The Flower and The Fountain

To See You Again
Summary: Gondolin has crumbled, Turgon is dead, and one of many Balrogs threatens to cut off the escape of Tuor, Idril and the rest of the people. Ecthelion challenges Gothmog, imploring Glorfindel to see the people to safety; he has no choice but to do so, leaving his lover behind. (at the Square of the Palace of the King before Ecthelion‘s fall)

If you had another night to give
I would have another night to live
But you’ll never see me cry
The last good-bye

It had happened so quickly that some wondered if it were all true. One moment, the Golodhrim were preparing to celebrate another Tarnin Austa with their night of silence, the next scouts from the Echoriath were racing to the city, shouting that the forces of Morgoth had come. Instantly, the warriors of the city had taken up arms, and the captains had taken council with their King whilst the women and children were hurried off to find a means of escape.

How had everything that was so right gone so terribly wrong? The question plagued Ecthelion as he sat with his men and waited. Turgon had appointed them as reserves to be called upon when the time was dire; the men of the Fountain waited patiently, flinching each time the shouts and sounds of battle filled their ears. A message runner had arrived earlier, bringing the dreaded news that Rog and the people of the Hammer had fallen in battle. Ecthelion bowed his head and closed his eyes in mourning at the news, his thoughts turning to Egalmoth; he could only imagine how the captain of the Heavenly Arch would react to the news of his lover’s death.

/How had this happened? Maeglin? Did he lead them to the city? If it is true, I cannot prove it. I felt this time coming for so long, but I had hoped this day would never arrive. But now is not the time to dwindle on such thoughts. There is a battle raging, and we must defend the city. We must!/

“My Lord?”

Ecthelion opened his eyes, fixing them upon the person who had spoken. A sad smile came to his face when he realized it was Calendir who had addressed him. The boy had aged remarkably over the years. No longer was he the boy with an unhealthy infatuation for his Lord; Calendir was a man now, and had become a warrior for the Fountain. His crush had turned into respect, and he admired Ecthelion for his skills as a leader and prowess on the fighting field.

“What is it, Calendir?” Ecthelion asked quietly.

“Are you all right, my Lord? You look troubled.”

“We are all troubled, Calendir. No one ever thought this day would come; no one ever thought Gondolin would fall. Tuor’s warning so many years ago plagues our minds now. But, even if his warnings were justified, Gondolin is our home. We could not leave it, and now we will defend it with our lives. Even if the attempt is in vain, we will not relent, not to Morgoth and his forces.”

“Yes, my Lord. We are all of the same mindset. We shall not fail you, our King or the city.”

Ecthelion smiled at the resolution; rising to his feet, he laid a hand upon Calendir’s shoulder. “You have changed much over the years, Calendir. You are no longer the youth I remember.”

The younger elf blushed at a memory of days past. “That night changed me. I apologize, again, for the interruption, my Lord. And I thank you for it. I realized then I could not go on the way I was leading my life. It did not suit me; I needed to find my calling, and I did. I am proud to serve you, my Lord. And I shall serve you and my home until the end.”

“’Tis good to hear, Calendir. But I hope that your end will not come this night.” A trumpet sounded, the signal for their march to begin. Ecthelion sighed deeply, nodding his head to Calendir, who immediately rejoined his group. Taking up his helm, the Fountain Lord quickly strapped it upon his head, the tall spike of silver beaten mail glimmering in the faint torchlight. With a silent wave of his hand, the people of the Fountain advanced, announcing their marching approach to the melodic sounds of flutes.

“Come!” Ecthelion called, rallying his men. “To the aid of the people of the Wing we shall go!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Flames assailed the people of the Fountain when they finally made their way to aid the remnants of Tuor’s house. There was a gleam in the Man’s eyes, and Ecthelion instantly knew that Maeglin was the cause, and had been dealt with accordingly. With a shrill whistle, the Fountain Lord signaled for his men to do away with their flutes and shouted for them to draw their blades. Graceful arcs of steel flashed in the light of the fires, and with one great shout the men of the Fountain fell upon the Orcs and Goblins that assaulted the fair city of Gondolin.

“’Tis good of you to come!” Tuor shouted as he made his way to Ecthelion’s side. Through the grime of battle, a smile of joy shone on the Man’s face to see his friend at his side. It was at that moment that Ecthelion was reminded of Huor, and returned the smile with one of his own.

“How can I stay away at a time like this, meldir?” Ecthelion countered, slicing through a pair of Goblins attacking him. “You are incompetent on the battlefield, my dear Tuor. If I would have left you on your own for much longer, I would have had to pick up the remains of your armor anesenesent them to Idril for a proper burial!”

