Title: Please Sit With Me
Author: Estel Baggins
Author’s Email: macfal1219@comcast.net
Pairing: Aragorn/Glorfindel
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Glorfindel and Aragorn have been lovers for sixty years, and 
they have always planned to marry once Aragorn becomes king of 
Gondor. But what happens when Arwen falls in love with Aragorn and 
begins to fade because he will not return her love? Where does Aragorn’s 
allegiance lie?
Warning: mpreg
Feedback: Yes, please! I’ve discovered feedback is at least part of the food 
I need each day. 
Author’s Note: Thank you to Haranye Hanya for letting me use her picture 
of Aragorn and Glorfindel, Ai na vedui… for inspiration.
Author’s Note of Apology: I’m so sorry! I meant to post this all at once, 
but I got confused and sent the wrong file! Here’s the complete story, 
beginning to end. (This will teach me to get a beta reader, I guess. If you 
know a good one, feel free to let me know. It would be greatly 
appreciated.)

Part One: Before the War of the Ring
Prologue: Lovers’ Parting

	“Kiss me once before you go.” Glorfindel stood in the doorway, 
watching Aragorn pack. Across the room, the window showed the setting 
sun. Aragorn almost always left in the night, sometimes as soon as it got 
dark, and sometimes only an hour or two before dawn, depending on how 
close he thought the pursuit was. It depended on how much time he could 
lose here, in other words.
	Aragorn turned from the bed, and smiled sadly. “You’d make our 
parting even harder, melamin?”
	“Nay, only easier.” Glorfindel took a single step into the room; still 
giving Aragorn his space. He’d learned long ago that Rangers needed both 
space and comfort- it was his lover’s job to know which was called for. 
The thought that this might be their last time together crossed both their 
minds at practically the same time, but neither of them spoke of it; they’d 
known this for too long, and thus it didn’t stab as it once had.
	Aragorn opened his arms and Glorfindel crossed to him gladly. 
When Aragorn held him close, Glorfindel sighed happily. Sometimes, 
Aragorn needed comfort, and sometimes it was Glorfindel’s turn. The 
embrace was good for both of them this day.
	Glorfindel sensed Aragorn’s need to leave, and so he tilted his 
head, kissed Aragorn chastely, and stepped back. “I’ll see you again,” he 
murmured.
	Aragorn smiled, and it was a beautiful, pure smile, devoid of his 
usual worries. “I’ll kiss you when I see you,” he returned.
	Glorfindel stepped back and watched Aragorn don his cloak and 
shoulder his pack. He only smiled when Aragorn glanced at him in 
question. Knowing this smile meant he was free to go with a relieved heart 
and a clear head, Aragorn opened the door to his room, which opened 
right onto the main road of Rivendell, and departed into the night.

Well Met Upon The Road

	Elrond had called a council: those that could ride openly against 
the Nine Riders must do so at once. “There are four hobbits, wandering in 
the Wild without a guide,” he told them. There were only four elves in 
Imladris that could face the Nine: Elladan, Elrohir, Lindir and Glorfindel. 
“Go with all speed,” Elrond told them. He looked to his sons, and then to 
the others. “And with all caution.”
	A shadow, unbidden and completely incomprehensible, settled on 
Glorfindel’s heart.
	Outside in the courtyard, Glorfindel leapt onto his milk-white 
stallion. “Here we go again, my friend,” he murmured.
	The stallion whinnied and tossed his head, making the bells jingle. 
It was as if he understood both the idea of leaving and the deeper fear that 
had settled on Glorfindel’s heart.
	Nearby, Elladan and Elrohir (Glorfindel remembered when they 
were but babies) were mounting up, exchanging a last word. Lindir came 
out of the stables then, with his
storm-grey mare following after. Glorfindel joined the other three, 
knowing there was no time to waste. His heart was still troubled, but he 
couldn’t discover a reason for this. ‘It’s not for the hobbits that I fear,’ he 
thought. ‘I wish I had a fact behind this feeling of approaching doom.’
	“We’ll go south and west,” said Elladan, gesturing at his brother 
and himself. He spoke with all the authority of his father, though he and 
Elrohir were almost the youngest in all Imladris (Arwen had returned from 
Lothlorien where she had been visiting with her grandmother). “Lindir, 
take the banks of the river, and Glorfindel, take the road.” He glanced 
around at them all once more, then said, “Blessings go with you. 
Hopefully we’ll bring the hobbits back alive and well.” He spurred his 
stallion forward, and the others followed in a rush. Their horses’ hoof-
beats rose, clattered across the ford… and were gone.
***
	Nine days passed far too slowly for Glorfindel, and the nights 
flitted by in a breath. He scarcely slept, but he felt no stabbing weariness. 
It clung to him, like the fingers of a stiffening corpse will hold to what 
they clasped last in life, but Glorfindel was able to ignore the dragging 
exhaustion. His fear for the hobbits was enough to urge him on… and if it 
hadn’t been, that sense of coming danger would have pushed him until he 
collapsed.
	On the ninth day, Glorfindel woke from an hour’s fitful sleep with 
a sudden burst of energy. He couldn’t understand its source, but he let it 
charge him and strength him. He swung down from the branch where he’d 
curled up to sleep, and dropped silently beside his horse, who looked up 
and blew air through his velvety nose. “We’re going to move on again, 
Asfoloth,” Glorfindel told the stallion as he mounted up.
	They started again long the road, heading towards Rivendell, 
though they wouldn’t stop there; not for a while, at least. The day passed, 
and though that feeling of energy never left Glorfindel, he was hard-
pressed to keep his hopes alive.
	As they galloped the sun down from its zenith (it wouldn’t be long 
before evening fell), Glorfindel felt that energy building. He leaned 
forward and whispered, “Faster, faster!” The feeling had formed itself into 
an image: Aragorn was somewhere up ahead.
	‘I’m not looking for Aragorn!’ Glorfindel thought. ‘But… I think 
if I find him, I’ll find the hobbits.’
	Sensing his rider’s mounting hope, Asfoloth went ever faster. Clip-
clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.
	The hopeful feeling increased until it was almost a physical 
warmth. And when he felt the eyes on him, Glorfindel drew back on the 
reins, looking up towards the bushes. He looked instinctively, for surely 
there was no practical reason for his actions-
	“Glorfindel!”
	Aragorn came springing down from the place where he and the 
hobbits- Glorfindel could just see them poking their heads out of the 
concealing shrubs- had hidden themselves. His eyes were dancing, and 
also fearful. Glorfindel read his expression as clearly as if Aragorn had 
shouted: Well met, melamin, but we have trouble behind, beside and 
before us!
	Glorfindel dismounted quickly and with unconscious grace, his 
eyes sparkling. “Ai na vedui Dunadan! Mae govannen!” But even as he 
called to Aragorn, he sensed the darkness that came not from the Nine- 
he’d sensed them before this- but from one of the hobbits that was still 
huddling in the thicket. He started up towards Aragorn, meeting him part-
way as the Ranger sprang like a hart down the rocky hill. Glorfindel 
refrained from touching Aragorn, but he desperately wanted to, and not for 
just a few seconds, either, as had happened that early evening in Rivendell 
almost a year ago. He remembered something Elrond had asked when he’d 
learned of the love that existed between his long-time friend and his foster 
son: “Your meetings will be few and far between. Can you stand in the 
face of that? Can your love stand against all the darkness that may come?”
	Aragorn, too, had heard these words, and he’d answered before 
Glorfindel could, “We’ll stand because we’re meant to, Ada.”
	And Elrond hadn’t really protested. When Aragorn had fallen in 
love with Glorfindel- a goal much more attainable than the Half-elf’s 
daughter- Elrond had almost sighed with relief. He surely wouldn’t 
discourage them now. Selfish, perhaps, but as a father, wasn’t he entitled 
to take care of his children as best he could?
	“The servants of the Enemy follow you closely,” Glorfindel said to 
Aragorn as they stood a little above the road; Asfoloth had moved closer 
to them, and now stood patiently, cropping grass.
	“I know; we’ve seen them.” His eyes said they’d done a great deal 
more than that.
	“Can you move? You’re only a little way from Rivendell now, and 
Elrond will be able to heal whoever needs it.” Glorfindel took in 
Aragorn’s face, the burn on his lover’s hand, and the haunted look in his 
eye. “And I’ll be able to heal you.”
	Instead of answering, Aragorn turned and gestured the hobbits to 
come down. All’s well, that wave of the hand said. All’s well; we’ve met 
some luck at last. “This is Glorfindel,” Aragorn told them as they came to 
stand with the other two, “who dwells in the House of Elrond.”
	They exchanged as few words as possible, but even as they spent 
these few minutes, the shades of evening fell. Still, the tale had to be told. 
Aragorn held out the hilt of the Morgul-blade. Glorfindel hesitated for 
only an instant- only Aragorn saw it- then he took the hilt. Aragorn took a 
step closer to his lover, and his eyes said plainly that he knew of 
Glorfindel’s reluctance, and was sorry that he must now hold a weapon of 
the Enemy in his strong, yet fair and untouched, hand.
	‘I don’t want you holding this sort of darkness-kissed thing!’ 
Glorfindel thought as he handed back the hilt. But all he did was urge 
Aragorn to handle it as little as possible.
	After a little debate, and after Glorfindel had examined Frodo’s 
wound, they decided to place Frodo on Asfoloth. “…my horse will not let 
any rider fall that I command him to bear,” Glorfindel said, and then he 
spoke a little more. Already he liked the hobbits, and thought, ‘Aragorn 
has made some good friends of these four.’
	After at least convincing Frodo to ride, they all started for the Ford 
of Imladris.
***
	At dawn, Glorfindel called a halt to their march. The hobbits fell 
asleep immediately, but Aragorn came to him as the sun rose. Before he 
could speak, though, Glorfindel put a finger to his lips. “No, melamin, 
sleep.” His eyes flashed with a commanding light that Aragorn, under 
other circumstances, would have found quite erotic. “I’ll watch for now.”
	And because the eyes of his lover commanded, Aragorn obeyed, 
sinking into the grass. He was asleep before Glorfindel had even started to 
turn away. ‘He hasn’t slept in… how long? Weeks, most likely. He’s been 
watching while they slept each night, trusting himself only to catch the 
little naps he was taught about in Rivendell- those brief, thin rests where 
men sleep with their eyes open and elves do not allow their gazes to turn 
inward.’ Glorfindel resisted an almost unbearable urge to kneel at 
Aragorn’s side and kiss his brow. ‘He’s a Ranger; he’d wake up the instant 
I bent down, and I’d be hard-pressed to get him back to sleep again. For 
now, I must only be glad that I’ve seen him again, for surely that is much 
more wonderful in these dark times than it ever has been since the time of 
the Last Alliance.’ And with these thoughts deciding him, Glorfindel 
turned away from the others and watched the road until it was time to 
march again.

In The Past

	Aragorn closed his eyes against the intensity of the release, but 
even as he came beneath Glorfindel, his mind turned to fears again. When 
his shuddering was at last done, Aragorn grabbed a cloth, cleaned himself 
and then turned to look at Glorfindel. He expected to find his lover half-
asleep already, but Glorfindel surprised him yet again. He was sitting up, 
the blankets drawn over his golden elf-hood, as if to keep it from being a 
distraction, and he was gazing at Aragorn. “What are you thinking?” asked 
the elf-lord softly. This was only their second time in bed together- they’d 
been dating for nearly ten years (such was the long-suffering they both had 
as they felt their bond strengthen)- but already Glorfindel knew just what 
Aragorn needed- in all things, including in bed.
	“I understand now why I wasn’t meant to fall in love until I 
become king,” Aragorn whispered. “When I’m here in Imladris, I forget 
about my Rangers completely, and when I’m with them, my thoughts turn 
to you.”
	“At dangerous times?” Glorfindel asked carefully.
	Aragorn hesitated. “No, just when I’m sleeping or riding alone, 
but…” He shrugged helplessly. “What can I do, Glorfindel? I love you and 
I think about you. Is that wrong? It wouldn’t be if I weren’t in charge of so 
many, but since I am…” He trailed off and shrugged.
	Many lovers at this point would have asked, “Are you saying we 
have to break up?” Glorfindel was wiser than that. “There is no shame in 
love. The reason Lord Elrond didn’t want you to marry Arwen so soon 
was because he didn’t want her to have to travel with you, or to have to 
suffer here while you’re away.”
	“Do you suffer?” Aragorn asked.
	“I suffer as much as you do, but we’re both warriors, Aragorn, and 
that makes our time apart easier.”
	Aragorn considered that. “I miss you continually, but I’m not 
worried about your well-being,” he conceded.
	“Exactly.” Glorfindel didn’t want to admit that he worried about 
Aragorn.
	“Do you worry about me?” Aragorn asked. He could see 
immediately in Glorfindel’s gaze that this was so. “Then how is this 
different for you?”
	“I worry, but I also know you aren’t alone much of the time out 
there, and that if you are alone, you can defend yourself well.” He smiled. 
“Besides, Aragorn, if I’m ever really desperate, all I have to do is saddle a 
horse and come find you. I can more easily leave my duties than you can.”
	Aragorn moved closer to Glorfindel and hugged him. “Love me,” 
he whispered. “One more time before I have to leave.”
	Glorfindel kissed Aragorn’s forehead, his cheek, then his mouth. 
When Aragorn moaned, Glorfindel moved hiss mouth to Aragorn’s neck 
and sucked gently there.
	“I love you,” Aragorn gasped.
	Glorfindel laughed against his throat. “And I you.”

