[Third Person POV]

Elrohir was relieved when he first decided to move Elena to the Houses of Healing. Her ailment, at first seemed like a common case of cold had suddenly turned into Pneumonia–one that got ugly really fast. But she was in the hands of the best healers of Middle Earth. In three days, they managed to stabilized her.

Glorfindel had felt it was enough to leave the human girl in the care of Elrohir's healing hands after he brought her to the Houses of Healing, so he tended to his work as the Captain of The Guards. Rivendell was safe, but there was news of Lothlorien being under attack. Ever since the end of the War of The Ring, fot the first time in years, the orcs grew bolder and had made several attempts to breach Lothlorien's borders. He had his guess as to why, but still he had a scout sent to the fair land of Mellorn trees, and back with some news.

He rode Asfaloth, his trusted steed towards the outpost by the Eastern border. When he saw the scout returned, injured, he quickly dismount his horse and walked to him as the scout limped his way towarss him despite being told by his comrades to take it easy.

"Captain!" he exclaimed, his voice tainted with the toil of his journey and a hint of desperation. The elf warrior approached and wobbled on his feet.

"Alathor!" Glorfindel caught him just before he collapsed. He fixed his eyes on the sable haired elf, his face drenched with sweat, grime and blood. Glorfindel turned to his lieutenant, "Sylvanna, get a stretcher ready–"

"–No!" Alathor cut him, grasping tightly at his arms. "No! I... I need... To go straight to Lord Elrond," Glorfindel detected the urgency in his tone and listened, "I have a message from the Lady of Light herself. One that must reached Lord Elrond's ears at once."

"I understand. You will. We stabilize you first–stretcher," he told Sylvanna the last part again.

"No! Please, I beg you, Captain," he cut his Captain again, something that Glorfindel knew none of his subordinate dare to do, unless the situation was truly dire. "A horse, Captain. Give me a horse."

In a rare show of affection, the immovable Captain of the Guards showed a gesture of affection and grasped the side of his subordinate's head, "You can barely walk, Alathor. That injury would kill you if we don't treat it right away."

"Then let me die," he said with no hesitation, and Glorfindel's breath caught in his throat despite his stony expression, "As long as this message gets to Lord Elrond as soon as possible. I have sworn my life over it."

Glorfindel's piercing gaze was intent on Alathor's eyes, searching them. "Get my horse ready," he told the others, not once looking away from his injured man. A small smile appeared on his lips, "You have shown courage and honor, my friend. We'll head straight to the House of Elrond, then we'll treat you. You are not dying today."

Alathor had a look of pride and gratefulness shone in his eyes as he nodded reverently at the Golden One, "Yes, Captain."

In no time, Glorfindel was speeding on top of his horse, with Alathor riding in front of him. When he saw that Alathor began losing consciousness in his arms, he urged his steed. "Noro lim, Asfaloth. Noro lim!"

Heeding his master's command, the stallion pushed itself, carrying the elves on his back with utmost haste towards the House of Elrond. They rushed past the town, and upon hearing the sounds of thundering hooves, the people in the streets were quick to part and made way for the mythical elf warrior and his steed. Like a lightning of golden light was the captain to the mortal eyes as he passed by the lively town. The crowd murmured to themselves after he passed. It was as if an invisible dark forces were chasing after them.

Elrond and his all seeing eyes had seen the two coming from afar. Upon the vision, the elf lord ceased his reading at his study and got out to welcome the soldiers. His heart knew that they've come to bring ill tidings. One that he suspected, but not dare voiced out loud. Not to his trusted advisor, not to his sons, or his Captain of the Guards himself.

On his knees, with Glorfindel supporting his weight, Alathor delivered the message that he had guarded with his life.

"Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men, doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne..."

Alathor paused to catch his breath, then proceeded to cough blood on the very ground of Elrond's study. Glorfindel had his steadying hand on the injured elf's shoulder as the elf gathered himself.

Elrond pondered this message. It was nothing new to him, and now that they've won the War of the Ring, more people had acquired the knowledge of these rings. He thought he knew everything, until Alathor managed his next words.

"...and One, the hope of The Accursed."

The last part of his speech sent a shock down to Glorfindel's being. He sharply turned his intense gaze from Alathor to Elrond who in turned only stand with a deep thinking look on his face. He too, Glorfindel gathered, had just heard of this news.

"The Lady of Light said that The Accursed bears the hope of our people," Alathor added. "Another ring, forged in secret by Celebrimbor before his demise.  She said... The ring bearer is asleep."

Soon after delivering his message, Glorfindel escorted Alathor to the Houses of Healing; his heart troubled by the unknown and of his man's condition. He had his eyes on the healers that worked on Alathor, when he heard another commotion. When he went to investigate it, his heart broke at what he witnessed.

