Chapter 4
Ára spent the rest of the morning before lunch with Gilraen. She was feeling very off-kilter after her sparing match with Glorfindel where she’d finally admitted to herself that she found him quite attractive. And she knew it wasn’t just about his looks either, but also his personality, and his presence.
His presence was nearly intoxicating the more time she spent with him. She could Hear him in the Song too, and that was beginning to feel more like a gift than a curse. He shone so brightly in her vision of the Music, his melody was Light and golden, and his spirit was pure and strong.
Her distraction and occupation with her own thoughts had caused Gilraen to prod her attention more than once, and now was not any different.
“There is something wrong with you, my friend,” Gilraen said in her very blunt manner.
Oh, Gilraen could talk smoothly if she desired, she was sharp enough to do so. But alone, in private, Ára found Gilraen tended towards blunt, when she wasn’t teasing at least.
But Ára had no desire to give the younger woman any fuel for teasing on this matter. So she decided to distract Gilraen with her newest idea.
“I have decided to ask if Elrond would mind spending some of his very valuable time to instruct me in the finer points of Healing. I have been thinking about it, due to the topic for our upcoming luncheon today, and I realized that I really do not know much of Healing.”
Sometimes when Gilraen looked Ára in the eye, Ára could swear the twenty-something woman could read minds, even though Gilraen should have no such ability, and even if she somehow did, Ára had occlumency shields that were nigh on unbreakable. At least she hoped.
Gilraen was giving her one such look now.
Honestly, the woman had no right to look so knowing. Not towards Ára, who was a Maia, and several centuries, a couple thousand years, really, older than her companion.
“You have seemed busy enough this past week,” was all Gilraen said though.
Ára breathed carefully. She hadn’t been all that busy, not really. Was Gilraen wanting her to spend more time with her? Was Ára neglecting her friend? Sometimes, Ára thought that however human-like she still believed herself to be, she wasn’t human anymore.
Apparently the passage of time, which Ára had been pretty sure she was still measuring like Men, was something that had indeed changed for her.
The years ran together, and seemed to pass almost too quickly. But each day seemed to Ára’s experience was no different in time than those she had lived before coming to Middle-Earth, remade as a Maia.
Was time-sense something which gradually changed for immortal beings too? Ára had always thought it was something innate within elves and other Maiar.
Perhaps it wasn’t after all.
Ára sighed, slumping in her chair. “Sometimes I am reminded that I am not, in fact, of the race of Men. It has been so very easy to forget that daily, these past centuries.”
Gilraen laughed, finally. “I am not accusing you of neglecting me. In truth, you have not been at all. I simply find your desire to make yourself even busier than you already are…well I do not think I quite understand it at the moment.”
Ára rather thought that was because Gilraen was mourning her husband’s death more than anything else, but she didn’t say so. Instead, she laughed at her friend.
“I cannot possibly not do anything more than read while I live here, Gilraen. Eventually I would run out of material!”
“You sparred with Lord Glorfindel this morning, did you not?”
Ára narrowed her eyes at that statement. Yes, there was some telling glint there, some subtle teasing. Ára decided to ignore it.
“Well, yes. And apparently I need new weapons, or so he says. Elven-forged ones. As if I have not been using my perfectly fine ones for many years already!” Ára waved her hands about as she spoke, and as Gilraen’s laughter filled the room once more, Ára felt like she had won yet another battle.
If she could continue to keep her friend laughing in her grief, Ára had the feeling Gilraen would recover from the loss of her husband that much easier, and it would be something Arathorn would want to happen.
Lunch with Elrond was not going precisely how Ára had thought it would today. He had a strange glimmer in his eyes, almost as if he knew something about her that she did not. Ára had wanted to ask him so many times within the past hour alone just what information he thought he knew.
There was nothing, at least as far as Ára could understand, which he should know about her that she didn’t know herself.
Were all Elves strange in this manner, or was it just the friends Ára made? What was it about her that was causing so many people to…to twinkle at her?
