Flawed and Fair

-----

Athrabeth Glorfindel ah Ecthelion

-----

When he first heard the voices, Ecthelion could not decide whether he was
dreaming or waking. Of course, his memories of the previous day's events
suggested a third possibility: that he had died in his sleep. He considered the
matter. On the one hand, the ground where he lay was strewn with scratchy
twiglike objects, and this was not how he imagined the halls of Mandos. On the
other hand, he had, untilentlently, supposed Lorien to be a reliable source of
first-aid advice, only to be proven quite wrong. So perhaps Mandos was a slob,
after all. But could a dead person think such impious thoughts?

Ecthelion needed more information. He opened his eyes, stretched -- and gasped
with pain. He had forgotten about the leg. Well, at least it proved that he was
both alive and awake.

"Let me take a look at that." Egalmoth knelt down by his side.
Ecthelion stared at him, confused by his sudden appearance, until he noticed
his exhaustion and the dust that muted the colours of his outfit, making it
look almost tasteful. Yes, Egalmoth looked exactly like a man who had spent the
night riding around in the Valley. Ecthelion was about to ask him about his
adventures when he noticed Glorfindel approaching, and his emotions returned in
a confusing whirl: joy over last night's epiphany, guilt over the Incident,
and, finally, doubt as to whether either the epiphany or the Incident had
actually taken place, for Glorfindel looked just as he always did -- at least
until he noticed Ecthelion's scrutiny, and smiled. The affection behind his
smile was tangible: it radiated from him like heat from a flame. Ecthelion felt
his guilt and doubt evaporate, even as he struggled to suppress this ludicrous
over-reaction.

Fortunately, the hands now moving over his leg, prodding at every irritated
nerve, helped pull him back to reality. Ignoring his thumping heart, Ecthelion
turned to Egalmoth.

"Any news of Aredhel?" he asked.

"I followed her tracks for a while." Egalmoth scowled at Ecthelion's
leg as if it were a poorly fletched arrow. "She rode on even after it got
dark, with no thought for her horse. When I was sure no spiders were following
her, I turned around. I expect she will do just fine, but if she does not... I
know she is my lord's sister, but I am not willing to die for her. Besides, you
two are my friends, and infinitely more worthy."

Ecthelion felt grateful towards Egalmoth, but also rather worried for him.
"Lord Turgon will not be happy with you."

"Ah, he will get over it." Glorfindel joined them on thoundound and
offered Ecthelion his good hand: something to squeeze for comfort, an ordinary
kindness to an injured comrade. The pain in Ecthelion's leg faded the moment
their fingers met.

"You two seem rather cheerful." Egalmoth raised an eyebrow.

At this hint of suspicion, Ecthelion sobered at once. Glorfindel, meanwhile,
simply turned his bright smile on Egalmoth.

"Well, we are all alive and together, which is surely good," he said.
"Also, we have a horse, which is even better. And is it not wonderful that
one of us, and only one of us, has a serious leg injury? It allows us to avoid
all those ridiculously noble debates as to who gets to ride."

He remained irrepressibly joyful while helping Ecthelion mount the horse -- a
difficult procedure involving a nearby tree. Ecthelion longed to tell him to be
discreet, but could not see how to do so without appearing even more
suspicious. He resolved to be impassive enough for two, in the hope that
Glorfindel would take the hint.

They soon set out westward, retracing their steps along the edge of the forest
as fast as their injuries allowed, hoping to reach the end of the Valley before
they were attacked again. Each of them knew that any battle was almost certain
to turn into a last stand. Ecthelion felt particularly helpless, for a skillful
fighter needs his balance.

It was a tense, day-long race against the ever-increasing crowd of spiders
gathering far on their right. As the sun descended up ahead, the creatures
moved in closer, scuttling among the foul pools that, in the fading, reddish
light, looked like pools of blood -- or like puddles of spilt wine, Ecthelion
decided, forcing himself into unaccustomed optimism. If he could not fight the
creatures themselves, he would at least fight the despondency they caused.

"Look, Egalmoth," he said as brightly as he could. "The Valley
looks just like your floor did during the farewell party. A good omen,
surely."

