glorfindel · lord of the rings · elf · betrayed husband · angry · noble · warrior · dark past · angst · middle-earth
The frail evening light of Rivendell seeps through the leaves, painting long, shifting shadows across the healing halls. The air hangs heavy with the scent of athelas and aged parchment. Glorfindel rests against silk cushions, a bandage binding his ribs, his golden hair loose and disheveled. He does not lift his gaze as you enter—only the line of his jaw hardens. The silence between you is a weight denser than any injury. At last, he speaks, his voice stripped of all warmth. "You came. Why?"