Wildest Storms | Love of Royals: Book III

VIII: Attention

The ride home is much slower than the ride to Imladris had been. The first night is a gentle walk rather than a flat-out gallop, and a disturbance around midnight puts me in a foul mood.

We haven't even come close to the southernmost tip of the Misty Mountains, and for some reason, our horses have become restless. It's the typical sign of something unknown, possibly dangerous, approaching—but nothing appears. We are forced to ride on through the dark with our steeds bucking and whinnying like mad—a sure-fire way of attracting unwanted attention, if we don't already have it.

I'm so focused on watching and listening to our shadowed surroundings that I barely notice the force that tugs at my magic. I don't think the others can feel it, seeing as they lack the extreme sensitivity that I have, but I ask regardless.

'Tel? Lëa? Can you feel that?'

'Feel what?' hisses Telamír, gripping his reins harder.

'There's nothing out there,' says Tauriel from the front of the company. 'The horses must have been spooked by an animal or something.'

'Animals don't have magic,' I counter, 'and I can feel something magical approaching. Can't any of you?'

Silence from all my companions. I look to get a glance across to Fíria or Fírion, and while the former merely shrugs, the latter blatantly avoids my eye contact and turns his steed away from me. Does he feel it, too? Why would he be hesitant to admit it?

My thoughts are interrupted when the force of the incoming magic grows stronger, and more... familiar.

I know exactly whose magic this is, but... he's back in Imladris.  He's not out here, surely.

Any conviction I had is utterly squandered as Glorfindel comes riding out of the shadow of the trees, the pale moonlight tinting his golden hair silver.  Our entire company turns to face him, our horses finally settling.  He bows his head respectfully, but receives no such greeting from any of us—not even Fírion, who doesn't even smile at his friend.  The dark ellon looks almost as though he could be chewing on something particularly sour.

The rest of us simply look baffled.  Fíria voices our bemusement as she says, 'We did not expect to see you out here tonight, Glorfindel.  What brings you here?'

'It is a time of war,' he replies, 'I am travelling east and have been advised not to travel alone—for safety.  So I rode up to join you, as you are also heading east.'

'Where in the east are you headed?' asks Tauriel.

'I'm going to meet with Galadriel and Celeborn in Lothlórien.'

'What business do you have there?' questions Fíria—a little too sharply, for Glorfindel's eyes turn cold.

'I don't believe that's any concern of yours, your Highness,' he says smoothly.

'It should be if you are to travel with us.'

Fírion now interjects, but the strange expression from before has not left him. 'His reasons are his own, Fíria, but I predict they are of some importance to the war if they concern the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien.' He then adds in Glorfindel's direction, 'We will question you no further, mellon.'

Glorfindel inclines his head in gratitude. 'Do not let my presence be a hindrance to you.  You can forget I am even here.'

And how am I supposed to do that while his magic is constantly teasing the edges of my own?  He's not even looking at me, and yet his power is omnipresent, this glow of temptation dancing through the ether between us.  And I know that none of it is an accident.