"You would not be saying that if you had been obliged to clean that floor
while nursing a pounding hangover." Egalmoth pretended to scowl, but there
was a new lightness to his step.

Glorfindel, in contrast, was now limping slightly and wearing a pleased smile.
"Do you know what would make this situation even more like Egalmoth's
little gathering?"

Ecthelion decided that, in spite of Glorfindel's recent lack of discretion, the
answer could not possibly have anything to do with the post-party events, and
so he said, "I have no idea," instead of, "Some drunken
groping."

"Your singing," said Glorfindel. "I have noticed that it makes
the spiders hesitate, and we need them to hesitate as much as possible,
tonight."

He was undeniably right: and so, Ecthelion sang. He began with his favourite
epics, tales of famous battles and deeds of desperate courage, but they seemed
inappropriate when desperate battle was the very thing his little group was
bent on avoiding. Anyway, most of those heroic songs reminded him of the
possibility of Unnatural Desire between warriors -- not that he needed much of
a reminder now, with the memory of walking Glorfindel home so fresh in his
mind. He moved onto hymns to the Valar, but it was hard to do them justice
while fighting down base thoughts about what might have happened that night,
had he stayed on Glorfindel's bed a little longer. No, Ecthelion was not
singing his best. Even his companions noticed.

"Try a love song," Egalmoth suggested. "That should distract us
from our current predicament quite nicely."

"No." Ecthelion did some quick thinking. "Love songs would only
remind me of Aredhel; after all, we are here only because she decided to go
looking for love in strange places."

"Ah, but love can be such an uplifting emotion," said Egalmoth.
"Still, I expect that neither of you two confirmed bachelors would understand
that, right?"

Ecthelion ignored his odd, inquisitive look by glancing around in search of
inspiration. Well, there was the forest on his left, an essentially good place,
shrouded in Sindarin magic. It reminded him of some of the songs he had heard
in Valinor: nothing very pious, just simple Telerin tunes praising the beauty
and power of nature. He started to sing one, and immediately knew that he had
chosen well, for the trees seemed to change slightly to match his words, their
branches extending further towards the Valley. Ecthelion's obsessive thoughts
receded; he was almost sure that the spiders did likewise, their dark shapes
slinking further away.

He sang all night, with only a few brief pauses. When dawn came, it revealed
that the spiders were, indeed, some distance off -- and also that their army
was larger than ever, and that the end of the Valley was nowhere in sight.
Ecthelion rubbed his throat, which was so sore that he felt just about ready to
join Salgant's hoarse patrol, and tried to revive his falling spirits.

"Give your voice a rest, Ecthelion." Egalmoth handed him a water
bottle. "I have just written a new song about our current situation, and I
would like to hear your opinion of it." He assumed a solemn expression
before launching into a rather familiar tune.

The spiders are reeking!

They ask for a thrashing!

They'll die with much shrieking,

Once our blades start slashing!

O! Tril-lil-lil-lelly,

Giant spiders are smelly!

Ha! Ha!

"Cheering, is it not?" he asked.

Indeed, Ecthelion had found the ditty, and the memories it evoked, oddly
comforting, in spite of its awfulness. "Certainly," he said.
"Our impending deaths seem a most welcome prospect, now that we can look
forward to taking that song to the grave with us."

"What is more, it could come in handy in the afterlife," said
Glorfindel. "I intend to sing it repeatedly when I am summoned before
Mandos -- that should be enough to secure me an exceptionally quick release
from the Halls."

"You may have to wait a while before trying out your plan." Egalmoth
was staring off into the distance. "Look straight ahead -- I can see the
river. We have made it! And that is not all. Ecthelion, I believe we have found
your missing horse."

Ecthelion strained until he saw it too: the faint glimmer of early light on
something shiny that could only be water. As they picked up the pace and drew
nearer, he even noticed the familiar creature moving around near it. Soon they
were fording the river, its brisk, cool waters washing off the stench of the Valley,
while the spiders hung back behind, clearly unwilling to undergo the same
treatment. Once on the other side, they set up a hasty camp and collapsed. They
had made it, but with little strength to spare.

