Many changes, indeed! This whole section is re-written and the story takes a different direction than it did before, and compacts several of the old chapters into one. Thank you to Nilmandra for the beta. All errors are mine though (she tried, really she did). Hope it's not too horrid!

Chapter VI: Many Changes

~*~*~

The sound of surf and cries of gulls brought him blinking to awareness, clearing the remnant of dreams from his mind, and for that first blurred moment between dreams and wakefulness, he'd thought he was in Eldamar. Half expecting to hear the voices of his mother and father, Glorfindel turned his head and saw the sun, a giant globe of fiery gold and orange, sinking into the sea, and knew this was not the ocean of his youth. The thought brought him to full awareness.

His skin was crawling with a hundred itching welts, and his hair felt stiff from the saltwater. Grunting, he shifted, scratching his shoulder against the sheets.

"Don't scratch." The chiding voice came from the other side of the bed, and he turned his head, pulling a hand from beneath the covers to rub defiantly at his shoulder.

"You might as well tell a hobbit not to eat." With a grimace, he realized his chest and arms had red wiggles of welts, fading, but still there. From the feel of it, so did the rest of his body.

"We could not bathe you until the poison was out of your body." Bronwe sat forward in the armchair, assessing his condition as he squirmed. "How do you feel?"

"Itchy." He spoke with a touch of surliness, but Glorfindel despised being incapacitated, hated the thought of being a burden. He wasn't even overly fond of healers as a rule, apart from those counted as friends, and only then so long as he wasn't in their care as a patient. Glorfindel was not an easy patient, and many of the healers in Imladris, still learning, refused to do more than assist Elrond in treating him. Fortunately for all, he was rarely in need of their care. He looked up, catching her gaze, knowing his thoughts were probably transparent. "Have you sat here with me the entire time I was sleeping?"

"Yes." She knew it was useless to remind him he'd almost died, had in fact, began to fade when they called him back. It wouldn't matter to him. He was fine now and that was the end of the event as far as he was concerned. Standing to shake out her wrinkled skirts, Bronwe looked out the window. Picking up the book she'd been reading, she arched an eyebrow. "I'll leave you to your bath. Be sure you eat, and drink plenty of water."

She was just going to leave? Glorfindel sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and stood, holding the sheet against his body. To get to the door, Bronwe would have to go around him. "Are you all right?"

"Yes."

There was nothing he could pinpoint, but though she met his gaze, there was a weary expression in the grey eyes. "You're fatigued, Bronwe. Was I so difficult a patient?"

That earned him a small smile, but she nodded. "Indeed, the worst by far."

He watched as her gaze dropped to his chest and he began scratching the red welts on his chest. "How long will these remain?"

"Another day, possibly two." Bronwe was trying to remain detached, to keep the cool appraisal of a healer with a patient, but the winding trail of red welts left on Glorfindel's skin were a visible reminder of how near he had come to dying. "There is ointment on the bedside table for them, both to reduce the itching and to help the welts fade."

He grimaced. "That long?"

It was too much. Bronwe closed the distance between them, and grabbed his hand, pulling it away from his chest. "You nearly died, Glorfindel. In fact you were fading and for a moment we did not know if you would come back!" Expression grim, she held his surprised gaze for a moment before letting go of his hand. "Don't. Scratch."

The quiet command concerned him far more than the outburst. "I'm sorry." Glorfindel wasn't even certain why he was apologizing. It wasn't as if he had deliberately swam into the jellyfish, but there was something in Bronwe's gaze that unsettled him. There was a distance that hadn't been there before, as if she was guarding against his gaze. "Bronwe --"

The deliberate scuff of leather on wood alerted them to someone approaching, and a moment later Círdan entered the room, silver eyebrow climbing higher as he looked from one elf to the other. Slowly nodding, he didn't bother to hide the concerned look. "I came to see if you were still sleeping, Glorfindel."

Bronwe plucked her cloak from the armchair and stepped around the blonde elf. "Awake and alert enough to growl at me, Círdan." Touching the shipwright's arm as she passed, she added, "Get him to eat, and see he drinks water. Water, Círdan...not mead."

"Where are you going?"

Turning at the door, expression somber, it was clear her thoughts were already moving onward. "We want to see if there is ought that can be done for the trees before we go."

"Go?" Glorfindel frowned as she walked away, turning his attention to Círdan. "Go where?"

"To Lothlórien, to consult with Celeborn about the trees." Círdan sighed. "I sent a hawk with a message this morning. They only wait upon Celeborn's reply to leave." He eyed the other elf in amusement. "Unless you plan on giving my housekeeper ideas about your intentions, you'd best get dressed."

"A bath first." Glorfindel grimaced, touching the grimy strands of his hair. "I've no intentions of seducing your housekeeper." He offered a wry grin with the last.

Círdan nodded. "Just as well. She wields a wicked broom." Turning, he began humming as he walked, leaving Glorfindel to his much desired bath.

~*~*~

The stars, shining brightly down upon the thickly wooded forest, were not the focus of attention for the three elves who walked down the shoreline as would be their normal wont. The three Silvan Elves were quiet, listening carefully to all the night had to say, from the quietly soaring owl, to the rocks near the waterline. Reaching the sickened trees, each went to wander amongst the grove, gently touching the afflicted pines. When each elf reached the limit of where the sickness dwindled and healthy trees stood, they turned to face one another. Standing in at three points, they closed their eyes and let themselves be drawn downward. Outward. It would be better accomplished with more than three, and better yet if there were Elders present, but they did what they could.

Silvan Elves had not the great power of the Eldar, for they had never seen the light of the Two Trees. Their forefathers had turned away from the Great Journey, become the Avari, and travelled instead deeper into the woods of Middle-earth. Still, there were secrets only they knew, secrets whispered to them by the trees, the rivers, the mountains. The creatures of their lands, from the Great Eagles to the Grey Wolves, also taught them lessons. All of creation was bound together, and though they had never sat at the feet of the Valar and learned from them, their instincts had sharpened them to hear the great song of Ilúvatar's creation.

They knew the darkness as well, having fled from it time and time again. They had not the power to stand against it the Eldar of Valinor wielded, but they were resourceful and cunning. Time had taught them that a subtle nudge, a silence when there were no words, could be as effective as sheer power.

