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tolkien_slashy_swapsTitle: The Scepter and the Serpent, A Gondolin Mystery in Three Parts.
Author: Gloromeien
BETA: Eresse
Email: swishbucklers@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Pairings: Glorfindel/Ecthelion
Warning: Characters belong to that wily old wizard himself, Tolkien the Wise, the granddad of all 20th century fantasy lit. I serve at the pleasure of his estate and aim not for profit.
Request/plot: Established relationship but no character death (either first age or after their returns).
Do not include: No rape, no parody, no noncom, NO MPREG, a little humor is ok but not extreme.
Summary: The King enlists Glorfindel and Ecthelion’s help in unmasking a palace thief. Tracy/Hepburn-like antics ensue (or so a humble author hopes).
Written for Aussie Lass
A/N: This plot bunny was begging to be written, though I hope it doesn’t fall too short of your parameters. There is, however, romance aplenty to be had, as well as an indecent amount of flirtation, so I hope you and everyone enjoys!
A/N 2: Some liberties are taken in this with the story of Aredhel and Eol. I am pretending that Eol did not immediately reject the notion of remaining in Gondolin, but, at Turgon’s invitation, resided there awhile to test out his liking of the place, with the same tragedy occurring after the conclusion of this tale.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Untold Annals of the First Age present…
The Scepter and the Serpent
A Gondolin Mystery
Part Two: Rattle
Never had Ecthelion been more conscious of the intimate size of his study than on that stormy night, with rivulets of rain streaming down his window panes like prison bars, the pool of the lantern’s glow isolating them from the towering bookcases that lined the walls, and the fathoms of darkness beyond as opaque as the boundless depths of the ocean. Glorfindel prowled around his desk with the feral vigor of a caged lion, growling with annoyance at the same impasses and dead ends that the Lord of the Fountain had encountered earlier that day, during his investigation. Yet there was nonetheless a captivating quality to his friend, an imperial righteousness that was more than the magnificence of his gossamer crown, more than the preternatural radiance that ever illuminated his noble visage.
Whether he was bludgeoning some heathen or blithely recounting some ruse, Glorfindel was ever alight, the incandescent heat of his spirit blazing out to brighten the world around him. He was unquestionably a force of good, a creature of unimpeachable honor, and almost impossibly beautiful for it.
Ecthelion shuddered in the wake of such a realization, still discomfited by the fact that he could now view his friend from such a biased, if not outright preferential, perspective; that Glorfindel had suddenly been revealed to him in such a provocative fashion. He dared not contemplate that he was not as ignorant of his impressiveness as he might have claimed to others, that he had partaken of his friend’s physical bounty, though he tragically remembered not a caress, nor a clutch; anything that might disabuse him of the romanticized portrait of the golden elf that was the lone canvass presently hanging in the gallery of his mind. Wrenching his focus back to the matter at hand, and a critical one at that, he locked his stare on the inkwell some distance before him so that he might actually listen to Glorfindel’s description of the guests’ movements on the night in question.
“There is no mistaking that Salgant’s was the clearest opportunity,” he explained, though his reservations were conveyed in the furrow to his brow. “He sat beside the King without engaging him in direct conversation, so he easily could have reached across him and snatched the scepter with a casual action. Likewise, Aredhel was positive he rose first from the table when preparing to depart, another sterling opportunity. However…”
“She dislikes him, as do we all, and with due cause, given his past behavior towards her,” Ecthelion countered. “She is perhaps unwittingly distorting the facts.”
“It is a danger we must carefully consider,” Glorfindel concurred. “What more… Do you truly think Salgant capable of such a scheme? Though pompous and somewhat elitist, he is a simple elf. A glutton who has never demonstrated anything like this brand of ambition.”
“He certainly adores the King,” Ecthelion elaborated. “He’s ever been a nauseatingly strict enforcer of the rules, to the point of meddling with some of our own antics during the war games between houses. As well, it is important to note that he is one of the richest nobles in the realm. The brooch is undoubtedly an emblem more than a prize, but still, if he wished to mutiny, it would be smarter to sponsor a wave of propaganda, not to thieve from one’s opponent.”
“A truth that can be applied towards exonerating every suspect,” Glorfindel pointed out. “With only Salgant dull-witted enough to do otherwise. Perhaps he is not so blameless after all, just…idiotic.”
“The crime itself is rather laughable,” Ecthelion commented. “I cannot believe the shrewd military minds of Duilin and Penlodh devised this inherently flawed escapade. If I were preparing to stage a coup and desired some means of discrediting the King, I would make certain that there was no trace of my own participation, not risk being accused by limiting the other suspects to three elves of galling repute.”
“Either the perpetrator does not care if he is identified,” Glorfindel hypothesized. “Or he hopes that the King will charge and try him. Perhaps he seeks to mastermind a public reckoning. Perhaps he is further along in his plans than we assume.”
“But surely we would know of it!” Ecthelion protested, in defense of them both, as well as their compatriots. “We are hardly novices in the area of espionage.”
