Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

In Time WiP	By : AlliKyttn Category: +Third Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3703 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own neither Lord of the Rings, not Harry Potter and make no money from either fandom.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Notes: I had every intention of writing some form of ritual that would either summon the Valar, or indicate an answer for Fin in some way. Apparently the Valar had other ideas. At this rate, random characters are going to take over the story to the point where I no longer have any more knowledge of the damn plot than any other reader! I need character control :P

Chapter Two – Why we do what we do

“He is the keeper of my fea [soul/spirit], and he is in danger,” Glorfindel confessed to Elrond in a voice that spoke of wonder and determination.

The elven lord could feel his own heart clench when he thought back to his hervess mell [dear/beloved wife]. He stood from his seat and wandered over to the side of the courtyard that overlooked the beautiful lands surrounding Imladris. Flowers were well in bloom this morn, he thought absently as the birdsong and the sweet smell of his gardens surrounded him, though not even its beauty could prevent the path of his thoughts...

Celebrían was long gone from these shores, a product of orcish raids. She had been visiting her parents, a trip she had made countless times between Imladris and Lothlórien over their centuries together. There had been no reason, then, to have her accompanied by more than the regular guard company.

It was their iôneth [sons] that had found her. He deeply regretted that he had not accompanied her, though she had not asked it of him. He regretted that it had not been him to find her. No hên [child] should have to find their naneth [mother] like that. While none could know that the last time would be different, to his mind, it still did not absolve him of the guilt he continued to feel at the treatment she had received at their hands.

She had not blamed him, yet she had. Such was the nature of those so physically and mentally wounded. With all of his knowledge, with all of his skill, he could heal her body, but he could not take those memories from her. He could not take the fear and the helplessness, nor the irrational feeling that her husband could have saved her from them, if only he had been there. If only he hadn't been dealing with other matters. If only...

He could not blame her, and often wished that he had sailed across the sea at her side. But it was, again, a matter of having other responsibilities. It had pained him to admit that while his hervess mell [dear/beloved wife] was indeed the other half of his fea [spirit/soul], as the Lord of Imladris, he did not belong to himself and thus was still needed on these shores until one of his hîn [children], or theirs, was able to take his place.

As the daughter of the great Lord and Lady of Lothlórien and as naneth [mother] to three growing elves, she had known and well understood his choice. Yet a small part of her had not understood and had wished for him to join her. Admittedly, he had not understood his own choice at times, wondering why he was still here and not at his wife's side.

It was why he gave Glorfindel's choice the respect that it deserved. It was not the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower that knelt before him. Nor was it the protector of the royal line. This was the great Balrog Slayer of whom tales were sung, dating back to the days when Gondolin was his home, when it was in his blood. Kneeling before him was the fierce protector that had perished for the survival of his home and his people.

There was no question that Elrond would support his mellon [friend] in his quest. He only wondered what would happen should the Valar not be willing to grant Glorfindel this boon...

“There is darkness taking our lands, but this is a joyous occasion Glorfindel,” Elrond moved back to the warrior and cupped his firm cheek to bid him rise, which he finally did. “I had not heard of the birth of an elfling recently. From where does he hail?”

Glorfindel met his gaze with a pained look. “He is not of these lands, mellonamin [my friend]. It is a strange place, his homeland, and I have only met him in dreams.”

The Lord of Imladris considered this. “It is not unheard of,” Elrond mused. “You connection must be deep indeed. Have you considered that the Valar have already given you their blessing in the form of these dreams?”

“I have,” was Glorfindel's reply. “But I would hear it from them. I cannot forsake the protection of one line, to protect another of my choosing. Knowing my fëa pia [little soul/spirit] is a ann [gift] of its own and I am not so full to bursting with myself to believe the Valar are granting me all that guren [my heart – S] desires without challenge.”

Elrond sighed at his mellon [friend]. “You have done much for your people, for our people, Glorfindel. Can you not accept that you are being rewarded for your service?”

“I will accept it,” he stated firmly, “when I know that it is mine to accept.”

