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.
“You look weary, mellon nín,” Erestor said, his dark eyes scanning Glorfindel’s face.
Glorfindel gave a small, tired smile. “It has been a long night, meldir. They are asleep now.”
Erestor gestured for him to sit, and Glorfindel lowered himself into a chair opposite the desk, his movements as graceful as ever despite his exhaustion.
“And Elrond?” Erestor asked.
Glorfindel shook his head. “I could not reach him last night. His grief is deep, but I will try again today.” He paused, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. “We must hold Imladris together, Erestor. For his sake and for theirs.”
Erestor leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Do you think he will recover?”
“He must,” Glorfindel said firmly, though his pink lips pressed into a thin line. “But until he does, we must ensure the valley remains strong.”
Erestor nodded slowly. “I agree, mellon nín.”
Glorfindel’s golden hair shimmered as he turned to look out the window, his gaze distant. “The Valar sent me back to protect his family, I will not fail,” he said quietly to himself, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the light of dawn painted the sky in shades of gold and rose.
“I will not fail.”
***
The soft hum of morning activity filled the halls of Imladris as Glorfindel descended the winding staircases toward the kitchens. The grief that hung over the valley was palpable, seeping into its very stones. Despite the weariness pulling at him, Glorfindel moved with purpose, his golden hair catching the sunlight that streamed through the high windows. His blue eyes, sharp and discerning, scanned the various trays and dishes laid out before him.
He selected fruits, breads, and delicate pastries—things he knew Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen loved. His pink lips curved into a faint smile as he set aside a small plate of lembas, remembering how Elladan always claimed it tasted better fresh from Rivendell’s kitchens. With an armful of treats, he made his way to Elladan’s room, where the three siblings had retreated the previous night.
Glorfindel knocked lightly on the door before pushing it open. The room was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn to block out the sun. Elladan was still asleep, his dark hair fanned across the pillow. To Glorfindel’s surprise, Elrohir and Arwen were awake, sitting silently on the edge of the bed. Elrohir’s face was drawn, shadows under his eyes betraying the restless night he’d endured. Arwen, wrapped in a soft blanket, looked up at Glorfindel with a faint flicker of hope in her gaze.
“I have brought some food,” Glorfindel said gently, his voice as smooth as a flowing stream. He placed the tray on a small table, arranging the treats with care.
“We’re not hungry,” Elrohir muttered, his voice barely audible. Arwen nodded, her blue eyes cast downward.
Glorfindel’s pink lips turned into a subtle frown, but he quickly masked it with a warm smile. “You say that now, pen-neth, but I wager you will change your minds once you see what I have brought.” He picked up a small pastry, examining it with exaggerated interest. “Ah, this one is exceptional—layers of honey and almonds. Truly a marvel.”
He took a bite, his blue eyes widening in mock delight. “Delicious. Perhaps the best I have ever tasted.”
Arwen glanced at him, her brow arching slightly. “You are exaggerating,” she said softly, though a faint smile tugged at her lips.
“Am I?” Glorfindel asked, feigning offense. “I assure you, Arwen, I would not lie about such a matter. Here, try it for yourself.” He extended the plate toward her.
After a moment’s hesitation, she took a small bite, her delicate fingers trembling slightly.
Encouraged, Glorfindel continued his ploy, picking up a slice of fruit. “And this peach! Sweet as a summer’s day.” He ate it with such enthusiasm that even Elrohir couldn’t help but crack a faint smile.
One by one, they began to pick at the food. Arwen leaned against Glorfindel, her fingers idly twirling a strand of his golden hair. He didn’t mind; he found comfort in her presence, and if it eased her pain, he would gladly let her braid his entire mane.
As the siblings ate, Elrohir picked up a small piece of bread and examined it closely. The faint scent of lavender and honey clung to it, and a flicker of recognition crossed his face.
“This...” he began, his voice catching. “This was naneth’s favorite.”
The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over them like a heavy shroud. Elrohir’s hand trembled, and tears spilled down his cheeks before he could stop them. “She always used to...” He couldn’t finish.
Glorfindel’s blue eyes widened in alarm. His pink lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. A wave of guilt surged through him—he had been so focused on comforting them that he hadn’t considered how the smallest reminder could reopen their wounds. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID.
“Forgive me,” he said, his voice thick with anxiety. “I did not think—”
Elrohir shook his head, covering his face with his hands as sobs wracked his body. Arwen clung tighter to Glorfindel, her own tears shimmering but unshed.
Glorfindel moved closer to Elrohir, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Hush now, pen-neth,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Le melin. I am here.” (I love you. I am here.)
Without thinking, he began to hum—a soft, mournful melody that seemed to fill the room with warmth. The sound of his voice was rare, and even Arwen stilled, her gaze lifting to him in wonder.
As the song took shape, Glorfindel’s golden hair shimmered in the faint light, a cascade of radiance that seemed to mirror the ethereal quality of his voice. The words he sang were ancient, a lullaby from his youth in Gondolin:
“A naid bain gín thia,
No ias tol guren lín,
I ngwathren gwilith nedh i amar lín,
Aur síla a galad gîn.”
