Chapter 9
Elrond was busy pacing in his study behind his large desk while Erestor sat silently in one of the chairs in front of it, waiting.
Finally, after several minutes, the Lord of Imladris halted and stood still for a moment before he sighed heavily and slumped into his chair, weary and feeling every bit of his thousands of years of age.
Erestor simply stared at his lord impassively, though Elrond could nearly feel the amusement his friend felt despite his neutral façade.
“I do not know what to do, Erestor,” Elrond finally admitted with a forlorn sigh. “It has not even been a month since she left, however suddenly she did.” He brought his hands to his face and rubbed tiredly at his eyes, thinking an elf should not have to deal with such headaches of circumstance. “She has left before, so why is it only now that Glorfindel is moping about?”
Erestor resisted chuckling, though he did raise an eyebrow—the very same action Elrond had picked up from him. “Glorfindel always moped when she left, just not quite so noticeably as he is now. The only reason it is as noticeable as it is this time is because he is not out on patrol and has no pressing duties to occupy his time with currently.”
Elrond stared at his good friend and Chief Councilor baldly. “So, you are telling me I need to send him out to the borders to distract him from his distraction?” He shook his head once in denial. “He would only be a danger to those he led on patrol. And himself.”
Erestor denied that conclusion by rolling his eyes. With a wry smile, he said, “Glorfindel is the type that battle, or the potential for battle, removes other distractions and focuses him. But at this point, I am afraid he would know exactly what was going on if you sent him off on patrol so suddenly. Something else must be done. People are beginning to notice his poor mood.”
Elrond let out a long-suffering sigh. “It has been years. I do not understand why he has done nothing about his affections. It is quite obvious she feels the same for him!”
Another eyebrow rose. “Do you truly not? Did you not wait centuries before informing your lady of your regard? While Glorfindel may currently be acting…insufferable, his reasons for not actively pursuing her make all too much sense. At least to me.”
Elrond leveled him with a flat look and all but ordered, “Explain.”
“There are multiple reasons,” Erestor shrugged. “First, Glorfindel is old, very old. His respect for the Ainur is…well it just is. He probably does not see her regard for him as anything other than that of a good friend’s affection. You recall he at least admits to having had good friendships with more than one Maia whilst he dwelt in Valinor.”
Elrond narrowed his eyes, mind swirling in confusion. “Yes, he has spoken of them before.”
“I am half convinced the poor ellon was infatuated with Arien by the way he spoke of her and had no idea. But he was much younger then.”
“That still does not explain his current reticence with regards to Ára. Nor why he is just now acting the love-sick fool.”
Erestor picked up the glass of wine from a small table to his right and took a drink before replying, “Ára has usually left on her own, or with some of the guard when she can be convinced, until this sudden trip. Now she has left in the company of another Maia—“
Elrond snorted in laughter. “Who currently looks like an elderly man!”
Erestor nodded as if he hadn’t been interrupted, agreeing. “Even so, to him, it seems a bit off. She had only just met Mithrandír and abruptly decided she needed to join him on his journey. We both understand that there is more at play, and if Glorfindel remembered the discussion the two of you had with her before she left he would understand as well. However…”
“However he is a love-sick fool who has been denying himself for years at this point and that is clouding his judgment,” Elrond finished the thought, nodding to himself absentmindedly. He sighed, picked up his own glass of wine, and took a long swallow. “There is more, is there not?”
The councilor nodded. “Yes, we both know that while the lady has at least told the two of you, and me to a lesser extent, much of her story, she has withheld something. Something large. Glorfindel feels this on a deep level. He will not commit to someone he does not have the full measure of. There is also the fact that she was sent here for a purpose, Elrond, and has not fully finished whatever it is she was supposed to accomplish. Glorfindel, more than anyone, knows what being sent to Middle-Earth from Valinor means. He takes duty seriously. To a level beyond most. And his duty is to be here at least until he sees through the final defeat of Sauron.”