The peredhil inclined his head and sent his friend a small, mischievous smile. “Would that I could see you with this babe, mellonamin [my friend]. I remember well the trouble caused to you by my iôneth [sons] and iell [daughter].

“Fatanion,” Elrond heard Glorfindel mutter [sons of hell] and laughed. “My Marcaunon is ainu [holy one/angelic spirit – Q].

“Indeed,” the lord continued to laugh with great mirth. “Ruler of the house? We shall see what kind of ainu [holy one/angelic spirit – Q] he grows into!”

“Will you be seeking a way to journey to your fëa pia [little soul/spirit]? Elrond asked his mellon [friend] as they moved from the courtyard to the library.

Glorfindel responded in the negative. “There is not enough time to look for a way to move between worlds. He is in danger now and time moves faster there.”

“I shall ask Erestor to look for a way, should you provide him enough detail of that world,” Elrond offered. “What will you do should the Valar not grant you what you seek?”

Glorfindel had not wanted to think about it. “I would ask that you allow me to stay close to Imladris so that I may sleep long and deep each night, mellonamin [my friend].”

As they stepped into the library, Elrond gave his companion a solemn look. “This is in my power to grant you, and so shall you have it...if the Valar do not allow your requested post [pause/halt].”

“Greetings, Elrond,” came Erestor's calm voice from behind him. The Lord of Imladris turned to face his fellow scholar.

“Erestor,” he acknowledged. “Have you time to aid us?”

“Of course, hîr nín [my lord],” he granted, then took a few steps toward a shelf to return the text he had been reading before turning back to the two Eldar. “What is it that you need?”

Elrond glanced back to Glorfindel, who calmly explained, “I have need to speak with the Valar. It is a matter of great importance.”

The dark-haired elf raised an eyebrow, almost mockingly. “And you cannot simply pray to them like ever other elf on Middle-Earth?”

“Erestor,” was all the warning he would get from Elrond.

Glorfindel clenched his teeth, but continued. “I have need of them to...leithian [release] me from my service to the line of my king for a short time.”

The other elf looked at him mockingly. “Have you something better to do, perhaps, Glorfindel?”

“Enough! Can you help us or not?” Elrond's eyes were narrowed dangerously at his kinsman. He should have known better than to ask something of Erestor when in aid of a personal matter. The elf's cutting sense of humour was deeply unsettling when it came to matters of the heart.

Erestor smirked. “You have no need of me to do this. If you are unable to farspeak with the Valar, yourself, Elrond, then I would advise that Glorfindel speak with Lady Galadriel. You both are proficient in Quenyan, I take it?” he finished unnecessarily.

Elrond turned to his mellon [friend]. “I had not thought it possible to connect with the Valar,” he confessed. “Though I have had no need of it in the past.”

“I bid you converse with Manwë, the Elder King, who returned me to these shores with purpose, or with Lórien, Master of Dreams and Visions,” Glorfindel decided. “Should this not be to your liking, I will brave the road to Lothlórien and Lady Galadriel.”

“Do not discount me before I have chance to make the attempt, mellonamin [my friend],” Elrond laughed. “Come! Let us take our leave and choose our words wisely before we anger the Valar in our haste.”

The two elves left Erestor to his texts and parchment to discuss more serious things.

“You seek audience with Manwë, peredhil [half-elf],” came the most beautiful voice he had heard in an age when the two returned to the courtyard. Often would they converse while surrounded by the peace of the gardens found there.

Both Elrond and Glorfindel sought the source of the voice. They were met with a burst of joyful laughter, more perfect than the first light of Anor [sun]. Birdsong accompanied the laughter and Glorfindel looked about the garden curiously. He had not taken note, earlier, that the flowers lining the courtyard looked more beautiful this day, that the birds who lived in Imladris were singing in harmony.

He remembered that perfect voice. “Vánatari [Queen Vána] ó the Blossoming Flower, ” he whispered in an awe-filled greeting. She would not be seen by them, he knew. When she took form, the Vala was beauty personified and very distracting.

