiled even as she felt something heavy drop in her stomach.

“I think you would quite like her, truthfully, and that she would like you just as much. I believe if you ever get the chance, if she rests in Aman during the night, the two of you would become fast friends.”

From his description, Ára thought it would be quite easy to like Arien very well, even if part of her was beginning to become jealous of the Maia she’d never met.

And because her mouth was sometimes faster than her brain, Ára abruptly asked, “Did you love her?”

Glorfindel’s barking laughter eased the tension which had begun to coil in Ára’s gut.

“As a friend, very much so. But not quite like I believe you are asking. I do not believe I would have survived the experience if ever I did, and said anything to her.”

Ára’s raised brow was enough of a question that she didn’t have to speak.

“It was said that Melkor, Morgoth as he is known now, had once asked for her to join him in marriage, as Manwë and Varda are joined. Arien was, apparently, quite emphatic in her refusal, and ever after Melkor both loved, whatever version of it he could, and despised her for refusing him.”

“That is…very strange to me, even now I think. Mostly that He could have loved anyone, though if I think on it for more than a moment, I understand. As much as he was very Dark, Evil, one might say, from the beginning of Elves and Men, he too was born of the One.”

Glorfindel’s amused gaze darkened slightly, but he nodded. “Yes, that is true enough. It is very difficult to remember though. I recall when he was unchained and walked again freely in Aman, mostly among the Noldor. I believe Sauron learned best from him, for their talent in deception was remarkably similar.” Glorfindel’s eyes darkened further, and some remnant of righteous anger was lit in them now.

Ára knew he was comparing Melkor in Aman to Sauron when he called himself Annatar and walked among the Elves in Eregion during the Second Age, when he’d forged the One Ring, and even in Númenor later on. Ára herself had no memory of this, but she had become quite learned during her long time in Middle-Earth.

“Well,” she said jokingly, if a bit halting, “that conversation became quite heavy quite fast.”

Glorfindel chuckled before his face became uncharacteristically somber. “Yes, yes it did. What is it about being so old, I wonder, that causes us to visit and revisit dark memories. I would rather remember joy, not strife. I have seen enough of grief, I think.”

Ára grew solemn herself and nodded in agreement. “I sometimes think there is all too much grief and very little joy to be had in this world,” she said, thinking that it was the same in any world, and had been for her in a different one. Ára sighed heavily and gathered herself. “Will you walk me back to my rooms, my Lord?”

Glorfindel stood, offered his arm, and a small smile. “Of course, my Lady.”

Glorfindel found himself feeling very odd as he escorted Ára to her rooms. Their conversation in the kitchens had started so well, until it turned dark. But he had felt happy sharing memories of Arien with Ára, and looked forward to sharing more. Perhaps he could introduce the two of them when both he and Ára made it back to Aman.

He’d nearly lost his composure when she’d said that Melkor had not begun his existence as an evil being. It’d taken him a moment to gather himself before he could reply. It was hard to remember that, hard to remember that even Sauron had once been called Mairon—the Admirable. It was so very hard, when he fought orcs, to remember that these two, one fallen Vala, one fallen Maia, who had caused such grief and harm to the world, had once not been so full of darkness and evil.

But he had learned more of Ára through that conversation, and it reminded him of Eönwë somewhat, who had been saddened that Sauron had not returned to Aman after the War of Wrath to stand trial for Judgement.

Back then, when he and Eönwë had finally spoken of Sauron, Glorfindel had laughed bitterly and harshly, and brashly told the Herald of Manwë that Sauron fleeing the wrath and judgement of the Valar had only been expected. Glorfindel had confidently told his friend that Sauron deserved to be punished, and that Sauron knew so. It had been quite the rebuke when Eönwë had merely replied that Sauron had once been Mairon, and Eönwë’s brother.

Did Ára feel that way too? Was she sorrowful over the fate which Sauron had made for himself? Elrond’s sons said she fought orcs with as much ruthless ferocity as they’d seen anyone ever do so, and so they had assumed she hated them on the same level they themselves did. But now, Glorfindel did not think that was quite true. Perhaps Ára merely loathed the evil deeds they did, perhaps she merely despised what they had become, from what they once were.

Perhaps, like Eönwë, Ára was simply sorrowful of their fate, as Eönwë was of Sauron the Abhorred, once called The Admirable.

“So,” Ára said as they neared her apartment, “when are you taking me to get new weapons?”

Glorfindel smiled as he came out of his deep thoughts and cast a glance at her. She truly was beautiful, fairer than any he had met, at least in his eyes.

“Perhaps after the lunch hour? I believe you are having luncheon with Elrond, today, yes?”