“Especially you rogues at the House of the Fountain,” Glorfindel playfully taunted, more to replenish the atmosphere than to needle his friend. “Forever scuttling about the sewers, ‘maintaining the pipes’, as you so mysteriously term it.”
Ecthelion managed to chuckle at this despite his encroaching sense of dread. The golden elf was renowned for making merry in times of abject crisis, a comfort to those allied with him and a brief respite for all from the harrowing trial of warfare. He was at times so charming that his opponents oft could not resist laughing and thereby exposed themselves to the gutting spear of his blade, a genius tactic that many had sought to emulate, at their own peril.
“Tis a sobering thought,” the Lord of the Fountain remarked, guiding them back to their debate. “That we who are charged with keeping the location of our city refuge a secret are so accomplished at doing so that it is no trouble at all to effectively plot against the King. But there is a further rub, gwador. If one wishes to overthrow Turgon, why not ride out to an adjacent realm and reveal us to the local tyrant? Surely such a ruse warrants a title and rule over the principality in question.”
“Aye, but it also courts conquest of a viler sort,” Glorfindel responded. “Better to surrender us to the heathens and be rewarded by the Dark One himself.” After such a bleak thought, he rallied with his usual strength, forwarding a plan of action for the morrow. “I have an audience with Idril in the morn, which will hopefully yield something of use. There is still much left to learn and to reflect on. How do you mean to occupy yourself?”
“Methinks I will delve into the city’s underbelly,” Ecthelion proposed, with a chuckle at his own overdramatic tone. “It has occurred to me that there is the slight chance that the thief was unaware of the brooch’s significance. Perhaps he meant only to fatten his purse. I will make discreet inquiries as regards the suspects’ finances, and entertain a few blackguards of my acquaintance.”
The darkling elf had expected some further jest about the dubious nature of the House of the Fountain’s dealings, but instead was stunned by his friend’s air of displeasure.
“You might care to enlist a few trusted comrades,” Glorfindel warned him, somewhat ridiculously in Ecthelion’s view. “Such villains should not be trifled with.”
“I am hardly an amateur,” the Lord of the Fountain sniffed, overtly displaying his irritation at his friend’s caution.
“Neither are they,” Glorfindel underlined, but in a dismissive fashion, somewhat embarrassed at having been so overprotective. He subsequently veered towards the exit, glancing only briefly at Ecthelion before tucking his notes into his pack. “Shall we reconvene here on the morrow, then? Does seven bells suit you?”
“You mean to depart?” Ecthelion asked him, shocked by the alarm that sounded within, at how insistent his spirit was that the golden elf should remain.
Though Glorfindel was clearly startled by the urgency of his tone, he appeared the more guarded for it, a reaction that could only have one meaning: a vulnerability lurked within his friend. The situation that confronted them truly grew more bizarre by the minute.
“I considered a decent night’s rest a worthy pursuit,” Glorfindel replied. “After such an incredible day.” Thinking again on it, he added: “Would you that I remain?”
“Not if you are fatigued,” Ecthelion hesitantly answered, his own traitorous tongue itching to gainsay him. “Tis only that we have conversed of naught but our grim duty the day long. I thought perhaps we might simply… enjoy one another’s company.” Glorfindel’s face hardened imperceptibly at this, which was so discouraging to the darkling elf that he was compelled to elaborate further. “There was a time when were at ease with one another, when we thrived on our great friendship. Has that truly changed?”
The Lord of the Golden Flower shut his eyes, exhaled longly.
“Nay, it has not,” Glorfindel humbly responded. “Yet if you would have my honest answer, I am simply not in a temper to endure your continued indifference towards what has transpired between us and methinks it would be best if I sought a measure of solitude this eve. You have my oath that I will endeavor to forget the matter entirely and concentrate myself on our vital friendship. Tis only that the day’s events have left me raw-“
“Glorfindel, forgive me,” Ecthelion instantly pleaded, sick at having been so inconsiderate towards his fellow. “I had no notion that I had so wounded you.”
“As I have said, it will pass,” Glorfindel insisted, though he visibly struggled to reinvigorate his mood.
When the golden elf again made to depart, a lump lodged itself in the pit of Ecthelion’s stomach, a visceral amalgamation of anxiety, annoyance, and aching compassion for his longtime friend. He had been so preoccupied with blighting out any memory of the aftermath of their coupling, of wallowing in guilt over having so dishonored himself, that he had not considered Glorfindel’s sensibilities, which, while hardly on par with those of a dizzy maid, were not as stoic as the lord often let on. This was yet another occasion in which his friend had demonstrated his innate selflessness, to Ecthelion’s shame, since he could neither be so forthright nor so understanding. Yet he could not in good conscience abandon him when he was so bereft; not if he truly meant to nurture the friendship he claimed to hold dear.
“Ask of me what you would,” he declared, by means of summoning him back. “I have too long evaded resolution out of… confusion, I suppose. But no longer. My behavior towards you in this regard has been abysmal, and you are justified in seeking some form of… for want of a better term, resolution. Let us speak frankly of it, as we should have from the start.”
