Imladris is a sprawling display of elegance, its staircases winding between sunlit balconies and ornate white towers, all framed by the close embrace of the mountains and bursting with trees of autumn gold.  Light music is carried high over the rooftops that gleam like polished quartz.  A familiar sound is also present: the tumbling roar of the waterfalls, which here cascade through the valley and converge in a great torrent in the crevasse slicing the ground.  Every one of us rapt, we pass through what Fírion informs us is the Eastern Gate, a broad white archway that separates the neat path ahead from the rocky wilderness behind.  I do not pay the slightest heed to where my horse is treading as my eyes remain fixed on the glorious complex spilling down the mountainside. 

I suppose I understand now why many races think the elves are utterly sophisticated.  Little do they know.

We dismount onto the first of a few circular balconies lined with plants and flickering lights hanging from the railings. A tall, dark ellon with an air of austerity—unmistakably Lord Elrond—glides across the dais ahead to greet us. He is flanked by two other dark-haired ellons, both of whom Fírion has taught us to recognise over the journey: Erestor, one of Lord Elrond's most favoured and esteemed advisors; and Lindir, the shyer and certainly more endearing of the two.

'Welcome to Imladris, mellyn nín,' Lord Elrond begins. 'It has been some years since I have last seen some of you. And others of you I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting.' 

'It is an honour to be here. I have long desired to see the Hidden Valley,' says Tauriel respectfully.

'And it is a pleasure to return,' adds Fírion, 'we thank you for your invitation.'

'I bid you find some time among these grave times to enjoy your visit. How many of you will I be seeing later at the council?' asks Elrond.

'Four,' says Legolas. 'Myself, Fírion, my wife Fíria, and Fírion's wife Tauriel. The three youngest of us—Erainiel Thranduiliel, Telamír Fírion, and my daughter Alëaren—will not be attending.'

'Why not?' asks Erestor, with a raised brow directed primarily at me.

'Because they have shown themselves not to be mature or sensible enough to deal with matters such as war,' Legolas says sourly. 'Because of their foolish attempts to sneak out into the forest to fight spiders behind our backs, our guards were occupied when a band of orcs raided our kingdom and the creature Gollum escaped in the chaos.'

If possible, Erestor's brows raise even higher. 'The creature Gollum escaped?  Word was that you had him under the highest security.'

'Our security was diverted,' says Legolas.  He then looks at Alëaren, Telamír and I expectantly.  'Don't you three have something to say to Lord Elrond?'

As if on command, Alëaren immediately scurries to the foot of the dais, Telamír and I following suit, and she clasps her hands together. 'Lord Elrond, I am so sorry that we sneaked out into the forest without permission, and the issues that this may have caused you. I apologise profusely for the actions of my two companions and I that caused panic among the kingdom, occupied the guards, and led to us being unprepared for the raid and so ignorant to Gollum's escape until it was too late. I am so, so sorry. We won't ever behave so irresponsibly again, and we're so sorry. We've acknowledged that it was our fault and that we were reckless and foolish didn't think about the consequences of our actions, and we're so sorry and we're willing to accept any punishment you see fit to give us—'

'Ilúvatar's sake, you're getting carried away now,' I mutter, but Alëaren is undeterred.

'—Because we deserve it for being so thoughtless. I hope with the strength of every Vala that you will find it in your heart to forgive us, my Lord. We are so, incredibly, and eternally sorry.'

'We are,' I add wisely.

The pause that follows is sickeningly long. To my horror, I notice that Telamír has still said nothing, because he has all but zoned out and is staring blankly at one of the waterfalls. I give him a sharp nudge with my elbow. That should snap him out of it.

'Oh, mhm—we're sorry,' he stammers while I curse him internally.

I risk a glance over my shoulder at Legolas, whose head has sunk into his hand in despair. The one called Erestor is surveying us like dirt beneath his boots; Lindir, meanwhile, is feigning fascination with some nearby flowers. Lord Elrond actually looks rather amused.

'Does Thranduil think this will cover for his mistake?' he says smoothly, 'sending his youngest as emissaries to Imladris?' 

Alëaren looks about as confused as I'm feeling. I barely even care when Telamír starts rudely fiddling with a buckle on his tunic.

'I forgive you all, young ones,' Lord Elrond continues, that strange amusement still present on his face. 'It is Thranduil who should have had better control over you and his kingdom. If he wanted forgiveness, he should have come here and asked for it himself.'

Wow. I had no idea their rivalry ran this deep. It seems neither did Lindir, as he is looking wide-eyed at the floor in reaction to his Lord's scathing comment.

'Now, you will forgive me if I leave you now. I have a council to prepare for.' With that, Lord Elrond exits promptly, the two other ellons accompanying him without another word.

'Bastard,' I say under my breath. 'I suppose he thinks it's funny to rub that in our faces because we can't go.'

'Raini! Don't say that!' Alëaren exclaims.

'It's fine, he didn't hear me. What was he going to do anyway, eyebrow me to death?'

Alëaren opens her mouth to reply, but tails off when voices arise from not far behind us. Legolas has dropped back to rejoin the others, who have been met by a handsome, dark-haired man with stubble and a bright smile. The man and Fírion embrace forcefully on sight, before the man proceeds to clasp Legolas's shoulder in another greeting of friendship. Fíria and Tauriel he acknowledges with an elegant touch of his calloused hand to his heart.

I hardly have time to register the beauty of the man when three more handsome faces appear from around the corner: two identical ellons with lush, dark hair; and one ellon with hair like molten gold and a face that one would think had been crafted by the Valar themselves.

'Who is that?' I hiss, subtly indicating the blonde ellon.

