A/N: I'm borrowing the Elven friendship gesture from the LOTR movies for Elrond and Glorfindel to use. I'm poking fun at fangirls here by suggesting that Elven ladies do it too.

In the treatment room in the healing wing, Glorfindel was having his foot bandaged by Elrond.

“How did this happen?” asked the lord of Rivendell.

“It was the other one,” Glorfindel groused. “The one who did not break his ankle,” he added with a hint of guilt. “How is he?”

“I have had to put his leg in a sling fastened to a bracket attached to the ceiling, for the break is in an awkward place. Why did you take so long to come to me with this?” Elrond asked his friend.

“I thought it would be fine,” the captain explained, “but it swelled up and went stiff.”

“Hamstring injuries can hurt for a long time, Glorfindel. While I do not think the Man intended to harm you, I will have to reprimand him for this,” Elrond said firmly. “Alas, you will not be able to dance at the harvest ball. You need to rest this foot until it has healed.”

“Many ladies will be disappointed,” Glorfindel said in a wistful voice. He had been looking forward to the dancing, and the fuss the most beautiful ladies in Rivendell were sure to make of him.

“Your hands are fine,” Elrond replied. “There is nothing to stop you from playing your harp.”

“Aye,” Glorfindel agreed, “I can do that.”

“I will get you some willow bark tea for the pain,” Elrond said quietly. “It will help to reduce the inflammation.”

While he waited for the drug to be brought, Glorfindel thought over the events of the day. A part of him accepted that such things happened in training, but another part rebelled at the notion that anyone could lash out so furiously and with so little thought of the consequences. Still, he was not looking forward to having the Man remind him of what he had said as he ordered the practice on a bitterly cold day in the driving rain. “Orcs will attack you when they think you are at your weakest, particularly in weather like this. You need to be able to cope in such conditions. Now pull out your sword!”

He had not coped as well as he had expected the Men to. His pride hurt as much as his heel did. Another memory rankled in his bruised heart. “No enemy fights nobly, particularly if he wants to win. Do not think to use courtly manners on the battlefield. These forms are meant to show you how to use your weapons to their best advantage, and that is all. I expect you to show me respect, but to an enemy, you should show no mercy. The only respect should be for the fact that he is willing to go out of his way to slaughter you if he can.”

For a brief moment, they had seen him as an enemy, and acted accordingly. That hurt the most.

Elrond returned with the medicine, and handed him the cup.

“Thank you, Elrond,” Glorfindel said in a small voice. “I need you to do something for me.”

“What is it?” Elrond asked, and sat on the side of the bed.

“Please do not reprimand the Man who did this to me. I believe that the knowledge of this alone will fill him with remorse,” Glorfindel explained. “An apology will suffice. He did what I had told him to do – he pulled out his sword and did the best he could to defend himself. He could have done me more harm, after all.”

“Though I am indignant about this,” said Elrond, “I will respect your wishes.”

Putting his right hand on his heart, then Elrond's left shoulder, Glorfindel smiled his gratitude as Elrond returned the Elven gesture of friendship.

The bell rang for the evening meal, and everyone went to get ready. Losgael went to Celebrían's room to get her evening dress out, while her mistress went with Lothwen to attend to Elladan and Elrohir. The boys had were able to dress themselves well enough, but often had to be reminded of the need to wash their hands and faces properly. As she laid Celebrían's dress out, Losgael admired it. 'Such a beautiful dress. I would like to wear it to the Harvest Ball,' Losgael thought. 'If Lord Glorfindel could see me in such a dress, he would surely declare me to be the most beautiful lady he had ever seen, and sweep me away at once!'

It was a foolish thought, and she knew it.

Celebrían came in, and Losgael helped her to get into the dress. “It looks so lovely on you, my lady,” she said.

“Thank you, Losgael,” Celebrían replied. “I loved the russet colour, and knew it would look good on me. Actually, since you and I have similar colouring, I believe it would look good on you.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Losgael said, and a blush bloomed in her cheeks. “I was not...”

“Yes you were,” said her mistress, “and yes you may. We might have to make some alterations, though. Put it away, I shall wear another dress tonight.”

“Why thank you, my lady!” Losgael replied, delight shining in her eyes.

“Think nothing of it,” Celebrían said, with a grin. “I like romantic stories, particularly when they are true!”

Filled with joy, Losgael took great pains to arrange her lady's hair and clothing to present her at her best before she left the room. Surely there could be no greater pleasure than serving such a wonderful person!

The food was delicious, as usual. The cook had made a spicy plum sauce to go with the roasted ducks, broiled vegetables and small whole baked potatoes that followed the freshwater shrimps and herbs served at the beginning of the meal.

Conversations were somewhat muted, since Glorfindel was conspicuous by his absence.

Losgael nudged Heneblhûndî, who was sitting beside her. “Where is Lord Glorfindel?” she asked her, curiosity raising her eyebrow.

“He had an accident on the training field,” Heneblhûndî replied.

“Ai!” wailed Losgael, “Is he badly hurt?”

“One of those execrable Men struck his hamstring with a blunt blade,” Heneblhûndî said viciously. “I understand he meant it in fun, as a rough game, but Lord Glorfindel will not be able to dance at the Harvest Ball this year.”

“Such wickedness!” Losgael declared. “I can see him sitting at one of the tables near the back. Will he not be punished for this outrage?”

