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.

'Nonsense, mellon,' says Fírion, some of the light at last returning to his eyes. 'You are as welcome with us as one of our own.'

'Indeed,' I say, hoping this will earn me a glance.

It earns me more than just a glance.  He smiles at me, and I feel his magic surge around my own a little more.  Just the feeling of it tells me that there are secrets in our company now, and I wonder how long it will be until they are unearthed.

***

Our ride continues through the dawn in an awkwardly prolonged silence. The only respite for me is that Glorfindel looks devastatingly beautiful as the first rays of morning illuminate him—and that I most likely look worthy of attention too, as I can feel his gaze on me for the hours we travel southward.

The company eventually splits into two, when Telamír, Alëaren and I fall back together. I'm reluctant to do so, but Tel is insisting, and he is almost as stubborn as I am, so I oblige. If I don't, it's likely he could embarrass me in front of Glorfindel, and I'm not prepared to endure that. Not when I'm going to be stuck with him for the foreseeable future.

'My Valar,' Telamír says as soon as we get out of earshot. 'That was where you disappeared off to the other day, wasn't it? You were with Glorfindel!'

I want to curse him for being so loud. It would seem neither Glorfindel nor Telamír has ever learned to be subtle.

'Shh, Tel,' I hiss, 'the others don't know.'

'I knew,' says Alëaren.

'I meant them.' I incline my head in the direction of Fíria, Fírion and Tauriel, riding ahead alongside Glorfindel. I feel the sudden need to wonder what they might be talking to him about—and pray to Ilúvatar that it's nothing to do with me. If any of them get wind of the air between myself and Glorfindel, I could be severely reprimanded.

The Golden Revenant, Erainiel? Could you have possibly aimed any higher for someone to seduce?

I banish the thought. I haven't seduced him, anyway. I was intending for the walk to be the end of it; it was him who has signed up to be in our company until he eventually turns off for Lothlórien. It is my intention to enjoy his presence until we part ways for real, and there will be nothing lingering that could possibly earn the harsh judgement of the older elves ahead—or worse, my parents.

I catch Telamír glaring at the back of Glorfindel's head. 'Why has he come?' he asks, 'it cannot just be to make eyes at you, can it?'

Alëaren says, 'I think it can, Tel. All the evidence points towards it.'

'Evidence?' I scoff. 'What have you two been doing?'

'Merely observing,' Alëaren answers innocently.

'As a matter of fact, he said he was going to visit Lothlórien. However, I'm almost certain he made that up, and he's going because of something else.' 

'Of course he made that up! And he's going because he's infatuated with you. The Glorfindel of the Golden Flower is infatuated with you.' 

I smirk to myself. 'I mean, of course he is, but that's no reason to journey halfway across the world.'

'I wouldn't say it was quite halfway,' Alëaren says quietly.

'You get my point.'

'I bet the twins are annoyed,' says Telamír, 'they definitely had their eyes on you. Or maybe it was just one of them—I can't tell the difference.'

I shake my head at him. 'You were with them for days, how can you not?'

He shrugs. 'Because they look the same?'

'Not if you pay very close attention,' says Alëaren.

He shrugs again, entitled idiocy oozing from him. His cousin simply looks down at her reins, her ample patience not yet wearing thin.

'I doubt Tel's ever paid close attention to anything other than his sword or Eirwen Elidiriel,' I remark, hoping to touch a nerve. 

It works. Telamír forces back a sulky pout before delivering his riposte. 'You can't tease me when you've been staring at Lord Flower for the past nine hours.'

'Lord Flower? He'd probably slit your throat for calling him that.' 

'You should know.' 

'If he has my attention, it's because he's a bit of reprieve from your annoying face.'

Telamír bristles, but keeps his Valar-damned smirk plastered to his face. 'My face is a blessing, Raini. Far better looking than any Noldorin blond, that's for certain.'

'Is it, now? Is that what all the elleths fawning over you in Imladris thought?'

Telamír tosses his head, his dark curls bouncing tauntingly and offsetting the ivory of his skin. Handsome—the best parts of Silvan and Dû-edhel all perfectly crafted together. It's no wonder Eirwen and half the elleths in Imladris adore him, the Prince of Moonlight. I, however, usually want to hit his well-admired face in with a frying pan.

'You should have asked them that before we left,' he says with a grin.

'Your Highnesses! Care to keep up?' Fíria calls mockingly over her shoulder from where she, Fírion, Tauriel and Glorfindel ride far ahead.

'Yes, Nana!' Alëaren breaks into a gallop to make up the distance. Telamír and I trot peacefully at our own pace, delightfully tugging at the older elves' patience as they are forced to wait for us to catch up.

I can't let Telamír—or Alëaren for that matter—take advantage of... whatever they think is between Glorfindel and I. Because it's just... it's just admiring glances. That one walk. Any other flirtatious conversation that may ensue. Nothing more.

Except, the bright golden magic that still dances along the edges of my own is leading me to think otherwise.

***