She nodded. “Yes. He wanted to discuss in more detail what I would be doing, now that it has been a week since I’ve settled in.” She paused, looking at him with a considering gleam in her eyes. “I actually thought about asking him to teach me what he knows of Healing. I am afraid my skills in such are sorely lacking, if I am honest.”

Glorfindel laughed. So, definitely not a Maia of Irmo or Estë, then. “He would probably be overjoyed to have a new student. He teaches the rangers he has fostered, but always complains there is never enough time to teach them fully, and never nearly as much or as in depth as he would wish. And it has been a long time since any Elves have come to him for lessons. I believe the last ones were his children, actually.”

“It would be funny, at least, to have and Elf teaching a Maia how to heal Elves and Men,” she remarked as they finally came to stop outside her door.

The mirth that bubbled up inside of him could not be stoppered. Glorfindel felt himself double over as he lost his hold on Ára and laughed quite deeply. Yes, it was more than somewhat funny as he thought of it in truth.

“Especially as it was his foremother, a Maia herself, who taught so much of the Healing that he later learned from those she had taught!”

Ára laughed as well, and the glimmer in her bright eyes spoke of ironic understanding. “I think I quite like you, Glorfindel. You are terribly funny.”

If Glorfindel hadn’t still been laughing so hard, he probably would have given himself away as the breath caught in his throat. Instead, his choking gasps merely made Ára laugh harder and she reached over to pat him on the back several times.

“You know, if you did not laugh so very hard, you would not choke on the very air you breathe.” As she turned again and reached for the knob on her door, she continued with a wry smile, “I believe it time for me to at least rinse myself off and change. If I cause you to asphyxiate, I think Elrond would be seriously displeased with me. Good day, my Lord.”

And with a small, awkward curtsy due to her position, Ára left him in the hall.

“Oh dear,” Glorfindel whispered as he finally gathered himself before moving towards his own rooms. “I do believe I am falling in love.”

Well, fuck, he thought.

Elrond had been awake and had just stepped out of his rooms into the Hall as he heard both Glorfindel and Ára conversing. He’d overheard the whole of their conversation, and agreed with Glorfindel. He would quite like to instruct Ára in the Healing Arts, especially if she showed any talent for it, though he was not going to be too disappointed if it simply wasn’t within her gifts. It would probably be strange if such things were, honestly.

He’d found their joking banter about the topic terribly funny as well, and found even more joy in their interaction together than anything else.

But he’d heard Glorfindel, due to being in the Hall and not behind nearly sound-proof walls, when the ellon had whispered to himself out lout.

Elrond did not know what to think of such a possibility. His mind went well and truly blank for the first time in quite a while.

As he turned the idea of Glorfindel and his newest found kin courting each other over in his head, Elrond walked towards the dining hall. He needed to eat with his people several times a week, though he often took private meals, by himself and with few others, every week as well. He had done so quite frequently over the past week, and had decided to make up for his marked absence by appearing more often this week among his people.

He was already having lunch with Ára and Erestor today, and was suddenly glad Glorfindel would not be joining them for this meal.

Glorfindel falling in love? The idea was quite odd. He’d known Glorfindel for thousands of years, and not once had his friend even hinted to such a thing being possible. It especially concerned Elrond after he had married Celebrían, due to finding such happiness in their union, and in their children together. Elrond would very carefully not think of the utter devastation which had occurred nearly five-hundred years ago.

So, to think that Glorfindel had found himself falling in love, and so quickly too, was quite odd for the Lord of Imladris.

Elrond mused more upon the idea, and found it did not displease him. Glorfindel surely deserved that type of happiness, especially at his age. And who on these shores but a Maia could hope to match him in age or experience? His cousin was already married, and quite obviously too closely related even if she hadn’t been. Elrond did not think there were any ellith, in fact, whom Glorfindel had met many of, who could stand as an equal with him.

Truly, the idea was only very strange due to just how very long Elrond had known Glorfindel, and how in that very long time Glorfindel had never shown one ounce of inclination towards romance for himself. Nor any wistful longing for such.

Perhaps it was merely odd because Elrond had seen Glorfindel as a stand-alone figure, bright and Great, and never truly believed Glorfindel needed or desired a partner in his life other than what friends he had. Even when Elrond had been concerned about finding Glorfindel a spouse, Elrond had not genuinely worried about it overmuch.

He’d have to have a chat with Erestor. A very carefully worded chat, he thought as he entered the dining hall for the morning meal. Perhaps he could subtly involve his sons as well when they returned.

Elrond smirked at that thought, and the few who saw that smirk shuddered in its resemblance to the twin terrors of Imladris.

There was a reason, after all, why Elrond never had punished his sons too harshly for all their many pranks.