A Denial of Souls
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-Multi-Age › Het - Male/Female
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Adult ++
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5
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Category:
-Multi-Age › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
2,299
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 3
Title: A Denial of Souls 3/?
Author: Eawen Penallion
email: cross_stitcherire@yahoo.com
LiveJournal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/eawen_penallion/
Website: www.3scribesofimladris.com
Type: FPSlash/Het
Pairing: Glorfindel/Ecthelion, Ecthelion/OFC, Glorfindel/OFC, Glorfindel/Erestor
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, Het, death of character, incest
Beta: Nienna, beta reader extraordinaire!
Disclaimer: all rights to the characters belong to JRR
Tolkien - I'm only playing with them.
Timeline: First - Third Ages
Feedback: Yes please,
Archive: OEAM, AFF, LJ, anywhere else, please ask
Summary: On arriving in Middle Earth, Glorfindel thinks he has found the one who will share his life. But Life must take many paths before he realises who that person truly is.
Chapter 3
Vinyamar, F.A. 15
Warm waves break softly upon the pebbled shore, scattering their foam flecks upon the weathered stones. Strong hands massage and manipulate stressed inflexible muscles, renewing their suppleness with persuasive digits. Firm arms are wrapped around a muscular torso, bared to the waist; one ellon supports the other in seated satisfaction of a day's work well done. The red sun sinks slowly over the horizon.
"Melin le, meleth nín."
A pause.
A gentle sigh of comfort and acceptance.
"I know, Glorfindel. I know."
- o - o - o - o -
Rog smiled as he observed the two ellyn who soaked up the dying rays on the beach far below him. They were not the only elves to take this opportunity to ease their weary muscles in the invigorating spray of the salt-laden water, but they were certainly the most conspicuous. The golden shining tresses of the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower were unmistakable, even now when the integration of the native Grey Elves into their community had softened the impact of the dark-haired Noldor. The two races were now one people - Turgon's people - and they were working together to build this new city, their new home - their new life.
Rog clasped his hands firmly upon the stonework of the balustrade overlooking the beaches that abutted the great coast-cliffs on which Vinyamar stood. Behind him were the new halls of stone and wood that comprised Turgon's city and behind *them* was the snow-tipped Mount Taras, overshadowing the city like a natural protector. This was a holy land for the Grey Elves for in times past, both Ulmo and Ossë had been wont to come here to commune with the Sindar Moriquendi. Now the two peoples had striven together to construct this new home from the woods of the forest and stone of the mountains; lords, labourers, soldiers and craftsmen. None took umbrage at the work they were required to undertake but had instead taken pride in their accomplishments. Even the Lord himself had not shirked the onerous tasks but had heaved and hauled and hammered with the rest of them. Even as he, Rog, had stood guard with sword today so tomorrow he would wield a craftsman's knife, relieving his fellow lords, Glorfindel and Ecthelion, to their warrior duties.
Rog looked down once more to see the two lords in their peaceful embrace. Their unity was visible for all to see, not just in their behaviour but in their place of abode. In the centre of the town behind him stood a house of two wings, where a large and ornate fountain stood cradled in the central courtyard. The spouting water ran from the silver-coated flutes, playfully spilling over the carved celandines and entwined ivy, fully symbolic of their union. The House of the Flower and the Fountain, of Glorfindel and Ecthelion, had become known, loved and accepted by their people - of gold and black; of shining spirit and joyful endeavour; of Vanyar and Noldor.
The lords had risen and now walked slowly up the cliff path. The dark-haired edhel leaned close into Glorfindel's protective embrace, cradled in the strong arms against the taller elf's side.
Rog sighed in happy reflection as the sun began its descent over the watery horizon, firm in his belief that he was witnessing a love that would last forever.
- o - o - o -o -
"Thou art more beautiful than the sunset, meleth nín, and more precious than Ithil's gentle beams."
"Then kiss me, my golden lord, for in you I find the strength to believe in us…"
****
River Narog, F.A. 20
Fingon threw his arms open in a firm and happy embrace, his enthusiastic actions encompassing the entire Nevrast cohort in his welcome.
"Turgon, tôr nín! Suilad! You and your peoples are most welcome to this joyous gathering."
Turgon reciprocated his brother's greeting, smiling to see his family again for the first time since their arrival on these shores. It had been a time of growth, building their respective regions into viable realms. This Mereth Aderthad - this Feast of Reuniting - had been suggested by Fingolfin as a way of confirming the inherent bonds of the Eldar of Middle Earth. Once again they were gathered, not on the shores of Lake Mithrim this time but instead near the pools of Ivrin at the source of the River Narog. This time they met as welcome brethren instead of as starving survivors of the hinterlands. Banners flew gaily in the breeze above the bright pavilions and music and laughter echoed through the camp. Fingon grinned in anticipation of the delights their father had prepared for his guests.
"You and your lords will find much to please you at our gathering. There will be music and dancing throughout the days and nights with jousting and swordplay in the champion's fields. Each evening will be taken up with feasting and songs, for our minstrels are vying in a competition of odes and tales."
Turgon clapped his hands firmly onto Fingon's shoulders, his face reflecting the delight of the prospect of the upcoming festivities.
"We have brought innumerable supplies to contribute to the festival stores, and our men are eager to participate in all the events planned, especially the tests of skill - eh, my lords?"
