A/N: I got the details of the tree I'm describing from this site.

In Rivendell, the years flew by with the speed of a bird on the wing. Their rhythms moved with the seasons that came and went. As time went by, little changed, for the immortal Elves preferred to keep things as they were, preserving the memories of the Elder days as best they could. They often laughed at the frenetic pace at which Men lived their lives, as if to forget that their days were short. The burden of immortality was that their days were so many; each was the same as the next to them, with little to differentiate it from the other. Those fleeting moments of excitement that came their way from time to time were not always welcome, for they reminded the Elves that nothing was truly permanent, and that the efforts they made to preserve what they could were ultimately doomed to failure.

Talk in the sewing room sometimes turned to romance, but the thrill for the ladies was gone now that the subjects of their discussions were steadily advancing towards matrimony. It was a foregone conclusion.

The love between Glorfindel and Maerdess grew like an oak tree, strong and beautiful. It bent in the wind but was rooted in deep soil. She loved to speak of it, but few there were who were willing to listen for long: there was no hope for a place in the Captain's heart for them any more.

“He is so pleased with that jacket I made him, Losgael!” said Maerdess, her voice high with excitement.

“The pale grey one with the pearl buttons?” asked Losgael, interested.

“That is the one,” she replied.

“Do you think he will ask you soon?” Losgael asked, and moved closer, as if to share a secret.

“I think so,” Maerdess answered, with a grin of sheer pleasure. “I believe it is time he made me his bride. And what of Losgael, whose kind intervention in my life brought me to this joyful pass?”

Losgael smiled. “Erestor has loved me for a long time, and each time I see him, I find another reason to return his love. It has taken a while, but now I find I miss him if he is late for our meetings on the balcony after dinner. Sometimes, during the day, I will see something or have a conversation and wonder what Erestor would say, or what his opinion would be. He has become as a limb, a part of me that I find I need every day, and would struggle to do without. How did I live without him? I need him! I need the reassurance he provides, the sense of safety and comfort he gives me. Erestor does not expect me to be anything other than Losgael, and he does not ascribe ill intentions to my deeds. While my heart does not flutter like a butterfly caught in a net when he is near, I do feel secure when he is with me. He is like a blanket that covers a child and keeps her warm at night.”

“I am glad for you, Losgael,” said Maerdess, with all sincerity. “Would you be my maid of honour at my wedding?”

“If you will do the same for me,” Losgael replied with a broad smile.

The two ladies hugged each other, then Losgael hurried out of the room to meet Erestor.

The moon shone bright and full over Rivendell that night, and cast a pale, silvery light over the land. Erestor stood on the balcony wearing a jacket made for his begetting day by Losgael; the collar of his shirt, also made by Losgael, showed just over that of the jacket. She noticed it as she saw him, and smiled.

He beckoned and moved away, ghost-like, and hesitated as he waited for her to follow him.

Ai! Would this be the night? It had to be! Losgael's heart thumped a tattoo as she followed her lover into the family garden and beyond. He had often leaned over, as if he was about to do so, but stopped at the last moment. Was he expecting her to slap him if he kissed her? Probably. In truth, she was curious and wanted to know what it was like to be kissed, but it had to be for the right reasons and not merely to satisfy her curiosity. It had to be for love, or it would not be real. If it was what she was hoping it would be, it would be real. Erestor! Kissing her! It was like a dream, but the cold mist rising from the ground as they made their way into the little copse Erestor headed for tickled her ankles as it swirled around. Elves did not feel the cold as Men did.

“Where are we going?” she asked, even though she knew. Or thought she did.

“Just a little further,” he replied, enigmatic and inscrutable.

Losgael trotted to keep up with him, for his pace was swift. He reached behind to take her hand in his, and she grasped it, clinging tightly.

A dim light caught her attention as they approached a small clearing in the copse. Two of the branches of a Western Red Cedar tree hung low and could be used as seats. Before them was the stump of an old oak. On that stump was a tablecloth, and on the cloth a single red candle burned brightly. A flagon of wine and two goblets were set there, with a small dish of sweetmeats.

