patuncioopato

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I cried.

The house in the woods

Glorfindel x reader (platonic) (moodboard)

*****

Menacing clouds had been gathering since noon, turning the azure of the sky in a gloomy iron-grey that promised a deluge before the end of the day, and finally, a couple of hours before the evening mantled the Rhovanion in its dark cape, rain started to pour, dense, forbidding, bitterly cold, and so innegably... wet.

Glorfindel of Gondolin (or rather, these days, of Imladris) sighed, lifting the hood of his cape even though he knew a simple layer of fabric covering his hair would be of little use in keeping him dry, or at least warm.

It was of no use at all, and soon the Elf-Lord was soaking wet as he trudged along a path not far from the borders of Eryn Galen. The trail was empty safe for him, the distant call of a spotted owl the only company of his solitude, and Glorfindel could have spurred his horse to a gallop to quicken the completion of his journey, but he only needed a moment of reflection to decide against it: with such inclement weather, even Asfaloth would be in danger of slipping and falling on the wet path, and even of spraining an ankle - and that would be quite a problem, for both of them. Because of this, the Elf-lord decided to carry on and brave the rain; a bit (well, quite a bit) of water would not kill him.

Thick vegetation flanked the narrow path as far as the eye could see; Asfaloth, his soft white coat as soaking wet as the clothes of his rider, trudged on, his head bent low; he was a clever, brave creature, as well as gentle and affectionate, and Glorfindel felt guilty for forcing him to such an uncomfortable journey. After all, he reproached himself, he should have accepted King Thranduil's offer to extend his stay in the palace for another night, since dark clouds had been gathering in the sky since yestereve, and even a child could have predicted the storm would reach him before he could arrive at the village he had planned to spend the night in. He had been alive since the Years of the Trees, and apparently had not learned much since then, since he still made such foolish mistakes.

His white cape clinged to his shoulders and back - another uncomfortable situation he could have spared himself; Glorfindel bent towards the horse's head and gently caressed his blonde mane. "I am so sorry, mellon nin." he murmured; Asfaloth was a war horse and no deluge, no matter how violent or persistent, could seriously bother him, but nonetheless the Elf-Lord felt guilty for the unpleasant situation he had put him in "I promise I'll make up to you, once we are home."

The promise to return soon to the dry, warm stables in Imladris, where he was well-fed (the horse was not exactly gluttonous, but he had a well-known sweet tooth, and was often fed treats by the children of the citadel) and well-cared for by the grooms, seemed to lift Asfaloth's spirit; the horse neighed softly, accepting his rider's apologies, and kept on marching.

His journey was turning out to be solitary as well as impractical, since Glorfindel had not met other travellers since he had left Thranduil's palace behind him, besides a few of the woods' ancestral inhabitants, like a couple of squirrels running towards their nest or a fox surrounded by her kits. That was to be expected, since according to the map he had brought with him, there were no towns or villages, be it of Elves, Men or Dwarves, for many miles all around him...

Or were there?

The violence of the storm seemed to have increased in the last minutes, but as he tried to see beyond the dense vegetation surrounding the path all around him, the Elf-lord thought he saw a small building partially hidden by the rain curtain, maybe fifty fathoms from him. Even if it were simply a warehouse or a stable, it meant a roof over his (and Asfaloth's) head, and maybe even the opportunity to lit a fire to warm up and dry his clothes.

It seemed almost too good to be true, and Glorfindel decided to discover whether it actually was as soon as he could. Taking the reins, he gently guided his horse towards the building which, he realized a few minutes later, was not a storehouse, but a home: a wooden-roofed building, diminutive in size but solid and well-kept, surrounded by natural vegetation in the middle of a small clearing. Semi-hidden behind it, an even smaller building that could be the stable the Elf-lord had guessed earlier.

Glory to Eru. Glorfindel dismounted, paying no attention to the mud that stained his boots, took Asfaloth's reins in his hand, and approached the house to knock on the door and ask for shelter; drenched in water as he was he probably did not look his best, but the Elf hoped his request for help would not be denied because of this - rather, maybe he would be more readily welcomed because his appearance was so wretched. He lifted his closed fist to the green door...

"And what are you doing here?"

He had been sure he was alone, and the tone the question had been posed in had been more brusque than threatening, but Glorfindel's warrior instinct did not fail him; in a second he had turned in the direction the voice had come from, his hand already grabbing the hilt of the sword hanging from his waist; in the course of his long (too long, it sometimes seemed to him) life very few people had been able to take him by surprise, but sometimes a moment of inattentiveness was all that was needed. He flexed his legs, ready to fight whatever might want to fight him... and a moment later he partially relaxed, finding himself face to face with an Elf-woman, unharmed and almost as drenched as he was, staring at him insistently.

Glorfindel let his hand fall to his side. "Mae govannen." he said with a slight bow of his head in Quenya "Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo." but the Elf-woman answered in the Common Tongue... and did not greet him back.

"I asked what you are doing here."

"I am a simple traveller, looking for shelter."

"And you waited until now? There have been clouds in the sky since dawn at least."

"I fear I have underestimated the time I would need to reach my destination, as well as the violence of this squall." Glorfindel admitted without embarrassment "Is this your home? Would it be possible to ask for shelter for the night?"

The Elf-woman did not immediately answer. Looking at her, Glorfindel realized she was hesitating, perhaps about the risks of hosting a stranger under her roof; it was unexpected, even for someone who seemed to have opted for (or maybe the choice had been made for her?) a solitary life and was as a consquence more in danger of being assaulted or robbed, since among their race it had always been natural, even dutiful, to come to the aid of whoever needed it, even if no bond of friendship and consanguinity existed.

He also noticed that her clothes (shirt, trousers, boots) were not made in the style of the Elves; everything seemed Man-made instead, and her hair was not braided as it was common for Elf-women. What a surprising encounter, Glorfindel thought, but aloud he simply said: "I swear to you I have no ill intention towards you or your properties. I just ask for a roof, for me and my horse, until first light tomorrow; I'm ready to pay for it, if you so desire."

She looked at him with an intensity Glorfindel might have found discorteous, perhaps considering the risk of welcoming a stranger under her roof, or maybe evaluating him; she said neither yes nor no.

"I do not need to be paid; no one deserve to be left outside in this weather." she decided in the end "Where do you hail from?"