Fingon swept his eyes across the gathered warriors, taking in the expectant smiles of the lords of Vinyamar who ranged behind the wise ruler. He recognised the strengths of the Firstborn in the faces of Duilin and Rog, Eglamoth and Galdor, Glorfindel and Ecthelion. The Lord of Dor-Lómin blinked as the sun reflected off the shining fall that was the crowning glory of Glorfindel of the Golden Flower, and acknowledged the darkling beauty of Ecthelion of the Fountain. Many tales were already told of their devotion and their deep love, their honour and their valour. Many there were who looked upon them with admiration and ill-concealed lust, but if tales were true then to no other they would turn for their bodies and hearts were as one - though as yet no binding ceremony had taken place. It did not stop certain hearts from beating with desire and hope.
Thus it was upon the banks of the Narog that the celebrations began, heralding the days of peace and reconciliation. Many warriors competed in the games, all of whom had been tried in the heated flames of battle with Morgoth's minions. Thus the levels of skill were high indeed and the competition for the honours was fierce. The spectators were treated to the most beautiful sight of the honed bodies - slender, tall, defined - bared half-torsos glistening with gleam of exertion, showing muscular arms to their best advantage and enhancing the natural beauty of the Firstborn.
For those who admired the structure of form there were many to attract their avid gaze, but none more so than Ecthelion and Glorfindel. Either alone in the solo bouts or inevitably paired in dual combats they stood forth in incomparable comeliness. Elves in devoted wedlock could be admired in wistful envy but the laws of the Eldar precluded any lustful approaches that would impinge upon the sacred bond between the lovers. These two had as yet avoided that state and there were many who were prepared to adhere to the letter of the law, not the spirit. These licentious edhil would partake of anything they could get from such desirable ellyn.
Fingon watched the appalling behaviour of the pursuing elves with a mixture of fascination and disgust. He was repelled by the outrageous flirting and overt remarks the two lords had to endure and at first could only smile in admiration at the gentle elegance and quiet determination expressed by Glorfindel and Ecthelion as they deflected their suitors. As the festival continued however, the elven prince found that his acute observations and resulting respect were muted somewhat by glimpses of a subtle change in the way this particular wind blew. Again and again Fingon perceived a barely-noticeable alteration in the behaviour of one of the twain, evident to him only because of his watchful undertaking. The lord's rebuffs had over time become less convincing to Fingon's ears, and seemingly-innocent glances by royal blue eyes at the backs of retreating suitors lingered beyond that which was appropriate, giving lie to his otherwise negative responses.
Thus it was that a sad and disillusioned Fingon, whilst passing the Nevrast enclave one starlit night, did witness the late and seemingly solitary perambulations of the warrior in question. As the edhel slipped into the cover of the surrounding forest, his midnight hair aiding his illusionary disguise, Fingon grieved for the absent and trusting lover. For, only a short time before, the prince had also seen a lithesome elleth glide into the concealing canopy; her excited yet furtive glances revealed her part in this duplicitous tryst. He grieved for innocence, and love, and a cuckold named Glorfindel.
- o - o - o - o -
The rustle of the tent flap was almost inaudible yet the Vanya was roused from his slumber.
" 'Thel? Are you all right?"
"Hush, meleth. I am well. I just could not sleep and took it into my mind to contemplate Ithil's light."
"Oh. Well, come to bed for I have missed the warmth of your body." An exclamation, hissing as flesh met flesh. "Aiya! Nay, not warm, for your skin is as ice! And your hair is damp against me…"
"Aye, I felt in need of refreshment and so swam briefly in the Narog."
"Yet you smell of sweet soap."
"I took some with me for I felt that I had not properly washed the sweat of the day's exertions from my body. I would not have your night disturbed or your dreams invaded by my stench."
A melodious laugh rumbled at this absurdity.
"Oh meleth! I love the scent of your body - of *you*. You do not offend my 'delicate' nostrils! On the contrary - you must know how you arouse my senses. Even now my response to you is evident in its burgeoning awakening; my regard for you is quite - large?"
"I can feel it indeed, dearest 'Fin!"
A chuckle resonated through the dark tent as the golden lord covered his midnight lover.
"Never hide yourself from me, ind nín, for I adore the sweet aroma that our intense loving engenders - the musky smell of sex uninhibited. In that way I know that you are mine and mine alone."
If there was an answering response it was throttled at the source when Glorfindel captured Ecthelion's mouth, suffocating any empty lies that might have fallen from those sweet lips in the urgency of his loving kiss.
****
Vinyamar, F.A.73
"This is impossible! He *cannot* separate us like this, 'Thel - I will not allow it!"
" 'Fin, you know as well as I just how obsessed Turgon has been about his 'Hidden City' since Ulmo showed him the secret valley. Once he has made up his mind about something, he will not change it. The suggestion was made at council and he leapt upon it immediately. I tried to explain how it would affect us but he insisted that the security of our people was paramount…"
"Damn him, and damn his blasted city! I am absent for but a seven-day because of a patrol, and *this* happens! Well, I will not accept it."
The heavy crash punctuated his departure; the remaining edhel shivered at the exhibition of wrath, a curiously uncomfortable expression upon his face.
- o - o - o - o -
Aredhel raised her head when she heard the door open to the candlelit chamber, curious as to the identity of the interlopers. Traffic to these rooms deep within the depths of Turgon's halls had been strictly limited by the king to only those who were privy to his startling plans for the future of his realm. As the king's sister, the White Lady of the Noldor was well within the ring of secrecy and if any had managed to traverse this far within the well-guarded boundaries of conspiracy then they too must be knowledgeable of that privilege.
Aredhel smiled slightly from her discreet corner viewpoint and rested her fingertips lightly upon the drawings laid before her. Oft she did peruse the architects' plans for the King's Tower for the palace that would be central to her brother's new city was hence her new home. Inclining her head in greeting to the three ellyn who had now crossed the threshold into the chamber, she realised that they were all known to her. First was Sadron, chief architect of the new city of Gondolin, for whom Aredhel had the greatest respect. When one worked with a lord as dogmatic as Turgon it behoved an edhel to stand firm or be ridden over roughshod. Sadron had the strength to turn her brother's extravagant demands into plans of depth and accomplishment whilst maintaining the integrity of his profession. How much that strength of character would stand him in good stead with the ellon beside him, who glowered with emotions barely contained, it remained to be seen. For Glorfindel positively burned with anger.