Three was a small number, and these three were still considered young among their kind, but they offered themselves up, merging the part of them humans called 'magic' to that of Endor. Twining their will with that of the wild energy of nature, a bright blur of green behind their eyelids, the three bound the area as best they could. Bound the darkness, contained it and set their wills to holding it in place. It was only a net and temporary at best, but hopefully they would have an answer and cure long before the net was broken.

Failon squeezed Bronwe's shoulder as he came up on her, knowing her healer's senses would enhance the empathy they all shared. "Lord Celeborn will surely have an answer."

"Or the Lady Galadriel." Thalos sighed wearily. "There are the eldest of our kind there as well. This cannot be the first time such a thing has risen."

The healer nodded, looking up at the tree she touched, and began to softly sing. A strengthening song, of healing and light her father had taught to her when the top of her head had barely reached his waist. The other two elves joined in, wandering through the grove, touching the trees as they sang, their song not much more than a whisper upon the wind, the caress of the waves. It was not enough, not nearly as much as they desired, but would have to do for the time being.

~*~*~

Glorfindel shook his head, gazing up at the night sky, tracking the brightest star before finding familiar formations. "There was nothing specific, but darkness...aye."

"As if something were directing the creatures?"

"Maybe." Pursing a lip, he turned his attention back to the shipwright. "It was almost familiar. A touch of some old evil, mayhap..." His eyes unfocused, attention going inward as he searched through memories that stretched back long before the dawn of the sun and moon. "The touch was not malevolent. It was...unfocused. Undirected."

Círdan stroked fingers through his beard, thinking. "If it was truly evil I would have sensed it." He shook his head, annoyed with the mystery plaguing both land and beings. "How would something make its way here without gaining my attention?"

It was a fair question. Círdan was not without resources, including those of the creatures that lived in the depths of the sea. That none of them were answering him, just as the trees had no answer for the Silvan Elves, was unsettling.

"I do not know, old friend." Offering a wry smile, he traced a forefinger in a mindless pattern, drawing in the sand. "What happened whilst you and Bronwe conspired to keep me sleeping?"

Smirking, Círdan sat back. "It was that or listen to you complain about the itching all day." Ignoring Glorfindel's scowl, he stretched long legs out. "We sent word to Celeborn, and requested safe passage for a small group to travel to Caras Galadon." Pursing a lip, he added, "He'll approve, no doubt. We made certain to mention the trees."

"Wood elves," Glorfindel murmured in fond amusement. Imladris was not home to many of the quiet Silvan Elves, but those who did dwell there were well-known to him. "Who goes, then?"

"The two marchwardens who discovered the blight on the trees, and Bronwe."

"Why Bronwe?"

Amused at the question, Círdan paused a long moment. Let the stubborn elf stew a bit, it would be good for him. "They're the oldest of the Silvan in our midst, and the closest to what has happened. If I sent any of my Telerin kin they would only tell of the white rot on trees and dead birds. Celeborn will need to hear what the Silvan Elves know of the trees."

Glorfindel pursed a lip. "I cannot like it, Círdan." His eyes darkened with remembered sorrow. "The passes to Lothlórien grow darker each season, unsafe." He sighed, heart heavy. "Elladan and Elrohir do their best to purge the lands of orcs, and the Rangers toil towards that end as well, but I would not see another elf fall as Celebrían did."

"You think to go as well?"

Nodding, Glorfindel tapped a finger on his thigh. "We could pass through Imladris and see if it is something Elrond is familiar with. If not there are enough of the Imladris guard to journey on with us to Lothlórien." Slanting a gaze at the shipwright, frowning for the amusement dancing in the ancient eyes, Glorfindel snorted. "None of those three have been to the Golden Wood, have they? Or know the way? Well you know travel is not for the unwary these days, and the Lady guards her woods jealously."

Laughing, Círdan held up his hands. "I wasn't going to dissuade you, Glorfindel!" He smirked. "Though I find it interesting that you're here talking to me rather than Bronwe." Getting no response, Círdan sat back and watched the normally decisive elf fidget, almost laughing at the image. "Or am I reading more into that scene today than I should?"

An odd expression overcame Glorfindel's face. "She was upset with me."

"Upset or worried?"

"I told her I was fine and merely complained about the welts."

Shaking his head for the willful obstinate nature of some, Cirdan arched an eyebrow. "Do you realise how close we came to burying you, Glorfindel?" His answer was an impatient scowl. "It's true, stubborn creature, and you know it. Bronwe and I both were calling to you and even then it was a near thing."

"I was not ready to die yet," Glorfindel replied quietly. He met the shipwright's gaze. "I had a choice, and realised there was too much here that I had to accomplish."

"Is one of those speaking of your feelings for Bronwe?"

"Are you playing matchmaker, Círdan?"

A snort as the shipwright shook his head. "Lad, I'm only stating the obvious. If you want to pretend otherwise, that is your choice." Standing, Círdan looked at his friend a long moment. "You know better than most life is uncertain, even for we who are seen as immortal by human eyes. An unforeseen event, like Celebrían's attack, can remove us from those we love, and though we have long days on this land, they can stretch out like those seven years in Mordor. You wait, and keep her waiting, though I cannot fathom why when much happiness could be found for both of you."

"I never asked her to wait."

Círdan said nothing, but stared hard at Glorfindel until he frowned and looked away. "You're being stubborn, so I'll leave you to it. Alone." With a nod, he turned and walked down the shore, muttering loudly to himself. "Never thought I'd see the day a balrog-slayer was afraid of an elleth! Eärendil, drop something down on his head and enlighten him...both of them!"

Scowling, Glorfindel stayed where he was for a long while, though he warily watched Eärendil sail overhead. Finally he rose and brushed the sand from his clothing before turning to walk back towards the Havens.

~*~*~

The scent of roses still lingered in the air, and for a moment he expected her to step out of her rooms and glide towards him, smiling. Foolish Elf, he chided himself. She is gone, beyond the reach of any here. Gone to seek peace and healing only the Blessed Realm could offer.

