"You are distracted," Elrond observed, not unkindly.
Glorfindel turned his smiling face to his Lord. "Yes," he happily agreed. "I am."
Elrond could not help but smile back at seeing one so wholly consumed with joy. "And what, may I ask, has stolen your attention this day?" It was a question he had asked many times before and was unsurprised to receive the usual response.
"Tis the same distraction as usual, Elrond." Glorfindel seemed quite unperturbed and his smile remained unbroken as he turned to gaze out the window.
"You've accomplished very little work," Elrond observed, raising a critical eyebrow.
"You're right," Glorfindel agreed with a contented little sigh. "I haven't."
Elrond tried to hide his smile, but couldn't quite manage it. "I suppose it matters little, seeing as we are several days ahead of schedule."
Glorfindel nimbly twirled a brown quill between large fingers. "That's what I thought," he agreed in a breathy sigh, watching the feather spin back and forth.
Elrond leaned in across the desks that separated them to carefully observe Glorfindel's happy features. He said, quite seriously, "And shall you ever confide in me?"
"I may," Glorfindel smiled, setting down the quill, the ink smearing the desktop. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because I am curious of course," Elrond answered. "I know you, Glorfindel. I know your habits and your manners, your routines and your values. I know that you detest time wasted in daydreaming and mediocre work accomplished by those who may be ... distracted."
"But my Lord," Glorfindel light-heartedly protested, "I should never fall to such deplorable acts. In the presence of those beneath my command," he added. His smile became one of bemused self-ridicule. "Even I allow myself the weakness of daydreams, Elrond." His voice was deep and his eyes were focused on something Elrond would never see. "Even I may succumb to the happy places found only by a mind weakened with wonder in the pleasantly warm breezes of lazy summers."
"I wonder what has so wholly consumed your dreams, my friend."
"Can you not guess?" Glorfindel finally asked him, his smile weakening.
"If you were a few Ages younger," Elrond suggested, "I should venture you were under the influence of love."
Glorfindel beamed at him. "And what difference should the passing of years make? Love afflicts us all! Even myself."
Elrond, excited now, leaned even further in and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you mean to tell me that your head is swelled with nothing more important than the wonders of love?" Elrond was thrilled. "Why have you not told me! How did I not guess!"
"Of course it is love," Glorfindel answered him smoothly. "Of course I never told you, because you are an old goat who will insist on interfering, and of course you never guessed because you did not care to think your Captain so fortunate as to fall hopelessly in love after such a long time." He was still smiling, rather goofily.
Elrond sat up ramrod straight and grinned wildly. "For nearly a hundred years now I have seen you swooning in the window seat when you thought none there to witness it!" Elrond cheerfully declared. "And now you say it is love!" He once more leaned conspiratorially forward to whisper, "Who is it you love? Who else knows? What have you done about it?"
Glorfindel smiled at him gently, as though indulging a spoiled child. "I shan't tell you. I've told no one. I've done nothing."
Elrond, unsurprised at the first two, burst out with, "Nothing?! You merely hide yourself away to daydream when you please and you haven't done a bloody thing about it?!"
Puzzlement finding a way into the infernal smile, Glorfindel asked, "What do you expect me to do?"
"I should think you might make some advances toward the object of your affections," Elrond readily answered. "That is the way of things: you fall in love, you pursue your love, you"" Elrond frowned and did not finish his speech.
Glorfindel matched the expression with a melancholy glower of his own. "Yes Elrond, and then what? Either you become happier than you can imagine, or you fall into the deepest pits of despair. I do not wish to succumb to anything more than the simple pleasantries of my daydreams. I do not wish to fall to the inane passion of fanatical lovers or the pitiable sorrow of an unmatched love. I am content in my daydreams, as most people would be if they had the sense to stop there. Happiness gained can always be lost. But love never pursued shall never be squandered. Do you understand me now?"
Elrond's frown deepened and he looked upon his friend with sorrow in his cloudy grey eyes. "All too well, Glorfindel. And you are mistaken, for I do pity you. Just the smallest bit I pity the coward too fearful to seek love."
Glorfindel was irritable all week. Everyone noticed it.
But of course, no one would say anything. It was unusual, but it would pass, as such things always eventually must do. Elrond made a point of scowling fiercely whenever Glorfindel was about, but Erestor and Lindir just avoided the irrational blonde and all Glorfindel's soldiers made it a priority to simply not irritate him.