At least Elrond had agreed to begin instructing her in the Healing Arts. They’d discussed for quite some time what she knew of the body, and it had become very apparent that what little she understood about healing Men would not suffice for more than emergencies for healing Elves.
“There is more to the Healing of Elves than simply working with their bodies, unlike Men.”
“Yes, the Hröa and Fëa of Elves are more tightly bound together,” Ára agreed. She understood that much, though she had never had to deal with it in practice. She could sense it, though. If she were in a room of both Elves and Men, she’d be able to tell which were which while she was blindfolded.
Elrond nodded. “Yes, and because of that, the Healing of physical injuries on an elf is nearly as much about the Healing of their Fëa as it is their body.”
Okay, so apparently Ára understood even less than the little she thought she did.
She tilted her head, it was truly a habit she needed to stop. Her body language was far too readable. “That is something I believe you will have to explain in much more depth. I can, of course, tell and elf apart from a man simply by sense, but I do not really know more than that as regards to Healing. And I do not know very much of Healing Men regardless. I think, I can help with little things, and know a few brews to help with pain, infection, and such things. But this is mostly all knowledge most rangers have.”
Elrond hummed as he drank the last of his wine. He folded his hands together in front of him on the desk in his study, which had just recently been cleared of their lunch plates, and lost himself in thought for a moment.
“I believe you have the potential to gain much ability in Healing, though perhaps it will not be your most gifted area.” He paused, a considering gleam entering his eyes. “I know we spoke briefly of your…ability in battle previously. Let me be even blunter than I was that night. Are you capable of battle magic?”
Ára inhaled sharply. Fuck. That was as obvious of an admittance as there was. Finally, she closed her eyes and merely nodded.
“I do not much like speaking of it, truthfully,” she finally said. “You said yourself you used your Power during the War of Wrath. Do you recall how very terrible the destruction you wrought with it? Did it tire you more greatly than merely using blades?”
Elrond narrowed his eyes, but he did take the time to consider her question. “Yes, it did tire me more than expected then. I used less of such magics during the War of the Last Alliance, though during the Siege of Barad-Dûr I used such Power more than at any other time during the whole of that war.”
Ára nodded as if she agreed with him, which she sort of did. “Now, imagine your Power was stronger, and you tired using your Power as though you were only fighting with bladed weapon, and perhaps even less than that. And if you can imagine that, you can understand a bit of what it would be like for me to unleash battle magic.”
“I am unsure, in truth, if I can understand it. It seems you have developed a severe aversion to using your Power in battle. More so than I had previously thought.”
How had it come back to this? She did not want to speak of it. Not at all. Merely remembering the carnage she was capable of, the grotesque bloodshed, especially empowered as she was now, it was enough to send her mood spiraling.
Back before she’d been sent to Middle-Earth, before she’d been remade and Námo had claimed her as his Herald, she’d seen a great deal of how much devastation magic could cause. She’d caused a great deal of it on her own.
And the first years she’d been in Middle-Earth, well they hadn’t been pretty at all. There had been more death and bloodshed in those first few years, back when the remnants of Sauron’s army were still wandering about, than she’d even seen in the war she’d been part of before her world hopping via death.
Her magic had been newly empowered, and other gifts of Power had been bestowed upon her or activated and increased in strength as well. It pained her to admit it, but it had taken quite some time to regain her previous amount of control over her magic and power, and even more time to fine-tune it.
There was a very good reason she hadn’t been sent to Middle-Earth help with the War of the Last Alliance. She had not been lying about the possibility of laying waste to enemy and ally alike if she had been.
There was a very good reason she did not use but the subtlest of battle magic when fighting alongside even one other person, even now, centuries thousands of years later. She was not sure, that if she couldn’t even make Elrond understand the gravity of doing such, she would be able to make anyone else understand.
Perhaps Glorfindel would. But had he ever seen battle magic used by Maia in war? He hadn’t been reborn and sent back to Middle-Earth during the War of Wrath, had he?