Elrond closed his eyes at that, hanging his head, and his voice was soft as he said, “I know there is darkness coming. A great deal of it. I can feel it The visions I have been sent…” He shook his head once more and opened his eyes. “But I cannot have the Captain of Imladris so out of sorts every time Ára leaves the borders of our lands. Especially with the threat that we can feel is coming. And I cannot order her to stay here either.”
Erestor snorted at that. “A part of me would like to see what would happen if you tried.”
“You just resent being the only one she has turned into a cat.”
“I am an elf! Not a feline creature! It was unnatural and totally uncalled for!”
Elrond stared at him but did not respond.
“Alright, so I was annoying her, but still,” Erestor said, hands raised and palms out. “She did not have to take it so far.”
The two sat in silence once more, sipping on their wine, and worried for their mutual friend.
“Talk to him, Elrond. He needs to see sense.”
Lowering his nearly empty glass to his desk, Elrond averted his eyes and muttered, “I do not see why I should be the one to speak to him about this. You obviously understood what I did not quite gather regarding the matter.”
Erestor looked at him with a flat stare and pursed lips. “You are the only one who is married.”
“If you recall,” Elrond drawled mulishly, “I once attempted to convince him of the merits of spousal companionship due to such and that did not work out. Hence the currently moping Balrog-Slayer.”
Erestor’s eyes lit up and he snorted in mirth. “He really despises that title, you know.”
“Oh, I am aware,” Elrond said with something akin to relish, a smirk gracing his features. “But I can at least say it out of his earshot. I have had more than one person come to me asking what is wrong with their usually cheerful captain, and you have now finally cornered me, begging me to do something.” Elrond threw his hands up and tilted his head back, looking towards the ceiling. “I really hope she returns soon, perhaps we can convince her to do something about Glorfindel instead.”
“I do not believe she is even aware of his affections for her,” Erestor said, shaking his head. “Truthfully, I cannot tell if she is even aware of her own. For being the way she is, she is also rather talented at hiding her emotions.”
"She is rather talented at hiding period," he remarked. Elrond felt as if he wanted to bang his head on a wall or his desk but refrained and only drew his hands over his face with a muttered oath. “Eru, save me from oblivious fools.”
The sound of Erestor’s abrupt, barking laughter brought a smile to Elrond’s face hidden under his hands.
He’d have a talk with Glorfindel, though he doubted it would accomplish anything. Perhaps he could just send him away for a bit. He only needed a reason.
Glorfindel had quickly come to appreciate Celebrían’s talent with all forms of plant life, a large part of the inherited gifts from her ancient Sinda father, Celeborn of Doriath. As he sat in the garden she had spent such a dedicated time to creating for Elrond and their future family when she’d first come to Imladris after finally marrying the lord, he could easily understand why Ára spent so much time in it.
Celebrían had planted various flowers which bloomed nearly all year long under every fruit tree around the garden. Only in the bitterest of winters did all flowers cease to bloom. The apple, cherry, and pear trees formed a circle around the small space, and under each tree, there was either a small stone seat or bench. Glorfindel sat on Ára’s favored bench which faced away from the entrance to the space, under a pear tree.
It was smaller than other, more public gardens in Imladris—definitely smaller than the largest, central garden open to guests and inhabitants alike—but the air of serenity was what set it apart from other spaces he’d had the chance to see. How she had managed to weave that very peace into the lovely space she had created so very long ago, Glorfindel didn’t know, but it was a talent she shared with her mother, his cousin Artanis.
Though Artanis had a Ring of Power to help weave her spell of peace and timelessness around Lóthlorien, while Elrond’s wife did not. Perhaps it was some strange mixture of Celebrían’s considerable gift—some form of Power she had inherited from both her parents—and the fact that Elrond bore a Ring of Power himself.
It meant, however, that the small, private family garden of the Lord of Imladris was one of the best places to both enjoy a lovely sight while resting and also to just spend time with one’s thoughts in peace.
Glorfindel dearly needed peace at the moment.