Erestor led her to the seat he wished her to take, and sat beside her on the same one. He poured out the wine, raised his own goblet and said, “To us.”

Losgael followed suit, a sense of unreality overtaking her. She was aware of what was happening as if she was up in the branches of the tree looking down. These things seemed to be happening to another lady.

“I have loved you for a long time, Losgael,” said Erestor, “yet since I first declared my love for you, we have not kissed. I believe that your first kiss should be a special occasion, something you remember for ever as a precious thing. I want you to remember this night, and I want it to be private, not a public spectacle. It is my first kiss too.”

Losgael drank deeply, then turned to him. “I am ready,” she said. This was so strange!

“Do not think about anything other than this,” he told her. “Forget about the wagging tongues or disapproving looks. This night is for lovers!” Boldly, he leaned towards her.

Losgael sat still and waited for him to reach her. She was aware of his arms encircling her waist, and her heart jumped as they closed around her and drew her body close to his. His heartbeat collided with hers in her ears, and the scent of his spicy fragrance wafted into her nose. He was freshly bathed, just for her. Just for this moment. His lips brushed hers and set her whole being abuzz. It was like being struck by a tiny bolt of lightning. He paused, apparently aware of her nervousness, waiting for her assent to proceed. Kissing him in the same way, she took her time, noting the contours and shapes of his lips as she tested them with her own. She closed her eyes. It was easier to float on the cloud of ecstasy that had enveloped her consciousness that way; the distractions of the leaves moving in the breeze or the swish of an owl as it swooped by with a mouse in its beak could be shut out.

The couple remained thus for some time, kissing and caressing, exploring each other with fingertips, lips and tongues. Excitement built up in them, and with it, alarm. Afraid of going too far, Losgael pulled away. Erestor soothed her with soft words and stood up with her hands in his, and pulled her up with him.

“It is time to go back, beloved,” he said.

“Yes,” said Losgael. “What about...?”

“I will see to it,” he replied. “Let me take you back to the house.”

The lovers walked back to the Last Homely House, hand in hand, and almost skipped back towards the lights that shone from the windows.

On a bench in the flower garden, another pair of lovers sat together, facing each other. Known as “The Kissing Chair,” it had been the site of many assignations. At the moment, it was for Glorfindel and Maerdess alone. Reaching for her hands, he kissed them as he had so often done before, then slid his hands up her arms to her face. He cupped her face and brought it to his own and kissed her slowly, deeply. His calloused warrior's hands slipped down her back and her closer to himself, then slid upwards, losing themselves in her long chestnut-brown hair.

“I love you, Maerdess,” declared Glorfindel. “You are as beautiful as you are good, and I am privileged to have you in my arms.”

“I love you too, Glorfindel,” she replied, love shining in her eyes. “You are a kind, noble-hearted person and I am so glad to be your lady.”

He just had to kiss her for saying that. Ai, those lips! They were sweet, like strawberries in high summer, and just as soft to the touch! “Beloved, I have something to ask of you, for I am no longer content to call myself 'lover' in relation to yourself,” he said gravely. He pulled out a cloth-wrapped object from the pocket of the jacket she had made him and held it towards her even as he pulled away far enough to show her what it was.

Slowly, as if mesmerised, she reached out her hand to take it from him.

She knew, ah, she knew what it was! But would she wear it? He had spent some considerable time at the silversmith's having the ring made for her. Intricate patterns had been graven on it, linking the symbols of her house with his own. Would she like it? Would it fit that little finger of hers? Glorfindel trembled slightly as he thought these things. For his Maerdess, only the best would do.

She leaned back, opened the package, unwrapped the ring, and laid it in the palm of her right hand, then looked up at him with a smile that lit up her face.

Joyfully, Glorfindel took the ring from her and slid it slowly down the the third finger of her left hand. “Will you do me the honour of being my bride?”

“Yes!” she cried, and kissed him over and over again.

Wrapped in a loving embrace, the couple remained on the Kissing Chair until the moon dropped below the crown of the great oak tree across the way from where they sat.

TBC...