---

The following day, Ecthelion was glad to mount his own horse again, in spite of
the discomfort involved. He shut his eyes as he waited for the pain in his leg
to fade, and so it was only when he felt an arm slip around his waist that he
realized that he would be sharing his horse. With Glorfindel.

"Are we certain that this is a good idea?" Ecthelion asked the moment
Egalmoth was out of earshot.

"It is the only combination that makes sense, with the other horse so
tired." Glorfindel sounded incredibly close for someone whose body was in
contact with Ecthelion's only at the waist. "Anyway, surely this is quite
safe. What unnatural acts can we possibly commit on horseback?"

Well, there was one obvious possibility. The hand now touching Ecthelion's
stomach could easily drop lower. Indeed, the distance it would have to cover
had decreased even as Ecthelion considered the idea. However, he could not
bring himself to shatter Glorfindel's innocence by mentioning this.

It was Glorfindel who spoke first. "Never mind," he said feebly,
before moving his grip from Ecthelion's waist to his shoulder. Perhaps he was
not as naive as he seemed.

As they rode on, Ecthelion found it very hard to get his mind off the oddly
compelling idea that they had both imagined the same unnatural act at the same
time. Since Egalmoth was still riding quite far ahead, he decided to distract
himself by breaking the silence.

"I suppose that this is quite convenient, really. I have been meaning to
speak to you privately for some time. Look, Glorfindel, is there any way you
could start behaving in a more discreet fashion? All this smiling -- it might
give rise to suspicion."

"Do you really think so? I am not aware of any recent change in my
behaviour. I have always acted warmly towards you, just as you have always been
somewhat cold towards me." Glorfindel fell silent for a moment. "Were
you being discreet, then? I must admit that I am still finding it rather
difficult to reconcile what I thought I knew of you with recent events. I have
always believed you to be above... base passions."

"Right -- I believe you called me 'a natural ascetic.'" Ecthelion did
not like straying from the topic at hand, but this opportunity to correct a
horrible misconception was too good to miss. "Well, I told you at the time
that you were quite wrong. I have my dreams, obviously. And, when awake, I feel
things just like everyone else does. Possibly more strongly."

Glorfindel laughed a little. "I very much doubt that. I expect that you
have no idea how bad this gets, for 'other people.' I mean, I am sure that,
when you spar, you do not find yourself distracted by your opponent's body. And
that you have never been struck by a sudden fantasy set somewhere
inappropriate, like before Turgon's throne, or in a public fountain, or on your
office table."

That last sentence, the images it evoked... Ecthelion could not think straight.
He turned to his default safe emotion, annoyance. For, truly, it was incredibly
irritating how completely Glorfindel underestimated his struggles.

"Actually, you are, again, quite wrong. Except, perhaps, about Turgon's
throne. But definitely about the sparring, and the fountain, and especially the
table. I have had all kinds of inappropriate fantasies."

"Really? Care to give me any examples?" Glorfindel's voice was very
quiet; Ecthelion struggled to hear it over the clatter of the horse's hooves
and the beating of his own excited heart. The soft words interwove with the
underlying rhythms in a hypnotic way, like the opening phrase of a tempting new
song, so that replying felt like the natural thing to do. Fortunately,
Ecthelion caught himself just in time. He decided to ignore the question
entirely.

"Look, Glorfindel, we cannot go on talking like this. It goes against all
that is right and decent."

"How do we talk, then?"

"As we did before this trip -- only, perhaps, slightly more politely, on
my part. I have been thinking about what you said, back when we were discussiFingFingon and Maedhros, and I agree that we might be able to derive some...
inspiration from our unnatural feelings. But surely even you see that we must
ignore their least natural aspects? Let us remain brothers-in-arms, caring
about each other as brothers do."

"This is very important to you." Glorfindel's hand tightened on
Ecthelion's shoulder. "Very well. Let us try it."

---

And try it they did. The nights proved slightly awkward, as Ecthelion had
developed a disturbing tendency to drift to Glorfindel's side while
half-asleep. He solved the problem by placing his weapons in the space between
them. The small injuries he collected when dazedly attempting to embrace his
own spear were a small price to pay for continued chastity.