Aredhel had always admired the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower and her face lit up with a particularly warm smile at the sight of the favoured lord. Glorfindel had ever been courteous to her, affectionate even in their youth in Eldemar, and she had once harboured hopes of a closer union - until Glorfindel had met Ecthelion. Even as she thought of that elf he entered the room and the elleth had to make a concerted effort to hold onto her smile. Ecthelion obviously noted a drop in its magnitude for he nodded warily and averted his eyes from her as soon as possible. The dark-haired lord crossed quickly to join his lover at the large table dominating the room. Upon it had been built a scale model of Gondolin, which was even now in the latter stages of its construction upon the rise of Amon Gwareth. The model was a work of art in itself, complete even to the arches and buttresses upon the greatest buildings - and the delicate fountains scattered in courtyards of a famed house…
"If you look at these plans, Lord Glorfindel," Sadron was now explaining, "you will see that the King has marked the approximate locations of all the Great Houses to be built. Each House will protect its assigned segment of the city. The House of the Golden Flower will be here in the south-eastern section, near the Great Market."
Sadron's expressive hands moved eloquently over both maps and model until a finger rested upon the intended mansion. Glorfindel looked at the model, his eyes narrowing before he slowly lifted his head to look intently at his lover. Aredhel almost gasped when she saw the suspicion and ire in the rapt gaze. The tension held within the golden lord was palpable, the muscles of his jaw rippling beneath the firm skin as he tried to control his emotions.
"And the House of the Fountain?" he finally ground out, not moving his eyes from Ecthelion, whose face had paled at the ice-storm brewing in the Vanya's sapphire eyes. Silently Sadron moved the extended digit across the model to a structure on the north-western corner of the city - diametrically opposing Glorfindel's proposed House.
The storm broke.
"Orc-shit!"
The large hand crashed down onto the table, causing the table-top to shudder in protest; the fierce pounding of the driven fist lifted the model in the air so that it too bounced upon its support. Tiny structures toppled in a slow motion that caused Aredhel to shudder in sudden omniscience. Fearfully she glanced at Glorfindel, her short breaths mimicking those of the other two witnesses to the vehement outburst. Anxiously they watched as Glorfindel stood in trembling silence, eyes tightly shut as he strove to calm himself. Ecthelion finally reached out his hand to his melethron in supplication but hesitated at the last. Aredhel espied a look of grief in the dark elf's eyes - grief, and desperation? She wondered at the obvious emotion therein but still did not thaw the coldness that she felt against the Lord of the Fountain. She knew more of his dealings than he suspected and thus nursed her grievance upon Glorfindel's behalf. Aredhel held her peace, waiting to see what would happen next.
"These marks here," Glorfindel finally said, pointing to two locations upon the maps adjacent to either of the disputed Houses. "To whom are they assigned?"
Sadron looked down, noting that which Glorfindel indicated. He cleared his throat reluctantly before he spoke.
"The House near the Seven Gates has been claimed by the House of the Trees," he said softly. "The one by the Lesser Market was especially requested by the House of the Harp," he added apologetically. Glorfindel snorted in derision.
"*That* I can believe, for Salgant prefers to be away from any potential… disruption… to his peaceful life - and an attack on the Gates would certainly fall into that category." He looked directly at his lover, the normal adoration conspicuously absent. Instead there was silent accusation.
"Yet as much as Salgant's faint heart is common enough knowledge, so is our love and commitment, Ecthelion of the Fountain. Our king has smiled upon us often enough for all to know of his approbation, and has hinted enough of his willingness to preside at our binding ceremony. So I wonder that at the only secret council that I have been unable to attend because of my duties, Turgon chose arbitrarily to split asunder the House of the Flower and the Fountain. I wonder at the sudden lack of spirit shown by my proud and determined warrior, my champion and my lover, that he did not protest long or loudly at such a presumptive intrusion into our relationship." His voice twisted bitterly. "And I wonder - aye I wonder - that our peers who too have seen the oh-so-evident 'unity' of our souls are so reluctant to accommodate our need and desire for closeness, that they would not agree to our exchanging abodes!"
Glorfindel's voice had altered in timbre during his speech, the wrath lessening and the anguish increasing with each sentence, each word, each syllable. His evident misery touched Aredhel's heart bringing forth an aching desire to enfold the golden lord within her embrace and comfort him. Looking at Ecthelion, her glance laced with distaste, she noted that his pallor had increased during Glorfindel's admonition. It seemed to her that she saw regret and sorrow - and aye, even love - within those deep blue eyes as he approached his mate, his stance pleading for - For what? For forgiveness? For understanding? She shook her head. It did not matter, for the golden lord splayed out an upright hand in rejection of his approach.
"No, Ecthelion. No." The words staggered forth as if the speaker choked upon them. "I - I cannot..." Glorfindel glanced about him, pulling with a finger at the collar of his tunic. "I never noticed before just how airless this chamber is... I cannot ... breathe..."
The sun-kissed strands spun about his shoulders as he shook his head, clearly trying to free his mind of unbidden, unhappy thoughts.
A tear trickled down Aredhel's cheek in empathy.
Ecthelion tried once more. "Fin..."
"No!" Glorfindel twisted out of Ecthelion's grasp. " No..."
The last was a sob, expelled from a contorted mouth as the golden lord made good his escape.