Even meditating on that war made Ára feel sick from the scant memories the Song allowed her to see. The carnage, the slaughter, the destruction of the very earth itself. It was truly unimaginable. There were very few beings still alive in this Age and on these shores who had witnessed such atrocities. From what little she could see in meditation, Ára was very aware of why the Valar had waited so very long to intervene, and why they had waited even longer after they’d sent a few Maiar alongside the forces from the West until they had come in person to drag their fallen brother from his fortress and force him from Middle-Earth.
The wrath of the Valar was not to be taken lightly, not at all. Ára wondered if Fëanor, residing in Mandos as he was during the War of Wrath, had learned that lesson after all. Had he watched the war as Vairë had woven it on her living tapestries?
Elrond watched and waited patiently as Ára closed her eyes and winced, and became lost in memory.
Was it truly so terrible for her to use battle magic? He didn’t know. He’d been in the War of Wrath, had seen land mass drowned under Ulmo’s Power, and had even seen some of what Manwë’s Herald had wrought on his own. Elrond had used what gift of Power he could, to gain an edge in battle as well, but it seemed that most of his Power truly did lay in Healing and Protection, like the wards he’d placed around Imladris, if the very visible pain on Ára’s face was any indication.
Perhaps his memory of that long ago war was blurred. He hadn’t yet chosen to be counted among the Eldar, and he knew his brother had changed in subtle ways after choosing to be counted amongst Men. Their choices had been made after the end of the War of Wrath. Perhaps Elrond had still, even with proof, underestimated the Spirits and the Powers.
He’d seen from a very far distance, after the breaking of Thangorodrim, the Valar bringing up Melkor from his dark fortress in chains, before simply dissipating.
The aura of power he’d felt then, even from so far away, had been astounding, and he’d never felt its like again.
Just how truly powerful was the one sitting across from him, lost in memory if the memories themselves caused her to feel pain and grief so acutely that he could sense such from her even with her mind still shrouded and impenetrable?
“I apologize,” Elrond finally said, having enough. “I had no intention to cause you to relive such painful memories.”
Ára took a deep breath before opening her eyes. Suddenly, for the first time since he’d met the Maia over a week ago, Elrond truly saw her age. Her bright-green eyes were clouded with grief and pain, and it seemed to him as if she’d aged centuries before his very eyes.
“You are not responsible for my memories, Elrond, nor for how they pain me to recall.”
That was true enough, he supposed, but he still felt sore for bringing the subject up. He understood, after all, how it was to fall into memories which were less than joyful. He’d been thinking of many things in the past hour which were painful.
With a wry, pained smile, Elrond said, “Perhaps not, but I am sorry nonetheless. I am old enough to be aware of what it is like to fall into those types of memories. And I am a Healer.”
Some of the previous joyful light came back into her eyes as Ára snorted. “Yes, and as such you should be aware that you are not responsible for every sorrow every person experiences.” She paused, face suddenly grave. “Grief and pain area teachers too, sometimes more than others.”
Elrond nodded. He could only agree, after all. He had much experience with the same. But he said, “That is true enough. But we must remember joy and love in order to contrast such darkness. If we do not, that is when we can fall.”
Ára smiled then, seeming almost like a proud mother, and Elrond had to blink in the face of it. “Of course, and I agree. Without darkness, one cannot appreciate the light. But without light, one is simply lost in darkness.”
Elrond blinked again and then smiled. That was…well it was very aptly put. He would have to remember that phrase.
“Now then, I think meeting twice a week for a couple hours each will be far more than enough to begin with for your new lessons. This will give you plenty of time for other activities and duties you decide to take on, and we can continually adjust as our schedules allow.”
“That sounds wonderful. Are there any books you recommend specifically for me to read?”
Elrond’s smile became much wider and far more genuine then. “Ah, someone after my own heart. Yes, there are in fact several, and I shall make up a list and give it to you by the end of the week. It should be enough to get going on, and keep you quite satisfied for some time after I finish.”
