A Denial of Souls

Title: A Denial of Souls 4/?
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
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 realizes who that person truly is.

Chapter 4

He had known the truth for a long time - had known but had been unable to accept the painful distance existing between them. Glorfindel shook with harshly-suppressed emotion, tremors running through his body and down his arms to his shaking hands, his trembling fingers. He could deny it no longer.

There was no 'them'.

All the hope, all the devotion, all the imploring prayers offered to the Valar through the unwinding centuries had been for naught, for Ecthelion did not love him, would never love him - not as Glorfindel needed him to love him. Oh, for certain Ecthelion had tried - the golden lord was forced to acknowledge the concerted efforts of his diamond lord - but as strongly as he, Glorfindel, had felt the pull of souls, so Ecthelion had been unable to reciprocate.

And yet...

In the hours that had followed their altercation Glorfindel had examined his love for the darkling lord, and had been shocked to find a flaw within the song of the soul. He now saw that there had always been a sense of incompleteness in the resonance which he could not explain, as if his soul recognized that Ecthelion was not *quite* one. It cried out 'Not you! Almost, but not quite...', as if the warrior's soul contained some but not all the elements required for the twain to attain unity.

The golden lord shook his head, as if to dismiss these troubling thoughts. Justification did not matter - the love he had held and the hurt he now felt yet remained.

Glorfindel glanced about the dim room, its shadows reflecting his gloomy mood. There was the immense bed, its bedding neatly draped by the chambermaid in preparation for the nightly occupation by the lovers. So much love - no, so much sex - had that bed endured, its cambric mattress now shaped to the entwined forms of its two occupants. So many trysts encompassing both gentle and sweet encounters, and hard, fast, torrid coupling.

Glorfindel cast his eyes about the room. They had both been involved in its decoration, so much so that the eventual compromises had been negotiated in lustful cries and endearing whispers, in love and joy and oneness.

Or so he had thought...

If those walls had been porous, if they had soaked up those cries to be preserved for posterity, then posterity would be cheated by their inaccuracy.

His sapphire eyes drifted and the keen eyesight that had been bequeathed to the elves revealed, through the encroaching fall of night, the open drawers that spoke of unseemly flight by the untidy spill of their few remaining contents. His former lover had fled in a flurry of regretful words, and in his haste he had neglected to restore the order that they usually maintained. The little possessions that were left would be reclaimed in the days to follow, he supposed, to be transferred to Ecthelion's new abode, wherever that might be.

The room looked bare now that all the little things were gone. The silver-backed hairbrush that usually sat upon the nightstand; the bottle of scented distilled water that 'Thel sprinkled upon the brush before its use, so that its perfume would coat the ebony strands of hair; the crimson house shoes that he had always moaned about when they were kicked off haphazardly before bed time. Little things, gone forever. Like 'Thel.

And what was left? A gaping hole in his heart. An empty space in the bed that was too big for one person. Anger and disillusionment, sorrow and pain and grief. Embarrassment. It was this last that suddenly cut the worst. Soon all would know of the split, and the pity and the looks and the whispering would begin.

'Poor Glorfindel'.

The golden lord sat up straight, his body suddenly burning with newfound resolution. He would not allow - he would *never* allow himself to become the sad and pitied figure that many would wish to define him. He was Glorfindel, Lord of the Golden Flower, Champion of Turgon and Warrior Elite. He was Vanya, and Noldo, and Firstborn. He was eternal and if he permitted himself to publicly fall apart at this... setback - then the ignominy would haunt him all his days, in the perpetual memories of his kindred. No, tomorrow he would redefine himself as a singular entity - confident, self-sufficient, and controlled. He would open his body to love even as he protected his heart. He would play the field, yet not allow himself to be played.

With this resolution in mind, the ellon moved to the too-large bed and threw himself upon it, eschewing the warm comfort of its blankets yet folding his arms about the soft pillow, breathing in the lingering scent of his departed lover.

Alone.


****

Gondolin was beautiful, a city of white marble and bright prospects; of elegant spires and gloriously green vistas; of intricately-carved facades and bountiful gardens that brought peace and delight to the citizen elves.

For Glorfindel, it was a lonely gilded prison.

