A/N: If Tolkien can put an express train in Lord of the Rings, I can put a kaleidoscope in my fic.

The following day, all Rivendell was abuzz with speculation over the likely candidates for those who might stand in for Glorfindel's parents. No mention of it had been made during the announcements at dinner the night before.

In the sewing room, Arwen had joined the other ladies, and they all sat in a circle to discuss the arrangements for the wedding of Glorfindel and Maerdess.

“May I be permitted to help make the wedding dress?” asked Arwen, her eyes a-sparkle with excitement.

Maerdess smiled at her. “I will need some panels of beadwork for the bodice, sewn onto lace. Would you make them for me?”

With a huge grin, Arwen answered, “Yes, I would be delighted to. Thank you, Maerdess!”

“You are welcome, Arwen,” Maerdess replied.

“What colour dress are you wearing?” asked Losgael. She regarded her friend with a critical eye. Royal blue, red and gold were the colours of her house, so those were the ones she expected.

Maerdess's smile parted her lips, showing her fine, even teeth. “When I first believed that Glorfindel could love me, I thought of wearing a dress on which my provenance would be displayed. I drew many pictures of it as I imagined myself beside my lover being blessed on our wedding day. Now I am not so sure, since it is for true love that I am being joined with Glorfindel, not because of my lineage,” she explained.

“I would very much like to see the pictures,” said Arwen. “Your skill as a seamstress is well-known, and I would like to see your vision of yourself as a bride.”

Maerdess stood up. “Then if you will all excuse me, I shall go and fetch them,” she said.

While she had often imagined herself being with Glorfindel, and later, Erestor, it had never occurred to Losgael to imagine her wedding day. 'That is so strange,' she thought. 'I often dreamt of being in a lover's embrace, but never of how my wedding would be. It is true, then. My desire for Glorfindel was only a dream, nothing more. My love for Erestor is real, but I have not considered marriage yet. Surely it is too soon to think of it.'

“Losgael?”

Losgael looked around. “Oh, my lady, I was miles away,” she said to Celebrían.

The Lady of Rivendell shook her head. “Are you thinking of your own lover?” she asked with a waggish grin.

A rosy blush spread across Losgael's face. “Well... yes,” she replied. “It is too soon to start making plans, but I daresay it would do no harm to imagine what it would be like.”

As she spoke, Losgael saw in her mind's eye the beautiful pale blue dress she would wear, trimmed with silver and black. A silver tiara with pale blue and white gems mingled with pieces of polished jet would crown her head and she would wear a necklace that bore the stars from the heraldic device of Elwë. Her pale silvery hair would flow free, except for a small section, which would be caught up in a little bun and used to secure her tiara.

A peal of laughter brought Losgael back to reality.

“Ai, Losgael, you have drifted into dreams again,” said Celebrían, amusement in her eyes.

“I imagined my wedding dress, my lady,” said Losgael. “It would be in the colours of my house, and the jewels I would wear would complement it.”

“We will be as eager to make yours as we are to make Maerdess's,” Celebrían replied.

Losgael smiled as she gazed at her friends in the room. All of them were people she knew she could count on, ladies she she could trust. Yes, they would help her make her wedding dress, and together they would share her joy, as they were sharing Maerdess's.

On the balcony that evening, Losgael stood with Erestor and talked about the events of the day.

“We have already begun the preparations for the wedding,” she told him with a smile.

“How does it make you feel to aid the making of a wedding dress for the lady who is going to wed the one you loved for so long?” he asked, a trace of suspicion in his voice.

Losgael turned to look at him and put her hand on his shoulder to encourage him to look at her.

Reluctantly, he lifted his drooping head and turned to look her in the eye.

Losgael raised her hand, cupped his much-loved face and moved closer to him. She kissed his closed lips and told him, “Erestor, I craved the love of Glorfindel because I believed he was the epitome of Elvendom on Middle-earth. I thought he was what every Elf should be, and that all others save Elrond fell short of him. Later, I realised that I believed those things because his name is spoken most often among the Elves here. It was fashionable to be in love with him!”

Erestor snorted with amusement, laughter in his eyes. He embraced her gently.

Touching his forehead with her own, Losgael continued, “Is that not the most foolish thing you have ever heard? Well, for a long time, I was a fool, my love. But I am not one any more. I have come to learn that the love of a lord is not the most desirable thing for me – love itself is sufficient for me, whether my lover is a stable-hand or the High King of Middle-earth! You are no stable-hand, but I love you for your kind heart, wisdom, tenderness and patience. It matters not that there are no songs sung of your deeds, though I could make one for you if you wish. It matters that you love me, and that I love you for the right reasons.”

Erestor grinned as he held her in his arms, and to Losgael he looked as if he had won a great prize.

“I love you, my Losgael,” he declared, “because you are brave and strong, kind and loving, and able to overcome whatever obstacles are put in your way. I was unsure about asking you to be my bride, but now I know it is the right time. Losgael, will you be my wife?”

Losgael's jaw dropped. He was asking her to be his bride! But she was not ready for this! Or was she? If she refused, would he be disappointed? Might he turn away? Would his love fade like the flowers as the summer came to an end? A kaleidoscope of ideas twisted in her mind as she stepped away, creating a variety of patterns in thought and mood that left her feeling dizzy.

Erestor's face was impassive, a mask of calm as he waited for her response.

There was only one certainty: Erestor loved her, and would continue to love her. Had he not loved her while her heart was set on Glorfindel? That knowledge brought forth her answer: “Yes. Yes, Erestor, I will wed with you.”

Erestor's eyes lit up with joy and he lifted her up into the air, twirled her around and laughed out loud. He let her slide down against his body, then pulled her close for a long, lingering kiss.

This was what she had always wanted: the love of a tender warrior, someone who would be patient with her when she faltered; someone who would love her despite her shortcomings; someone who would listen to her and understand, even when he disagreed with her. Ai! And he had been there, under her nose, for all these years! As she kissed Erestor, Losgael knew she had finally got what she had dreamed of since she was a girl: the love of a lord.

The End.