Wary eyes were foisted upon him, but the golden elf’s face was kindly lit, glowing with its usual blend of sympathy and respect. Still, he made no move to approach the desk. Ecthelion stepped out from behind it, courting a soothing proximity, which Glorfindel eventually cottoned to and fell in beside him, both leaning on the rounded front edge. There was little more than a ghost between them, the air suddenly possessed as if by a genuine presence, perhaps the specter of the Lord of the Golden Flower’s attraction bidding a final farewell.
“Very well,” Glorfindel assented, carefully considering his next statement, then choosing the bluntness for which he was known. “Tell me true, Ecthelion. Did you derive no pleasure at all from the act? It is a sticking point within me. That first morn, when we awoke, I confess I was unprepared for your revulsion. You were so willing when in your cups, but then… Not that I could claim to have been any more clear-headed. Still, I… I was intrigued by what had transpired. Moved, even.”
Suddenly, the darkling elf regretted most hotly ever venturing down this path, as it could lead only to disillusionment and hurt. Regardless, he was committed. Glorfindel would have his insights, no matter how deep they struck.
“Perhaps I would feel as you do if…” Ecthelion stammered, then fought to recover himself. “If I remembered any of our intimacy. Alas, I do not, though I believe myself the better for it. I cherish you too much to ravage what has ever been my most affecting relation. To love you romantically would almost be an insult to our affinity, to the filial love that burns in my chest whenever we are engaged in some common duty or leisure activity.”
“Only if you treat me as you have the other suitors that have so vainly hunted your elusive heart,” Glorfindel implored him, his regal face luminous with hope. “There is far more to loving than sacrifice and servitude, Ecthelion. If you would only open yourself to our potential…“
“*Potential*?!” the Lord of the Fountain exclaimed, blindsided by this development. “You mean to court me?”
“I would not stress the formality of the process,” Glorfindel explained, unable to suppress the smile that erupted across his lips. The darkling elf instantly recognized the freeing aspects of such an admission, and wondered how long his friend had felt thusly. “We have stumbled into what, in my right mind, I would have delayed considerably, but I pray that does not mean… I only ask for a chance.”
His look was so wretchedly earnest that Ecthelion could do naught but gape. He was so overwhelmed by the circumstances, by this monumental shift in worldview, that he could not quite adapt as quickly as he aimed to. He attempted to speak, but the result was utter doggerel, such that Glorfindel was soon chuckling fondly at him. This in itself was so frighteningly enticing that he was further paralyzed by the realization of his own prickly curiosity.
Then, the impossible happened – or perhaps merely the improbable, given the golden elf’s penchant for bold gestures. Glorfindel leaned slowly in, then pressed a kiss of sublime chastity to his lips. The briefest press, but one which conveyed a magnitude of emotion, leaving Ecthelion breathless even though he had not stolen so much as a gasp. Yet the aftershocks that jostled through him were viciously lovely, hinting at the primal rush that would result from a full-on, decadent embrace. Any protest he could have forwarded was instantly aborted, for his mind could conceive of naught more than acquiescing to his friend’s every desire, of giving himself to him wholeheartedly, to the benefit of all. Still, enough reservation slithered under the surface of this new resolve that he remained strictly silent, waiting to see what would come of this propitious overture in the days ahead.
“Think on me,” Glorfindel whispered, then quietly rose, that the enchantment they both felt might linger on long into the night.
* * *
“You rogue!” Idril exclaimed, then giggled conspiratorially, thrilled that her cousin’s infatuation might be seconded at last. “Only you, Glorfindel, could dance so gingerly on the precipice of disaster.”
“Twas no idle feat, I assure you, “ the golden warrior himself boasted, still intoxicated by the memory of Ecthelion’s kiss. Though his darkling friend had not been aware of the novelty of the experience for both of them, Glorfindel still regarded the gamble as a win, since there had been no mistaking the Lord of the Fountain’s reaction, nor his eagerness to reciprocate. “He could easily have slapped me, or brusquely shoved me aside, or worse!”
“But he did not,” Idril needlessly reminded him, if only to further rejoice in his contentment.
“Nay, he did not,” Glorfindel parroted, beaming all the while. “The virtues of patience have been proved, cousin fair.”
“You mean the worthiness of wiles,” she taunted him, with a fond smile of her own. “Though you have not quite conquered yet, my dear. There is the small matter of confessing to him that you have not actually beheld him bare, let alone ravished him limpid.”
“A trifle,” Glorfindel dismissed, however blatantly she disapproved. “There is no reason for him to suspect; thus he need never know.”
“You would found your relation on a lie?” she inquired, sobering some of her mirth.
Scenting trouble on the wind, the Lord of the Golden Flower sighed, then hastened to avoid the brewing onslaught of reproof.
“You approved of my deception well enough whilst I was concocting it,” he challenged.
“Because it was one so easy to forgive in the name of earnest and involving passion,” Idril insisted. “To not reveal yourself betrays what I perceived to be your original intent, to provoke Ecthelion into altering his view of romance and permanent attachments. A trace amount of dissimulation aptly served as the catalyst to change, but had I thought you meant to swindle him, I would never have encouraged you.”