"Fin!"
The cry echoed down the empty corridor, failing in its task of staying the Vanya. The three remaining elves stood as if frozen by the snows of Helcaraxë - where this now-fragile love had once bloomed. Finally Sadron, who looked bewildered at the emotional exchange, turned to the King's sister for guidance. Seeing her slight gesture of the head towards the door he excused himself and made a discreet exit.
The princess and the lord stood in silence for long minutes, Ecthelion trembling as he shed bitter tears. Aredhel waited, her own heart filled with ire and hurt confusion at the vicious scene that she had just witnessed. She was unsure as to how to interpret the dark lord's actions. Tears threatened in the glistening orbs that shone silver in the flickering candlelight. Aredhel clenched her fingers into a tight fist, resisting firmly the desire to deal the cheating elf a swift blow. Her hand was stayed only by the obvious pain evinced by Ecthelion. Warily she voiced her concern.
"Why, Ecthelion? I was at that council and I was also privy to my brother's thoughts prior to that meeting. You spoke little during the discussion yet I know that it was you who implanted the seed in my brother's mind days before his plan was fully formulated. *You* wanted this schism from Glorfindel; yours was the voice that spoke through Turgon's mouth. Why, when all know of your love, do you reject him? Why, when he loves you beyond reason?"
Ecthelion started at her words as if they were as a spear thrust through his body. He flinched in dismal acceptance of the pain.
"Beyond reason," he moaned softly, his eyes blinking wildly. "Aye, beyond reason; passionately, demandingly - oppressively... to him each word indicates a hidden truth, each smile an oath, each kiss binds us irrevocably. Within his love I am bound, in chains tighter than those that held Maedhros to the cliff..."
Aredhel nodded in stern agreement.
"As it should be, my lord, when a soul meets its mate. For so it has been decreed by Ilúvatar, that an irrevocable 'pull' assists a bound edhel to express righteous affection for their bereth throughout the long ages. Thus are the small but sweet touches of daily wedded life supported, allowing the bonded ones to defer attention to their secular duties."
Ecthelion shuddered, wrapping his arms firmly about his torso as if he was cold, cold to the bone.
"Souls... Souls should be as lodestones, magnetic iron that are drawn to each other until they clasp so tight that it takes great force to wedge a crack between them..."
He whimpered, a mewling cry that echoed about the chamber.
"I love him, truly I do!" he sobbed frantically, rocking back and forth as he swayed upon his feet. "He is so good, so brave, so beautiful - and he is killing me! Smothering me, drowning me... We are as lodestones but in opposition - as he reaches for me I *want* to respond but I - my soul retreats!" He grabbed a startled Aredhel, pleading desperately for her understanding. "I have begged the Valar to hear my prayers, to imbue in me the soul-deep desire for the union that he deserves but... they have abandoned me..."
Aredhel felt a deep wave of mourning for the disconsolate lord. Who could have guessed that this relationship, this perfect union that all held high as the unassailable goal, would be naught but a sham? If Glorfindel truly did not know that Ecthelion felt this way then there was a great risk of potential disaster looming.
"Ecthelion," she ventured softly, "You *must* talk to Glorfindel. You cannot leave him blind as to your unhappiness -"
"No!" Ecthelion rubbed a hand across his face. "No... Do you not understand? He loves me... I do not wish to hurt him..."
"Ecthelion - you already have."
Shaking his head in angry negation he suddenly spun away, making for the door. Over his shoulder he shot a final accusing glance at the princess.
"I pray that you will never taste the oppressive love of an obsessed suitor, my lady - that you will never be chained to expectation and promise that is beyond your power to fulfil! For on that day you too will know the heartbreak that I have served - and have been served this day."
And then he was gone, leaving a stunned elleth contemplating the vagaries of Eru's designs - and the desperate sorrow they might bring.
****
F.A. 305, Gondolin
Galdor of the Trees smiled as he observed the two elves who wandered the exquisite gardens below him, wrapped deeply in their growing communion. Though not alone (chaperoned as they were by his daughter's cousin) they acknowledged no others as they spoke quietly together, their ebony tresses mingling in their closeness. The fact that his only child had found soul-deep love at so young an age should have gladdened his heart - save for the identity of her suitor.
Galdor sighed knowing much of the edhel's history - a brave, proud warrior; a respected and accomplished lord; a faithful servant to the king. Yet for all these excellent virtues, there was a dark mark to mar the perfect knight. Ecthelion of the Fountain had once been linked to the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, nigh to bound, as all knew. Their separation had been laced with acrimony and only in recent decades had a friendship been renewed between the two edhil. An unlikely sponsor of this rapprochement had been the White Lady, Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, though many had first thought her set against the Diamond Lord. Through her entreaties Glorfindel had unbent from his unyielding stance until they were now close if not bosom friends. Privately Galdor thought that they had not been the perfect match that had been espoused. They were too alike, both dominant males in character. He could not envisage the submission of one to the other for any length of time, never mind in the intense depths of a binding union. No, Ecthelion of the Fountain was best suited to being a strong yet gentle, loving protector and his daughter to being a doting wife.
He straightened from his curved posture, rising from leaning against the battlements.
*This* was the perfect match. His daughter of the night, his Morniel, now glowed as the full-lit moon in the obvious adoration of her dark lord. This was a true connection of souls and he, Galdor, was already looking forward to the day when Ecthelion would seek a father's permission to wed.
Galdor sighed in happy reflection as the sun began its descent over the snow-peaked horizon, firm in his belief that he was witnessing a love that would last forever.