At The Ford

	The first day passed, and they rested only twice, very briefly. 
Glorfindel and Aragorn exchanged only a handful of words during the 
day, once in the morning and once as their shadows began to grow in the 
fading light.
	In the morning, Aragorn came to Glorfindel when the hobbits were 
resting. They were staring off towards the road (they were sitting off to 
one side, concealed, while they drank sparingly from the waterskins) and 
didn’t notice the two step away. Aragorn immediately drew Glorfindel to 
his chest, and the elf could feel the strong man trembling. “I fear for 
Frodo,” Aragorn whispered.
	Glorfindel didn’t answer with words; useless reassurances weren’t 
what Aragorn needed right now. He caught Aragorn’s face in his hands 
and kissed him with open, ready lips. Aragorn responded, but broke the 
kiss almost at once.
	“Thank you,” he breathed. Then he turned back towards the 
hobbits and urged them to their feet once more. “If we keep this pace, 
we’ll make it to the ford by tomorrow,” he told them, and his encouraging 
words helped… a little.
	The second time they spoke, it was because Glorfindel had, for the 
fourth time that day, stopped, stood still and listened. He could hear the 
wraiths getting closer; no, he could sense them, which was even more 
powerful, and was a much stronger, more far-reaching sense. “I feel 
them,” he said to Aragorn when his lover came to stand close beside him.
	“How close?” Aragorn whispered.
	“Too close for my comfort. I wouldn’t be happy unless they were 
back in Mordor, and maybe not even then. But, Aragorn… they are drawn 
to Frodo like flies to-” he looked uncomfortable even making the analogy- 
“a dead fox. He won’t have a chance of escaping them while he’s still 
carrying his burden.”
	“He still has hope, and maybe he won’t have to bear it further than 
Rivendell,” Aragorn answered. He smiled sadly. “And hope is what my 
line has been about for three thousand years.” He touched Glorfindel’s 
arm lightly with the tips of his fingers, and Glorfindel felt the warmth 
spread down his arm to his hand and up to his shoulder from that simple 
touch. Aragorn had always been able to make him feel better with only a 
slight, gentle brush of his fingers. “And it’s what the elves have always 
stood for. Don’t lose your hope, my love.”
	Glorfindel smiled. “I won’t,” he promised.
***
	“Fly! Fly! Black Riders! Fly!”
	Glorfindel had sensed them as they grew closer, but suddenly they 
loomed nearer than he’d ever dreaded. “Fly! Fly!”
	Asfoloth listened and broke into a gallop.
	“Faster! Faster!” Glorfindel shouted in Elvish.
	Then the Black Riders were upon them and the rest of the small 
party fell to one side. They weren’t far from the ford; maybe Frodo had a 
chance.
	After the Black Riders had passed, Glorfindel felt sick as he 
watched them go, but he didn’t yet dare distract them. If he could get them 
close enough to the water, and then frighten them-
	As if Aragorn was reading his mind, the Ranger was kneeling in 
the dirt, a hasty crossing of sticks and twigs laid before him. “Gather 
sticks the hobbits can handle.” He ordered as he used his flint and steel 
over the fire.
	Glorfindel could hear the hobbits scuttling around, and before he 
went after the sticks, he glanced at them. They, too, to his surprise, were 
looking for long sticks. ‘Aragorn, these are stout-hearted hobbits you’ve 
brought from the Shire,’ he thought as he grabbed up three sticks- one for 
Aragorn and two for hobbits.
	At last, Aragorn had the fire going well and they were able to light 
the sticks. “Let’s go,” said the Ranger tersely. “Stay close to me, you 
three; let Glorfindel work.”
	The hobbits didn’t understand, but they obeyed, letting Glorfindel 
lead the way towards the ford.
	‘Now’s the time,’ Glorfindel thought as the river began to rise. The 
Ringwraiths were turning back towards him, ready to escape and ride him 
down. Some were in the water, and being driven downstream, but the rest 
were still safe on dry land. Even though he was the nearest to these others, 
Glorfindel thought defiantly, ‘I won’t let them kill Aragorn. I won’t them 
kill the hope of Men.’ But that wasn’t the real reason for defending the 
man, and he knew it. His eyes narrowing, Glorfindel released his light and 
hoped they were frightened by the expression on his face as well as by the 
deadly light.
	“Elf-lord! Elf-lord!” The terrified cry passed from mouth to mouth 
and Glorfindel bore down on them- they’d frozen, reining their horses in 
hard.
	Glorfindel saw the witch-king, and he smiled so dangerously that 
he swore the witch-king looked away.
	Then the Ringwraiths wheeled around, back to the water. Better to 
drown their horses and be swept away then to die by the hand of a 
resurrected elf-lord.
	As the horses and wraiths were swept away, Glorfindel glanced at 
Aragorn, who stood beside him, his torch raised high.
	Only when the last wraith was truly gone did Aragorn speak. “We 
weren’t even needed,” he murmured ruefully. Then he looked across the 
river, saw Frodo lying there, exhausted, and pelted forward.
	“Aragorn, the river-” But even as Glorfindel issued his warning, 
the river fell back to its normal place and the Ranger was able to dart 
across unhindered.

At Sunset

	With Frodo hurt and fading, Aragorn usually would have been at 
his side, but instead he was walking towards his old bedroom, ready to 
collapse. He smiled wryly. ‘And if I wasn’t watching Frodo, I normally 
would be loving Glorfindel- but he retired to his rooms; he must be very 
tired.’ Sighing, Aragorn pushed open his door- and froze.
	The room was small, but comfortable. The white walls were 
washed with the rosy-orange light of the setting sun as it streamed in 
through the single window. The window was plain glass, but divided into 
carefully-carved sections that were separated by twists of wrought-iron. It 
was a simple design, depicting the flowing of water, but these wavy lines 
did amazing things to the incoming light so that it seemed to rise up the 
walls like leaping foam.
	In one corner, near the window, there was an archway that led to a 
private bath. The entryway was flanked with two tassel-tied, moss green 
curtains, which, when untied, sheltered the bather within from prying eyes.
	But the naked elf in the room didn’t seem to mind prying eyes. He 
lay across the bed, his pale, flawless skin painted with waves of color. 
Pink-orange, gold and a soft purple (like a kiss) danced over him as he sat 
up, meeting Aragorn’s eyes as the end of the day drew to a close.
	As Aragorn closed the door- slowly, for he was in a daze- 
Glorfindel rose from the bed. He bowed to Aragorn, his face completely 
solemn. “It’s time for you to sleep,” he whispered.
	Aragorn moved towards him now, his hands reaching, need plain 
in his eyes- and not just the need for sex (he noted that Glorfindel’s penis 
was already half-erect)- but for just a simple touch.
	Glorfindel retreated from him, smiling, teasing, and beckoning. He 
retreated towards the window and Aragorn followed. The elf-lord turned 
towards the last rays of the sunset and stood quite still. When Aragorn 
stood behind him, his arms encircling his lover’s waist, Glorfindel leaned 
back into the embrace, smiling. They stood like that until the sun sank 
down completely, and also a little after, until the first stars were visible. 
As they stood, they fused together as they always did when they were 
allowed more than a brief hug or caress. Glorfindel’s hips fit perfectly 
against the rough cloth that covered the front of Aragorn’s thighs. 
Aragorn’s hands settled, crossed, just above Glorfindel’s elfhood, as if 
they were made for just that place.
	“I need you,” Aragorn groaned into the hollow of Glorfindel’s 
throat.
	“And you can have me, rough Ranger,” Glorfindel answered, 
nearly laughing, “but I want something from you, first. Sit down with your 
back against the wall.” He pushed back with his right hip, making Aragorn 
turn so that it was easy to back the Ranger against the wall. He pushed 
down on Aragorn’s shoulders, and the man sat obediently. Aragorn now 
stood with the window on his left hand side, then he sat in the corner with 
his legs stretched out, waiting.
	Glorfindel straddled him and then knelt, rubbing his erection 
against the weave of Aragorn’s shirt. He didn’t sit, but held himself up 
until Aragorn’s hands came to his hips, helping to hold him there. Then 
Aragorn’s hands moved around to his backside, but they didn’t press, only 
touched lightly.
	Aragorn closed his eyes and tilted his head up slightly, inhaling the 
intoxicating scent of his lover, and feeling the warmth of Glorfindel so 
close.
	They stayed like that until Glorfindel felt Aragorn at last relaxing 
completely, sinking into the carpet-covered wooden floor, letting go of the 
danger for a little while, allowing himself to slip into the moment fully. 
‘This is part of the reason you love me,’ Glorfindel thought. ‘I make you 
forget all the things that hunt you.’
	He put his hands on Aragorn’s shoulders and sent warmth into the 
melting muscles there. He didn’t want to move; these were the moments 
he longed for when he lay alone in bed during the darkest part of the night. 
‘I want you, Aragorn; I want you just like this, without your titles, your 
enemies or your responsibilities.’ But he knew this was selfish, and so he 
just held still, waiting for Aragorn to make the next move.
	One of Aragorn’s hands moved down to cup the tenderest curve of 
Glorfindel’s backside, then he was still again.
	Glorfindel gazed down at him, and suddenly he wanted to cry.
	Aragorn, who was starting to learn Glorfindel as well as Glorfindel 
knew him, opened his eyes and his expression of serenity melted away. 
“What is it?” He reached up and touched Glorfindel’s cheek.
	“I don’t know,” Glorfindel whispered. “I’m sorry I ruined it; I 
didn’t mean to…” The tears gathered in his eyes, and he wasn’t quick 
enough to stop a few from falling.
	Aragorn pushed Glorfindel down gently so Glorfindel was sitting 
on his thighs. He drew Glorfindel’s head against his chest and stroked his 
thick, golden hair. Lovingly, he removed the small leather tie that kept 
Glorfindel’s bangs out of his eyes and let it fall to the side. Glorfindel’s 
hair cascaded down, released. Aragorn let Glorfindel cry for a few 
minutes, then he whispered, “Please tell me what’s wrong.”
	His voice was rough with smoke and too many years in the harsh 
world. Glorfindel remembered when Aragorn’s voice had sounded 
innocent, young and untried. He cried harder for the things that had been 
lost to duty.
	“Glorfindel, aii, Glorfindel, please don’t cry.” Aragorn was kissing 
his cheek, his forehead, his hair, rocking him gently. “Please,” he begged, 
and now his voice wavered.
	Glorfindel raised his head and saw the worry in his lover’s eyes, 
and the beginnings of a few tears of his own. “Aragorn, why are you 
crying?”
	“I hate seeing you hurting,” Aragorn answered, and he wiped at his 
eyes, then smiled weakly. “I’m sorry, Glorfindel, but it almost feels good 
to cry. You’re almost the only one I don’t have to hide my face with.” He 
looked slightly alarmed; he couldn’t read Glorfindel through-and-through 
yet, and thought maybe he’d offended his lover. “I mean that I can show 
my face to Elladan and Elrohir.”
	“I know,” Glorfindel answered, touching Aragorn’s lips. “I know.” 
He kissed the corner of Aragorn’s mouth. “I know the strength of your 
love for me.” He moved as if to lay his head against Aragorn’s chest, but 
Aragorn shifted, his hands under Glorfindel’s round backside, then one 
moved under his things. He lifted Glorfindel’s light frame effortlessly and 
repositioned him so that Glorfindel sat sideways on his thighs. Then 
Aragorn pressed Glorfindel’s head against his shoulder, so that 
Glorfindel’s mouth was at his throat.
      The Ranger bent his head and kissed Glorfindel from his jaw to his 
collarbone. “Please tell me what’s wrong,” the man pleaded.
      “I want you,” Glorfindel moaned. “I want just you. I don’t want 
you to move on. I don’t want you to fight anymore.”
      Aragorn considered answering that he couldn’t help who he was, 
but Glorfindel knew that, so Aragorn answered truthfully, “I wish I didn’t 
have to leave, either. This is where my heart will always lie: right here 
with you.”
      Glorfindel snuggled against the soft hair that danced on Aragorn’s 
neck. His lover had taken a bath, and now he smelled of Rivendell as well 
as that deeper man-scent that Glorfindel found so intoxicating. His tears 
had stopped, and he was grateful for that at least. “I’m sorry; I’m being 
selfish.”
      “Nay, you’re just in love.” Aragorn kissed the top of Glorfindel’s 
head. They sat like that for a moment, and then Aragorn’s heart opened a 
little and he had to speak what it told him. “You make me feel so strong 
and so at peace, Glorfindel, did you know that?”
      Glorfindel smiled against Aragorn’s neck. “Can we make love?” 
he asked shyly, as though this were their first time together.
      Aragorn laughed. “Aye, that we can.” He put his finger under 
Glorfindel’s chin and made him look up. “Kiss me, Glorfindel; kiss me 
and I’ll drown in your warmth.”
      Gradually, they moved to the bed, and when they reached it, 
Glorfindel asked as Aragorn sat on its edge to remove his boots, “Do you 
want to be in me or the other way?”
      Aragorn looked up at him, and he smiled. “I need to be in you 
tonight; it isn’t a question of want.”
      “It never is with you, is it?” Glorfindel teased. He got up, fetched 
the oil from his own pocket- his discarded clothing lay in the bathroom, 
out of sight- and returned to the bed. Aragon had removed his boots and 
was now unlacing his shirt.
      ‘He knows I need to be held,’ Glorfindel thought.
      As they reached for each other, thought dissolved into moonlight, 
and they made love until dawn, Glorfindel giving himself to Aragorn, who 
needed to heal him, hold him, comfort him. Aragorn needed to be the 
strong one for that night, in other words.
      