Glorfindel grumbled good-naturedly at this, properly berated by the one who ever regulated his wilder impulses.
“Verily, that was never my intent,” he protested. “Tis only that I have been fretting over how to confess myself, and chance alienating him once we have finally grown so close.”
“Do you now doubt the righteousness of your actions?” she smartly asked.
“I cannot say,” Glorfindel admitted, feeling increasingly maudlin at the prospect of losing what he had so recently gained. “At the time, I thought it beneficial to Ecthelion that he be jostled out of his complacence, but now that it comes to conceding my invention of the ruse… I suppose that here is where I must trust in our friendship, that he knows me well enough to recognize that I meant him no harm. If I had simply declared myself, it *would* have ruined us. Else I would have been played with and discarded like all the rest.”
“You may still be,” Idril warned him, moved by this further evidence of his vulnerability. “However intrigued he currently is, he may still bolt if he feels threatened.”
“That is why I have trodden slowly,” Glorfindel affirmed, though altogether done with second-guessing and self-analysis. “Otherwise, I would have seized him in a blistering embrace and proceeded to pound him into his desk.”
Idril erupted into bellows of laughter as the golden warrior grinned proudly, though his trepidation over Ecthelion’s potential response to the previous night’s intimacy did little to settle his stomach. However celebratory his mood that morn, he knew his triumph was relegated to a battle, not the war. Besides, there was still his duty to attend to, as well as a serpent to shoo out of the weeds.
Just as he was about to steer the conversation towards such aims, a dull knock sounded on the chamber door. Then, to their mutual astonishment and Glorfindel’s delight, Ecthelion himself slid in once bidden, bowing courteously to the Princess but studiously evading his friend’s eyes, lest she catch a glimpse of the emotion he did not quite comprehend, let alone meant to disclose.
“Please forgive my advent, if it is untimely,” the darkling elf politely excused himself, then cautiously direct his ensuing comments towards Glorfindel. “I thought it best that we go about our inquiries together. Though conspicuous, it will serve us well in the long run, as we can devote more time to conjecture.”
“You do make such a handsome couple,” Idril could not keep herself from insinuating, which earned her a death glare from Glorfindel and a florid blush from Ecthelion.
As the Lord of the Golden Flower was fumbling for some decent way in which to scold her for her impertinence, he heard his beloved chuckle bashfully, then seat himself at his side on the cushy banquette.
“It appears I am regrettably transparent,” Ecthelion mused, then shot him a sympathetic glance. “Fear not, I know you are confidantes. Indeed, I do hope she counseled you well, for you have been so nimble thus far you are bound to blunder soon.”
The three of them exploded into laughter at this blunt estimation of Glorfindel’s wooing prowess, then settled into the matter at hand. The golden elf’s guilt, however, reared with alacrity, thus confronted by his beloved’s capacity for grace and compassion. Yet his valiant spirit urged him ever on, indefatigable in pursuit of the one he had so long adored.
“And so, to your questions, my brave ones,” Idril deferred, obviously concerned by the potential ramifications of the theft upon her father. “I can first and foremost affirm that Ada was wearing the brooch during the first course, as its sparkle reflected off his plate as it was being raised and thereby caught my eye. I can also inform you that twas I who noted its absence after our meal, while we were conversing with Aredhel. What more I can share with you, I cannot fathom, but feel free to mine my memories as you would.”
“How did the demeanor of the other lords strike you, cousin?” Glorfindel pointedly inquired. “You know them of old. Did anyone appear anxious or troubled?”
“Certainly, they spoke of some problems in their respective houses,” Idril replied. “But they are lords at table with their king. Salgant was his usual self, whiny and ostentatious, but that is the norm, just as Duilin was griping about his mate’s expenditures and Penlodh about the suitors that plague his pretty daughters. I have dined with each hundreds of times, such that I could recite their grievances by rote! Yet the most curious aspect of all of this to me is that these are Ada’s oldest friends! Their behavior is never remotely suspect, though perhaps that is to the villain’s advantage. If I had not had my eye on Eol for most of the night, as truly he is a detestable individual, I would have sworn away my firstborn before I spoke against anyone else among our party.”
“Which introduces a subject that you may find controversial,” Ecthelion gently forwarded. “Tis, however, impossible to conduct a fair investigation without voicing it. Do you believe your aunt to be wholly innocent in this, given how put upon she is in her bond?”
Idril considered this for some time, not a whit offended by the query. Rather, a drama of emotion played across the exquisite canvass of her features, each act dominated by an unmistakable theme: sorrow, frustration, sympathy, regret.
“I can only say that the fear that possessed her upon learning of the scepter’s mislaying was acutely real,” the Princess quietly responded. “Whether it was fear of discovery, fear of disgrace, or fear of reprisal from either her husband or my father, I cannot judge. What I can assert is that I could not in my wildest dreams imagine that she could do such a thing to Maeglin. Though she is not the most adept of mothers, she is fiercely protective of the child, and would do anything to ensure his safety. Aredhel is smart and she is shrewd; moreover, she can effortlessly manipulate my father. She would not chance it, not with Maeglin to defend.”
