A Denial of Souls

Title: A Denial of Souls 5/?
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: Aglarien
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 5


"Are you mad, Ecthelion of the Fountain? I *cannot* go with you!" An exasperated Glorfindel ran a hand through his golden hair, exhaling slowly as he tried to converse calmly with his irritating and seemingly innocent friend. He shook his head, wondering at the ellon's lack of insight.

"Ecthelion, look at me. I am your former lover - your former *male* lover. For centuries our names were always spoken in tandem, until our acrimonious split." Glorfindel held up his hand to forestall the darkling lord's protest, for he knew indeed that they were long past that point.

"No matter that we are now but gwedeir, 'Thel; Galdor will not look kindly upon your suit if I stand beside you when you seek his approval."

Ecthelion, Lord of the Fountain, shrank visibly with disappointment at the truth of Glorfindel's words, but still he laid his hand upon his friend's arm in thanks.

"Aye," Ecthelion acceded mournfully. "You have the right of it, yet there is no other that I would rather have to stand at my shoulder at this time."

Glorfindel smiled and drew his former love into a warm embrace. "Instead, mellon nín, I will wait here for you to return with glad tidings, for surely none can deny that this match is fated in the heavens."

Ecthelion nodded sadly, not wishing to voice his urgent fear that Galdor *would* deny this match. It was as Glorfindel had said - he, Ecthelion, was a known quantity: an ellon who had carelessly cheated upon a supposedly beloved lover through centuries of deception; who had publicly humiliated the one he had been sworn to cherish, the one he had abandoned at the last. No matter that they had reconciled and were now beloved gwedeir - it was still an unhappy and unfavorable history on which to ply his troth. He lifted his eyes with faint hope.

"Yet still I would fain that you were near, that I might draw upon your soul's strength to succor me should my endeavor fail..."

Glorfindel nodded and laid his hand upon Ecthelion's shoulder, smiling warmly at him.

"It has been some time since I enjoyed the peace of Galdor's gardens. I do not think that the Lord of the Trees will deny me the cool shade of his beautiful arboretum. I will wait for you there."

Ecthelion exhaled an audible sigh and pulled Glorfindel into a warm embrace, drawing upon his filial love before releasing him. Thus empowered, Ecthelion entered the House of the Trees to seek audience with its Lord.


*****

The Noldor inhabitants of the Hidden City were no different from their other Elven kin - despite their affinity with the ores of Aüle; their appreciation of Yavanna's realm was as ingrained into their psyche as much as their souls were bound to the fate of Arda. Although the flora of Middle Earth encompassed all the abundant hues and shades of a vibrant rainbow in their flowers, seeds and sprigs, it was the subtle shades of the dappled foliage of trees in which the Firstborn found the hand of Eru. The dark gradation of an olive leaf, the silver veins of the silver birch: each exuded a calm beauty to the keen eyes of an elf.

Glorfindel had taken more of an interest of late in the plantings of his gardens: his longtime aversion to the décor of his stately home had been assuaged when he had reconciled with Ecthelion. Gradually the gardens of the House of the Golden Flower had begun to reflect their name with the introduction of celandine, sunflowers and, for the spring, huge clusters of trumpeting daffodils. Glorfindel had even gone so far as to install a water feature: a clear babbling stream that chortled over artfully-placed rocks and pebbles before forming a foaming cascade that ended in a small pool.

He still would not allow a fountain within his grounds.

Glorfindel closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, luxuriating in the subtle perfumes that swirled around him. Amongst the varied trees a number of sweet scented blossoms had been planted, many of which were climbers that tangled their tendrils in the crevices of bark and branch - honeysuckle and jasmine, clematis and orange blossom and ...

"Lily-of-the-valley."

His eyes shot open again, startled by the new voice that had answered his unspoken question. Focusing quickly on the source of the voice he saw before him an elleth; the maiden was somewhat familiar in face and form, yet he could recall no name to fit to the face.

