Immortality

Title: Immortality
Author: destinial
Part: 2/?
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns these elves, the history, Middle-earth and my soul. No profit is made- even if there is, I’d be spending it on Tolkien.
Beta: Agie and Athos. I am one lucky writer *grin*
Author’s note: I have adopted the system of guild houses for Gondolin, not unlike what they used to have in pre-industrial England. The bad poetry is entirely my fault. I'm leaving off writing till end March, I have a darn chapter to finish for my editor.


Erestor huddled over his easel, adding the details for the engravings on the bath, writing neat and clear instructions for the guild masters who would then carve what he needed. He was just about done with the emblem for the House of the Golden Flower, and he hoped Glorfindel would approve.

The plan for the fountain was nearly finished. He had already ordered the necessary pipes to be built into the centre of the courtyard, bringing water to where he hoped to coax music out of stone. The fountain bath was to be the deepest yet in Gondolin, and Erestor wanted to ensure that it would be safe enough for any elf to swim in, and the walls high enough to prevent any curious elfling from falling into the pool. Already the plan had gone to several other advisers for their opinions, and their approval had been enthusiastic. The Lady Idril had been so thrilled by the design that she personally ordered Ecthelion out to the gates to prevent the latter from disturbing the master architect from his work. For which Erestor would have been immensely grateful, if it had not left one lovesick muttering elf on his hands.

Rolling his eyes, he gave a sigh of exasperation at the latest tune.

The deepest night a net warmly cast,
clouding thoughts and comforting souls-
Who in sweet reverie of Elbereth bask-
Her quiescent stars beckons a soul to betray his heart
too long buried and his love too long in the dark.

I walk in the gardens of Lorien,
I dream of twilight cascading into velvet night,
Where silence soothes and dimly light
keeps nervous heart in tremulous webs
For you yet remain unknown in the dark
till forgotten dawn - I in the abyss gladly clad….

“Lindir. You need a new repertoire.” Erestor commented dryly as he turned to look at the said elf. Lindir was the only elf who could stay in a room indulging in music for a long period of time without fidgeting. That made the silver-haired elf Erestor’s best companion when he had to rush a project, but lately, Erestor had been tempted to revise that opinion. The songs were getting depressingly sad and the ambience had made him imagine a fountain of tears, which though inspiring, was hardly comforting.

“You have never complained about my music before.” Lindir sighed before leaning his head wearily against the harp. Listlessness clung to him, and looking at Erestor’s braids, he sighed again. He tried thinking of new songs to sing, and his eyes swept the room for inspiration. When they fell on the flute on Erestor’s tabletop, yet another sigh escaped his lips.

Erestor raised his eyebrows. “You have never played this many songs on unrequited love before either. Who’s this elf you find yourself inspired by?” He knew full well whom Lindir was singing for, and had, in a moment of foolish sentimentality, requested Turgon to recall Ecthelion from the gates. Since the Crossing, this was the longest period of time Ecthelion had been away from both his cousin and his friend. Now that the final details, save the emblem for his own House, were done, he could not keep the pining hearts apart.

Lindir sighed. “I don’t know. The wintry air is so lonely, and it only echoes in these mountains, and it simply makes me feel the same way. Maudlin, melancholy, moody…” His thoughts drifted off into the mountains and he sighed again.

Erestor rolled his eyes - Glorfindel was right, these elves were hopelessly blind. “Only winter? Not twilight silence and silver light? Or haunting dreams?”

Lindir looked over to Erestor. “The nights inspire.” Closing his eyes he lay back on the couch. “The smooth satin of black that beseeches your touch and yet you fear to approach, for it will consume you into nothingness. You crouch in the corner wondering, afraid of the dark. Then behold! The stars, oh sweet Elbereth’s treasure of silver, so merrily dance that you cannot help but move from your spot, following their gleaming joy. Before you know it, you reach to touch, and you are lost…”

Erestor rested his forehead on his hand. “Have you ever told him?”

“Told who?” Lindir’s eyes flew open from his reverie.

“My beloved cousin, whose house is renowned for wearing twinkling silver threads in his twilight hair. Which is coincidentally like the night sky. Who is likely to be the said elf who has inspired your recent spate of depressingly lonely songs. Who is currently bemoaning his plight at the gates. And whom you are obviously in love with.”

Lindir closed his eyes again in defence against Erestor’s tirade, which only earned him a piece of well-aimed charcoal from the latter. Keeping his eyes closed, he commented, “I do not know where you got that idea from.”