There was no escape from Gondolin. Turgon had put in place a law denying the Gondolin elves freedom to travel from the Hidden City to the other elvish realms; nor would he allow release and return to the outer world for any wayward traveler who somehow stumbled past the Encircling Mountains. No word, no sign, no accidental revelation of the existence or whereabouts of Gondolin would be allowed to pass its borders, thus ensuring safety for the former elves of Vinyamar. The valley was Ulmo's gift to Turgon, and the edict was Turgon's duty to his people. Only the most trusted of the King's council, the lords of the exalted Houses, were allowed to carry communications between the scattered realms of the Princes of the Eldar. Glorfindel was one of those lords and, even though there was always the temptation to desert the patrols and leave behind all reminders of his failed and miserable love, it would have been a total betrayal of his oath to Turgon and to his House. Glorfindel's sense of duty and loyalty to his king and kindred was complete.

It was a pretty prison, but still a prison.

The House of the Golden Flower was a beautiful edifice even though Glorfindel had deliberately avoided any decisions with regard to its construction. Quiet consultations between Aredhel and Saron had outlined the basic structure and decoration of the building, the princess having taken on the task of aiding the cuckolded lord from the time of that fateful evening in Vinyamar. Glorfindel's steward had also contributed to the requirements of the household, and thus there was order and structure in place when the elves of the divided house of the Flower and the Fountain had come to inhabit their new home. Of the many attempts of Aredhel to involve Glorfindel in the fixtures and fittings only one had produced any kind of directive from the Golden Lord. There were to be no fountains anywhere within the walls or gardens of the house.

The Vanya had settled dutifully into his role within Turgon's realm and council, although he showed little initiative in the rulings of the council. If he avoided interaction with a certain lord within the debating chamber; or renegotiated duties which would cause him to serve with the said lord; or abjured to visit a certain quadrant of the city then none were so indelicate as to allude to his evasive tactics.

Glorfindel was not so reticent in his love affairs. From the moment the elves had arrived in the city he had enjoyed the many soirees, balls and banquets that had been held in the state rooms of the King's Palace, or in any of the Houses bar one. From being a devoted and monogamous lover the golden lord swiftly gained the reputation of a generous though not exclusive bed-mate, amply sampling to satisfaction both ellyn and ellith. When confronted by a worried Aredhel he simply commented, "It is my turn now."

And what of his former lover and newly-gained nemesis? Ecthelion of the Fountain drew strength from his belief in the choice he had made, in his escape from an impossible bond and in his release from a suffocating love affair. His demeanor was lighter than his former lover's - but he was not ebullient in his freedom for he was sensitive as to the effect the separation had had upon Glorfindel, to the point that he took excessive discretion with regard to his sexual entanglements. Indeed, he seemed puzzled by Glorfindel's uncharacteristic behavior even as he declined to comment upon it.

And so it was for many a year, the severed 'bond' that yet bound the two in their separation, even as they renounced it in their overt posing. Both seemed to be in denial as to their former relationship, yet their repudiation of that relationship promoted actions that but a hundred years before would have been alien to both. Their defiant ignorance of the perception of others culminated in an outpouring of frustration from Aredhel to her brother.

"They are so stubborn, so resolute in their facades that they have forgotten how close they were as friends before they ever became lovers. Now that friendship is as shattered as their relationship when it need not be. We are such a small community; such schisms should not be allowed to remain, not when we need to unite in strength."

Turgon concurred, rubbing his fingers thoughtfully over his chin as he contemplated his sister's words. This situation had indeed run beyond the time they could have assumed in the wake of a broken love affair. They were not the only elves to have formed then broken the ties of a mistaken relationship, but the rumbling aftershock of the unhappy break had shaken the foundations of Gondolin society.

Determined not to accept their posturing any further, the king of Gondolin called his errant lords before him in a private meeting and ordered them to talk until their grievances were resolved.

"Your recalcitrance in mending this division between you affects all within this valley, for your houses comprise a full quarter of the fighting strength of my army. Although neither of you have exhibited any antagonistic behavior, yet do your warriors mistakenly strive to 'defend' your individual honour."

Turgon's voice softened in deference to the miserable discomfort apparent in their demeanour.

"Your friendship was once a beacon of hope to our people - please, let this hour together inspire you to reconciliation, if not a reunion."

The King of Gondolin turned and exited the chamber with an elegant and regal stride, leaving two elves floundering in stupefaction to make belated obeisance. The resounding clang of the closing doors echoed through the profound and lingering silence.

Eyes met, sapphire to royal, in pained acknowledgment - neither elf eager to break the unwitting silence. Finally, need broke through the barrier.

"I am sorry."