All he saw was black. Deep black. Velvet black, that unremitting darkness that absorbed colours and reflected no light.

Black.

She was striking, but not in a way that Glorfindel could easily describe - not a regular beauty as reckoned by the elves; nor could she be dismissed by that pallid epithet, 'pretty'. Instead the elleth stood before him as a sliver of the night that had been transplanted to the morning's sunny glare, as if the order of the world had been skewed awry and the opposite order of night and day had been mistakenly placed side by side. Her hair - long, straight, silken - was dark as midnight, dark as the deepest mine, the darkest vault; dark as the void from which the Ainur had sung the world into being. Ecthelion's dark locks were as black diamonds - shimmering brilliant strands compared to the black velvet veil that fell from the gentle crown of the female's head. Were it to fall across the face in a solid wall of hair, Glorfindel wondered if it would fool the eyes into believing that one was blind, for surely it would even block the very rays of Anor.

When he could eventually drag his eyes away from that striking feature, the lordly edhel realised that she had spoken again.

"My perfume? It is the distilled scent of the tiny bloom that has been called lily-of-the-valley by our Sindar kin. They brought plants and seeds from Vinyamar to try here in Gondolin. As you see, it has thrived here in the cool shade of Lord Galdor's trees."

Even as his eyes followed the elegant sweep of her hands to the otherwise inconspicuous flora of dagger-like leaves and tiny white bells, Glorfindel finally placed the elleth within the court of Turgon. He had seen her; he had even been introduced to her at a court function long ago, but then the lady had been dressed in the traditional pastel hues of the unmarried ellith who flocked to these events, to preen and prance and attract the attention of any eligible lordling. Those colours had transformed her into a sickly parody, draining her face of life and healthy hue. Now the elleth wore a richer palette - deep reds woven with gold, whose warm shades complemented her milky skin. It had been the darkness of her gown that had accentuated the tenor of his first impression, but as the elleth stepped from the leaf-dappled shadow into a pool of sunlight, Glorfindel saw that the fabric shimmered from deepest black to flaring crimson. Yet the veil of hair remained as it was, a fall of velvet about her slender shoulders, absorbing the rays of Anor.

"It is a sweet scent, is it not - Lord Glorfindel?" the husky voice asked. The training of Ages aided the golden lord in diverting his attention from his scrutiny of the female to the pleasantries of conversation. He nodded his agreement.

"Indeed, the scent is both sweet yet refreshing, like the soft dew that lies upon the lawns on a spring day morn. It is a plant that would perhaps enhance my own flowerbeds?"

The elleth smiled, her eyes twinkling like dark blue sandstone. "Ah my lord, our little lily is like myself a lover of shade and shadow. You are an acolyte of the sun, an aspect reflected in the design of your gardens - the lily and I would be overpowered in the constant presence of Anor."

There was no flirtation in her words, only a confident dry humour that appealed to Glorfindel. Although he was noted as a connoisseur of the more classic form of elvish beauty, he found that he was drawn to this elf, whoever she was.

"I am sure that your presence in any setting would only serve to enhance it, my lady."

At this the elleth did laugh, self-deprecating mirth filling the rippling sound.

"Your reputation serves *you* well, Lord Glorfindel; for it is said that when it pleases you, the sweetest flattery may fall from a honeyed tongue! I know full well that I have no beauty that can compete with the many beauties you have dallied with in our fair city."

Glorfindel frowned, for flattery was a virtue that was no virtue at all. "I beg to differ, my lady - if I make a compliment, then it is born from a true admiration and not from faithless flattery!”

The smile that gently flickered on the lady's lips faltered as she acknowledged the inappropriate remark she had made.

"My apologies, my lord. I intended no slur upon your character." She bowed slightly, respect imbued in the obeisance. Glorfindel relaxed as he realized that she was sincere in her regret.