Elrond walked through the room, pausing to touch the silver-handled hairbrush that still held long strands of her silver hair, glinting in the liquid half-light of the moon. His gaze drifted over the chiffonnier, wood the pale maple she had preferred. It had reminded her of her childhood home, as had the polished convex disk hung above, the silver metal decorated with Mallorn trees around the edges.

He could see her, seated there, as she had been so often, brushing out her glorious hair, smiling at him in the polished silver. Dropping his hand, Elrond turned away to look at the embroidery and dresses still sitting on a lounge where she left them.

Unfinished. So much that she would never again touch. He would not feel her touch -- small, soft hands cupping his face -- until he sailed to Aman. Closing his eyes against the ache of grief that clenched his heart, Elrond sat and pressed his face into the soft velvet she had been mending. One of her cloaks, accidentally ripped when she tripped and caught it against a railing. She had been so ashamed, so upset at the loss of her grace, the loss of what had once been but second nature to her. So weary of fighting the emptiness and pain in her body and mind.

Yes, he understood why she left, why she had to go. It made it no easier to bear. Nights were by far the worst. Night, when no one came to him with the problems of the day, no humans or dwarves stirred, seeking assistance. When the voices of the elves rose in benediction to the stars and sang of lands they longed to see. No slender form, wreathed in silver hair, to distract him, tease, and entice him away from his worries. Only his books, his people and his determination to continue to hold the ground, the peace they had here.

Only his hope that one day one of Isildur's line, the same line that carried the blood of his long passed twin, would redeem mankind and reclaim the throne. A hope that grew more dim with the passing of each Dúnedain Chieftan. It seemed to him Celebrían's leaving had taken much of the light and warmth from his life, leaving him to face the future armed only with duty and determination.

The grief would pass, Glorfindel had assured him on one of those dark nights when he had raged and ranted against the unfairness that composed so many experiences of his life. He had stood steady, compassionate gaze unwavering when Elrond had rounded on him, eyes blazing with a fury that hadn't been present since Orodruin. Oh, he had wanted to hurt someone in his rage, had lashed out, throwing himself against that immovable rock that was Glorfindel...and been met with compassion.

Who else could understand the depths of loss, of sacrifice, and know that there was, without a doubt, hope to be found on the other side? Glorfindel had let him rage, let him weep. Not once, but many times since then, and never said a word against him. He would not. That was Glorfindel. He had steadfastly stood at his side, letting Elrond grieve while he and Erestor handled the duties of the haven.

Slowly, Elrond was beginning to see he might have been right, that there might be joy again. But, oh...it still hurt, this loss.

"My Silver Queen," he whispered, stroking the soft velvet that still held her scent. Letting his gaze go distant, as if he could see all the way to the Blessed Realm by sheer dint of will.

Standing in the arched entry, Erestor turned away, bowing his head as he walked silently back towards his offices. It would keep, this bit of paperwork. His lord had long delayed this grief, presenting a strong front for his children and those who lived in the haven. Sighing, the councilor raised his eyes to the West and sent a silent prayer winging to the Valar; he has borne so much...let him find some measure of peace now.

~*~*~

Celeborn, Lord of the Golden Wood, pursed a lip as he read the parchment. "It seems we'll be receiving visitors soon."

"Milord?" Haldir, waiting patiently to be dismissed, tilted his head in an expression of mild curiosity. He ignored the impatient clucks and chirrups from the hawk perched next to him, staying far away from the bird's sharp beak.

"Your hawk was from Círdan." A slight smile graced the lord's mouth. He knew Haldir was not overly fond of the hawks sent from other havens, delivering messages. The raptors were testy and always hungry when they arrived, nipping impatiently at whichever elf they found first. "There will be a party arriving from Mithlond sometime soon." Nodding, rolling the small parchment back up, Celeborn reached out to caress the white breast of the bird. "See to this one's feeding, will you, whilst I compose a reply."

Not truly a request, nor one he could refuse. Haldir grimaced slightly, but gave a short bow. Curved talons dug into the leather bracer on his arm and he winced, careful not to jostle the hawk as he left to do as his lord requested.

Celeborn smiled in amusement at the captain of the marchwardens as he walked back to the table, sitting to gaze for a moment out at the sunshine drizzling through the golden trees. Círdan's words were brief, but hinted at growing troubles. Taking out a quill and small parchment, Celeborn thought a moment before dipping the quill into the inkwell, and begin to pen his reply.

~*~*~

No one had been at Bronwe's small cottage, and so Glorfindel had wandered down the to the beach. He walked for a while, and stopped when he came to the small stand of trees that grew almost right up to the waves. Here he saw for himself the sickened pines. Something about the area reminded him of the sickrooms in Imladris used for treating the most ill of patients, most often Rangers. There was the same miasma of an almost perceptible scent, and a sense of misery. Something else was there, at the edges of the forest. Glorfindel reached out with hand and senses to lightly touch the invisible barrier. It was not very strong, but it was the same type of barrier the foresters in Imladris used to monitor the valley. If breached, it alerted them. Glorfindel had likened it to a spider's web for the foresters always claimed the alert felt like a tingling vibration.

Glorfindel let his eyes unfocus, and could see the fine weaving that created the barrier. Three anchors held it, and he went to each anchor, strengthening it with his own will, until the barrier was glowing far brighter than before. Satisfied it would remain strong while those who held the barrier were away from Mithlond, he let the weaving disappear from his vision.

Leaving the sickened area, he turned back and walked for a while before sitting. Gazing westward, his thoughts went to what he had seen while in the twilight of nearly dying. His family and childhood home had not been a surprise. Glorfindel had not spent enough time with them after his re-embodiment before duty had taken him to Middle-earth, so it was no surprise to see his mother and father. Nor had he been surprised to see Elrond. The task to shepherd the peredhil through the remaining Ages was his, and even though he shared the duty with Erestor at times, when it came down to it, Glorfindel knew the task had been given to him alone. It dominated his second life.

Until now. Now he had people telling him to think of himself and to look beyond what duty would demand of him.

He had not seen Bronwe in his visions. Was his life naught but duty then? A disheartening thought if true. Digging a hand into the sand, Glorfindel let it run through his fingers. Had he truly frightened her so badly? He and Ecthelion had always done things when younger that no one else would have even thought of, but it had never frightened either of them. It had scared those around them endlessly and they had thought it funny at the time.

