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Author: Zhie
Title: Time Stand Still
Beta: nancylea57
Theme: Young/Old
Elements: clean; light; late; fresh; heavy
Author's Notes: Stand alone; Bunniverse compatible. Archived at Phoenix – http://phoenix.zhie.us
Summary: Glorfindel’s caring nature is often overshadowed by his daring deeds. (Character study)
Word Count: 1766




Glorfindel would never readily admit it, but he had a hard time letting go – even when it was an inevitable conclusion. He had a tendency to personally see to the old warhorses, too weak to hold a rider and too sick to eat much food. Many times dusk would come and dawn would break, and still he would be in the stables, talking to the loyal old creatures, brushing them or holding water up to them to make it easier for them to drink.

The opposite was true as well; if a baby bird fell from its nest and no one could find the parents, the hatchlings were brought straight to the Master of Arms, who had warm little makeshift nests for them in his office. Lunch break in the springtime typically meant he would be sitting at his desk, coaxing tiny beaks to eat the worms and grubs he had the pages find for him. In the summer and autumn, it was getting abandoned kittens to lick goat’s milk from his fingertips. “Baby bird beaks are sharper, but kittens bite more often,” he once explained to his lord while having his hand bandaged after a minor incident with an adolescent crow.

Elrond had attempted to draw a line when he saw Glorfindel’s squire carrying a pair of curious little foxes down the hall one day, but Glorfindel was more clever than most. They were deposited in the shrubbery beneath the windows of his lord’s rooms, and when two hungry little foxes whimpered in the darkness it was Lady Celebrían who swept them up and brought them to Glorfindel’s chambers. These were followed in subsequent years by a trio of rabbits mere days old, a half-dozen goslings, a fawn, and a runt of a skunk. The skunk had the entire household on edge, but once grown took to following Glorfindel about the house instead of rejoining its wild brethren. It followed the Captain around so willingly, stopping directly behind him wherever he went, that eventually people forgot quite what it was and began to call it ‘the lieutenant’. (Everyone was reminded of exactly what it was the afternoon that little Estel toddled over and decided to pull the “kitty’s” tail.)

Sometimes, such as in the case of the skunk, Glorfindel would have a success story to tell. “I had no idea what skunks ate, let alone baby skunks. Do you know there are no books in the library on the matter? Now, I shall have to write one.” More often, his attempts would lead to a heartbreaking conclusion: The rabbits never made it long enough to open their eyes, and many of the birds and kittens were buried in a far corner of Rivendell. It was not entirely uncommon if you woke early to see Glorfindel crouched over a freshly filled hole, piling rocks upon it.

When the age ended and the choice of leaving now or later was given to him, he packed his trunk... and then changed his mind. An oath was nothing new; an oath to protect his lord’s children, and their children, until such time came that Queen Arwen faded, was welcomed by the warrior. He relocated a few years after Rivendell was turned over to Lord Elladan, when blessed news arrived from Gondor.

Glorfindel’s arrival was nearly as heralded as the arrival of the heir of the Reunited Kingdom. As far as the people were concerned, the Elf population had doubled when Glorfindel moved into the palace, for besides Arwen and Eldarion, the minstrel Lindir was dwelling in the city as well. Familiar faces brought him comfort, and it was not long before his wisdom and charm gained him many more friends. From lords and scholars to servants and children, he was well liked, but the companionship he preferred most came from someone younger and less worldly than any of these.

Late at night, when the first displeased grunt was issued, it was Glorfindel who was first in the nursery. An uneasy shifting of the sheets in the cradle would cause the Elf to shove aside the drapes of the bed canopy and shove his feet into the pair of house shoes awaiting him. He would already be dressed; his preference was a nap after dinner, followed by a bath, and then he would dress for the day and stay up until the following evening when the cycle began anew. Sometimes he would lie in bed reading, and other times he spent the evening in the royal garden, stargazing and whispering to the trees, and now and then, staring westward with deep and unseen longing.