Tuor laughed richly as he swung his axe mightily at their enemies. “Let us hope that neither of us will find ourselves in such a situation!” Their combined laughter filled the air, their men gaining strength at the sounds of their voices raised in merriment. Together Tuor and Ecthelion sliced their way through the Orcs and Goblins that threatened to cut them off from their men and take over the city.

The Golodhrim fought valiantly that day, their war cries striking terror into the black hearts of their enemies. The people of the Fountain fought bravely; none who stood before them lived, and all who fell took many of their enemies with them into death. Tuor rallied bands of the Swallow and the Heavenly Arch to his side, commanding them as if they were of his own house and they obeyed. Orc lords and captains fell at the hands of the Lords of Gondolin, and their underlings quaked in terror of the two men; Othrod, Balcmeg, Lug, Orcobal, all fell to the steel of the Lords of the Stone Song. Dragons came, crumbling the walls and breathing smoke and fire upon the fighting bands, yet the pair and their followers fought on. There was nothing thus far that could wake the hearts of the Golodhrim. And then came terror itself in the form of Balrogs.

“Valar preserve us!” Ecthelion swore before he and Tuor raced into the fray of battle. Sword and axe were swung in mighty and graceful arcs, slashing the demons of shadow and flame. None before nor after had slain as of of the cursed spawn of Morgoth than did Ecthelion of the Fountain and Tuor, son of Huor. Eight of the spawns of Morgoth did they slay together. Three fell by the silver blade of Ecthelion, five to the axe Dramborleg welded by Tuor. Banter and laughter they exchanged between themselves as they went about their dismal work, their voices lifting the despair and hopelessness that threatened to settle into their men’s hearts. But such valor was not meant to last for long.

Pain swept through his shield arm as a shriek of agony was ripped from Ecthelion’s lips. The pieces of his shield, severed in half by the fire whip of a Balrog, fell to the ground with a ringing clang. His legs threatened to give out underneath him, but Ecthelion was not yet ready to fall. Yet he lacked the strength to go on as the pain from his now lame left arm overwhelmed his senses. Fire from the dragons spiraled about him, heating his armor and adding to the pain.

“Ecthelion!” Tuor raced over to his friend, slinging a steady arm about the Elf’s slender waist and hoisting him away from the trampling feet of the dragon that was upon them. “Come, we must be away!” Finding no escape from the dire situation when he looked about, Tuor slashed at the legs of the beast before them; roaring in pain, the dragon lashed out, slaying Orcs and Elves alike as it searched for its tormentor. Tuor mourned for the Elves, many of whom were his friends, as he bore Ecthelion away towards the Square of the Folkwell with the remains of the elven houses about them.

The trot to the Square felt long, and soon Tuor was out of breath from bearing the weight of the Fountain Lord. Orcs were at their feet, and Ecthelion was in no shape to defend himself. His skin had gone a shade of gray through it was still warm to the touch. Beads of sweat shimmered in the light of the fires, his slightly glazed eyes focused determinedly before him. Ecthelion was not about to give up though there was little he could do in the situation presented before them. And Tuor, bearing his friend to one of the last remaining safe places of the city, did not think he was capable of defending the both of them.

“Tuor! Ecthelion!”

“Praise the Valar!” Tuor shouted as Galdor and what men of the Tree he had about him came bounding down a short slope to the pair. The people of the Tree instantly fell upon the Orcs, hewing at some and driving the rest away. “How goes the battle?” he asked when Galdor had returned from the skirmish.

“Dire,” the Lord of the Tree replied with a frown. “But do not concern yourself with such things now. You are in need of rest, the both of you.”

Tuor nodded, fighting off the weariness that threatened to consume him. “To the Square of the Palace then.” He led the way, still bearing Ecthelion, and Galdor with the men of the Tree, Swallow, Arch, Fountain and Wing followed.

They made their way down the Road of the Marches to the Square, careful to cover their retreating backs for any attackers. The battalion had just made it when a noise from the East arose and in came Glorfindel with the remainder of his men of the Golden Flower. With their forces renewed, the men with Tuor fought to clear the Square, and succeeded.

“Ecthelion!” Glorfindel’s face paled when the fighting subsided and he gazed upon the state his lover was in. He had the men withdrawn from the entrances to the Square just as Egalmoth arrived with remnants of the remaining houses. Loosely, he clasped Ecthelion to his side as Tuor bade the Fountain Lord to drink a handful of the water from the great fountain before he removed the silver helm.

“My fears of one year ago are realized, malthener,” Ecthelion whispered, gripping Glorfindel’s hand and entwining their fingers.

“Do not speak of such things, not now,” Glorfindel pleaded. “I will not hear of them.”

“Forgive me, melme. But we both know the situation we are in at present.”

“I know it, that is why I do not wish to speak of it.” Silence fell between them for a time before Glorfindel spoke again, his voice muffled as he buried his face into Ecthelion’s hair. “I do not want to lose you, vanimaer.”