They heard the fond smile in her return. “Glorfindel ó Vánamar [House of Vána]. My Golden Flower.” He could feel her attention turn to his hîr [lord]. “And Elrond ó Imladris. You hold much beauty here. I have spent many a peaceful moment here over the centuries...among the golden flowers.”

Elrond recalled, then, that she and her husband, Oromë, often spent time away from Aman and the other Valar, in favour of the blossoms and forests of Middle-Earth. Vána, in particular, held a great love of golden flowers and was known to dwell in gardens that were filled with them.

“It has been long since I was last gifted with your presence, tarinya [my Queen],” Glorfindel bowed his head once, respectfully, though he could not see her.

“My Golden Flower,” came the voice, as if speaking to a favoured child. “I have kept watch over you since you left our shores so long ago. You have used our gift to you well, quenlaurëa [golden one], and have held to that which you promised Manwë.”

Both elves were silent. Her words held praise, yet the Valar did not speak of such things lightly. They would await her indulgence.

Her tone turned solemn as she continued. “I grew curious, lótenya [my flower], when I saw your distraction, many moons ago. I sought to know the cause and so entered your dreams...”

Glorfindel did not move. He could not. He dared not hope, nor dared he despair. Before this day was through, he would likely have an answer, if only he but waited a little longer.

“I entered your dream realm and witnessed the visions from Lórien and the ties binding you to your Marcaunon, granted you by Vairë,” her sweet voice had softened in the retelling. “It is a very tangled weave she has bestowed upon you this age, lótenya [my flower], though it was not done out of spite. I have asked Vairë to speak to Manwë, as it was she who put you on this delicate path that would see a lesser elf forsake his vow to the Elder King completely.

“But you are no lesser elf, lótenya [my flower],” praise and joy in her voice as both Glorfindel and Elrond stood patiently, listening. “You are, as ever, the pride of Vánamar [House of Vána], seeking to balance the will of Eru with the demand of your fëa [soul/spirit]. The weave of destiny, of Vairë, is not one known by the Elder King, and so while gifted by the Valar, you continue to be held by your vow to him.

“We will see this rectified,” she continued, her certainty reassuring him. “Sleep this night, Glorfindel. An answer you will have by Anar's [sun – Q] early light. Erutieldë, lótenya [Eru guide you/put you on your path, my flower].”

“Hantalyë órenyava, tarinya,” was his honest reply [my heart thanks you, my Queen]. And it was with this heartfelt gratitude that Glorfindel bowed his head low for a moment before leaving the courtyard, having the distinct impression that Vánatari [Queen Vána] wished to converse with Elrond privately.

Elrond was uncomfortable in the Vala's presence, though he yet stood there, surrounded by the blooming flowers, the uplifting birdsong and the warmth of Anor [sun].

Her love of his mellon [friend] was apparent and yet she wished to speak to him. “You are favoured by Nienna, vinyahîr,” was her gentle offering [young lord]. “Do not be afraid. Though it is not often spoken outside of Valinor, we all have those we watch over.”

Nienna was known as the Lady of Mercy among the Valatári [Vala Queens]. She who weeps tears of pity and of healing. “Is it not my duty to share my gift with those who are in need of it?” he asked rhetorically. “I do it not to seek favour, though it is welcome.

There was an air of solemnity from Vána, he know. “I speak not of your healing acts for the peoples of Middle-Earth, though Nienna approves greatly. No, it is of your verimelda [beloved wife] that I speak. You would ask of her?”

She had the right of it, he acknowledged. Elrond had intended to speak to Manwë of her, had he the chance. “I would, Vánatari [Queen Vána], that I may know of her since she left these darkened shores.”

“Nienna was moved to see to her when your melda [beloved] crossed the sea,” she confided. “You are worthy in her eyes, your best efforts did you give to she who bore you sén [children], though the wounds to her fëa [soul/spirit] were beyond your gift.”

“I could not have prevented it. I know this,” he murmured sadly. “But I would have taken her pain...her torment...had the Valar but allowed me.”