"Imladris. My name is Glorfindel, at your service."

The mention of his name was finally enough to break the diffident facade of the Elf-woman. "You are... that Glorfindel?" she asked, awed despite herself "You killed...?"

"A Balrog? I did; and he killed me. But now I am about to drown in this deluge, which would be a much less glorious death that I had hoped for, being a warrior. I doubt the bards will sing it." he pointed out. He had hoped to put a smile on her face, but the Elf-woman's expression remained tense. She opened her mouth to answer, but another voice anticipated her.

"Is everything all right?"

Glorfindel turned once more to search for the source of the voice, finding himself face to face with an aged Man, his shoulder-length hair as white as snow, his face marked by care and the passing of time. He wasn't smiling, but there was kindness in his eyes, Glorfindel thought; kindness, and a hint of circumspection. He let the Man observe him, perceiving no threat or mistrust in him... while the Elf-woman seemed more tense with every passing moment.

In the end, the Man looked at her. "Is everything all right, darling?" he asked; it was immediately clear to Glorfindel he had heard everything of their conversation, even if he had let the Elf-woman talk to him first.

"Everything is fine, Padriac." she quickly answered; she did not move, but Glorfindel thought for a moment she was about to put herself between the two of them, as if she thought the Man needed defending... or risked being taken away "This Elf is a traveller who was caught in the rain."

"Well, in that case both of you better come inside, since this storm shows no signs of stopping. And this magnificent horse can keep our Dandelion company in the stable."

Glorfindel bowed, his hand pressed to his heart. "You have my deepest thanks, master." he said; the man smiled and shook his head, as if to say there was no need for gratitude, while the Elf-woman, clearly ill at ease but apparently willing to keep her misgivings to herself, walked to the stable with him. There was space enough for two inside, and the sole guest, a chestnut mare with liquid eyes, did not seem to mind she had to share her space; she and Asfaloth became acquainted sniffing each other briefly, and Dandelion let her guest share her fodder.

"We can go inside." the Elf-woman said then; judging by the sigh she heaved, she was not thrilled at the idea of having guests "Pay respect to Padriac, he is the master of the house."

There was no need for such an exhortation (it had been a few centuries since Glorfindel's parents had instilled good manners in him, but the Elf-lord believed he still remembered how one was supposed to behave when hosted in someone else's house) but he decided not to mention it. There was no need to argue, and the Elf-woman seemed to dislike him already... or rather, he reflected as he said goodbye to his horse, clearly glad of the roof on his head, as if that Elf she had never met before had come to destroy her life and take what she loved the most from her.

"I will." he promised; he was intrigued by her, and by what had brought her to spend her life there, as an hermit, with one of the Edain for company "And since you know my name and I know your friend's, would you tell me yours?"

She bit her lip before answering. "I am named (name)."

"This is not an Elvish name."

"No. It is not."

She offered no explaination, and Glorfindel decided it was better not to ask. He followed (name) to the house, whose door had been left ajar. She let him enter first; on the doorway, she turned to look at him. "And so as you know, Padriac is not my friend." she said, her expression betraying nothing of what she might feel "He is my husband."

They entered, and Glorfindel, still busy reflecting on that last revelation, looked around him, more intrigued than he had been in a long time. The house was simply but cozily furnished, with a large fireplace that (name) took care to light to dry their clothes, a solid wooden table, colorful window curtains and a few shelves on the walls on which a number of small wooden figurines were put on display. The scent of fragrant herbs in tiny pottery jars scattered all around the room tinged the air; two doors opened on the walls, which Glorfindel imagined led to the couple’s private room and to a storage.

Padriac joined them, leaning on a wooden stick; his eyes were the same shade of green as the grass of the forest after the rain, and before old age had stooped his back he had to have been very tall. He offered a gnarled hand, and Glorfindel delicately grasped his arm. “My name is Glorfindel; I thank you again for your hospitality, master.”

"You may call me Pad, my friend; and it is our pleasure." the Man replied with a smile; he was clearly much more sociable than his wife, which was perhaps surprising, Glorfindel thought, since he seemed to have chosen such a reclusive existence "Come sit close to the fire, you must be freezing. You speak our tongue; that's a good thing, since I have never been able to learn yours, even though (name) tried to teach me for years.”

As Glorfindel was being entertained by the master of the house, (name) took care of dinner; she took off her cape, soaking wet after just a few minutes under the rain, took a large pot from a cupboard and started preparing a broth. She still looked tense, Glorfindel thought; he was sorry his presence put her ill at ease… but he couldn’t help being curious as to why.

 “I hope you like lentil soup.” Pad said, before turning to smile at his wife; Glorfindel felt sure he did it often “(name) is an excellent cook, even though there is little we can grow here she can always prepare tasty recipes.”

“I am sure of it.” Glorfindel corteously answered “And I will be grateful for whatever you may give me."

“You should go sit, Pad.” (name) pointed out “You need rest.”

“Are you tired, mas… Pad?”

“Not exactly, since I have been inside since I got up this morning.” the Man replied with a sigh “But my poor bones hurt when it rains… or when the sun is shining.”

Glorfindel insisted to help the master of the house reach the most comfortable seat in the room, a large carved chair that, he proudly explained, he had built with his own hands. The room was made pleasantly warm by the fire burning in the hearth, but (name) quickly opened a chest to retrieve a heavy blanket, that she then helped her husband drape around her shoulders. “Is there anything else you need?” she asked, her tone full of affection, and Padriac shook his head before taking her hand to kiss the back of it; when their gazes met, it was as if they could converse without the need for words.

“I am fine, my darling, Do not concern yourself.”

“But the healer has said…”

“The healer worries himself too much as well, even when his patient is a man of my age, and with all my aches and pains. I am fine, really.”

Clearly unconvinced, but apparently willing to have her husband have it his way, the Elf-woman focused on the dinner once more. Glorfindel offered to help her (he had almost no experience in the preparation of a meal, but how hard cutting vegetables or stirring a pot could be?) but she assured him she could take care of it by herself.

“But I thank you for offering.” she said then, smiling at him for the first time; the Elf-lord felt victorious.

