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~ * ~ * ~
S.A. 3030
Glorfindel was but a tiny golden speck against the living, breathing tapestry that was the magnificent Misty Mountains. Though he’d traversed this path countless times before, the harsh beauty of the snow-covered peaks never failed to steal his breath away. The chilled breeze lapped at his hair, teasing playfully as he motioned for the small contingent of Imladris sentinels behind him to slow to a stop. Here, at the very base of the ragged foothills, they would wait.
Silence surrounded them, save for the nervous twitching of Glorfindel’s steed. Indeed, his trusted companion was quite familiar with most of the unpleasantness that could spill from the slopes above with little or no warning — all manner of orcish or malevolent monstrosities with naught but death and destruction clouding their narrow intelligence. Yet, Glorfindel was content. The High Pass had been free of nefarious activity for some time, bringing Eriador and Rhovannion ever closer. Nay, the forces of good and evil would not clash this day.
Inhaling his fill of the cold mountain air, Glorfindel reached his senses outward, knowing at least one in the approaching party would perceive him clearly even if he, himself, had not the same gift. Long moments passed, the stillness intensifying. Then, in dreamlike fashion, figures began to materialize from the thin veil of mist that shrouded the lower reaches. They rode double file, a company of ten. The distinctive greys and browns worn by the wardens of Lórinand were easily identifiable even at this distance, though Glorfindel’s eye was immediately drawn to one of the individuals safely ensconced in the middle, one whose ringmail hauberk and great sword shone as brightly as his silver hair.
A smile tickled the corners of Glorfindel’s mouth. Lord Celeborn, gentle soul that he was, was not normally given to such martial displays — only, it seemed, when escorting the precious lady who rode close to his side, draped in warm folds of burgundy velvet. ‘Twas a fitting demonstration of vigilance and devotion that only enhanced the atmosphere of this much anticipated visitation.
As soon as the narrows of the pass widened, the travelers changed formation, the wardens surrounding the lord and his companion on all sides. As one, they halted a short distance away, save for a lone warden who slowed his horse to a walk and continued towards Imladris’s guards. Glorfindel’s brow rose as he urged his horse forward. While it was customary for the senior warden of the visiting party to greet the host guardian and request permission to continue, the young man who now approached looked barely old enough to lift the sword sheathed at his side much less carry that kind of responsibility. Blond hair that was pulled back into warrior’s plaits hung only slightly lower than his shoulders. Very young, indeed. Glorfindel wondered whether this one had yet seen fifty summers.
Their gazes met as they halted their steeds only yards apart, the blue of Ages past matched by the icy blue of the sky at mid-day. The young warden’s posture and expression both exuded quiet confidence, yet there was an unidentifiable glint in his eyes that intrigued Glorfindel. Was it curiosity? Intimidation, perhaps? Or a more blatant touch of the arrogance so commonly found in youth? Long moments of silence passed between them before the warden finally dismounted and approached him on foot — an unexpected breach of protocol.
“Mae govannen, Lord Glorfindel,” the young man greeted, bowing his head while touching fingertips to forehead.
Glorfindel blinked in surprise. Definitely not conceit, then. The gesture was, in fact, an antiquated way of showing respect to those of noble status, one he hadn’t seen used for Ages.
“I am Haldir, warden of the march,” the warden continued, “and I bring guests from Lórinand. May we seek refuge in your valley?”
Sliding off his steed, Glorfindel fought not to laugh as Haldir’s eyes widened. He grinned instead, pretending to ignore the fact that he fairly towered over the younger man. When they stood face to face, Glorfindel warmly clapped Haldir’s shoulder, a warrior’s greeting that was returned, if a bit hesitantly.
“You are most welcome, Haldir o Lórinand,” Glorfindel’s gaze strayed to the lord and lady beyond, “you and your guests, for whom Lord Elrond awaits with great expectation.
“Come,” he continued, glancing back at Haldir. “Respite is but half a league away. Let us relieve you and ride together.”
“We are relieved, with much gratitude,” Haldir confirmed, offering the closing words for the traditional exchange of the guard. The safety of the Lórinand party was now officially Imladris’s responsibility.
Glorfindel turned and marched back to his steed, nodding to the sentinels under his command. They immediately took up positions flanking the visitors on all sides. Settling back into his saddle, Glorfindel tossed Haldir another grin before urging his horse next to the other’s mare. Side by side, the two guardians led the way down into the Valley of Imladris.
~ * ~ * ~
“Pray tell, are you getting taller?”
A quiet hiss of laughter escaped Glorfindel as he pulled back from the friendly embrace. “Perhaps it is you who are shrinking?” he teased. “How fare you, Celeborn?”
The Sinda’s smile widened. “’Tis a joyous occasion, this,” Celeborn stated, pouring a generous quantity of wine into twin glasses of the finest crystal. “A long time it has been since my spirits were so elated.”
“The happiest of times, indeed,” Glorfindel agreed, taking the proffered wine and following Celeborn onto the balcony.
Anor was slowly descending through the distant trees, leaving the land awash in various hues of orange, yellow, and brown. Glorfindel’s eye caught movement in the gardens a short distance away: sable and silver locks, very close together, winding slowly through a maze of trellises and large rose bushes. The sight forced his lips into a lopsided grin.
“Are you not here as a chaperone?” he asked, taking a seat.
Celeborn glanced at him. “But, of course.”
Glorfindel’s grin turned wolfish. “And yet, young lovers roam freely through all sorts of hidden nooks and crannies. At this job, you fail, my friend.”
Celeborn chuckled, following his gaze. “My daughter’s virtue is quite safe with Elrond. I could not ask for a more honorable suitor for her.”
“And so the courtship begins at long last...”
The richness of black and gold in motion captured Glorfindel’s attention from the courtyard below. He looked down and spotted Haldir making his way towards the Homely House for the evening meal. The warden wore a dark tunic that brilliantly offset his hair, though he seemed quite oblivious to all the heads turning in his direction as he went along.
“That young man is dressed to be seen,” he noted aloud.
“Mission accomplished, it would seem.” The wryness in Celeborn’s tone caused him to turn back to his companion. The Sinda’s eyes were positively sparkling.
Glorfindel quirked a brow. “Have I missed something?”
“Only a fortnight of incessant questions asked of me during the journey here, beginning the moment Haldir discovered you were a close friend of mine,” Celeborn answered.
Sitting up a bit straighter, Glorfindel immediately feigned an air of exaggerated importance, tossing several stray strands of hair over his shoulder as he said, “Well, I am the mighty Balrog Slayer.”
The hilarity of the declaration wasn’t lost on Celeborn, who knew well how much Glorfindel detested the title. “I tried to explain what a jester you are,” he continued when his mirth had settled, “but that only seemed to confuse the poor lad.”
