At the midday meal in the great hall, Elrond and his family sat in their usual places, with his advisers and other people of note. Servants brought steaming tureens of leek and carrot soup, bread, cold meat and sliced cheese. Bowls of fruit were put down on the tables for people to help themselves, and there were herbal teas for those who did not want wine. Celebrían sat with her boys, watching with motherly pride as they demonstrated lordly table manners. Glorfindel was out of sorts. He could see Losgael chatting politely to Lothwen. She did not glance at him even once.

“You are quiet, Glorfindel” said Elrond, dabbing at his mouth with a linen napkin.

“I have been thinking of Losgael,” he replied in an undertone. “She seems to be well, but I cannot make sense of the things I have seen. Yesterday, she was like a rabbit before a hungry fox, and you know about her not being there when I looked for her in the audience after my song. Today, she was happy, and accompanied your lady to the practice fields. She seemed to have no interest in me at all. I thought for a while it might be a game – you know how it is with some ladies. Anyway, she appeared to be playing the ignoring game, but then picked up a sword to spar with me. I have seen the confusing game before, but this is different.”

“How so?” asked Elrond, and leaned towards him.

Glorfindel frowned, confused. “Usually, when a maiden takes a fancy to me, she blushes and bumbles and follows me around. You know how they drop things for me to pick up, or make pretty things for me to wear, then rush away as if it will cause a great scandal if we are seen together without an army of witnesses to protect their virtue. Losgael seemed to be doing that, but now I am not sure.”

“You can never be sure, my friend,” Elrond told him, with a grin.

“Why do you think she was weeping?” asked Glorfindel, remembering what Elrond had told him the night before.

“She would not speak of it to me, but she told Celebrían she was upset about things that happened many years ago. Perhaps she heard or saw something that reminded her of the events in Lonnath,” said Elrond, his voice grave. “She wept in my wife's arms last night for hours. Celebrían told me she became like a child. She may be confused, and not playing games with you at all."

"Thank you," Glorfindel smiled, and returned to his meal. He was always flattered when a fair maiden desired him, though he had yet to choose a wife. Being immortal gave him plenty of time. He was not a Man, having to take a wife of necessity to maintain his line, after all. If he died, he could return from Mandos and live again. The urgency that Men seemed to feel in these matters was never there.

At the dances and festivals, he had never been wanting for a partner – they flocked to him like fowl to a farmer's wife as she scattered grain for them to eat. Choosing a partner was like plucking a flower from a rich meadow; and after one dance, he could go and choose another. Glorfindel had danced with every noble Elf-lady in Rivendell, and more than a few in Greenwood the Great and in Lothlórien.

He was never lonely. He had plenty of friends, and Elrond's family was his own. A valued member of the household, he already had the pleasures of hearth and home. What more did he need? What more could there be?

After the meal, the boys went to their lessons, and Celebrían went to the sewing room with Losgael, Lothwen and Brethilgwen. Their latest project was a set of runners for the banqueting tables for the upcoming harvest festival. This year, the theme was migrating birds. Losgael had already begun embroidering flying geese on hers, which she was making for the part of the table where she sat with Celebrían and the children.

When Lothwen and Brethilgwen left the room, Losgael spoke to her mistress. "My lady, Lord Glorfindel seemed to be out of sorts at the table."

"He did indeed, Losgael," Celebrían replied with a grin. "Did I not tell you it would work? Now we need to do something that will make him seek you out. It is always a mistake to try to get such a one to feel pity for you, or to think you are weak. He has seen the games we ladies play before, and has no desire to become ensnared in them. No, you must show him something he has never seen before."

Losgael considered this. It was true that she had wanted Glorfindel as a protector more than anything else, but the things her mistress was telling her were about gaining his interest. This would mean opening her heart, and she was not sure if she was ready for that. The floodgates had been opened, and she still felt raw and sore inside. It would be far easier to play games with the object of her desire than to get to know him - and let him know her. As this occurred to her, she wondered if she wanted to continue with this intrigue. As a game it was an excellent diversion, but for Losgael, this was no game.

TBC...