The evening turned out to be much more pleasant than Glorfindel had imagined, and not just because there was a solid roof protecting him from the still ongoing storm. Padriac begged him to tell them about Imladris and its people, and the Elf-lord was happy to satisfy him; it was pleasant to have such an attentive and enthusiastic listener. (name), on her part, did not seem especially interested in the conversation, even when Glorfindel and her husband attempted to involve her. The Elf-lord had thought she might be interested in hearing about her own people, especially since there were no Elven villages for many miles all around the house, but the opposite was true: (name) seemed determined to ignore every reference to her own people, and kept looking at her husband as if she feared seeing him disappear at any moment.

She was really a mistery.

Soon afterwards it was time for dinner, and there was no need for Glorfindel to lie out of politeness about the quality of the food. “Everything was delicious.” he said in the end; he felt decidedly better than an hour before, drenched in water after a whole day spent on the saddle “Especially the broth; it is even better than what we eat in Imladris.”

 “It was my mother in law who taught me.” (name) explained; she was sitting between him and her husband “She used to live with us.”

“Your family has always lived here, Pad?”

The man (who had proved to be an excellent host; he had insisted Glorfindel sit to the chair closest to the fire, even though the Elf’s clothes had dried already, and had even opened a wine bottle in his honor) shook his head. He had said his dinner smelled great, as usual, my darling, but he had barely touched his food; Glorfindel seemed to remember than mortals did eat less in their old age, perhaps on account of a more sedentary life, but he could not help fearing that inappetence was not natural, nor particularly good for his health.

"I was born in a village a couple days' ride from here; my family had lived there for at least six generations." he explained as he sipped his wine; (name) had poured a few drops of a concoction in his cup, that their healer had prepared and that would give him a little respite from joint pain ... or at least this is what she hoped, Glorfindel thought, seeing the worry in the Elf-woman's eyes as she looked at her husband "But when we got married we decided to move here, together with my mother; because of (name)." 

"You did not enjoy living in a village of Men?"

"Let us say I knew I would never fully be one of them, because I was constantly reminded of the fact." the Elf-woman simply answered, her voice expressing no emotion safe for the briefest hint of regret "This house suits us just fine; we do not receive many guests, but we have more than enough space for the two of us, and we can reach the closest village to buy food and other necessities."

"You mean you can reach the village." Padriac pointed out, his voice bitter as he shook his head, as if he had not come to terms yet with the fragility the passing of time had brought with it "I cannot ride anymore, nor can I walk more than half a mile without tiring."

"Then we are lucky I can take care of it by myself, are we not?"

Glorfindel felt that was not the first discussion the two spouses had had on the topic. After dinner, (name) invited her husband to retire and rest, but Padriac, while clearly fatigued, said he wanted to show Glorfindel something.

"Look there, on the shelves." he invited, and the Elf-lord obeyed, inspecting the wood statuines he had already noticed on his arrival. Some were only slighter longer than his finger, others twice as largeas his hand; they mostly depicted animals, but there were also buildings, trees and fruits, and people in various positions. "Did you make these, Pad?"

"I did; I was apprenticed to a wood-carver as a young man, and this has been my trade ever since." the Man answered "I also make work tools, kitchen utensils and whatever (name) can bring to the village's market and sell, but these are my favourite creations."

"These are really well-made! You must be very proud."

"All the merchants in the village are always eager to buy Padriac's works, or to commission him some; his pieces have reached all the towns of the region, and even Gondor." (name) said, pride evident in her voice. Her husband took her hand, but a new melancholic smile had blossomed on his lips.

"Those days are in the past, my darling; my hands do not have the necessary firmness to handle a carving knife anymore. For a few years shutters and ladles have been the most I can create."

"Nevertheless, an artist should be proud of his work. I am sure lord Glorfindel agrees with me."

"I do indeed." the Elf-lord quickly replied, perceiving the implicit request in those words "I have no talent for the arts whatsoever; unlike most Elves, I cannot even sing. So I have always envied those who could, especially who like you can create something beautiful from simple matter. Take this wolf for example: it is so life-like it seems ready to start howling!"

Padriac smiled; he seemed flattered. (name) smiled behind him, love and heartbreak shining in her eyes.

Glorfindel was invited to take the couple's bed for the night, and he resolutely refused, both because he did not need it (he was a trained soldier, and had spent years of nights sleeping on the floor or the naked ground) and because he could only imagine how uncomfortable it would have been for Pad to sleep on a less than comfortable surface. (name) seemed to perceive the reasoning behind his choice; she did not thank him, not even with a smile, but nodded, and hurried to prepare a comfortable bed for him, with clean straw and blankets, in the main room. Glorfindel thanked her, and slept peacefully until dawn.

As he prepared to leave he offered, as delicately as he could, Padriac a few gold coins to pay for his hospitality, but the Man would not hear it. "It was a pleasure to have a guest, so long after the last one; and now I can say I have met two Elves instead of one."

They both turned to look at (name), busy cleaning the dishes from the breakfast table; Padriac's gaze was earnest... a strange mixture of devotion and regret. "I do not exactly know how you Elves mature, or indeed if the word actually means something for your people, since you do not age." he said after a while; his voice had dropped to a whisper "But for you... (name) is still young, is she not? One hundred and seventy years are not much for someone who can live forever."

"I would say she is, yes." Glorfindel replied; the question had surprised him "Age does not have for Elves the same significance it has for the mortal races, but it is evident (name) is still very young." 

Padriac smiled; the Elf-lord's assessment seemed to have pleased him, even though Glorfindel could not understand why. "I was young as well when I met her. I was one of the tallest and strongest men of my village, I ate for three and could lift a load of wood above my head without effort. Now, as you can see, things have changed a little."

"The Valar have blessed you with a long life, and a devout and affectionate wife."

"Oh, yes; I could not have been more fortunate in loving and being loved by her. I cannot say the same for (name), though."

The Elf-lord did not answer; he knew what his host meant by those words, and did not know how to react - or whether, indeed, he should have said something. Pad asked whether he needed provisions for what was left of his journey back home, and while Glorfindel assured him he had everything he needed, the Man insisted he take the wolf figurine he had admired on the previous night.

"I carved it soon after our marriage; clearly (name) was the inspiration behind my best works. Take it, to remember us by, even though I am sure it is nothing compared to the beauty and the richness you are surrounded by in your citadel."