No matter his business in the garden or his chambers, the moment he was needed he was there. If it was not hunger that upset the babe (“I apologize, Arwen, but there is a limit to my talents”), it was Glorfindel who insisted upon caring for him. “Go sleep,” he admonished, practically chasing away Eldarion’s bleary-eyed parents and equally tired young nurse. “You can have him all day, and the afternoon, too.” No one argued much; it was exhausting enough to run a kingdom without worrying about a newborn.

Tonight was very similar to most nights. In the midst of the calm as Glorfindel stood under a cherry tree with his head tilted up toward the heavens, the low grumbling noise of someone very small turned his head to the double doors. Standing on either side of the doors were the royal guards, unmoving and impenetrable to anyone they wished to keep out. Behind the doors was a little boy, clearly upset about something. It was Glorfindel’s cue.

A brisk walk down the stone path brought him before the soldiers. Though flanked with guards, Glorfindel merely opened the door and entered, shutting it once inside. He never greeted them or even smiled in acknowledgement when he walked past – they had a job to do, and right now, so did he. Two candles were lit to accommodate Eldarion – Glorfindel was yet unsure just how well the baby could see in starlight.

“Well, hello there, little prince,” cooed the ellon, and anyone who might have seen him lift Eldarion from his crib and make nonsensical conversation whilst carrying the little one to the changing table would never in a million years believe this to be the fierce slayer of balrogs to whom the nazgul once cowered in fear. “Who’s da cutest widdle baby? Yous da cutest widdle baby,” Glorfindel assured Eldarion as he opened a drawer and pulled out a fresh diaper and a clean cloth. He checked the water basin to make sure it was not too cold before dipping the cloth in and wringing it out.

“Let me see what you have been hiding in there.” The diaper was untied on either side and Glorfindel grimaced. “Yick. Heavy load in there tonight. Just what did you eat?” asked Glorfindel.

Eldarion grinned toothlessly and let out a happy “grrrahhh!” as the offensive diaper was removed and wrapped up.

“You must think you are so silly.” Glorfindel cleaned up the rest of the mess before lifting Eldarion up again. “You still sleepy?” he asked.

“aaggghhhmmm,” responded Eldarion as he managed to get a hold of one of a long golden braid. “mmhhmmumm.”

“Are you hungry? Should we get Nana?”

Eldarion wrapped his little fingers around Glorfindel’s hair and started to chew on the end of the braid he had chosen.

Once the crib was checked and tidied up, Glorfindel carried the little one to the rocking chair. “If you are not sleepy, singing a lullaby will not do much good, will it? How about a story, then?”

The babe rested his tiny head against Glorfindel’s chest and looked up with wide grey eyes as drool started to coat the end of the braid he had in his grasp.

“Let me think... the balrogs? No, your mother would never let me hear the end of it if you happened to recall it later. Orcs are too scary... trolls are too smelly... I really lived through some dark times,” mumbled Glorfindel to himself in sudden realization. Eldarion remained content to teethe happily on the elf’s namesake.

“Oh, wait, I have one,” said Glorfindel. “I can tell you about my little friend the skunk. See, he was so small that no one even noticed he was there, living in some shadows of the wine cellar until one day a maid was sweeping things up and the poor little thing sneezed. No one knows how he got there – the maid went screaming up to the kitchen when she saw it. The poor thing was practically skin and bones and a tuft of fur when your Uncle Elrohir brought it to me. Oh, was your Einiorada ever upset! He put up such a stink – I named the skunk after him, even though everyone else called him... hmm, sergeant or something. I cannot remember. He followed me everywhere. Your Ada thought he was a cat, but he acted a lot more like a puppy.”

Eldarion gurgled and blew a few spit bubbles, which Glorfindel wiped away with the edge of his sleeve. “Oh, mister droopy eyes, now,” noted Glorfindel of the baby as he tried and failed to suppress a yawn himself. “Sleepy time?” Eldarion nuzzled closer against him.