“I look forward to it.”
So too did he, if he was being honest. It had been some time since he’d had such a good student, and he could tell she would be one. It had been even longer since he’d taught someone who truly wanted to learn his favorite subject, the one he was most passionate about, as well.
When Glorfindel found Ára that afternoon, she was sitting in the Elrond’s private, family garden. Erestor had mentioned she’d come to sit and meditate there every day since she, Gilraen, and Estel had arrived in Imladris, but Glorfindel had yet, until now, seen her there.
Perhaps Glorfindel should spend more time in this particular garden himself.
But Ára did not seem peaceful as she meditated, not from where Glorfindel could see her as he stood at the entrance to the garden. Her body looked tense, and from her profile, her face seemed tense as well, eyes scrunched tightly closed, not merely relaxed. It was as if she were reliving some painful memory, he thought, as she winced ever so slightly.
He wanted to interrupt, but dared not. He knew he did not like being interrupted when he was meditating. And he also knew that sometimes it was necessary to meditate over painful memories. They were just as much a part of someone as memories filled with joy and happiness were, sometimes even more so.
So he stood there for long minutes as he watched her slowly relax, slowly come out of a painful memory and move into something lighter, something happier.
The small, peaceful smile that finally began to grow on her face, long after he’d seen her wincing in pain, made his heart ache even as he felt himself smiling. It was a truly lovely smile, one he hoped to see on her face many more times in the days and years to come. One he found himself wishing to be the cause of, often.
Is this truly what it was like to feel love for another? He’d loved his parents, of course. And his family. He loved Artanis dearly, even just thinking of her now caused him to smile a bit wider. He loved Elrond, and Erestor.
Perhaps this feeling he was experiencing was love, of a friend only. But that thought caused him to frown. No, it was starting there, surely. He already felt as if Ára was his friend. Yes, that was true. But was he beginning to feel more than love of a friend for her already? Surely it was far too soon, far too quickly.
Elves did not fall in love so quickly anymore, not in this Age.
Though he remembered, long, long ago, under the light of the Two Trees, that elves fell in love rather quickly then. It seemed sometimes that once two elves met and found their heart’s mate, they married shortly after. Even Artanis had found her husband and loved him quickly, and that was after the Darkening.
But this did not happen anymore, Glorfindel was sure of that. It had even taken more than a millennia for Elrond to marry Celebrían after meeting her.
Glorfindel shook his head to clear his thoughts. He did not need to be thinking of this, especially not now with the potential subject of his potential regard sitting right in front of him. He decided to make a heavy step into the garden, one that he was sure even a mortal could hear, and Ára was certainly no mortal, so she should have no trouble hearing him, nor sensing him afterward.
Indeed she had heard, for her eyes flew open and as her gaze locked with her smile became truly radiant. His own matched hers, he was sure.
“Good afternoon, Ára” he said.
“Good afternoon, Glorfindel,” she returned, picking herself up off the ground gracefully. Her movement was lithe and fluid, as if she were some large, elegant cat. Glorfindel nearly nodded in agreement with his rather absurd though, but he was far too old not to have control of himself.
Instead, he walked towards her and wordlessly offered him his arm, which she took.
“Are you taking me to get new weapons commission for me now?” she asked in a teasing tone.
“Of course! I did say you needed new ones, did I not?”
Ára laughed as they walked out of the garden together. “You did. I did not know whether to be offended or laugh, truthfully. But I chose to laugh.”
“I am glad you did,” he said turning his face to look upon her. “Your laughter is quite lovely.”
If he hadn’t been looking at her, Glorfindel didn’t know whether he would have seen the light pink color which flushed on her cheeks. But he had been, and he had seen it. Well, then.
She laughed lightly and said, “Thank you, you are very kind to say so, my Lord.” Her tone was still teasing, but Glorfindel was looking at her even though she was not looking at him.