Erestor turned back to his drawing board, looking for another piece of charcoal. Adding finishing touches to the Golden Flower, he replied, “In the last three knots since lunch, you have sung eight songs about the night, four of which had to do with an aching heart; four laments of the stars, all of which appealed for Elbereth’s blessings; and played six nocturnes, all of which are pieces ‘Thel plays every night in praise to the Valar. I may have spent more time building and drawing than anything else, but I am still an adviser, Lindir. I cannot possibly advise the king if I am dense, can I?”

Lindir opened his eyes and raised his eyebrows. Indulging himself, he stuck out his tongue at Erestor’s back. “Maybe I just miss the night. It has been ages since we have been able to spend a night together in the fields. You have been working on the fountain, and ‘Fin has been busy at the Council of Lords now that ‘Thel is not around. Even when we do meet in court, I am preoccupied with the healers’ gardens, while the two of you are bound to the King’s table.”

Erestor turned to look over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes at the elf. “Lindir, please tell me you are not plagued by those rumours running amok in the court again...” There had been a period of time, just when they moved into the city, when Lindir was discomfited by the nasty comments about his chosen company with two Lords and the King’s advisor. It had taken much cajoling from Ecthelion and Glorfindel, and Erestor’s whisper into the King’s ear, to make him the healer of his House, to persuade Lindir to hold his self-esteem against the thoughtless comments.

Lindir’s eyes widened in surprise at the comment before he replied, “No, of course not.” Leaning back into the chair, he thought over his next sentence carefully and added in a mutter, “But there are other rumours around…”

Work forgotten – for the moment - Erestor turned around and gave Lindir his full attention. Crossing his legs, he quietly swore to wheedle out the origins of these malicious rumours and snuff them out once and for all. He raised his eyebrows and asked, “What rumours this time round?”

“… nothing really serious.” Lindir wetted his lips, and looking at Erestor, who was giving him his famous sardonic eyebrow, blurted out, “They said that ‘Fin and ‘Thel have begun courting each other.”

Erestor’s eyes flew open. Ecthelion and Glorfindel? When did that happen? He was quite sure Ecthelion had no feelings for the golden haired elf because a bottle of potent red wine was the best interrogator, and he was about to say so himself when Lindir continued, “Which really is not surprising considering how much time they spend together and how long they had known each other. After all they have always seen each other as bosom friends and well, you always need friendship to build a relationship don’t you?”

Erestor put up a hand to stop the rush of words and asked, “Whatever led anyone to believe the two of them are together?” Considering that Glorfindel had been plotting with him to get the two elves together once Ecthelion was back from the gate, he was definitely certain that no such relationship existed.

“I ran into Egalmoth when I was walking from the King’s halls, and he told me the ranks have been rife with news that ‘Fin was riding for the Gate. In fact, Egal had heard him ask the King if he could join ‘Thel soonest, and the King had laughed, saying he would have to because he would not wish to be found guilty of keeping lovebirds apart.” Lindir dwindled into a mumbling, betraying his unhappiness at that prospect. “The Arches is even starting a new betting pool.”

Erestor raised another eyebrow and his mouth wanted to twitch. He was the one who asked the King for Ecthelion’s return, and he had asked Glorfindel to deliver the message. To think that it could be misconstrued! He had to give credit where credit was due: imagination was a marvellous storyteller. He could not resist teasing, “And the thought of that relationship depresses you?”

To his horror, Lindir’s eyes welled up and the healer buried his head in his hands, trying to quietly wipe away the tears. Erestor got out of his chair and knelt before Lindir, prying the hands away from the tear-stained face. Placing his hands on the cheeks, he soothed, “Don’t be silly. He is my cousin - I would have known if they were together. For that matter so would you. You don’t think they would keep us in the dark, do you?”

Lindir’s mouth quivered and he stuttered, “But we wouldn’t know, when they are at the Gate, would we?”

Erestor smiled and lifted himself to kiss the pitiful elf on his forehead. He was about to reassure him when the door flew open and a voice tinged with light laughter, called out, “We are back!”
----------

Ecthelion felt a deep pang when the sight of his cousin comforting a noticeably depressed elf greeted him. Concerned he asked, “Tinu? What is the matter?” Conscious that he was still in his rather well-worn mail, he maintained his distance, casting an anxious glance at Erestor in question.

Lindir wiped away the tears still welling his eyes and gave a watery smile. He shook his head and replied, “Just something at court. Welcome back from exile - I didn’t expect Lady Idril to relent.” He gave Erestor a quick hug and whispered into the latter’s ears, “Don’t tell.”