“And yet you did not journey with her to the undying lands,” she pointed out needlessly and without judgement. “She resides across the sea, without her venno [husband], without her sén [children]. Like Glorfindel, you would choose the will of Eru over your órë [heart].”

“Glorfindel has not chosen thus,” Elrond's heart gave a painful clench at his own observation. “He has sought to find a path that will satisfy both.”

“He has sought this path, yes,” she admitted, again without judgement. “Though it is yet to be decided. Do you think less of your choice? Could you have found another path for your verimelda, vinyahîr [beloved wife, young lord]?”

He stood there in the way rays of the afternoon, surrounded by all of the beauty that was the Vala's to command and thought long and hard. It was something he had considered at length, and on many occasions, since the journey of his hervess [wife], but in the face of this question from a higher power, he retraced his path one last time.

“Fó, Vánatari,” he answered decisively [no, Queen Vána]. “I am needed here. Had she not travelled across the sea, it would have selfishly been for my benefit alone, as the wounds to her fëa [soul/spirit] were as hloima [poison]. Do you know of her, Vánatari [Queen Vána]? Know you how she fares?”

“Nienna was moved to see to her health, vinyahîr [young lord], as I said, though it was Estë who healed her fëa [soul/spirit]. The time will come when you will be reunited,” she informed him.

“She is at peace, then,” he was content with this. “It is as I hoped, when she fled to the undying lands. When I an no longer needed here, I will return to her for the rest of our days, if it is her wish.”

“Your verimelda [beloved wife] is far from at peace,” came the Vala's words, her tone full of humour. “Once healed, she took to watching her friends and family in a small pond in the gardens of Lórien, often plaguing the other Valar with rebukes, cleverly disguised as helpful suggestions, as to how best to 'guide' the fate of Middle-Earth.”

Elrond rose an incredulous eyebrow. “That...does not sound like my Celebrían,” he offered hesitantly. “Soft-spoken is the Lady of Imladris, her tongue only sharp in the raising of our iôneth [sons], headstrong and troublesome as they were.”

The Vala's laughter was infectious. “I do not wonder from whom they inherited this trait! The Evenstar could also be described thus,” she told him.

“My Arwen is indeed headstrong, yet she minds her father well,” he denied, pride underlying his tone.

“You are amusing, vinyahîr,” was her reply [young lord]. “Time will tell, indeed. Though I would have you know that your time here is nearing its end. Yours and many others. The time of Man approaches.”

“Vánatari [Queen Vána], you tell me much that I would have trouble believing from one not of the Valar,” he informed her with no small amount of confusion. “Though I have seen strength and great potential in sons of Men, I have not seen that same greatness in their people. They are weak-minded and headstrong. They may offer kindness to one of their own, yet immeasurable cruelty to another. I cannot see what you see in them.”

“It is true that they are a complex people,” she agreed, with a hint of smile in her words. “They would war with one another in one moment, but fight together as one in the next. The same could be said of all peoples across these great lands, vinyahîr [young lord]. As it will always be with children. They only need a common goal to grow and stand strong.”

“A catalyst approaches, then,” he reasoned. “A war brews...”

“As you were well aware,” she reminded him.

Elrond looked out over his lands from the courtyard that had stood witness to so many life-altering decisions. “The time of the Elves is ending...” he murmured needlessly. “Does it end with our lives...or with our deaths?”

It was something to ponder, rather than a question posed to the Vala, though she still answered him. “That is up to you.”

He took his seat, still looking out over Imladris without really seeing. “Is this why you are here? To prepare us for our final journey?”

“I am here to watch over lótenya [my flower] and dwell amongst your beautiful, golden blossoms,” she informed him with a joyous laugh. “Though I will confess that I am also here for Nienna.”

“I do not understand,” he replied.

There was sadness to her tone this time. “Vinyahîr [young lord], it was not only your verimelda [beloved wife] whose fëa [soul/spirit] needed tending. After all, were you not also wounded by the torment inflicted upon her?”

With those final parting words, the garden around him dimmed almost imperceptibly and the birdsong was no longer quite so lyrical to his ears. She had done what she came to do and was now gone.