Alëaren releases the breath she'd been holding. 'That's Glorfindel. You know, Glorfindel of the Golden Flower? Slew a Balrog, defended Gondolin, predicted the downfall of the Witch-king of Angmar? A mighty First Age warrior, reborn millennia later to carry on his legacy of being amazing.'

Glorfindel. The legends around him are innumerable. He stars in tale after tale, the hero of every myth under the sun, his adventures recounted within the pages of ancient texts still kept on the shelves of my father's library. Yes, the ellon is beyond admiration. But he's beautiful—impossibly beautiful. That perfectly carved face has been through uncountable wars, survived unimaginable things, yet is still utterly flawless—and as youthful-looking as the rest of us, despite him being born millennia earlier. Rumours spoke of those eyes being brighter still than the clear waters of the harbours in Alqualondë, and of that hair shining as strands of sunlight, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality.

'No one ever said he was this handsome,' I say at last, not taking my eyes off him.

'He has other, more memorable achievements besides being handsome, Raini,' Alëaren says exasperatedly, 'but I'll be honest, I thought his hair would be longer.'

I study his hair for a moment, the ends of which only reach down to his shoulders. 'I rather like it myself.'

'I thought it was typical for warriors of that era to have it as long as my father's, but... his is hardly longer than Telamír's.'

'What's hardly longer than mine?' Telamír interjects upon hearing his name.

'Nothing,' Alëaren and I dismiss him simultaneously. I can't fight back the smirk.

Fírion, somehow, seems to know the three new arrivals too. He greets them all fondly as old friends, clasping shoulders with each of them in turn and grinning like an elfling for every second of it.

'It's been a long time, mellon nín,' says Glorfindel in a soft, relaxed voice that could melt diamond. 'Changed your name, got yourself a throne and a wife and a son... How are you?'

'Never better,' beams Fírion, 'I apologise for not visiting sooner. It's been a busy last few decades for me.'

'I was debating dragging Erestor and the twins all the way over there to see you, but things have been busy here too. Things to do, Hobbits to save.'

'Hobbits to save?' says Fírion, bemused.

'Lord Elrond sent me on an errand a few days ago. Outran the Nazgûl while carrying an injured Hobbit all the way back here from the middle of the wilderness. Most exciting thing I've done in decades,' Glorfindel explains casually.

'My uncle knows Glorfindel?' Alëaren murmurs in disbelief.

'Your uncle knows everyone,' I say, 'maybe he could introduce us.'

'No way are we worthy of meeting such a legendary figure.'

'No, we're only Princesses of the Woodland Realm, the Dû-edhil and Erthelin. We're nobody. Absolutely not worthy at all.'

I've barely finished my final word before I'm away, strolling confidently up to Fírion's side to join the group. With a futile cry of 'Raini!', Alëaren scuttles after me, dragging Telamír by the hand.

'Let me introduce you all,' says Fírion, 'this is my friend Aragorn, and these are Elrond's sons, Elladan and Elrohir. And this is Glorfindel.'

Elrond's sons wear grins dripping with charm, while Glorfindel gives a small smile that makes my half-Star's heart thunder like a war drum. He truly is the most beautiful ellon I've ever seen. Thank the Valar, I can easily disguise the effect he has on me—and hopefully induce something similar from him.

Fírion goes on to introduce Tauriel, Telamír, Fíria, and Legolas, all of whom are acknowledged by a polite touch of hands to hearts. Fíria appears unable to conceal her excitement at meeting the four males, while Legolas, already on friendly terms with most of them, seems quite at home. Only Glorfindel he seems unfamiliar with, and the expressions passing between them are ones of mutual respect.

'This is my niece, Alëaren.' Fírion gestures to the elleth practically glued to my side.

'You're a father now, Legolas?' the one called Elladan asks curiously.

'Have been for sixty-three years, and I couldn't be prouder,' Legolas responds. 'I'm surprised neither of you two have settled down yet.'

'We may not, but you've certainly brought some beautiful elleths with you,' Elrohir comments, his dark eyes glinting.

Fírion and Aragorn both stifle a laugh, while Fíria smirks wickedly at the twins, despite the presence of Legolas's hand on her waist. My half-brother gives Elrond's sons a mock glare. Alëaren blushes awkwardly.

I, like Fíria, mirror the smirks on the twins' handsome faces, but it's the slight smile on Glorfindel's lips that really gives me butterflies. The beautiful blonde ellon has been silent for the last part of the conversation, but I've been more wary of him than the roving gazes of the twins—the gazes which have fondly surveyed all four elleths in the group.

'Ah, this is Erainiel Thranduiliel. Legolas's half-sister,' Fírion adds at last—a little guilty that he almost forgot to introduce me. It's alright. In my opinion, he saved the best for last.

'Daughter of a Star? Your mother's kind are legend,' says Elladan in awe.

'She must be as beautiful as they say, if this is her daughter,' Elrohir remarks.

'You two never can keep your mouths shut, can you?' says Glorfindel, shaking his head. His golden locks sway freely around his neck, and I wonder again why his hair is not longer than that. 'How are you all?' he asks politely, 'was the journey alright?'

'Alright, just rather long. We're glad to be here at last,' Tauriel replies.

At this point, I conclude that the conversation is no longer interesting enough to listen to, so I take to attracting attention from Glorfindel and the twins. Oh, the fun I'll be able to have talking to them later after the council meeting. In fact, I do believe—aside from that excruciating apology and being banned from the meeting—that this may turn out to be a very enjoyable visit.

***

Elvish:
Ellon = male elf
Elleth = elf maiden
Mellon/Mellyn nín = my friend/my friends