“He is awfully young,” Glorfindel remarked, all seriousness having returned.
Celeborn nodded. “Indeed he is.”
“Especially to be point warden for a protection detail of such import.”
“In truth, this was a rather easy assignment for him,” Celeborn countered evenly.
Intrigued, Glorfindel’s other brow rose.
Celeborn let his statement hang in the air for a few long, expectant moments before adding, “Haldir is Sadorel’s chosen Second.”
Not trusting his reflexes, Glorfindel quickly set his wine glass down. He stared incredulously at his companion. “Are you telling me that child,” he pointed his thumb in the direction Haldir had gone, “is second in command of the entire Galadhrim Guard?”
“At present, he is only in charge of the northern and eastern borders, but should Sadorel fall, yes, Haldir would assume the position of high march-warden.”
“That is beyond comprehension,” was all Glorfindel could manage, so great was his astonishment.
Celeborn’s expression turned thoughtful. “His accomplishments are considerable for one so young.”
“And Amdír is truly agreeable to this?”
“I was present the day Haldir stood before the king and recited the warden’s pledge. He was all of twelve years old.”
Glorfindel snorted, trying in vain to shake off the unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Starting them a bit young in Lórinand, are you not?”
“Oh, he was not sent to the recruits’ barracks with the others, of course,” Celeborn explained, “but the depth of that child’s devotion and desire to serve did not go unnoticed — by anyone. Amdír sent him home with orders to study diligently and report back in twenty-five years. All of which he did. He is the youngest warden in the history our realm.”
Glorfindel leaned forward, resting folded arms upon the balcony’s railing. His gaze fell upon the entrance to the Homely House three floors below. “And he is impressed by me?”
“’Tis his utmost wish to have the chance to learn from you while we are here. Would you consider this, my friend?”
Glorfindel worried his bottom lip.
“He expressed great interest in your combat techniques,” Celeborn tempted, grinning.
“Don’t they all,” Glorfindel jested, though there was more truth to it than he cared to admit.
“And he is a very astute learner.”
He glanced back at Celeborn, gauging the strength and sincerity of his words. Finally, after the longest of pauses, Glorfindel leaned back in his chair and collected his glass of wine. “Tell me more about him.”
~ * ~ * ~
The swing was far too high, Glorfindel noted, already predicting the outcome a split second before Haldir lost his balance and fell to the ground. The awkward tangle of limbs was painful to watch, even more so for the look that crossed the younger man’s face — there was no anger, determination, or even embarrassment written there. Only profound shame.
“Try again,” Glorfindel announced, offering his hand to the downed warden. “Your center is much lower than that. Stay within those bounds and you will do well.”
“But you are so much taller than I,” Haldir countered, rare frustration evident in his tone. “How am I to match you?”
“By using your strengths, and that includes your smaller stature. Many a battle will be fought against larger foes; you must be ready for them.”
Haldir brushed the newly acquired dust off his already dirty tunic. “I honestly do not understand.”
“Who is quicker — large or small?” Glorfindel questioned, handing the other’s practice weapon back to him.
Haldir’s brow furrowed. “That depends on numerous factors... what type of weapons are being wielded, the terrain involved, the race of the individuals in question...”
Glorfindel barely had time to swallow the bark of laughter caught in his throat. How could he have forgotten that the majority of this young man’s talent involved the large-scale battle coordination and tactics he’d spent his childhood studying at King Amdír’s behest — the very reason he was in charge of two entire borders after a mere fifteen years of active field service. Haldir was a capable fighter, to be sure, and much stronger than he looked, but his true brilliance was intellectual, not physical. Yet, there was so much promise there, so very much.
Planting his practice sword in the ground, Glorfindel leaned patiently against the pommel while he listened to Haldir rattle off yet another calculable statistic for what should have been a very simple answer to a simple question. The hardest part was not letting his amusement show. The last thing he wanted to do was dissuade the other’s attention to detail, for that was a talent to be nurtured in his position.
Fighting the tug of a grin, Glorfindel took a moment to really scrutinize his pupil. Haldir was slim, and of average height — perhaps slightly below, but if the size of his hands and nose were any indication, there was some growing yet to be done. He looked a bit like a pup not yet grown into its ears or paws. And that, of course, was something to consider where his training was concerned. Haldir’s center would change along with his body, and there may come a time when a foe of Glorfindel’s size might be less of a hardship for him during battle.
“...so you see, it is impossible to answer that question without further information,” Haldir finally finished, wiping a layer of sweat off his forehead.
“Then, for the sake of simplicity, let us speak in generalities, with the understanding that smaller will most often mean quicker. Do you follow?”
Haldir nodded.
“You are smaller than I,” Glorfindel continued, pulling his sword from the dirt and lifting it into position. “Once you’ve parried my swing, it makes much more sense for you to remain inside the space of your center than to overextend the next move. Your larger foe will want to tip you off-balance. Don’t let him.”
“How?”
The intensity of Haldir’s gaze fueled Glorfindel’s enthusiasm. “You are smaller and faster. Before I can pull my counter swing all the way up — which is what caught you last time — pivot and swing your sword downwards. Go low, not high; that will be unexpected. If you do so, my weapon will only be here,” he demonstrated, “while yours will already have sunk home in the flesh of my legs.”
Haldir stepped towards him with purpose, then, his weapon already raised. Glorfindel was more than ready. Together they made short work of the opening sequence, the clang of metal against metal echoing round the practice arena. And when Haldir did exactly as he’d been instructed, Glorfindel nearly didn’t jump high or fast enough to avoid the deadly arc of the younger man’s downward swipe. On landing, he lost his own balance and fell backward.
The tip of Haldir’s sword fell loosely to the ground as he stared at Glorfindel in awe. “I very nearly clipped you,” he said.
“Yes... and it would have hurt,” Glorfindel replied, slightly out of breath.
Wearing the closest thing to a smile that Glorfindel had ever seen on the young warden’s face, Haldir quickly moved to help him up, murmuring, “I think I understand,” as he did so.
Now they were getting somewhere.
~ * ~ * ~
Glorfindel made his way through the throng of people exiting the feasting hall, deliberately going against the flow until he’d found his way inside. The savory aroma of smoked meats and freshly baked bread permeated the air, enticing his stomach all over again, but he ignored the sluggish gurgle. He’d eaten plenty already.
Scanning the area, he spied Haldir politely setting his dishes in one of the wash basins. “Haldir o Lórinand!” he announced loudly, startling the younger man. Smiling at the other’s shocked expression, he made his way across the room.
“Sir?”
“Have you plans for this evening?” he asked.
Haldir blinked. “No, sir,” he answered.
“Good. We have a recital to attend, you and I,” Glorfindel declared.
“A recital?”
“Yes. First-year harpists.”
