The Flower and The Fountain

Awaiting
Summary: Reborn on the shores of Valinor, Ecthelion relives memories of his last moments in Gondolin. His only consolation during this traumatic time after returning are the kind words of Estelien and the hope that Glorfindel will return one day.

“Ah, it’s already been a hundred years since he’s left us. I wonder what Glorfindel is doing at this moment.”

It was a bright day in Valinor, a perfect day for walking on the white shores of the home of the Valar. Which was exactly what Glorion was doing; it had been too pleasant of a day to spend indoors. Estelien had wished to visit with the Lady Yavanna in her gardens, leaving Glorion alone. He had in turn decided to visit the coast to take in the sun and the sea view. Tirion would become too crowded for him at times; thus he preferred the peace and calm of the Sea, and often retreated to the coastline.

As he walked, his thoughts strayed to his son. Glorfindel had left Valinor for Middle-earth nearly one hundred years previous; he was needed there still, and had left with the Istari soon after the call from the Valar had come. Glorion still remembered that day, the sad smile Glorfindel had given his parents before he and his new steed, Asfaloth, had ascended the Telerin ship and sailed away. It had only been two days since his majority, yet the changes that had come over Glorfindel just moments after he regained his memories was remarkable. And with his returned memories came the loneliness.

“He is in Middle-earth again,” Glorion mused to himself whilst walking barefoot along the white-sanded beach of Valinor. “He said he needed to go back, to protect Eärendil’s son and aid Middle-earth in whatever way he could. I wonder how he feels to be back there. If he had the choice--duty-bound or not--would he have stayed here and waited?”

Sighing to himself as he wondered where such melancholy thoughts had come from, Glorion continued on his walk. He stopped abruptly when something glimmering in the sun caught his eye. Curious as to what it was, he cautiously moved closer. The closer he came, the more apparent the object was. No, it wasn’t an object at all but a person. Not just any person, it was…

“Ecthelion?!” Breaking out into a run, Glorion quickly made his way over to the other Elf. What he found was indeed the former Lord of the Fountain, still clad in the silver armor he had worn into Gondolin’s last battle, unconscious but alive.

His hair, skin and clothes were wet from the Sea, the waves cresting about him as he lay prone in the sand. The clothing of his arms was gone, his skin exposed and unmarred; the scars that he should have borne from the whips of the Balrogs’ were miraculously gone. It was almost as if Ecthelion had been healed of his grievous injures and his body preserved throughout the years. Ecthelion’s eyes were closed and he seemed to be asleep, but he was breathing, and when Glorion felt for a pulse he found one, steady and strong.

“How in the Valar’s name did you come here?” the golden-haired Elf whispered in disbelief. “How are you alive? You died years ago in Gondolin!” Not knowing what else to do, Glorion lifted the prone Elf into his arms, surprised that Ecthelion was so light despite his armor.

“I must take you back to Tirion. You are alive and in Valinor; the Valar must have a reason for bringing you back without a rebirth. I have to know why.” Quickly Glorion set off, returning the way he had come with the unconscious Lord of the Fountain in his arms. He made plans to speak with Mandos; surely the Doomsman of the Valar will know what has transpired. Glorion only prayed that Mandos was merciful and would tell the Elf the intent behind the action.

~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing he registered upon waking was the feeling of being warm. It seemed as if he hat fet felt such in a very long time, though he could not begin to imagine how that was so. Something soft was wrapped around him; he snuggled deeper into the warm and soft sensation, sighing deeply in bliss. The sounds of the wind and birds chirping playfully invaded his ears as something bright flashed across his closed eyes.

Slowly--a bit reluctantly--he opened his eyes, blinking at the sunlight that streamed in through an open window. For long moments he did nothing but stare at the sun and the sky. Slowly he began to realize that he was lying in a bed, white sheets covering him. White sheets?

/Glorfindel never has white sheets./

Quickly Ecthelion sat up, suddenly realizing he was in a room he did not recognize. His movements, however, were too much for his still healing body and he fell back into the softness of the bed. His vision blurred briefly before returning, allowing him to finally gaze around the room he was in.