"And I apologize to you, my lady - my friend has often said that I have too sharp a sensibility." Glorfindel glanced behind him in the direction of the main house, sighing as he remembered that his friend was bargaining for his future happiness at this very moment. A gentle hand laid upon his own startled him, causing him to return his gaze back to eyes of glimmering deep blue hue. The orbs shone with prescience and her husky voice resonated with divine ordinance.

"He will prevail, Glorfindel. The union of souls is ordained by Eru and cannot been gainsaid by any, be they Valar or Edhil. Heed this, Glorfindel, for within the House of the Trees lies your doom." The light faded and the elleth's voice lost its inspired tone, softening as if she was suddenly weary. She smiled, and once again Glorfindel was struck by the unusual beauty of her face.

"Do not be fooled by Morniel's youth," she continued, as if her previous words had no importance. "Although she is in many ways naïve and a dilettante by appearance, Galdor's daughter is by no means foolish and by all means stubborn! If she truly believes that Lord Ecthelion is her destined mate then she will not be moved by passion or reason. Nevertheless, do not expect a speedy nuptials - she is yet young and her father will not soon relinquish his only daughter and youngest child."

The golden lord pondered both the elleth's words and the initial intensity of her declaration, for such was a gift of the Valar - a gift that was normally inherited through the line of Finwë. Yet he knew all those who claimed that lineage - or at least, he thought he did.

"Have you the Sight, my lady?" he asked. "Is this certain to you? For indeed, you shone with the light of the Valar when you spoke first."

The elleth paled as if in shock, and the cream of her skin faded to white. Glorfindel reached to grasp her for it seemed as if she was on the verge of a swoon. Decisively the elleth waved aside his proffered aid, a gesture of independence with which the golden lord could empathise.

"Did I...? Did my words...?" she stuttered, fighting for composure. She took a deep breath in an effort to calm her discomfort. "It comes upon me, my lord, infrequently and without my knowledge. Twice before in my life have I uttered words, pronouncements that have proved to be imbued with veracity. I hope that my words on this occasion were not ... disconcerting to you?"

They had indeed been so, but such was the obvious distress of the lady that Glorfindel chose not to add to her worries. The prophecy, if it was one, had been spoken quickly and he had had no time to decipher its meaning. He shook his head to dismiss these thoughts and reached out instead to clasp her hand in a gesture of comfort.

Within that hand he found warmth, and acceptance, and attraction.

Within the sparkling sandstone eyes he saw wit, and intelligence, and compassion.

And he saw loss, and loneliness, and pain.

And he felt friendship.

His soul remained his own, happy to reside within his being. She was neither Luthien to his Beren, nor Morniel to his Ecthelion.

But she was - important - to him.

A shout broke the insightful spell, a joyous cry that hailed him from the steps of the House behind him. He turned to see his friend running down the bark-strewn path, arm lifted in happy salutation of a successful suit.

"Glorfindel!" the darkling lord called out to him, and Glorfindel raised his free hand in acknowledgement.

The now familiar husky voice spoke beside him, triumph in her words.

"It is as I said, my lord! Ecthelion of the Fountain has prevailed - though I suspect, with conditions cast about his courting of the daughter as set by her father. Lord Ecthelion will wish to celebrate his happiness with you, Glorfindel of the Golden Flower, so I will take my leave of you. "

Even as he turned to the elleth she slipped her hand from his, retreating into the surrounding arbor where she blended into the shadows cast by the overarching foliage, immediately lost from his sight.

"Wait!" he cried out, suddenly bereft of his intriguing companion. "Will I see you again?"

"Certainly, if I know my Lord Galdor," the voice rippled through the shadows, fading with distance. "And I *do*! We are destined to become *great* friends."

"But how shall I know you - what name should I call you?" he called urgently. There was silence and Glorfindel thought that he had lost her, that she had departed entirely. Then, just before Ecthelion finished his sprint to his friend's side, he heard her farewell call.

"I am Olwen - Olwen of the Trees."

Elvish:

Ellon - male elf (sing.)
gwedeir - sworn brothers
mellon nín - my friend
edhel - elf (sing.)
Elleth - female elf (sing.)