Haldir’s brows rose. “I did not realize you valued music so highly.”
Glorfindel grinned. “Only when members of my guard are amongst the fledgling minstrels.”
Haldir’s expression softened. “That is very kind of you, to take an interest in their personal pursuits.”
“Hold that thought, dear lad. I fear you misinterpret my intentions,” Glorfindel said as he steered Haldir towards the Hall of Fire.
The inside of Imladris’s famed gathering place was darkened, save for the firelight that danced in its great hearth. The front of the room was a whirlwind of activity, elves dressed in lavish robes setting up chairs on stage while others plucked at harps of various sizes. The air was charged with nervous energy that began to feed Glorfindel’s mirth the moment he led Haldir up to the balcony level. It was all he could do to keep his glee under control.
A large group of Imladris’s sentinels had already taken over the balcony section closest to the stage. Looking around, Glorfindel saw a few of the Lórinand wardens had come along for the fun as well. A small woven basket was passed to him the moment they sat down, and he, in turn, passed it to Haldir... who gazed at its contents with worst case of confusion Glorfindel had ever seen.
“Is this a test of some kind?” the young warden asked, picking a large, partially split open cotton boll from the top of the pile.
“Yes — to find out how far can that boll be lobbed before its delicate structure inhibits velocity,” Glorfindel replied, offering the first string of gibberish that crossed his mind.
Haldir looked profoundly relieved. “I thought you would have me thread cotton while we listened; I have no related experience.”
“Thread cotton? Why would I do such a thing?” Glorfindel asked, thoroughly tickled by the other’s earnestness. “How would that skill be of any use to you in the field?”
“I am wondering the same regarding these,” Haldir countered, wagging the boll at him. His expression clearly indicated that he’d finally wised up to Glorfindel’s teasing. “Is this what we are to fall back on when disarmed?”
The hilarity of the visual those words created sent Glorfindel into a fit of raucous laughter, which he tried — and mostly failed — to keep quiet. Several sharp reprimands from the main floor settled him somewhat, whereupon he playfully mussed the top of Haldir’s head. “You are precious beyond measure,” he offered softly, still chortling. “Don’t ever change.”
“Why are we here?” Haldir asked, genuinely curious.
“One of the most important life lessons I can offer you is about to begin,” Glorfindel told him, settling back into his seat. “You are young, driven, and ridiculously gifted. You are also entirely too serious for your own good. You’ve been here nearly two fortnights, and in that time, I have never once seen you smile. Tonight’s lesson is about unwinding — and having fun.”
Glorfindel grinned at the younger man, punctuating the seriousness of his intent by handing Haldir one of the numerous wine bottles that were floating around the balcony. He then pilfered another right out from under the nose of the guard sitting next to him, and clinked that bottle against Haldir’s before taking a generous swig. He watched, enthralled, while Haldir did the same, the young warden’s eyes widening at the sweetness on his tongue.
And so the merriment ensued. Long hours were spent listening to all manner of musical excellence... and mishaps. Through it all, the increasingly well lubricated guards offered rousing ovations to all the minstrels in training, including their fellow guardsmen, to whom they also offered a barrage of cotton bolls. The very first smile that touched Haldir’s lips absolutely warmed Glorfindel’s heart.
By the time the revelry spilled out the front doors of the Homely House later that evening, Haldir was cackling uncontrollably and barely able to stand without aid. Glorfindel, who had imbibed only enough to feel warm and tingly, stayed close at hand as the younger man meandered slowly around the main courtyard. Even the largest of fountains did not deter Haldir from his course; he simply stepped over the side and kept going, much to Glorfindel’s intense amusement. What a revelation this was, seeing the other so relaxed and happy.
“Most esteemed Lord Glorfindel!” Haldir announced with great purpose, plopping himself down into the water.
Grinning, Glorfindel took a seat on the edge of the fountain. “Yes, March-warden Haldir?”
“What is your greatest wish?”
That was easy. “To one day look upon the shores of the Blessed Realm once more.”
Haldir smiled at that, holding up his near-empty bottle in salute before taking a healthy quaff.
“And what might your greatest wish be, my young friend?” Glorfindel asked, more than a little intrigued.
A serious air surrounded Haldir for just a few moments as he considered the question. “I think... I think, perhaps... to make love on a bed of freshly fallen snow beneath the towering eaves of Lórinand.”
Glorfindel’s brows rose. Very interesting, indeed.
“What kind of wine is this anyway?” Haldir asked, his attention already flitting in a different direction.
“That, my dear Haldir, is Dorwinion Red, nectar of the deities and coveted prize of that insanely arrogant bastard, Oropher, who most assuredly does not deserve it.”
Haldir stared at him, wide-eyed. “Did you steal this from the Valar?” he whispered loudly.
“Goodness, no!” Glorfindel reassured, grinning at his companion. “The wine was taken from Elrond’s private stash... with his permission,” he quickly added when Haldir’s expression grew even more troubled. “He keeps it on hand for when diplomatic relations go badly. Dorwinion solves all problems.”
“Ohhhh,” the young warden acknowledged, nodding his head. “I thought we were all going to die.”
The chuckle in Glorfindel’s throat escalated to a loud roar of laughter when Haldir attempted to swim towards him — in less than two finger-lengths of water, and while holding up the wine bottle with one hand. By the time Haldir had succeeded in his task, both of them were dripping wet and in the midst of yet another round of breathless hilarity.
Finally calming a bit, Haldir leaned his head back against the side of the fountain and looked skyward. That afforded Glorfindel the perfect opportunity to study the young warden. Haldir’s jawline was strong. Masculine. It was amongst the first of his features to stand out, that and the slightly large nose. Yet, there was softness there, too. The young man’s eyes held naught but curiosity and respect. There was no hubris, no judgmental glint. He approached the world with humility and kindness, rare qualities in anyone, much less one so young.
Glorfindel’s gaze fell upon Haldir’s lips, still parted in a leftover smile. A quick, Dorwinion-addled calculation placed Haldir somewhere just past his majority. Had his duties consumed the whole of his young life thus far, or had there been room for comfort and joy? Who, if any, had known him? Glorfindel felt an odd, slightly protective tug in his heart as he wondered whether Haldir’s lovers would cherish him as they should, or whether he would be left craving something deeper and more richly satisfying where only a momentary flare of passion had existed...
He was being watched, he suddenly realized. Haldir’s eyes were incredibly blue in the light of Ithil’s rays. Before Glorfindel could even think of something appropriate to say, the younger man smiled softly and spoke.
“I have never met any as beautiful as you.”
Not a touch of longing colored Haldir’s words; only simple truths, freely offered.
“Or as wise...”
Glorfindel felt a rare wash of tears gather. The moment was so achingly pure in its perfection that he was loath to breathe or move or speak... to do anything at all that would disturb it...
