“Now that Gil-galad is gone, who will be named king?”
“I suspect Elrond will be.”
“The Peredhel? A mutt?”
Glorfindel interrupted the soldiers who were whispering. “That ‘mutt’ is your king.”
Elrond was right behind him, and after the soldiers bowed and scattered said, “I am no king.”
“You are now; the last of Finwe’s line.”
“Not the last,” Elrond reminded him.
“Someone must claim it.”
“It will not be me. I cannot take the crown.”
There was a solemn look in Glorfindel’s eyes. “You can refuse the crown and refuse the title, but long ago I pledged myself to the High King of the Noldor when I was in Gondolin.” Glorfindel dropped to one knee. “Until my death or yours, you are my king.”
Author's Chapter Notes:
Elrond, Glorfindel