Sapphire eyes closed for a moment as the recipient of the simple apology absorbed the three quietly-spoken words. They remained closed as Glorfindel formed his reply.

"Why?"

Ecthelion flinched yet stood his ground. It was not his present sorrow that was being questioned, but his hurtful actions of one hundred years before. He knew that he had to answer, and to answer he would have to lay bare a heart that had never healed from childhood wounds. With difficulty, the midnight lord stretched his mind back through the centuries, desperately seeking the words by which to frame his response. Only total honesty would suffice.

"From the first night that I met you," he stuttered, "I was enamoured of you. Your beauty, your strength, your honour - your open heart called to a sad and lonely elf."

Glorfindel's eyes shot open, startled at this incongruous statement. Neither word would he ever have applied to this ellon, who was renowned for his joyful exuberance.

"Sad? Lonely?"

Ecthelion nodded slowly, knowing that his admission came as a surprise. He took a breath as he prepared to speak of a deeper sorrow that he had held close within his heart.

"I have never spoken much of my family in Tirion, have I 'Fin? Never spoken to you of my 'illustrious' father, my 'doting' mother?"

The Vanya nodded in unsure agreement. There was a nuance to Ecthelion's speech that spoke of a bitterness that had been long-held. Crimson lips twisted as the darkling elf continued in pained remembrance.

"You have often spoken of your father and mother with respect and love; of your childhood with fondness and happy recollection. I have few such memories. My father was a proud ellon who reveled in the fact that he immediately answered the call of the Valar to journey to Valimar; proud that his feet were amongst the first to set foot upon Aman. He bestowed upon himself a status akin to his lord, Finwë, and stoked the fires of his pride to heights beyond all others. He believed that he was destined for great things, and his family was hostages to that belief.

"As for me? I was his son and heir and through me would be perpetuated the evidence of his greatness. To my father, a son was meant to serve his family through unthinking devotion, unquestioning obedience and without any trappings of the dubious qualities of love, joy and self-indulgence. Duty, honour and destiny were his watch words.

"And my mother - she was but a cipher of him, a vessel meant to incubate his seed so that his line should be secured. She loved me, I do know that, but she could not express it in his presence for we both knew that he would see it as a weakness unbefitting his heir. My role was to follow unswervingly in his footsteps - but I committed the most cardinal error. I sought to have a mind of my own.

"I rebelled whenever and wherever I could, determined not to be a shallow reflection of my father. In public I was bound by my upbringing to appear to be in accord with my sire, for my own pride would not allow me to bring dishonour upon my mother and sisters. In private, discord was rife between father and son. And then came Fëanor's split with the Valar." He paused, looking directly into Glorfindel's eyes. "How did your family react to your decision to leave with the Exodus?"

Deeply absorbed within Ecthelion's tale, it took Glorfindel a few moments to recognize that a question had been asked of him.

"They were not pleased," he admitted slowly, "and my father was rightly aggrieved that I would stand against the Valar. Yet in the end my parents, though sorrowful, sent me forth with reassurance of their love. My mother ensured that I was well-provisioned and gave me as a parting gift a gold necklace adorned with a small flower pendant. My father bestowed upon me his blessing, and gave me his sword."

Ecthelion snorted, bitterly recounting his own farewell.

"I was sent forth with the clothes on my back, a sword begged from one of my father's soldiers and the imprint of my father's hand upon my cheek. And his final admonishment... his words... they were..."

Glorfindel saw that his former lover had paled and his voice now trembled in painful recollection, a strained whisper in a quiet room.

"He - he disowned me. He heaped upon me such vocal abuse as I cannot repeat. Each word was as a knife slashing the few bonds of filial love that remained. Then - then he spoke a final farewell, a diatribe that I believe was meant to be a - a curse. He said -" Ecthelion gulped, trying to free his throat from the lump that threatened to choke him. "He wished fervently that I would never hold within my arms a son who would grow up to disgrace and humiliate me, as I did him. He swore that if I did sire a son, that my son would be condemned never to know of his lineage, for his birth would be my death. He said that he prayed that I would not survive the rigors of life in 'that dark and forsaken land' that I would die as I set foot upon these shores so that my dishonour to his line would not be perpetuated."