But then Haldir’s expression changed. The young man’s gaze unfocused, brows furrowing as he sat up very suddenly, arms flailing for purchase. Glorfindel had only a moment’s notice before the first wretched sound of impending nausea slipped past his companion’s lips.
“Oh, shite!”
The bottle of Dorwinion Red slipped beneath the choppy waves spawned by a hasty exit, its precious remaining drops of liquid euphoria completely and utterly lost.
~ * ~ * ~
The cool mountain air was invigorating despite the pensive atmosphere that surrounded the mounted party. Glorfindel and Haldir rode together, leading the company away from the Valley of Imladris and ever closer to the Misty Mountains. The Lórinand company’s tarriance had come to an end at last.
“I am much honored to have learned from you, my lord,” Haldir said, breaking the silence between them. “I thank you most graciously for your time.”
Glorfindel glanced at the young man. “It was a pleasure to work with you, Haldir. I expect I will one day hear your name uttered in the same breath with the greatest of deeds.”
That broke through Haldir’s reserve, the barest touch of a smile brightening his face. “May I write to you, if I have further questions?”
“Of course you may. I would delightedly receive them.”
Reaching the base of the foothills, Glorfindel gently turned his horse around until he was once again beside Haldir, facing the opposite direction. The Lórinand party moved past the two of them, rearranging themselves for the double-file march through the High Pass, while Imladris’s sentinels turned their steeds back towards the valley below. Glorfindel and Haldir stood alone, as was customary. All other farewells had already been said.
Haldir took a deep breath before announcing, “We are grateful for your shelter, Lord Glorfindel. As our journey resumes, we now relieve you.”
“We are relieved,” Glorfindel offered, his eyes shining. “May the winds of Manwë always be at your back, and may Eru keep you safe.”
Bowing his head, Haldir brought fingertips to forehead, offering him one last profound sign of respect before speaking the final words of farewell between guardians. “Until we meet again.”
Glorfindel reached out and grasped the other man’s shoulder. “Smile, young Haldir,” he whispered. “Often. And the world will smile with you.”
Haldir’s whole face lit up at that, a full-fledged grin the likes of which Glorfindel hadn’t seen since Dorwinion was involved. It was a wonderful sight to behold. Laughing, he slapped the hindquarters of Haldir’s mare, who started forward, carrying the young warden out of Glorfindel’s sightlines and back to his party.
As was his wont, Glorfindel didn’t look back. He urged his steed into a trot and took point for his details’ ride back to Imladris. They would meet again, he and Haldir. He knew not where or when, but the sense of inevitability that tickled at his perception fairly guaranteed it.
~ * ~ * ~
S.A. 3067
Glorfindel sat back in his chair, arms and legs protesting even that simple movement. He’d just returned from a grueling three-month assessment patrol, testing the effectiveness of his sentinels and making a detailed report on all border activity. He was well and truly exhausted; there was no strength left even to plod all the way to his chambers in the Homely House. He’d gone no farther than his tiny office in the main barracks, having spied the comfort of his desk chair through a window. He would be quite content to rest here until the morrow.
As his neck relaxed, his head lolled to the side, and that’s when he saw them: woven baskets filled with cotton bolls, all stacked neatly against the wall in the main room. Apparently another recital was close at hand. That thought forced a chuckle through his tired frame. It also brought back near-forgotten memories of a young Lórinand warden and his first adventure with Dorwinion wine... which, of course, only made Glorfindel’s laughter grow.
“That young man never wrote to me,” he mused. Or, if he had, Glorfindel had not received any word.
Ignoring the way his entire body ached, Glorfindel leaned forward, snatching a piece of parchment from his messy desk. Clearing a space, he set it down again and fumbled through his drawers for the inkwell he knew must be there somewhere. When found, he set to work.
My Dear Haldir of Lórinand:
Have you forgotten where I live?
Swing — Parry — Pivot — Swing (downward) — SMILE!
How fare you on the borders? Are you well and happy? I eagerly await your questions, should you have any to ask.
Yours Most Sincerely,
Glorfindel
Satisfied with his missive, he rolled it up, sealing the parchment with a dollop of melted blue wax, into which he pressed his signet ring. A few quill strokes on the outside guaranteed it would reach the young warden in question. As there was always a pouch of some kind being readied for the journey to Lórinand — the courtship of Elrond and Celebrían was still flourishing, after all — Glorfindel would have ample opportunity to see this letter off. For the moment, he needed rest. Leaning back in his chair, he slipped easily into reverie, all thoughts disappearing into a warm blanket of dark, dreamless contentment.
~ * ~ * ~
S.A. 3068
Striding purposefully into his office, Glorfindel made for the rack of new training weapons that had arrived from the forges. A very brief encounter late in the previous year with King Oropher’s equally arrogant and annoying son Thranduil had shown him the power and grace of two-handed weapon proficiency. Though he would never have openly admitted it, Thranduil’s double-bladed fighting style had impressed him greatly — to the extent that Glorfindel thought it advantageous for all of Imladris’s melee warriors to acquire some related experience.
Pulling one of the swords out, he checked its bluntness. There would no doubt be an abundance of mishaps in the practice arena in the weeks to come; the very last thing they needed was to overwork the House of Healing unnecessarily. As Glorfindel set the sword back into the rack, his eye caught sight of a scroll case that had been left on his chair.
Curious, he picked it up. There were no identifiable marks on it — just his name etched into the small removable designation plate. Sitting down, he opened one end and let its contents fall onto his desk... whereupon his eyes widened in shock. There were no less than ten sheets of parchment there, all of them slowly uncurling after having been freed of their confines. Picking up the first page, he read:
Most Esteemed Lord Glorfindel:
Your letter was received with much gratitude. I have been quite remiss in reaching out to you, and for this I do apologize. As our borders have been fairly quiet, King Amdír has requested my services in scouting and gathering information outside of our realm. My knowledge of other languages has served me well in this. I have visited Pelargir and walked amongst the Dúnedain!
I shall eagerly impart news of my travels going forward, but I fear word from me will be infrequent. ‘Tis the eve of another journey southward, and I know not when I shall return. In between assignments, I have kept a record of all questions that have crossed my mind; the enclosed pages contain those. I would graciously accept any advice you have to offer, but you need not feel rushed to respond. Please know that I am well, and that I am ever grateful for that which I learned from you. Until we meet again.
Sincerely Yours,
Haldir
His mind awhirl, Glorfindel picked up the other pieces of parchment. Questions, indeed... nine pages worth, both front and reverse sides! A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as he skimmed the meticulously detailed queries, all of them focused on combat tactics. Haldir had not been born with the most innate of battle aptitudes, but his dedication to learning such would undeniably reap great rewards. And Glorfindel was quite content to do all he could to assist — even if it involved crafting a full-fledged treatise on hand-to-hand combat techniques in response.