Elrohir and a couple of other healers were stuffing a device down Elena's mouth. Her eyes closed, her body more frail than he left her two nights ago. Seeing the healers holding her, prying her jaw open to insert that tube-like instrument to open up her airway brought a mist in the Balrog Slayer's eyes. His fists were clenched tight by his sides in an attempt to stop himself from shoving the healers who assaulted her so while she lay there pale and helpless.

A strangled sound came out of her, and he saw her eyes opened, barely slits as she choked on the breathing device.

"That's it, Elena. Breathe, relax," Glorfindel heard Elrohir muttered in soothing voices. The girl made a pitiful, weak weeping sounds, and again, Glorfindel's heart clenched in pain at the sight of the tears that rolled off her eyes. Elrohir chanted an old elvish prayer under his breath and compassionately caressed the side of her head before the girl fell unconscious again.

When Elrohir met Glorfindel's eyes, Elrohir was surprised to see the pain swimming in them before he watched the Balrog Slayer walked away.

Both Alathor and Elena made it through the night and in days, the injured elf made swift recovery due to the life of the eldar running down his veins, but Elena's recovery, despite not as life threatening, was slow.

Still, when he visited and found her grinning weakly at both Elladan and Elrohir at her bedside, his couldn't help, nor explain the immense relief in his chest.

"Look who decides to make an appearance," Elladan teased, and Glorfindel only responded with a smile of his.

"Hi," the red headed girl beamed, and Glorfindel only slowly realized how much he had missed seeing her smile.

"Hi," he replied with warmth in his eyes.

'Tis high time for us to suddenly get busy, brother,' Elrohir told Elladan through their familial bond.

It took Elladan a while to answer, because he was taking his time studying their uncle. In the end, he decided to stand up. "Well, work awaits," he looked at Elrohir who nodded, then playfully tapped Elena's nose, making the girl chuckle. "Rest up and get well soon, do you understand? I miss my little firecracker."

With that the eldest twin left, but not before sending Glorfindel a meaningful but teasing look. Glorfindel didn't respond. Then, it was Elrohir who got up. "Remember, take this potion everytime you find it hard to breath to clear out your lungs. Alright, sweet pea?"

"Yes, mother."

Elrohir grinned at her and walked away, also giving Glorfindel a similar look that Elladan gave him just now. The golden haired warrior elf looked behind his back as he watched the twins left, not having a single idea what the two had up their sleeves. He then turned to Elena.

"I'm glad to see you smile again," he said as he sat to a chair next to her bed. His words were rewarded with more smile from her.

"I'm glad to see you smile. It is rare," she said back to him, and received a chuckle from Glorfindel.

"You gave us quite a scare a few days ago," he pointed out, his expression neutral, intense gaze fixed on her.

Elena shrugged. "If you were scared, imagine how scared I was," she replied nonchalantly, "I thought I was going to die again."

"Again?"

Elena paused to think of her own words, and find no reason why she said that. "I have no idea why I said that."

"Your head pulling tricks on you, little one?" Glorfindel asked with a hint of playfulness. For some reason, she was not at all offended by the nickname he gave her despite it pointing out at her obvious compact size.

"I guess," Elena smiled. She then turned her eyes to a few bed away from her, where Alathor slept in recovery. Her green eyes softened in sympathy when she asked about him. "I know that guy. He's nice to me. We talked once in the dining hall. What happened to him?"

Glorfindel turned his gaze back to Alathor sleeping figure, and Elena noted the worry in his blue eyes that betrayed his impassive expression. "He was attacked by orcs on the way home to Rivendell."

"He will make it, right?" Elena inquired.

"He will," Glorfindel reassured her, knowing that Alathor had made it out of the woods. "He is recovering, and so are you."

Elena smiled and nodded at that, sighing softly. "I hope so. I'm so bored here," she said.

The question left Glorfindel's mouth, reacting to the forlorn look on her face. "Would you like to have a walk? To the garden, perhaps?" he asked, knowing that she had grown fond of the garden that he showed her the first time.

Her vibrant green eyes lit up. "You would do that?"

"Of course," Glorfindel answered, and the woman was dazzled by his smile, "That is the least a friend can do. I'm your friend, am I not?"

Elena nodded enthusiastically and was about to hop off her bed when Glorfindel stopped her and get her to wear that silly long robe of hers.

He walked next to her, matching his pace with her slow ones as he entertained her chatting. As the arrived at the garden, he let her lead the way as he followed from a distance behind her. He watched as she brushed the tips of her fingers delicately to flower petals as she walked away; her vibrant red hair blew softly against the wind, matching the colors of the fallen leaves as her fragile and feminine form carried her among the paths of white roses.

Just like the flowers around her, she was just as delicate and beautiful.

Glorfindel felt an unusual heat on his ears when he realized his thoughts of her as he watched her from a distance. His expression remained neutral despite his sudden appreciation of her.

She picked a white rose and offered it to him as he approached closer. His smile pulled at his lips. "What's the occasion?"