Frightening Questions
      
      Glorfindel came into the Hall of Fire, and listened as Bilbo chanted 
a song he had surely composed himself. He stood just inside the doorway 
until the song ended, and then he applauded politely with the other elves, 
and, he noticed, one very sleepy-eyed hobbit. Frodo had come back to 
them at last, and tomorrow the fate of the Ring and its Bearer would be 
decided… but for tonight, all that was expected was that everyone enjoy 
themselves. ‘And speaking of enjoying myself…’ Glorfindel scanned the 
room, and his eyes fell on Aragorn, standing beside Elrond’s chair. He 
was smiling at Bilbo, and he looked stunning as the firelight kissed his 
cheeks and brought muted colors- red, lighter brown and a touch of grey- 
out of his chestnut-brown hair. Glorfindel sighed and smiled. ‘Ah, that’s 
my love.’ He’d missed Aragorn at dinner, but knew that the man had to 
speak to Elladan and Elrohir, who had discovered more of the movements 
of the Enemy while Frodo recovered.
      But as he took a step, a grey-cloaked shadow passed through a 
back door, crossed the room and came to sit in the chair beside Elrond. It 
was Lady Arwen. As she passed Aragorn, she brushed her fingers over his 
where they rested on the back of her chair. Aragorn stepped back, as 
though to give her room, but she turned and caught his hand. She was 
speaking to him, but Glorfindel couldn’t hear her. Aragorn said something 
back, and frowned.
      This continued, and so Glorfindel walked across the room to talk 
with Lindir, who smiled at him. “Did you hear Bilbo’s song?” the other 
blond asked.
      Glorfindel nodded, turning his mind away from Aragorn and 
Arwen. ‘Surely I’m being a jealous elf as well as a selfish one. Oh, what 
terrible traits you have, my fair Glorfindel! If you aren’t careful, you’ll 
lose him because of them.’
      When Glorfindel retired, he saw Aragorn and Arwen singing 
together. He closed his eyes to it and went to his room.
***
	Despite his roiling emotions, Glorfindel at last fell asleep. He’d 
gone to his room, ‘just in case,’ he’d told himself, but just in case what? In 
case Aragorn had fallen in love with Arwen?
	‘I know Aragorn better than that,’ he insisted.
	‘But, she’s the most beautiful elf since Luthien. How can he not 
love her? And once he did love her, remember? Before she laughed at 
him, and before he found me, he loved her.’
	He slept then. 
***
	Warm arms encircled him, and Glorfindel rolled over, snuggling 
instinctively against the strong, slightly-furry chest he found there. He 
would have slept on if the one holding him hadn’t suddenly hugged him 
tightly, compulsively, as if desperately in need of him.
	Glorfindel opened his eyes and blinked at Aragorn in the dark. 
“Aragorn?” he whispered, surprised and delighted, though his voice still 
sounded sleepy.
	“Yes, it’s me.” Aragorn hugged him a little tighter, and now a 
shuddering sigh escaped him. “I didn’t see you in the Hall of Fire,” he said 
at last when the silence stretched, faintly uncomfortable, between them. 
“Where were you?”
	Glorfindel felt very ashamed of his thoughts, but he admitted them, 
because he wanted to be honest if at all possible. If jealousy was one way 
to end a relationship, then lies was a much quicker way. “I was there. I 
saw you with Lady Arwen and…” He pulled away a little, looking up at 
Aragorn guiltily. “I was jealous. I thought that you… that she…” He 
looked helplessly up at Aragorn, but the man’s face was expressionless, 
waiting. There was no help there. “I thought you loved her again.”
	Aragorn’s eyes flashed. “You thought I would betray you, right in 
front of you?” He sat up and let Glorfindel go. Anger rose in his face, but 
he didn’t speak again, folding his arms and waiting.
	“Yes,” Glorfindel sighed. “I’m sorry; I can only hope you’ll 
forgive my foolishness.” He closed his eyes, not wanting to see Aragorn 
looking so furious. “It was a stupid mistake.” He waited, thinking, ‘I 
would have lost Galdor this way if he hadn’t died. When will I learn to 
keep my idiotic suspicions to myself?’
	Then warm arms enfolded him, and Glorfindel, after an instant of 
surprise, leaned into them gratefully. “She was asking me if I wished to 
court her, and I refused. She insisted, urging me to dance with her and talk 
with her. She spoke of the glorious king I would be and the famous, near-
perfect Ranger I’ve become.” He snorted. “She made me sound like a 
legend already, as if I can do no wrong in her eyes. It was all quite 
flattering… and suffocating. I like your words of praise better: rarer, and 
always substantial and honest.” He kissed the top of Glorfindel’s head. “I 
love you, Glorfindel.” He laughed ruefully. “And I’m delighted to find 
that you’re swayed by something as, well as human and mortal as 
jealousy. Sometimes I think you’re too old for me. This makes me think I 
can make a fool’s worth of mistakes and not feel that you have to suffer 
me because of my age.” He put a finger under Glorfindel’s chin and when 
they were face-to-face, he kissed his lover. “Will you make love to me, 
imperfect elf, that I might forget her predatory eyes?”
	Glorfindel laughed and pressed forward so that his tongue entered 
into Aragorn’s mouth. “Are you asking me to fuck you?” he teased.
	Aragorn’s breath caught in his throat, and then he moaned, pulling 
away from Glorfindel a little so he could lick Glorfindel’s ear. “Yes, and 
hard.”
***
      Glorfindel watched helplessly as Elrond appointed Gandalf, 
Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir to go with Frodo to destroy the 
cursed Ring. Then Sam came, and swore to never leave Frodo’s side. 
Glorfindel felt a glimmer of hope when Elrond mentioned sending him 
along with the others, and then his hopes were dashed as it was decided 
that they would trust to friendship instead. ‘What of my friendship- my 
love- for Aragorn? Doesn’t he also need someone?’
      He forced the thought away savagely, unwilling to entertain it 
longer. ‘If Legolas and Gimli, sole of their kind, can go without a close 
friend, then surely I can let Aragorn go. Didn’t he say he would come with 
Boromir to Minas Tirith? Maybe he’ll live through this and at last come to 
his throne. Then I can go to him and maybe marry him.’ And because 
there was nothing else to hope for, Glorfindel let himself hope.
      The council was over, and it was decided that all would remain in 
Imladris for a month while the surrounding lands were combed for signs 
of the Enemy’s movements. The four hobbits headed off in a group, and 
Bilbo joined them. Gimli went away with his father, and Legolas, who had 
made quick friends with Elrohir, followed the son of Elrond out among the 
trees. Boromir stalked off by himself. Aragorn glanced at Glorfindel, 
shook his head and followed. ‘It’s a king’s duty to help his people,’ 
Glorfindel thought, and so he let Aragorn go. ‘I can’t keep him to myself, 
as much as I long to.’
      “Glorfindel, I must speak with you.”
      The blonde glanced up in surprise, seeing Elrond standing nearby. 
He nodded and crossed to his lord. “Walk with me,” Elrond said simply. 
Glorfindel fell into step beside the dark-haired elf, and they passed into 
Elrond’s private garden. Glorfindel referred to it in his own mind as the 
Garden of the Moon, because this was the first place the moonlight 
seemed to touch. When they were well-hidden among the trees and statues 
(there were ancient faces here, including those of Luthien and Beren, as 
well as Gil-galad and Elendil bowing to one another) Elrond faced 
Glorfindel. His eyes were alight with such an intense fire that Glorfindel 
fell back a step. “Glorfindel, you are well aware that Aragorn has a duty to 
perform?”
      This wasn’t what Glorfindel had expected to hear. “Yes, my lord 
Elrond, I know that very well.”
      Elrond groaned, then turned away and lowered his eyes. “I see that 
you do,” he murmured, sounding, if possible, disappointed.
      Glorfindel opened his mouth to ask what the lord of Imladris was 
talking about but Elrond resumed, and when he did, he sounded a little 
lost. “I do not understand the sways of emotion that young elves go 
through. First they ignore, then they love. At first they care nothing for 
someone, then they seek that one out endlessly. Even in their thoughts can 
they find no peace.” He began to pace, taking three steps away from 
Glorfindel, then he stopped and turned back. “Were we like this as 
children, Glorfindel? Were we so ruled by passion?”
      Glorfindel, feeling uncomfortable, tried to lighten the conversation. 
“When first you laid eyes on Lady Celebrain, you vowed to have her and 
no other, even if it killed you.”
      Elrond scowled. “I didn’t need that, Glorfindel!” he snapped, and 
his friend flinched slightly. “What were you like?” Elrond asked, staring 
up into the trees.
      ‘You, above all, should know the answer to that.’ “I have ever 
loved instantly and immediately, and let them go when they pass,” 
Glorfindel answered softly. ‘At least, until now. If Aragorn dies, I think I 
will follow soon after.’
      “Exactly!” Elrond met his gaze, and his own was fiery once more. 
“Isn’t that how it should be? Life is full of pain, and full of decisions that 
must be made and mistakes that must be accepted, pondered, then let go.” 
His ancient face was working, and Glorfindel cared little for the emotions 
he saw there. “Glorfindel,” he cried at last, “I am at my wit’s end! When 
elves love men, there is ever danger and sadness and death, and yet she 
will not renounce him!” He threw up his hands. Then he closed his eyes, 
visibly composed himself, and looked at Glorfindel again. This time there 
was regret and sympathy in his eyes. He said softly, “I know I shouldn’t 
be talking to you about this, but you know Aragorn best, and can predict 
what he will do.”
      Glorfindel felt off-balance and confused. “My lord, what are you 
talking about? And what does it have to do with Aragorn and me?”
      Elrond gaped, a most un-lord-like expression, then he whirled 
away to pace again. “Glorfindel, it can cause you no joy to make me 
recount it, so pray leave it be. You know of what I speak, and why it 
concerns Aragorn.” His hands were now in his hair, tugging in frustration. 
His circlet had come askew, and he groaned, glad that only one person 
could see him in such a state of distress. He turned back to Glorfindel, 
expecting to see acceptance in his friend’s eyes; he thought to see anger if 
not understanding, but acceptance all the same. What he saw made his 
heart ache. Glorfindel was staring at him with great doe’s eyes, 
uncomprehending and afraid.
      “Aii, you’d make me say it?” Elrond removed his hands from his 
hair and crossed to Glorfindel, grabbing his shoulders. “After Aragorn 
broke his bond with you, he was approached by my daughter- and he 
accepted her. It seems his ardor for her has never quite faded, and when he 
saw a chance to have her, he took her.” He shoved away from Glorfindel, 
letting the other elf stagger slightly. “Men are so greedy! They want 
always the best prize, the hardest-won treasure; the dearest things in 
others’ hearts they crave for their own.”
      Silence answered him at first, then Glorfindel was able to gain a 
part of his wits back. “Aragorn hasn’t broken faith with me, Elrond,” he 
whispered fiercely, his own eyes flashing. “He is mine more surely each 
day, and none can separate us.” Perhaps if Glorfindel hadn’t been jealous 
only the night before he wouldn’t have reacted so strongly, but Elrond was 
playing on his almost-forgotten fears, and Glorfindel rose in defense of his 
love.
      Elrond spun around, and glared. “Glorfindel, do not try to deceive 
me! I have seen them together, and I know they are in love! Don’t you 
think I would know the thoughts of my own daughter?”
      “Of your daughter, yes, but not of Aragorn, for he has changed in 
the years since he was your foster son, and you know it.” Glorfindel took a 
step back, preparing to run. 
	Elrond forestalled him. “Glorfindel,” he said low, almost pleading, 
“do not fool yourself. Things have changed, so do as you said before: 
adjust. Let Aragorn go, if that is his wish, and do not cling to him with 
such claws.” He held his hands out. “I’ll comfort you as best I can, as you 
comforted me when Celebrain left. I think even one of my sons would take 
you to marry, and you could pass over the Sea together. My daughter has 
vowed to stay here, and nothing will sway her now.” He saw the disbelief 
in Glorfindel’s eyes, and responded, trying to smile encouragingly, 
“Elladan and Elrohir are no longer children. They love you as an uncle, 
and both have looked at you sexually more than once.” Glorfindel was too 
shocked to speak, and so Elrond continued, gaining strength as he went: 
“Why not accept an invitation from one of them? They are both caring, 
gentle, strong young elves, and they will bring you much joy. You only 
need to decide if you wish a more serious or more song-filled personality 
and you’ll have all you could ever hope for.” 
      “No,” Glorfindel whispered. “No, I love Aragorn, and no other.” 
He took another step back. “Don’t lie to me like this. Aragorn doesn’t 
want Arwen; he told me so last night. How could he want her when we 
have shared so much?”
      “Men do not understand the fidelity of elves,” Elrond responded 
sagely, coldly. “Best you accept that now, Glorfindel; it’s very late in your 
life, and it’s a tragic lesson that should have been learned long ago.”
      Glorfindel’s temper flared as he remembered last night with 
Aragorn. “Aragorn loves me, and I love him!” he shouted at Elrond. “Take 
your lies and your hopes for Arwen’s queenship and leave me be!”
      Elrond moved forward swiftly and slapped Glorfindel stunningly 
hard. “Do not soil my daughter’s honor with such words!” he roared.
      Glorfindel turned and fled. He ran from the garden, intent on 
finding Aragorn. Instead, he collided head-on with Elladan, who was 
stepping out of his father’s study, a map in one hand and a cup of 
something in the other. The crash sent both things flying away from him, 
the map falling into a nearby bush and the cup smashed on the side of the 
building, dripping a golden liquid down the baked bricks.
      Elladan staggered, but caught himself. Glorfindel had fallen to his 
knees, but immediately he struggled up. As he started to turn away, 
Elladan caught him by his shoulder. Glorfindel looked at him fearfully, 
but he saw only kindness in the dark eyes that gazed at him.
      “Glorfindel?” Elladan’s eyes were filled with shock and a little 
fear. “What is it?”
      The blond elf-lord remembered Elrond’s offer of his sons, and he 
blushed. “‘This nothing, Elladan, truly. I’m sorry I was so clumsy.”
      “You’re never clumsy,” Elladan countered. “Please tell me. 
Haven’t we been friends since Elrohir and I reached our majority three 
hundred years ago?”
      “Yes,” Glorfindel admitted, and his cheeks colored even more. 
“But this is something I need to work out myself. I’m confused, but that’s 
all you need know.” He pulled gently away from Elladan. “Again, forgive 
me, but I must go.”
      Elladan watched him go, then, shaking his head, went in search of 
his father.
***
	Glorfindel got himself under control before meeting anyone else, 
and thus he was able to hold a perfectly normal conversation with Gimli, 
who seemed less prejudiced (at least a little) than his father. When he 
parted from the dwarf (they had been sitting outside, Gimli smoking and 
staring up at the trees in mild wonder- “they look like giant jewels” he’d 
said to Glorfindel-) he walked towards the main hall of Rivendell, thinking 
perhaps he would join the other elves in singing this night. He resisted the 
temptation to run to Aragorn for consolation, feeling that he would seem 
to be a foolish child. Besides, the Ranger was probably still trying to help 
the man out of the Gondor.
	“Glorfindel!”
	He turned at the sound of the hobbit-voice. He smiled as Pippin 
Took jogged to where he stood. “Yes?” he asked.
	“Strider wanted me to give you a message. He said he has gone 
hunting the Enemy’s servants with his brothers.” The hobbit frowned. 
“Who are his brothers?”
	“Elladan and Elrohir. You may not have met them yet.”
	Pippin frowned. “Aren’t those elves?” His stomach growled; he 
ignored it, too fascinated to notice. He’d even hold off dinner to know a 
little more about Strider.
	“Yes.”
	“But, isn’t he a man?”
	“Yes; they’re his foster brothers.”
	“Oh!” Pippin stared. “He lived here?”
	“When he was very young, yes.”
	Pippin laughed. “No wonder he knows so much Elvish!” His 
stomach growled again, louder this time, and Pippin, looking up into 
Glorfindel’s face, saw the kind laughter in the bell-flower-blue eyes, and 
grinned. He bowed slightly. “It’s the dinner-hour. Will you join me?”
	‘Since Aragorn has gone for a time…’ “Of course.” Glorfindel 
bowed in return and side by side, they passed into the main hall.