He was all too aware he’d been acting like a child for the past days, moping about and aimlessly wandering the valley. He nearly wished it had been his turn to lead a long patrol, but he’d just come back from spending two months with the guard at out the borders of Imladris, and there was really no justification for him to return only days later.
If they’d been at war, it might not have mattered so much.
He just hadn’t expected to mourn the loss of Ára’s expected company quite so much. She had quickly become a cherished friend after her arrival to Imladris those few years ago, especially after telling the story of her time in Middle-Earth. And he had felt for the Maia. She would already have been so cut off from most of her kin, but to have no one, no ally, no friend, and no one to help her in such a dark time…it had moved his heart.
That she was lovely in both picture and spirit had Glorfindel feeling something he’d never expected to.
Sure, there had been the beginnings of infatuations for others in his early youth. All elves did at some point or another; it was how they learned and grew so they would be prepared to recognize the true flame of love for their One.
For quite some time after meeting Arien and becoming her friend in Aman, Glorfindel had something of a tender for her—but it was hard not to fall for that strikingly beautiful Spirit, even Melkor had fallen for her. But she had very subtly made him aware she was not open to any sort of relationship beyond friendship, and though Glorfindel had been much younger then, he was not so young as to not understand she had not spoken to his heart in the way a lifemate would. She had simply become one of his very good, close friends.
After meeting Ára, Glorfindel was fairly smacked in the face with the difference between young infatuation which would peter out into firm friendship, and the regard which would develop into love for his One.
So, missing her at the moment was understandable, even if he was presently acting the fool.
And such a fool he felt because despite how often he had tried to get Elrond to see reason—for many centuries—to speak to Celebrían about his love for her, Glorfindel had yet to speak at all to Ára about his own. He simply couldn’t bring himself to do so. He would not admit it, not even to Elrond or Erestor, but he was petrified of receiving a similar response to his regard that Arien had once given him.
Glorfindel wasn’t sure how he’d be able to handle that this time, as he knew in heart that Ára was the only one from now on and the rest of his eternity who would speak to his heart.
He had a duty to see through, as well as she did, and he could not afford the potential consequences if his desire for her to return his regard were to be rejected. Elves had faded for similar reasons before, and he was much older than the few young ones who had been so unlucky.
The fact that so much of her memory was bound also caused him to hesitate. She was not whole, and it was unlikely she would be until she returned to Valinor. There was too the intuition that she had not disclosed everything, not that she was required to, but he felt a large secret lay between them, and it didn’t sit right with him.
Still, he missed her, fool that he was.
Elrond was quietly looking over a rather amusing essay Erestor had assigned Estel to write concerning the history of the First Age. The young boy’s assertion that the Silmarilli were nothing more than shiny rocks and should not have caused nearly half the trouble they did had him snorting in repressed laughter lest anyone walk by and think he’d gone mad if they heard it.
He certainly felt like cackling, and that was not only because he had long agreed with the boy. Elrond had actually seen a Silmaril!
Yes, it had been the most beautiful gem he’d ever laid seen and he had yet to see one stone more well-crafted—though when he had first beheld Celebrían he’d thought her to be the singularly loveliest creature he had ever laid eyes on, and still did—but it was, quite simply, a shiny rock!
Estel's amusing essay was just what he needed to cheer him up at the moment, especially after the string of foreboding dreams he'd been having for several nights, which he strongly suspected were no mere dreams. Sometimes, his connection with the Vala Irmo via Melian by way of foresight and visions really sapped at his well of hope for this world.
His amusement was interrupted by his sons throwing open the door to his study, barging in, slamming it shut quickly, and promptly plopping down in the usual two chairs in front of his desk. Their identical pleading looks caused him to merely raise a brow and wait.
It only took one second before both Elrohír and Elladan began speaking so quickly that his eye began to twitch. Whether it was annoyance or amusement was up for debate.
“You have to do something, Ada!”
“He is scaring people!”
“Even Erestor is concerned.”
“And that is strange.”
“He is walking around sighing!”
“And singing songs in Quenya!”