In his rooms, Glorfindel ó Gondolin sat on the edge of his bed, fingering the sword that rarely left his side. Like its possessor, it was of Gondolin in origin and beautiful to behold, a single stone fixed into the handle, giving birth to the vines that signified the Golden Flower crest.

It had been gifted him by Oromë, husband to Vána, upon his leaving Valinor to return to Middle-Earth. Great respect they held for one another and much did they have in common. The sword was as his arm, a part of him, and one he relied on heavily.

Warmth surrounded him gently. “My Golden Flower,” came the now-familiar greeting. “Still so troubled.”

He said nothing, though he stood his sword against the wall to the head of his bed and laid himself down and stared above him. After a moment, he turned his head back to where his sword gleamed.

“There is no shame in needing your talisman, quenlaurëa,” was her counsel [golden one].

“It can do nothing in the land of dreams,” he stated quietly. “I am without weapon in the defence of fëanya pia [my little soul/spirit].”

“It is your talisman, lótenya [my flower], no matter its origin,” she chose her words with kindness and purpose. “It can do for you as little, or as much, as is needed.”

Give him no false hope, tarinya [my Queen], came the mental rebuke from her husband, Oromë. It is but a sword, albeit one forged by the hands of Aulë.

It is imbued with my blood, she told him mischievously. Where I go, wondrous things may follow...

She smiled to herself at his mental snort and turned her attention back to her favoured lótë [flower]. “Hold it close and keep it with you always, my Golden Flower. When you feel weak, it will hold strength. When all is dark, it will bring light. Where life is withered, it will give blossom.”

The Vala watched with soft eyes as her laurehin [golden child] reached for his sword and held it atop his body, tip pointing to the end of the bed, as if in death. “Rest now, Glorfindel ó Vánamar [House of Vána]. Dream of your Marcaunon,” she whispered in his ear and pressed, what passed for, a kiss to his golden locks. “Show me the beauty of your melmë [love] for him and the fëa [soul/spirit] you share.”

When Glorfindel opened his eyes in the dream realm, he stood inside the living area of a dwelling somewhat smaller than the one Lily and James had shared. There was not much colour or warmth to his eyes and he wondered where he and Marcaunon were. In point of fact, he just wondered of Marcaunon.

He frowned when he heard no childish laughter, nor any sound at all. He felt not the wave of warmth that signified a greeting from his fëa pia [little soul/spirit] and his concern grew. “Marcaunon?” he called out.

Glorfindel spun around at a tearful, muffled whimper that seemed to originate nearby the stairs. “Pen-neth [young one], where are you?”

There was crying then. “Fin?” came the confused voice of his fëa pia [little soul/spirit]. It was followed by the shaking of the handle of a small door beneath the staircase. “Fin!”

He could hear tears in his name and it tore at him. Glorfindel moved through the door and into a tiny space that barely allowed him entry, even as a 'spirit'. On a raised platform sat Marcaunon's carrier, with the child strapped in it and covered with the blanket Lily and James had so lovingly chosen for him at the market seller the day he had first started dreaming.

He voiced a harsh cry of denial when he saw the blemish on his fëa pia's [little soul/spirit] face that spoke of a heavy hand. The golden warrior reached out as if to soothe and was rewarded with a pained flinch. “Who has done this?” The question was softly spoken and full of anguish.

“Fin,” was all his fëa pia [little soul/spirit] would say, but it was tearful and thick with confusion.

It was at that moment he realised that he could not properly feel his bond with Marcaunon. It still existed, but was not pulsing between them, full of life and energy. When he drew on the bond, he encountered some form of barrier. It was then that he grimly recalled how his last dream-walk had ended...

When the eerily green light of the curse met with Marcaunon's flesh, a blinding white light overtook the room. He closed his eyes tight in defence as he heard a high-pitched scream of soul-wrenching pain from the dark Istar. When he could open his eyes again a moment later, he could no longer feel Marcaunon's tiny hand beneath his and the dark Istar was a pile of ash on the floor in front of him.