Glorfindel thought that discretion was the better part of valor and so he turned front once more. “Yes, well, I aim to be honest in all I say, my Lady.”
And together they walked towards the black-smiths, both happily lost in thought.
Ára groaned internally, mentally chastising herself for the flutters she felt in her stomach as she continued to be led by Glorfindel to the smith. This attraction was going to be a problem. She just couldn’t help herself in his presence.
He was funny, he was charming, he was witty, and he was gorgeous in body and soul. This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Gilraen had been right to laugh at her this morning. She really needed to get ahold of herself.
Perhaps she should go on a patrol, alone, perhaps she should go visit Edoras in Rhoan, or even Minas Tirith in Gondor. Maybe even Dol Amroth, she hadn’t been there in many years, not since Prince Imrahil had been a young boy, if she remembered correctly, and she actually really liked Dol Amroth.
Yes, that was it, she needed to travel. But she couldn’t leave this soon. Perhaps she could hold out for at least a month. A month was no time at all, really, and she could excuse it with being normal for her, having been living with the rangers for so very long.
Perhaps she could even find it within herself to visit Lóthlorien. If she planned to do that, she could busy herself with worrying over meeting the Lady Galadriel. Ára was surely losing her mind if she thought that was a good idea.
There were times when Ára wanted to walk up to a wall and bash her head against them. This was certainly one of those times.
Ah, well, best to make the most of it, whatever this was. She felt a slight tingle from the remnants of her meditation communing with the Song. She was pretty sure Námo was laughing at her.
“So, do you often visit your cousin in Lóthlorien?” Ára finally managed bring herself to ask. Fuck, what was wrong with her? At least it worked as a topic of conversation.
Glorfindel answered the question easily enough, though. “I used to visit every time the Lady Celebrían visited her mother, as I usually was always part of her guard, unless I was either already in a battle, or had been assigned elsewhere and she left on a whim.” He paused, then, face somber with some sort of remembered grief, before understanding hit Ára like a sledgehammer.
Celebrían had been Elrond’s wife, the daughter of his dear cousin Artanis—Lady Galadriel of Lóthlorien—and if Ára remembered the stories correctly, which she certainly believed to be true, then…
“Oh,” Ára breathed out in a whisper. “I apologize, my friend. I did not want to bring up painful memories for you.”
Glorfindel only shook his head in response.
“No, no. Do not apologize, for I have many memories of Celebrían which are full of light, and I shall see her again after I sail, of this I am certain. I used to go with her and spend a few weeks in Lóthlorien after we arrived before returning to Imladris. She rode to visit her mother quite often in those days, and so I spent my fair share of time visiting my cousin and friends there. Arwen travels there still, though her visits are usually much longer than Celebrían’s and therefore she has made the journey fewer times, overall, since Celebrían sailed.”
Glorfindel turned his head to look at Ára with a smirk, and Ára knew her unintended trespass was already forgiven.
“Of course, that does not mean I do not make the journey on my own, or with others if the need arises, and then, of course, I stay for a bit even so, if not quite as long as I used to in previous years.”
Ára smiled. “You know, sometimes, I feel so very old some days. I have been with the Dúnedain for so many centuries now, time has seemed to run together in such a blur.”
Glorfindel nodded as they continued walking, and Ára tried very hard to both pay attention to their route, the view, and Glorfindel all at once. It was difficult, for Glorfindel demanded much attention.
“Yes, I can understand you, though I believe it is easier among the elves.”
“There are so many deaths, so many new people. It seems, at times, that I merely have to blink and whole generations of men pass before my eyes.”
Glorfindel nodded. “Yes, it can feel that way. It is both the same and different here in Imladris. I have seen countless generations of the Heirs of Isildur fostered here. And with Gilraen and Estel’s arrival, due to the death of Arathorn, it reminds me that it seems only yesterday when Arathorn was here as a child. And if I blink, it is his grandfather I remember running wild through the halls of Imladris. I imagine it has been even worse for you.”