“Where am I?” he murmured, his voice hoarse from long years of disuse.

“You are in Valinor,” a gentle voice whispered in reply. “It is the afternoon of the third day since you were found on the shores of Alqualondë.”

/Alqualondë? Valinor?/ Ecthelion turned to his left, where voe voice originated. His eyes widened when hughtught sight of the raven-haired she-Elf that smiled at him. He had not seen that face in ages, the face of his lover‘s mother. “Estelien? How did I…”

“I do not know the answer to that question,” Estelien replied calmly. “But Glorion has gone to consult with Lord Mandos on the matter. You should rest, Ecthelion. It has been many years since your fëa resided in your body.”

“I am not reborn? Why?”

“I cannot answer that either. Just rest, you are safe here.”

He sank back into the comfort of the pillows, sighing deeply. A familiar, long missed scent surrounded him and he instantly recognized it. “Rosewood,” he murmured. A sad smile came to his face as he remembered days of the past, his hand idly caressing the pillow. “How long has he been gone?”

“Tomorrow will be one hundred years since his departure,” Estelien replied, noticing the saddened expression in the eyes of her son’s long-lost lover.

“He went back to Middle-earth.”

“Aye, he said he was needed and the Valar asked him to go. He would have waited for you.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Ecthelion said, a faint smile coming to his face. “If the Valar willed it, Glorfindel would listen. He is too loyal sometimes, always obeying orders and commands even if he disagreed with them; he would not have denied the Valar. I wish I could have seen him, at least once, before he left. I…” Words failed him, dying upon his lips as the tears came. He was blinded by the silvery droplets that collected in his gray-blue eyes before slipping down his cheeks and wetting the pillows. The sudden pain of rebirth and loneliness hit Ecthelion at once as sobs sounded despite his attempts to stifle them.

“Ecthelion…” Estelien acted instinctively, moving closer until she was able to wrap her arms around the sobbing Elf. She held him as she had held her son on so many nights when Glorfindel’s memories had returned. Someone else needed her comfort now, and that someone was her child’s lover. Estelien had heard that Ecthelion had lost his parents and elder brother during the crossing of the Helcaraxë. She would be the mother he needed now.

Ecthelion moved closer, burying his face into her shoulder as he cried. Why couldn’t be he granted sweet oblivion with a second rebirth? Why did he have to reawaken in his old body, healed of physical injuries but still carrying the pains of the heart? Why did everything have to hurt? Why had the Valar deemed this? Were they being cruel, or merciful? The will of the Valar was not always so clear.

His shoulders shook uncontrollaas has he cried, Estelien’s gentle voice and words soothing Ecthelion little as his heart ached. For a long time the raven-haired Elf did nothing but cry and be comforted by his love’s mother. Lórien soon became merciful and granted Ecthelion a dreamless healing sleep; the taunt muscles of his body loosened as he slumped forward, the awareness in his eyes slipping away.

“How is he?” Glorion had not dared enter when he heard the voices of Ecthelion and his wife speaking to one another. He did not want to disturb them, and possibly trigger unpleasant emotions by his sudden appearance. When the voices had died away, only then did he deem it safe to enter.

Estelien smiled sadly at her husband as she helped Ecthelion’s slumbering form back onto the bed, tucking him in as if he were a child. “The next few days will he difficult for him, I suspect,” she replied. “The suddenness of his return, and learning that Glorfindel has left has not been easy on him.”

“It might be best if I do not see him until he feels stronger. I might trigger too many memories and emotions within him that he does not want to--need to--experience now.” Glorion started slightly when Estelien cupped his face in a warm palm, her eyes boring into his.

“You and Glorfindel look too much alike, save for your eyes. One day, Ecthelion will want to see you so that he can be reminded of his love. But you are right; he should not see you for some days yet. He needs to heal and regain his strength first.”

“Perhaps I will ask Eärendil to visit with Ecthelion tomorrow morn when he returns from his voyage,” Glorion suggested. “He used to say how fond he was of Glorfindel and Ecthelion when he was a child in Gondolin. Perhaps his presence will help Ecton ton to heal.”