~ * ~ * ~
S.A. 3073
My Dear Haldir:
I admit to being entirely bewildered by the news that just reached my ears. I cannot fathom how you and two other Galadhrim came to be involved in — and briefly imprisoned for — the destruction of an entire mead hall. Was there Dorwinion wine involved?
Yours Most Sincerely,
Glorfindel
~ * ~ * ~
Most Esteemed Lord Glorfindel:
Not Dorwinion wine... Dwarves. Lots of them. It was never established why so many were “passing through” Lebennin, but the toll this took on the inns and taverns of the Dúnedain was considerable. I and my scouting companions were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. While I am grateful our king found humor in this circumstance, it will remain a black mark in my otherwise spotless tenure as a warden of the march.
Sincerely Yours,
Haldir
~ * ~ * ~
My Dear Haldir:
Now that my initial shock has settled, I find myself in a constant state of amusement regarding your little adventure. Oh, to glimpse the face of my proper pupil behind a set of iron bars! I fear I my mirth would have been unconquerable. That you are now safe in Lórinand greatly reassures me, of course. Enjoy your much deserved respite.
And please... ‘tis just Glorfindel, my friend. While flattering, your salutations are unduly regardful for one who held your hair out of the way while you disgorged the contents of your stomach.
Yours Most Sincerely,
Glorfindel
~ * ~ * ~
S.A. 3112
My Dear Glorfindel:
Word reaches me that Númenor has forbade the visit of elves or the use of our languages. Dark tidings unfold, I fear. ‘Tis an uneasy sensation that rests in my gut.
I am to remain in Lórinand for the foreseeable future. I shall use this opportunity to sharpen my combat skills based on the techniques you shared with me. I’ve no shortage of sparring partners; the young recruits are eager to test their mettle and sharpen their minds.
I am also set to apprentice myself to the master healers whenever I have respite from the borders. Having advanced healing skills in the field should prove highly beneficial. I think I shall confer with Sadorel on this — perhaps others in the guard might have equal interest in such?
And I am a brother! Orophin Rohlathronion was born not twenty-four candlemarks ago. I have been away so long that this came as an unexpected surprise, as did the fact that he smells slightly odd. I have nonetheless taken to him with great tenderness. It will be amazing to watch him grow.
I happily remain your friend and ally.
Sincerely Yours,
Haldir
Glorfindel frowned as he finished reading. The young man was a glutton for punishment, taking on yet more responsibility. Respite meant respite, not more work. He fished a piece of parchment from his desk drawer and immediately set to work on his reply.
Congratulations, Brother Haldir!
What joyous news this is! That is baby smell you speak of; it will fade, and one day soon you will be chasing him all over Lórinand. Enjoy every moment of this journey, for they grow quickly!
As for other things mentioned, I shall not mince words — I am quite troubled by your wish to add healing to your list of proficiencies. That list is already quite long, my friend! While your intent speaks highly of your desire to maximize field efficiency, I fear you shoulder far too much. You are one being. Please promise me you will remember this?
Yours Most Sincerely,
Glorfindel
~ * ~ * ~
S.A. 3193
It had been some time since Glorfindel had heard word from Lórinand. Long stretches between letters had not been uncommon between him and Haldir, but for reasons he could not quite discern, this particular lapse of silence bothered him. Deciding to offer his friend a little poke, he wrote:
My Dear Haldir:
I have been meaning to ask whether you’ve tested the cotton boll theory as of yet?
I am ever curious.
Yours Most Sincerely,
Glorfindel
~ * ~ * ~
Several months later...
“Glorfindel?”
He looked up from his desk to see Lord Elrond in the doorway. “Greetings, my lord! May I be of service to you?”
Elrond stepped inside, sporting a very peculiar expression. “This arrived for you this morning,” he said, holding up a rather lumpy scroll.
Glorfindel’s brows furrowed. “What in all of Arda...?”
“Be careful,” Elrond told him, handing over the bulging parchment. “It appears to be... crumbling... from the inside out.”
Sure enough, bits of detritus slipped from inside the curled edges if Glorfindel held it even slightly vertical. He was at a complete loss. Had something crawled inside the scroll and died while it was in transit? The seal was still intact: white wax imprinted with Haldir’s signature pine cone impression.
Inhaling deeply, Glorfindel broke the seal and very, very carefully unfurled the parchment. What he saw sent him into such a fit of hysterical laughter that Elrond simply stood there staring at him, wide-eyed.
“I take it this is good news, then?”
Glorfindel, who had collapsed to his knees, was laughing so hard that he was barely able to offer an explanation. “Oh, sweet Elbereth, help us all,” he said in between guffaws, handing the scroll to Elrond. “Haldir o Lórinand has finally developed a sense of humor... I fear Middle-earth will never be the same!”
There, on the parchment, lay a crushed cotton boll, anchored with wax and splotched with copious drops of red dye. Below it, Haldir had written:
This foe managed to flee from my attack, but not before I drew blood.
~ * ~ * ~
S.A. 3199
My Dear Glorfindel:
I bring joyful news once more — Orophin and I are blessed with another brother! He is called Rúmil, and his smile is infectious. My father believes he will be a healer, as his birth relieved my mother of her perpetual indigestion. Orophin believes he will follow in my footsteps and become a march-warden. I believe he will grow to be beautiful and great no matter where his heart leads him.
Sincerely Yours,
Haldir
Glorfindel chuckled, trying to imagine what it might be like to train three Haldirs in the art of swordsmanship. Shaking his head, he offered a quick prayer to Eru Ilúvatar that at least one of Haldir’s brothers would grow to adulthood understanding — and fully enjoying — the concept of merriment.
Pulling his quill from the inkwell, Glorfindel set about offering his heartfelt congratulations...
~ * ~ * ~
S.A. 3220
How does one handle loneliness?
The question, so entirely unexpected and personal, flew straight as an arrow, right into the softest part of Glorfindel’s heart. He stared at the words, almost disbelieving they were really there in this letter, newly arrived from Lórinand. “Oh, Haldir,” he whispered.
Glorfindel had numerous reports to prepare, as well as a guard detail to assemble for the arrival of King Oropher the next morning, but this most certainly took precedence for the moment. Closing the door to his office, he sat down and took a deep breath. He could count on one hand the number of times he had been asked that very same question by members of his own guard. Most of them had been blatant attempts to lure him into a tryst. In those circumstances, he had always politely side-stepped the others’ real intent — and the wandering hands — in favor of offering the same guidance he gave to those who came to him genuinely seeking advice. And to Haldir, he would offer the same.
My Dear Haldir:
How does one handle loneliness, indeed... Your question strikes home, though it has been asked of me before. What you are feeling, my friend, is not unusual. There is not a guardian standing patrol on any border, regardless of race, who has not felt this emotion at some point.
