In the healing wing, Elrond was busy tending to the Man when Heneblhûndî entered the room with a basket full of bandages and other cloths. “My lord,” she said in a quiet voice, “here are some bandages and dressings for you.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he replied with a smile.

“Is that one of the Rangers who came to train here?” she asked, when she saw the Man.

“Indeed it is, my lady,” Elrond replied.

“What happened?” she asked, concern in her voice.

“He slipped on the wet grass and snapped his right ankle,” said Elrond. “I will have to splint his leg, then fasten it to the bracket above the bed, for the break is in an awkward place.”

“I could help you,” she told him, and went to the other side of the bed.

“Thank you, my lady,” Elrond smiled. “If you could hold this for me, I would be grateful.” He put a sling around the plastered foot, and gave her a long piece of cloth. Up above them, a bracket was fixed to the ceiling. Elrond stood on a chair and reached down. “Pass the strap, please.”

Heneblhûndî passed him the end of the strap.

He threaded it through the ring on the end of the bracket and made a slip knot. When he got down from the chair, he adjusted the strap to a height he was satisfied with, then went to stand beside the Man, near his head. “How does that feel?” he asked.

“It hurts, my lord,” the Man replied.

“I shall get you some pain relief now,” Elrond replied.

Heneblhûndî bowed to her lord, nodded at the Man and left the room, taking the empty basket with her. On the way out, she saw Glorfindel. “Good afternoon, my lord,” she said in neutral tones.

“Good afternoon, Heneblhûndî,” he replied, clearly distracted.

Heneblhûndî hastened away. For many years, she had been trying to live down her reputation as a spoilt and selfish lady. By showing herself to be willing to take on any task, however ordinary, she had worked to build a new reputation as a decent, hard-working person. She tried not to think of Glorfindel, though the slightest glimpse of him could still set her heart a-flutter. The worst thing for her was not having anyone to confide in. Heneblhûndî was convinced that if she ever mentioned her feelings for the golden lord to anyone, the laughter and cat-calls would begin again. It was better to say nothing.

Her haven was the sewing room. While she was not close to any of the ladies who frequented the room, she was able to speak to some of them and enjoy some companionship. Brethilgwen was a terrible gossip, and her tongue was sharp, but she had taught Heneblhûndî many of the stitches she knew. Losgael was kind-hearted, but kept to herself. Celebrían was approachable, but Heneblhûndî felt intimidated by the influence the lady of Rivendell had. One false step could easily send her back to being the butt of every joke. It was better to be alone than to take the risk of allowing herself to trust anyone.

Losgael was at the loom weaving when Heneblhûndî walked in with the empty basket.

“Good afternoon, Losgael,” she said cheerfully.

Losgael knew that tone, it was one she often used herself. “Good afternoon, Heneblhûndî,” she replied.

Losgael and Heneblhûndî looked at each other, trying to avoid eye contact. An awkward silence grew between them, creating tension. Heneblhûndî spoke up. “May I say something?” she asked, her voice unnaturally high-pitched.

“Yes,” Losgael replied warily.

“I think this is silly,” Heneblhûndî said. Her voice dropped and her shoulders sagged as she sat down. “Neither of us is close to anyone, and both of us need someone to confide in. Let us confide in each other.”

Losgael considered this. Her mistress's words floated into her mind. 'First, you must know true friendship. If you cannot be a friend, you cannot be a lover.' Befriending Heneblhûndî would give her a chance to become close to someone without risking her heart in a love affair that might not burn as brightly in another heart as in her own. “Yes,” she replied, “let us confide in each other. Which of us shall speak first?”

“You may, if you wish,” the other lady said, and a smile lit up her fair features.

“Very well,” said Losgael. She searched for something to say that would not leave her feeling overly vulnerable. “I have never been in love before.”

“I have,” Heneblhûndî replied, her face downcast, “but all the things they sing about – none of them are true.”

“I wish they were,” Losgael enthused. “I wish I could meet some dashing hero and be swept away in his arms to live in bliss forever!”

“I believed I had met such a one,” Heneblhûndî told her. Tears pooled in her azure blue eyes. “But it all turned to ashes and I became a laughing stock!” With a sniffle, she groped for a handkerchief and wept.

Losgael moved closer to her, and put an arm around her. She felt awkward, for sharing a confidence was something she had rarely done.

Comforted, Heneblhûndî opened her heart. “I have never been able to speak of this, Losgael. Never!”

“You may speak to me of anything you wish,” Losgael promised, “and it will go no further than these four walls.”

Blowing her nose, Heneblhûndî said, “I fell in love with Glorfindel some time ago. I wanted nothing else but to be his bride, but he loved me not. I thought to gain his affections by doing all the things I had heard in songs or read about in books, but people laughed and considered me a fool. I cared not, hoping he would notice my desire to please him, to be what he wanted. I just wanted him to notice me, but all he saw of me was the affectations I put on to get his attention. Finally, I tried to make him jealous by spending my time lauding Lindir, but that also failed. Everything I did failed. I often wonder if I am doomed to spend my life alone forever.”

“Have you ever thought that someone else might be the one for you?” Losgael asked her. Glorfindel? But he was hers. How dare Heneblhûndî desire him!

“I know I must wait until the right one comes for me,” Heneblhûndî replied, “but I thought Glorfindel was the one for me. Even though I have suffered much as a result of my own foolishness, I would do it all again if I imagined he would think well of me in the end.”

“I think well of you, Heneblhûndî,” Losgael told her, stroking her long chestnut-brown hair. Now she felt even more awkward. She had always been amused by the tales of Heneblhûndî's foolishness, but now that the lady was weeping in her arms, it was hard to laugh at her. Losgael felt guilty for each time she had done so.

“I thought you laughed at me behind my back as everyone else does,” Heneblhûndî retorted, bitter at heart.

“I have heard what some people have said, Heneblhûndî,” Losgael said firmly, “but I did not believe them. Besides, you have never said or done aught to make me think ill of you. I think of you as the person I weave with. I see the bandages and other items you make for people, regardless of their station. These are not the actions of a spoilt, selfish lady. I do not believe anything bad about you at all. Surely those stories are exaggerations!”

“Thank you, Losgael,” Heneblhûndî said, smiling her gratitude. “I feel that a great weight has dropped from my shoulders, and that I now have a friend in the world.”

“It is horrible being lonely,” Losgael told her sincerely. “Do not be alone again. My lady Celebrían says, 'First, you must know true friendship. If you cannot be a friend, you cannot be a lover.' I believe she is right.”

“I love our lady Celebrían,” Heneblhûndî replied, smiling broadly. “She is so wise and kind-hearted.”

Just then, Brethilgwen came in. “I see you have been weeping, Heneblhûndî,” she said, concern in her voice.

“I have been foolish and have paid the price for it,” Heneblhûndî said, looking the other lady in the eye.

“Indeed you have,” said Brethilgwen, shamefaced. “It is time to close the account. I will speak of it no more and tell any I hear saying anything to cease. None of us ever meant to cause you distress, but we did intend the sting of ridicule to encourage you to mend your ways. Well, that was the intention at first. Some of us, myself included, have been somewhat overzealous in the matter. I am sorry, Heneblhûndî, for gossiping about you.”

Heneblhûndî stood up and faced Brethilgwen. “I forgive you,” she said. “Let us embrace and forget this.”

The two ladies embraced, and Losgael smiled to see it. Heneblhûndî's humiliation had always been a source of discomfort to her, and she was glad to see the matter ended. There was, of course, another matter. They were rivals for the love of Glorfindel. Was it worth risking the tentative friendship they had just struck up for something that might not happen for either of them?

TBC...