“Ask Tuor to visit as well. I have heard from Idril that they used to be good friends.”

Glorion smiled, liking his wife‘s train of thought. “I will do that.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The late morning sun caressed his face, drawing a sigh from Ecthelion. He had spent a sleepless night reflecting on the past and what was happening to him now. He thought about Gondolin, his friends, his life, Glorfindel. The raven-haired Elf was grateful for the care Estelien had given him the last day since he regained consciousness. She had spoken to him much of what had happened before his rebirth. Ecthelion had not seen Glorion during his wakeful moments, of which he was thankful. Glorfindel looked a great deal like his father; if Ecthelion had seen Glorion in his fragile state…he was unsure as to what would have transpired.

His body still too weak from so long a death slumber, Ecthelion had to resign himself to resting in bed for the day, perhaps for a while longer. Estelien had left some time ago with the empty breakfast tray, leaving Ecthelion to gaze about his lover’s room. There was so much of Glorfindel here that the former Fountain Lord felt both lonely and comforted. Everything in the room was cheerful, the colors bright and every object in its place.

A hundred years Estelien had said; it seemed Glorfindel had only left yesterday for nothing seemed to be out of use. The lone, large window of the bedchamber faced East, allowing the morning sun to stream into the room and fall upon the bed, warming its lone occupant. Ecthelion wondered if the direction of the room was chosen by mere chance, but he was grateful for the coincidence. At least he could wake up each morning towards the lands his beloved was in.

“Ecthelion?” a voice called followed by a knock upon the door. There was the sound of giggling before another knock sounded. “Are you decent?”

“Tuor?” Eyes wide with wonder at the familiar voice suddenly calling his name, Ecthelion shifted position in bed until he was facing the door. His eyes widened further when in stepped Tuor, followed closely by Idril, Turgon, Penlod and one other dark-haired Elf Ecthelion could not name but somehow knew.

“It is good to see you again, my friend!” Tuor greeted whilst clasping one of Ecthelion’s hands as soon as he had approached the bed. “You look well for someone just brought back to life!”

“Same Tuor as always,” Ecthelion said, marveling at the little change that had come over his friend despite the long years. “Idril, how are you?”

“I fare well,” the golden-haired she-Elf replied as she leaned over to grace Ecthelion’s brow with a kiss.

“Turgon, Penlod.”

“Ah, Ecthelion,” Penlod said with a smile. “I am pleased to see you after so long apart.”

“As am I,” Turgon said with a nod. “It has been many years since we were last in one another’s company, and I am glad we will have a chance to speak together again.”

It was then the stranger stepped forward, a shimmering jewel upon his brow and his blue eyes bright and gleaming. “Do you know who I am, dear Ecthelion?” he asked, smiling.

Ecthelion studied him long, taking in his appearance. The face looked familiar, the voice somehow one he knew. He was instantly reminded of Tuor when he looked upon this stranger. He did know this man, but who… “Eärendil?”

“Aye, you do remember me,” Eärendil replied with a laugh. “I am pleased you still know me. I have changed much since we last met, do you not think so?”

“You have indeed. I would not be surprised if all of Middle-earth knew your name by now.”

“Ah, dear friend, you have no idea how true that is.”

Eärendil then proceeded to tell the returned Elf all that had transpired over the long years; when he was finished, it was Idril and Tuor’s turn to recall their years in Valinor before Turgon and Penlod spoke about their new lives. Ecthelion listened to each of them intently, occasionally interrupting to ask questions or laugh at a particularly humorous tale. Unknown to him, each of them was glad the raven-haired Elf had returned to them, for they each had missed his company and easy companionship.

“Tell me,” Ecthelion said after a moment of thought once most of the conversation had ceased. “Glorfindel…what has he been like since he returned? Has he changed at all?”