“You shall never lose me, melme. I will always be here.” Ecthelion pointed a slender finger to the cool armor covering Glorfindel’s chest. The tip of his finger traced a vine etched into the armor as he spoke. “I will always be in your heart, Glorfindel. You have captured mine, and I will always be in yours. Wherever you go, whatever happens to us, I will always be here. Never forget that.”

“I shall not, but I do not wish to lose you. I do not wish to lose my heart. I cannot!”

“Melethron…” The Fountain Lord tilted his head upwards, capturing Glorfindel’s lips with his own in a gentle, loving caress. Something wet touched his cheek, and Ecthelion knew his love was crying as Glorfindel crushed their bodies together in a tight embrace. Ecthelion ignored his body‘s protest and attempted to draw nearer.

/Dear Glorfindel. My heart bleeds for you, for us. My time draws near; we both know it to be true. We knew it a year ago at the last Tarnin Austa. You cannot deny it, but you cannot accept it either./ They pulled apart gently; Ecthelion raised a hand to wipe away a tear on his lover’s face as their eyes met. /We are not bound. We were to be this year, tomorrow at dawn. That time will not come, but you are bound to me in my heart. I love you, my golden one. Do not forget me./

“Vanimaer…” Glorfindel reached to clasp the hand caressing his face but shouting brought him to a halt. Seven dragons and a band of Orcs had found the small battalion at the Square. Tuor, Egalmoth and the men leapt forward to meet their hea head on. Balrogs came at them from all directions save South; the stand at the Square of the King was a fierce one.

From his perch on the fountain, Glorfindel’s arms wrapped tightly about him, Ecthelion watched the carnage that occurred. He saw more Elves fall to the flames of the dragons, the black blades of the Orcs and the whips of the Balrogs. Everything he had feared was coming true. /Here is where I shall make my last stand. Mandos calls to me even now when death does not yet have a firm grip upon me./ Ecthelion’s eyes strayed to the swinging of Tuor’s axe as the Man fought beside the Elves he had lived with for so long, Balrogs closing in upon where he and Egalmoth stood and fought. /Huor, my friend. I will not see your son fall just as you did. I will not see him and Glorfindel meet my fate./

“Ecthelion?” Worry crossed Glorfindel’s face as he watched Ecthelion rise slowly to his feet and replace his helm upon his raven head. The Fountain Lord’s face had gone ashen gray in his pain yet his eyes were fixed with determination. Glorfindel reached out to support his lover, but stopped when Ecthelion wrapped a lock of his golden hair about a finger.

“Malthener, I hope to meet you again one day,” Ecthelion whispered. “I hope to see you shining in the sunlight as I did the first day we met. I want to hear my name on your lips again, see your eyes smile and hear your laughter fill the air thi think one day I will. But first I must endure long days of cold and loneliness.”

“Don’t say such things!”

Ecthelion smiled before pressing his lips to Glorfindel’s again. “This is our last caress, malthener. See the people to safety, and remember I am always with you.”

“Ecthelion…” Glorfindel was unable to say anything more as Ecthelion gave him a mighty shove, pushing him away from the fray of battle; Glorfindel’s golden hair slipped from the Fountain Lord’s fingers slowly, almost as if they were afraid to leave that most loved touch. “Ecthelion!”

“Remember me,” Ecthelion whispered again before grabbing a dropped spear and placing himself between a Balrog and Tuor, who had fallen. Gray-blue eyes widened, instantly recognizing the Lord of the Balrogs.

“Gothmog…”

The Balrog said nothing but met his gaze and sneered. He danced aside as the fire whip crashed down at him, spinning the spear in his one good hand and dealing the beast a grievous wound. But his sword arm was lashed, causing anguished pain to spiral through his body and release his hold on the weapon.

“If I shall fall,” Ecthelion ground out through clinched teeth, “then I shall take you with me!” Without a weapon, the Fountain Lord did all he could do: he drove the spear point on his helm into the black heart of the son of Melkor. The beast shrieked in agony, swapping at the Elf to drive him away. Ignoring the heat that encompassed him, Ecthelion twined a leg about Gothmog. Blinded by agony, the Balrog fell forward and into the great fountain, taking the fair Elf with him.

Horror wrote itself across Glorfindel’s face as he watched the sight before him. He expected Ecthelion to resurface from the waters a moment later, but his face paled when his lover did not show his face again. His legs moved of their own accord, leading him to the fountain as despair filled his heart.

Ecthelion couldn’t be gone! It was not possible, he just couldn’t! Glorfindel made to dive into the deep waters, but was stopped by a strong arm slung about him. He struggled against it, desperate to reach his lover, but the other did not relent.

“Glorfindel!” Egalmoth’s voice shouted in his ear. “Glorfindel we must go!”