It was only in his second life, when Elladan and Elrohir tried some of the very same things, such as walking across one of the waterfalls on a rope, that Glorfindel had finally understood that fear. It was fear born of concern. Fear born of love and protection. Had he really been taking Bronwe's love for granted all this time, ignoring it in the name of duty?

Everyone seemed to think so. It might be valid.

It was time to find out for himself.

~*~*~

The glint of moonlight on gold caught her eye, and Bronwe stopped walking as she saw Glorfindel examining the herbs she had hanging outside the door, drying. He looked up and she continued forward after the slightest hesitation. "If you're looking for something to soothe your skin, that isn't it."

"What is this?" Wrinkling his nose at the pungent odor, Glorfindel fingered the sprays of little white flowers.

"Something used for human women who are having problems with their monthly flow." She arched an eyebrow as he yanked his hand away from the flowers as if stung. "I take it you don't help Elrond with gathering herbs?"

"Rarely." He shrugged. "I recall vividly the ones that made the twins sickest."

"They were sharply curious about all those plants." Gesturing for him to follow, Bronwe pushed open the door to her cottage. "But it was Arwen who always wanted to know what might turn skin a color. Blue or purple I believe were her favourites."

"She was as busy as they were, but thankfully there was but one of her." Following her through the main room into the kitchen he noted the fire was very low and headed for the back door. "Elrohir seems to have retained the most of all those sessions with the healers." Gathering up several pieces of cut wood, he carried them back in, nudging the door closed with his foot.

"He has the most talent in healing of all the children." Standing aside as Glorfindel arranged the wood and encouraged the fire to burn, Bronwe saw he likely was going to stay a while and walked to a cupboard to take down two mugs. "I hope he won't burn it out in all of this killing."

Looking up, firelight flickering on his hair and features, Glorfindel met her gaze. "He won't. They will not always be so bloodthirsty, nor would Elrond see them forsake other duties once this anger has burnt out."

"And what does Arwen do to ease her grief?" Taking a jar of tea leaves down, Bronwe sat at the table, turning the jar in her hands. No matter how much time passed between his visits, Glorfindel always made himself at home as if he had only been gone a short time. It was part of his charm, but she knew he took many things in his stride; like nearly dying.

"Spends time with her Adar, and keeps Imladris well-supplied for any emergency. Between her and Erestor I do not think there is any calamity unprepared for." He peered into the kettle before replenishing the water and hooking it over the fire. "She is leaving for Lothlórien to visit Galadriel and Celeborn. She feels they could use some comfort as well and her father some time to himself."

He had nearly died earlier that very day, and yet he stood, speaking to her as if nothing unusual had happened. Bronwe set the jar down with a thump and gestured. "Sit." Ignoring the arch of his eyebrow, she gazed at him with a healer's sharp assessment. "And you, what will you do?" Reaching forward, she grasped his hand, turning it to see if the blemishes remained. Pushing the sleeve of his tunic up, she examined the skin of his arm, and waited for an answer.

Bemused, Glorfindel allowed the examination. Healers were tenacious creatures, he knew from long experience with Elrond. It was best to let them assure themselves rather than protest, though that had never stopped him from raising a fuss in the past. Wincing as she pressed on a blemish that was not quite faded, Glorfindel tried to pull his arm back but froze as Bronwe leveled a frown on him. For such a normally gentle person, she truly could quail others with one look at times. Undoubtedly she had learned that from Elrond. "My duties have not changed." Scratching the blemish as Bronwe stood and walked to a cabinet, searching through several jars before returning with one, Glorfindel gave her a defiant look. "It itches."

"Yes, and you will have a mark for decades if you don't let these heal without picking at them." She ignored his grimace at the smell of the jar's contents, and took one leaf out, to rub it on the wound. "So you'll harass Erestor, track in mud and glower at visitors who annoy Elrond?"

"Of course." He fought not to squirm as the strongly astringent smell of the leaf proved it was just as nasty as he had suspected. "Why not just cauterize it and be done with it?"

At the sharp tone, Bronwe arched an eyebrow and shook her head. "Pity, but I have no irons here. You'll have to suffer this." She held the leaf to the blemish and ignored his annoyed huffs. "You're still a rotten patient, after all this time."

"I try to avoid healers and their overly-diligent attentions," he shot back, and hissed in relief as the water in the kettle boiled.

"Stay," Bronwe ordered and rose, walking around the table to remove the kettle from its hook. Catching up a small towel on the counter, she walked back around and set the towel on the table, then put the kettle on top of it. She added several pinches of tea leaves to the tea pot, poured in the water, then left it to steep. Sitting again, Bronwe gestured for him to extend his arm again, and picked up the bruised leaf. "Oh yes, that is why you went to Círdan to have him stitch up a wound..." Bronwe cut herself off, knowing railing at him would only make Glorfindel dig his heels in even deeper.

"I didn't go to him," Glorfindel corrected, and reluctantly stretched his arm out on the table again. He had gained that particular wound during the War of the Last Alliance and had only accepted Círdan's help because he couldn't tend to it himself. "He found me and insisted on treating the cut. It was not that bad."

"Yes," Bronwe sighed. "I've seen your idea of not so bad."

The forlorn tone made him frown. "You should have never been there, Bronwe." It was an old argument, and neither of them was willing to concede defeat. "Orodruin was no place for you."

"It was the place I was needed, as was every able healer." Satisfied the swelling of the jellyfish sting was less and the blemish already fading, Bronwe sat back. "How many of those stings are this bad?"

"None." Wrinkling his nose at her politely skeptical look, Glorfindel reached for the laces of his tunic. "Shall I prove it to you?"

Annoyed to feel her face heating at the purr of his question, Bronwe took the leaf she had used on his arm and tossed it at him. "There are more of those, you know. Plenty. I even have several plants outside."

"Bronwe!" Laughing, but surprised at the hint of anger in her voice, Glorfindel sobered and stilled. After a quiet moment of observation, he sighed. "You're angry at me for today."

"No."

But it was too quick and he shook his head. "Yes, you are."

"I'm not angry, Glorfindel." Standing, Bronwe frowned and pressed her hands together and met his gaze. "Seeing you treat nearly dying so casually is alarming to me. Does your life mean so little to you?"