Glorfindel took a deep breath and blew it hard at the flickering flames he had lit when he entered and managed to extinguish them from across the room. He settled back in the chair and rocked gently until Eldarion fell asleep.

As the first ray of light seeped into the room, the door quietly creaked open. Arwen peeked in and smiled at the sight of Glorfindel, long ago her own protector, asleep in the rocker with Eldarion held in his arms. Her son had a golden braid clutched in one hand and part of Glorfindel’s tunic in the other.

After Eldarion was untangled from the warrior, Arwen tucked her son into his crib. The baby briefly opened his eyes, but closed them again once the curtains were drawn. A blanket was taken off of a shelf and draped over her arm, but Arwen passed by the crib and walked to the rocker. She pulled a cloth from her pocket and wiped first the drool her son had left on Glorfindel, and then the bit that had escaped the warrior’s own mouth before draping the blanket over his legs and lap. The door was left ajar, and Arwen smiled to herself, happy to be the one who helped the one who seemed to help everyone else.



----------------------------------------

Author: Zhie
Title: The Point of the Journey is Not to Arrive
Beta: Smaug
Theme: Young/Old
Elements: hard; sharp; hollow; steep; immense
Author's Notes: Stand alone; Bunniverse compatible. Archived at Phoenix – http://phoenix.zhie.us
Summary: Elladan feels lost and incomplete. While on a journey, he seeks the advice of the highest powers of Valinor.
Word Count: 3434




For the sake of his parents, Elladan initially said nothing of his discontent of Valinor. His twin brother Elrohir was too honest not to frown when asked how well he liked things in the undying lands, and this when combined with the choice of their sister was enough to depress their poor mother for days – their father for far longer than that, though he did not show it as their mother did. When questions were posed to Elladan, he did his best to act cheerful and compliment the new world he was living in however he could. In private, he nursed his regrets on his own.

It was not that he had even a single misgiving over his choice of Elf, save perhaps for the fact he knew Elrohir would choose the same as he, and Elrohir had leaned a little more toward being a Man all his life. In his own mind, Elladan had never been anything but an Elf, albeit an Elf who managed to grow a beard before reaching his majority (and an Elf who just as quickly learned the art of shaving). The hesitations that Elladan had in embracing Valinor was Valinor herself.

Although Valinor was vast, perhaps even larger than Middle-earth, it was boring. One city in Valinor looked much like another; Middle-earth was full of diversity. What was more, his new home was dull. Nothing about Valinor shouted ‘adventure!’ to him, and as one who loved a good adventure, living in Valinor was rather bland.

There was a simple explanation for why almost everyone in Valinor was happy – a lack of interruption meant the honing of skills and crafts. Elladan remembered the pottery his father sometimes made in order to relieve tension. Now Elrond spent a good deal of time perfecting his art. There were no councils to hold, no realm to rule, and no injuries to tend to save the minor cuts and bruises that hardly needed a healer’s care. Instead, a day could be spent at the wheel with fresh lumps of clay, or arranging dried and painted items in the kiln behind the barn.

His mother had benefitted from the change as well. Her works in needlepoint were extraordinary – far larger and more intricate than any she had done in Rivendell. Embroidery was her passion, but she had time now to practice her harp and to tend to the garden. Even Elrohir, despite his complaints, had found his niche in society, training horses and sometimes racing them in Valimar.

Elladan had nothing. Nothing to do, that was. He had his family, his extended relations, and of course, many friends from his travels on both sides of the sea. The trouble was discovering an interest; something that would keep him busy literally for eternity. No matter what he tried, it was all the same. He attempted apprenticeships with uncle and cousins, but forges were too hot and singed his hair, and he has very little care for minerals and metal. Jewels were just as dull; how anyone could covet such things was beyond his comprehension. “But it is only a shiny rock,” he argued before being dismissed from yet another artisan.