“I cannot!” the golden-haired Elf protested. “I can’t leave him! Release me, Egalmoth! Let me go!”

“Glorfindel, he’s gone.” Egalmoth’s voice was gentle as he spoke, his own pain filling his voice. He fought back tears as he thought of Rog, focusing on helping the remer oer of his people. He nodded as Tuor stepped forward, his lips set grimly in a thin line. “I’m sorry, meldir. We must go, the people need us.”

Glorfindel relented, nodding at Egalmoth’s words. He suffered to be drawn away as he took a last look at the great fountain, remembering times he shared there with Ecthelion. He could see nothing in the waters but his own reflection; a single tear slid down his cheek and was swallowed by the dark waters. As the ripples spread, Glorfindel forced himself to look away as a strangled whisper left him.

“Ecthelion…”

~~~~~~~~~~

The waters were cool as they wrapped about him, killing the fire that had heated his armor and dulling the pain of his abused body. Bubbles and steam swam around him, caused by the dying flames of Gothmog as Ecthelion and the Balrog floated down to the deep bottoms of the King’s fountain. The leather straps of the Elf’s helm had broken during their fall, allowing him to float away from his foe, the spike still embedded in the heart of the beast.

The weight of his armor prevented Ecthelion from swimming back to the surface, but he lacked the energy to do so anyhow. Gray-blue eyes, still filled with lingering pain, gazed up at the water’s surface, catching a last glimpse of his golden lover before Glorfindel turned away. He did not miss the pain in the azure eyes, nor the movement of the blond’s lips as he uttered Ecthelion’s name. Ecthelion opened his mouth to call out to his lover, but whatever sound he made was swallowed by the waters around him.

/Malthener…forgive me. Forgive me for all the times I may have been harsh to you. Forgive me for sometimes doubting our love despite the long years we’ve been together. I was afraid of losing you when I had no right to be. You’ve done nothing but love me; I should never have doubted you. Our love was not new, it was not young, but it felt that way. Forgive me for leaving you so soon./

Salt tears joined the waters around him as Ecthelion raised a hand as if to catch a handful of his lover’s hair. The fires that still ravaged the city glimmered off the ring on his right hand, Glorfindel’s ring. Ecthelion gazed upon it lovingly through his tears. The golden band shimmered in the refracted light; the single golden flower seemed to shine with a light of its own, softly illuminating the silver leaves that encircled it. It almost seemed to Ecthelion as if the ring were trying to comfort him in his last moments. Slowly, as he continued to sink in the waters, he brought the ring to his chest, his left hand covering his right.

/At least I was given the chance to receive your love, my golden one. I have no real regrets. I gave my heart to you freely, and you not only accepted it but cherished and looked after it. For that, I love you and I will always love you. I shall like to meet you again one day in another life, Valar willing. Perhaps one day, melethron. Perhaps. Until then, remember me. Remember our words last Tarnin Austa. Remember the times we shared. Remember that I love you./

His eyes glazed over as the pull of Mandos’ drew him closer to the fabled Halls of Waiting. Awareness left those jeweled orbs as they slipped closed, the color leaving the Elf’s face. Ecthelion did not feel the gentle hand of Ulmo reach into the waters of the fountain and gently bear him to the bottom of the deeol. ol. Nor did he hear the conches sound in mourning for the fair Elf who loved the waters and named his house after them.

~~~~~~~~~~

The battle that became the Fall of Gondolin raged on through the night. The deep waters of the King’s fountain was turned to steam by the fire of the dragons and encompassed the whole of the fallen city from that day forth. Yet at the very bottom of the great fountain, where a small pool of water remained, rested one of the fairest of Gondolin. Wounds were apparent on both of his arms, his once shining silver armor blackened by the fires but his face was still fair. Hands were clasped tightly together over his heart, and upon his face was a contented smile.

Come morning, when the fires had cleared and Orcs and Goblins searched for any survivors left behind to take to their master, they would find him. The radiance he admitted, even in death, would have them running in fear from the Square. None of the black hearted would dare go near the resting place of Ecthelion of the Fountain from that day forth; they would fear his name as well as remember the sting of his blades that had felled so many of their kind. They would shun the fountain just as Arien blessed it, her golden rays streaming through the remaining waters to caress the face of the fair Elf, her voice whispering into his ear though he heard it not.

“Take heart, fair one,” she would say. “You have been blessed. Your love will await you, and you shall meet again. Your sacrifices will not have been in vain. A little patience is all that is asked of you.”

And in the Halls of Mandos he waited in silence, his only comfort was a single golden ring that the Valar allowed him to keep. Sighing in contentment and resolution, he laid his raven head down to sleep in the cold halls, and abided his time.

The world shall hear no more the lilting melodies of the silver flute of Ecthelion, Lord of the Fountain of Gondolin.

TBC...