A New Parting

      The next four weeks passed in a blur. The days raced by; the nights 
crawled. The effect was that Glorfindel knew that time had passed, but 
didn’t take any conscious notice of it until one late afternoon, close to 
sunset. In all that time, Aragorn hadn’t returned from his hunting with the 
twins, and Glorfindel understood this. He was tempted to follow them, but 
two things stopped him: he might not be able to find them in the 
wilderness (surely they would be taking great pains to cover their tracks) 
and also, when Elrond caught him staring out into the forest beyond the 
river, he’d reproached him, saying that he had plenty to worry about here, 
which was true enough. During the days, he, Erestor and Elrond helped 
Gandalf to plan their route. Sometimes Legolas was with them, or Gimli. 
Much of the time, Frodo (with his Sam-shadow) and Merry were with 
them as well, not asking, just watching. And in the evenings, before he at 
last gave himself over to exhaustion and went to his lonely chamber, 
Pippin wanted stories and Frodo wanted songs and Sam wanted every bit 
of Elvish he could lay ear to. Merry listened, but didn’t make any requests. 
Of the four hobbits, he seemed the most worried about the road ahead.
	To console Merry, Glorfindel sought him out one morning, aware 
that he was doing for the Halfling what Aragorn had been trying to do for 
Boromir. He found the hobbit where he’d seen him many other mornings: 
sitting in the crook of a tree, smoking and watching the sun rise. 
Glorfindel made sure to make plenty of noise so he wouldn’t scare the 
young one.
	Merry looked down, and he smiled. “Good morning.” He frowned. 
“You made noise for me, didn’t you?”
	“I didn’t want to startle you,” Glorfindel answered, catching hold 
of a branch beside the one on which Merry sat and hoisting himself up. He 
thought, ‘intuitive young hobbit, aren’t you?’
	“Hobbits are silent, too, when they want to be,” Merry told him.
	“Maybe you’d be able to sneak up behind me, in other words?” 
Glorfindel smiled. “We’ll have to test that.” He paused, watching Merry 
take in smoke, then let it out in a smoke ring. “What is on your mind, 
Master Meriadoc?”
	The hobbit closed his eyes, seemingly not at all surprised that his 
worries had been seen. In fact, he seemed relieved. “I don’t know about 
Pip and the others, but it looks like an awful long way to Mount Doom to 
me.”
	“It is a long way,” Glorfindel answered.
	“How can we hope to get there unseen?”
	“The Enemy hasn’t yet conceived of the idea that we would seek to 
destroy the Ring; he expects us to keep it either here, in Rivendell, or take 
it to one of the Man-kingdoms, like Rohan or Gondor,” Glorfindel 
reminded him.
	“I know, but what if he figures it out? I don’t like the sound of this 
Great Eye of his, the one Boromir spoke of. It sounds like it can see 
everything.”
	“His sight is not limitless. If it was, he wouldn’t have sent the 
Nazgul, but would have waited until you came closer.” Glorfindel smiled 
reassuringly. “And think on this, my friend: an eye, even a Great Eye, can 
only see what it’s pointed towards. Right now, he is focusing on the world 
of men; Gondor and Rohan are his chief concerns right now.”
	“But for how much longer? What if he sends more things towards 
us?”
	“That is why Lord Elrond has sent some of the best with you. A 
dwarf for dark mountain-passes and bravery, an elf with keen hearing, 
sight and sixth senses that have served our kind for millennia, a wizard 
with strength beyond all that you’ve seen so far, and a Ranger who has 
journeyed the lands between here and Mordor his whole life. He, too, has 
his own senses that can detect many things, both good and ill. And you, 
Merry; you, Pippin and Sam are a great asset. Without you, Frodo 
wouldn’t have the friends he’ll need when the road gets hard. You’ll keep 
his sprits alive, I have no doubt, and in the Shadow’s realm, that’s more 
valuable than magic, strength or elven senses.”
	Merry was looking thoughtful, and Glorfindel thought he might be 
thinking about his last words, and thus the question Merry posed to him 
shocked him. “Are you and Strider… together?” He blushed a little.
	Glorfindel gaped, then chuckled softly. “I see hobbits have their 
own senses!”
	Merry smiled shyly. “I just thought… well, when he saw you, he 
looked like he was young again, instead of older than the sky above. And 
sometimes, when we were resting, he’d sneak off to talk to you.”
	Glorfindel laughed long and loud (and pushed away the shadow of 
doubt on his heart). “Aii, there’s no secret that can be kept from the Shire-
folk! Yes, we’re lovers.”
	“How long have you been in love?”
	Glorfindel considered that. “Almost sixty years.”
	Merry gaped. “How old is he?”
	“Eighty-seven.” Glorfindel smiled at the gape he received for that 
revelation, and he answered it. “The Dunedain are blessed with long life.”
	Merry shook his head, then took a drag from his forgotten pipe. 
“No wonder he knows so much.” He closed his eyes again. “Well, I guess 
if we have a wizard older than the sky, an elf who’s only a little younger 
than that, and a Ranger who’s almost a century old, I guess we have a 
good chance.”
	“Yes, you do; a very good chance indeed.”
	Merry smiled at him. “Thank you.”
***
	The late afternoon when everything changed came shortly after 
this conversation. Glorfindel was weeding a small bit of earth he’d 
watched over since arriving in Rivendell two thousand years ago. He 
didn’t know he was hiding from everyone, but he was. Glorfindel had 
started to notice that time was passing (far too rapidly- had it really been 
four weeks since he’d seen Aragorn?), and he missed his lover. He was 
also hiding from the other elves, especially Elrond, who had taken to 
glaring at him and from Arwen, who sometimes gave him self-satisfied 
smiles, but who usually just gazed at him pityingly.
	‘I’m just glad the twins aren’t here, or I would be hiding from 
them, too.’
	A shadow fell over him, and Glorfindel looked up, quickly 
schooling his features into a passive mask. He was staring up into 
Elrohir’s eyes.
	The son of Elrond knelt beside him and turned his gaze to the 
weeds Glorfindel had already removed from the soil. “Ada told me Arwen 
loves Aragorn,” he said without preamble.
	Glorfindel swallowed, then moved as if to stand.
	Without looking at him, Elrohir caught him by his upper arm. “I’ve 
been with Aragorn for four weeks now, and I can tell you that he never-”
	“Elrohir! Glorfindel!”
	The two elves looked up. Elrond was striding towards them with 
Lindir, Erestor and Elladan at his side. “The Fellowship is departing,” 
Elrond told them as they stood. “Come and see them off.”
	Glorfindel felt suddenly sick. Was Aragorn going to leave without 
saying good-bye? Short as their farewells had often been, they’d always at 
least had a parting word! He lengthened his stride, as if to run, but Elrond 
caught his arm. “Don’t be unseemly,” he reproved.
	Elrohir opened his mouth, but Elrond glared at him. “I am 
perfectly aware of your disapproval,” he said shortly.
	Glorfindel began to walk, and the others went with him. Elladan 
and Elrohir moved to flank him, as if guarding him from something. They 
came around a corner, and saw the Fellowship standing near the gates to 
the Last Homely House, waiting only for Elrond’s blessing. Glorfindel 
saw Aragorn, but the man was speaking to Gandalf and didn’t seem to see 
him.
	Elrond brushed past Glorfindel and stood directly in front of him, 
facing the Fellowship. “You will now begin upon a road that will take 
each of you only as far as you wish to go. No vow holds you to that road 
longer than you will. May the blessings-”
	A voice was raised in sorrow, and all eyes turned as Arwen raced 
down the steps from her room above. Her raven hair streamed behind her, 
and the color was high in her cheeks. She looked truly stunning. She 
seemed to float rather than run across the grass, and she leapt into 
Aragorn’s arms.
	“Go, and may our love protect you,” she said, her face lifted up to 
his.
	Aragorn pushed her back and said something low. Then he looked 
past her, and saw Glorfindel. He took a step, but she stopped him with a 
hand on his shoulder. He glanced back at her, and she whispered. His eyes 
darkened with pain, and he turned away, moving to stand beside Gandalf.
	Glorfindel took a step, shock compelling him, but Elrond snapped, 
“Stay where you are.” Louder, he said to the Fellowship at large, “May the 
blessings of Men and Elves and all free folk go with you.”
	Frodo turned, and the others followed after him. Aragorn was the 
last to follow, and he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes going first to 
Arwen, and then to Glorfindel. Pain shone in his gaze; then he turned his 
back on Imladris and followed the others.
	The moment the gates closed behind them, Elrond turned to the 
elves standing behind him. “Well?” he asked, looking at his sons. “Are 
you going? Aragorn asked you to perform a duty for him, did he not?”
	Elladan and Elrohir exchanged an exasperated look, and then they 
left, heading for the stables. Their shoulders were stiff, and they both 
looked furious. When they passed Arwen, Elrohir said tightly, “You’ve 
won. Are you-”
	“Elrohir!” commanded Elrond.
	Elladan caught Elrohir’s arm, and they walked away together.
      Glorfindel stood frozen, confused and hurt.
      Only a minute later, the clatter of hooves announced the 
approaching twins on their stallions. They galloped towards the gates, 
which were opened for them. Just before they passed through and into the 
night, Elrohir shouted, his eye flashing over one grey-clad shoulder, “He 
loves you, Gl-”
      “Depart!” Elrond roared.
      Elrohir spun around in his saddle, as if driven by a blow, and the 
twins disappeared into the night.
      
Revelations
      
      Elrohir swore long and profusely as they rode. They rode up the 
full Moon. His curses became unconsciously rhythmic, keeping time with 
the beat of his horse’s hooves. “Damn him! Damn her! Valar burn them 
both! Let them rot under some orc’s carcass, and let the vultures leave 
their shit on them! Let them burn in the sun and drown in the rain! Let 
lightening set them both on fire and roast them from a troll’s dinner!” All 
this, and things worse, flew from his mouth as he urged his stallion faster 
and faster down the road.
      Elladan kept pace beside his brother, his anger also high, but held 
in. What good would it do to curse when only the trees and your brother 
could hear, and only your brother cared?
      Gradually, Elrohir calmed. Presently, as the Moon began to sink 
towards the west, he moaned, sorrow weighing down his voice, “Do you 
think he believes Ada?”
      Elladan sighed. “I know not. Glorfindel is smarter than that, I 
think, but if all Ada has been doing for the last month is try to convince 
him that men are faithless, betraying bastards, maybe-”
      “If they were really like that, Ada wouldn’t be encouraging Arwen 
to be with Aragorn,” Elrohir countered.
      “He encourages her because she appears to be fading, dying 
because of her grief.”
      Elrohir snorted. “I don’t know if she’s really dying or not. Maybe 
she only wants Ada to believe it.”
      Elladan nodded. “It’s possible. She wants something very much, be 
it Aragorn, escape from Rivendell- she doesn’t like to spend time here, 
and all know it- or the throne of Gondor, and she’ll stop at nothing to get 
it.”
      Elrohir groaned loudly. “Sometimes, I almost hate her and Ada 
both.”
      Elladan met his gaze in the deepening dark. “I know.”
      They rode in silence then, heading north, towards where the 
Dunedain kept their main camp. ‘Ask my Rangers to be ready to move,’ 
Aragorn had said, and so they went to convey his message.
***
      They watched in pairs that day; when the others weren’t watching, 
they slept. As the sun rose towards noon, Merry and Aragorn took the 
places of Gandalf and Legolas. The members of the Fellowship had 
scarcely spoken since leaving the safety of Imladris, which gave them all 
much time to think.
      Aragorn’s thoughts had run this course during the long march:
      ‘Arwen wants me. She’s trying to claim me. Does she think I’ll fall 
in love with her while we’re away? Does she think I’ll forget Glorfindel?’
      Glorfindel….
      The night-wind made the name sob in his ears.
      ‘He came to see me away.’
      Go, and may our love protect you.
      We have no love, Daughter of Elrond, was what he’d said.
      ‘Damn you, Arwen. Why do you seek to destroy me? I do not 
belong to you! I belong to Glorfindel… if he still loves me.
      ‘How can I know if Glorfindel loves me?
      ‘He has never betrayed me.
      ‘She said he has decided that I will fall on the Quest, and thus 
wanted to sever our bond now, while there is still time.
      ‘I know better than to trust her. And surely if he thought that, my 
brothers will tell him that I love him. I spoke of little else in the minutes 
before we slept each night.’
      Merry’s thoughts were strangely on the same subject, though with 
a different slant:
      ‘Idiotic, foolish Man! Can’t he see that Lord Glorfindel loves him? 
Why did he let the she-elf hug him? Why didn’t he contradict her when 
she talked of their love? He looked at Glorfindel, so I think he loves 
him… but why did he leave, then, without so much as word?’
      Now, sitting beside the dead fire, Merry glanced at Aragorn, and 
felt his anger rise. “So love means nothing among Men?”
      Aragorn had been smoking, and now he dropped his pipe in shock. 
“What?” His voice was louder than he’d intended, and he clamped his 
hand over his mouth like a child caught yelling in a graveyard.
      Merry continued, knowing Aragorn had heard him, and having no 
need or patience for tact, “Glorfindel loves you, and yet you left him.”
      “He wasn’t asked to join us on the Quest,” Aragorn argued, 
picking up his pipe. He couldn’t meet Merry’s eyes.
      The hobbit considered slapping the man, then wondered if he 
might regret it. He’d seen Strider’s anger, and didn’t like it at all. He was 
ashamed to admit that he was afraid of Strider. “Glorfindel loves you,” he 
repeated in a whisper, “and you didn’t even say good-bye.”
      The words Arwen had spoken just before he left flashed through 
Aragorn’s mind: “He fears the darkness that will come to him after you 
die. Let him back away graciously. It’s the least you can do.”
      He remembered looking at Glorfindel, a little angry (why didn’t 
Glorfindel love him enough?) but also sad. ‘If Glorfindel wants to sail 
with his people, how can I deny him? But couldn’t he have told me 
himself?’
      Or so he’d wondered while standing near the gates of Imladris. 
Now he thought, ‘Yes, he loves me! He has always loved me! How could I 
ever think otherwise? I’m such a changeable, maluable fool! Elbereth, are 
you sure I was meant to be the Heir of-?’ But that wasn’t where this really 
led, this weak will of his. ‘Simply put, I must set this right, and if I don’t, 
I’m naught but a coward, and that’s the end of it.’
      Aragorn looked down at Merry and smiled thankfully. Merry 
nodded smartly, not needing Aragorn to speak. “You’re welcome,” he 
said, then he, too, took out his pipe and began to smoke.
***
      Glorfindel paced. Elrond had locked him in his rooms, telling any 
that asked that “Lord Glorfindel is becoming uncoupled from life; he will 
soon sail. But until then, his delicate state must be protected at all costs.”
      It was dawn; he’d struggled from one end of his rooms to the other, 
ceaselessly moving, since moonrise. Elrond had escorted him here, 
speaking softly to him as he hurried him along.
      “You will understand why I do this,” he murmured. “For now, feel 
free to hate me as much as you wish; doubtless, in your eyes, I deserve it. 
But this will save your soul from a slow wasting away.” Then he opened 
the door to Glorfindel’s room and pushed him gently within. As he closed 
the door- Glorfindel heard the key turning in the lock- Elrond spoke one 
more lie to him: “And if Aragorn somehow returns alive and well and 
wants to see you, I’ll let you out.”
      ‘Curse my weakness! I should have at least tried to fight!’ 
Glorfindel ground his teeth. He wouldn’t accept the lie his mind tried to 
comfort him with: that he had been too much in shock to act as his 
normally would. ‘If I’d only fought-!’ His only comfort was that Aragorn 
was away from Elrond’s silver tongue, and far from Arwen’s entrancing, 
dark, stardust-kissed eyes. ‘Maybe he’ll come out from under her spell.’
      Then he heard Elrohir’s words, the ones the son of Elrond had 
spoken just before fleeing into the darkness, as if for the first time. He 
loves you.
      ‘Aragorn loves me still?’ He remembered how Elrohir had been 
trying to tell him something in the garden, and Glorfindel shouted, his fury 
leaping up, unchecked, “Serpent-tongued, rotted orc-cock-sucker! Elrond, 
let me out!” He rushed to the door and pounded on it. “Elrond! Elrond, 
release me! I, Lord Glorfindel, son of Atre and Lincala, who saved your 
father from death in the bowels of the earth, command you!”
      Then a voice called form the other side, “Glorfindel, stop! You’ll 
hurt yourself!”
      Glorfindel fell back a step, briefly stunned, then he called, 
“Erestor! Mellon-nin, let me out!”
      A pause, then, “I can’t, Glorfindel. Lord Elrond-”
      “Fuck Lord Elrond!” Glorfindel raved. ‘I won’t let him stop me 
from loving Aragorn!’ “Just let me out, Erestor; I won’t tell anyone. I’ll 
tell Elrond I bewitched you, or overpowered you, or whatever lie you want 
me to tell him! But I must be free!” He thought of the weakness many 
elves had when kept inside for too long, and he used this to his advantage, 
though he had never suffered such himself, having spent long hours 
underground with his parents when he was younger. “Erestor, I need the 
sunlight,” he said clearly, his voice sounding pleading now. “Please, my 
friend, I do not want to stay cooped up in here any longer. Please, I crave 
the open sky. Please help me.”
      There was another pause, this one longer than the first, so long, in 
fact, that Glorfindel was just beginning to think Erestor had decided to go 
seek counsel from Elrond. Then Erestor spoke softly. “Glorfindel, I know 
of your needs, but I fear for you.” The door opened and Erestor came in 
quickly, shutting it behind him. The moment the latch clicked closed, 
Glorfindel heard the lock turn a second time, again locking him in. Erestor 
approached him slowly. “We were asked to stand sentry here,” he 
explained. “Lindir and two others are without, waiting for me.”
      Glorfindel’s hands balled into fists for a moment, but then he 
thought, ‘I coaxed him in here with soft words; I’ll pursue that tactic.’ He 
made his hands relax, and he retreated to sit on the edge of his bed. He 
lowered his head until Erestor approached and sat on the bed beside him, 
putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘He’s not to blame,’ Glorfindel reminded 
himself, wanting to keep a tight rein on his temper. “Why am I trapped 
here?” he asked, raising his eyes to meet Erestor’s concerned gaze.
      “You seek the Sea, but too desperately to see reason,” Erestor 
answered quietly. He blushed slightly, and Glorfindel was touched by this 
show of sensitivity. “I’m sorry about Aragorn; I know you loved him.” He 
caught both of Glorfindel’s hands. “But my friend, please understand: 
there is peace beyond the Sea, ‘tis true, but if you only wait a while, you 
may be able to depart these shores in happiness. There are others who 
would comfort you.” He blushed again, a deeper red this time.
      Glorfindel laughed, and Erestor stared at him, stung. This cooled 
Glorfindel’s mirth, and he shook his head, his smile vanishing. “I’m not 
laughing at you, mellon-nin, but I have already had two offers of love to 
replace what Elrond says I have lost.” He stood. “I have no intention of 
accepting anyone but Aragorn, and I know he feels the same.” As Erestor 
rose also, Glorfindel touched his arm. “Please, Erestor, understand that I 
have no desire to sail; all I want is to return to Aragorn’s side, where I 
belong. I’d wait calmly until he returns, except that I cannot bear the lies 
that are being spread about us, and I want him to know that I love him 
still.”
      Erestor’s eyes clouded for a moment, then he looked at 
Glorfindel’s fervent expression, and he nodded. “I shouldn’t have 
offered,” he said. “I only thought that if you knew we’d take care of you, 
you could be here in peace.”
      Glorfindel asked delicately, “Do you really love me, Erestor?”
      The dark-haired elf shook his head. “I love you as a friend; I’ve 
never thought of you without your robes and I’ve never pictured us in bed 
together. I only wanted to keep you here.” He touched Glorfindel’s hand 
tentatively. “I probably would learn to love you in that way, though.”
      ‘And now you will start thinking of me without my clothes,’ 
Glorfindel thought, amused and yet saddened. “I love you as a friend, 
Erestor, and so I beg you, one friend to another, please let me go to him. 
Only when I see Aragorn will I be well again.”
      The door opened and Elrond strode in, Lindir and the other two 
guards with him. “Restrain him.”
      As the three advanced on Glorfindel, Erestor said, “My lord, there 
has been a mistake. He does not wish-”
      “He has grown deceitful, even to himself,” Elrond returned as the 
three converged on Glorfindel, who was staring at them in horror. “The 
Shadow has overthrown his mind, and he no longer recognizes friend from 
foe.”
      ‘This may be my last chance!’ Glorfindel kicked out at Lindir, or 
tried to, but the light-footed elf dodged and Glorfindel’s arms were 
suddenly caught and held hard.
      Elrond approached with a needle. “This will help you to sleep, my 
dear friend,” he said. “When you’ve had a chance to rest and recollect 
yourself, then we’ll discuss all that troubles you.”
      Lindir came to stand beside Glorfindel, and he held the elf-lord’s 
head to one side so that his neck was exposed.
      The needle pierced the sensitive skin near Glorfindel’s artery, and 
he gasped. “Elrond,” the world was already swimming in and out of focus 
“listen to me! I love-” The darkness closed in, and Glorfindel descended 
into it, helpless to do anything else.
      