“Not at all,” Turgon replied with a wave of his hand. “He is still the same Glorfindel we all remember. Penlod and I have changed a bit over the years; even Egalmoth and Rog, both of whom only just reached their majority a few days ago, have changed. But Glorfindel…nay, Glorfindel is the same as we all remember. Less burdened with the past, perhaps, but no less bright and smiling.”

Turgon’s words were comforting, and lifted the loneliness of Ecthelion’s heart a touch. He still missed his lover, but knowing his friends were here and supporting him made life a little more bearable. Knowing that his lover had not changed felt reassuring. “I wish I knew why I was returned as I am,” Ecthelion whispered, saddened.

“Because Ulmo loved you,” Tuor said. All eyes turned to him, waiting for him to speak for it seemed Tuor knew something they did not.

“Ulmo always loved you, Ecthelion,” the Man continued. “He told me so himself not tha than three years ago. You always had a love for the waters, and named your house after them. And for that he loved you. Ulmo preserved your body in the remaining waters of the fountain you fell in; when Arda was changed, he carried you away and charged the Lady Uinen with guarding you. When Mandos deemed it time for you to return, he could not grant you a new body because your old was was still preserved. Thus it was decided you should return to your old form, and continue on with your life.” When Ecthelion did not speak, Tuor grew worried, wondering if he had spoken out of line. “Do you regret what happened?”

“Regret…no.” Ecthelion gazed up at his old friend, offering the Man a kind smile in thanks for his explanation. “I’ve never regretted anything in my life. Though…I wonder if it would not have been easier not remembering, at least for a time. But then I do want to remember. I just…I just wish he was here.” Tears swam in his stormy eyes but Ecthelion held them back, not wishing to cry before his friends. He did not care if they saw him as weak, but he would not cry before them.

“He will return one day,” Idril soothed. “When all is well in Middle-earth and he is not needed any longer, Glorfindel will return. He wilturnturn to you.” She offered him a warm smile meant to ease his loneliness, for which Ecthelion was grateful.

“Hannon le, Idril.”

“Come, Nana, Ada, Ata’da,” Eärendil said as he and Penlod began to usher the others out. “Ecthelion is in need of rest and healing.”

“You will come again?” Ecthelion asked before they had a chance to depart.

“Of course!” Tuor replied enthusiastically. “Regain your strength quickly, dear friend. I should very much like to relive some old memories from Gondolin.” With a wink he was gone, his laughter filling the house as Turgon and thhershers departed.