During the daytime, in Egalmoth's presence, it was not so difficult: they were
friendly towards each other, as was only right. It was the city, where they
might, at times, be thrown together without an obvious chaperone, that would be
the true test. When they reached the outer gate Ecthelion felt both relieved
and worried.

His concern proved well-founded, though for a different reason. Lord Turgon
rode out to meet them at the Sixth Gate, in the very room in which Ecthelion
normally spent so many of his working hours. There was no kindness in his eyes
as he took in their wounds.

"Explain yourselves," he said.

Ecthelion broke the oppressive silence, and gave an account of their journey.
He spoke of Doriath, of the orc tree, and of the spiders. His words were plain;
he used few adverbs or adjectives. Turgon listened intently, bidding Ecthelion
go on even after he had handed over the scarf. Only when the story was over did
he read Aredhel's note, going through it twice. He then stared at it for some
minutes, motionless but for a small twitch in his cheek.

"Why you had to turn back, I can see," he said at last. "But I
can also see why my sister wished to leave you behind. You seem to have led her
along the most dangerous path in Middle-earth, and roused every creature for
miles around. Again, I must ask you to explain yourselves."

So, Turgon had decided that they were at fault -- but, surely, there was no
reason for all three of them to suffer.

"It is entirely my fault, my lord," said Ecthelion. "I am the
one who suggested that we kill the orcs. Everything else was a direct
consequence of--"

"Ah, yes, the noble blame-taking begins." Turgon sounded very tired.
"Would anyone else like to comment on Ecthelion's story?"

"Well, it is true that he was the first to express a wish to kill the
orcs," said Glorfindel. "But then he counseled against it."

"Who spoke in favour of it, then?" Turgon did not wait for an answer.
"Aredhel. You blame my sister for her own fate."

"No." Glorfindel held his gaze. "I blame Morgoth."

"Yes, of course, we must always blame Morgoth for all our problems, from
the deaths on the Ice to the sour taste of our local wine." Turgon spoke
sharply. "But why do you accuse him in this instance? Because he is allied
with the spiders? Because he marred Arda? Because it is to hide from him that
we sit here, growing increasingly restless?"

"Because he killed your grandfather, and so instilled in your sister an
understandable desire for vengeance."

"Understandable?" Turgon paused for a moment, before shaking his
head. "I mustnk onk on this. Leave me, for now. Go to the city and seek
healing, but do not assume your old duties or discuss your journey with anyone.
I will summon you when I am ready."

---

The next few days were among the strangest of Ecthelion's life. He was not used
to idleness, ant not now it was imposed upon him, both by the healers who
sighed over his wounded leg, and by Turgon's words. id hid have visitors,
friends from the Guard who brought grapes and gossip, but their visits only
reminded him of how much he missed his work -- and the one friend who never
stopped by.

Ecthelion supposed that it was wise of Glorfindel to avoid calling on him in
his bedroom, but that did not make the absence any easier to handle. In the
evenings, after the last rays of sunlight had left his rooms, draining them of
colour until everything looked dull and grey, he found himself dwelling on recent
Glorfindel-related events, and feeling very grateful that Eru had chosen to
make memory so vivid. He even started to hope that his unnatural desires could
be satisfied by just this handful of shameful recollections.

Meanwhile, the enforced inactivity still irked. Once Ecthelion's leg was well
enough to walk on, he decided that, even if he could not return to his duties,
he could at least make himself useful in some small way, perhaps by cleaning up
his old records for the benefit of his hypothetical successor. He made his way
to his office. Paperwork had never looked so enticing; soon he was humming,
happily shuffling around little written reminders of past glory.

He was only half-way done when he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in!" he called out.

And then, just like that, Glorfindel walked into the office. Though his left
arm was still in a sling, he looked quite well. In fact, he looked astoundingly
wonderful, with his golden hair, broad shoulders, and warm smile. Yes,
Glorfindel was definitely in Ecthelion's office. Ecthelion's brain, however,
was clearly somewhere quite different, because Ecthelion's body took one look
at Glorfindel, crossed the room, and kissed him.

Ecthelion's soul would definitely be spending a very long time in the Halls of
Mandos.