“Agreed,” Glorfindel acknowledged, before venturing an even more scandalous proposition. “Yet fear is a powerful motivator, especially coupled with a touch of necromancy. So many have remarked that Aredhel is almost impossibly docile since her return. When I visited her yesterday, she displayed nary a trace of her usual feistiness, not a hint of restlessness, though she is all but subjugated by her spouse. This is perhaps a fanciful theory, but do you think it possible that she is under some dark influence? That she is innocent of the crime in that she was compelled by supernatural forces, by the black will of one who claims her very soul?”
The three of them shivered nervously at this, since Eol reluctantly remained in the kingdom and was the likeliest suspect in a plot of overthrow.
“That is a bold accusation,” Ecthelion warned him. “Though not an unreasonable one.”
“Alas, it is beyond the scope of my knowledge,” Idril dismally insisted, herself terrified that this incident had awakened some evil lurking among the nobility. A serpent in the grass, indeed. “I can only caution you both to tread carefully. If my law-brother is so heartless, there is no telling what further treason he may commit, to the ruin of all.”
Duly chastened, Glorfindel thanked Idril for her time, then rejoined with Ecthelion in the corridor. Both strode somberly forth, no thought of flirtation captivating their minds when confronted by such bleak possibilities. At first, they had believed the major threat was to the villain himself, not to the populace at large, no matter Turgon’s talk of mutiny. Yet if the Dark Lord had already infiltrated their refuge, there was no predicting the damage that might ensue; rumor of it alone could disrupt the peace and lead to an epidemic of executions. Mindful of Idril’s advice about his courtship of Ecthelion, but relating it to their mysterious assignment, he turned abruptly towards his friend once they alighted on the palace steps.
“Gwador, I…” he briskly began, then paused to consider how best to phrase his following statements. “As exhilarating as it would be to accompany you this afternoon, our lately conversation has rattled me such that I feel I must chase this theory to its logical end. I would surprise Aredhel with a visit, and report back to you this eve with my findings.”
Though Ecthelion’s ardor deflated somewhat at this proposal, the warrior in him was lucid enough to recognize the golden elf’s righteousness in this, thus he nodded his assent.
“Due justice urges me to counsel caution,” the Lord of the Fountain wryly answered. “Remember that you are meant to gather insights and clues, not attack, even if you find incriminating evidence. You are a captain, Glorfindel, not a mystic. No matter your brawn, you cannot defeat a black elf.”
“Do not fret,” he precociously dismissed. “I would not add fuel to the fire by igniting the family war that is sure to come. Though your care does impress me, Ecthelion, whether judiciously or emotionally motivated.”
“That is a taunt best reserved for twilight’s descent,” the darkling elf enigmatically insinuated, then laid a hand over his companion’s heart. “When under cover of night, we can forget ourselves awhile, that we might learn… far more. Be well, gwador. I’ll await you at *my* table.”
With that, Ecthelion spirited away, leaving Glorfindel amazed at his own turn of good fortune, however ominous the gathering storm.
End of Part Two
Author: Gloromeien
BETA: Eresse
Email: swishbucklers@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Pairings: Glorfindel/Ecthelion
Warning: Characters belong to that wily old wizard himself, Tolkien the Wise, the granddad of all 20th century fantasy lit. I serve at the pleasure of his estate and aim not for profit.
Request/plot: Established relationship but no character death (either first age or after their returns).
Do not include: No rape, no parody, no noncom, NO MPREG, a little humor is ok but not extreme.
Summary: The King enlists Glorfindel and Ecthelion’s help in unmasking a palace thief. Tracy/Hepburn-like antics ensue (or so a humble author hopes).
Written for Aussie Lass
A/N: This plot bunny was begging to be written, though I hope it doesn’t fall too short of your parameters. There is, however, romance aplenty to be had, as well as an indecent amount of flirtation, so I hope you and everyone enjoys!
A/N 2: Some liberties are taken in this with the story of Aredhel and Eol. I am pretending that Eol did not immediately reject the notion of remaining in Gondolin, but, at Turgon’s invitation, resided there awhile to test out his liking of the place, with the same tragedy occurring after the conclusion of this tale.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Untold Annals of the First Age present…
The Scepter and the Serpent
A Gondolin Mystery
Part Two: Rattle
Never had Ecthelion been more conscious of the intimate size of his study than on that stormy night, with rivulets of rain streaming down his window panes like prison bars, the pool of the lantern’s glow isolating them from the towering bookcases that lined the walls, and the fathoms of darkness beyond as opaque as the boundless depths of the ocean. Glorfindel prowled around his desk with the feral vigor of a caged lion, growling with annoyance at the same impasses and dead ends that the Lord of the Fountain had encountered earlier that day, during his investigation. Yet there was nonetheless a captivating quality to his friend, an imperial righteousness that was more than the magnificence of his gossamer crown, more than the preternatural radiance that ever illuminated his noble visage.