For all its awkward intensity, loneliness is a difficult consequence of our commitment. We spend long periods of time away from our homes and loved ones. For those who are wed or bonded, separation is especially burdensome. As you are neither of those (unless I missed an invitation to that grand feast, in which case I will be quite cross), you do not find yourself so restricted in ways to alleviate the loneliness you feel.
In all cases, a friend or family member willing to listen and perhaps offer a reassuring embrace can do wonders to boost one’s morale. Have you any fellow wardens with whom you share great camaraderie? Or perhaps someone in the hamlet in which you take respite? Turn to them; if they are true friends, the emotional comfort you seek will not be declined.
I am quite certain you have at least heard of — if not plainly heard, quite literally — a warrior’s comfort. Do not be shy with this if you feel your needs are purely physical in nature. There is nothing wrong with seeking out this kind of relief, especially when you find yourself on a lengthy patrol. We, as eldar, are driven towards the promise of finding the One who will complete our hearts and souls, but that does not often happen quickly or easily. When the added pressures of duty, or, in your case, the added pressures of being in a leadership position, become too great to bear, seeking temporary solace in someone’s arms is more than acceptable.
Lastly, have you thought of actively searching for your One, Haldir? He or she is perhaps much closer than you realize, and would be able to afford you all manner of needed comfort. I know you well; you are so driven, so eager to do all you can to serve Lórinand and your king that you may have forgotten to care for the most important person of all: you! Amdír would not sentence anyone in his realm to a life of solitude, and especially not one who has shown such bravery and devotion. Do not discount this possibility, my friend. It may very well be the perfect solution to this dilemma that bothers you so.
In the event that none of this guidance I offer is helpful, I would only say this: keep loved ones close to your heart and be kind to yourself. Appreciate and take joy in the world around you; the littlest of things can be blissfully uplifting to the appreciative eye. And please do remember that I shall always be here for you. Our friendship means the world to me, and if there is any small thing I can do to help you, I most certainly will. Always.
Until we meet again, my friend — be well!
Yours Most Sincerely,
Glorfindel
~ * ~ * ~
My Dear Glorfindel:
I thank you so much for your words of kindness and compassion. They have provided me with great comfort all on their own. I had not expected such a lengthy, heartfelt response, but I am ever grateful for it. I now look upon the world and my own circumstances with eyes newly opened.
Just yesterday, the sound of rain on the roof of my border talan made me smile. Until then, I had only considered it a nuisance meant to make wardens as miserable as possible. But yesterday, I heard it for what it truly was: life-giving nourishment that sustains our lands and our people. It was a beautiful sound, one I had previously heard, of course, but to which I had never truly listened.
I have confided in Orophin, as well. ‘Twas difficult to do so, for he is still so young, and this is a most personal matter, but he responded with utmost compassion and sincerity. He has announced his intention to take the warden’s pledge, so one day soon perhaps we will stand together as wardens of the march.
Once again, I am moved by your wisdom — and even more so by your concern. Know that I am well and happy, and that I, too, cherish our friendship. I am, and will remain, indebted to you for your kindness.
Until we meet again.
Sincerely Yours,
Haldir
Glorfindel stared at the letter until his vision blurred. “You have found joy in family and the world around you, Haldir,” he whispered, “but not in friends or lovers?”
It was entirely possible the young warden had omitted additional details out of a sense of propriety. That would certainly fit his personality. Glorfindel chose to believe in that, whole-heartedly, as the alternative would have been far too distressing even to consider.
~ * ~ * ~
S.A. 3243
My Dear Glorfindel:
My parents have sailed west together. They could ignore the call of the sea no longer. Saying farewell was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Remaining calm and strong for my brothers in the face of this loss was equally as hard, if not harder. I have never known such emptiness.
By order of the king, Orophin and I are to take a leave of absence from our duties to care for Rúmil. He has not yet reached his majority, and this event has devastated him far more than I could have imagined. Yet, I know we will persevere. The bond between us is strong. And as you yourself have said, there is much joy to be found in the world around us. This cloud of melancholy will dissipate one day, leaving behind precious memories that we will cherish with smiles instead of tears.
I remain your devoted friend.
Sincerely Yours,
Haldir
~ * ~ * ~
My Dear Haldir:
I weep with thee, dear friend. Keep your brothers close to you, and do not despair; love can withstand even the greatest of hardships. Do not forget, also, that your parents will eagerly await the arrival of all three of you in the Blessed Realm one day. When you feel your equilibrium return, focus yourself forward to that moment of joy and let it sustain you.
Oh, how I wish I could offer more than comforting words at this time. Alas, my arms are not long enough for the embrace that I wish could replace them. Please be well, and know that you and your brothers remain close to my heart. Send word as you are able — I will understand any silence.
Most Sincerely,
Glorfindel
~ * ~ * ~
S.A. 3320
Glorfindel’s gaze was set upon his warriors’ feverish drills, but in truth he saw naught but an all-encompassing darkness around the edges of his vision. It swam in inky waves, prickling at his awareness like an invisible yet poisonous sliver, making him feel ill and weak. This had been enough to spur him into action, ordering all border patrols doubled and all available guards to the practice arena.
Elrond quietly slid into the space beside him, leaning against the fence. “Your insight serves us well,” he said. “Númenor is drowned, and Sauron gains power once more. The world is forever changed.”
“Indeed,” whispered Glorfindel.
They remained like that for a long time, watching the men at work, until Elrond finally told him, “I have made inquiries on your behalf.”
Confused, Glorfindel glanced at him. “To whom, and for what reason?”
A smile touched the corners of the lord’s lips. “To Galadriel. And Celeborn. Regarding march-warden Haldir.”
Now Glorfindel looked entirely bewildered.
“You stopped speaking of him shortly after you received news of his parents’ sailing,” Elrond explained. “It did not occur to me until recently that there had been no further correspondence from him since then.”
Glorfindel closed his eyes. I will understand any silence, he’d written so long ago. And every day since then, he had regretted writing them, for it was then left to Haldir to reach out first and add the next chapter in their ever-growing friendship while Glorfindel waited patiently.
Well, not so patiently...
Countless unsent letters sat at the bottom of his desk drawer, all containing words of comfort, words of wisdom... words written by one who worried deeply for his dear friend. Yet, he felt he could not send them. Not yet. What if Haldir and his brothers still mourned? What if his letters, and any accompanying pressure to respond, brought more of a burden unto Haldir? That, he could not risk, and so they stayed in his desk, gathering dust.
“I’m told he is well, he and his brothers,” Elrond continued, regaining Glorfindel’s attention. “King Amdír is keen to the growing threat in the south. He is marshaling his forces, as are we, only Lórinand sits far closer to that danger than we do.”