Ecthelion lay still for some moments longer, fighting the sleep his body so demanded. He was glad to have his friends close again, glad they were still as he remembered them. For a moment, things did not seem so off as they had hours before. His last thoughts turning to his lover, Ecthelion sank deeper into the scented sheets and entered yet another dreamscape.

~~~~~~~~~~

Weeks passed before Ecthelion had recovered enough strength to make it out of bed. His body had demanded he take living again slowly and had refused to cooperate with the Elf each and every time he attempted to make it out of the bed on his own. Nearly a month later he was able, though the mere act of walking and standing for long periods of time still drained him. His strength was returning slowly, and soon Ecthelion hoped to be back to the Elf he remembered himself to be.

“Ecthelion?”

He smiled when Glorion stepped into the garden the raven-haired Elf had decided to find peace in. Estelien’s garden--as well as the Sea--was one of the few places Ecthelion sought out for some private moments to deal wits ths thoughts and emotions. As the golden-haired Elf stepped up to where he sat, Ecthelion found himself gazing fondly at Glorion. In the other Elf he saw the man he loved; Glorfindel was much like his father, gentle, kind and cheerful. There were times Ecthelion thought his lover were there with him, but the green eyes grounded him to reality, though he no longer felt the pang of loneliness so acutely.

“What is it?” Ecthelion asked as he spied the folded letter in Glorion’s hands. He accepted the delicate parchment, colored with age but still in good condition. His eyes widened as he noticed his name scrawled in Glorfindel’s delicate hand; it was a letter for him.

“Glorfindel left that for you before he departed for Middle-earth,” Glorion explained. “I thought it would be bes wai wait and give it to you after you had physically healed.”

“He left it for me?”

Glorion nodded, his golden hair lifted by a breeze that blew from the East. “Aye, just before he left. His departure was sudden, but he refused to leave without writing this to you. I do not know what it says, but Glorfindel asked that I give it to you.”

Ecthelion said nothing in reply as he stared at the letter, his gaze transfixed on his name writtn gon gold ink script. He did not dare open it yet, not because Glorion was present but because he was afraid. He did not know what words the letter would contain, and was half-frightened by what he would read.

“I will leave you now,” Glorion announced, reading the uncertainty in Ecthelion’s eyes. He turned and headed back for the house, spying Estelien watching from a window. He smiled at his wife and entered the small manor, leaving the raven-haired Elf to himself.

Glorion’s departure seemed to have lifted a spell that had settled over him; almost immediately, with trembling fingers, Ecthelion broke the seal that held the letter closed, unfolded the paper carefully, and began to read its contents.

Dearest Ecthelion,

I leave now for Middle-earth once again. The Valar have asked that I guard Eärendil’s son, Elrond. He has chosen the way of the Eldar, but there much ahead of him he may not be able to deal with alone. Lord Manwë has revealed to me that Elrond’s road is long and hard; there will be hardships and grief in his path. But he is needed in Middle-earth, and I have been asked to act as guardian to him and his children.

You know me, Ecthelion. I am loyal, too loyal as you have pointed out before. I could not deny the Valar this request. I wanted to stay, to await your return so that I could be the first person you laid eyes upon. But I could not; I must go. There are long days ahead of me for there is much turmoil in Middle-earth. Not a day will go by that I do not think of you.

I wonder what you are doing now as you read this. I wonder how long it has been since the time you are reading from the time I am writing this letter. Not too long, I hope. But the will of the Valar is never clear, even to those whom they find favor with.

I miss you so. I miss holding you, miss hearing you laugh, miss the sounds of your flute that you always played so brilliantly. I want to wake up in the mornings and have you beside me; I want you to laugh and chide me for the childish things I do, even at my age. I want you here, just here next to me, so I can be close to you and watch what it is you are doing. I just want you.

It is odd in a way. I have only regained my memories two days ago, and yet I feel as if I have only just been separated from you yesterday. I wish you were here, with me, now. I wonder why I was returned first, why you were not returned with me. Why I must deal with this separation alone. I never thought a day would come when you were not at my side, sharing life’s experiences with me. At one time I even feared such a thing would happen. Yet it has.

The pain of not having you here hurts, vanimaer. It hurts so much it feels as if my chest in crushing. It hurts so much that I cannot breathe, as if I were drowning in the Christhorn again. It hurts so much I want to scream out my pain to the world so that they all know what it is like to live without you. But no er wer what I do, it will not bring you back. And so all I find I can do is pray, pray for your safe return and that one day we will be reunited. But it will be a long and lonely road until that day comes.

I will always love you, dearest Ecthelion. ‘Tis one vow I will never break, for not even death could sever my love for you. Wait for me, I will surely return to your side. Wait for me.

Glorfindel

“Malthener…” His voice k ask as he spoke the endearment; crystalline tears streamed down his cheeks, splattering upon the paper and smearing the golden ink. His body trembled with the sobs he thought he had long suppressed. Ecthelion clutched the letter to his chest, crumpling the paper as he cried for his lover like a lost child cries for their mother.