(All your sorrows I see,
Be where your heart may come,
The shadowy breeze on your earth,
A day shines with your light.)
Elrohir’s sobs began to subside, his breathing evening out as the melody washed over him. Arwen, too, seemed transfixed, her blue eyes wide with wonder.
Glorfindel continued singing until Elrohir finally drifted into sleep, his face softened in peaceful slumber. Glorfindel’s pink lips curved into a faint smile of relief as he carefully adjusted the blankets around him.
Arwen, still awake, rested her head against Glorfindel’s shoulder. “You never sing,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Glorfindel chuckled softly, a sound like the gentle rustling of leaves. “Only when the occasion calls for it,” he replied, his golden hair cascading over his shoulder as he turned to look at her.
“You should sing more,” she said, her fingers still playing with his hair. “It suits you.”
Glorfindel’s smile faltered slightly, but he didn’t let her see. “Perhaps,” he said simply, his blue eyes distant for a moment before refocusing on her. “For now, though, it is enough that you are here, pen-neth. Rest, and let tomorrow worry for itself.”
Arwen looked up at Glorfindel with her clear, yet tired, blue eyes. “I do not wish to rest yet,” she said softly, her voice still carrying the weariness of grief. “I want to be outside, to feel the world again.”
Glorfindel hesitated for a moment, his blue eyes narrowing in thought. Few places in Imladris held the kind of peace she was seeking, but he knew of one—a place he had guarded closely, a sanctuary he had kept entirely to himself. He had never shared it with anyone, not even Elrond, but Arwen’s plea stirred something in him.
“There is a place,” Glorfindel said slowly, his golden hair shimmering as he turned toward her. “It is quiet and hidden, a haven I turn to when the world feels heavy. If you promise to keep it secret, I will take you there, Lady Arwen.”
Arwen’s lips twitched into a faint smile at his use of the title, a nickname that felt both playful and comforting. “I promise, Lord Glorfindel.”
The walk was silent at first, the only sound the crunch of leaves beneath their feet and the gentle whisper of the wind through the trees. Glorfindel led the way with an unhurried grace, his gaze scanning the forest as though admiring it for the first time. He stopped frequently, his sharp blue eyes catching small details that others might overlook.
At one point, he knelt to pick a small, white flower with delicate petals. “This one is for you,” he said, handing it to Arwen with a smile that reached his eyes.
Arwen took it, her fingers brushing against his as she accepted the gift. “Thank you,” she said, her voice lighter than it had been all morning. She looked around and began to notice the beauty of the world around them—the vibrant moss on the rocks, the tiny blossoms hiding beneath the ferns. With a small giggle, she bent down to pluck a flower of her own.
“This one is for you, Glorfindel,” she said, presenting it to him with a flourish.
Glorfindel’s pink lips curved into a genuine smile as he accepted the flower. “You have a good eye, my lady,” he said.
Their game continued as they walked, each of them stopping to collect flowers and other small treasures from the forest. By the time they reached Glorfindel’s secret place, Arwen’s hands were full of blooms, and her giggles had become a melody that danced through the trees.
When they finally arrived, Arwen gasped softly. The clearing was breathtaking. A crystal-clear stream wound its way through a meadow filled with wildflowers in every color imaginable. The sunlight filtered through the trees in golden rays, casting a warm glow over everything. Birds sang softly in the background, their songs mingling with the gentle babble of the stream.
“It’s... beautiful,” Arwen whispered, her voice full of awe. She turned to Glorfindel, her blue eyes shining. “Just like you.”
Glorfindel chuckled softly, his golden hair catching the light like molten gold. “I fear I cannot compete with such a view,” he said, though the slight pink tint to his cheeks suggested her words had touched him.
They sat down together on a soft patch of grass near the stream, the flowers they had collected scattered around them. As Arwen leaned back to admire the sky, she noticed Glorfindel weaving something with his long, elegant fingers.
“What are you doing?” she asked curiously, sitting up to watch him.
Glorfindel glanced at her, his blue eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “Patience, my lady,” he said with a playful smile. “You will see.”
Arwen watched in fascination as he continued his work, his movements precise and deliberate. When he was finished, he held up a crown of flowers, its colors vibrant and perfectly arranged.
“For you, my lady,” he said, placing the crown gently on her head.
Arwen’s hand flew to the crown, her eyes wide with delight. “It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice filled with wonder. “Thank you, Glorfindel.”
“You wear it well,” he said, his pink lips curving into a soft smile.
Arwen studied the crown on her head for a moment before turning back to Glorfindel. “Will you teach me how to make one?” she asked, her voice hopeful.
Glorfindel’s golden hair shimmered as he nodded. “Of course, Lady Arwen.”
He guided her hands carefully, showing her how to weave the stems together without breaking them. His touch was gentle, and his explanations were patient, each word spoken with care.
After several attempts, Arwen finally completed her first crown. It wasn’t as perfect as Glorfindel’s, but she beamed with pride as she held it up.
“This one is for you,” she said, placing it on Glorfindel’s head.
Glorfindel chuckled, adjusting the crown slightly. “How do I look?” he asked, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Not too bad,” Arwen said with a giggle. “Like the golden lord of flowers.”