"I do not think I could ever forget your kindness and hospitality; I am honored of your gift." the Elf-lord replied, touched; the tiny sculpture in his hands was lovely, but it was the fact it had been gifted to him by its maker that made it so precious "I thank you, Padriac; you are a good man, and I wish you all the luck in the world."

Next Glorfindel took his leave from (name), thanking her for her help and the delicious dinner. He had had the impression she did not like him, but the Elf-woman surprised him proposing to accompany him for a little while on his way home.

"I need to visit the village's hypothecary and buy fodder for Dandelion." she explained, as if she did not want him to think she only wanted to enjoy his company for a little more. Glorfindel smiled.

"In that case I would welcome your company."

(name) made sure Padriac had everything he needed for a few hours of solitude, and promised she would come back as soon as possible. She kissed her husband's white hair in goodbye with the reverence she ought to have devoted to a relic. Glorfindel followed her out of the little house and towards the stables; (name) was carrying a pouch of gold coins and a dagger at her belt.

A cloudless sky that would have seemed like a miracle on the previous, rainy night welcomed them in the new day, the cool air carrying a memory of the recent bad weather. They saddled the horses, and started on their respective journeys riding side by side; Dandelion was a gentle creature that readily followed her rider's instructions, and she and Asfaloth seemed to have become friends already.

"Thank you." (name) murmured after a while, breaking the surprisingly comfortable silence the two riders had shared after they had left the little house in the woods behind them "I am sure you have many questions, but you decided to keep them to yourself because you knew it would make Pad and me uncomfortable. I am grateful, truly."

"Embarassing you would have been a very poor way to repay you sharing your food and home with me." the Elf-lord pointed out "And to be sincere, I do not think I have doubts to dispel, since your life is no matter that concerns me."

"You do not think our situation is... bizarre?"

"What right do I have to jugde you, let alone to condemn the choices you and Pad have made? If anything, I think you are a lucky woman, married to a good man who clearly adores you; are you not?"

"Oh, yes; he might think differently, but I know I have been very fortunate... and I still am."

The hint of a smile shone on her lips as the Elf-woman bent to caress Dandelion's mane. "I met Padriac in a summer not unlike this one; sixty-five have passed since then. He had barely come of age, and I was returning home after visiting my cousins. I was passing through his village one morning and I saw him, outside his master's wood-carving shop, as he carried a large log inside. He was dishevelled, his shirt soaked in sweat, and after five days of travel I must have looked horrible as well, with leaves in my hair and dirt on my clothes, but when our eyes met... I do not know how to explain it, and maybe it is impossible to; it was as if all our lives we had looked for each other, even if we did not know it."

Glorfindel did not speak.

"I returned home two days later than I was supposed to, but I could not stop thinking about Padriac. I did not willingly decide to leave my home and everything I knew and loved for him; it was as if an invisible force attracted me to him, like the instinct that leads migrating birds towards warmer lands. In the end I decided to return to his village to put my heart at peace; I was sure an handsome and hard-working man like him was already promised to someone... and he was, but he had broken the engagement after meeting me, even though from his perspective there was no reason to think I would return, and he had no way to find where I lived. We found each other, once more, we married with the rites of his people, and since my birth name was difficult for them to pronounce, Pad gave me the name (name). Since the day of our wedding, we have never been parted; his family has adopted me, and he became my world."

"You never had children? I know for a fact it is possible."

"No Half-Elf, unfortunately; we both dearly wanted to raise a family, but... it never happened." (name) explained; she shrugged her shoulders, pretending the matter had not affected her, especially now that the prospect of complete solitude was closer and closer each day "But we were happy; I am happy, still. I have never needed anything, or anyone, else... as long as I have him. I miss my family, and my friends, but even if I could go back, I have never felt the desire to do so; I know what awaits me, and I still know I made the right choice. When I married Pad, and we felt we had eternity in front of us, every day still felt like a gift. Now that I know I could lose him any day, I have taught myself to treasure every hour."

Glorfindel knew she was telling the truth, without embellishments or white lies; she saw no need for that. "You knew of course your love was doomed from the start." he gently commented, and the Elf-woman nodded.

"Of course. I am immortal, while Padriac, even though he was still very young when we married, does not even belong to the more longevous races of Men, and the love and the ingenuity of our youth did not prevent us from seeing that he would die relatively soon, while I would remain the same. He wanted to release me from the promises we had exchanged, because he thought it unfair to bond me to a man who would make me a widow in a few short decades, but I told him I did not care, that I would have rather spent a year with him than a century alone, and that however long our marriage proved to be, I would have been happy. We have been together for sixty-five years, and I have never regretted my decision."

She bit her lip; the soft beating of the horses' hooves on the damp grass surrounded them. "Pad is going to die soon." she murmured. She had to have been well aware of the fact for weeks or months, but uttering those words seemed to cost her and enormous effort "He has had a long life for one of his people and he has always been in good health, but in the last two decades, and especially these last three years... he has withered, like a flower in winter. He is very weak, he can barely walk without his stick, and his bones and stomach hurt constantly, no matter how much he rests and how little he eats. I consulted all the healers of the village, but there is little they can do beside easing his pain, because he is not sick: he is old, and for that there is no cure. He is dying, he is going to leave me alone, and ours lasted more than most marriages of the Men of his race, but I... I am not ready to let him go. I fear I never will be, but... not now, not yet! I cannot stop thinking each day we spend together could be the last. At night I stay awake listening to his breathing to make sure he is not gone, and when he moves around the house I fear any little effort, be it lifting a plate from the table or moving a chair close to the fire, might prove fatal. And no matter how tirelessly I take care of him or that he tires as little as he can to save his energies, he is... slipping through my fingers like water when you drink at a spring, and there is nothing I can do to protect him..."

(name) sobbed; she could not help it, so deep and encompassing her fear and pain were, and Glorfindel wished he could do or say something to comfort her or to help her husband, but he could not, because the truth was undeniable: Men were doomed to die, sooner or later, whatever a devoted wife had to say on the matter. Padriac had already reached an advanced age, and even to the Elf-lord's eyes it was clear he had little left to live.

As if ashamed to have him witness that moment of frailty, (name) hurried to dry her tears on her fingers. "Forgive me... you were a gracious guest, and now I am bothering you with my troubles..."

"There is no need to apologize. I am sorry for your pain, my friend."