Glorfindel cried out in horror, appalled that such a doom be placed upon a son. Yet was it not the way of late that such sins of the father were laid upon their children's shoulders? Was such folly, such pride, not the very reason for their exodus from Aman? The elves of Arda were not tranquil beings who existed in harmony with their fellows. Rather, they were vital creatures who indulged in lively debate, debate that sometimes led to ferocious arguments. Lively, ferocious, fervent, prideful, dogmatic, intransigent - appalling in their stubborn anger. Like Fëanor.

Like Ecthelion's father.

Like Glorfindel, clinging firmly to his disappointment in love and to his wounded ego, holding tight to righteous resentment.

Seeing the tears now trailing from royal blue eyes, all his resentment faded away and he held wide his arms, enfolding his weeping friend. Sobs wracked the sinewy frame that accepted with shame the generosity and compassion of the golden elf. Glorfindel tried to hush Ecthelion's attempts to complete his story.

"Be at peace, meldir. I will not press you further for explanation - 'tis obvious to me that you sought a love you had never known. I was the first to offer such and I am sorry that I pressed you to give to me more than you were able."

Ecthelion shook his head and pulled back from the comforting grasp, dashing a hand across his face to wipe away the tears.

"Nay," he said urgently. "My feelings for you did not stem from such a childish motive, but from a genuine attraction and - and lust. I had survived the first part of my father's desire, my death, yet I did not - do not believe that I will be fortunate enough to escape the second. I have resolved that, rather than my father's hatred be laid upon an innocent babe, I will abjure the happiness of family and end my line with me.

"You are beautiful, Glorfindel, both within and without. With you I felt a connection which I know that you acknowledge - but it was my own self-doubt that caused me to try to fool my heart into believing that it was something more. It was also my - my fear of my father's words that led to my erroneous attempt to escape my fate. In a marriage with a male, there would be no possibility of a son and thus my father's curse would not come to pass. And so I accepted your advances, knowing in my heart that I was depriving myself of that which I longed for most - a child to love and to cherish, even as my parents never loved me." The grieving ellon looked down, unable to meet Glorfindel's eyes in his shame.

"Yet my thirst for love was not quenched by your devotion and - and I strayed. I searched for more than I could ever deserve and in my quest I was... unfaithful to you. My promiscuity is a permanent stain upon my soul, a blackness that can never be erased, even by your forgiveness. For which I can never ask."

An unwitting twitch was evident upon the golden lord's face as Ecthelion confirmed his infidelity. He had known. He had known of the lovers, the numerous ellyn and ellith with whom his beloved had coupled in illicit trysts throughout their relationship, for there were many who had hinted such either in sympathetic whispers or malicious asides. He had refused to allow his mind to confirm that which his eyes had seen and his ears had heard. He had hidden in the bliss of willful denial. Now he released this elf from his arms in the resigned understanding that he was finally releasing him from his blind love. Ecthelion's next words would bury forever his foolish and ill-founded dream.

"I am not your soul-mate, Glorfindel. That does not mean that I did not yearn to fill that place. I wanted to love you as you deserved, but -"

He hesitated, his mind trying to draw the correct syllables to his tongue.

"My soul did not resonate."

There - it was done. The corpse of their centuries-old liaison was now within its grave and all that was left was the final scattering of soil on its earthen mound.

"Nor did mine."

Ecthelion's head, previously bowed in abject misery, now shot up in astonishment. Glorfindel nodded, affirming his shocking statement.

"But how... when did you..?"

Glorfindel lifted his hand to cup that silken cheek that he had so often caressed; he moved his thumb to outline those swollen lips that had once been so soft against his own; his fingers gently wiped away the salty tears that had fallen from eyes he had oft gazed into so sweetly.

"I have reflected these many years upon our split," he gently spoke, "and I have sought enlightenment within my mind and my soul. I now see that although my soul sang its song, yet so was the refrain impaired. Within the purity of true notes there lay a dissonance that I did not see before. Why Eru made it so I do not know. Perhaps one day I will - but it will be not this day.

"Just as many keys may look similar, yet will only one configuration unlock the door. There are many pieces to a child's puzzle that seem to be identical, yet they will connect only in one way. In trying to force a key that does not turn, so may the lock be broken - by stubbornly smashing the errant piece into the puzzle so we may ruin the whole. We do not fit, 'Thel, but still...

"You spoke of a connection between us and I concur with that point. I believe firmly that our destinies are entwined, though not in the manner that has brought us so much pain."

Glorfindel took a breath, marshalling his eloquence to try to salvage from the ruins of their disastrous affair the sweet friendship that had once preceded it.