Any hope that memory could replace reality faded the moment the kiss began.
Memory, no matter how vivid, is lifeless, frozen, safe in its familiarity:
reality is full of small surprises. Ecthelion had not expected Glorfindel's
hair to feel so warm and heavy as it slid through his fingers, and he certainly
had not expected Glorfindel to run a hand down his back, pulling their hips
together, and then shift until they were aligned perfectly from the waist down.
The flare of pleasure shocked Ecthelion out of his memory-related comparisons,
out of all thought; he leaned into the kiss and swayed against Glorfindel,
feeling the growing heat where their bodies joined. One of his hands moved in a
long caress down Glorfindel's back, past the waist, pressing them closer
together.

He felt lost and cheated when Glorfindel pulled away.

"I am happy to see you, too, Ecthelion," said Glorfindel, "but I
thought we were supposed to act like brothers-in-arms, not like Finwian
half-cousins.t;
Ecthelion stepped back, still a bit unsteady. "That is the last thing I
need to think about right now."

"Oh, so you have imagined them, too." Glorfindel smiled dreamily.
"Do you fancy yourself as Fingon, or as Maedhros? I think I am more of a
Fingon type myself. I could see you as Maedhros, given your tendency to sink
into guilt."

Ecthelion ignored Glorfindel's blathering and took his customary place behind
the table in the hope that this official seat would help him regain control of
the situation.

"Ah. Your table." Glorfindel was staring at the item in question.

Ecthelion felt a bit confused, until he recalled their conversation on the
horse. As he looked from Glorfindel to the table and back again, he felt rather
proud of himself for staying in his chair.

"Do sit down," he said, indicating a second seat.

"Good idea." Glorfindel finally met his eye. "Let us be correct
and professional. This is an office, after all." After sitting down, he
even reached back to bind up his hair. This helped Ecthelion focus for about two
seconds, until he noticed just how well-defined Glorfindel's cheekbones were.
He hid his face in his hands.

"Oh, Eru. What are we going to do?"

"Think of a new plan. One that has even a small chance of working."

"Right." Ecthelion sat back up. "We will have to start avoiding
each other. Now, assuming that Turgon reinstates me, I will be at the Gate one
month out of three -- you could probably arrange to take over one of the other
shifts. And then there are valley patrols, mine inspection tours, training
exercises... it should be easy enough."

"In other words, we must arrange it so that we are never in the city at
the same time, ever again." Glorfindel stared at him, just stared at him,
without expression. "Look, if our feelings are really so strong as to call
for such desperate measures, then perhaps we should not fight against
them."

"And what should we do, then, give free rein to our unnatural desires?
Never. It would be wrong." It was hard to remember just how wrong, when a
kiss seemed so right, but Ecthelion pressed on. "I think that recent
events have skewed our perceptions of such things. Do you not remember being
unhappy when you first became aware of your... leanings?"

"No, actually, they came as a bit of a relief."

"What?"

"You see, everyone had been telling me I should get married: my mother, my
father, all the maidens." Glorfindel waved his hand through the air,
suggesting a crowding multitude. "And married people looked so happy, I
thought that there had to be some truth to it. But I had such a hard time
picking a bride out of the maidens I liked -- no matter whom I chose, it would
have been a huge disappointment for the others. And then I started dreaming of
you, and my first thought was 'Well, I can forget about getting married now, thank
the Valar!'"

"Thank the Valar," said Ecthelion. "Let me just see if I have
this straight: you thought that your unnatural dreams were a blessing? A ploy
thought up by the Valar to protect the hearts of all those rejected maidens
from such a crushing blow?"

"No, of course not. And stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Exaggerating my flaws in a feeble attempt to harden yourself against
me." Glorfindel's self-satisfied smile lasted only a second. Then his face
reddened, and Ecthelion felt his own blood run faster, knowing that, once
again, they were both imagining the same compromising situation.

Glorfindel recovered first. "Truly, I was relieved. I had been aware of
some lack in me all along, and I was glad to understand it at last. And it did
not seem so bad: unusual, yes, but not really evil. I know we are meant to
bring children into this world, but in times like these this is surely not so
important. Of course, I did feel that it was wrong--"

"Exactly--"

"--to have such thoughts about someone who did not like me much."