(name) smiled timidly; despite the pain, having someone to share her fears with seemed to actually soothe her. "It is kind of you to say... especially after I was a little unkind to you."

"You were indeed."

"How rude! You should have said Of course not, (name), you have done nothing wrong!"

The two Elves shared a smile; in that moment, they understood each other, and a quiet sort of friendship blossomed between them, even though they expected to never meet again. They had reached a fork in the path: (name) would have to take the one on the left to reach the village, while the one on the right would lead Glorfindel to Imladris.

"Take care of yourself." the Elf-lord said; it was probably superfluous, since (name) was an adult and he was not her father, but she seemed to appreciate. She smiled.

"I will try." she promised, and then she hesitated, as if using her own mother-tongue were arduous for her, after sixty-five years spent speaking the language of Men. "Namárië, lord Glorfindel."

*****

Little changed in Glorfindel's life after his return to Imladris: patrol tours with the guards he commanded, long evening conversations with Elrond and Erestor, his dearest friends, over a cup of wine, supper in the Hall of Fire. Once he was back at home, the Elf-lord showed the wolf figurine to a famous Elvish artist who had perfected her art over the centuries; she was astonished to discover the little wolf had been carved by a (then) young mortal artist.

"Is it not surprising that someone with so little time at his disposal to hone his art, was able to create something this beautiful?" he pointed out, and Glorfindel agreed, happy that Pad's talent had been recognized by another artist. He placed the figurine on a shelf in his bedroom, and in the following months he found himself looking at it often, as he wondered if the gentle man who had hosted him under his roof for no other reason than kindness and empathy, and gifted him the fruit of his work to remember him by, was still hurting, and how devoted, affectionate (name) was dealing with the pain of seeing her beloved suffer so much.

The warm summer that had seen his first and only meeting with the couple dissolved in a cool autumn, and then winter brought cold nights and days shrouded in snow and hail. One night, after a long week spent patrolling the borders of the citadel, Glorfindel returned to his quarters to change for dinner and found the wolf figurine on the ground, shattered after having fallen from the shelf. The Elf-lord picked up the pieces (the head of the little wolf had been severed, as well as its tail, and the body had broken in half) and felt an instinctive, searing guilt filling his heart, realizing it was doubtlessly beyond repairing. And Pad had trusted Glorfindel would take care of his gift... 

What might had happened? The figurine had been too far from the shelf edge for it to fall by itself, and the windows of the room were closed, which meant no gust of wind could be deemed responsible. Could someone have entered the room while he was away with the sole intention of breaking the little wolf, maybe to spite him? Who would do something like that? It was absurd, unless...

And then he understood; he did not know why, or how, but the reason was suddenly clear in the Elf-lord's mind, and a sob escaped his lips. "Oh, no..." he murmured, alone in the room "Oh, Padriac..."

It was night already, and bitterly cold, not to mention he had been looking forward to a bath after seven days spent sleeping on the ground, but Glorfindel did not hesitate. He told Elrond he had to leave immediately because a friend needed his help, and went to the stables to saddle Asfaloth.

"Run like the wind, my friend." he murmured in the horse's ear before mounting him, and Asfaloth snorted, as if to promise he would do his best. He was not worried something would befall (name) as she was alone, or, worse, that despair might push her to hurt herself, but the Elf-woman needed him, if nothing else because she had no other friend or kin to support her, and no one deserved to face a loss like hers alone.

He had visited the house in the woods only once, months before and having found it by coincidence; still, he reached it easily, after two days of ceaseless gallop, and when he dismounted, and faced the building hidden in the dark of night, no smoke coming out of the chimney and the little crop by its side bare and covered by snow, Glorfinde felt, he knew, the breaking of the figurine had not been a simple premonition like he had hoped, and he had come too late.

The tiny clearing, that had looked so lively and vibrant in the summer, was now a desolate expanse of leafless trees and naked ground. He knocked on the door, again and again and harder each time; all of it fruitlessly. No noise came from the inside of the house, which led Glorfindel to fear the Elf-woman he had come to see had already left, but he decided to try once more.

"(name)! (name), it is Glorfindel!" he called to her "Please, open the door. I... I am so sorry..."

After a few minutes the door finally opened. (name) stood there; she was pale, eyes red from crying, and she looked as if she had not slept, or taken any care of herself, in days. She did not look surprised to see him. "I knew you would come." she said "I was sure you would know, somehow, and you would want to see him."

"Of course I want to see him, (name); I wanted to see you both." the Elf-lord replied; he had been worrief for her, for the depth and the intensity of the mourning she could not share with others, but it was true, meeting Pad had meant much to him, no matter how brief their acquaintance had been, and Glorfindel regretted they had not had more time to spend together "Where is he?"

She answered by motioning to the clearing around them. "I buried him here, behind the house. His parents and siblings are in a graveyard in the village Pad had been born in, but this had been his home for sixty-five years, and he had told me he wanted to be laid to rest here. He loved this place, even though he had been forced to abandon his village because of me."

"I am sure he did not regret it. Not when it meant sharing his life with you."

"He probably did not, but that does not make it less true."

(name) invited Glorfidel to come in and rest, and the Elf-lord could not help noticing the house looked less tidy and well-kept than during his first visit; there were unwashed crockery and pots on the table, the floor needed sweeping, and one of the courtains had fallen to the ground and had not been put back in place.

(name) seemed to read his mind. "I have not had the time to take care of the house in a while." she sadly explained "Padriac needed me; in... in his last days he suffered greatly, and in the end he had even lost consciousness."

Glorfindel looked at her. "How long it has been since you last slept?" he gently inquired, and the Elf-woman blinked, as if she had completely forgotten the need to take care of herself.

"I think I can go on for a little more; and if I were to sleep I am sure I would dream of my husband, and that is the last thing I want now." 

A green wool cape was folded on the back of Padriac's carved chair; (name) took it, wrapped it around her shoulders and brought a corner of it closer to her face, as if trying to perceive a trace of her husband's scent. A sad smile curved her lips.

"You know, when Pad started to age... he was embarassed by the way his body changed." she confided "He was ashamed of the fact I was still young and hale, and beautiful in his eyes, as the day we met, while he grew weaker and got wrinkles and his hair turned white, and he was no longer able to fulfil his marital obligations. I told him many times it did not matter, that in my eyes he was as perfect and magnificent at eighty-five years old as he had been at twenty and that I was old enough physical love did not interest me as much as it did when I was younger, but I do not think I ever fully convinced him."