“He is otherwise engaged,” he whispered, relieved.
Elrond smiled. “Send word to him, Glorfindel. Don’t wait. The days grow darker as we speak.”
Clapping Elrond’s shoulder, Glorfindel told him, “I daresay wiser words have never been spoken.”
With that, Glorfindel was gone, making a swift beeline for his office. He never did look back at Elrond as he went, for if he had, he surely would have questioned the knowing sparkle that shined in his lord’s eyes. As it was, Elrond kept that secret all to himself.
~ * ~ * ~
S.A. 3322
My Dear Glorfindel:
I, too, am grateful that our friendship has been rekindled. The training of new recruits, as well as our state of alertness, has kept me preoccupied to an alarming degree. Is it true that Sauron has fled to Mordor? This does not bode well for Middle-earth at all.
Is it wrong for me to long for the days of my youth, when the worst fear imaginable was to disappoint my mentor?
I remain your devoted friend, now and evermore.
Sincerely Yours,
Haldir
~ * ~ * ~
S.A. 3429
Glorfindel smiled, setting Haldir’s latest letter aside. It contained few things to smile about, really, but as of late he’d found himself smiling at anything even remotely related to the march-warden. He could no longer deny that which had apparently been so obvious to everyone else: his heart and soul had conspired behind his back in a beautiful duet that had forever intertwined his fate with that of his dear friend’s.
He would yearn for none but Haldir for as long as he lived — as well as ever afterward.
It felt inappropriate to broach such a deep and meaningful subject in the midst of the growing tension in Middle-earth, and especially not with a long-distance conversation held on parchment, but Elrond’s encouragement still rang in his ears even now, several candlemarks later. Still, he hesitated...
Glorfindel had spent the rest of the evening rereading old missives, searching for some small sign that his feelings were returned. He’d found none. Haldir was the epitome of courtesy, graciousness, and reserve. Any affection that overstepped the bounds of friendship remained well hidden from view. This, of course, was not a surprise, given Haldir’s nature. It was part of his charm, part of the reason Glorfindel had felt drawn to him from the start. More than three centuries later, he still eagerly sought ways in which to make the younger man smile and bring him further out of his self-imposed shell. If only he could do so in person instead of waving helplessly from across the Misty Mountains.
My Dear Haldir:
Have I ever told you of my nefarious plans for Rúmil’s fiftieth begetting day celebration? I was set to pilfer three bottles of Dorwinion Red and send them on to Lórinand — I had planned this years in advance — and then await all the colorful tales of the brothers three. I had even entertained the thought of taking leave to be there myself...
Alas, it was not meant to be. Instead of making merry, you and your brothers mourned. All things happen for a reason; in that I truly believe. Elrond would no doubt have held my feet to the branding irons in any case, threatening a slew of disgraceful repercussions should the three of you have caused all manner of mayhem as a result of my actions. Me, banished back to Aman with a badge of dishonor? But, of course! And I would have landed on the shores of the Blessed Realm wearing the largest smile possible, knowing that you had so thoroughly enjoyed yourself.
My only regret, should that really have come to pass, would have been not being there to hold back your hair and guide you safely to your bed.
There is always a light shining somewhere in the darkness. Believe in that. And remember, as well, that you are still precious beyond measure to me.
Yours,
Glorfindel
~ * ~ * ~
S.A. 3430
My Dear Glorfindel:
You would have been so welcome in our home, my friend, even during that time of sorrow. I would have locked away the wine, however, in favor of remembering — and enjoying — the comforting embrace you wished to offer.
If I have misunderstood, I humbly beg your forgiveness.
Ever Yours,
Haldir
Stunned beyond words, Glorfindel could only stare with wonder at the letter for many long moments.
“Is this happening?” he whispered to the empty room. “Truly?”
Fumbling for his inkwell and a piece of parchment — anything with which to fully express his feelings, Glorfindel started to write...
...only to be interrupted by a sharp wrap against his door.
“I’ve word from Gil-galad,” Elrond told him, his expression harsh. “The elves and men of Middle-earth will move together against Sauron. One way or another, this madness will end. There is much work to be done.”
Glorfindel’s quill, and his lightness of spirit, both fell at once.
~ * ~ * ~
S.A. 3434
My Dear Haldir:
We are set to march across the Misty Mountains with the great host raised by Gil-galad and Elendil. Our path will take us to Lórinand for but a single day, where we will rendezvous with Amdír’s forces and continue southward to Gondor.
I will look for you when I arrive. These are hardly the circumstances under which I envisioned our reunion, my dear friend, but I will take it nonetheless. You are in my thoughts ceaselessly amid this confusion and turmoil.
I Remain Yours,
Glorfindel
~ * ~ * ~
A fortnight later, Glorfindel set foot in Lórinand for the first time. He was utterly overwhelmed... by the expanse of the woodland realm, by the sheer number of people assembled within its borders, and by his absolute inability to locate the one person to whom his heart called. He ran, frantic, through the masses, cursing how so many silvan elves should have golden hair.
Twilight settled before long. Glorfindel slowed in his efforts, hunger and profound sadness both gnawing at his gut. This was a lesson in futility. Stopping to catch his breath and swallow back the bile caught in his throat, he was about to turn back towards Imladris’s camps when a voice cut through the din.
“Are you the mighty Balrog Slayer?”
Glorfindel swiveled and found himself staring at two sets of smiles that looked so familiar... and yet weren’t.
“Orophin?” he ventured, easily making the connection. “Rúmil?” These were most certainly Haldir’s brethren; the resemblance was unmistakable.
Their smiles took on epic proportions as they approached, both of them offering Glorfindel that remarkable fingers-to-forehead gesture of respect he knew so well. He very nearly wept for the sight of it.
“How did you correctly identify me amid all this chaos?”
“You are ridiculously beautiful, have long golden hair, are by far the tallest person present in the whole of Lórinand — and you are desperately looking for someone,” one of them answered. “Who else could you be?”
Glorfindel could no more hold back the laugher in his chest any more than he could stop the tears that blurred his vision. “You are a sight for rather sore eyes.”
“I am Rúmil, and this is Orophin,” the other young man introduced. “Come with us if you wish to see Haldir.”
Glorfindel gladly followed them, marveling at their cheerful mood while the world around them was poised to self-destruct. They led him far to the east, beyond the camps and the fervor of those whose weapons already craved the crimson tang of battle. The sound of impending war was but a soft and distant drone by the time they handed him the roped ladder that led skyward into a secluded talan.
“Haldir will be here shortly,” Orophin said. “You need not worry about interruptions. You have our word on that.”
“I believe you...” Glorfindel started to say, but they were already gone, having disappeared into the foliage.