"Upon the western shores of this land of Middle Earth we swore to be gwedeir, to be brothers forever. I stand by that oath for I still long for a brother, Ecthelion of the Fountain - if you still wish for one."

The dark elf stared at him, stupefied by the overwhelming emotions that had run so intensely throughout the agonizing revelations, and now by this unexpected and generous honour. He had stood in lonely isolation this hour, believing that he would be totally alone at the end of it. Wreathed deservedly in shame and self-disgust, he had waited to be righteously attacked, to be stripped raw by the hatred and disgust that Glorfindel must surely feel for him. Instead this elf - this wonderful elf - was offering him succor in the arms of a brother, and unending fraternal love.

A warmth filled Ecthelion's soul and he fell into his companion's arms, pressing his head against the strong breast that held an organ that was loving beyond belief. With a small cry he accepted the love - this platonic love - that he had never envisioned he would ever find, with a full and contrite heart.

"My brother!"

The gentle coral lips murmured their agreement as they pressed in familial accord against the midnight strands of hair.

"Mellon nín, uireb."

****

The magnificent ballroom of the King's Tower was filled with the light of a thousand lanterns, each flickering candle flame further scattered into a myriad of shimmering rainbows by the dwarf-mined crystals that were inlaid in its vaulted roof. The hypnotic, prismatic light was echoed by the opulent raiment of the dancing elves below, swaying in complicated chains of steps to the fulgent music of the bards of Gondolin. The redolent sounds of harp, pipe and drum, lute and tambour and piccolo filled the chamber - elegant strains enhanced in volume by the haunting voices of the elven chorus; yet the orchestral refrains were challenged by the happy chatter of the thronged mass gathered therein.

Tonight was a night of joyous revelry, the Celebratory Ball commemorating the Awakening of Elvenkind upon the shores of Cuiviénen. A yearly tradition initiated in far-distant Tirion, it had been revived by Turgon following the settlement and securing of the valley three centuries previous, although it was not held as frequently as in the West.

All the inhabitants of the realm, of whatever rank, were invited to partake of the feasting and dancing hosted by Turgon in his Hidden City, and lords and ladies brushed shoulders with troubadours and traders. And tonight, amidst the bevy of ellith and ellyn, danced the Lords of Flower and Fountain. That they were not together but instead with their consorts of the evening was of no account, for the twain still elicited comment wherever they passed, even though their reconciliation had taken place some years before. The romantics amongst the commentators insisted that a renewal of their former liaison was imminent; the pragmatists rebutted that avowal by pointing out the ever-changing escorts each brought to a social event. In the enclosed society of the Hidden City where the potential for scandalous gossip was limited by the stagnancy of its membership, the tattling tongues took their diversions where they could.

Turgon and Aredhel, and Turgon's daughter Idril Celebrindal, watched with pleasure at the easy conversation of the erstwhile lovers. Since their forced reconciliation they had reverted to their former friendship, albeit not easily. It had been noted that Glorfindel had become less profligate in his affairs, and that he and Ecthelion often joined together with their 'dalliance of the moment' to attend the various soirees. All jealousy and angst had been set aside as they became close companions once more.

Ecthelion smiled at his dancing partner, a lady of the House of the Heavenly Arch with whom he had been engaging in an easy flirtation for a few months. The lady was a beauty, but both he and she knew that there was nothing to their relationship but a desire for pleasant company. With no false expectations for either of them, they could enjoy the evening's festivities free of the pressures of covert courtship.

Ecthelion then glanced across the dance floor to his friend, and grinned happily at the returned smile. Glorfindel too had chosen a partner of great beauty from the Heavenly Arch, a lady of high rank and a bosom confidant of the damsel in his own arms. Now *Glorfindel's* choice had drawn some comment, being but a new entanglement, and Ecthelion was looking forward with mischievous delight to teasing his friend anew.

The music for the present dance drew to a close without a new measure being struck, and all turned to the dais as Idril stepped forward to speak, her aunt beside her in support. The silvery bell-like tones of the King's daughter rang easily over the respectfully-silent crowd.

"Once more we have met in celebration and remembrance of the Awakening of our kin upon the shores of Cuiviénen, under the starlit skies. We are the Firstborn of Ilúvatar the Creator, gifted with life that will last as along as the world. We rejoice in our creation, and we pray for the grace of wisdom that we may use our skills to enhance the beauty of Eru's world and utilize our gifts to the benefit of all."