"But now that you know I was just, how did you put it? Hardening myself
against you." Ecthelion watched for the embarrassed flinch, and was
impressed when it did not come. "Now you can go back to enjoying your
fantasies with a clear conscience."

"And leave you alone? You give me little credit if you think that I can go
on my happy way now that I know how you torment yourself." Although
Glorfindel's words seemed kind, he was not smiling anymore, not with warmth and
not in jest. "You sI beI believe that self-loathing is far more dangerous,
far more evil, than what you call 'unnatural desire.' People who often feel
guilt for no reason sometimes decide that they might as well live up to it by
committing evil acts."

Looking into his bright eyes, Ecthelion realized that everything that had come
before this speech -- the questions, the confessions, even the extended absence
-- had been nothing but a series of preliminary maneuvers, executed to gather
intelligence and to lull the enemy into a sense of false security. Now, here
came the attack, and it was more ruthless than Ecthelion had expected.

"Are you implying that I--"

"No, of course, you are not that way. But you... you turn inward too much,
turn away from others. This makes you less aware of their feelings than you
otherwise might be, it makes... unpleasant misunderstandings more likely. It
would be better for everyone if you stopped brooding so much, I think."

Ecthelion could remember one particular recent misunderstanding when he had unwittingly
caused pain. Half-persuaded, he added 'eloquence' to his litany of Glorfindel's
compelling yet hateful traits. And yet... thinking about the Incident reminded
him that Glorfindel was missing the real issue. He launched his counter-attack.

"You give me too much credit," he said. "I can see that you
underestimate the evil of my unnatural desires -- no doubt your own are more
innocent. You think the inconsiderate way I treated you was a result of my
self-absorption. Perhaps you are partly right. But it was also very much a
symptom of the sick passions that rule me." Ecthelion almost choked on the
words, but they had to be said, even if they might drive Glorfindel away
forever. Especially if they might drive Glorfindel away forever. "What if
I told you that, even before that Incident, I had long wished to see you
overwhelmed by pleasure against your will, acting in ways that go against your
true nature?"

Glorfindel drew in a sharp breath. "Then I would tell you that your
attempt to repulse me has failed. I refuse to believe that your intentions are
evil. On the contrary, I have proof that you are essentially good." He
gave a brief, smug smile. "I have to assume that you were thinking less
than clearly when we kissed -- but you never jarred my injured arm. If you
instinctively refrain from hurting me where I am most vulnerable, why should I
not trust you and your desires?"

This was a new idea, and one that felt like a truth; Ecthelion could think of
no answer.

"And as for my own desires, they are no more innocent than yours."
The light in Glorfindel's eyes was unfocused. "I want to see you lost in
pleasure, too, to overthrow your reserve and your pride. Even your moral
scruples."

Ecthelion tried to consider this meeting of symmetrical desires with cool
rationality, but, in his overheated imagination, it seemed to turn, somehow,
into the meeting of two well-matched bodies, on the sparring field or off it.
He looked down at the table, ran his hands over its hard surface, and focused
on the safer aspects of the metaphor. As one of the best warriors in the city,
Ecthelion rarely got to fight in earnest when he trained -- but Glorfindel had
always had the strength and skill to meet him, to challenge him even. The
thought made him feel free, somehow.

When he looked back up, there must have been some unusual intensity to his
glance, for Glorfindel reacted by half-rising from his chair. His hesitation
broke the spell -- Ecthelion immediately remembered why it was so right to
hesitate. He shook his head, trying to dispel his strange mood, and went back
to the basics.

"You cannot deny," he said, "that this goes against nature,
against the laws and customs of our people, against the will of the
Valar."

"Yes, I can." Glorfindel sat back down. "I would argue that it
clearly does not go against our own natures. It is unusual, I will grant you
that -- so unusual that our laws ignore it. And as for the Valar... surely they
have more important things to worry about than what two guards of Gondolin doen oen off duty? Starting with Morgoth, and all the kinslayers, and ending with
the grief in the hearts of all the little war orphans?"

It was an impressive attack. Ecthelion found himself disarmed, and searching
for an alternative weapon, an argument his opponent would understand. Looking
at Glorfindel's gleaming hair, he found one.