TBC
Elvish:
Melin le - I love you
meleth nín - my love
edhel - elf (sing.)
tôr nín - my brother
Suilad - Greetings
elleth - female elf (sing.)
ind nín - my heart
melethron - male lover
bereth - spouse
Author: Eawen Penallion
email: cross_stitcherire@yahoo.com
LiveJournal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/eawen_penallion/
Website: www.3scribesofimladris.com
Type: FPSlash/Het
Pairing: Glorfindel/Ecthelion, Ecthelion/OFC, Glorfindel/OFC, Glorfindel/Erestor
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, Het, death of character, incest
Beta: Nienna, beta reader extraordinaire!
Disclaimer: all rights to the characters belong to JRR
Tolkien - I'm only playing with them.
Timeline: First - Third Ages
Feedback: Yes please,
Archive: OEAM, AFF, LJ, anywhere else, please ask
Summary: On arriving in Middle Earth, Glorfindel thinks he has found the one who will share his life. But Life must take many paths before he realises who that person truly is.
Chapter 3
Vinyamar, F.A. 15
Warm waves break softly upon the pebbled shore, scattering their foam flecks upon the weathered stones. Strong hands massage and manipulate stressed inflexible muscles, renewing their suppleness with persuasive digits. Firm arms are wrapped around a muscular torso, bared to the waist; one ellon supports the other in seated satisfaction of a day's work well done. The red sun sinks slowly over the horizon.
"Melin le, meleth nín."
A pause.
A gentle sigh of comfort and acceptance.
"I know, Glorfindel. I know."
- o - o - o - o -
Rog smiled as he observed the two ellyn who soaked up the dying rays on the beach far below him. They were not the only elves to take this opportunity to ease their weary muscles in the invigorating spray of the salt-laden water, but they were certainly the most conspicuous. The golden shining tresses of the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower were unmistakable, even now when the integration of the native Grey Elves into their community had softened the impact of the dark-haired Noldor. The two races were now one people - Turgon's people - and they were working together to build this new city, their new home - their new life.
Rog clasped his hands firmly upon the stonework of the balustrade overlooking the beaches that abutted the great coast-cliffs on which Vinyamar stood. Behind him were the new halls of stone and wood that comprised Turgon's city and behind *them* was the snow-tipped Mount Taras, overshadowing the city like a natural protector. This was a holy land for the Grey Elves for in times past, both Ulmo and Ossë had been wont to come here to commune with the Sindar Moriquendi. Now the two peoples had striven together to construct this new home from the woods of the forest and stone of the mountains; lords, labourers, soldiers and craftsmen. None took umbrage at the work they were required to undertake but had instead taken pride in their accomplishments. Even the Lord himself had not shirked the onerous tasks but had heaved and hauled and hammered with the rest of them. Even as he, Rog, had stood guard with sword today so tomorrow he would wield a craftsman's knife, relieving his fellow lords, Glorfindel and Ecthelion, to their warrior duties.
Rog looked down once more to see the two lords in their peaceful embrace. Their unity was visible for all to see, not just in their behaviour but in their place of abode. In the centre of the town behind him stood a house of two wings, where a large and ornate fountain stood cradled in the central courtyard. The spouting water ran from the silver-coated flutes, playfully spilling over the carved celandines and entwined ivy, fully symbolic of their union. The House of the Flower and the Fountain, of Glorfindel and Ecthelion, had become known, loved and accepted by their people - of gold and black; of shining spirit and joyful endeavour; of Vanyar and Noldor.
The lords had risen and now walked slowly up the cliff path. The dark-haired edhel leaned close into Glorfindel's protective embrace, cradled in the strong arms against the taller elf's side.
Rog sighed in happy reflection as the sun began its descent over the watery horizon, firm in his belief that he was witnessing a love that would last forever.
- o - o - o -o -
"Thou art more beautiful than the sunset, meleth nín, and more precious than Ithil's gentle beams."
"Then kiss me, my golden lord, for in you I find the strength to believe in us…"
****
River Narog, F.A. 20
Fingon threw his arms open in a firm and happy embrace, his enthusiastic actions encompassing the entire Nevrast cohort in his welcome.
"Turgon, tôr nín! Suilad! You and your peoples are most welcome to this joyous gathering."
Turgon reciprocated his brother's greeting, smiling to see his family again for the first time since their arrival on these shores. It had been a time of growth, building their respective regions into viable realms. This Mereth Aderthad - this Feast of Reuniting - had been suggested by Fingolfin as a way of confirming the inherent bonds of the Eldar of Middle Earth. Once again they were gathered, not on the shores of Lake Mithrim this time but instead near the pools of Ivrin at the source of the River Narog. This time they met as welcome brethren instead of as starving survivors of the hinterlands. Banners flew gaily in the breeze above the bright pavilions and music and laughter echoed through the camp. Fingon grinned in anticipation of the delights their father had prepared for his guests.
"You and your lords will find much to please you at our gathering. There will be music and dancing throughout the days and nights with jousting and swordplay in the champion's fields. Each evening will be taken up with feasting and songs, for our minstrels are vying in a competition of odes and tales."
Turgon clapped his hands firmly onto Fingon's shoulders, his face reflecting the delight of the prospect of the upcoming festivities.
"We have brought innumerable supplies to contribute to the festival stores, and our men are eager to participate in all the events planned, especially the tests of skill - eh, my lords?"
Fingon swept his eyes across the gathered warriors, taking in the expectant smiles of the lords of Vinyamar who ranged behind the wise ruler. He recognised the strengths of the Firstborn in the faces of Duilin and Rog, Eglamoth and Galdor, Glorfindel and Ecthelion. The Lord of Dor-Lómin blinked as the sun reflected off the shining fall that was the crowning glory of Glorfindel of the Golden Flower, and acknowledged the darkling beauty of Ecthelion of the Fountain. Many tales were already told of their devotion and their deep love, their honour and their valour. Many there were who looked upon them with admiration and ill-concealed lust, but if tales were true then to no other they would turn for their bodies and hearts were as one - though as yet no binding ceremony had taken place. It did not stop certain hearts from beating with desire and hope.