Part Two: During the War
Snow Memory

	Gandalf led the way up the fearful, icy mountain towards the 
Redhorn Gate. Behind him, in a line, walked Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, 
Gimli, Boromir, Legolas, and Aragorn. The Ranger watched the golden 
hair in front of him, but refused to let his thoughts drift back to Glorfindel, 
as they so often threatened to do. 
	Legolas glanced back at him, seemingly reading his mind. Aragorn 
found the nearness of one of “his” people so near comforting. He smiled 
weakly. Legolas shook his head in exasperation, mouthed, “Keep your 
head,” and turned away again.
	Aragorn wasn’t offended; Legolas was right to chasten him. He 
plowed ahead, determined not to give in to his longing heart.
	It began to snow. ‘Wonderful,’ Aragorn thought sourly, and his 
mind, despite his best efforts, drifted back to a night nearly sixty years 
ago. ‘I was a foolish, green, wet-behind-the-ears Ranger… it’s a wonder I 
didn’t die.’
***
	Aragorn stared at the dying fire, and he knew he would have to 
find more wood. ‘I’ll chop some and then come quickly back,’ he decided. 
But the Ranger in him- the cautious Man he was starting to become- 
commanded him to douse the fire. ‘It may be almost out,’ that voice said, 
‘but you don’t want to be responsible for burning down half the forest, do 
you?’
	‘The wood around here is too wet to burn,’ Aragorn argued.
	‘Don’t be a fool,’ the other voice responded, and so Aragorn 
doused the fire with snow. Shivering slightly in the frigid, winter-
afternoon sunlight, he set off in search of dry wood. Anyone could find it 
in that season, if they knew where to look.
	When he had a decent armload, Aragorn made his way back 
towards his tent. A fierce wind had started to blow, and Aragorn was now 
doing more than shiver in his cloak; despite the exercise he was absolutely 
trembling. His legs shook so badly he could hardly walk. His fingers 
ached, and he could barely hold the wood.
	Aragorn stumbled into the clearing, lifting his face to the sky 
briefly and noting that the last daylight was almost gone. Groaning, he laid 
his stack of firewood down. He cast through his pockets for his flint and 
steel- but he couldn’t find them. Frantically he searched as the wind 
picked up and snow began to drift over the wood, soaking it and making it 
useless.
	Cursing (through chattering teeth) Aragorn crawled into his tent 
and huddled there in his cloak and the two blankets he’d brought. 
Shuddering, afraid but bone-weary, Aragorn fell asleep.
	He awoke some time later in the pitch-dark, nearly every part of 
him aching and throbbing. He could feel a warmth in his chest, and he 
tried to ignore the other pain as he settled into its glow. Then he felt the 
muscles in his right arm being moved, slowly, first one way and then the 
other. It hurt, and he flailed weakly, not comprehending that he was no 
longer alone.
      “Hold still,” grunted a voice close to his ear, and his arm was 
moved again.
      ‘You’re the one who’s moving me!’ Aragorn wanted to cry, but his 
mind was as sluggish as his body, and the connections between the two 
were completely down. Unable to speak, he moaned to show his 
discomfort instead.
      “I know it hurts, but it will only hurt for a while. Truth be told, 
Estel, I’m glad it hurts: if it didn’t, that would mean you’d lost your arm.”
      ‘Estel? Who would call me Estel?’ With an enormous effort, he 
managed to whisper, “Elrohir?”
      “No, and not Elladan, either, or Elrond. I’ll give you three guess, 
and a hint: I have blond hair, and I’m the last elf you kissed before you left 
Imladris.”
      ‘Last elf I-?’ “You’re the only elf I kissed,” he murmured. Then a 
wicked grin appeared on his face, and he added, “Lindir.”
      A fierce, needy kiss was pressed onto his lips in reply and Aragorn 
gasped with pleasure, “Glorfindel… Aii, Glorfindel….”
      “There. I made you say my name. I told you I could make you say 
it even when we weren’t making love.” His hands were still working 
Aragorn’s arm, but it hurt less now. Glorfindel kissed Aragorn again, this 
time on his forehead. “I felt your pain all the way from Imladris.”
      Aragorn blinked in surprise. “I’m near to Imladris- less than two 
hours’ walk, I’d think, but-”
      “But you didn’t realize that since we’re bound, I can feel a lot 
about you, and from a great distance away, too.” Glorfindel laughed 
softly. “Foolish, green Ranger, don’t you know that love makes elves 
almost supernatural in their knowledge?”
      “When I can move again, I’m going to rub that cocky smile off 
your lips.”
      “Oh, my cock has nothing to do with it; I just naturally state the 
truth.”
      Aragorn laughed rustily- he was still half-frozen- and breathed, “I 
missed your sarcasm.”
      Glorfindel kissed his lips again, and Aragorn could feel him 
smiling.
      Weariness was stealing over him again and Aragorn asked, “Can I 
sleep?”
      “Yes, sleep. You’re out of danger now.” He added, almost to 
himself, “Just sit with me a while. That’s all I ask.”
      Aragorn slept at once.
      When he opened his eyes, it was daybreak outside the tent. He lay 
very still, realizing that he was lying on something very comfortable and 
warm. Glancing up, he saw his head was positioned on a folded cloak, 
which sat, in turn, in Glorfindel’s lap. His two blankets and his cloak 
covered him. Looking further up, Aragorn saw that Glorfindel’s eyes were 
open, but vacant.
      Carefully, Aragorn sat up, wrapped himself in the cloak (he felt 
much warmer this morning) and sat against the sturdy side of the tent. He 
lifted Glorfindel, who murmured in his sleep, and rested the elf on his lap. 
He wrapped Glorfindel in the elven cloak, then laid the elf’s head against 
his shoulder. “Thank you for coming after me, my love.”
***
      “Aragorn?”
      The Ranger blinked and saw Legolas scowling at him. He had the 
good grace to blush and shake his head, murmuring, “I’m sorry, Legolas.”
      The elf made an annoyed noise, but turned away.
      ‘I can’t think about you anymore, Glorfindel; these memories will 
just have to wait.’ Sighing, Aragorn started after Legolas.

Erestor Helps
      
      Glorfindel lay very still, hoping his returning awareness would go 
unnoticed. He was sick of being drugged; his head always ached because 
of the strong herbs, and he hated not knowing how much time had passed. 
He also dreaded waking and hearing that Aragorn had been forced (or 
tricked) into marrying Arwen.
      The elf-lord sensed the world beyond his closed lids. His head was 
aching, as always, but he forced his mind past that, and felt the soft 
mattress under him and the warm blanket that lay over him, and was 
drawn up to his chin. He listened to his own soft breathing and hoped it 
sounded as if he were still deeply asleep. The birds outside his open 
window were twittering softly (there seemed to be an awful lot of them, 
more than there was at any time of year except spring) and a gentle breeze 
caressed his face. He sniffed at it without being (he hoped) too obvious. It 
smelled of newly-turned earth, flowers, wild grasses…. In short, he could 
smell spring.
      ‘Spring…. How can it be spring already? Aragorn left in 
midwinter…’ He felt a wave of hopelessness wash over him, and he 
fought down the urge to weep. ‘All is not lost,’ he told himself. ‘I don’t 
know if Aragorn has even helped Frodo to accomplish the Quest yet. All I 
know for sure is that Aragorn isn’t dead, because I would feel it.’
      Because he was, at least for the moment, safe, Glorfindel decided 
to see how long he could go without being detected. Maybe he could even 
wait the headache out. Because his mind was on his lover and on love in 
general, he turned his thoughts to his long life and the many loves he had. 
A foolish topic, perhaps, but he had nothing better to think about. The pain 
in his head was so great that he thought he might pass out from it if he 
tried to move.
      ‘There were six others before Aragorn… all elves…. And all 
except one of them died in battle.’ He recalled each of their faces briefly: 
the first was fair with blue eyes like his, and yet harder than his could ever 
be, even in anger; the next, dark-haired with star-dust eyes that laughed 
and joked… even to his death, Glorfindel’s second lover had gone 
laughing; the one maiden he’d loved, her willowy limbs and finely-
fashioned feet lying like new milk against the green of the grass; 
entrancing, and yet dangerous Nickah, who had bewitched him and made 
him into only a shadow; the fifth had been the most fleeting: for only a 
year had he and Glorfindel courted and loved; and the sixth, the last, the 
fiercest lover he’d ever had- Elrond Halfelven- whose grace and strength 
had won him over completely, and whom he’d given away to Celebrain 
when she fell in love with the powerful elf-lord.
      ‘And didn’t Elrond love her, too? Yes, it wasn’t only for her that I 
gave him away; it was for Elrond, too. And look at him now: he has three 
beautiful children whom I love as if they were my own.’
      Glorfindel suppressed a moan. ‘And yet look how he treats me! 
For the sake of getting his way, my former lover condemns me to a 
drugged state!’ Glorfindel ground his teeth before he could stop himself. 
Instantly, he heard footsteps coming towards him and he cursed inwardly. 
Biting his lower lip, he opened his eyes, panting as the light stabbed into 
his head. He tried to roll away from the approaching elf, but firm hands 
caught his shoulders.
      “Please-” he tried to say, but the word came out strangled, 
sounding more like the cry of a wounded animal than any intelligent 
being’s plea.
      “I’m not going to hurt you, Glorfindel,” said Erestor’s voice close 
to his ear. “Lay very still and quiet and I won’t drug you.” He sat on the 
side of the bed and took Glorfindel’s hand- it was unusually cold- in both 
of his. “Close your eyes again, if you wish.”
      Glorfindel, in too much pain to argue, complied. The two sat in 
silence for a long time until Glorfindel felt his voice returning. He 
croaked, his voice rusty, “What season?”
      “It’s spring, my friend.”
      “Aragorn?”
      “He’s still gone.”
      “Arwen?”
      “She’s still single.”
      Glorfindel sighed in relief. There was another silence between 
them while Glorfindel took stock of a few things: the state of his body 
(poor- weak and painful) the state of his mind (good- sharp and alert) and 
the state of his friendship with Erestor. He decided to take a risk. “I must 
get a message to Aragorn.”
      Erestor considered that. “In two days, I will be riding to Elladan 
and Elrohir, where they are abiding with the Rangers. I will be delivering 
a message from Elrond… and a present from Arwen. They will take these 
things to Aragorn.”
      “I must send my own gift.”
      Erestor didn’t respond at once. Finally, he said, “What gift would 
you send?”
      Glorfindel knew at once what would touch Aragorn’s heart the 
most. “My journal. It’s in the fourth dresser drawer beneath my riding 
clothes. Please fetch it.” He hesitated, then asked, “Am I even in my own 
room?”
      “You are,” Erestor confirmed. “Wait a moment, and I will retrieve 
the journal.”
      He was back very soon, carrying the beautiful, red leather-bound 
book. “All right, I have it. Is there anything you want me to write in it?”
      Glorfindel smiled; Erestor knew him well. “Yes. Write, on the 
inside of the front cover: Now you may read the most beautiful things 
about you, Aragorn. Faithfully, Glorfindel.” He heard the scratching of a 
quill and his smile grew broader.
      Erestor blew on the ink to dry it, then shut the book and put it in 
the deep pocket of his robe. “When I ride, I’ll take it to the twins.” He 
took Glorfindel’s hand again, and suddenly his fingers tensed. “Someone 
is coming. I must drug you again, my friend.”
      Glorfindel steeled himself. “Do it, then-” the needle entered his 
neck- “but take the book-” the world was dimming- “to Aragorn.”
      ‘I will,’ Erestor vowed as he stood, turning to face Lindir.
      “You gave him a new dose?” the blonde asked, seeing the empty 
needle.
      “Aye.” Erestor walked towards the door. “Your watch begins 
now.”
      Lindir sat beside Glorfindel’s bed and drew a book from his 
pocket, ready to pass away the hours. Elrond had commanded that 
someone should stay with Glorfindel at all times, not just because he 
might wake up but because he might have a terrible reaction to all the 
drugs coursing through his system.
      At the door, Erestor turned back, looking for a long time at 
Glorfindel. ‘I won’t fail you, mellon nin.’
      