He turned to look at the pen-neth [young one] when the pained cry of the babe broke through to him. Glorfindel winced in sympathy at the sight of the bleeding cut on his forehead that looked somewhat like a bolt of lightening. Despite Marcaunon's obvious physical pain and all else he must be feeling at the death of his ememelda [beloved mother], the golden warrior was greatly relieved that his fëa pia [little soul/spirit] was, in fact, not dead and remained largely unharmed.

Glorfindel wondered at the injury, though, and moved closer to make sure it was not serious. He knew not if he could still touch Marcaunon's skin, but when his fingers were but a hairsbreadth from encountering blood he was thrown from his dream-walk and awoke in his bed, Anor's [sun] light fading from the sky. He had quickly dressed and sought out the Lord of Imladris...

He had not awoken naturally, he realised suddenly, also recalling that he had not really felt Marcaunon's emotions then either. Had the light that had saved his fëa pia [little soul/spirit] from certain death been their connection? Had it been weakened by such a feat? They would have to wait and see, he decided. There was nothing that could be done until he knew more.

Standing over the teary child in the cramped little space, Glorfindel began to softly sing one of the songs that he had heard Lily often sang to Marcaunon from the time he was in the womb.

Lullaby and goodnight, with roses bedight,

With lilies o'er spread is baby's wee bed,

Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed,

Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed.

Lullaby and goodnight, thy mother's delight,

Bright angels beside my darling abide,

They will guard thee at rest, thou shalt wake on my breast,

They will guard thee at rest, thou shalt wake on my breast¹.

Though his voice held not the same soft, sweet notes of Marcaunon's ememelda [beloved mother], the babe slowly settled. Glorfindel continued to sing the song until his tiny eyes drifted shut in comforted sleep. “Sleep well, pen-neth [young one]. I will be by your side,” he whispered, though he could not promise more than that. He yearned to wonder the house to find out more of this dwelling and Marcaunon's carers, but dared not leave him for even a moment.

To his mind, barely two days could have passed since the death of Lily and James. He could not conceive of who had been given care of his Marcaunon and would yet treat him in such a way. He knew not how he could contact Albus, as the only Istar, to his knowledge, that would be able to communicate with him.

While still gazing at his fëa pia [little soul/spirit] with concerned eyes, he absently toyed with the hilt of his sword, which he seemed to have carried across with him in his dreams. Glorfindel did not know of how literal Vánatari's [Queen Vána] words were and how much was placating. He suspected he would find out in time, but in truth, there was also much strength in one's will, when enough desperation, or even faith and hope, was powering it.

Glorfindel ó Gondolin, he heard in the back of his mind. There is much to speak of.

He stilled at the mental projection. Manwetur [Lord Manwë]?

The voice continued, which he took as confirmation. The Valar have gifted you with much, yet have not considered you in all things, Vánalótë laurëa [Golden Flower of Vána – Q]. What would you have of me? Was the Elder King's question. I would hear it from you.

Glorfindel did not hesitate in his response. I would see to the protection of my fëa pia [little soul/spirit], though not at the expense of the line of Eärendil.

What would you have of me? The Elder King repeated patiently, and not unkindly. Indeed, Glorfindel had not yet given his answer.

I would ask of you lerya [release/set free], so that I may see to Marcaunon, he told the Vala. He is but a babe and cannot see to himself...shadows follow him. Five cycles in the passing of Middle-Earth will see him grown in the eyes of his emel's [mother] people.

And what of your vow to me? He was asked. What of Eärendilmar [House of Eärendil]?

I cannot ask another to see to my duty, Glorfindel spoke half to himself, turning briefly from the sleeping babe to stare at the walls suffocating them. Yet I cannot see to it myself. I would not see Eärendilmar [House of Eärendil] unprotected. Elrond believes that war approaches.

The peredhil sees little, yet it is enough, Manwë admitted. War approaches quickly, so that I may not give you five cycles free of your vow. Would that I could, Vánalótë laurëa [Golden Flower of Vána].