An approving murmur rang through the assembled elves in concurrence with Idril's sentiments, and then quieted once more as Aredhel stepped to the fore.

"We now come to the portion of our celebration that began in Tirion upon Túna, but has been seen few times since our sojourn in Middle Earth. The Ring Dance was performed annually in the youth of our people, to introduce into society those who had reached their Coming-of-Age, for we were numerous then and our offspring were many. Now - because of hardship, war and strife - we are reduced and our youth are fewer, and thus this dance has been neglected. The safety of our beautiful valley has caused a resurgence in our numbers and we once again have reason to bring forth the newest members of our kin."

The focus switched back to Idril as she opened wide her arms.

"We call upon all those who attained their Majority in the past fifty years to stand forth in celebration, and to partake of the Ring Dance."

A large clearing was made upon the dance floor as the gathered elves moved back to the walls to allow their young relatives to take their positions. Two circles were made, inner and outer, which would rotate in opposite directions. At a change in the music being played, the participants would claim their opposing elf in dance. The cycle would then be repeated twice, giving ample opportunity for the young adults to engage with their peers.

"How exciting!"

Glorfindel turned to look at his companion and saw her smile. She glanced up at him, a happy grin upon her beautiful face.

"I remember well my own Ring Dance, under the light of the Two Trees. Although I had celebrated my Majority the year before, I felt that I attained my adult state only following the 'consummation' of the Ring."

Glorfindel grinned at the becoming blush that spread across the satin cheeks. As the musicians struck up the first chords, he remembered clearly the less formal - and much more pleasurable - physical activities that the young edhil undertook in the aftermath of their first adult dance. He leered seductively, enjoying the catch his insinuation caused in her breath, and raised her hand to his lips.

"Then, dear lady," he purred, "what say you that later we recreate that special night of our youth?"

As his companion preened at the golden lord's most welcome attentions, Glorfindel barely registered the sudden gasp that emanated from his closest friend.

"Who - who is that maiden?"

Glorfindel turned, startled to hear the tremor in Ecthelion's voice - a hushed tremor that conveyed both desire and awe. Swiftly he searched to discern the female of whom his friend referred, his eyes landing finally on a dancing elleth of (to him) unremarkable features.

The elleth was one of the younger participants of the dance, a distinction that would not have been seen by other than elven eyes. In fact it could scarce be thought possible that the girl was of age, so young did she look. She was fair enough - dark as was usual amongst the Noldor, her black hair held hints of chestnut in its strands; her features were regular and could be said to be pleasing to the eye; her form was graceful, swaying gently as she moved to the intricate steps of the dance. Her demeanour betrayed her as an ingénue and as such Glorfindel dismissed the maid, for his tastes ran to more experienced elves.

Not so for Ecthelion.

As the second circuit ended and the music changed to herald the final turn of the wheel, Ecthelion stepped forward as if ensorcelled. An audible gasp was heard from the vast audience as, defying all custom and laws of courtesy, Ecthelion broke through the Ring and liberated the girl from her startled partner, sweeping her into a new dance with ease and aplomb. The Ring Dance faltered and stalled as the young participants watched as two souls sang and two hearts matched their beat.

Turgon studied the surprised face of Galdor, for it was that lord's only daughter who had been made the subject of this unprecedented declaration; Galdor's anxious attention was diverted by his wife's open-faced glee at her daughter's sudden and exciting conquest; Aredhel's glance shot swiftly to Glorfindel, sharp with worry for the Golden Lord.

And Glorfindel stood bemused at the sight before him - Ecthelion and the daughter of the Trees caught in the rapture of a soul mate found, totally oblivious to the frantic gossip that would satisfy even the most jaded of the revelers for years to come. So this was what fate had led to - this glory that shone in the entwine bodies and the open enchantment that was writ large upon the faces of the would-be lovers. The elves of Gondolin stood in witness to a most-perfect example of Eru's will made manifest, the happy recognition of a union of souls that would last to the end of Arda.

Finally Glorfindel smiled at the happiness that glowed in the face of his dearest friend, truly glad for him.

For it gave Glorfindel new hope that one day, somewhere and some when, there would be someone to fill his lonely heart.



TBC


Elvish:

ellon - male elf (sing.)
ellyn - male elves (pl)
ellith - female elves (pl)
meldir - friend (m)
gwedeir - sworn brothers
"Mellon nín, uireb." - My friend, forever
edhil - elves (pl)
elleth - female elf (sing.)