The Love of a Lord

The path of true love does not run smoothly, as Losgael discovers when reality collides with her dreams...

On a rainy afternoon in the sewing room in Imladris, Losgael, one of Celebrían's ladies-in-waiting, was working hard on an item of clothing. There were several other women in the room, each of whom was similarly engaged.

The clothes worn by the residents of Imladris were made by the ladies who lived there. Some were for the nobles, others for the servants and others who dwelt there. Most of the textiles used there were made from locally-grown fibres, using either flax or cotton grown in the fertile valley. Sometimes they used nettle fibres, for they were strong and versatile. Silks were imported from Rhûn, either as yarns to be woven into cloth or as ready-made fabric. No-one was idle in Imladris, all of the residents were employed in some useful task, usually according to the needs of the moment and the skills each person had.

With a frown of concentration, Losgael put gold thread through the eye of the needle. Supplies were not infinite, so she had been given a ration. It was possible to trade for more, but she decided to be creative with what she had been allotted. Since this shirt was for one of the most noble Elves in Imladris, a member of Elrond's household, she wanted to make it as beautiful as she could. The one who wore it would wear it with pride on special occasions, and people seeing it would say that love was woven through every part of it. And so it was, for Losgael loved the lord she was making the shirt for, though he knew it not.

“That is lovely, Losgael,” opined Celebrían, looking over her friend's shoulder. “Who is it for?”

“I would rather not say, my lady,” Losgael replied, blushing.

As each stitch went in, it was becoming more and more obvious who the intended recipient of the shirt was. Had her lady already guessed? Looking into her eyes, Losgael saw the twinkle of recognition and a pledge to say nothing.

“It is excellent work, and the gold goes so nicely with the sky-blue colour of the shirt. My Elrond would be happy with such a garment,” Celebrían smiled.

“Oh,” said Losgael, looking like a rabbit confronted by a fox, “my lady...”

“The colour does not quite match his eyes, though,” Celebrían teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief as a wicked grin spread across her face.

“Well,” Losgael replied, “I had someone else in mind.”

“Indeed?” asked Celebrían, sliding closer to her friend, as if hoping to share a whispered secret. “Do tell.”

“He is a great warrior,” Losgael said in a clear voice, so all of the ladies could hear.

“That would describe many of the Elves here,” said Brethilgwen absently, who was responsible for all the textiles in the house of Elrond. She was currently sewing buttons on a coat for a stable-hand.

“He is handsome,” teased Celebrían, putting an arm around her friend.

“He is handsome indeed,” spluttered Losgael, turning a deeper shade of crimson.

“Which also describes the Elves of Imladris,” Brethilgwen added with an arched eyebrow.

“I am not going to tell you!” Losgael insisted. Really, this was too much! Why could she not make a shirt for someone without starting tongues wagging? These ladies needed to find other things to occupy their time.

Celebrían sensed that continuing this might start an argument, and did not want to add to Losgael's distress, so she moved away. “I will cease my efforts to prise your secret from you, Losgael,” she said, her voice gentle.

“Thank you,” Losgael replied quietly, slowly exhaling as she fought for self-control. She had no desire to be laughed at, after all. People might say she was aiming too high if they found out who she had set her heart on.

The other women paid closer attention to their own work, and Losgael continued her task in peace. Finally, she was finished, and as she admired the shirt, she held it so that only she could see the front panel. Golden elanor flowers twined around each buttonhole, and the brass buttons shone like polished mirrors. Stars and other symbols of Valinor and the house of the object of her affections were scattered in ordered profusion all over the garment, and sparkled like the sea did on a sunny day. She had seen it long ago, when she lived in Sirion, but she preferred not to think of those times, for the memories of her life there were as bitter as they were sweet. Losgael put her hope for happiness in the future, which she hoped to share with one of the most famous Elf-lords in the history of Arda.

Glorfindel knew nothing of this, of course, and she determined not to let him know until he had seen her gift and acknowledged the labour of love that had gone into it. As Losgael went to his room to put the new silk shirt on his bed, she hoped nobody would notice her or ask awkward questions about her presence in his quarters.

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