“And no one understands what he says—“
“Well Erestor certainly does by the way he looks when he hears—“
“Because he sings in archaic Noldorin—“
“And only old fuddies like Erestor can understand that dialect,” both agreed at the same time with twin nods and falsely solemn eyes.
Having heard enough—and slightly insulted on Erestor’s behalf as Elrond himself was perfectly fluent in the Archaic Noldorin dialect he’d been taught many thousands of years ago by his foster fathers—Elrond held up a hand and the twins halted speaking immediately. “While I would dearly love to hear you both continue to try to out-speak each other, dare I ask what you are whining about?”
Both of his sons jerked back with perfectly sculpted faces they could only be fake. Wide eyes and frowns on each, they said simultaneously, “Glorfindel.”
“Ah, I see.” Elrond paused for a moment, rubbed at his chin with one hand, and peered at his sons with narrowed eyes. Perhaps… “I do believe I have a few letters that need to be sent out, and I think the two of you, along with Glorfindel, would make excellent messengers.”
The twin groans he heard as he bent over to open a desk drawer to shuffle through it made him smile.
Truthfully, he only suggested it because the twins’ pranks had started to become irritating instead of merely amusing, and people had come to start the rounds of complaints once more. That it would get Glorfindel out of Imladris—and therefore out of sight of the ones complaining about him—was simply a bonus.
Just as he’d sat up once more and placed the parchment on his desk the door flew open once more, hitting the wall with such force the sound of a large crack made him wince.
“Elrond you need to do something about your sons,” Erestor’s voice barked out as he stood in the doorway. His furious gaze shifted to the twin Ellyn who had shrunk back at the violence in their teacher’s voice.
Elrond simply closed his eyes and sighed. At least Estel was still a well-behaved child. For now.
Elrohír was walking with his brother toward the stables stationed in front of the large bridge which led out of the valley of Imaldris, knives attached to his back below his bow and quiver, sword on his hip, and in the dark fighting leathers he and Elladan preferred, he felt every bit as dangerous as he looked. Elladan and he both carried their packs in their left hands, and Elrohír had his cloak slung over his right shoulder while Elladan had taken to wearing a shorter, hooded jacket over his light armor.
Side-eyeing his still silent, fuming brother, his lip curled up slightly in amusement. Sometimes Elladan took their father’s punishments for their pranks too much to heart. Elrohír loved pulling pranks just as much as Elladan, but he had long learned to accept the penalties when they went overboard. Elladan had not. It helped that, even being twins, Elrohír had learned a bit more patience and was usually the wiser of the two—even if he didn’t practice that wisdom as often as he could.
“Perhaps we should not have pulled that last prank on Erestor,” Elladan slowly said with no small amount of reluctance, as if he could just barely stand to admit it.
Elrohír snorted in agreement, though it didn’t make it less funny. Truly, spelling the pages of his current recreational reading tome blank was a stroke of genius if tricky to pull off so that they did not stay blank. “You know that he is like a dragon guarding gold with his books.”
That startled a laugh out of his twin as he tilted his head back, causing his hood to fall back. “That was why we did it. Though I suppose it was more me than you, as you were merely the convenient distraction.”
Elrohír rolled his eyes even though his brother couldn’t see it. “I am nearly always the convenient distraction. Sometimes even unwittingly.”
Elladan swung his head to the side to stare at his brother even though they both kept walking. “You agreed he deserved it.”
Elrohír nodded his head because that was true, Erestor had been in a state for the past week, and Elrohír had no qualms punishing the older elf for taking his frustration out on his brother or himself. “Yes, though now we have to deal with Glorfindel’s peculiar attitude.”
Elladan groaned as they finally reached the stables. “And you just know we will not be allowed to hunt orcs while ferrying Ada’s letters everywhere.”
Elrohír huffed as he entered the stable storage room alongside his brother to grab saddles. They might not need them to ride, but when carrying weapons and packs saddles and saddlebags were a must. Unless one was being chased, then it was a matter of fleeing with whatever you could, however you could.