"Mortals think differently from us. But Padriac knew you loved him, and you made him very happy; nothing else mattered for him." Glorfindel pointed out; (name), clearly unaccostumed to being comforted, did not answer, wrapping the cape tighter around her "What will you do now? Will you remain here?"

"What else could I do? This is the only home I have."

"You could go back to your family." Glorfindel suggested; sixty-five years might have felt like an eternity to a Man, especially to one who did not descend from the long-lived people of Númenor, but he could not believe (name)'s friends and kin had already forgotten her.

(name)'s sad smile quickly put an end to that hypothesis. "No, I cannot." she said, before explaining that her loved ones, including her dearest friends and her own parents, had never accepted her and Padriac's relationship; they had tried for years to convince her to forsake her husband and return home, begging her and once even trying to drag her all the way to her old village. Realizing it was useless, they had in the end decided to cut all ties with her; Glorfindel was the first of her people (name) had seen in more than half a century and during that period of time she had never received a letter or a message from home, and the few she had sent had remained unanswered.

"This is why I... I reacted badly when I first saw you. I am so sorry." she admitted with a sigh; Glorfindel guessed she was not the sort of person who easily recognized her mistakes "I missed my parents and friends, but ever since I had gotten married every Elf who had visited me had been a source of trouble. I feared my family had heard Pad would soon pass away and had sent someone to bring me home."

He had not resented her for that then and he knew he could not do it now. "You say that... they have disowned you? Your own family?"

"Exactly. No one from my family and none of my friends came to our wedding, and they all made very clear that as long I choose Pad over them I was no longer welcome among them. I never regretted the choice I made, and perhaps I could go back now that I... that I am alone, but I do not intend to ask to be forgiven when I did nothing wrong. I have no family and friends... and now I do not have a husband either."

She sobbed. "I have nothing left." she acknowledged, and her pain, that had conceded her a brief moment of respite with Glorfindel's arrival, overcame her once more. She started weeping, covering her face with her hands, and when Glorfindel took her in his arms, she let him.

"It is all right." the Elf-lord murmured; it was far from the truth, and he felt foolish for that naive lie that would help no one "He is all right. You have given Padriac a long and happy life, and he is at peace now, where no pain and sadness can hurt him; you should find solace in this."

"I know... but that is not enough. I know I should be grateful for what we had, and I do not regrett marrying Pad, because he has made me the happiest of women and I always knew this moment would come, but losing him has shattered my heart... as if he were the sun, and the world had plunged into darkness now that he has passed. How can I go on without him? Even if I were to die we would still be apart, since Men are not admitted to the Undying Lands. I will never see him until the whole world is reborn, and if I think it might be thousands of years before that I... I cannot stand it, I already miss him so much... "

The Elf-woman kept crying as Glorfindel tried to comfort her, aware there was nothing he could do to alleviate her pain. He was mourning Pad, a good man who would have deserved to share his wife's fate, but she was the one his heart was also weeping for: for (name), who had paid a terrible price for a few short years of happiness, and who now found herself completely alone.

Or almost.

"You might come with me." he said, and (name), who was drying her tears with her cape, looked at him.

"Come where?"

Glorfindel let his heart spoke for him; it was not always easy, he had found, but when he did he never regretted it. "To Imladris. If you do not wish to return to your family, and think it would do you good to leave this house and start anew somewhere else, you might decide to come live there. Imladris is a safe haven where all who need help and consolation are welcome. You could stay for a while, until you are done mourning your husband and decide how to live the rest of your life. I know you are suffering, but in the Last Homely House any pain can be consoled... in time."

(name) said it sounded too good to be true. "Are.... are you serious? Do you really think I could come?" she asked; she seemed almost afraid, as if embarassed at the thought of having to ask for the help she desperately needed.

"More serious than I have ever been. You would love the citadel, I am sure."

"I will... think about it." she promised, and Glorfindel knew she would.

Despite the late hour, he insisted in paying his respects to Pad before retiring for the night. (name) had dug her husband's grave under the branches of a large oak; the coming of spring would turn it in a lovely spot, but then, in the cold grip of winter, it looked bare and poor, way less than Pad (a good man, a gracious host and a good husband, whose only wish had been to marry the woman he loved) would have deserved. Glorfindel spent a few minutes in recollection, sure that his friend's fëa was now safe in Eru's hands, and finding himself crying for him all the same. 

That night he slept in the little house in the woods for the second time, after (name) had prepared a comfortable bed for him, complete with heavy blankets to withstand the chill of the night; he did not really need them, but maybe (name) was used to use them because of her husband, who probably had felt the cold even more than it was normal for Men, on account of his old age.

He felt her pace during the night, as if sleep had escaped the Elf-woman behind the closed door of her bedroom, and on the following morning, when the light filtering through the windows woke him up, he found her already on her feet, as she filled a bag with clothes and other necessities.

"If you are hungry please help yourself; I am a little busy." she said in lieu of a greeting. As he stood, Glorfindel answered that breakfast could wait; he could not help smiling as he inquired:

"Are you packing?"

The Elf-woman nodded. "I hope your proposal still stands." she said; she seemed unsure, as if it were hard for her to ask for something she had only been offered on the previous night. The Elf-lord smiled.

"Of course. I am sure Elrond will be happy to meet you."

"And I will be happy to meet him, if he is as kind and wise as they say; but I do not intend on being his guest forever, and I will find a way to pay for his hospitality."

Glorfindel knew it would have been impossible to change her mind. He elected to stay out of her way while (name) packed, quickly choosing the things she needed the most and abandoning the rest with something similar to relief; she threw away the little food that was left in the house and the medicines her husband did not need anymore, and bolted the door and the windows. The Elf-woman was still very pale, her bloodshot eyes betraying the fact she still had tears to shed and her sleep had been less restful than she needed, but she had washed and changed her clothes. 

Once they had left the house together, (name) turned to look at it, as if saying farewell in her heart, or committing that sight to memory. "I have spent sixty-five years of my life within these walls." she murmured; Glorfindel was not sure she was talking to him "This place is tied to so many good memories, and here I have been happier than I thought I could be. I will miss it greatly."

