Glorfindel stood at the doorway that opened onto the little courtyard, enclosed on all sides by the walls of the Last Homely House. It was a small, calm square open to the sky in the heart of the more recent extension of the building that had never truly stopped growing. He had an amusement that one day there would be no valley left, just House, though he had the discretion to keep this idea to himself. His sense of humour was not necessarily shared by those around him – he could only assume the First Age had seen things differently.

In the courtyard, sitting on the little bench facing the fountain, was the Lord of the Valley, wearing the dark red robes he had attended the council meeting in that morning, but with his hair loosened from the dressing of intricate braids, based, though he would deny it, on a style that had been favoured by Gil-galad for formal occasions. Glorfindel wondered if he would ever have the courage to point out that Gil-galad had had a lot more hair of a thicker texture and with a distinct wave to it, all of which had helped him to carry this style somewhat better than Elrond Eärendilion now did.

He thought not.

Walking over quietly, he sat down on the stone paving beside the bench and joined Elrond in contemplating the fountain in silence. Finally he reached up and took one long fingered hand where it rested in the scarlet-clad lap and drew it down to link their fingers together.

“Your thoughts?” he asked softly, lifting the fingers lightly to his lips as he spoke. Elrond looked down at him, his eyes blinking as though he returned from reverie or far memories.

“My thoughts?” He looked away, his face closed, then darted a glance back. “My thoughts would shock you.”

“I have lived twice and seen three Ages,” Glorfindel said with equanimity. “Nothing shocks me.”

Elrond laughed briefly, nodding. “Very true. I’d be more likely to shock Erestor.” He leaned back on a sigh. “I was just trying to remember what it was all about – why we are still here when so many have sailed and so many continue to sail, what we are waiting for, what we are holding on for? I try and keep the world back from this, one of the last tiny corners of what was once a great elven kingdom. And for what? An ‘in case’? A shelter for the descendants of my brother’s kin? A promise made to a long-dead king? Arda no longer wants us here, can you not feel it? I am so weary. This is no longer our place. Men grow, time changes, and yet we few remain. Why?”

Glorfindel rocked back on his heels, his eyes narrowed in thought. Finally he said, “I think it’s a little like this courtyard in which we sit.”

Elrond gave him a puzzled look and he laughed softly, reaching to pick a sprig of mint from where it grew between the flags. He offered it smiling, with the words, “It clears the senses.”

He rose and strolled slowly round the little fountain, coming back to stand before the half-elf, who sat obediently breathing in the scent of mint. “This shape, this square, represents order. It is neat, everything is in its place, it has a border and a centre. It did not create itself, nor does it maintain itself. As for our presence here…we represent order. We are the ones who know the outcome of badly maintained borders, a neglected centre. We warn, we advise, offer council. Yes, in part we remain for a promise made to a king. of course we do. But that promise is what it is all about, not the king himself. At least that’s how he would have seen it. And the promise was to guard and protect and to be a shield should the darkness not be utterly defeated the first time.”

Elrond was looking up at him, storm grey eyes fastened on his face. Glorfindel knelt, took both of his hands, and held them in his own. “We watch, we wait, we maintain the balance. And when the shadow returns, we will remember the past and the horror we fought and held back then, and we will be prepared. We will be here to guide those who will fight the darkness as we did in our time. And then we will sail to Valinor and I will show you my home.”

“And then I can rest?” He made it a question.

Glorfindel smiled and rose and sat beside him on the small bench, and reached an arm around his shoulders. Resting his cheek briefly against the sable hair, soft as a kitten’s fur, he said quietly. “No need to wait. You can rest here, now.”

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Finish

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