Bright, crisp sunlight streamed into the room, chasing the shadows from the corners of the room. Bainith's eyes fluttered open, and he sighed as bits and pieces of the events of the previous days came flickering back into his mind. He turned his head to the side, and was startled to see someone he did not recognize sitting beside him.
"Good afternoon." The figure in the chair was obviously a warrior from his build, though he wore loose robes of white and gold, and carried with him no heavy armor or shield. He did have with him a sword, which he was polishing as he spoke. "I came here to visit my horse at the stables, and often I come to these rooms to sit and think. I hope you do not mind -- you were sleeping and the other rooms were full."
Bainith shook his head and said nothing. He looked around, eyes falling upon the sword in the other elf's hands.
Noticing Bainith's gaze, the elf held the sword up a bit for Bainith to see it better. "A blade forged by Celebrimbor's folk. The hilt was made by that master craftsman himself." It was intricate and beautiful, inlaid with gold and set with golden beryls, and yet held in the right hands would be a deadly weapon. "Not quite as fancy as the sword I used in Gondolin, but it cuts just as deep," said the elf as if reading Bainith's very thoughts. "I do not believe we have met. I am Glorfindel, refugee of Gondolin, Captain of Imladris."
If anything could make Bainith feel more insignificant, it was the simplicity of the words from this great and renowned elf-lord humbled Bainith greatly, and he barely managed to speak. "My name is Bainith Proudfoot, m'lord."
"I know. Your mentor has spoken of you."
Uncertain of how to respond, Bainith let his gaze fall back upon the weapon once again. "I have never seen the weapons of Gondolin, but I can say that your sword is the most beautiful I have seen."
Glorfindel smiled gently, and Bainith wondered how much of a fool he sounded. It was obvious that the weapon was as legendary as the elf who held it, and Bainith feared that his awkward words made him sound as young as he was. He was grateful that the subject was changed. "I was told that you are training to become a rune-keeper." Bainith nodded to this. "Quite a thrill it must be, to feel the energy of the sky and earth project through you," said Glorfindel.
"It is... still amazing to me every time I use that power to heal, or, to kill," admitted Bainith.
"I imagine so." Glorfindel set the sword down to rest on the floor before he sat up and leaned in a bit towards the bed. "May I see your hands?"
Bainith withdrew the right from beneath the covers and slowly held it aloft, his palm facing the elf-lord.
"Both of them, please." Glorfindel held out his hands, loosely cupped, and Bainith trembled slightly as he set his hands atop Glorfindel's. The calloused hands of the warrior began to examine the smaller, softer fingers, the blisters that had formed on the pads from too much heat, the tiny cuts at the corners of his nails or at the bend of a knuckle from exertion. "There is so much strength," he said softly. "Much remains unharnessed. You have yet to be broken in." Glorfindel took hold of just the right, scrutinizing a scar that ran half the width that Bainith had a tendency to pick at, keeping it from properly healing. "I heard that you partook in the Dwarven Anniversary event. Those brawls are infamous and brutal. If you enjoy such physical activities, perhaps you would wish to come to the Spire of Meeting later. There are daily boxing matches in the early evening. I am sure there are some who would spar against you."
"I actually disliked that game," whispered Bainith, more to himself than to his guest.
"Really?" Glorfindel took up the other hand, finding an open wound on the back of the youth's thumb. The skin was dry and cracked, and the warrior made a note to make one of Elrond's apprentices aware of Bainith's condition. "Strange, I dislike cabbage, so I make a point not to eat it. It puzzles me that you would purposely go to such a place if you do not like it."
With little restraint, the truth tumbled forth, all of it. "There were friends of mine who were there, and I wanted to prove to everyone that I am not so weak. It started because the true love of the person I was...briefly with... they decided to go there and won many rounds and sent to me the robes that Yucca... a friend from the Shire, my best friend from childhood, you see... they were the robes she wants me to wear for her wedding. So then, I went a few times to prove that I could win that game too, though I hated it, and it was the only way I could get my horse -- I race horses well, but they told me I would not receive the horse on racing alone despite winning five races all in a row. Then I was injured, and it seemed I would not get my horse, but Eledu -- he is the one who sent the robes -- he went and pretended to be me and then had the horse sent to me. Well, I had to prove it that I could have done it myself, I just had to-- I am so sure he does it to mock me, and, well, I just want people to like me."
Bainith took a deep breath and looked ready to continue, but Glorfindel let go of the hand he was examining so he could rest a hand upon Bainith's shoulder. "I can tell you, from vast years of experience, having many, many people like you is nothing compared to having a few people love you."
The rune-keeper closed his mouth soundlessly and stared down at his hands, his eyes flooding with tears.
Glorfindel set his hands upon Bainith's and bowed his head slightly to try to catch a glimmer of Bainith's gaze. "There are people in this world who care deeply about you... like your friend Yucca, and your mentor, your family and your friend Culgondrian... people who love you, like... Valanyonnen..." Glorfindel paused as this name made Bainith look up, surprised his secret was so known, blushing, nervous, so happy to hear the name spoken. The expression did not go unnoticed. "They worry about you, just as you worry about, care about, and love them. I know from what Zhie has told me that you are sadly acquainted with the terrible ache of a broken heart. Can you imagine what you must be doing to those who love you?"
Bainith no longer attempted to look away, his tears free-flowing as Glorfindel left him with these parting words: "You are going to do great things with these hands -- I hope." Then the elf-lord retrieved his sword, stood, and left the room. As he did, Bainith saw him nod to someone who had remained unseen in the shadows by the door, revealed now as he came forward, harp tucked under one arm.
With trembling jaw, Bainith hiccuped an attempted apology. "I-- I am-- so---so sorry-- I--"
"Shhh..." A kiss was placed upon his brow as his tears were wiped away, then gently Bainith was coaxed to lie back down in bed to rest. "We can talk later. Rest now." Another kiss was placed upon the crown of his head, then the blankets were brought up and tucked in around him.
As Bainith turned onto his side, the harper sat down upon the empty side of the bed and strummed a chord. It was full of comfort, and Bainith allowed his eyes to close as he sniffled and wiped his nose. A few scales, played up and down, warmed the strings for the minstrel before he closed his own eyes to play a practiced song of healing, radiant yet soothing. Bainith drifted to sleep, peaceful dreams uninterrupted by nightmares, as the masterful music filled the room.