“Apparently not,” Heneblhûndî told her angrily. “Our noble lord has decided that he somewhat deserved it, and has humbly declined to have him reprimanded.”

“He is so noble,” Losgael said in a dreamy voice. “So kind-hearted. He will be able to play the harp, though, will he not?”

“Oh yes,” said Heneblhûndî. “I like to hear him play.”

“How came you to discover this?” Losgael asked.

“Maeniell, one of the healing assistants, told me when I went down with more bandages,” Heneblhûndî replied.

“We should visit him,” said Losgael. Was this not an act of friendship of the kind her mistress would recommend?

“I know he likes blackberries,” Heneblhûndî told her. The last of them can still be found on the northernmost slopes. You and I can get a basket from the kitchen and fill it with them for him.

“Will they not be bitter at this time of year?” asked Losgael. The thought of bringing Glorfindel anything less than the most perfect offering did not appeal to her.

“We can ask the cook to stew them in a little honey and serve them in small pies to him,” Heneblhûndî replied.

“Very clever!” Losgael replied with a smile. Why had she not thought of that?

Brethilgwen was rushing to the recovery room in the treatment wing when she collided with Heneblhûndî, who was on her way there. “Ai, Heneblhûndî, you are as ridiculous as your name!” she shouted. “Get out of my way!”

“Brethilgwen, I heard that!” Heneblhûndî shouted back at her, outraged. “Ai, a Man could shave himself with that tongue of yours, it is so sharp!”

“And who are you to speak to me that way?” Brethilgwen demanded, her face flushed with anger.

“A scion of the house of Fingolfin,” Heneblhûndî snarled, and pointed at her as if her forefinger was a weapon. She had never really liked Brethilgwen, who was known all over Rivendell for her quick temper. “Who are you? What is your provenance?”

Brethilgwen went quiet. Her face went deathly pale, and the fury in her eyes was a terrible thing to behold. “Is that all you have, Heneblhûndî? Your lineage? Have you no merit of your own?” she hissed, moving towards her foe.

“You,” said Heneblhûndî, and went closer, refusing to be intimidated, “appear to have neither. Begone, and trouble us no more!”

Brethilgwen closed the gap between them, so there was no space between them. “You have no authority here,” she argued.

“No I do not,” Heneblhûndî conceded, “but my friend's mistress does. One word to her...”

“If that is the way of things, I shall go to my room at once, like a naughty child,” Brethilgwen retorted, “but I shall be sure to tell any who ask me why I have been sent there.”

“I am not sure that anyone would believe you,” a voice broke in.

The two ladies looked around. Glorfindel stood there and leaned on the doorframe.

The look of disgust on his noble face would have curdled milk. “I am appalled,” he said, anger thickening his voice, “to hear such harsh words being exchanged. Why are you so hateful to each other? I know each of you has designs on me, but neither of you has impressed me at all because I know what lies beneath all the simpering and fluttering about. Trouble me not with your prattle and mincing. I have no interest in you at all!”

Silence filled the hallway as Glorfindel turned around and limped back to his bed.

Losgael arrived at the entrance to the healing wing just as Brethilgwen and Heneblhûndî were leaving. “Why are you both so upset?” she asked.

Neither of them replied, they just carried on, with the matched expressions of those who had been thoroughly chastised.

Losgael went into the recovery room. “Good evening, my lord Glorfindel,” she said, with a smile. “I brought you some treats from the kitchen.”

“I thank you, Losgael,” he replied wearily. “You can go now.” The last thing he wanted was another simpering wench to fawn upon him while venomous jealousy festered in her heart. Not that he would use such a word in front of any of them.

“What did Heneblhûndî and Brethilgwen do just now?” Losgael asked, standing her ground.

“They bickered over me like two dogs over a bone,” Glorfindel complained. “It was ugly to behold. Heneblhûndî called upon her heritage as though it was the best thing about her. In truth, it is. She knows Brethilgwen is of lowly birth, and did not hesitate to remind her of that fact. While lineage is of some importance to me, it is the heart that impresses me most about anyone, and neither of those two ladies appears to have one.” He cared not what Losgael thought of him now. If she should decide that someone else was more worthy of her affections, so much the better. Maybe then he would get some peace!

“Ai, my lord,” Losgael reprimanded him with a wagging finger, “you are too harsh in your assessment of them. Heneblhûndî has done much to atone for her foolishness, and Brethilgwen apologized to her earlier tonight and embraced her like a sister.”

“All of that has been undone tonight,” Glorfindel persisted. “I was appalled by their behaviour.” His argument was unassailable. What could she possibly say to counter that?

Losgael put the basket down. “And I am appalled by yours,” she told him firmly.

“What?” he spluttered. “Why?”

“Because you are too complacent to try to understand what drives us to behave the way we do, my lord. Since you are unlikely to listen to any discourse of mine on the subject, I take my leave,” she said, and turned away.

“I do not need anything, and I am not the only Elf-warrior in Rivendell!” he retorted. Oh, this was a rare one, but he knew it well. The 'I am your mother, you are my son,' game. “Go and find someone else to torment!”

“Why?” she said, turning halfway around. “If they are anything like you, I would rather not!”

“Cease playing with me, Losgael,” Glorfindel groused, “I am not a toy.”

“And neither am I,” she replied, and walked out.

Glorfindel lay back, surprised at her words. He frowned. How could Losgael possibly have come to the conclusion that he was playing with her? Was this a new game? It would be interesting to find out.

TBC...