"Of course not." He read the truth in her gaze though; he had scared her badly. "But it is done and I'm fine. Why dwell on it?"

Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head. "Now you aren't being honest."

Drawing in a deep breath, Glorfindel rose to stand, facing her with the table between them. "I chose to live, Bronwe. I was given a choice and I realised I had too much here I wanted to see achieved."

She didn't say anything, but the grief his words caused was clear in her eyes for a breath before she looked away. "Leaving Elrond now would be most cruel." Her voice was quiet but steady.

How many times had he done this and not seen? It made his heart ache, realising how many times he might have unconsciously hurt her, and Glorfindel nodded. "I saw him, grieving and broken, while I was in that between place of life and death. I saw home, my parents and friends I've not seen since Gondolin." Letting out a long breath, Glorfindel walked slowly around the table until he was a handspan from Bronwe. "It took me until this evening to realise I had not seen you." Mentally kicking himself as she closed her eyes and turned her head away, Glorfindel wanted to take that pain away. "Bronwe, forgive me, I keep hurting you and don't mean to!" Gathering her hands in his, they were clenched together, he rubbed them soothingly as he pulled her to sit with him. "I said that poorly. I did not see you, which made me realize how foolish I have been and how lacking my life would be without you in it."

"I'm not going anywhere, Glorfindel." She sounded weary, and still would not look at him.

"Not even if I asked you to?" He could not help the teasing tone, and offered a tantalizing smile when she finally looked at him.

She tried to smile, tried to find the will to play this game of old and answer with an equally flirting tone. "Asked what?" To her ears it didn't sound flirty. It sounded just as she felt, weary of games and longing for something more.

Bringing one hand up, Glorfindel caressed her cheek, and met her gaze, allowing her to see all that he had kept from her. As she blinked, eyes widening, he smiled tenderly. "Asked you if I might court you as you have deserved to be courted all this time. Asked you if you would ever be insane enough to consider undertaking the task of living with me for the rest of our days. Asked if you would leave the ocean you love so deeply to live near waterfalls instead." He brushed the tear trailing down her cheek with his thumb, and finished, "Asked if you would trade all the peace of the Havens for what can admittedly be the chaotic community at Imladris, because I finally realised today that I don't want to go onward through life's journey without you at my side."

Bronwe choked out a laugh and bit her lip for a moment, savouring his touch. "You really know how to make up for lost time, don't you?"

"Not lost." Leaning forward to gather her against him, Glorfindel sighed as she leaned into him to wrap her arms around him in a hug. Resting his cheek against her hair, he smiled. His. There would be no turning back, no hiding now that he had admitted this, and Glorfindel didn't want to retreat. He wanted to throw himself headlong into this future and see where it led them. Both of them; he would no longer be just one. Bronwe's arms tightened and he knew she sensed it as well. "Making up sounds like an excellent idea, however."

She leaned back to look in his face, and smiled. "Were we arguing?"

"Most definitely." He leaned in, nuzzling his nose against hers before pressing closer to brush the lightest of kisses against her lips.

"Oh."

Glorfindel smiled at the soft word and the way her lips curved in a smile against his. "Oh?" Speaking kisses in puffs of breath. Her fingers curled around his neck to tangle in his hair and he liked that even more.

"You said court me?"

"Yes." He let his fingers find and trace a braid near her temple, following it to the end and wrapping it around his fingers. "Does the thought bother you?"

"It's not a custom of my people." She arched an eyebrow, though that close he felt it more than saw it. "It is you Noldor who made wooing so formal."

"Ah,..." Bringing the braid up, Glorfindel kissed it, then used it to brush her cheek and lips. "Trust me, I won't bore you with formality."

"No chaperone?"

"Do we need one?"

"Yes." Bronwe laughed, and turned her head to kiss his fingers. "I do, rather." His smile made her tingle and the small cottage suddenly felt very hot.

"Then I'll have to speak to Círdan tomorrow." His smile was teasing. "And maybe I should ask him just how shameless Telerin maidens truly are."

"What of Silvan ones?"

"I'd just as soon discover that for myself." Pressing a light kiss to her lips, Glorfindel set Bronwe back, and laughed at her pout. "I'll not be swayed from my honourable intentions, Bronwe. A year is not so long." Capturing her hand, he brought it to his lips. "And I will see a silver ring on this hand first..." Something occurred to him and he looked perplexed. "You will wear a ring, won't you? Or is that too Noldorin?"

A soft smile curved her lips and Bronwe used her free hand to caress his face. "I will wear your ring with pride,." A grin and she twined her fingers into a braid hanging over his shoulder, and gave it a light tug. "So long as you wear one as well."

He pretended to consider. "It would be inconvenient while sparring...." Another tug on his braid, not so light as the first, and Glorfindel laughed. "I yield!"

Bronwe's smile was knowing. "I thought you would."

Resisting her lure, Glorfindel gave a knowing look of his own, and freed his braid to take her hand in his. It was far safer to know where those hands were at all times. "Now, tell me about this plan to go to Lothlórien."

~*~*~

After she confided the plans to travel to the Golden Woods, they wandered outside, hand-in-hand, down to the seashore where they sat on a dune looking out to the gulf.

The breeze was cool, and Bronwe pulled off her shoes to dig her toes into the sand as they watched each wave swell before rolling with a rush to crash to the shore. "I could watch them forever," she murmured, content with the music of the waves and the warmth of the elf sitting close enough that their shoulders touched.

"The sea does not call you, does it?" Picking up a shell with his free hand, Glorfindel let his finger trace the intricate swirls of its surface. "Some in Imladris say once a Silvan has heard the sea call there is no resisting its pull."

"Not as it does some of my kin." Leaning against him, Bronwe offered a reassuring smile. "I've lived by the sea many seasons and never has it grieved me with its song."

Tossing the shell aside, Glorfindel turned to study her face. "I cannot sail until Elrond leaves these shores. Even then...should any of his children not sail with him...." It was a possibility. Elladan already showed more of an affinity with Men than Elves. He would not be the first in his line. Where Elladan went would Elrohir follow? He looked at their twined fingers. "It could be long ages, Bronwe."

"Do you long for Aman so?" Tracing the calluses on his hand there from countless years of bow and sword work, Bronwe met his gaze.