He ascended quickly, wasting no time. The ropes creaked and stretched under his weight, but held firm. The talan above was spartan, containing basic furniture only: a wooden table, four chairs, a washbasin and chamber pot, and two pallets that looked remarkably soft and yielding. It was clear this was used for weary march-wardens while on patrol. Yet, this small table contained several lit taper candles and a small feast of roasted meats and potatoes. Glorfindel’s mouth watered at the sight; it had been far too long since he had enjoyed a meal of any kind.
“Haldir,” he whispered, fully believing the other had arranged all of this. But, where was the warden?
“Unhand me at once, Orophin! I must return to the camps!”
Glorfindel’s heart swelled with joy. He knew that voice.
“If you do not climb this ladder immediately, we shall drag you up there bodily!” one of Haldir’s brothers hollered just as loudly.
A struggle ensued, then. Glorfindel could hear it all quite clearly, and he fought to keep his mirth calmed so as not to spoil the surprise Orophin and Rúmil had carefully orchestrated.
“You have both disobeyed orders for the last time!”
“Haldir, for the love of Eru, you are more obtuse than ada’s old, grumpy jackass! Why ELSE would we insist you come all this way, dear brother?”
Silence.
Glorfindel braced himself, unable to contain the chuckle that escaped him when the second struggle ensued — this time to reach the top of the ladder as quickly as possible. Orophin’s and Rúmil’s laughter had faded away by the time Haldir hauled himself up into the talan.
The first thing Glorfindel noted, with no small touch of wonder, was the breadth of the other man’s shoulders. The slim, slightly lanky form of the younger Haldir he had known had filled out into a powerfully built frame. The warden had indeed grown. Much. While still trim and of average height, Haldir’s build was far sturdier than that of most eldar, including his own brothers. The fit of his clothes spoke of well muscled limbs used to the rigors of battle.
Glorfindel’s gaze lifted, slowly, until he met that of his companion, who, he saw, was grinning in a most un-Haldir-like manner. He imagined a similar smile was plastered on his own face. Not that he truly minded at that particular moment...
“March-warden Haldir,” he offered, eyes sparkling.
Haldir stepped forward and bowed respectfully, touching fingertips to forehead. “Lord Glorfindel.” The warden had to tilt his head backward in order to maintain eye contact as he approached.
Glorfindel started to clasp the other’s shoulder, intending to offer a warrior’s greeting, but instead found himself pulling Haldir into his arms. The younger man melted into the embrace, holding him just as tightly in return. There, they stayed for what seemed an eternity until Haldir finally pulled away.
“One night is not nearly enough,” the warden whispered, placing one of his hands above Glorfindel’s heart.
“You do not ride with us on the morrow?” Glorfindel took his hand and led him to the table.
“Nay. Sadorel rides with Amdír. I am tasked with fortifying Lórinand’s borders in their absence. I am, for all intents and purposes, high march-warden until further notice.”
Glorfindel speared a wedge of potato with his fork. “I am uncertain whether congratulations are in order.”
“They are not. I accepted this position under extreme protest; I am a far better tactician than Sadorel, and could be of much more use to the leaders of this Alliance.” Haldir paused, watching him. “How can you eat at a time such as this?”
Smiling, Glorfindel answered, “Sustenance is the first order of business. And I am greatly relieved that you will remain far from the front line.”
Haldir’s jaw tightened. “What of my own relief, Glorfindel? You will be out there,” he gestured, “while I sit and wait for any scrap of news that assures me you still live!”
Glorfindel cradled the younger man’s face in his palm, calming him with the gentle brush of his thumb. “I would spend this night with you, Haldir, not focused on that which cannot be changed,” he murmured. “Let us set tomorrow aside for now.”
“Then kiss me, please... for I have waited so long for this touch.”
Ignoring the want in Haldir’s voice, Glorfindel used his foot to slowly pull the other’s chair closer. He waited until a grin formed, unbidden, on the younger man’s face before adding his hand to the task, causing the chair to screech loudly at the final burst of speed.
Without further delay, their lips met in a dance that was both intense and unhurried. The food lay all but forgotten as they sustained one another in other more pleasurable ways. When at last they parted, resting foreheads together, Glorfindel spoke, “Might I ask something, Haldir?”
“Of course,” came the whispered response.
“In a moment of unimaginable clarity, you once admitted to me that your greatest wish was to make love on a bed of freshly fallen snow under the towering eaves of Lórinand.”
A quiet hiss of laughter escaped Haldir’s throat. “Tongue, over-loosened.”
“Indeed it was,” Glorfindel affirmed. “But I long to know whether that wish has been fulfilled?”
A touch of melancholy tugged once more at the warden’s expression. “It has never snowed in these lands,” he admitted.
Glorfindel pulled back, offering a secretive smile to his lover. Then, without any explanation, he closed his eyes, sinking deeply into the life force of the land surrounding them. Calling upon powers rarely used since his re-embodiment, Glorfindel spoke to the clouds that hung high above, enticing them with the moisture and temperature needed to create the largest, fluffiest snowflakes ever seen in Middle-earth. In an instant, it was done.
Haldir’s mystified gaze slid from Glorfindel’s glowing form to that which softly began to fall outside. Nearly tripping over his chair, the warden flew to the window, eyes wide with wonder. “How is this even possible?”
Coming up behind and resting his hands on Haldir’s shoulders, Glorfindel answered, “I shall tell you. Someday. Not tonight, however.”
Taking Haldir by the hand, he led him down into the darkness of a snowy Lórinand, where all wishes were destined to come true in the most vibrant and beautiful of ways.
~ * ~ * ~
“It is time,” Glorfindel whispered into his lover’s ear. “I must go.”
He was met with a pillow, firmly swung into his face. “No. Not yet.”
Glorfindel fought back in kind, the absurdity of the moment spilling forth in much needed laughter. “I shall return to you, Haldir. Do not fear.”
“Is this one of your powers, the ability to prophesy?”
Shaking his head, he said, “Nay. ‘Tis but a good, old fashioned feeling in my gut.”
Offering his beloved one final, blessed kiss and loving caress, Glorfindel slid out from beneath the tangled bedsheets and dressed himself.
“I shall hold you to that,” Haldir stated with determination.
He smiled at the younger man. “You complete me in every way, Haldir o Lórinand, but I am not yet done basking in your love. Wait for me, and do not ever stop believing that goodness will triumph.”
Whispering, Haldir told him, “May the winds of Manwë always be at your back, and may Eru keep you safe.”
“Until we meet again, my love.”
As was his wont, Glorfindel did not look back. He wandered to the camps through the fluffy carpet of whiteness, listening to the soothsayers’ excited proclamations of good tidings... for it had snowed in Lórinand by the will of the Valar themselves.
What else could such a beautiful sign have possibly meant, after all?
~ * ~ finis ~ * ~