Upholstery was an utter failure, for he had no patience for the tedious work. His culinary abilities were between zero and none, and agricultural work seemed more a punishment than a trade to him. He made a concerted effort learn the skills his parents enjoyed. After an afternoon of pricking his finger repeatedly and another that ended with scraping grey, slimy clay from the walls, he announced his theory that he might have been adopted and spent the evening sulking in his room.

Frustration was fast setting in, and it was his mother who made the suggestion of a vacation. When reminded that Elladan had seen just about all he wanted to see of Valinor, she pointed out he had gone north, south, east, and west, but had never gone very far upwards. “Taniquetil is very nice this time of year. The view from the summit is just beautiful.”

“The summit is Manwë’s dwelling,” said Elladan as if he was explaining this to an elfling.

His mother only smiled as she threaded a needle. “Is there a fence that keeps you out?”

“No,” answered Elladan, for he had never seen such a thing in the engravings of the mountaintop.

“Are there any signs that deny passage? An edict that prevents people from venturing to the peak?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then what is wrong with going up the mountain to Manwë’s house?” asked Celebrían.

“The problem with going up to Manwë’s house is the fact that it is Manwë’s house,” said Elladan matter-of-factly.

With a shrug, Celebrían returned to her work. As Elladan left the room, he heard her call after him, “I suppose a climb to the top of Tanequetil might be too much of an adventure for one person.”

Elladan never figured out whether his mother’s final words on the subject were a deliberate nudge in hopes of making him happier, or just a way to remove his recent downcast demeanor from the house for a week or two. With nothing else to do, Elladan packed meager provisions and left for the home of the most revered of all the Valar.

The journey to the mountain was as uneventful as any trip around the island. He knew enough of the residents to gain nightly invitations for dinner and to stay the night. Each morning he was on his way again, traveling closer to his destination. Mostly, he was doing it so that he could return home and prove his mother wrong, but there was a small part of him that hoped to discover something more.

Early on the morning of the sixth day, he left his Uncle Felagund’s house. It was the closest building to the base of the Manwë’s mountain without actually being on the slopes. From a distance, it did not look very impressive, but now as Elladan set foot on the angled ground and looked up he noted just how immense it was. He smiled at the challenge before him and began to climb.

There were many houses situated near the base where the land was not very steep. They thinned out as he reached the midway point, and those that remained were either small and built on little ledges of stone or were wedged carefully into the side of the mountain. Rooftops were snow-covered, matching the white ground all around him. Hearty sheep with thick wool coats and small groups of stocky goats with bells around their necks foraged around the slope.

The air was thinner here and chilled. Elladan found a boulder that looked firmly planted and went to it. He brushed away the frost and sat down, teeth chattering as he caught his breath and debated his options. The climb was proving hard – much harder than anticipated. The longer he lived in Valinor, the more he forgot who he was. A cloak and some mittens might have been a good idea, he reflected, and a hat, now that he touched one of his ears and found it numb.

Defeat was not something Elladan enjoyed, but neither was he stupid. He knew many Elves who, faced with such a decision, would keep climbing despite the logic behind retreating. Haldir and Orophin came to mind, and Elladan shook his head as he stood up and smiled ruefully. Apparently, he had inherited too much of his father’s common sense to haphazardly keep climbing.

“All this way, and you just came to sit on a rock?”

Elladan turned around after taking his first step back down. “My goal was to reach the summit,” he explained to the shepherd he had not noticed earlier. The ellon approached slowly, a lamb in his arms. He set the little creature down when he reached Elladan’s location, and it bleated and bounced away to join the other youngsters. “Unfortunately, it was colder here than I realized. I need to return to my uncle’s house for supplies.”

The ellon let out a sharp whistle, and a shaggy dog with fur hanging down over his eyes bounded around the side of the house. “Watch the babies,” directed his master, and the dog lumbered into the midst of the lambs and flopped onto the ground. “Come inside with me,” said the Elf, who Elladan estimated to be quite old. The only way to tell a young elf from an old elf was to look in his eyes, and the eyes of the shepherd had seen much.

