Glorfindel pouncing on Eowyn after the War :P
(for anyone unaware, Glorfindel was the one to make the original prophecy of ‘not by the hand of man shall he fall’ concerning the witch-king)
(can someone write this please? like - glorfindel coming with the delegation from rivendell to minas tirith for the coronation and he goes to find the person who fulfilled his thousand-year-old prediction and boom it’s this awesome gal and hobbit duo)
“Mellon-nin, you are liable to fall from your horse if you continue to bounce so,” Erestor laughed, drawing his mount up alongside Glorfindel, who was indeed bouncing excitedly in his saddle. “What has you so eager to reach Minas Tirith?”
The two elves were among the party accompanying Lord Elrond to the white city of Gondor, along with the elf Lord’s twin sons Elladan and Elrohir, and a few others. Currently, the twins rode at the back of the group, side by side as always, their dark heads close together as they spoke in hushed Sindarin that was punctuated ever now and again by bursts of bright laughter that left Erestor feeling rather apprehensive about having his back to the younger elves. The party has set out from Imladris almost immediately after news of Frodo’s success had reached the valley, and now they were less than a day’s ride from the city. His Lord had not said so, but Erestor had a sneaking suspicion that Elrond had been expecting the messenger, or at least news of some degree, which would explain why so many of the usual tasks surrounding the preparation of travel had been so easily completed.
Glorfindel grinned brightly, his blue eyes shining with excitement as he glanced over at his friend before returning his gaze to the road before them.
“Why should I not be excited mellon? These are brighter days for Middle-Earth then have been seen in far too long. Sauron has fallen, as has the Witch King of Angmar, the Ring of Power has been destroyed, and little Estel, it seems, has finally stopped staring at Arwen over the tops of his books when he ought to be studying, and done something about it. “ Erestor chuckled, remembering how common an occurrence it had been, for either Glorfindel or himself to catch the young Dúnedain princeling staring doe eyed at his adopted sister instead of paying attention to the lesson being given, though he never admitted to it. However the counsellor’s laughter halted as he pondered the other’s words, and a grin slide over his face.
“Ah, now I see clearly. It is the Witch King’s death that has you in such a cheerful state.”
“I finally get to meet them Erestor!” Elrond’s seneschal was practically buzzing with excited energy and he began to bounce in his saddle once again, having stopped during the conversation, “I finally get to meet my ‘no man’! Do you know how long I have been waiting for this?!”
“1044 years exactly. You forget I too was there on the plains of Annúminas,” Erestor deadpanned, raising an elegant brow. There was not an elf in Imladris who had not heard Glorfindal’s tale at least once, regardless of whether or not they had fought in Battle of Fornost and seen the golden haired warrior block the Gondorian general Eärnur in his pursuit of the Nazgûl Lord. “Besides, how can you be certain this…being, will be in Minas Tirith for the coronation?”
Glorfindel stared at the dark haired elf, and for a brief moment the warrior’s face was not dissimilar to that of sad hobbit (A certain Bilbo Baggins was to blame for the creation of such a phrase). “Mellon-nin, why would you say such a thing?”
The coronation had been lovely, Éowyn thought, as she wandered through the crowds filling the streets of Minas Tirith. Aragorn would make a good and wise king; that she knew for certain. A pang of sadness struck the shield maiden as she remembered the expression on Aragron’s face right before he had kissed his elven queen to be, the utter love and devotion that had shone in his eyes. Eowyn shoved the feeling away. As much as she wished too, she knew she did not love Aragon. A childish infatuation, that was all. She straightened her shoulders, smiling and inclining her head in greeting as she passed a Rider, who smiled back.
Scanning the many people passing around her, Éowyn searched for a familiar face or figure, her eyes finally landing slightly messy blond hair and the long, midnight blue cloak of the Steward of Gondor. Her smile returned, and she made her way towards the figure. No, Aragon was not for her, but perhaps…
“Éowyn!” Éowyn’s smile widened as she drew closer and saw Merry and Pippin standing with Faramir. All three held tankards, and Merry was waving wildly at her, his ale sloshing dangerously around the rim. At the hobbit’s cry, Faramir turned, his eyes landing on Éowyn. Was it her imagination, or did his smile widen? And was that a slight flush of colour she saw appearing on his cheeks? Her own cheeks heated slightly, as she reached the three and Faramir took her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it lightly.
She bit back a nervous giggle, “Lord Steward.”
He shook his head at the title, looking awkward, as if the words had yet to fit him. “Please, none of that. I much prefer simply Faramir.”