Whether he was bludgeoning some heathen or blithely recounting some ruse, Glorfindel was ever alight, the incandescent heat of his spirit blazing out to brighten the world around him. He was unquestionably a force of good, a creature of unimpeachable honor, and almost impossibly beautiful for it.
Ecthelion shuddered in the wake of such a realization, still discomfited by the fact that he could now view his friend from such a biased, if not outright preferential, perspective; that Glorfindel had suddenly been revealed to him in such a provocative fashion. He dared not contemplate that he was not as ignorant of his impressiveness as he might have claimed to others, that he had partaken of his friend’s physical bounty, though he tragically remembered not a caress, nor a clutch; anything that might disabuse him of the romanticized portrait of the golden elf that was the lone canvass presently hanging in the gallery of his mind. Wrenching his focus back to the matter at hand, and a critical one at that, he locked his stare on the inkwell some distance before him so that he might actually listen to Glorfindel’s description of the guests’ movements on the night in question.
“There is no mistaking that Salgant’s was the clearest opportunity,” he explained, though his reservations were conveyed in the furrow to his brow. “He sat beside the King without engaging him in direct conversation, so he easily could have reached across him and snatched the scepter with a casual action. Likewise, Aredhel was positive he rose first from the table when preparing to depart, another sterling opportunity. However…”
“She dislikes him, as do we all, and with due cause, given his past behavior towards her,” Ecthelion countered. “She is perhaps unwittingly distorting the facts.”
“It is a danger we must carefully consider,” Glorfindel concurred. “What more… Do you truly think Salgant capable of such a scheme? Though pompous and somewhat elitist, he is a simple elf. A glutton who has never demonstrated anything like this brand of ambition.”
“He certainly adores the King,” Ecthelion elaborated. “He’s ever been a nauseatingly strict enforcer of the rules, to the point of meddling with some of our own antics during the war games between houses. As well, it is important to note that he is one of the richest nobles in the realm. The brooch is undoubtedly an emblem more than a prize, but still, if he wished to mutiny, it would be smarter to sponsor a wave of propaganda, not to thieve from one’s opponent.”
“A truth that can be applied towards exonerating every suspect,” Glorfindel pointed out. “With only Salgant dull-witted enough to do otherwise. Perhaps he is not so blameless after all, just…idiotic.”
“The crime itself is rather laughable,” Ecthelion commented. “I cannot believe the shrewd military minds of Duilin and Penlodh devised this inherently flawed escapade. If I were preparing to stage a coup and desired some means of discrediting the King, I would make certain that there was no trace of my own participation, not risk being accused by limiting the other suspects to three elves of galling repute.”
“Either the perpetrator does not care if he is identified,” Glorfindel hypothesized. “Or he hopes that the King will charge and try him. Perhaps he seeks to mastermind a public reckoning. Perhaps he is further along in his plans than we assume.”
“But surely we would know of it!” Ecthelion protested, in defense of them both, as well as their compatriots. “We are hardly novices in the area of espionage.”
“Especially you rogues at the House of the Fountain,” Glorfindel playfully taunted, more to replenish the atmosphere than to needle his friend. “Forever scuttling about the sewers, ‘maintaining the pipes’, as you so mysteriously term it.”
Ecthelion managed to chuckle at this despite his encroaching sense of dread. The golden elf was renowned for making merry in times of abject crisis, a comfort to those allied with him and a brief respite for all from the harrowing trial of warfare. He was at times so charming that his opponents oft could not resist laughing and thereby exposed themselves to the gutting spear of his blade, a genius tactic that many had sought to emulate, at their own peril.
“Tis a sobering thought,” the Lord of the Fountain remarked, guiding them back to their debate. “That we who are charged with keeping the location of our city refuge a secret are so accomplished at doing so that it is no trouble at all to effectively plot against the King. But there is a further rub, gwador. If one wishes to overthrow Turgon, why not ride out to an adjacent realm and reveal us to the local tyrant? Surely such a ruse warrants a title and rule over the principality in question.”
“Aye, but it also courts conquest of a viler sort,” Glorfindel responded. “Better to surrender us to the heathens and be rewarded by the Dark One himself.” After such a bleak thought, he rallied with his usual strength, forwarding a plan of action for the morrow. “I have an audience with Idril in the morn, which will hopefully yield something of use. There is still much left to learn and to reflect on. How do you mean to occupy yourself?”
“Methinks I will delve into the city’s underbelly,” Ecthelion proposed, with a chuckle at his own overdramatic tone. “It has occurred to me that there is the slight chance that the thief was unaware of the brooch’s significance. Perhaps he meant only to fatten his purse. I will make discreet inquiries as regards the suspects’ finances, and entertain a few blackguards of my acquaintance.”
The darkling elf had expected some further jest about the dubious nature of the House of the Fountain’s dealings, but instead was stunned by his friend’s air of displeasure.