The house was warm within, filled with the unique scents of exotic herbs drying in bunches that hung from the ceiling mingled with spiced apples cooking in another room. Various colored pelts draped over chairs and provided an inviting space in front of the fireplace. “Rest a moment,” offered the shepherd as he removed his boots and left them just inside the door. He motioned to the fireplace and disappeared into the other room.

Elladan looked around as he removed his own boots, wet from the snow and dirty from the climb. In very little time he was refreshed, the fire having warmed and comforted him. His new friend entered the room again with a basket of bread, steam rising from the slices. “My wife wants you to stay at least until the apples are done. She has heard my compliments forever. Newcomers are forced to try them and admit hers are the best.”

“That sounds like my mother and her raspberry tarts.” Elladan accepted a piece of bread and held out his free hand before eating. “Thank you for your hospitality. I appreciate it.”

“You are most welcome,” said the shepherd as he shook Elladan’s hand. “We have few visitors here, and most of them are groups of students and scholars. You seem to have more of a purpose for going up there.”

“Not sure if I do,” Elladan admitted. “I am bored, and my mother suggested the journey. I suppose I was hoping it might give me some insight. So far, nothing really.”

“I see. You are looking for a purpose,” noted the older Elf sagely.

“Yes, I think so,” Elladan admitted as an Elleth with the same golden-colored hair as the Elf he was talking to entered the room. She carried a tray with three bowls, each filled with warm apples in a cinnamon sauce. Elladan was handed a bowl and a spoon, which he thanked his hostess for. He held the bowl in both hands to warm the tips of his fingers before sampling the apples. “Your husband is right – these are the best I have tasted.”

“Imin! You are supposed to let them figure that out on their own!” admonished the Elleth, but the matched smiles on the couple’s faces made Elladan know she was kidding. It also gave him time to ponder the name... he had heard it before, and doubted there was an Elf anywhere who did not know it. Surely, these could not be...

“You have yet to introduce me to your new friend, Imin,” said the Elleth, who was now sitting on the furs with them and enjoying her own bowl of apples.

“I had not quite introduced myself to him yet,” admitted Imin, who now held his hand out and repeated his own name. “Imin. My wife, Iminyë.”

“Elladan,” answered the awestruck traveler. “You... you are... you know, him. Not just Imin, but THE Imin?”

“This is why I rarely introduce myself at the beginning,” replied Imin. “I hate being ‘THE’ Elf.”

“Sorry,” apologized Elladan quickly. “I meant no disrespect. I am just... it is an honor to meet you.”

“You are honored to meet an Elf who just happened to wake up a few minutes ahead of everyone else, and then was too greedy for his own good?”

“Imin...” His wife had set down her bowl and now rested her head on his shoulder as she placed her hand on his arm. “Forgive my husband,” she said as Elladan stared awkwardly at the flames. “He has had a hard time adjusting here.”

“I can understand that,” said Elladan. “I feel like I do not belong here.”

“All Elves belong here,” Iminyë assured Elladan.

Elladan smirked. “Exactly, and I am not quite an Elf.” He told his tale, as briefly as possible, leaving out his hidden spite for Estel having taken his sister away from the family, and embellishing his role in the revolution of Rohan just a bit. “I just keep thinking I should not be here,” he finally finished.

“And you are going to seek Manwë’s advice?”

“It is more that my mother wants me to. You know how mothers are,” Elladan said.

There was silence, and then Imin and Iminyë burst out laughing. “No, dear, we do not,” said Iminyë. “Neither of us had parents, and neither of us are parents. So, unfortunately, we have no idea what mothers are like.”

“Well... mothers are very persistent, and often right, though their children rarely admit to this fact.”

Iminyë nodded. “I hate to disappoint your mother by sending you back down the mountain without reaching your goal.”