"Thank you for caring for me back then when I first gotten ill. And... I just think this flower matches you."

He took the flower from her and looked at it with wistfulness in his chest. He remembered his old home. Gondolin. Surely, this flower would have been the one that his people gifted him when he passed; only that he didn't receive it. Until now.

"Why white rose?" he wondered.

"What I heard, they symbolizes loyalty. Purity. That's how I see you," she said as she turned her back and began touching all the flowers she could touch again as she walked, "They also say it signifies new beginnings."

"You think I'm pure," he scoffed softly as he twirled the flower between his fingers.

She turned her back to look at him with a puzzled look on her face. "You're not?"

"I am most definitely not, little one," he said as he brought his hands behind his back, still holding the flower.

"Oh yeah?" he heard her snickering. "What's your body count?"

"Too many to count, Elena. Thousands," he replied matter of factly.

Elena's eyes widened, her face suddenly turned a healthy shades of red and Glorfindel wondered what was on her mind.

"You're serious?" she asked with a gape in her mouth.

He chuckled. "Is it hard to believe? I have been a fighter all my life, and I've lived more lives than you can imagine."

There was it again, the adorable puzzled look on her face, when she suddenly facepalmed and clarified, "When I said body count, you meant the literal number of people you kill?"

Now it was Glorfindel's turn to be puzzled. "Did you mean something else?"

"I thought you meant the number of women you were sleeping with."

"That does not make any sense," he commented amusedly, "You still have much to learn about the elves, Elena. An elf do not lie with other than the one they were destined to be. It is once in a lifetime."

This was the first time the human woman heard about this. "Tell me more about this."

"Most elves marry when they were around a hundred years or so. When they do, it is for life."

"What happened if their spouse died? Surely you can remarry."

"For humans, maybe. But not for us. Most elves who lost their spouse lost their will to live. They would eventually sail to the Undying Lands to join their loved one, or ended up fading out of a brokenheart."

"Now that doesn't make sense and a tad bit too dramatic," Elena argued, then pointed out, "What about Lord Elrond?"

"He draws his strength to live from his love for his children and duty to his people."

Elena went quiet for a moment in deep thinking. "Do you mean that literally? Dying from a brokenheart?"

"Yes. Elves might be immortal, immune to diseases and decay of old age. But we can still die from battle or a brokenheart."

Elena stared at the golden haired elf, looking at him with a melancholy look in her eyes. For once, his heart skipped a beat at that look that she was giving him. Warmth spread in his chest. His eyes softened as he reassured her, "I'm not going anywhere, little one."

She only looked away and turned, continuing her slow walk towards the garden, not saying more words. Realizing that he had dampened her spirits, he gently hold her elbow, making her turn to look at him. He picked an Alfirin flower next to him and smiled at her. "It is such an irony," he said as he tucked the small flower behind her ear and smiled, "That a mortal who lives only a fraction of my life time, mourns for my well being."

Glorfindel was utterly hypnotized with the way she looked up at him–he found nothing sweeter than those innocent green eyes staring up at him. He took his time to study the soft lines on her feminine face. The way freckles sprinkled on her cheeks through the bridge of her nose. The way her red hair caught the light, as if burning in sunlight.

His heart race. At first he didn't realized it, for it has been a long time something made his clawed at his chest in such fashion, and it was always due to some fearsome creature. How could this small woman invoke such feelings in him? Similar yet not the same. The pounding in his chest lacked fear. Lacked darkness. It felt light and welcomed.

How odd.

Then his ears picked up on another heartbeats. Hers. Racing, just like his. Was it fear? If it was then why didn't she pull away from his touch, and why did she stay? Why did she looked at him the way she does?

His gaze drifted to her lips. Suddenly, he wondered how it would feel like to taste her lips.

"We should head back," he curbed his own wandering thoughts and let her go. "I don't want you to catch another cold. Come."

Their walk out of the gardens and back towards the Houses of Healing was filled with silence, except for the sound of her feet following him from behind. The feelings he had for the woman was unwelcomed; yet strangely he could not help but wondering, and wondering, and wondering. Wondering back to her face. To her eyes. To her lips.

"Thank you for walking me," Elena chirped, smiling as she climbed her bed, as if nothing had happened at the gardens. Maybe it was nothing to her, as it should be, but the notion disappointed him.

"You're very welcome, Elena," he said as he watched her pulled her blanket to her chest. He smiled as he saw the Alfirin flower he gave her still sat prettily behind her ear. "Sleep well, little flower."

With that he left. As he walked the hallways, he twirled the white rose that she gave him. He looked at the flower and thought fondly of her.

***

[Author's Note: FLUFF 🌺🌹Whaddaya think? Do you guys prefer Elena's POV or this POV? Let me know in the comments. R&R please. It makes my day and helps motivate me to keep writing. Thank you so much!]