Ára nodded. “Yes, and no. I think, over the centuries, I became truly close with fewer and fewer people. Arathorn was the first Chieftain in a few generations to whom I felt very close to, and Gilraen the first Chieftain’s wife to whom I fell into to such fast friendship with, since, well I think the last wife who was such a great friend was Arassuil, a little over two hundred or so years ago. I liked them both very much, and Gilraen reminds me greatly of someone I knew even longer ago. She is very sharp-minded, and very amusing. Our sense of humor is very similar, and a great deal of our friendship consists of teasing each other.”
“Have you known Gilraen very long, then? Is she not due to only turn thirty later this year?”
Ára tilted her head and her brows furrowed in thought. “To be honest, I am unsure of exactly how old she is, though I know her birthday is later in the year, towards the end. But yes, I have known her for quite some time, as she measures it.”
Ára laughed and the sound of it rang in her ears, joyful in memory.
“I met her as a young adolescent, quite by happenstance, and much to the chagrin of her father, I am sure, who did not like Arathorn very well when he was younger. Meeting Gilraen…well it was a meeting of the mind as much as of the heart. One of those meetings wherein you know almost immediately that the other person will come to mean quite a lot to you, and you become great friends very quickly. She did not know of my nature then, though I believe some deep part of her sensed something of it even young as she was. Gilraen was an intelligent child, and grew into a great woman, who became a great wife for Arathorn. I purposely went out to spend time with her, back before she even met Arathorn properly.”
Glorfindel hummed and nodded in agreement. “My meeting Ecthelion was much like you describe. We had barely spoken to each other, had merely one or two conversations over the course of a single day, and after that we became as close as brothers.” Glorfindel sighed longingly. “Him, I miss very much. But he had been reborn before I left Aman the second time, and we spent a few good years together there before I was sent back to Middle-Earth.”
“What was he like? Do you think I would be very good friends with him as well? Or is that only Arien you think so of?”
Glorfindel laughed, and patted her arm he held entwined with his with his free hand before returning it to his side. “Oh yes, very much so. Ecthelion…he could be very serious, very grim, and then out of nowhere he would crack a joke, as dry as the driest wine you’ve ever tasted, and all would fall silent for a moment before the sound of barking laughter would fill the hall. In the later years of Gondolin, after Aredhel was slain, he was nearly all which kept me sane, locked in as we were.”
“Then I shall have to meet him as well, after we sail west, when the shadow has been beaten.” Ára paused, the black-smith’s area coming into sight now, and the heavy sound of falling water surrounding them much louder. “Who else shall I have to meet, who do you recommend I acquaint myself with?”
Glorfindel seemed to think it over for a time before he said, “Well, you already know Gildor, and I would have recommended him, though he is far too full of wanderlust.”
But at that statement, Ára had to disagree. “I do not believe it is wanderlust anymore as such. I believe he is simply lost, and cannot find what he does not know to look for anymore, if he ever truly knew.”
“Truly?” Glorfindel sounded very surprised as they reached the office of whoever he was going to request the quite large commission from. “I would not have thought…perhaps it is so. But if it is, then he has been lost for a long Age indeed.”
They paused outside the door, not wanting to end the conversation quite yet.
“Yes, I believe, well from what little he has spoken of it, I believe the end of the Second Age was just about his limit. I believe there is a very large part of him, a part he is keen on denying, which longs for the peace of Aman, but he has been holding himself back from it. Because Sauron has not been defeated utterly, I think. But most of that is guesswork on my part.”
“No, I think you speak wisdom. What you say makes a great deal of sense. If there is one person, other than Artanis, who so utterly craves his destruction, it would be Gildor Inglorion. Finrod adopted him when Gildor was very, very young, and he was the only father Gildor ever knew. His second name is derived from an old, rarely used name for Findaráto Ingoldo, which was Inglor, and so Gildor took that name for himself, as Finrod’s son.”