“I do not believe Ada would appreciate it if his letters ended up arriving in anything less than the perfect condition they’re in now,” Elrohír said, stuffing his cloak in one of the saddlebags.
As they finished setting up their tack Elladan sniffed at him. “You know Ada put spells of protection on the letters. Even if we tried to slice them open with a dagger they would not be ruined.”
“That is because he does not trust you not to pry into business that is not your own, Elrondion,” a familiar voice sounded, causing both twins to swirl around in the storeroom.
“Ai! That is completely uncalled for,” Elladan yelped.
“Yes,” Elrohír nodded with mock sagacity. “Must you always sneak up on people, Glorfindel?”
The Balrog-Slayer narrowed his bright blue eyes at the twins, and both Elrohír and Elladan had to fight not to flinch at the sight of him. Decked out in his traveling gear, weapons of war strapped to his body over light, leather armor, he looked every inch the annoyed war general he was. But he moved past them after a moment to grab his own tack and said, “If you cannot pay enough attention to sense me coming up behind you, you do not deserve to leave on your own.”
Elladan’s wide eyes followed him with his mouth hanging open even as Elrohír groaned internally. “It is hardly our fault when you can cloak yourself from our senses when you wish to!” Elladan exclaimed.
Elrohír could have told him that was a stupid thing to say, but didn’t, and instead turned to leave the storeroom and find his mare.
“It appears you have learned nothing in the past two-thousand years Elladan,” Glorfindel’s voice followed Elrohír on his way out.
Elrohír shook his head in amazed disbelief. Sometimes, he wondered if he was the only one who’d gotten any sense at all between the two of them. Within his mind, he said to Elladan, “You should know not to antagonize him when he is like this.”
“But he knows we will never be able to sense him when he hides himself no matter how hard we train to do so! He is far older and more practiced at it than we are,” came the annoyed reply via osanwë even as Elladan silently joined him in saddling his own horse next to him.
“For whatever reason, our dear captain has been thoroughly out of sorts and you think it best to talk back to him? Brother, if it were not for the fact that you trained with me, I would think you had never been taught anything by Glorfindel.”
“Do you think he will be like this the entire way to Lóthlorien?”
Elrohír eyed his brother over his now saddled horse as he tied his pack on and raised a brow. “If you keep annoying him, yes.”
Elladan finished attaching the tack to his mare with narrowed eyes before a curious gleam lit within them and he tilted his head to the side. “Do you think I can annoy him out of acting so terribly strange?”
Elrohír was thankful his back was turned to Glorfindel as he choked silently on air with wide eyes. “Eru! Dan, no! Do not do anything stupid. His mood swings have been unpredictable. He might end up throwing us both into a river or something just because you suddenly pushed him too far.”
Both twins mounted their horses even as Glorfindel finished tacking his white stallion and waited. “At least nanananeth might be able to figure out what is wrong with him when we reach Lórien,” Elrohír added with a subtle peer at the golden-haired ellon.
“But that is too long! We will have to deal with him until then. And we will not even be able to hunt orcs on the way as a distraction.”
“Sometimes,” Elrohír groaned, “I wonder if you were dropped on your head when we were children. Glorfindel does not let us hunt with him because the orcs flee from his presence.”
“But if he is cloaking himself,” Elladan insisted, “then they will not know to flee.”
“Are you two done gossiping in your minds like court ellith?” Glorfindel barked, causing them to jolt slightly and look to him as he stood with Asfalloth’s reins in his hands near the opened stable doors.
“This is going to be a long trip,” Elrohír said to his brother as he nodded once at Glorfindel. “Yes, Captain.”
“Let us leave, then,” Glorfindel said curtly and walked off leading his horse.
“I think Ada sending him with us was the punishment, Ro, not the destination.”
Elrohír could only silently agree. Arwen would be insufferable when they saw her, and their grandmother always treated them like children, but Glorfindel’s annoyance burned far worse than either of those two in too good of spirits.