Walking towards Ecthelion, he wrinkled his nose and raised his eyebrows. “You need a bath.” Looking past the lord he caught sight of Glorfindel and his mouth quivered before he extended his greetings. “Welcome back too, ‘Fin. I didn’t expect you back this early.”

Glorfindel realized that Lindir did not wish to share his troubles and pre-empted Ecthelion’s questions. “We would have been back earlier if I didn’t have to rescue him from the blades of Duilin’s House.”

Ecthelion winced and scowled at Glorfindel. “Did you have to tell on me?” He knew he was defeated when he saw Erestor’s quizzical look and Lindir’s expectant one.

Swinging his hand around his one-time friend, Glorfindel continued, “Being the ever responsible elf he is, dearest Thel took it upon himself to train with the young archers. Unfortunately, they are archers, which meant that whatever swordplay they did know was severely…*cough* “limited. Unfortunately you can’t get grown elves, every single one of them part of the king’s guard, to use wooden issues, so our valiant captain here ended up dodging clumsy swings from eager elves who would have been safer at a distance.” He thumped Ecthelion on the back, eliciting a groan.

Lindir’s eyes widened and he grabbed Ecthelion’s arm, which promptly caused the other elf to yelp in pain. Lindir loosened his grip immediately and lifting the arm, gingerly pried the sleeve away to reveal a bandaged forearm. Taking a deep breath, he bellowed – as loud as could be considered a bellow for Lindir - at the sheepish elf before him. “Where in Mandos’ Halls did you leave your shield? Or your vambrace (1) for that matter? Or do you think you can fend off swords barehanded now?”

“He couldn’t possibly wear a shield to the mess hall, could he?” Glorfindel supplied.

Ecthelion grumbled, “The first time I injured my shield arm guarding against an errant blade and it had to be in the mess of all places.”

Erestor who had been quiet all this while frowned. Not even he would have been able to catch his cousin off guard - he only had a hair of a chance if he came up close enough to prevent the superior swordsman from using his sword. “Why was there an errant knife in the mess?”

“Really, ‘Tor, that was a most surprising question. You would expect knives in a mess - how else would we eat?” Glorfindel grinned and winked.

Ecthelion glared at his swordbrother. “I can answer for myself, Crocus” which earned him a prod in the chest from Lindir, who clearly expected a clearer explanation. The captain shrugged and said, “Archers. They just cannot grasp anything thicker than a string. Even when they do, they let things fly. Knife, thick venison, butterfingers…” pointing to his arm, “injured innocent.”

Erestor lifted an elegant eyebrow, quivering it its arched place. He knew that Duilin’s House had never been very fond of their swords. He had been responsible for arguing with the Lord on the necessity of factoring in close combat training, and he considered taking issue with the archer again at the next council.

Lindir examined the bandages and grimaced at the state they were in. “Did you bandage this yourself? How deep is the cut?”

Glorfindel helpfully interrupted Ecthelion before he could reassure the healer. “Deep enough to drip blood into a wine goblet, which was what he was doing when I arrived. I think he was suffering from trauma. I did the bandages - his body did the rest.”

Lindir was aghast. “You did not disinfect the wound? No stitches?” The two captains looked at each other, the question clear on their face - wasn’t the Valar-given healing abilities enough - and simultaneously shook their heads.
Ecthelion added quickly, “It was already healing when I washed it.”

Lindir growled low in his throat. “You. Oaf. Bath first. Bandages later. Move!” He prodded at Ecthelion’s abdomen sternly, and the latter backed out of the doorway, knocking into Glorfindel. Holding up his hands in mock surrender, Ecthelion nodded, turned, and walked towards the main wing of his house. Lindir followed behind, still nagging about careless elves and sillier, brainless captains with no sense of immediate healing practices.

Glorfindel looked on at their backs with amusement, “Think he will follow ‘Thel into the bath?” He asked Erestor with his tongue in cheek. “We wouldn’t want the bandages to get wet yet, would we?”
----
Once they turned the corner, Ecthelion waited for Lindir to come to his side, before pulling the elf closer. “Now, can you tell me why you were crying?”

Lindir response was a blinding smile.


TBC...

Tinu: Small star

(1) Vambrace: The vambrace is the part of the armour that covers the forearm. Unless memory fails me, the vambrace was actually developed in the classical wars by the Romans but was adopted by 14th century Anglo-Saxons who most likely called it ‘vauntbras’, literally ‘before arm’. Interesting bit of tit-bit anyway.