A Promise to Keep

1

The last echoes of hooves faded into the distance, leaving a profound silence in their wake. Glorfindel stood in the archway of the courtyard, his blue eyes fixed on the misty horizon where Celebrian had disappeared. The morning light caught the golden waves of his hair, making it shimmer like the first rays of Laurelin, though his solemn expression betrayed none of the beauty his appearance seemed to promise.

He turned and stepped back into the halls of Imladris, his pink lips pressed into a thin line. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with grief. Elrond stood still as stone, his gaze vacant and far away. Nearby, his children lingered in the shadows, their sorrow evident even in their silence.

“Lord Elrond,” Glorfindel said gently, approaching the Elf-lord with quiet reverence.

Elrond didn’t answer, his dark eyes betraying an emptiness that even Glorfindel’s commanding presence couldn’t dispel.

Glorfindel turned his gaze to Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen, his heart aching for their pain. “Come,” he said softly, his voice a soothing melody in the broken quiet. “This is not a burden you must bear alone. Let us go.”

Glorfindel guided the children—no, they were no children, not truly, but tonight they seemed as fragile as elflings—toward the room they shared when they were younger. Once inside, he gently closed the door, the sound muffled, as though to shield them from the weight of the outside world.

Elladan broke first, his sharp intake of breath signaling the collapse of the stoic mask he had worn all day. “Naneth...” he whispered, his voice trembling. His twin brother, Elrohir, followed, his grief pouring out in a silent cascade of tears.

Arwen tried to hold herself together, but as Glorfindel approached, her pale blue eyes, so much like her father’s, welled up. She leaned into him, her slender frame trembling. “Glorfindel,” she murmured brokenly, her voice as soft as a bird’s song.

“Le melin,” Glorfindel whispered, gathering them all into his arms. “Im gîl síla erin lû e-govaded vín.” (I love you. A star shines upon the hour of our meeting.) His words, though simple, were filled with the love and light he carried, a balm for their wounds.

The twins clung to him tightly, their tears soaking into his robes, and he could feel Arwen’s breath hitching against his chest. He said nothing more, simply holding them close.

They cried until exhaustion claimed them, their bodies relaxing one by one into his embrace. Glorfindel stayed with them, unmoving, his golden hair cascading over his shoulders like a veil of sunlight.

***

The first light of dawn crept into the room, casting a soft glow over the sleeping forms of Elrond’s children. Glorfindel stirred, his muscles stiff from sitting in the same position all night. He cleared his vision, soft pink lips curving into a small, sad, but genuine smile as he observed Elrond’s—his—children.

While Arwen was still pressed against Glorfindel’s chest, she had curled into a ball, her dark chocolate curls contrasting her pale frame. On the other hand, the twins had found comfort on each other,  holding each other closely. He carefully disentangled himself, brushing a strand of hair from Arwen’s face and pulling a blanket over Elladan and Elrohir.

“Sleep well, melethronneth,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. (Beloved ones.)

He left the room silently, his footsteps light against the stone floors. The halls of Imladris were quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. He made his way to the library, where he knew Erestor would be waiting.

As expected, Erestor was seated at his desk, his sharp features illuminated by the morning sun streaming through the high windows. Scrolls and books were spread before him, but his attention shifted immediately as Glorfindel entered.