Thus it was upon the banks of the Narog that the celebrations began, heralding the days of peace and reconciliation. Many warriors competed in the games, all of whom had been tried in the heated flames of battle with Morgoth's minions. Thus the levels of skill were high indeed and the competition for the honours was fierce. The spectators were treated to the most beautiful sight of the honed bodies - slender, tall, defined - bared half-torsos glistening with gleam of exertion, showing muscular arms to their best advantage and enhancing the natural beauty of the Firstborn.
For those who admired the structure of form there were many to attract their avid gaze, but none more so than Ecthelion and Glorfindel. Either alone in the solo bouts or inevitably paired in dual combats they stood forth in incomparable comeliness. Elves in devoted wedlock could be admired in wistful envy but the laws of the Eldar precluded any lustful approaches that would impinge upon the sacred bond between the lovers. These two had as yet avoided that state and there were many who were prepared to adhere to the letter of the law, not the spirit. These licentious edhil would partake of anything they could get from such desirable ellyn.
Fingon watched the appalling behaviour of the pursuing elves with a mixture of fascination and disgust. He was repelled by the outrageous flirting and overt remarks the two lords had to endure and at first could only smile in admiration at the gentle elegance and quiet determination expressed by Glorfindel and Ecthelion as they deflected their suitors. As the festival continued however, the elven prince found that his acute observations and resulting respect were muted somewhat by glimpses of a subtle change in the way this particular wind blew. Again and again Fingon perceived a barely-noticeable alteration in the behaviour of one of the twain, evident to him only because of his watchful undertaking. The lord's rebuffs had over time become less convincing to Fingon's ears, and seemingly-innocent glances by royal blue eyes at the backs of retreating suitors lingered beyond that which was appropriate, giving lie to his otherwise negative responses.
Thus it was that a sad and disillusioned Fingon, whilst passing the Nevrast enclave one starlit night, did witness the late and seemingly solitary perambulations of the warrior in question. As the edhel slipped into the cover of the surrounding forest, his midnight hair aiding his illusionary disguise, Fingon grieved for the absent and trusting lover. For, only a short time before, the prince had also seen a lithesome elleth glide into the concealing canopy; her excited yet furtive glances revealed her part in this duplicitous tryst. He grieved for innocence, and love, and a cuckold named Glorfindel.
- o - o - o - o -
The rustle of the tent flap was almost inaudible yet the Vanya was roused from his slumber.
" 'Thel? Are you all right?"
"Hush, meleth. I am well. I just could not sleep and took it into my mind to contemplate Ithil's light."
"Oh. Well, come to bed for I have missed the warmth of your body." An exclamation, hissing as flesh met flesh. "Aiya! Nay, not warm, for your skin is as ice! And your hair is damp against me…"
"Aye, I felt in need of refreshment and so swam briefly in the Narog."
"Yet you smell of sweet soap."
"I took some with me for I felt that I had not properly washed the sweat of the day's exertions from my body. I would not have your night disturbed or your dreams invaded by my stench."
A melodious laugh rumbled at this absurdity.
"Oh meleth! I love the scent of your body - of *you*. You do not offend my 'delicate' nostrils! On the contrary - you must know how you arouse my senses. Even now my response to you is evident in its burgeoning awakening; my regard for you is quite - large?"
"I can feel it indeed, dearest 'Fin!"
A chuckle resonated through the dark tent as the golden lord covered his midnight lover.
"Never hide yourself from me, ind nín, for I adore the sweet aroma that our intense loving engenders - the musky smell of sex uninhibited. In that way I know that you are mine and mine alone."
If there was an answering response it was throttled at the source when Glorfindel captured Ecthelion's mouth, suffocating any empty lies that might have fallen from those sweet lips in the urgency of his loving kiss.
****
Vinyamar, F.A.73
"This is impossible! He *cannot* separate us like this, 'Thel - I will not allow it!"
" 'Fin, you know as well as I just how obsessed Turgon has been about his 'Hidden City' since Ulmo showed him the secret valley. Once he has made up his mind about something, he will not change it. The suggestion was made at council and he leapt upon it immediately. I tried to explain how it would affect us but he insisted that the security of our people was paramount…"
"Damn him, and damn his blasted city! I am absent for but a seven-day because of a patrol, and *this* happens! Well, I will not accept it."
The heavy crash punctuated his departure; the remaining edhel shivered at the exhibition of wrath, a curiously uncomfortable expression upon his face.
- o - o - o - o -
Aredhel raised her head when she heard the door open to the candlelit chamber, curious as to the identity of the interlopers. Traffic to these rooms deep within the depths of Turgon's halls had been strictly limited by the king to only those who were privy to his startling plans for the future of his realm. As the king's sister, the White Lady of the Noldor was well within the ring of secrecy and if any had managed to traverse this far within the well-guarded boundaries of conspiracy then they too must be knowledgeable of that privilege.
Aredhel smiled slightly from her discreet corner viewpoint and rested her fingertips lightly upon the drawings laid before her. Oft she did peruse the architects' plans for the King's Tower for the palace that would be central to her brother's new city was hence her new home. Inclining her head in greeting to the three ellyn who had now crossed the threshold into the chamber, she realised that they were all known to her. First was Sadron, chief architect of the new city of Gondolin, for whom Aredhel had the greatest respect. When one worked with a lord as dogmatic as Turgon it behoved an edhel to stand firm or be ridden over roughshod. Sadron had the strength to turn her brother's extravagant demands into plans of depth and accomplishment whilst maintaining the integrity of his profession. How much that strength of character would stand him in good stead with the ellon beside him, who glowered with emotions barely contained, it remained to be seen. For Glorfindel positively burned with anger.
