A/N: some of the references here are intentional. Kudos if you can identify them.

Just so you all know, scholars are divided about whether the Glorfindel I am referring to is the one who died in Gondolin or someone else. I'm going with the former. I like the idea that there is proof among the Elves of Middle-earth that Elves do come back from Mandos, and that he is a sign of hope to them.

When she slipped into bed with her husband, Celebrían could not think of anything but the plight of Losgael. Her nightgown and hair were damp with the lady's tears. She lay on her back and mused over her handmaid's tale and thought of how similar it was to her husband's. Both of them had been bereft of their mothers on that day. How had Elrond survived the things he had endured and emerged as a kind and loving person? Sorrow upon sorrow had fallen upon him like rocks in a landslide, but he had not lost his capacity to love and to understand others. He had matured and grown in stature among Elves and Men, and was greatly respected by both. How had he achieved this while Losgael was, in many ways, still a child pulled from a burning house with her brother, weeping for her mother and unable to comprehend what was happening around her? Was it because Elrond was so much younger at the time? What was it that made them so different?

Elrond leaned over. “You took a long time to ready yourself, beloved,” he said tenderly. “Did Losgael tell you what was troubling her?”

Celebrían turned to face him. “Yes, she did. Elrond, she was at Lonnath, and she was only a child!”

“I knew about that, but not much,” Elrond said, putting his arms around her and drawing her close. “What did she say?”

“She became like a child, as if the attack was happening now,” Celebrían told him. Sorrow etched lines in her forehead. “I have never seen anything like it. She spoke of her mother being hit, and being forbidden to go back inside her burning house to get her doll.”

“She was old enough to be able to remember it later, but too young to understand what was happening at the time,” Elrond replied. “Ai! Great are the cruelties inflicted on the young an helpless, and all the more reprehensible for that! Those responsible never think about the consequences, which can last for many, many years afterwards.”

“If they did, they would stop themselves,” Celebrían said sternly. “And we could not have that, could we?”

“Morgoth is ultimately responsible for all of this,” soothed Elrond, and stroked her ear with his thumb. He placed a light kiss on the tip of her nose.

“The people who did those terrible deeds were not in thrall to anything but their own pride. They had a choice, Elrond. They could have chosen not to do such evil things!” Celebrían told him, breaking away from his embrace. She was not in the mood for love while this problem remained unresolved. Why did he not share her righteous indignation? Did it not burn his heart to think of the horror of the Kinslayings?

“Indeed they could,” said Elrond. He sat up and hugged his knees. “And you could have chosen not to become angry about this. You could have made love to me instead, and left this matter till tomorrow, when Losgael will have had some time to consider the words exchanged between you.”

“How can you think of that at a time like this?” Celebrían exclaimed in a rage, and got out of the bed. What was wrong with him? He was accounted wise, but where was his wisdom now?

“Why are you so angry?” asked Elrond. He looked at her like a lost little boy. “Why are you angry with me?”

“You were not there, in that room, when Losgael wept in my arms. Did you not notice how damp my clothes and hair are?” shouted Celebrían. Fury brought tears to her eyes.

“If I wept in your arms, would I also have your sympathy, Celebrían?” Elrond asked, clearly exasperated.

Celebrían picked up a towel and threw it at him. “Do you think her story is an invention merely to gain sympathy?”

“Celebrían,” Elrond asked, his voice rising, “why are you angry with me?”

“Because,” she responded, “you are trivializing Losgael's suffering. Do you not understand that?”

“I am not trivializing anything, wife,” he replied. He only ever called her “wife” when he was being serious.

Celebrían paused, and tried to compose herself. It had been many years since she had last shouted at her husband like that. He took everything so calmly. He should have declared undying hatred for the Kinslayers to the hills and valleys of Middle-earth instead of thinking of the pleasures of his marriage bed. “She is older than we are, husband, but just now, she was like a young child. I was afraid.”

“Come, beloved,” soothed her husband, holding out his arms to receive her.

Celebrían wept, and Elrond used the towel she had thrown at him to dry her eyes.

When she calmed down, he asked her, “What were you afraid of, Cugu-nin?” as he stroked her hair, brushing it away from her face with his fingertips.

“She seemed lost in her grief, Parv-seron, I thought she would not come back from that dark place,” his wife replied with a sniffle. “I was so angry at the Kinslayers for what they had done to her, I wanted to go out and strike them if I could. And I wanted you to come with me.”

“Ai, Celebrían!” Elrond lamented. “It has never been easy for me to speak of these matters.”

“I thought you received the counsel of Círdan during your time with him,” Celebrían answered, confused. Did her husband still carry untold grief in his heart? Would he collapse in a weeping heap like Losgael?

“I did indeed receive the counsel of Lord Círdan,” replied Elrond, “but I found it hard to speak of my time as a captive of Maglor and Maedhros.” He sighed. “The reason for this is, I did not think of myself as a captive at the time. People kept telling me afterwards of their heinous deeds and how wicked they were, but I never saw them that way. When Elros and I lived with them, Maedhros was always brooding and kept to himself, but Maglor was tender, and was like a father to us. I tried to tell Círdan that, but he would not hear it. He could not accept that there was anything good about people who could do so much evil.”