"No." He sighed and tightened his fingers to cover hers. "And yes." A slight smile, and Glorfindel looked westward. "I have no regret for returning to Endor."

"That's a relief," she murmured.

He arched an eyebrow, hearing the smile in her voice, and continued, "And you? Will you ever be ready to leave these shores?" He knew how deep her love ran for the forests of middle-earth.

She looked at him as if it should be obvious. "When you go I will follow."

"That uncomplicated?" He meant it as teasing, but her expression remained solemn.

"Yes."

The simple answer, and the honest, open love in her eyes made his heart ache and Glorfindel reached out to pull her close again. So much of his life had not been so simple, so uncomplicated, but here he knew was one he would never need doubt. Holding Bronwe close, he felt none of his normal restlessness tugging at him. He was content.

Cheek resting against her hair, he was almost loathe to speak and break the moment, but morning would come and with it the problems needing attention. "Would you and the other two travelling to Lothlórien welcome a diversion?"

"You wish to join us?"

He hadn't meant that he was the diversion, but mouth curving in a smile, Glorfindel nodded without loosening his hold. "I was planning on it, but what I meant is, would you consider travelling to Imladris first? Elrond might have some answer in that library he and Erestor tend to with unending dedication."

Bronwe was silent, pondering the idea, before pulling away to look into his eyes. He would join them, asked or not, but some other reason had prompted this as well. "Círdan would not agree on our going until we said we would ride with a small escort."

"I know, but they know little of the terrain between here and Lothlórien."

"Whereas the Imladris Guard is more experienced with such journeys." Bronwe arched an eyebrow. "Some might say you were manipulative."

"I protect those in my care," he corrected.

It was open knowledge for those who were friends of those in Imladris that Glorfindel had berated himself for what happened to Celebrían, and had set to grimly righting the wrong done to his lord's lady. The twins had taken up the vengeance where Glorfindel had let it go, knowing no amount of killing would undo what had happened. His vigilance had not waned, but intensified. It would not happen again.

"I'll speak with Thalos and Failon, but so long as we do not tarry I do not think they would pass up seeing Imladris." Freeing a hand, she reached up to caress his cheek, seeking to ease the grim expression.

He caught her hand and held it to his cheek, slowly letting go of the tension that had come over him. "Imladris is changed from when you last visited." Glorfindel sighed and let the sadness show in his eyes. "All who knew her miss Celebrían, but Elrond suffers greatly."

Bronwe nodded slowly, and leaned in to slip a hand around his neck. Resting against his chest as his arms held her close, she drew in a deep breath and wished she was wiser. Maybe then she would have an answer to offer.

"We do what we can," Glorfindel murmured softly, one hand stroking the hair that fell like a dark cloak down her back. "He does not expect any one of us to have answers. That we love him and watch over him is enough for now, even though he growls at us like a wounded bear at times." Leaning back, he met her sad gaze. "He will be pleased that you visit."

"And will he be pleased for us?"

His smile, brilliant in the dark of the night, was still not as bright as the laugh that rang out. "Oh yes," Glorfindel assured her, his smile tender. "He will gloat as though it was his doing."

Bronwe smiled then, for she dearly loved her former mentor and knew his burdens in life had already been far greater than most who lived. "He spoke to you, then?" She laughed as Glorfindel wrinkled his nose, answer already clear in his reluctance to answer. "I see who I have to thank now," she teased.

"Then thank Círdan as well, for he was just as interfering." Glancing at the moon, already sinking towards the ocean, Glorfindel turned back to Bronwe and smiled. "Speaking of whom, I should find him before he immerses himself in wood and tar."

"You just don't want to get your hands dirty."

"Of course," Glorfindel agreed, and leaned in until his breath mingled with Bronwe's. Holding her gaze, he slid his hands up her arms to hold her shoulders. "I'll find you later," he promised.

She nodded, spellbound, then laughed as he kissed her nose before rising smoothly to his feet. Watching him stride off towards the shipyards, Bronwe let the breath she wasn't aware she had held go and wrapped her arms around herself. Laughing suddenly, she dusted her feet free of sand and slipped her shoes back on before going to find Thalos and Failon.

This was going to prove to be an interesting trip.

~*~*~

Círdan was already at the shipyards, busy with the construction of something smaller than a swanship, and not nearly as graceful to Glorfindel's eyes. "Don't stand there gawking, lad, make yourself useful."

Used to the shipwright's bark, Glorfindel arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "Coating boards with foul-smelling goo that will not wash off easily and leaves its scent behind..." A shake of his head and he ignored Círdan's smirk. "Weren't you going to see the travellers off?"

"They'll not leave until sunrise tomorrow." Shirt off, pale skin gleaming in the pre-dawn starlight, Círdan's lithe body might have surprised some of the humans who assumed he was old because of his silver hair and beard. No wrinkles marred his face, and the well-defined muscles of his chest and arms were proof that he was just as strong as he had ever been in his long-ago youth.

"You know if you shaved that growth off your chin, you might be seen as attractive even."

Silver eyes sparkling, Círdan straightened and arched an eyebrow. "Why would I want to do that?" Without waiting, he waved the question off, and lifted another plank into place. "What makes you think I'm not considered attractive already?"

"Ah, yes. Well, I am certain Mithrandir would agree, seeing that he shares both a beard and a love of pipe weed with you."

"Glorfindel," Círdan huffed, and again straightened to glare at his unasked for visitor. "Why are you here?"

"To protect the line of Eärendil." Ignoring the dire sounding mutterings in Telerin, Glorfindel nevertheless kept an eye on where Círdan swung the mallet he was using to secure the planks. "Actually I came to ask permission of you."

"You cannot sail, no. Now go away." Flipping the long silver braid over his shoulder, Círdan pounded on the plank until satisfied it wouldn't budge. Catching a glint of gold, he sighed and straightened. "All right. I can see you're set on something and won't leave until you get it. Glorfindel's stubbornness was legendary. Setting the mallet down, Círdan walked over to stand before his visitor. "What is it?"

"I don't wish to interrupt --"

"You already did, now out with it before I tar your hair, stick feathers in it and send you off like a peacock!"

Glorfindel grinned. "I want your permission to court Bronwe."