Aredhel had always admired the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower and her face lit up with a particularly warm smile at the sight of the favoured lord. Glorfindel had ever been courteous to her, affectionate even in their youth in Eldemar, and she had once harboured hopes of a closer union - until Glorfindel had met Ecthelion. Even as she thought of that elf he entered the room and the elleth had to make a concerted effort to hold onto her smile. Ecthelion obviously noted a drop in its magnitude for he nodded warily and averted his eyes from her as soon as possible. The dark-haired lord crossed quickly to join his lover at the large table dominating the room. Upon it had been built a scale model of Gondolin, which was even now in the latter stages of its construction upon the rise of Amon Gwareth. The model was a work of art in itself, complete even to the arches and buttresses upon the greatest buildings - and the delicate fountains scattered in courtyards of a famed house…
"If you look at these plans, Lord Glorfindel," Sadron was now explaining, "you will see that the King has marked the approximate locations of all the Great Houses to be built. Each House will protect its assigned segment of the city. The House of the Golden Flower will be here in the south-eastern section, near the Great Market."
Sadron's expressive hands moved eloquently over both maps and model until a finger rested upon the intended mansion. Glorfindel looked at the model, his eyes narrowing before he slowly lifted his head to look intently at his lover. Aredhel almost gasped when she saw the suspicion and ire in the rapt gaze. The tension held within the golden lord was palpable, the muscles of his jaw rippling beneath the firm skin as he tried to control his emotions.
"And the House of the Fountain?" he finally ground out, not moving his eyes from Ecthelion, whose face had paled at the ice-storm brewing in the Vanya's sapphire eyes. Silently Sadron moved the extended digit across the model to a structure on the north-western corner of the city - diametrically opposing Glorfindel's proposed House.
The storm broke.
"Orc-shit!"
The large hand crashed down onto the table, causing the table-top to shudder in protest; the fierce pounding of the driven fist lifted the model in the air so that it too bounced upon its support. Tiny structures toppled in a slow motion that caused Aredhel to shudder in sudden omniscience. Fearfully she glanced at Glorfindel, her short breaths mimicking those of the other two witnesses to the vehement outburst. Anxiously they watched as Glorfindel stood in trembling silence, eyes tightly shut as he strove to calm himself. Ecthelion finally reached out his hand to his melethron in supplication but hesitated at the last. Aredhel espied a look of grief in the dark elf's eyes - grief, and desperation? She wondered at the obvious emotion therein but still did not thaw the coldness that she felt against the Lord of the Fountain. She knew more of his dealings than he suspected and thus nursed her grievance upon Glorfindel's behalf. Aredhel held her peace, waiting to see what would happen next.
"These marks here," Glorfindel finally said, pointing to two locations upon the maps adjacent to either of the disputed Houses. "To whom are they assigned?"
Sadron looked down, noting that which Glorfindel indicated. He cleared his throat reluctantly before he spoke.
"The House near the Seven Gates has been claimed by the House of the Trees," he said softly. "The one by the Lesser Market was especially requested by the House of the Harp," he added apologetically. Glorfindel snorted in derision.
"*That* I can believe, for Salgant prefers to be away from any potential… disruption… to his peaceful life - and an attack on the Gates would certainly fall into that category." He looked directly at his lover, the normal adoration conspicuously absent. Instead there was silent accusation.
"Yet as much as Salgant's faint heart is common enough knowledge, so is our love and commitment, Ecthelion of the Fountain. Our king has smiled upon us often enough for all to know of his approbation, and has hinted enough of his willingness to preside at our binding ceremony. So I wonder that at the only secret council that I have been unable to attend because of my duties, Turgon chose arbitrarily to split asunder the House of the Flower and the Fountain. I wonder at the sudden lack of spirit shown by my proud and determined warrior, my champion and my lover, that he did not protest long or loudly at such a presumptive intrusion into our relationship." His voice twisted bitterly. "And I wonder - aye I wonder - that our peers who too have seen the oh-so-evident 'unity' of our souls are so reluctant to accommodate our need and desire for closeness, that they would not agree to our exchanging abodes!"
Glorfindel's voice had altered in timbre during his speech, the wrath lessening and the anguish increasing with each sentence, each word, each syllable. His evident misery touched Aredhel's heart bringing forth an aching desire to enfold the golden lord within her embrace and comfort him. Looking at Ecthelion, her glance laced with distaste, she noted that his pallor had increased during Glorfindel's admonition. It seemed to her that she saw regret and sorrow - and aye, even love - within those deep blue eyes as he approached his mate, his stance pleading for - For what? For forgiveness? For understanding? She shook her head. It did not matter, for the golden lord splayed out an upright hand in rejection of his approach.
"No, Ecthelion. No." The words staggered forth as if the speaker choked upon them. "I - I cannot..." Glorfindel glanced about him, pulling with a finger at the collar of his tunic. "I never noticed before just how airless this chamber is... I cannot ... breathe..."
The sun-kissed strands spun about his shoulders as he shook his head, clearly trying to free his mind of unbidden, unhappy thoughts.
A tear trickled down Aredhel's cheek in empathy.
Ecthelion tried once more. "Fin..."
"No!" Glorfindel twisted out of Ecthelion's grasp. " No..."
The last was a sob, expelled from a contorted mouth as the golden lord made good his escape.
"Fin!"