The Elf-lord wished to tell her she would soon find a new home in Imladris, but while he sincerely thought, and hoped, so, he decided he better keep it to himself. She would see it for herself, and at any rate it was still too early for her to be comforted. She would have to find strenght within herself, and in the knowledge the love she and her husband had shared would never abandon her; and maybe, just maybe, the closeness of a friend would also help a little. 

"I am in your debt, Glorfindel." (name) pointed out as they neared the stable to retrieve their horses; she was not smiling, and the Elf-lord could perceive how hard it was for her to recognize that truth... and how grateful she was for it, even though she was not able to express her feelings "For your presence here, and your support."

"You would have done the same for me."

"Maybe. But again, that does not change the fact that you came when I needed it, when I needed the presence of a friend, the most. I know you did not simply come to pay your respect to my husband. I... I really appreciate it, and one day, I will find a way to repay you."

Glorfindel smiled; she was stubborn, and proud, and that was something he could appreciate and identify with. "Agreed." he gently replied "But until then, let us not speak of it again."

Wasting no more time, they saddled Asfaloth and Dandelion, and loaded them with the little (name) had decided to bring with her; she had put all of Padriac's wood figurines in a bag separately, padding it to prevent them from breaking them as she rode. 

"Are you ready?" Glorfindel asked; he knew that simple question was not easy to answer for the Elf-woman next to him, and was pleased to see her react with a simple, but determined, not of her head. She was still shaken, but there was relief in her as she prepared to begin a new chapter of her life.

"Let us go."

They rode on in the clear morning.

TAGGING @starlady66.

This is fun, how far does it go?

how’s everyone doin tonight i just broke tumblr

RotT ranting ‘cause I need to express my unhappiness.

JIM YOU COMPLETE FUCKING IDIOT!

There is a whole ass 20 min long ep in Trollhunters called ‘Unbecoming’ exploring the question/insecurity of “What if Jim wasn’t the Trollhunter?” The answer clearly shown in the episode is “The whole world will go to shit, and in the end Jim is the Trollhunter, Amulet or not.”

Ya hear that Jim? AMULET or NOT.

So why is it that the 1st thing young Jimmy does when the Amulet breaks is go, “Oh no but can i be a hero without the Amulet?😱” Bitch EXCUSE ME??

Where did all that character development go huh? Up Gunmar’s fat asshole? ‘Cause no way are the writers doing this arc again that they already did very well in a series explicitly dedicated to Jim alone, without the time limit of a movie and the need to include sixty million other main characters from the other shows and all their separate arcs.

But apparently, the writers collectively decided to have selective amnesia that day and completely forgot about the episode dedicated to Jim’s insecurities and doubts. Nice going writers.

And then. And THEN. They have the audacity to take Toby - ma boi TP - and make it so the only thing he can do to help is sacrifice himself for the cause, and then die. Yes, you heard that right. They kill off Toby for shock value.

What. The. Fuck.

Toby is so much more than just the support guy who dies to give the movie a dark edgy “deep” ending. He’s Jim’s best friend, the steady accepting rock that Jim is lost without. It’s not a happy ending if Toby’s not in it. Jim would be broken. But I guess that was probably the point, huh. “Oh no, one of the main chs died, this movie really does have consequences!”

Except it actually doesn’t, because they almost immediately scrap that. See, after Toby’s tragic death - which btw I legit didn’t see coming and was completely confused by. And this wasn’t shock or denial from grief, this was just plain scepticism and confusion. Huh? Ok so did Toby just… die? It’s not a fake-out for drama?

I just sat there for a few minutes waiting for the film to clarify. And then when I realised yes, they did actually kill Toby, I waited a bit more for the film to pull something out of its ass to retcon this. Which it did. And boy was it some retcon.

Time travel. Yep. You heard right, but I’m going to write it again anyway: They used time travel.

Now time travel on its own isn’t a show breaker. Hell, it’s used quite effectively in many stories and movies. Harry Potter PoA case in point. So time travel as a concept isn’t bad. It’s when the time travel breaks the timeline, already existing lore, character development, character integrity, stakes, suspension of disbelief, and makes you feel like nothing you watched mattered, that it becomes bad. Which RotT does. And it’s a dumpster fire.

Jim travels back in time, not to the moment before Toby’s sacrifice, which would have invalidated that sacrifice but might have been bearable. Not to the beginning of the movie, which would have been a bit weird but bearable. No. Go big or go home right? He goes all the way back to Trollhunters Season 1 Episode 1 ‘Becoming’. The beginning of the fucking series.

In case you don’t realise what a colossal screw up this is, let me lay out the situation for you.

So, y’know all those characters you know and love? Y’know how you love them because you’ve seen them grow from idealistic normal kids to responsible and dependable badasses? Y’know how you put your time into watching 88 episodes and 1 movie? Y’know how you witnessed 34 hours of these characters learning and growing and interacting together? Y’know all the highs and lows, the tears and the smiles, the laughs and the cringes, the heartbreak and wholesome? The journey these characters, and this world, has taken? The moments and episodes and people and places you know and have grown to care about?

Well. Take all that, wrap it up really nicely with a bow on top, sign ‘My Childhood’ on it, and then just kinda… throw it in the trash. And then crush it under a trash compactor. And then light the resulting piece of shit on fire.

According to the writers and world and lore and canon, those 88 episodes? They don’t exist. None of that has happened, except in Jim’s head. It’s kinda like the ‘it was all a dream’ stories, but almost worse because that dream is going to happen again.

We know what’s going to happen. Doing it again will feel cheap and boring and flat. Those characters we like ‘cause of character development? Not there anymore. We’re stuck with the simple boring normal versions of them again. And we’ll have to watch them go through the same things as if for the first time just to get to the characters we like. Only it won’t be for the first time. And we’ll know that.

Why would we want this? Writers? Hello? Someone answer me, because I don’t know the reason myself! Why in the everloving shit would we ever want to retcon 32 hours of viewing experience, just to do it all. Over. Again. There is no reason. Because we don’t want to.