“Ah, Inglorion, I see. I understand, now, why you would say your cousin and he would hate Sauron and want to see to his complete destruction before sailing West. That makes much sense.”
They both quieted for a moment before Glorfindel spoke up finally while rapping his knuckles on the door. “Shall we get your new weapons commissioned then?”
Ára nodded, but teased him. “I still think my current ones are perfectly serviceable.”
Glorfindel snorted. “Yes, for a Man, which you are not.”
He said no more, though, for a dark-haired, grey, and grim-eyed elf opened the door, and when his eyes fell upon Ára they widened comically in shock even as he stiffened quite visibly. The elf blinked and looked slowly to Glorfindel.
Glorfindel wanted to smack himself. Of course, of course he should have warned Curudan, He was one of the few beings in Imladris who would recognize a Maia sight, and the last Maia who hadn’t been carefully introduced to him—he still avoided Mithrandír to this day— well that had been Sauron in the guise of Annatar. Curudan was one of few surviving smiths of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain.
“I apologize, Curudan, I should have warned you,” Glorfindel said. “This is Ára, and I have taken her to you because she requires real weapons, not those made by the hand of Men.”
Glorfindel could tell Ára understood something was wrong, and that she also wanted to tease Glorfindel, but was refraining for Curudan’s sake.
“Ára, this is Curudan,” Glorfindel began, knowing the introduction would explain the ellon’s reaction to her. “He is the best smith Imladris has, for he came from Ost-in-Edhil and was of the Gwaith-I Mírdain.”
Ára seemed to understand instantly. Were they not speaking of a similar subject just before? “So you are very skilled, then, I expect. Which is good, because smith-craft is certainly not one of my own skills.”
Glorfindel tried to continue her good humor, both hoping to tease her and help put Curdan at ease. “Which is probably why all your weapons were forged by Men, and not elves, my Lady.”
Ára did snort then, her eyes lighting up as she looked to him. “You are terrible to speak so to a lady, my Lord.”
Curudan’s shoulders were relaxing, Glorfindel noticed out of the corner of his eyes, so he smirked at Ára. “Say not so, my Lady. For I believe it was due to your inferior blades which kept you from winning our match earlier this morn.”
Now there was a small smile on Curudan’s lips as Ára snorted and laughed. Glorfindel knew he had hit his objective.
“Are you saying, my Lord,” Curudan finally joined in the banter, “that the Lady would have won against you with an elven-forged sword?”
Glorfindel eyed his friend and tried to nod seriously, though he knew his mirth was showing quite obviously. “Oh yes. Most certainly.”
All three laughed then. “You had both better come in then.” Curudan paused to look over Ára more critically for the first time, eyeing her as a smith and not a shocked ellon. “I believe I can help you out, my Lady. And I had better if the Lord Glorfindel has brought you to me especially.”
“Oh, my, well, lead the way, my Lord.”
Curudan snorted and turned around heading back into his office. “I am not a Lord of anything, Lady Ára, merely a smith.”
“Well then,” she said as she followed, Glorfindel walking behind her, “Simply call me Ára and I shall try not to make a Lord of you, Curudan.”
“I can see why you are friends with her, Glorfindel.”
“Yes, quite,” Glorfindel agreed happily, a large smile stretching across his face.
As Curudan sat behind his desk, pulling a new piece of parchment out and readying a quill and ink, Ára took a seat in the chair Glorfindel had pulled out for her and he stood behind her and placed his hands on the back of the chair. Glorfindel rather thought if he did not grip the chair he might end up trying to finger her tresses in his hand, they looked so soft.
“All right, tell me what you need.” Curudan nodded at them once he was prepared to take notes.
Glorfindel spent the rest of the afternoon with Ára and Curudan, drawing up plans for the commission of her new weapons. Glorfindel and Ára argued over whether to replace them all, or just the sword, or the sword and two daggers instead of four.
He was quite pleased in the end, when, with Curudan’s mocking assistance, she finally agreed to replace her sword and all of her daggers.