The cry echoed down the empty corridor, failing in its task of staying the Vanya. The three remaining elves stood as if frozen by the snows of Helcaraxë - where this now-fragile love had once bloomed. Finally Sadron, who looked bewildered at the emotional exchange, turned to the King's sister for guidance. Seeing her slight gesture of the head towards the door he excused himself and made a discreet exit.
The princess and the lord stood in silence for long minutes, Ecthelion trembling as he shed bitter tears. Aredhel waited, her own heart filled with ire and hurt confusion at the vicious scene that she had just witnessed. She was unsure as to how to interpret the dark lord's actions. Tears threatened in the glistening orbs that shone silver in the flickering candlelight. Aredhel clenched her fingers into a tight fist, resisting firmly the desire to deal the cheating elf a swift blow. Her hand was stayed only by the obvious pain evinced by Ecthelion. Warily she voiced her concern.
"Why, Ecthelion? I was at that council and I was also privy to my brother's thoughts prior to that meeting. You spoke little during the discussion yet I know that it was you who implanted the seed in my brother's mind days before his plan was fully formulated. *You* wanted this schism from Glorfindel; yours was the voice that spoke through Turgon's mouth. Why, when all know of your love, do you reject him? Why, when he loves you beyond reason?"
Ecthelion started at her words as if they were as a spear thrust through his body. He flinched in dismal acceptance of the pain.
"Beyond reason," he moaned softly, his eyes blinking wildly. "Aye, beyond reason; passionately, demandingly - oppressively... to him each word indicates a hidden truth, each smile an oath, each kiss binds us irrevocably. Within his love I am bound, in chains tighter than those that held Maedhros to the cliff..."
Aredhel nodded in stern agreement.
"As it should be, my lord, when a soul meets its mate. For so it has been decreed by Ilúvatar, that an irrevocable 'pull' assists a bound edhel to express righteous affection for their bereth throughout the long ages. Thus are the small but sweet touches of daily wedded life supported, allowing the bonded ones to defer attention to their secular duties."
Ecthelion shuddered, wrapping his arms firmly about his torso as if he was cold, cold to the bone.
"Souls... Souls should be as lodestones, magnetic iron that are drawn to each other until they clasp so tight that it takes great force to wedge a crack between them..."
He whimpered, a mewling cry that echoed about the chamber.
"I love him, truly I do!" he sobbed frantically, rocking back and forth as he swayed upon his feet. "He is so good, so brave, so beautiful - and he is killing me! Smothering me, drowning me... We are as lodestones but in opposition - as he reaches for me I *want* to respond but I - my soul retreats!" He grabbed a startled Aredhel, pleading desperately for her understanding. "I have begged the Valar to hear my prayers, to imbue in me the soul-deep desire for the union that he deserves but... they have abandoned me..."
Aredhel felt a deep wave of mourning for the disconsolate lord. Who could have guessed that this relationship, this perfect union that all held high as the unassailable goal, would be naught but a sham? If Glorfindel truly did not know that Ecthelion felt this way then there was a great risk of potential disaster looming.
"Ecthelion," she ventured softly, "You *must* talk to Glorfindel. You cannot leave him blind as to your unhappiness -"
"No!" Ecthelion rubbed a hand across his face. "No... Do you not understand? He loves me... I do not wish to hurt him..."
"Ecthelion - you already have."
Shaking his head in angry negation he suddenly spun away, making for the door. Over his shoulder he shot a final accusing glance at the princess.
"I pray that you will never taste the oppressive love of an obsessed suitor, my lady - that you will never be chained to expectation and promise that is beyond your power to fulfil! For on that day you too will know the heartbreak that I have served - and have been served this day."
And then he was gone, leaving a stunned elleth contemplating the vagaries of Eru's designs - and the desperate sorrow they might bring.
****
F.A. 305, Gondolin
Galdor of the Trees smiled as he observed the two elves who wandered the exquisite gardens below him, wrapped deeply in their growing communion. Though not alone (chaperoned as they were by his daughter's cousin) they acknowledged no others as they spoke quietly together, their ebony tresses mingling in their closeness. The fact that his only child had found soul-deep love at so young an age should have gladdened his heart - save for the identity of her suitor.
Galdor sighed knowing much of the edhel's history - a brave, proud warrior; a respected and accomplished lord; a faithful servant to the king. Yet for all these excellent virtues, there was a dark mark to mar the perfect knight. Ecthelion of the Fountain had once been linked to the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, nigh to bound, as all knew. Their separation had been laced with acrimony and only in recent decades had a friendship been renewed between the two edhil. An unlikely sponsor of this rapprochement had been the White Lady, Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, though many had first thought her set against the Diamond Lord. Through her entreaties Glorfindel had unbent from his unyielding stance until they were now close if not bosom friends. Privately Galdor thought that they had not been the perfect match that had been espoused. They were too alike, both dominant males in character. He could not envisage the submission of one to the other for any length of time, never mind in the intense depths of a binding union. No, Ecthelion of the Fountain was best suited to being a strong yet gentle, loving protector and his daughter to being a doting wife.
He straightened from his curved posture, rising from leaning against the battlements.
*This* was the perfect match. His daughter of the night, his Morniel, now glowed as the full-lit moon in the obvious adoration of her dark lord. This was a true connection of souls and he, Galdor, was already looking forward to the day when Ecthelion would seek a father's permission to wed.
Galdor sighed in happy reflection as the sun began its descent over the snow-peaked horizon, firm in his belief that he was witnessing a love that would last forever.
TBC
Elvish:
Melin le - I love you
meleth nín - my love
edhel - elf (sing.)
tôr nín - my brother
Suilad - Greetings
elleth - female elf (sing.)
ind nín - my heart
melethron - male lover
bereth - spouse