And pass it did, this foul mood, after only a few days. And Glorfindel readily returned to his good-natured self.
And only once in a great while would Elrond find his Captain lounging lazily about with a contented smile on his face, eyes focused on a distant daydream. Often in the office after the day's work was done, or sometimes outside perched upon the branch of a resolute tree Elrond would find him. The Lord found his Captain's happiness to be quite infectious and would -- more often than not -- find a similar smile creeping upon his own features before he reminded himself that Glorfindel was a coward and was not meant to be envied.
Years later, Glorfindel had an abrupt epiphany.
He was in his office in the afternoon, for that was how his day progressed. The mornings began with a simple inspection and he spent his time until the lunch hour supervising training and exercise programs, occasionally seeing to other business that needed doing in the realm of Imladris. After lunch was his appointed office hour, and he would always spend more time than he truly wished to pouring over the never-ending paperwork required of him. He would, on occasion, be overheard complaining bitterly that a captain's place was hardly behind a desk, but his complaints were rare and insincere, so no one was particularly bothered. His evenings were his own to do with as he pleased; his pleasures ranged from hunting in his Lord's land to conversing and singing in the Hall of Fire to sitting in the quiet company of Elrond's Chief Counselor reading a book, and it was not uncommon to find him lending a hand in the kitchens, which were always understaffed, particularly in the springtime.
This afternoon should have been no special occasion, for there was little trouble in Imladris and the most exciting thing to have happened in the past decade was a chicken that somehow got loose in Elrond's chambers. Glorfindel, of course, had had nothing to do with the incident.
The office he worked in was neither large nor small. It was appointed in fine dark woods and deep, cool colors. There were many books and a few plants and a small fireplace for the colder winters. There was only one window, which faced east. It afforded enough light in the afternoon for elven eyes however, and Glorfindel had need of a candle on only the cloudiest of days. There were in the office two desks, which were situated opposite one another. The desks were identical, for the same hands had made them, but a glance at where they sat beneath the wide window would tell much of those who used them.
The desk Glorfindel worked at was forever accumulating things. Not just his papers, which sat in disorderly piles to either side of him, but all sorts of random bric-a-brac. There was always a weapon lying about that needed sharpening or some such, and small piles of coin that were weighing down his pockets and drinking glasses he'd forgot to return to the kitchens and a skillfully crafted pipe that he occasionally indulged in --though never in the office, for his officemate would consider such an offense worthy of a hanging at the very least. Since there were children forever running about Imladris and since children in Imladris loved little more than Glorfindel, there were always drawings tacked up on the windowsill or tucked between the pages of a book or propped up on his collection of things. So too could be seen broken toys, from dolls to toy carriages and wooden swords, which the children brought to him in his office, knowing that he was surely the one best suited to fixing them.
The desk opposing him belonged to Erestor, the Chief Counselor. They had shared an office for nearly as long as Imladris had stood, and it suited them perfectly well, for Erestor used the space in the mornings and then spent his afternoons traipsing about the House, seeing to what needed seeing to. And it was only rarely that they ever had need of the office at the same time, otherwise their contentment would not have lasted nearly as long as it had and the desks, certainly, would not have long remained in such a configuration. As it was, Glorfindel's things were continuously flowing onto the other desk, an irritant to its keeper, who insisted upon tidiness in all facets of his life. Erestor would not stand for the busted quills and empty inkpots and scrap papers to slowly gain his territory, and he would quickly dispose of them. His own desk boasted a beautiful scrollwork unit to one side that held all his most-used utensils in their proper places; the surface was always neat and clean, with only his most recent work before him, and the drawers beneath painstakingly filed.
On this particular afternoon, not long before the unforeseen epiphany, Glorfindel entered the office after lunch to find Erestor still working. "Good afternoon, Erestor," he greeted his officemate. He closed the door behind him and sat at his desk.
Erestor had one white hand splayed upon the fine parchment, his other neatly grasping a rare green quill, when he looked up from his correspondence. A tangle of black hair fell from behind his pointed ear to cover one dark brown eye; his expression was one of vague surprise and Glorfindel was taken aback to see a smudge of violet ink across Erestor's cheek. Surely the Counselor couldn't know it was there, for he was most meticulous about his appearance. Glorfindel smiled at him.
Erestor smiled back. It wasn't what one would usually call a smile, but Glorfindel had known Erestor long enough to recognize the gentle smirk for what it truly was. "Afternoon," Erestor murmured before bowing again to his work, his free hand reaching up to tuck away the black strand of hair into its proper place.