“You might care to enlist a few trusted comrades,” Glorfindel warned him, somewhat ridiculously in Ecthelion’s view. “Such villains should not be trifled with.”
“I am hardly an amateur,” the Lord of the Fountain sniffed, overtly displaying his irritation at his friend’s caution.
“Neither are they,” Glorfindel underlined, but in a dismissive fashion, somewhat embarrassed at having been so overprotective. He subsequently veered towards the exit, glancing only briefly at Ecthelion before tucking his notes into his pack. “Shall we reconvene here on the morrow, then? Does seven bells suit you?”
“You mean to depart?” Ecthelion asked him, shocked by the alarm that sounded within, at how insistent his spirit was that the golden elf should remain.
Though Glorfindel was clearly startled by the urgency of his tone, he appeared the more guarded for it, a reaction that could only have one meaning: a vulnerability lurked within his friend. The situation that confronted them truly grew more bizarre by the minute.
“I considered a decent night’s rest a worthy pursuit,” Glorfindel replied. “After such an incredible day.” Thinking again on it, he added: “Would you that I remain?”
“Not if you are fatigued,” Ecthelion hesitantly answered, his own traitorous tongue itching to gainsay him. “Tis only that we have conversed of naught but our grim duty the day long. I thought perhaps we might simply… enjoy one another’s company.” Glorfindel’s face hardened imperceptibly at this, which was so discouraging to the darkling elf that he was compelled to elaborate further. “There was a time when were at ease with one another, when we thrived on our great friendship. Has that truly changed?”
The Lord of the Golden Flower shut his eyes, exhaled longly.
“Nay, it has not,” Glorfindel humbly responded. “Yet if you would have my honest answer, I am simply not in a temper to endure your continued indifference towards what has transpired between us and methinks it would be best if I sought a measure of solitude this eve. You have my oath that I will endeavor to forget the matter entirely and concentrate myself on our vital friendship. Tis only that the day’s events have left me raw-“
“Glorfindel, forgive me,” Ecthelion instantly pleaded, sick at having been so inconsiderate towards his fellow. “I had no notion that I had so wounded you.”
“As I have said, it will pass,” Glorfindel insisted, though he visibly struggled to reinvigorate his mood.
When the golden elf again made to depart, a lump lodged itself in the pit of Ecthelion’s stomach, a visceral amalgamation of anxiety, annoyance, and aching compassion for his longtime friend. He had been so preoccupied with blighting out any memory of the aftermath of their coupling, of wallowing in guilt over having so dishonored himself, that he had not considered Glorfindel’s sensibilities, which, while hardly on par with those of a dizzy maid, were not as stoic as the lord often let on. This was yet another occasion in which his friend had demonstrated his innate selflessness, to Ecthelion’s shame, since he could neither be so forthright nor so understanding. Yet he could not in good conscience abandon him when he was so bereft; not if he truly meant to nurture the friendship he claimed to hold dear.
“Ask of me what you would,” he declared, by means of summoning him back. “I have too long evaded resolution out of… confusion, I suppose. But no longer. My behavior towards you in this regard has been abysmal, and you are justified in seeking some form of… for want of a better term, resolution. Let us speak frankly of it, as we should have from the start.”
Wary eyes were foisted upon him, but the golden elf’s face was kindly lit, glowing with its usual blend of sympathy and respect. Still, he made no move to approach the desk. Ecthelion stepped out from behind it, courting a soothing proximity, which Glorfindel eventually cottoned to and fell in beside him, both leaning on the rounded front edge. There was little more than a ghost between them, the air suddenly possessed as if by a genuine presence, perhaps the specter of the Lord of the Golden Flower’s attraction bidding a final farewell.
“Very well,” Glorfindel assented, carefully considering his next statement, then choosing the bluntness for which he was known. “Tell me true, Ecthelion. Did you derive no pleasure at all from the act? It is a sticking point within me. That first morn, when we awoke, I confess I was unprepared for your revulsion. You were so willing when in your cups, but then… Not that I could claim to have been any more clear-headed. Still, I… I was intrigued by what had transpired. Moved, even.”
Suddenly, the darkling elf regretted most hotly ever venturing down this path, as it could lead only to disillusionment and hurt. Regardless, he was committed. Glorfindel would have his insights, no matter how deep they struck.
“Perhaps I would feel as you do if…” Ecthelion stammered, then fought to recover himself. “If I remembered any of our intimacy. Alas, I do not, though I believe myself the better for it. I cherish you too much to ravage what has ever been my most affecting relation. To love you romantically would almost be an insult to our affinity, to the filial love that burns in my chest whenever we are engaged in some common duty or leisure activity.”
“Only if you treat me as you have the other suitors that have so vainly hunted your elusive heart,” Glorfindel implored him, his regal face luminous with hope. “There is far more to loving than sacrifice and servitude, Ecthelion. If you would only open yourself to our potential…“
“*Potential*?!” the Lord of the Fountain exclaimed, blindsided by this development. “You mean to court me?”