“I am sure we have a cape you could use on your climb,” added Imin.

A short while later Elladan was once again climbing Tanequetil, wrapped in a thick grey hooded cloak. The bottom edge swept over the snow as it became thicker further up. Elladan dared to look down over his shoulder once and marveled at the sight. Imin’s house was now far away, little more than a beacon in the coming night.

Elladan warred between hastening his steps in order to make it to the summit by nightfall, and keeping a steady pace in conserve his energy. In the end, it was dark for well over an hour by the time he reached the doors of Ilmarin. They were open, flanked by eagles not so big as the giant ones Elladan knew well, but large enough to scare off anyone whose intentions were impure.

He passed by without so much as blinking, and found himself within an empty, hollow hall. There was nothing within the room beyond the thrones positioned upon a platform, centered at the far end, and two staircases which spiraled upward. Elladan walked slowly across the room, looking for doors into other rooms. In the end, he came back around and began to climb one of the staircases. It appeared that the room was empty, but for all he knew the Valar might well have been in the room and were only unseen to him. ‘Maybe Peredhil are denied the ability to see them,’ he mused to himself as he took the last few steps to a room above the hall. This room was smaller and had many doors, all closed, as well as another set of stairs.

After surveying the doors, Elladan recalled his mother’s words and chose to continue his journey upwards. The stairs led further up than the last set, into a stone enclosure, and higher still, until at last Elladan set foot on the roof. As he looked around, he saw domed rooms which rose up in every direction. Each door below likely led to one of them. On the roof, one could not see past the domes to view the land below, but as Elladan tilted his head up he discovered the true beauty of the place he was in.

Clouds were so close, if he only jumped he could touch their tails. Each star above was closer than ever before. These, too, he thought he could touch if only he leaped toward them. Their brilliance caused him to be awestruck, and reaching a hand up, he silently wept and whispered, “Ai, Elbereth.”

“I am glad that you approve of my work.”

Elladan found that once again he was not alone. He bowed his head as a vision in silver and white approached, and knelt in reverence when her husband joined her. “I did not mean to intrude. The door was open...”

“...in invitation, Elladan, son of Elrond.” Manwë made motion with his hand for Elladan to rise. “You are welcome here.”

“Always,” added Elbereth.

Nothing could have prepared Elladan for the radiance of the beings before him, and he could only manage to dumbly nod as they spoke.

“Stay here as long as you like. May you find what you seek,” said Manwë as he and his wife gracefully walked to the stairs.

“Uh... but...” Elladan became flushed when the Ainur paused for him to address them. “I... I thought you might know.”

Elbereth smiled softly. “You know yourself best. Only you can answer your question.”

Elladan felt crushed as he watched the pair slip away. The journey was a waste; no one could help him. He wandered around the roof, utterly dismayed. The stars no longer seemed as luminous as they had only minutes ago; the clouds were bothersome when they dipped too low. The air was chilly and uncomfortable, and for the first time Elladan regretted his choice.

One last time, he looked up into the heavens. A million stars twinkled above, but only one seemed to look back. Elladan moved across the roof and squinted. One star, it seemed, was moving, which made no sense. When Elladan held up his hand to block the bright starlight, he was able to vaguely make out the shape of what looked like a ship. He had been told by his father long ago that on a clear night, one could actually see Vingilot. Until now, Elladan had not believed his father.

As he watched the night sky, he contemplated how close he was to the grandfather he had never known, and yet how far away he was. The sadness he felt for himself was second to the sadness he felt for his father, who had known little more than the stories of the mariner who now sailed the skies. Reflecting on the past, Elladan counted himself fortunate for all he had. He, unlike some, had parents, and had known them long in Middle-earth, and had been reunited with them here. He had siblings – even Estel counted, despite the time being short for the foster brother his father had adopted. Yet, how well did he really know anyone? His adventurous nature had led him away from home more often than not, and time had been lost. Moments forever gone, but not entirely irreplaceable.