“Losgael said she could not speak of her troubles because there always seemed to be people with problems worse than hers,” said Celebrían, her brow furrowed in thought. “That is why her grief was so deep. Was there someone you could speak to about these matters?”

“Gil-galad,” Elrond told her. He winced, stabbed by a pang of sorrow. “He did what had to be done instead of trying to punish them or hold them to account for their deeds. To make an alliance with them, he had to find one good thing about them, so he could look them in the eye without rancour. Maglor's love for myself and my brother was that thing. Without it, they could not have worked together, though they fought the same enemy.”

“This is so much more complicated than I realized,” said Celebrían. She embraced her husband. “I am sorry I shouted at you, Parv-seron.”

“You are forgiven, Cugu-nin,” he replied. “I find it is even more complicated because I have to live with it.”

“You can talk to me about it, Parv-seron, even if it is hard to hear it,” she told him gently. “I only know what others have told me. I was not even born when all this happened. From now on, I will withhold judgement on matters I know so little about.”

“Thank you, Cugu-nin,” he said, and kissed her.

Celebrían climbed into bed with her husband, into his embrace.

The following day, Losgael aided her mistress as she dressed for the day, buttoning her dress at the back. A sense of lightness pervaded her being, as if, at any moment, she might float away. She barely remembered the conversation with Celebrían the night before. It was too painful a matter to think of, so she had stored it away in a part of her mind, and left it there. Besides, she had something better to think about: Glorfindel and the advice her lady had given her on how to win his heart.

“You seem happy today, Losgael,” said Celebrían.

“I am thinking of the things we spoke of last night, my lady,” Losgael said with a wicked grin.

“Indeed,” replied Celebrían with a grin of her own. “Have you thought of a way to approach this?”

“Yes, my lady,” Losgael confided. “Next time you go to the practice fields to spar, I will go with you. We can put the plan into action there.”

“I might decide to spar today,” her mistress suggested.

“I would very much like that,” Losgael replied, her voice demure.

“We shall go after breakfast,” Celebrían said, her mind made up.

“Very good, my lady,” agreed Losgael, her smile spreading slowly across her face.

On the practice field, Glorfindel was supervising three sparring matches. He corrected the stances of one of the pairs, and taught advanced techniques to another. The third he glanced at from time to time. He barely noticed the ladies approaching him.

The matter of the blue shirt had slipped his mind for the time being. The fact was, many ladies became enamoured of him from time to time. With his noble lineage, fame as a warrior, skill at the harp and in song, and comely appearance, it was hardly surprising. Still, he found it annoying when they started to believe that for a trinket or a favour, he would fall in love with them forever and immediately fulfil all the fantasies they had ever had about love. He would do no such thing. One day, he would meet a lady worthy of him. In the meantime, he was happy to flirt, but was not considering anyone for the position of wife at this time.

The three pairs ceased their efforts after a while, and when he had finished giving his evaluation of their performances, he looked at the benches to see if there was anyone waiting to speak with him. There usually was. Celebrían and Losgael were there, dressed for combat. He noticed that Losgael's attention was focussed anywhere but on him. Good.

As he approached the ladies, he said, “Good morrow, ladies. What weapons will you be using?”

“Swords,” Celebrían said in a business-like fashion.

“And which of you will spar with me first?” he asked politely. Usually, when a lady was disappointed with him, she would want to spar with him to impress him or teach him a lesson. He had yet to be bested by one. Sometimes they would take their frustrations out on another, or a perceived rival. With a thin smile, he tried to work out which of these scenarios was about to play out. Again.

“I will,” said Celebrían.

This was nothing new. Glorfindel had given up long ago trying to understand the workings of the female mind, but he was familiar with this ruse. The ignoring game. Very well, he would politely ignore Losgael too.

He took up his sword as Celebrían reached for one for herself, and went through each of the set moves, testing her guard and reflexes. After a while, he tried to get through her defences, but found that she had learned how to anticipate his thrusts and parry them. Shorter by more than six inches, Celebrían used her height to her advantage, forcing her friend onto the back foot until he thrust his sword under her arm and disarmed her.

“Bravo!” Losgael applauded.

“Thank you,” Glorfindel replied in courtly tones.

“I intended the praise for my mistress,” she told him, smiling at Celebrían. “She had you on the back foot for a while.”

“Indeed,” he said, congratulating himself for being right about which game was being played. “And now it is your turn.”

Losgael picked up a sword, then went to face Glorfindel.

'I thought you were supposed to be ignoring me,' he thought, as she looked at him with innocent eyes. If she was playing the game, she was breaking the rules.

Losgael was adequate, not impressive in the least, though she did surprise him a few times. When the bout was over, Celebrían praised her handmaid for the efforts she had made. Losgael thanked him formally for the match and went back to the house with her mistress.

“I do not understand this,” Glorfindel muttered under his breath as he received the next few pairs for sparring. “Still, I am busy with matters of greater importance than romantic intrigues.” Matters of war he could understand. Matters of love were easier to sing of than to deal with.

TBC...