Guilt
      
      Elrond closed his eyes. It was late afternoon, and he didn’t usually 
take naps- ‘naps are for mortals,’ he used to say when he was younger- but 
today seemed impossibly long. He groaned and burrowed into the covers 
of his enormous bed as a chill rolled from his head, down his spine, and 
out to his arms and legs.
      As so often happened these days whenever his mind wasn’t 
occupied with business or at least with the act of seeing, an image of 
Glorfindel hovered close. Elrond, exhausted, let himself sink into the 
image and sleep.
***
      Glorfindel laughed as he bounced baby Elrohir on his knee. Elrohir 
lifted his arms up and caught at Glorfindel’s gently-swinging golden hair, 
tugging and giggling.
      Elrond, standing behind the two, near the window, rocked a 
sleepy-eyed Elladan. Celebrain was in her room, “taking a rest” she called 
it. She seemed to do that a lot lately. Elrond secretly thought she wanted to 
leave Middle-Earth, but he never spoke of it to anyone. A part of him 
wanted to go with her, but something kept him here; an unfulfilled destiny 
of which he only had inklings.
      “Pretty one, little one, dancing in the morning,” Glorfindel sang 
softly. He was laughing even as he sang.
      Elrohir imitated him as best he could- elf-children began to speak 
within the first six months of their life: “Itty un, ittle un, ans in uh o-nin!” 
(He was only three months old.)
      “Pitty one, ittle one, mor-ing,” Elladan echoed, his eyes closing. 
He was learning more quickly than his brother, but he didn’t have 
Elrohir’s ability to walk yet.
      Elrond smiled at his son. “Good, Elladan,” he whispered.
      Glorfindel stood and swung Elrohir around in a circle. Elrorhir 
laughed- until he saw Elladan asleep in their ada’s arms; then he struggled 
and strained forward, reaching for his twin. Glorfindel obligingly carried 
him over, and Elrond sank onto the window-seat so he could take both his 
sons onto his lap. Elrohir crawled next to Elladan and curled up, his thumb 
seeking his mouth. All the excitement he’d felt a moment ago was gone; 
he gave himself over to sleep within moments.
      Elrond carried the two to their cradle, and stepped back, gazing 
down at them. He sensed Glorfindel standing close behind him, and he 
turned, smiling at his seneschal.
      Glorfindel blushed slightly under his gaze. “I was just thinking 
how precious and wonderful they are,” he murmured.
      “They are that,” the Lord of Imladris agreed. He stepped away 
from the cradle, and Glorfindel followed. Elrond sat on the window-seat 
and Glorfindel took a spot on the floor at his feet. It was a familiar, 
deferring gesture; Glorfindel showing his knowledge that Elrond was his 
Lord. “They have grown to think of you as a member of the family,” 
Elrond said then, and he smiled, “and so have I. Since Elros died, I 
thought I would never have a brother, and yet you have stepped into that 
place so confidently that I cannot imagine Imladris- or my family- without 
you.”
      Glorfindel’s blush deepened. “I love all of you, Elrond,” he 
admitted, his eyes downcast. “I loved your parents, and I love Celebrain’s 
parents. I am only glad to see a third generation come to pass.” He laughed 
then, softly, like the tinkling of silver bells, and added, “And two hundred 
years from now, I’ll be saying I’m glad to have seen a fourth, or maybe 
even a fifth.”
      Elrond shook his head. “Don’t wish them any older! I can barely 
believe they are speaking already.” Then Elrond’s mind turned towards his 
wife, asleep in the next room, and he murmured, “Glorfindel, you know 
that I love you as deeply as I love her, do you not?”
      Glorfindel’s eyes darkened and instantly he was serious. “Yes, 
Elrond, I know.”
      “And you know I would never hurt you if I could help it?”
      Now worried, Glorfindel sat forward a little. “I know.”
      Elrond sighed heavily. “Then maybe you’ll understand this; go 
away for a little while, Glorfindel. Go to Lothlorien or Mirkwood for a 
time- a few years- until Celebrain is healed.”
      Glorfindel stared at him, slack-jawed and scarcely breathing. “But- 
but, what does my leaving have to do with her recovery?” His voice was 
weak and breathy.
      “She thinks I still love you. That’s why she’s fading; she needs to 
realize that I love her… and in her precarious mental state, the best thing 
to do is humor her until she’s whole again.” Elrond sat forward and 
touched Glorfindel’s shoulder. “You will help me, won’t you, mellon-
nin?”
      “I don’t want to leave you,” Glorfindel breathed. “I don’t want to 
leave the twins or Imladris.” He shook his head. “Elrond, it’s nothing for 
elves of our age to be separated for a few years, and it’s nothing for an elf 
to not see his home for a little while, but I wanted to be here for the 
twins… I want to see Elladan take his first steps, I want to hear Elrohir’s 
first sentence, I want to be here when they turn two and start asking every 
question under the sun. I want-”
      “I want what is best for my wife,” Elrond snapped. “Is that so hard 
for you to understand? Which is more important: your chance to see 
children grow- children that aren’t even yours- or the sanity of your 
former lover’s wife?”
      Glorfindel bowed his head in defeat. “Her sanity, of course,” he 
whispered. “I’ll pack my things and leave in the morning.” He rose and 
Elrond stood also.
      Elrond felt a rush of guilt, and reached out again to touch 
Glorfindel. “Mellon-nin, I don’t want to drive you away, but I do want my 
sons to have a mother they can know and love. Right now, they know you 
better than her. That’s not right.”
      The seneschal nodded, trying to hide his pain. After all, Elrond was 
at least trying to be understanding. “I know.” He turned towards the door. 
“I’ll go pack.”
      Elrond felt his guilt creeping up, unrelieved by his attempt at 
gentleness, making a bad taste in his mouth, but he let Glorfindel go.
***
      Elrond awoke, gasping slightly, and he wondered out loud, “Why 
do I always put him last? Why do I always worry about him after everyone 
else has been healed, and not before? Everything else aside, he would have 
taken better care of the twins than my wife and I did in the years that 
followed.” Groaning, Elrond got out of bed. The sun had sank down 
behind the trees, and he made his way, in the shadowy darkness, out of his 
room and down the hall to where he had imprisoned Glorfindel. He wasn’t 
sure what he would do, but he knew he had to do something to make it up 
to his former lover. And yet, even as he left the room, he thought, ‘How 
can I make up for a century’s worth and more of mistakes?’
      He opened the door to Glorfindel’s room and stepped in 
cautiously. Lindir, who was sitting beside the bed, looked up and nodded, 
trying to pull a smile onto his face.
      “What is wrong?” Elrond asked to distract himself.
      “Nothing, my Lord.”
      “It is a strain for you to smile, Lindir; tell me the truth.”
      Lindir hesitated, but then murmured, “Glorfindel has bed sores.”
      Elrond didn’t answer immediately, but he knew what Lindir really 
meant: Glorfindel had been kept in bed for far too long; he didn’t deserve 
to pass his life drugged and guarded. The lord of Imladris came and took 
Glorfindel’s hand. It was clammy, and did it seem fatter, or was that just 
his imagination? Elrond rubbed his thumb over the pale, damp skin. 
“Remember to massage his muscles every hour.”
      “Yes, my lord.”
      The thickness of Glorfindel’s fingers bothered Elrond, as if the elf-
lord were holding in water. He squeezed Glorfindel’s hand, and there was 
no doubt that the blonde was retaining water. Elrond moved his hand up, 
feeling Glorfindel’s arm and then his neck. His concern growing, Elrond 
drew the blanket down. Glorfindel was clothed in a simple, pale yellow 
linen shift. The color made his skin look washed-out and slightly grey. 
Elrond felt the thickness of Glorfindel’s ankles and lower legs. He raised 
the shift (Lindir barely had time to turn away out of respect) and stared in 
horror at the swelling of Glorfindel’s stomach. Elrond felt the swelling 
gently and realized, as though a lightening bolt had struck him, ‘He’s 
pregnant. And it must be Aragorn’s baby.’ Male pregnancy was common 
among elves, but Elrond had forgotten about it- perhaps he’d made 
himself forget. If pregnancy was common, so were high mortality rates: 
very high in the unborn babies, and occasional in their bearers.
      ‘Yes,’ he thought bitterly as he lowered the shift and covered 
Glorfindel with the blanket again, ‘I made myself forget. Did not 
Glorfindel nearly die bringing our lifeless baby into this world?’ He 
sighed heavily. ‘Maybe that’s why he loved Elladan and Elrohir so much; 
he wanted what he’d lost.’
      A chilling thought gripped him: Aragorn had left four months ago; 
the baby had been growing all that time. And during much of that time, 
Glorfindel’s body had been subjected to unnatural drugs. Elrond swore.
      “My lord?” Lindir asked, staring at the dark-haired elf in 
amazement.
      Elrond’s mind was racing. ‘The drugs can’t be stopped cold; 
Glorfindel might go into shock in his delicate condition. They’ll have to 
be tapered off…’ “The next time Lord Glorfindel wakes up, give him only 
a half-dose of the sleeping potion. The time after that, give him one 
quarter of the original mixture, and then only an eighth, then stop giving it 
to him all together.”
      Lindir opened his mouth to ask, but seeing the agitation in Elrond’s 
eyes, he closed his mouth and simply nodded.
      Elrond stared down at Glorfindel for a while. ‘I’ll have to tell 
Arwen that Glorfindel is carrying Aragorn’s child…’ He shied away from 
that. ‘I’ll tell her after I’ve told Glorfindel.’ And thus, with a little more 
time on his side, Elrond left the room.

A Message for Aragorn
      
      Elrohir and Elladan rode with a group of thirty of the Dunedain. A 
message had come to Rivendell from Galadriel of the Golden Wood a 
nine-night ago; Erestor had been sent out to the Dunedain (and to Elladan 
and Elrohir, who had been ordered by their father to stay with the Rangers 
until he sent for them). He bore this message from Lady Galadriel: 
Aragorn has need of his kindred. Let the Dunedain ride to him in Rohan! 
And also two tokens from two elves: a standard from Arwen… and 
something much smaller from Glorfindel.
      As the Grey Company passed through empty lands, Elrohir rode 
beside his brother and wondered out loud, “Should we deliver Arwen’s 
gift?”
      Elladan frowned. “Elrohir, that’s not the question to ask.” His tone 
said plainly that he didn’t want to continue that subject, but Elrohir 
persisted.
      “Then what question should I ask? Surely we’ll give Aragorn 
Glorfindel’s gift! He loves Aragorn more than she does, and he’s been 
truer to Aragorn. Besides, there’s no way of knowing what Aragorn thinks 
of her! Didn’t he confess to us both that his heart lies with Glorfindel?”
      “But he might have seen what Ada contrived as Glorfindel 
avoiding him,” Elladan answered tersely. His horse picked up on the 
tension in his voice and tried to gallop instead of trot. Elladan reined him 
in with a soft word, and tried to relax. Elrohir’s hot temper was catching. 
“Is it our place to overrule Ada’s decisions?”
      “Is it our place to decide for our brother what he should do?” 
Elrohir snapped. “Let’s give him both gifts; that will calm your 
conscience, and he’ll have to decide from there.” He glanced at Elladan’s 
saddle-bag; the small, cloth-wrapped present lay therein, waiting. Elrohir 
could almost see Glorfindel wrapping it, then secreting it to Erestor.
      Elladan nodded, and he relaxed further. “Yes, that’s what we’ll 
do.”
***
      Aragorn gazed in wonder at his Rangers as they surrounded him, 
whispering one to another in their joy. “Strider, our Strider,” murmured 
Halbarad, touching his shoulder.  Their chief laughed. “Your Strider, am 
I? And since when do you own me?”
      “We’ve always owned you, but you were kept on a very long 
leash.” Halbarad smiled at him.
      Elrohir watched Aragorn for as long as he could before urging his 
horse forward. “Estel-” he began, and when Aragorn turned towards him, 
his eyes questioning, he continued, “I bring word from our father: If your 
days seem short, remember the Paths of the Dead!” He sighed. It had 
taken more control than he’d thought to state that simple message. He 
hadn’t wanted to bear it; he’d been too furious with his father. Now that it 
was out, however, he saw that it was a message that was needed.
      Aragorn pondered his words, spoke softly in return then turned to 
Halbarad. “What is that you bear, kinsman?”
      Halbarad spoke of Arwen, delivering the message she had given 
him.
      “Now I know what you bear,” Aragorn murmured, and his eyes 
turned inward, his face troubled. “Bear it still for me a little while.”
      Elladan rode forward then and whispered, “She is not the only one 
who sends you a gift.” He held out the cloth-wrapped object and Aragorn 
took it quickly, but he didn’t unwrap it. Instead, he weighed it in his hand, 
murmured, “A book,” and put it in his saddle-bag. Then he turned his eyes 
towards the north, and spoke no more while the journey lasted.
      Elrohir and his brother exchanged a look; Aragorn was disturbed 
by the two gifts, that much was plain, but which he valued more (and 
which giver he loved) was hidden from them.
      As Aragorn drifted away, Legolas rode up to them. His eyes were 
flashing, and both twins nearly quailed before his piercing gaze. “Who 
sends the gifts?” he demanded. “Is it the lover he dreams of? Because if it 
isn’t, then that maiden doesn’t deserve Aragorn.” His hand had dropped, 
unnoticed, to the knife he wore at his waist. His posture said clearly that 
he would fight to protect Aragorn’s honor.
      ‘What is Estel to you?’ Elladan wondered.
      “Who does he speak of?” Elrohir asked.
      Legolas shook his head. “He never speaks her name. But he thinks 
of her and calls her his Golden One.”
      Elrohir almost leapt for joy. His eyes danced and he shot a look at 
Elladan that said plainly, “He loves Glorfindel! I told you so! He loves 
Glorfindel!”
      Legolas looked between the two of them. “You know whom he 
dreams of?”
      “Yes, and ‘tis not a woman, but an elf-lord!” Elrohir exalted.
      Elladan shot him a silencing look, but Legolas was pondering his 
words.
      “An elf-lord?” He smiled then. “Good. He needs a lover with a 
warrior’s heart.” He rode away without a look back. The twins watched 
him stoop and lift a dwarf up behind his saddle. Then the two of them rode 
to the head of the column.
	“What is Aragorn to him?” muttered Elladan, watching Legolas 
shrewdly.
	“Forget your worries, Brother!” Elrohir crowed. “All will be well 
now.”