Glorfindel closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, though not in anger. It was helplessness he felt. It had been his choice to give his vow to Manwë and protect the line of Eärendil. It was a duty he saw to gladly. Only now was there something that brought him both great joy, and terrible sadness. The swiftness of the approaching war would likely not allow him to keep to his alternative plan to remain close to Imladris and rest at every free moment in the effort to watch over his fëa pia [little soul/spirit].

The compassionate voice of Manwë interrupted his distressed thoughts. Though five cycles I cannot give, I did not say I could give nothing, Gondolinian.

His eyes flew open and he tried to steady his suddenly racing heart as the Vala continued. In five cycles, the war will have taken its toll. You will be needed, quenlaurëa [golden one], and so will your fëa pia [little soul/spirit]. The return of his line to Middle-Earth was woven by Vairë long before it had left your realm. Never has the Vala woven a more intricate web of destiny.

Four cycles you may have, he informed the golden-haired warrior. Should those of Eärendilmar [House of Eärendil]not be in mortal peril.

Glorfindel was momentarily taken aback when a glow about his sword sought his attention. Eärendilmar [House of Eärendil] is now bound to your weapon, Manwë informed him. Should their path lead them into a danger they cannot themselves face, your sword will call an end to your time here and bid you to their side. In your sleep, your physical form will not be of your own. It will be as in death, still, and without decay, nor in need of nourishment, until it is possessed of you once more.

And should the danger pass, will I be returned to Marcaunon's side? He asked of the Vala.

This is not certain, was the Elder King's apologetic response. I will inform Eärendilmar [House of Eärendil] of this, and the need of added caution for a time.

Though the Balrog Slayer indeed felt rich in the gifts and concessions bestowed upon him by the Valar, he would know the truth of Marcaunon's tormentor and spoke of such to Manwë.

He could almost hear a sigh coming from the Vala. The Valar have little power in this realm, Gondolinian. We can watch and sometimes influence the weave here, save for that of our own, which we still hold dominion over, like your Marcaunon and the one that birthed his line. We must sit and wait until we are able to take advantage of some small rift in the weave to have our Eru's will done. Your presence here is proof enough of this. It will take time for you to understand, but you will be able to ensure that what was done here does not do him ill and take him from his path.

His acquiescence was all he gave the Elder King. I will see it done, he vowed. He deserves no less.

One last thing will you be granted, Vánalótë laurëa [Golden Flower of Vána]. The babe will have little joy in his time in this dwelling that is not borne of you. You are not able to interact with this realm as you would our own, though we grant you feeling of touch between you and Marcaunon. As part of the bond between your fëar [souls/spirits], you would feel any touch as it existed, though in truth it is but a fabrication.

Glorfindel held some confusion at this. We would touch, yet not?

You have the right of it. You may see and feel as if there is connection between you, though it is as it ever was. You are still between realms. It is for the comfort of you both. No elfling should grow without the warmth and comfort of a loving embrace, Manwë remarked sadly.

Would this familial bond sway the one of our fëa [soul/spirit]? Glorfindel asked with some small measure of concern, though he was put to rest a moment later.

It would not, was the definitive response. His emel's [mother] death and the love she held for him was imprinted on him. Always will he remember her and everything that she and his atar [father] were to him. Of this you need not worry.

I will be this for him, Glorfindel stated.

You must first re-establish your bond, quenlaurëa [golden one], he was told in no uncertain terms. It is muted by another, one that was forced upon the babe with the defeat of the dark Istar.

It is not a weakening from overuse as I suspected, then? He noted with concern.

It is not. Though the second bond was able to be established for that reason, Manwë informed him. Your connection manifested itself and was strong enough to give significant protection, resulting in a temporary void in the soul. What little that still remained of the dark lord was able to take advantage and lodge itself there. You must find a way to reaffirm your presence within the elfling without endangering him and you must do it quickly. This home will not be a kind one, I fear.

Why? Glorfindel stressed the word with pain and glanced again to the darkening mark on his fëa pia's [little soul/spirit] face. How could they do this?

They fear that which is different, was the Vala's disappointed reply. They do not care to know better...

1. Brahm's Lullaby
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In Time *WiP*

In Time WiP