“I will always wait for you,” he whispered through his tears. “Hurry back to me…please…”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Ten years already.”

Ecthelion stood upon the shores of Alqualondë, his bare feet submerged in the waves and the salt air in his hair. He felt calm by the Sea, though that was no surprise; half of his heritage was rooted in Alqualondë, and he would always feel as at home there as he did in Tirion. It was midday, and the sun was high overhead, warming his skin through the simple, loose robe he wore.

Ecthelion had come to the Sea to find a measure of peace. Tirion was busier these days, a change from when he had first left the Undying Lands. His grandfather was ever hurrying from one court to another, noting down what was said and discussed for records that were neatly kept. Glorion and Estelien were often occupied with something or another. Many of those that Ecthelion knew were occupied with some special occasion to organize or some place to go to.

He, on the other hand, often found himself with little to do, and idleness was not something Ecthelion was particularly fond of. Though when he tried to help and offer his services, often others would politely decline and tell him to rest. Rest…it was something he had been doing for the last decade.

/They mean well,/ Ecthelion reasoned with himself. /After all, all those who left Middle-earth through death returned as Twice Born, granted a new body and a new life. I, however, am the same Ecthelion in every sense of the word. Few times have other fëar returned to their original hosts. I suppose I am considered a special case, and everyone is looking out of me in their own ways./

The wind picked up, whipping raven strands into his sight. He brushed them aside, tucking the unbraided silk behind a pointed ear, his gray-blue eyes never leaving the eastern horizon.

/Meleth…I wonder if you know I am here waiting for you. I do not think you do. You are probably still wondering what has happened to me, whether or not I have returned; and if I have whether I have waited for you or found another to love./ Ecthelion smiled gently to himself at the last thought and the image of an angered Glorfindel it brought to mind. /There is no need to fret, malthener. My heart will always belong to you. There can never be another to take your place./

He touched the letter hidden within the folds of his robes. helihelion had read the golden words many times since the first day he received the letter from Glorion. Since then, the words have all but faded and the paper too delicate from even the gentlest handling. Yet Ecthelion carried it with him still, never far from his heart; when the letter should fade into nothingness, he still had his lover’s words ingrained into his memory. And he would always wear Glorfindel’s ring.

Ecthelion had been rather surprised to find the ring his golden-haired lover had bestowed upon him still upon his finger. It had taken him nearly five days to realize the fact he still wore the golden flower, for he had grown accustomed to its presence. He had cried then--as he often had after his rebirth--when he realized what a gift Ulmo had given him by preserving that one small piece of his heart.

Now, he gazed upon the ring as it shimmered in the sunlight, his right hand pressed over Glorfindel’s letter and Ecthelion’s heart. /What I would not give to have you here with me now, meleth./

Tears once again came unbridled, as they were often want to do. Raising his arms, Ecthelion placed his flute--a beautiful replica of his old instrument Rog had skillful crafted for him--to his lips. Fingers expertly played the lilting, sad song whilst silvery tears streamed down pale cheeks, splashing into the Sea and mingling with the salty waves. Would Glorfindel ever hear his music, Ecthelion would never know. But he prayed to the Valar to carry his song upon the wind, carry the song to his lover to know that what they shared was eternal…and alive.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Glorfindel? Glorfindel?!”

The incessant calling of his name was able to bring Glorfindel out of the trance he had not know he had fallen into. The seneschal of Imladris had been on his way to see Elrond about matters concerning the borders when he had stopped by an open window. Erestor had happened upon him then, finding Glorfindel in a trance-like state, his azure eyes glazed.

“Glorfindel,” the raven-haired advisor called, worry lacing his voice. “Are you all right, meldir? You are not unwell, are you?”

“Erestor…nay.” Glorfindel shook his head to clear it. He felt embarrassed for having acted strangely, but he knew Erestor was used to his occasional odd habits. Many unusual things had occurred involving the golden-haired Elf since his return to Middle-earth, and only Imladris’ chief councilor had any clear idea as to

“What is the matter, Glorfindel?”

“I thought…I thought I heard someplayplaying the flute.”

“The flute?” Erestor gazed quizzically at his friend, puzzlement written over his face.

“Aye. It sounded like something…something Ecthelion would play. Am I crazy, Erestor?” Glorfindel turned to his friend, hoping for an explanation. “I almost thought I really did hear Ecthelion then. But that cannot be possible.” Shaking his head, Glorfindel continued on his way, making for Elrond’s study. “Can’t be possible…”

/But maybe it is,/ Erestor thought as he watched his friend leave. He stared out of the window Glorfindel had just left, gazing up at the sky. /My Lords and Ladies of the Valar, have you returned Ecthelion to this world? Will we ever know? Will Glorfindel?/

TBC...