The Palantiri

	Aragorn climbed into the tower of the Hornburg and laid his heavy 
burden down on a stone table. Gandalf had given to him the Stone of 
Orthanc, and now the king judged it was time to use the palantiri, as was 
his right. Before he dared to remove the cloth from around the stone, 
however, Aragorn touched the book which had banged against his leg all 
the way up the stairs. ‘I could have left it in my saddle-bag.’ But even as 
Aragorn thought this, he knew he didn’t want to be parted from anything 
that reminded him of Glorfindel. Aragorn touched the book through his 
cloak, then squared his shoulders and set all thoughts of his lover aside. 
He unwrapped the palantiri.
	Immediately, a red light flashed forth and Aragorn was confronted 
by the Eye. He tightened his hand around his sword’s hilt and stepped 
closer, staring right back, his lips set firmly together.
	“Who are you?” demanded the rough, malevolent voice in his 
mind. Cold fingers reached out, claws trying to rip away Aragorn’s 
disguise.
	Aragorn drew his protection closer and just waited.
	Sauron’s voice persisted. “Show me your face!”
	Aragorn half-obliged, giving Sauron a false image to gaze at.
	The Dark Lord snarled, “You seek to deceive me?” And suddenly, 
such power and malice as Aragorn had never known attacked the Man, 
making him cry out softly and pant as he fought not to scream.
	The cold fingers slipped into part of his mind and grabbed the first 
thing they laid hold to: a memory of Glorfindel, standing in the sunlight, 
laughing. As Aragorn watched helplessly, blood burst from Glorfindel’s 
mouth and suddenly there was blood in the blond hair. The clear eyes 
rolled and filled with crimson life. Glorfindel screamed and tore at his face 
in terror. Blood gurgled hideously in his throat.
	“No,” Aragorn moaned.
	“You can’t fight me when you have a lover to worry about,” 
Sauron taunted. “Whoever you are, you will never have true power 
because you can’t fight me with a single will. Your mind is divided. Go 
back to your hole and wait there for the end!”
	‘You can either fight him or surrender.’
	‘Glorfindel wanted me to come back to him, just be Aragorn 
without the titles… Can I still do that?’
	‘There will be no Glorfindel if you don’t win this war.’
	Aragorn’s fury leaped into his throat, and he roared, shoving 
Sauron out of his mind (the picture of Glorfindel faded), “I am Aragorn, 
son of Arathorn, Heir of Isildur!” He drew Anduril and showed the Flame 
of the West to the Dark Lord. “The Sword-That-Was-Broken has been 
reforged, Sauron, and it comes for you.” With a tremendous surge of 
strength, Aragorn wrested the stone from Sauron and turned it towards 
Gondor. He could see the men repairing the outer walls of the Pelannor, 
but he turned quickly away. He longed to seek out Glorfindel in the Last 
Homely House, but Sauron might try to take the stone back, and Aragorn 
didn’t dare risk any danger to his elven home. He gazed into Mordor, 
noting the gathering of numerous hosts of orcs and Southern men. He 
found and followed the prowling of the Witch-King for a time, then turned 
his mind to Orthanc, watching the Ents as they bathed the filthy vale in 
clear water. He smiled triumphantly.
	Weariness began to steal over him, and so Aragorn retreated, 
coming out of the stone and covering it with the cloth once more. The 
stone glowed red for a moment, then fell dead. Aragorn uttered a sigh of 
relief, and he lifted the stone up, turning to carry it back down the steps.
	When he emerged from the tower-room, he found Elladan and 
Elrohir standing there, gazing at him worriedly. “You have fought a 
battle,” Elladan said simply, and he took the stone while Elrohir touched 
Aragorn’s arms and comforted his brother with the healing touch of his 
people.
	“I have wrested the stone from Sauron,” Aragorn answered, his 
voice pale.
	“At great cost,” Elrohir returned, and now he drew Aragorn against 
him, embracing his brother.
	Aragorn leaned into the touch for as long as he dared, then he 
pulled back. “There are still counsels that must be taken.”
	“You need to rest,” Elladan told him.
	“There is no time. I see his plans; they are nearly formed. We must 
make haste.” Aragorn took a step and staggered. Elrohir caught him.
	“Wait for a one moment,” the elf urged. He glanced at Elladan, 
who set the stone aside and came to stand with his brothers. The elves 
wrapped Aragorn in their arms, lending him all the strength they could 
give. Aragorn’s abused mind clung to the light the two represented and 
allowed himself to be healed a little.
	When the twins stepped back, Aragorn looked a little stronger. His 
skin was still grey, and he still looked troubled, but strength had again 
entered his limbs. The three of them started down the stairs towards the 
fields where the men of Rohan were being assembled.
	As they went, Aragorn felt again the book in his pocket and wished 
he had time to read it. What had Glorfindel sent him? A book of love 
poetry? Doubtful; the Elda was sentimental, but not to that degree. 
Encouragements, maybe, since Glorfindel knew his lover was afraid of 
kingship. Or maybe it was only a book of Elvish prose, designed to help 
him take his mind off his problems for a few moments. Shaking his head, 
he put the book out of his mind for a little while.
      
An Autumn Afternoon
      
      He, Legolas and Gimli, accompanied by the Rangers and his 
brothers, had entered the Paths of the Dead only ten minutes ago, but 
already Aragorn longed to be on the other side of this black pit. And so he 
filled his mind with Glorfindel’s golden hair and the elf-lord’s dancing 
sky-bright eyes. In this way, he led the others through the darkness that 
whispered.
      The Dead followed them across the countryside, and Aragorn felt 
the fear around him. His stallion trembled, and Aragorn murmured to him 
in Elvish until his voice was hoarse. Then he grew silent and tried to 
impart comfort through his touch. Soon he would need his voice again.
	Aragorn called up an autumn’s crisp morning thirty-odd years ago.
***
	“I’ve often wondered if the Valar took a bit of the sky to make 
your eyes.”
	Glorfindel lowered his bow. The two of them were sitting in a tree, 
watching for deer. The elf had been studying the new weapon Aragorn had 
made for him. It hadn’t ever been used, except in testing, and so the two 
had decided to hunt a little before Aragorn had to return to his touring of 
the Shire’s borders. “You’re rarely poetic,” the blonde noted. “What’s on 
your mind?”
	“Your eyes, as I said.”
	“And how did my eyes happen to come into your mind?”
	Aragorn shrugged easily. “In Rohan, everyone had blue eyes. I 
kept looking for eyes like yours, but I couldn’t find any.”
	“And you expect me to believe that since you returned from Rohan 
only a few days ago, that thought has been plaguing you until this very 
moment.” Glorfindel set the bow on his knees and folded his arms, giving 
Aragorn an appraising look. “You forget, young Dunadan, how old I am, 
and how much I’ve seen.”
	Aragorn blushed; his side-stepping hadn’t worked the way he’d 
planned. “I… I was not truly thinking of your eyes,” he admitted, his blush 
deepening. “But I wanted to break the silence. I love the sound of your 
voice.”
	His voice was so sincere that now Glorfindel also blushed. “Ai, my 
handsome love, what would you have me say? Would you have me 
swayed to swooning by your pretty words?” He grinned mischievously. 
“If you’d have me speak, simply say, ‘Glorfindel, speak,’ and I will do so. 
Such is the power you have over me.”
	The man rubbed at his face. “I think I’ve had enough 
embarrassment for one day. Next time I’d have you say something, I’ll 
push you out of the tree and listen to your ranting.”
	“You’d endure my wrath? Then you are either braver or more 
foolish than I first thought.”
	Aragorn looked away. “How do you like the bow?”
	Glorfindel allowed the byplay to pass and he answered seriously, 
“It is of a make I have never seen, and yet I can see how helpful it would 
be to have such a weapon when one is on horseback. You learned their 
skill quickly, and quite well.”
	“I sat every night watching Eomund, first marshal of the Mark, 
teaching his young apprentices. He grew to despise me because I failed so 
many times- ‘wasted so many pieces of good wood’ as he put it.”
	Glorfindel smiled. “We all fail sometimes,” he murmured. Then he 
set the bow aside and drew a book from his pocket. “Don’t mind me- I’ll 
only be a moment.” He removed a quill and bottle of ink from his cloak 
and set to writing briskly within.
	Aragorn tried to peer over his shoulder. “What is that, love?”
	“Journal,” Glorfindel answered absently, scribbling faster. He 
shielded the page from Aragorn’s eyes. “I’ll show it to you someday, but 
not just yet. I promise, it will be worth the wait.”
	Trusting, Aragorn sat back and waited. After a little time, 
Glorfindel blew the ink dry and slipped everything back into place. 
“There.” He smiled at Aragorn’s bemused expression. “I promise, 
someday I’ll let you read it all. Right now, I’m still hoping for something 
to happen. It’s not quite so exciting as you might think.”
	“Did you write about me?” Aragorn asked. “And what are you 
waiting for?”
	“Yes to the first question and you’ll see to the second,” Glorfindel 
answered complacently.
	Aragorn asked teasingly, “What if I was to steal your journal and 
read it for myself?”
	Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”
	“Perhaps.”
	The blonde appeared to give the matter serious thought. “If you 
steal this journal and read it, you’ll never read the most beautiful thing I 
have to say about you. If you wait, you’ll hear it all and be so conceited 
your head will swell to bursting.”
	“You’d tell lies about me, flatteries?”
	“Nay, only the truth.”
	Aragorn touched Glorfindel’s arm. “I’ll wait.” He leaned close and 
kissed Glorfindel’s ear.
	The Elda moaned softly, deep in his throat. “You will doubtless 
inspire greater words from my quill before the day is out.”
***
	“That’s what I’m carrying,” Aragorn whispered suddenly.
	“What?” Halbarad asked. His voice was hoarse with the effort it 
took to hold his fear at bay.
	Aragorn glanced at his second-in-command and shook his head. 
“Never mind. Have courage, my friend; we’re almost out. I can feel it.”
	As they continued on their way, Aragorn thought, ‘I am carrying 
Glorfindel’s journal.’ And the instant he realized this, he knew it to be 
true.

Bitterness

      Glorfindel laid his hand on his growing abdomen. He couldn’t 
explain how he felt in one word, or even a hundred. Joy would envelop 
him for a time, then he would remember that Aragorn didn’t know about 
the baby. What if he never saw his lover again? Or worse, what if Aragorn 
chose to give his heart to Arwen, or was made to give his hand to Arwen 
in marriage? What if Elrond forced the marriage on the Man, to save his 
daughter? Glorfindel wouldn’t put it past he Half-elf: Elrond had been 
know to take extreme measures where his family was concerned. Then 
hope would assail the elf as he thought, ‘Elrond must let Aragorn and I be 
bound, because he knows I will surely die, and the child with me, if he 
doesn’t allow our union.’ Then terror would overcome him at the thought 
that he- and his child along with him- had been poisoned by drugs for the 
better part of five months. Who could know what the side-effects would 
be? An elfling’s life was fragile to begin with: what might drugs do to him 
or her?
      ‘Ai, if I continue to think of the what-ifs, I am going to drive 
myself mad.’ Fiercely, Glorfindel turned his mind to things he could 
control, such as trying to get out of bed. The sleeping potion had 
weakened him and now he struggled, each time he awoke, to simply sit up.
      Gritting his teeth against the pain of stiff, inactive muscles, 
Glorfindel rolled onto his side. When he accomplished this at last, he tried 
to push himself up by his left arm, propping himself with his right. This 
was much less successful. After ten minutes, he groaned and gave up. ‘I’ll 
try again later,’ he thought as sleep began to steal over him.
      A voice at his ear made him flinch. “Glorfindel?”
      ‘I didn’t hear him coming. My ears are as crippled as the rest of 
me!’ “Yes, Elrdon?”
      The lord sighed heavily and Glorfindel, opening his eyes, watched 
the other elf drag a chair to his bedside and sit down. “Glorfindel, I must 
speak to you on a very important matter.”
      Glorfindel didn’t have the strength to ask Elrond which matter he 
found most important. He simply gazed at the other elf questioningly.
      Elrond looked very uncomfortable. He clasped his hands in his lap 
and leaned forward, his eyes flicking down to Glorfindel’s face, then away 
again almost immediately. “I have to tell you something,” he stalled. “It 
may be very hard for you to accept, but I ask you to trust me.” He sat back 
and folded his arms across his chest in a decidedly defensive gesture. “I’m 
going to be honest with you, Glorfindel.” But for a long time he didn’t 
seem able to continue.
      At last, Glorfindel asked, “Do you want to talk to me about 
Aragorn, Arwen, the drugs or my pregnancy?”
      Elrond stared at him, speechless, for a moment. He swallowed 
twice and then cleared his throat before he was able to reply. “How long 
have you known that you are pregnant?”
	“I don’t have any idea how much time has passed because I can’t 
even be sure what month it is, let alone day of the week,” Glorfindel spat 
with all the venom he could muster. “As far as I know,” he went on before 
Elrond could rise to the bait, “it’s been about a week. Probably no more 
than ten days.”
	Elrond contained his sudden anger, more because he wasn’t sure 
who to be angry at than because he wanted to try something like tact. 
“Glorfindel, I need to know what you want to do about this child.”
	“Why should I tell you?” Glorfindel demanded. “It’s my own 
choice; this baby’s life has nothing to do with you.”
	“I need to know what you are going to do when Arwen marries 
Aragorn.”
	There was a long silence, in which Glorfindel closed his eyes and 
balled his fists.
	 Guilt crept up Elrond’s throat, but he swallowed it down with 
some difficulty. “Glorfindel, you must accept their engagement. Love 
aside, how would it look to the people of Gondor to have their king, the 
paragon of their society, appear with a baby out of wedlock and a consort 
at his side?”
	“I am no consort!” Glorfindel bellowed, his eyes opening so 
Elrond could see the tears that were gathered in their depths. The Elda 
tried to shove himself up to a sitting position. His arms obeyed for a 
moment, then buckled under him. He collapsed, gasping with pain.
	Elrond hesitated, then took Glorfindel’s hand and soothed away the 
worst of the pain with his healing ability. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
	Glorfindel laughed breathlessly. “Oh-” gasp- “you mean it, Elrond; 
you just don’t like wrestling with your conscience afterwards.”
	Elrond drew back as though he’d been slapped, removing his hand 
from Glorfindel’s weak grasp. “Really, Glorfindel, there is no need for 
that. I apologized. What more do you want from me?”
	But Glorfindel shook his head. His voice was weak with fatigue. 
“I’ll repent of that one if you’ll help me get back on my feet. I’m sick of 
laying in bed.”
	Elrond was shocked by the quick subject change, but he was 
relieved, and so he said sincerely, “I’ll do anything I can to help you get 
back to full strength.”
	“Thank you,” Glorfindel said simply. He curled up slightly. “I’m 
tired now; please let me sleep.” He lay very still, hoping Elrond would 
leave. After a short time, that was just what the half-elf did. ‘I can’t tell 
Elrond anything now; he seeks only to forward the interests of Arwen. I 
don’t blame him for trying to protect her, but why does he have to ruin my 
life, and Aragorn’s, just to help her?’
	Then he realized something, and it chilled his blood that such a 
choice had to be made: what child would Elrond choose to save, for surely 
he must save one and let the other die. Would he choose his daughter, or 
the child of his foster son? Even as he thought this, Glorfindel knew the 
answer, and his heart sank. ‘Surely I will never see Aragorn again, or at 
least not until he is married to Arwen.’
	Grieving, Glorfindel put his hand on his stomach and felt the babe 
within him kick. He closed his eyes and wept. ‘It will be just you and I, 
little one, then just you, for how can I live when my lover is taken away 
from me?’ He hated himself for such selfish thoughts, but could not still 
them. In great pain-of-heart, Glorfindel slept.