Though dark, Elladan was restless and headed back to the ground with his thoughts. The downward journey was faster. He reached Imin’s house in the early morning hours, and upon thanking the shepherd and returning the cloak, made the rest of the trek to his uncle’s house to sleep before beginning his journey home.

Upon returning a week later, his mother welcomed him home and asked if he had found what he was looking for.

“I did not find what I wanted to find, but I did find what I needed.” His puzzling answer was followed by an inquiry as to where his father was. After putting away his gear, Elladan entered the workshop where his father kept the pottery wheels and shelves of drying bowls and jugs.

Elrond slowed his foot on the pedal and lifted his hands away from the clay lump he had been shaping. “How was your trip?”

“Enlightening,” answered Elladan as he pulled a piece of clay from the mound sitting in a basket at the door. “I met some interesting people.”

“Were you able to find an answer to your question?”

“No, but I doubt anyone really knows why they are here. Do they?” asked Elladan as he kneaded the ball of clay until it was soft.

Elrond shook his head. “Not really.”

Elladan weaved between the piles of stone disks that were used on the wheels and examined a cracked pot that had been discarded at the top of a pile of chipped and broken items. “Can I help you with anything in here?”

“Are you sure you want to?” asked Elrond. Father and son both immediately recalled the incident weeks ago. Some of the clay was still attached to the ceiling.

“I just thought we could spend some time together? If you want to.” Elladan was mumbling now, uncertain his idea was such a good one. Perhaps, though he wanted to try again in building relationships that had never had the chance to be established, it was too late.

Six words rescued him from doubt. “Bring some clay and join me.”

Comments

( 8 comments — Leave a comment )
nancylea57
Sep. 15th, 2008 07:39 pm (UTC)
elladan: i really like that he doesn't find what he thought he was looking for but knows that he found what he needed. wonderful touch.
glorfy: still a blonde headed wonder.

both well written and i hope well recieved. luck!
shirebound
Sep. 15th, 2008 08:56 pm (UTC)
“Oh, mister droopy eyes, now,” noted Glorfindel of the baby as he tried and failed to suppress a yawn himself. “Sleepy time?” Eldarion nuzzled closer against him.

Ohhh, how adorable is that? This is such a gentle, tender story.
dreamflower02
Sep. 15th, 2008 09:44 pm (UTC)
I just love both of these! Imagine, fierce warrior Glorfindel with a heart of mush when it comes to babies of all kinds! Yes, I *can* imagine that!

And the one about Elladan was lovely, almost surreal, as something set in Valinor should be. I liked his conclusion at the end: that building relationships was something he could do, and that needed doing. Very nice!
the_arc5
Sep. 15th, 2008 11:33 pm (UTC)
I'm a pervy hobbit fancier by nature, but at this moment...give me Glorfindel!

Great job on both, but I just love the image of the warrior Glorfindel cuddling little Eldarion and telling him stories of his other "charges." Love, love, LOVE.
blslarner
Sep. 16th, 2008 04:50 am (UTC)
Ah, Glorfindel the self-appointed nighttime nursemaid! Love the baby-talk with Eldarion, and Arwen recognizing this is but a continuation of the care she herself received from him as an infant. And LOVE the skunk! I have a skunk story or two myself! Heh!

As for Eldarion--NOW he knows what he needs to do--learn as much as he can from each person he encounters and establish the relationships he didn't before.

Wonderful conclusions and lessons he takes from his journey.

Liked both of them.
harrowcatliz
Sep. 17th, 2008 09:50 pm (UTC)
I really enjoyed both of these. No skunks in England thank goodness but I still remember my one encounter on a trip to Canada
ceshaughnessy
Sep. 17th, 2008 11:35 pm (UTC)
Zhie, very nice tale!!
claudia603
Sep. 26th, 2008 02:13 am (UTC)
naww..the idea of Glorfindel as an animal rescuer is too adorable! :)
( 8 comments — Leave a comment )

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