Glorfindel laughed softly, a sound that seemed to brighten the clearing even further. “If that is your judgment, Lady Arwen, then I shall wear it proudly.”
As Glorfindel smiled, the corner of his eyes crinkled in emotion and his eyes gave nothing but pureness.
They spent the rest of the morning in the clearing, weaving crowns, sharing stories, and finding solace in each other’s company. For a brief moment, the weight of their grief was lifted, replaced by the simple joy of being together.
The sunlight cascaded through the canopy of trees, its golden rays blanketing the meadow in a warm, ethereal glow. Glorfindel lay sprawled on the soft grass, his golden hair fanned out like threads of sunlight itself. His face was turned slightly to the side, his blue eyes closed in serene contemplation, and a faint smile graced his pink lips.
Beside him lay Arwen, her dark hair blending with the grass, her crown of flowers slightly askew but still vibrant. For a time, they had been silent, basking in the beauty of the secluded glade.
Arwen’s gaze shifted to Glorfindel. She studied his face, marveling at how each feature seemed more perfect than the last. His delicate nose, the gentle curve of his rosy cheeks, and the serene expression that made him seem untouchable. He was, she thought, the most beautiful elf she had ever seen.
But even as the thought lingered, another memory rose unbidden to her mind—her mother.
The warmth in her chest turned to an ache. The thought of her mother’s departure, of the hurt that had gripped her family, made her throat tighten. Her gaze dropped to the ground, but her thoughts did not stop there. Instead, they turned to her father.
Ada. How was he? He hadn’t come to them since Celebrían’s departure. He hadn’t even eaten, as far as Arwen knew. A swell of fear gripped her heart as questions raced through her mind.
Without a word, she sat up, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She rested her chin on her knees, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a curtain.
Glorfindel stirred beside her, sensing the shift in her mood. His blue eyes fluttered open, soft and vibrant as a summer sky, and he turned his head to look at her.
“Arwen?” he asked gently, his voice low and melodic. He sat up slowly, his golden hair shimmering as it caught the sunlight. His pink lips curved into a slight frown as he took in her posture. “What troubles you, pen-neth (young one)?”
She didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the ground.
Glorfindel’s frown deepened. He moved closer, his hand brushing gently against her shoulder. “Arwen,” he said again, his voice soft but insistent. “You can speak to me. I will listen.”
At last, she lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. They were glistening with unshed tears. “Do you think Ada will get better?”
Glorfindel froze, the question striking him in a way few others could. His blue eyes widened, his usually serene expression momentarily faltering. For a brief moment, he said nothing.
How could he answer her? He could not lie to her, but neither could he shatter the fragile hope she clung to.
Finally, he took a deep breath, his shoulders straightening. His voice was steady when he spoke. “He will,” he said, though the weight of the words pressed heavily on him.
Arwen’s brow furrowed, frustration breaking through her sadness. “You always say that,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “But you never tell me how. You don’t tell me anything about him!”
Glorfindel’s expression softened, though his frown lingered. He reached out, brushing a strand of dark hair away from her face. “It is not that I wish to withhold from you,” he said gently. “But your father...he is grieving. As we all are. Grief takes time, pen-neth.”
Her frustration boiled over, and she pulled away, standing abruptly. “But you don’t understand!” she cried, tears spilling over. “He’s all I have left! I can’t lose him too!”
Glorfindel rose to his feet as well, his movements fluid and graceful despite the turmoil in the air. His golden hair shimmered as he stepped closer to her, his pink lips pressing into a firm line.
“Arwen,” he said quietly, his voice steady even as her emotions swirled around them. “I do understand. And I promise you—on my life—that I will do everything in my power to ensure your father remains with you.”
Her sobs quieted at his words, though tears still streamed down her cheeks. “You promise?” she whispered, her voice small.
“I swear it,” Glorfindel said, his blue eyes locking onto hers. “Do you know why I returned to Ennor (Middle-earth)? I returned to protect him. To protect you and your brothers. I would not have come back otherwise. You are my family, Arwen. I will not fail you.”
At his words, Arwen crumbled, sinking to her knees. Her sobs returned, quieter now but just as heart-wrenching. Glorfindel knelt beside her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close.
She buried her face in his chest, her small hands clutching at his tunic. Glorfindel rested his chin lightly on her head, his golden hair mingling with her dark strands.
“I miss her,” she whispered through her tears.
“I know,” Glorfindel replied softly, his voice thick with emotion. “We all do. But you are not alone, Arwen. None of us are.”
For a long while, they remained like that, the meadow around them silent save for the rustling of the wind and the occasional chirp of a bird. Slowly, Arwen’s sobs subsided, her breathing evening out.
Glorfindel began to hum a soft tune, the melody flowing like a stream through the stillness. His voice, rarely heard in song, was rich and warm, carrying a depth of emotion that words could not convey.
Arwen listened, her tears drying as she leaned into him. She felt comforted by the sound, her heartache dulled by the strength of his presence.
When at last the song ended, Arwen looked up at him. “Will you stay with me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Always,” Glorfindel replied, his blue eyes filled with unwavering resolve.
And in that moment, Arwen believed him.