After the Battle of the Pelannor Fields

	Aragorn passed out of the city as the sun rose. He had healed 
many, saved countless lives, including those of Merry, Eowyn and 
Faramir, but… ‘But now I’m tired, and I could not save all those that I 
love.’ He bowed his head and cast his cloak over him, hiding him 
effectively from the rest of Gondor as he passed into the silent grey tents 
that had been raised before Gondor’s walls. No fires burned, no one 
laughed and no voices were heard. Aragorn found his way to his own tent, 
which was indistinguishable from the others, except that it was in the 
exact center of the camp, where all his Rangers could protect him while he 
slept. Aragorn smiled at the small kindness.
	“Estel.”
	Aragorn raised his head and gazed mutely at Legolas, who stood a 
little distance away, the morning light catching a little in his hair, making 
it shine. The elf-prince looked very weary indeed. His face was cast in 
shadow, and his eyes seemed dim.
	“Why do you call me so?” Aragorn asked. He turned away and 
passed into his tent. Legolas followed.
	“I did not want you to think of me as one more intruder.” The elf 
seated himself across from Aragorn, gazing at him as the king pulled his 
cloak around himself and sank down, all but huddling into himself for 
comfort.
	“Legolas, forgive me, but you are an intruder. I want nothing more 
than to be alone tonight.”
	“This morning,” Legolas corrected. “And I do forgive you, for you 
loved many that died with more strength and ferocity than I have seen in 
any man so far. Only young Pippin surpasses you in undying devotion.”
	In spite of himself, Aragorn smiled. “Yes, his love of Faramir, 
whom he barely knows, is amazing.”
	Having chipped a tiny hole in Aragorn’s defenses, Legolas now 
asked, “Do you need me?”
	Aragorn almost shook his head, but then he thought of Halbarad… 
and of Glorfindel, whom he had always been able to go to in times of pain. 
‘If I squint, he will look a little like Glorfindel.’ “Yes, I need it.” He 
closed his eyes and waited.
	Legolas crossed to the man, and drew him close, putting Aragorn’s 
head against his shoulder. “Cry, Dunadan; there is none to hear but you, 
the grass and me. The tale won’t be told by any of those.”]
	Aragorn clung to Legolas, and his tears sprang forth as though a 
dam had burst. He wept as the sun climbed until the warmth of it seeped 
into his bones, and he was reminded of the living world. He sat up, wiped 
his face and stared at Legolas. He felt a little shame, but not much; 
Legolas had, during the long months, become like one of his brothers. “I 
loved Halbarad both as a brother and as a son. He is fifty years my junior, 
and yet he passes and I am left to mourn.”
	“How many of your Rangers have died since you knew them?” 
Legolas asked, not unkindly.
	“Thirty-six,” Aragorn answered without hesitation. “And none of 
them died of old age.” He shook his head. “Somehow, I have survived.” 
He grunted. “If the world was fair, I should have been dead long ago by 
my own stupidity.” Quietly, his eyes studying his clenched hands, Aragorn 
told Legolas the story of the freezing night and how Glorfindel had found 
and saved him.
	“Glorfindel is very lucky to have someone who loves him so 
much,” Legolas said simply when Aragorn was done.
	The man’s head snapped up and he stared, slack-jawed, at Legolas. 
“What?”
	“Glorfindel is very lucky to have someone like you,” Legolas 
answered. “A man who will put all others before himself, and yet does not 
forget that he belongs to another is hard to find. You guard your life not 
for yourself, but first for Glorfindel, second for your Rangers, third for 
Gondor and fourth for Middle-Earth. That is very noble, Aragorn.” He 
smiled. “And now I know why Glorfindel loves you so: he sees the jewel 
you are, and refuses to let any other take you away.” Legolas drew 
Aragorn against him and smoothed the king’s hair. “You doubt that you 
will see him again.”
	Aragorn blinked. “How do you know me so well?”
	Legolas shook his head. “I will not answer that.”
	There was silence for a moment, then Aragorn conceded, “Yes, I 
fear that. I am supposed to be engaged to another- an engagement not of 
my making- and I fear that Glorfindel will be injured by the forced union.”
	“Will you marry her?” Legolas asked, and there was a note of steel 
in his voice, as if to say, “If you will, you are not the nobleman I took you 
for.”
	“What choice do I have? She is dying because of her pining for 
me. What else can I do but help her?” He threw up his hands. “All else 
aside, Legolas, she is Lord Elrond’s daughter- my foster sister, if you will. 
How can I injure a family that has given me so much?”
	“Elrohir doesn’t want you to marry her,” Legolas said. “And 
though he has not spoken of it, I believe Elladan feels the same. And if 
Elrond really loved you, he would let you make your own choice.”
	“He isn’t forcing this on me,” Aragorn tried to lie.
	“Hah!” Legolas shook his head. “What kind of fool do you take me 
for, Idiot Man? I know more of manipulation than you will ever know. 
Did I call you noble a moment ago? That same nobleness is going to lose 
you the only true joy you have in your life.” He stood.  “I’ll be going now. 
Gimli and I are going to check on the damage to the front gates. He says 
his people can build them up more grandly than ever before.” And so 
saying, Legolas left the tent, his shoulders stiff as he held in his anger.
	Rebuked, Aragorn sat and thought. He closed his eyes, meaning to 
call up a memory of Glorfindel, but he received something painful instead. 
Groaning and putting his hands over his ears, Aragorn fell backwards and 
curled into a ball, watching and listening intently to the scene in his mind.
***
	Glorfindel retched again. Gentle hands held his long hair out of the 
mess, and for this he was grateful. He was grateful, in fact, for all that 
Erestor had done for him. When at last the heaves eased, he pulled himself 
up on shaking arms. Erestor had a damp cloth ready, and he cleaned 
Glorfindel’s face himself.
	As he was eased back onto the bed, Glorfindel imagined that the 
arms holding him were Aragorn’s. It was easier to believe, in the light of 
day, and in the arms of a friend, that he might see his love again, and 
actually be near him. He closed his eyes and sighed, exhausted beyond 
measure. His hand strayed to his growing belly, and he felt a mixture of 
joy and pain. “Your child grows, Aragorn,” he whispered. “I would that 
you were here to see it.”
	Erestor answered, “We’ll be leaving for Gondor tomorrow, melon-
nin; soon you will see him again.”
	“Ai, I know.” Glorfindel smiled sadly. “Will he welcome me?”
	“I know he will.”
	“Will Arwen sway him, though? She is terribly pale and weak.” He 
shuddered. “Maybe I should just step aside and-”
	“And die? I’ll have none of that,” Erestor responded sharply. 
“You’ll live, and you’ll wed Aragorn, and joy will follow you all the days 
of your life together. This child will only be the first of many.”
	Glorfindel sighed. “I almost believe you when you talk like that.”
	“Believe it, melon-nin, for it is the truth.”
***
	Aragorn opened his eyes. The first thing he felt was that he was not 
alone. Someone was crouching beside him. He blinked several times to 
clear his vision, and gazed up at Eomer. He roused himself at once. “Am I 
needed?”
	“Nay,” the horse-lord answered. “I only wanted to check on you. 
The Rangers said you have been shut up in here since sunrise.”
	Aragorn sat up. “What hour is it?”
	“One past noon.”
	Aragorn stood. “There is much to be done.”
	Eomer also rose and caught Aragorn’s arm. “Tell me, first, brother 
to brother, king to king, what ails you?”
	“Too much death and not enough love,” Aragorn answered flatly, 
too tired to dance around the truth.
	Eomer wrapped Aragorn in a tight, warm embrace. “We love you, 
Aragorn; I and mine, as well as this Grey Company gathered about you, to 
say nothing of the two hobbits, Lord Faramir, Gandalf, the dwarf and the 
elves.”
	Aragorn smiled ruefully. “And that should be enough love for 
anyone, right?”
	“No; it’s enough to get you through until you see your heart’s 
desire, whoever she is.”
	Aragorn couldn’t stop his tongue. “‘Tis a he.”
	Eomer raised an eyebrow, then smiled. “Good for you, then.” He 
gestured towards the tent flap, and Aragorn preceded him out into the 
sunlight. “Though I must say, I’ve always preferred the lasses myself. 
They’re so much softer.”
	“Not after you get under all the armor,” Aragorn retorted. 
Laughing quietly, mindful of the grieving about them, the two kings 
walked side-by-side back towards Gondor.

Part Three: After the War
On the Field of Victory

	Aragorn sat forward, laughing as Sam cried, “Strider! Strider!”
	“Yes, Sam, Strider. It’s a long time since you didn’t like the look 
of me in Bree, isn’t it?”
	Sam was laughing now, and crying, too. “Strider, it’s so… golden 
and light and fireworks and warm, if you take my meaning.”
	“I do, Sam; I do.” Aragorn watched Frodo approach. The 
Ringbearer bowed, then he and Sam sat on the chairs beside Aragorn and 
listened to the minstrel sing of their great deeds.
	When all this was done, and the feasting well under way, Aragorn 
snuck off by himself. He won a searching glance from Legolas, and one 
from Gandalf as well, but he managed to impart to him with his eyes that 
he would return shortly.
	Forgetting his fine rainment, Aragorn climbed a tree in the fading 
light (though there was a full moon) and at last opened the journal 
Glorfindel had sent him.
	On the inside cover, he read: 
Now you may read the most beautiful things about you, Aragorn. 
Faithfully, Glorfindel
	Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment, smiling to himself, then 
began to page through the journal, reading pieces here and there.
	“Valar, I am truly blessed. You have seen fit to let Aragorn fall in 
love with me. I only feel slightly guilty that I’ve fallen in love with a child 
I’ve practically raised. He’s definitely a man now.”
	“…Never have I had such a passionate lover! Elves take things too 
slowly for my taste, as a rule. They say: “We have plenty of time, why 
rush?” Aragorn alone understands the joys of taking things quickly, 
savoring them, then moving forward to more wonderful things. Aragorn 
kisses like there is no tomorrow, as though he has to give me all his love 
in each moment, in case we don’t see each other again. (That’s possible, 
but I have more faith in him than I think he does right now. It’s hard for 
him to be a Ranger when he has to both follow and lead.)”
	“Aii… There’s no other word for it. Love-making with Aragorn is 
Forget it I can’t describe it well enough. Here’s what I feel (Valar knows 
I’ll look back on this and wonder why I couldn’t explain it) warm loved 
safe sweaty happy nay joyous perfect complete whole sane like I just saw 
the sun after a long darkness. I could go on forever, but I think I’ll leave it 
for now. Aragorn is asleep beside me (snoring lightly, which I find 
amusing and endearing, since elves don’t snore, as a general rule) and his 
hair is all tousled and sweaty and he smells like a Ranger again, and not 
just like a man that took a bath in elf-salts. I like this darker smell of his, 
though I’ve heard others complain that men smell sour. Aii, Aragorn, my 
heart, my joy, my strength, I will miss you in the morning.”
	“Foolish Ranger! The cold nearly killed you! I suppose it isn’t 
your fault, but I don’t wish to be reminded that you are mortal and I may 
one day lose you.”
	“Fuck me, Aragorn! I’m waiting! I know you’ll be here tonight, 
and my mind reels with need for you. Come to me, hold me, fuck me!”
	“Dear one, why do you take the world on your shoulders? Isn’t it 
enough that you watch for the hundred or so men, women and children 
that make up the Dunedain? Why must you cast your mind to the worries 
of others- Elrond’s worries, the troubles in Mirkwood, the problems of 
places as far apart as Bree, Hobbiton and Rohan? I would have you come 
back here for a while and rest your weary feet. But I can’t hold you here; 
when your feet itch, there isn’t a man (or elf) alive that can keep up with 
you. Come home soon from your service in Rohan and Gondor, that I may 
see you smiling once again.”
	“I love you, Aragorn. Be safe on your journey. Hopefully there 
will be time for us between when you return with the twins and when you 
leave again for Mordor.”
	A hand fell on Aragorn’s shoulder and a shadow drifted across the 
page. Aragorn looked up and smiled at Legolas. “You are following me,” 
he accused, closing the book. But his smile faded quickly when he saw the 
stern look on Legolas’s face.
	“Elrohir told me you are thinking of saving Lady Arwen’s life,” 
the elf anncounced flatly. “Explain yourself.”
	Aragorn stared. “I-I-”
	“Answer the question, Aragorn!” Legolas’s right hand balled into a 
fist, and Argorn had the strong impression that the prince was restraining 
himself only with the greatest effort.
	“Yes, I am considering it,” Aragorn whispered.
	Legolas fist caught him in the side of the head. “Idiot! Bastard! 
Stupid, selfish, ignoble, wretched, faithless, filthy man! What in the name 
of the Valar do you think you’re doing abandoning Glorfindel?” He 
snarled, a very frightening expression on a face that was usually so calm. 
“Damn you, Aragorn, don’t you understand that Glorfindel will die 
without you?”
	Aragorn touched his cheek gingerly, his eyes flashing. “I haven’t 
decided yet!” he roared. “I’ll choose when the time comes!”
	“Choose now, idiot; there really isn’t any decision that needs to be 
made! Glorfindel has kept faith with you for this long: how can you just 
forsake him?” He turned and began to pace. “Maybe I should have helped 
Sauron regain the Ring if this is what Men are like: faithless, betraying, 
savage, faithless-”
	“You said that already,” murmured Aragorn, his voice quiet with 
shame.
	Legolas spun around, but when he saw the sadness in Aragorn’s 
eyes, he couldn’t yell anymore. “If you know what the right thing to do is, 
how can you not do it?” he nearly begged.
	Aragorn was silent.
	“You do know what to do,” Legolas said then, and he turned to 
leave. “Come on; the feasters are looking for you.”
	Mutely, chastened, Aragorn followed Legolas.

What Do You Want, Glorfindel?

	Before dawn on the day before Midsummer’s Eve, Elladan and 
Elrohir awoke as one. They left their room silently, slipping down the 
corridor and out the door of the citadel. They crept through the courtyard 
unseen and saddled their horses. Quietly, they slipped out of Gondor. 
When they were outside in the free air, they broke into a gallop.
	Not a word had been spoken, but both knew: their father drew 
near, with his daughter and others of his household. The two prayed that 
Glorfindel was among the caravan. They rode like the wind, swimming 
the horses across the Anduin and continuing north and west. They rode the 
sun to its zenith and saw it westering before they spied the caravan. 
Stopping their exhausted mounts, they slid out of their saddles and waited 
for the elves to come to them.
	An hour later, the two stood facing Erestor, who led the small 
guard at the front. He hailed them and bowed.
	Elrond came riding up with Arwen at his side. He greeted them, 
cautiously, Elrohir thought, then asked why they were out so far from the 
city.
	The twins glanced at each other, and Elladan stepped forward, 
Elrohir deffering to his quietly-speaking brother. “Ada, we are here to 
speak with you, Arwen and Glorfindel.” Then he spied Lady Galadriel and 
Lord Celeborn, who sat side by side a little behind Elrond. “And we would 
speak with Grandmother and Grandfather as well. Just family, you could 
say.”
	“Glorfindel is not-” Elrond began.
	“That is debateable,” Elladan answered serenely. “Let us talk.”
	There were two wagons in the caravan- one, doubtless, belonged to 
Arwen. The small party entered the second one, which was smaller, less 
ornate. A bed of sorts was against one wall. This was the only bit of 
furniture in the wagon. Glorfindel lay, weak with the coming baby, under 
piles of blankets. Pregnant or dying elves were the only ones that ever felt 
cold. The twins could see that Glorfindel’s belly had swollen with the 
coming child, and they were encouraged to see this. Surely Elrond could 
not deny that Glorfindel was struggling to bring a new life into the world.
	Elrohir reached the bed first, and he knelt, taking Glorfindel’s hand 
gently in his own. He kissed Glorfindel’s wrist, then looked up into the 
ancient blue eyes searchingly.
	Glorfindel smiled weakly. “I am well, Elrohir; don’t worry.”
      But the pain in Glorfindel’s eyes and voice were so easily seen that 
Elrohir wanted to cry. “You’re only a day’s ride from Gondor,” he 
whispered, trying to reassure his old tutor. “Don’t fade yet.” 
	Elladan swallowed past a tightness in his throat, and said, “Ada, 
we have ridden with Aragorn for two weeks now. We know of his love for 
Glorfindel. He does not know yet that Glorfindel is carrying his child, but 
surely that will convince him-”
      “-if he needed convincing, which he doesn’t-“ Elrohir interrupted.
      Elladan nodded. “Which he doesn’t,” he echoed, “that he must 
bond with Glorfindel and marry him.”
      Elrond recited what he had rehearsed during the trip, the words 
he’d planned to shower on Aragorn. “I cannot, in good conscience, let my 
daughter die. If the life of the Eldar is leaving her- and my soul tells me 
that is what has occurred- then she must be wed to Aragorn, for that is her 
only hope of salvation. Aragorn was born to be the Hope of Men; now he 
must also be the Hope of Elves. How can Arwen survive without him?”
      Glorfindel whispered, “Elrond, please-”
      “We have discussed this all the way from Imladris,” Elrond 
interrupted. “I will discuss it with you no longer, Glorfindel. You will not 
change my mind.”
      “Let the child at least by raised by Aragorn and Arwen!” cried the 
despairing Elda. “When I die, don’t send the child on a ship- if any will 
bare her. Please, I