This was not yet the moment of the epiphany, but it was an important moment just the same.
Glorfindel went about his afternoon routine. Firstly, he grabbed up a clean scrap of paper and drew up a list for himself of all the things that needed accomplishing. Then, he organized them into three categories. The top category was "Do Today.' After that came, "Try to Do Today.' Lastly was, "You'll Probably End Up Doing It Tomorrow.'
It was quite often that something that ended up in the third category stayed there for some weeks, and Glorfindel got behind schedule. But the things that really needed doing usually got done, so he really wasn't terrible at this other part of his job; he just didn't find it as fascinating to organize messengers as it was to thrust a sword at people's heads.
As he jotted down all the things that needed doing, he looked up on occasion to spy upon Erestor, who remained steadfastly in his seat working. "What keeps you in the office today, Erestor?" he finally asked, curious.
When Erestor looked up again, that same tendril of hair snaked down to obscure his vision, and he puffed at it to make it shift further away. "There's a changeover coming up this month," he answered quietly. "And Elrond is behind in his correspondences. My afternoon is devoted to ensuring the legibility of these letters and getting them on the road as soon as may be. Then the rosters must be posted by sunrise in two days' time. And no matter what I do, no one will be happy: there's only a four hour turnaround."
Glorfindel nodded. "Changeovers are the worst," he sympathized before returning to his work.
An hour later, however, he had accomplished very little. He lightly threw down his quill with great annoyance. "Blast," he muttered.
Erestor looked up. "You seem distracted, my friend. If you have no pressing matters to attend to, take the afternoon for yourself today. Elrond would not disapprove."
Glorfindel only heard one word Erestor said. "Distracted?"
Tilting his head curiously, Erestor answered in his slow, quiet voice, "Aye. Today you are fidgeting like a child where you sit, and your gaze keeps drifting to the window. And," he nodded at Glorfindel's workspace, "you've made a mess of your papers. Rest, Glorfindel. Perhaps you have been working over-hard."
Slowly Glorfindel thought about this, and finally he nodded. "My energy is restless this day. I think I shall adjourn to the yard."
Erestor smirked. He bent his head once more to his work and Glorfindel heard him mutter, "For surely nothing is so calming as swinging a metal stick at your colleagues."
Glorfindel harrumphed and stood, leaving his messy desk as it was to stalk out the office. He did not slam the door until he amended, "It's a SWORD, Erestor."
The epiphany came not long after when Elrond was rushed to the training yard by frantic sentries. Glorfindel was propped against the trunk of a tree, a monstrous gash in his thigh.
Elrond was all professionalism as he tore away some fabric, cleaned the wound, sewed it up, and forced some horrible concoction down Glorfindel's throat. Then he sent off all of Glorfindel's men and when they were alone the Lord of Imladris hurled a diatribe of vitriol so sharp at his Captain that Glorfindel could do naught but hang his head and agree to everything, lest Elrond truly lose his temper: a frightening sight indeed, as anyone who has witnessed it might tell.
"Well," Elrond finally summed up his inspiring lecture on fools in general and soldiers in particular, "How came this to be?" He gestured menacingly to the previously gaping wound in Glorfindel's leg.
Wincing at the pain, Glorfindel sighed and answered, "It was a routine skirmish with one of my new recruits, Silinde. I gave him free range and he came at me with a thrust I should have been able to parry, but I was--"
This, then, was the moment of epiphany.
"I SWEAR, Glorfindel." Elrond spoke slowly, his tone dark and his eyes menacing. Each word was a conviction, and he made Glorfindel's name a curse. "If you tell me you were distracted, I am going to forbid you from holding a sword."
Glorfindel's luminous blue eyes were huge and round as he stared disbelievingly at the ground. He thought; he thought through the past hours of his life. He looked up to his Lord and proffered the sword still gripped in his hand. "You'd better take this then." His voice, when he spoke, was unlike itself. It was small and choked and fearful. "Until you deem me fit enough to take it up again."
Elrond nearly snarled in distaste, plucking the weapon out of Glorfindel's weak grasp. Then the warrior struggled to his feet and limped off painfully across the yard toward the House, slowly and without a backward glance and without another word.
Once he had gone, Elrond swore violently and let the sword fall to the dusty ground with a dull clang. "Damn miserable fool," he proclaimed hurtfully.
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Story notes: Heh heh, perspicacious.