Círdan stared, before blinking once. A broad grin split his face and he lunged forward to catch Glorfindel in a rib-breaking hug. "Ha! I was right then!" Pushing Glorfindel back, hands on his shoulders, Círdan smiled, ignoring the pained look Glorfindel gave him for getting the foul-smelling goo all over his tunic. "Relax, lad, it's not in your hair." Tightening his grip on the younger elf's shoulders, Círdan held Glorfindel's gaze. "I'm happy for you.. I expect you to do this right, and none of this shilly-shallying around you've done for ages. Hurt Bronwe and you'll answer to me, and this goop here will seem sweet smelling, I promise."

Grimacing as the grip on his shoulders became painful, Glorfindel nodded. "I understand."

"Good." Releasing him, Círdan nodded. He grinned suddenly and reached out to slap Glorfindel's shoulder. "You'd best go change out of that tunic, lad. It's filthy! What would Bronwe think?"

Narrowing his eyes, Glorfindel shook his head. "I'm sure she recognizes the fragrance. She's out here enough with you, isn't she?"

"Aye." Gruff expression softening, Círdan looked around the shipyard. "I'm going to miss her when she's gone."

"You could always visit." Leaning closer, Glorfindel grinned. "Pry yourself from your rock, old barnacle, and travel beyond this gulf."

A snort and Círdan turned, walking back to the hull he was working on. "Leave or make yourself useful, peacock!" Grabbing his mallet, the shipwright launched into a song, hammering the planks in a counter rhythm as he worked.

Glorfindel laughed to himself, and turned to make his way back to Círdan's home. He needed to change and gather up his things. Doubtless the three Silvan Elves would be eager to leave, and Glorfindel realised he too was eager to be off. Wrinkling his nose at the odor coming from the goo on his shirt, he increased his pace as if that alone would help him escape the smell.

~*~*~

Leaving the four guardsmen he was sending with the group, Círdan walked over to where the Silvan Elves waited with Glorfindel. "They'll ride with you as far as Imladris before returning," he informed the group. "Bronwe, would you give these to Elrond?" He handed her a packet, wrapped in oilskin.

"Of course." She took the packet and carefully tucked it into her saddlebag. All three Silvan Elves rode without saddle or bridle as was their wont, but each carried a pack as well as a bow and quiver.

"Stay with the guard, you three." Círdan reached out to tuck a stray braid behind Bronwe's ear and nodded. He grunted as she lunged forward to hug him tightly, and returned the hug briefly before setting her back. "You'll be fine. Up with you, now." As the group mounted their steeds, he offered a gruff smile and raised his hand. "Stars light your path, but keep your eyes open as well."

Gesturing for two of the guard to precede them, Glorfindel met Círdan's gaze and nodded. "We'll be careful." Turning his mount's head as the three Silvan Elves urged their mounts forward, he smiled as Bronwe turned to wave to Círdan. The clattering of the horses' hooves on the cobblestones forestalled any conversation until they were past the walls of the city, and out on the open road. Even then, the Silvan Elves seemed happier to ride in silence, enjoying the woods they rode through. Not that Silvans were ever accused of being talkative. Almost as if to prove him wrong, Failon broke into song and was joined by the other two Silvans. Glorfindel listened, unfamiliar with the song, but content with the company, the wind and the sound of the horses' hooves as accompaniment to the song.

~*~*~

A cold storm swept in from the northern wastes, and while weather bothered elves but little, the frozen rain made the horses miserable and the roads a mess. They stopped only to rest the horses and let them graze, though each carried a measure of oats as well and fed this to their mount. Gathered in a hollow near Amon Sûl, the elves rested their horses and watched snow drift silently to the ground.

"This is going to make it harder if it sticks." Failon set his horses' hoof down and bent to pick up the next, checking for rocks as it grazed. "Though I would hate to leave them behind."

Thalos narrowed his eyes as he looked upwards, into the dark clouds hanging over them. "I believe it will hold off, at least for a few days." He turned to Glorfindel. "How far are we from Imladris?"

"If the weather holds, four days of hard riding." Straightening from checking his horses' hooves, he met the marchwarden's gaze. "We will not have to worry once we reach the valley. It is protected."

"Snow would be welcome," Bronwe sighed. "The trail along the valley wall is treacherous when it rains hard."

"Is this library truly as wondrous as it has been made to seem?"

"Elrond is a lore master." Bronwe rubbed her horses' neck as it nudged her before it went back to grazing. "He has collected information on all things, stretching back to the First Age."

Failon offered a dubious look. "But molds?"

"He's a healer, Failon." Bronwe arched an eyebrow. "You've seen what I use in some treatments. A knowledge of plants is necessary."

"But even we don't know of this disease." He gestured towards Thalos, who carried the piece of diseased wood in his saddlebag. "We cannot linger long if he has no knowledge of it, but must make for Lothlórien."

Raising her hands, palm outwards, Bronwe nodded. "I have no argument with urgency, Failon. They will not seek to hinder us."

"We know you have friends there, Bronwe." Thalos sealed his water skin and looked up, glancing at Glorfindel.

"I don't want us to lose the focus of why we are going there first," Failon added, switching to Silvan. He knew Glorfindel had no knowledge of the language from the earlier days of their travel. It would have surprised him had it been otherwise; very few spoke Silvan any longer.

Bronwe frowned, annoyed at what she perceived as rude behaviour. It was one thing to sing a song in Silvan or to speak quietly amongst themselves when no others were around, but to deliberately shut out a member of the party from the conversation by using a language he didn't understand was rude. "I will not lose focus, Failon." She deliberately answered in Sindarin, and held his gaze.

He nodded and looked away, a flush making his cheeks rosy.

"Though it would be understandable if you did," Thalos teased, seeking to ease the sudden tension. He grinned as Bronwe slanted her gaze at him. "After all, the last time we three travelled together, it was Failon who found it hard to focus, though for a different reason."

Eyes widening, Failon turned to glare at Thalos. "I was not unfocused, I was trying to avoid that drunken man!"

"Who thought you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen," Thalos agreed, grin widening.

"He was pished!"

"You are the prettiest of we three," Bronwe offered, failing to hide her grin.