Hell, even Jim probably doesn’t want to! The writers made it so he still remembers everything, so do you know how much trauma this guy probably has by now? Let’s see:

Bular trying to kill him, Draal trying to kill him, Goblins trying to kill him, Nomura trying to kill him, Gladys trying to kill him, the Stalkling trying to kill him, lightning trying to kill him, Strickler trying to kill him, lying to his Mom, Golems trying to kill him, Gato trying to kill him, Angor Rot trying to kill him, Pixies being pixies, his Mom almost being killed, Aaarrrgghh being killed.

The Darklands trying to kill him, Nyarlagroths trying to kill him, Gumm Gumms trying to kill him, Dictatious trying to kill him, Gunmar trying to kill him, the Gruesome trying to kill him, Usurna trying to kill him, the Deep trying to kill him, Vendal being killed, Otto trying to kill him, Trollmarket’s citizens being killed, Claire almost killing herself. Claire getting possessed and trying to kill him, Draal being killed, Merlin trying to kill him, Jim killing his humanity, the sun trying to kill him, Morgana trying to kill him.

The Green Knight trying to kill him, Arthur trying to kill him, Guards trying to kill him, Aaarrrgghh trying to kill him, the Arcane Order trying to kill him, Jim trying to kill his friends, Merlin being killed, Jim being killed. Nari trying to kill him, Numora being killed, Strickler being killed, Archie and Charlemagne being killed, the world being killed, Toby being killed.

Yeahhh. He’s got trauma. He’s got trauma for days. Hey, you know what’s great for someone who has trauma? Putting them back into the traumatic situation and doing it again! I’m sure their mental health won’t completely crumble under the stress. This is going to go great! Not.

And that’s not even the worst part. Haha ohhh no!

The worst part - by FAR - is that this stupid garbage excuse for a movie not only forgets about ‘Unbecoming’ once, but twice.

During the bulk of the movie, Jim struggles with feeling like he can’t be a hero without the Amulet. During the end of the movie though, after Jim’s successfully time travelled to the writers’ heart’s content, Jim forgets the other major lesson of Unbecoming, the part about what happens if Jim isn’t the Trollhunter. Don’t remember? Here’s a friendly reminder from before:

“The whole world will go to shit, and in the end Jim is the Trollhunter, Amulet or not.”

Did you catch that first part? Ahem.

“THE WHOLE WORLD WILL GO TO SHIT.”

If Jim is not the Trollhunter, if he does not pick up the Amulet and stop the Bridge from forming, and kill Bular and Gunmar and Angor Rot, the whole world goes to complete, absolute, no holds barred, shit. And what does Jim do at the end of the movie, having seen in terrifying detail exactly what that kind of future is? Why, he makes Toby the Trollhunter of course!

I- I can’t. I just can’t with this movie. How-? Why-? Just why. Why do this? Jim, you remember what happened last time you refused the call, right? You- you do remember, right??

Killahead opens. Bular is still alive. Gunmar and the whole Gumm Gumm army is free. Arcadia’s population of humans is eaten alive. Trollmarket is overrun. There are Changelings and Goblins and all kinds of Darklands creatures everywhere. No-one can kill Gunmar because the Amulet is broken, which means no Eclipse Armor.

Merlin’s staff is most likely taken by the bad guys, since the Amulet can’t lead any GGs to it first. Merlin is crushed to death without waking. Morgana is freed. The Eternal Night is upon us. Humanity is eaten. The Arcane Order turns everything back to the Stone Age with no one to stop them. The Arkiridians land on Earth and are probably killed. There goes Arkiridian-5’s royal family. General Morando becomes Gaylen and battles the Arcane Order for ultimate supremacy over the Universe.

This is the Bad Timeline. Everything sucks.

Jim. Jim buddy. Buddy ol’ pal. Jimbo. Why in the everloving fuck would you do this? It’s official, I think the writers have amnesia. They forgot that whole episode, apparently it wasn’t there.

And wait a minute- who ever said Jim could give the Amulet to Toby in the first place? It’s not, like, really his choice? Sure he rejected it in ‘Unbecoming,’ but that was mainly Merlin’s choice to make Draal the Trollhunter instead of Jim to teach Jim a lesson. Key word: Merlin’s choice. Because it’s Merlin’s Amulet, and he chooses who the next Trollhunter is.

Why would Merlin choose Toby just because he sacrificed himself in the future? Toby is, no offence Toby, not a logical choice to be Trollhunter. At this point in the story he’s not very fit, doesn’t seem to want the kind of adventure Jim does in the first episode, and he doesn’t have any fighting skills.

It’s only Jim’s expertise in cooking that lets him live in that first battle with Bular. Toby doesn’t have cooking skills. He will die on the first night, and then the Amulet will choose Jim again, but this time he’ll have even more added trauma.

And let's put aside the plot relevance of how much of a horrifying choice anyone who’s not Jim having the Amulet is for a sec. Plot aside, Jim as a character would never in his LIFE give Toby the Amulet. Because it’s not just a glowing amulet with cool armour and a sword for someone who’s worthy.

It’s a burden.

It’s a burden and a responsibility. It’s a lifelong commitment to putting others first. To making hard choices and having to live with the consequences of them in the aftermath. To giving every part of yourself, to sacrificing everything you are, so that someone else can be saved. Two worlds on the Trollhunter’s shoulders. Human and Troll.

That weight is something Jim has not wanted so many times. He’s admitted or complained or sighed or yelled that sometimes he wants to get to be a normal kid, live longer than high school, not worry about someone trying to kill him or someone else all the time.

The Trollhunter doesn’t get that luxury. Rule number one: Always be afraid. The Trollhunter can never stop being afraid. Their whole life from this point until DEATH is dedicated to this destiny of fear and hunting and protection.

Jim, who cares for and loves his best friend as a brother, would never ever push that kind of life and responsibility onto Toby and call it something good. The sole reason Jim went back in time at all was to save Toby. There is NO universe in which Jim willingly and happily then takes Toby’s life and shoves him into the path of Bular, and Strickler, and Angor Rot, and Gunmar.

And the icing on the fucked up cake is that the only way Jim managed to kill Gunmar was by turning into a troll. By giving up his life as a human teenager with a human family. By becoming a species with a lot of instincts and traits most others would label as monster. By giving up his life in the sun. By giving up part of his humanity.

Jim would NEVER force Toby into having to make that kind of choice. And I am ashamed of the writers who thought that he would.

.

He’s a wizard

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