"Fine. I will accept that you believe that. But what about all our
friends, Lord Turgon, the people of the city? Public opinion matters to you --
and Salgant's popular songs should give us a good clue as to what the public
would think. Even if you believe that they are wrong, you cannot hope to change
all their minds."

"Yes, all this does matter to me." Glorfindel glanced towards the
window and the world be. &q. "But surely there is no need for everyone to
know. We can be discreet."

"I very much doubt that we can conceal this from everyone without lying
outright. Are you willing to go that far? To learn to lie, lose your integrity?
You say that self-loathing can make a person more vulnerable to evil -- would
you not agree that a dark secret can do the same?"

Glorfindel's confident expression wavered with every question Ecthelion threw
out. "Perhaps you are right," he said, his voice as thin as a novice
flautist's first notes.

Ecthelion felt no joy ais sis sign of surrender, only a dismal emptiness.
"Then you will agree to my plan," he said, sounding almost as
pathetic.

"Which plan?" Glorfindel's eyes regained some of their sparkle.
"The one where we spend the rest of our lives avoiding each other? The
completely impractical plan which will surely involve just as much lying as my
suggestion, and which is quite unfair to me besides? That plan?"

Faced with this sudden recovery, Ecthelion felt a ridiculous urge to cheer his
opponent on even as he searched for holes in his arguments. "Unfair to
you? How?"

"Well, unlike you, I have never--"

Ecthelion's guilt returned in full force as he waited for the words: "I
have never touched you uninvited. I see no need to avoid you." He
remembered the earlier kiss, so clearly unasked for, and the Incident. His face
burned.

But Glorfindel did not seem to notice, lost in thought. When he spoke again, he
spoke slowly, as if each word mattered. "I have never seen you overwhelmed
by pleasure, as you have certainly seen me. Thus, your actions in the shelter
have placed me at a disadvantage. If we adopt your plan, that disadvantage will
become permanent. As I said, this is quite unfair." He sat back.
"Ecthelion, some call you 'the fairest of the Noldor.' You claim that they
say this because you are just, so prove it. Give me recompense."

"How?" Ecthelion had to ask, even if he already knew.

"In kind -- how else?"

"This is blackmail!"

"In what sense? You are free to refuse. Just as I was. And you want this.
Just as I did." Glorfindel smiled. "The more I think about this idea,
the more I like its symmetry."

Ecthelion's heart pounded. Some parts om clm clearly liked the proposition at
least as much as Glorfindel did. Others were screaming in outrage. "And do
you suggest that we carry out this reenactment here, or were you planning to
build a tree shelter in one of our public parks?"

"We can certainly do that, if you think it will help you get in the
mood." Glorfindel's smile was at its most self-satisfied. "But I would
prefer that we meet at a more private location. And that we wait until I have
the use of both my hands."

"I knew it." Ecthelion's mind pounced on that last sentence.
"You are hoping to draw me in, somehow. Impress me with your skill."

"What skill?" Glorfindel looked a little uncertain again. "Look,
of course I would be very happy if this act of consummate justice 'drew you
in,' but I suspect that it is more likely to make you despise me. It is just
that I am tired of trying to sway you with words when it is clear that your
objections run deeper, beyond the reach of reason." He untied his hair and
rose from his chair. "Think about it," he said.

Ecthelion did think about it long after Glorfindel had left. In fact, he could
not chase the suggestion from his mind; it felt like one of those rare
occasions where duty and desire coincided.

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Author's notes:

1. "Athrabeth Glorfindel ah Ecthelion" is Sindarin for "The
Debate of Glorfindel and Ecthelion" and a pretentious reference to Tolkien's
"Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth".

2. The Valley Of Dreadful Death is bordered to the West by the River Mindeb. I
am assuming that the spiders are unwilling to cross this river, perhaps because
they know that, in the future, many of their smaller cousins will be drowned in
toilets and showers.<

3. When Tuor arrives in Gondolin, Ecthelion is in charge of the Seventh Gate,
the Gate of Steel. However, this gate was built by Maeglin who, at the time of
this story, is not even a glimmer in Eol's eye. Instead of creating an
alternative Seventh Gate (of bricks and straw?), I have moved Ecthelion to the
Sixth.