"I believe it was the hair," Thalos said, and pursed his lips as he cast his memory back. "The man seemed most taken with --"

"Your hair is the same colour," Failon fumed, fighting not to turn red as Glorfindel watched with great interest and amusement.

"No..." Thalos plucked up a braid from his tunic and examined it. "My hair has more silver than yours."

"Failon, he would be long dead by now." Bronwe reached out to squeeze his arm. "Besides, he lived in Dol Amroth and we are far from that land."

"He was drunk," Failon asserted again. "He would have had to be to think I was a girl!"

Looking up from checking his arrows, Glorfindel shrugged. "It has been my observation that some men have a hard time differentiating between the male and female of our race. To them we are slender, our hair is long and braided, and our clothing is typically far more elaborate than what they wear. Those things often equate to female in their minds."

Bronwe patted his shoulder. "And you are pretty, Failon." She laughed, and ducked his swat, dancing back. "Though I think Glorfindel might be just as pretty."

"Ooooh no." He used an arrow to gesture at her. "Don't you start on me."

"Your hair is the right shade," Thalos agreed with a grin. "Men seem to be attracted to the fairer of our race."

"Must I remind you of Lúthien Tinúviel?"

"Idril Celebríndal," Bronwe shot back with a pert grin. "Hair the same colour as yours if I'm not mistaken?"

With a mock put-upon sigh, Glorfindel shook his head. "Ecthelion was the fairest of the those in Gondolin."

"Was he blond?" Failon shot a glare at his Silvan companions and moved to sit on the log at the opposite end of where Glorfindel was seated.

"No." Smiling, Glorfindel put the arrows back in their quiver. "His hair was ebony."

"But he was male, so...." Thalos leaned against Bronwe and the two laughed until tears ran down their faces.

Failon frowned at the pair before looking at Glorfindel. "Why is that funny?" But his only answer was a shrug and good-natured grin.

~*~*~

It had been years, possibly decades, since a whale had washed ashore. This one was dead, though there were no marks on it, and it didn't appear to be old to Círdan. Wading into the waves, his hand trailing along the huge body, he walked around the whale, searching for a sign of what had killed it, but found nothing. Shaking his head, he squatted at the head of the giant black and white beast, and caressed its head. "There's not much in the deeps you fear, my friend, so I know not what brought you to this end." The lifeless eyes were clear, and the tongue, hanging down from the creature's gaping mouth, showed no sign of illness.

"Do you wish us to leave it or have it pulled back out to the ocean, Lord Círdan?"

One last caress of the great head, and Círdan straightened. He looked out across the bay and saw, in the deeper waters, black fins amongst the waves. "Her family is out there, Galdor, waiting for her." Pushing silver hair out of his eyes, he turned to nod to the other elf. "Go get some others, and let us return her to the depths."

Galdor put a hand to his heart, and bowed, before heading back towards the haven to find others to aid in the effort.

Círdan stood in the waves next to the dead whale, staring into the deeps. What was causing animals to daily wash ashore, dead? It was not the occasional seal or bird, that was normal for the cycle of life. Something was very wrong, and he could get no sense of it at all. Even the loss of the ships, though rare, did happen, though normally in storms. The currents in the mouth of the bay could be treacherous, especially with high tides but even the human fishermen knew every shoal and shallow. Ossë and Uinen had not answered his call, though in the past they had left the Elves to their own, so it might not be anything in which the Maiar could interfere.

Wind and waves, the ocean could be a harsh lover, and yet Círdan never tired of her voice. There was nowhere else he could imagine living than at her side. For all of her cycles, some violent and dangerous, he would not wish to live without the caress of her waves. Dropping his hands to let the waves wash over them, Círdan sang a song of farewell for the dead whale and waited for the others to arrive.

~*~*~

"I don't see a valley." Thalos slipped from his horses' back to more closely examine the ground. "Nor any path."

They had not believed him and so Glorfindel had set out to prove to the stubborn Silvan Elves that Imladris was indeed called a hidden valley for a good reason. "I see it quite clearly." He did not mention that even Mithrandir sometimes had trouble finding the hidden paths that led to Imladris.

Bronwe shook her head at their antics, and steeled herself to patience.

"You are serious."

"Quite." Glorfindel serenely watched as Failon and Thalos looked around the entire clearing, searching for the way. "Gondolin had a hidden way as well, and only those of us who knew where it was could find it."

Failon frowned, then looked to the Elda. "Even so your people would walk right past ours in Ossiriland."

"True." Glorfindel nudged his horse to the right. "Your folk were ever better at woodcraft than mine, but come, we waste time and daylight. The trail is easier on horse and rider if navigated during daylight."

Failon and Thalos watched carefully as Glorfindel rode forward then seemed to blend into a large outcropping of rock. "Between the tree and rock?"

"No." Swinging up on his horse, Thalos examined the area. "I see nothing out of the ordinary. Horse tracks lead..."

"Shall we?" Bronwe crowded her gelding against Failon's, deliberately herding him forward. "Let's not lose our focus."

A sigh and Failon turned his mount towards what looked like very solid granite. "I don't think --"

"Come!" Glorfindel's voice came to them from just ahead, sounding impatient.

Eyes wide, the marchwardens coaxed their mounts ahead, and stared in amazement as they crossed an unseen boundary. Before them was a deep valley, forested in a blanket of green, and the distant sound of waterfalls sang to their ears. Far below they could make out buildings and Elves moving about.

"The hidden valley of Imladris," Glorfindel said with a smile, and gestured for them to follow. "Stay a horse-length apart. The trail is narrow and rocky, though the rains have made it both muddy and slick." He shrugged. "We've yet to lose anyone on the trail."

"Oh, that's reassuring," Failon muttered, and waited a beat before urging his horse to follow.

Bronwe nodded for Thalos to go before her, and then followed after a moment, letting her horse pick the best path. The guards followed her, though slowly, and it was a relief to finally reach the valley floor.

They crossed over a narrow bridge, arching over a rushing torrent of white water and rocks, to finally arrive before a house just as the sun crept past the valley wall. Waving to the figure ahead, waiting for them on the steps, Glorfindel offered a small bow. "Welcome to Imladris."

~*~*~

TBC

Is it worse? Better? Have a suggestion or comment? I'd love to hear it. Thank you for reading! :)