“As you wish, simply Faramir!” Pippin crowed, looking immensely proud of himself for thinking of the joke. This caused both hobbits to subside into a fit of laugher, leaving Faramir looking rather bewildered.
Éowyn giggled and then, taking pity on the young man, asked, “Are you enjoying the festivities Faramir?”
The four of them chatted amicably for a time, until eventually Merry and Pippen slipped away in search of food and more ale, leaving the man and woman to their conversation. Weaving deftly through the great crowds, the two hobbits made their way towards one of the taverns that was serving food and drink for free, in honour of the crowning of a new king.
“Just think Pip,” Merry laughed, nudging his friend in the ribs with his elbow, “You and I, we know a king! What do you think the girls back home will say when we tell ‘em that we’re close and personal friends of the King of Gondor!”
“Not only that, and elf prince and dwarf lord too!” Pippin added, grinning widely, “Oh the stories we’ll have to tell!”
Laughing loudly, the two hobbits linked arms and continued on towards the tavern. So busy laughing, chatting, and calling out to people were they, that they did not notice the figure move into their path, and very nearly ran into him.
“Oi! Watch where you’re walking why don’t you?!” Pippin demanded, looking up crossly at the elf in their way.
“Yeah! Mind where you’re stepping! We’re very important hobbit, we’ll have you know!” Merry added, puffing up his chest.
Glorfindel frowned slightly, crouching down so that he was a better level for the hobbits. “My apologizes, Master Hobbits. I did not mean to run into you. But as I did, perhaps one of you might be able to tell me where I might find a hobbit by the name of Merry?”
Merry stepped forwards. “That would be me. Meridoc Brandybuck of the Shire. Who are you?”
Glorfindel smiled. “Ah. I am Glofindel of Imladris. I have been led to believe that you, Master Merry, were there for the Battle of Osgiliath, and saw the fall of the Witch King of Angmar?”
Merry nodded, going solemn. “Aye, I was there.”
“Would you be able to direct me to whomever it was who slew him?”
Merry nodded once more. “Of course. It was Lady Éowyn of Rohan. She’s over there with Faramir.” He pointed.
Glorfindel’s sapphire eyes widened. “Of course.” Quick as lightning, the elf straightened. “My thanks, Master Hobbits!” And then he was gone.
Merry and Pippen exchanged looks.
“I wonder who that was.”
“No idea. Never heard of him.”
There was a pause.
“Fancy another ale?”
“Lead on, dear Pip!”
Éowyn was enjoying Faramir’s company. The new steward was kind, pleasant, intelligent, and if she was being honest with herself, very good looking. Laughing, as he finished the tale of the time he and his brother Boromir has snuck into the kitchens and stolen off with two whole pies, only to be caught with empty pans, sticky fingers, and full stomachs, she wiped away a tear of mirth.
“I must admit, that sound very similar to the time when Éomer and I-”
She was cut off suddenly as someone flung themselves at her, hugging her tightly before releasing her. She let out a shout of surprise, spinning around as Faramir’s hand went swiftly to the pommel of his sword where it hung at his waist. Behind them stood…an elf? Éowyn stared in confusion. He had long blonde hair that shone like gold and hung loose to his waist, with intricate braids pulled back around the crown of his head. He was dressed in fine robes of silver, and was grinning widely, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement and humor. As she stared, Éowyn was suddenly and inexplicably reminded of an excited child. He was even bouncing on the balls of his feet, just as Éomer had once done. The shield maiden opened her mouth, about to demand that the elf explain himself, but he began to speak before she could even say a word.
“It’s you! And you’re a woman! Which makes so much sense, why did I never think of that it’s so obvious!” He grinned wider, still bouncing.
Éowyn stared. “Excuse me?”
As if noticing her confusion, the elf stopped bouncing and bowed. “Apologizes. I am Glorfindel of Imladris. Please excuse me for my previous actions, but I am very happy to finally meet you.” When Éowyn still appear confused, Glofindel continued.
“I am the origin of the Witch King’s prophecy. ‘Not by the hand of man shall he fall’. And it is you! I’ve waited over a thousand years to meet you!” He had started bouncing again.
Éowyn blinked in sudden realization, as she remembered the words of the Nazgûl. “Oh, I see. Well….it is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Glorfindel.”
At her response, the elf’s grin returned tenfold, and he began to speak once again, his pace so rapid that Éowyn only just managed to keep up. Every now and then he would grab her hand, or hug her again. Éowyn exchanged a glance with Faramir, who looked about a stunned as she felt. Well, she thought, turning back to Glofindel, here at least was another story to tell.