“I would not stress the formality of the process,” Glorfindel explained, unable to suppress the smile that erupted across his lips. The darkling elf instantly recognized the freeing aspects of such an admission, and wondered how long his friend had felt thusly. “We have stumbled into what, in my right mind, I would have delayed considerably, but I pray that does not mean… I only ask for a chance.”
His look was so wretchedly earnest that Ecthelion could do naught but gape. He was so overwhelmed by the circumstances, by this monumental shift in worldview, that he could not quite adapt as quickly as he aimed to. He attempted to speak, but the result was utter doggerel, such that Glorfindel was soon chuckling fondly at him. This in itself was so frighteningly enticing that he was further paralyzed by the realization of his own prickly curiosity.
Then, the impossible happened – or perhaps merely the improbable, given the golden elf’s penchant for bold gestures. Glorfindel leaned slowly in, then pressed a kiss of sublime chastity to his lips. The briefest press, but one which conveyed a magnitude of emotion, leaving Ecthelion breathless even though he had not stolen so much as a gasp. Yet the aftershocks that jostled through him were viciously lovely, hinting at the primal rush that would result from a full-on, decadent embrace. Any protest he could have forwarded was instantly aborted, for his mind could conceive of naught more than acquiescing to his friend’s every desire, of giving himself to him wholeheartedly, to the benefit of all. Still, enough reservation slithered under the surface of this new resolve that he remained strictly silent, waiting to see what would come of this propitious overture in the days ahead.
“Think on me,” Glorfindel whispered, then quietly rose, that the enchantment they both felt might linger on long into the night.
* * *
“You rogue!” Idril exclaimed, then giggled conspiratorially, thrilled that her cousin’s infatuation might be seconded at last. “Only you, Glorfindel, could dance so gingerly on the precipice of disaster.”
“Twas no idle feat, I assure you, “ the golden warrior himself boasted, still intoxicated by the memory of Ecthelion’s kiss. Though his darkling friend had not been aware of the novelty of the experience for both of them, Glorfindel still regarded the gamble as a win, since there had been no mistaking the Lord of the Fountain’s reaction, nor his eagerness to reciprocate. “He could easily have slapped me, or brusquely shoved me aside, or worse!”
“But he did not,” Idril needlessly reminded him, if only to further rejoice in his contentment.
“Nay, he did not,” Glorfindel parroted, beaming all the while. “The virtues of patience have been proved, cousin fair.”
“You mean the worthiness of wiles,” she taunted him, with a fond smile of her own. “Though you have not quite conquered yet, my dear. There is the small matter of confessing to him that you have not actually beheld him bare, let alone ravished him limpid.”
“A trifle,” Glorfindel dismissed, however blatantly she disapproved. “There is no reason for him to suspect; thus he need never know.”
“You would found your relation on a lie?” she inquired, sobering some of her mirth.
Scenting trouble on the wind, the Lord of the Golden Flower sighed, then hastened to avoid the brewing onslaught of reproof.
“You approved of my deception well enough whilst I was concocting it,” he challenged.
“Because it was one so easy to forgive in the name of earnest and involving passion,” Idril insisted. “To not reveal yourself betrays what I perceived to be your original intent, to provoke Ecthelion into altering his view of romance and permanent attachments. A trace amount of dissimulation aptly served as the catalyst to change, but had I thought you meant to swindle him, I would never have encouraged you.”
Glorfindel grumbled good-naturedly at this, properly berated by the one who ever regulated his wilder impulses.
“Verily, that was never my intent,” he protested. “Tis only that I have been fretting over how to confess myself, and chance alienating him once we have finally grown so close.”
“Do you now doubt the righteousness of your actions?” she smartly asked.
“I cannot say,” Glorfindel admitted, feeling increasingly maudlin at the prospect of losing what he had so recently gained. “At the time, I thought it beneficial to Ecthelion that he be jostled out of his complacence, but now that it comes to conceding my invention of the ruse… I suppose that here is where I must trust in our friendship, that he knows me well enough to recognize that I meant him no harm. If I had simply declared myself, it *would* have ruined us. Else I would have been played with and discarded like all the rest.”
“You may still be,” Idril warned him, moved by this further evidence of his vulnerability. “However intrigued he currently is, he may still bolt if he feels threatened.”
“That is why I have trodden slowly,” Glorfindel affirmed, though altogether done with second-guessing and self-analysis. “Otherwise, I would have seized him in a blistering embrace and proceeded to pound him into his desk.”
Idril erupted into bellows of laughter as the golden warrior grinned proudly, though his trepidation over Ecthelion’s potential response to the previous night’s intimacy did little to settle his stomach. However celebratory his mood that morn, he knew his triumph was relegated to a battle, not the war. Besides, there was still his duty to attend to, as well as a serpent to shoo out of the weeds.
Just as he was about to steer the conversation towards such aims, a dull knock sounded on the chamber door. Then, to their mutual astonishment and Glorfindel’s delight, Ecthelion himself slid in once bidden, bowing courteously to the Princess but studiously evading his friend’s eyes, lest she catch a glimpse of the emotion he did not quite comprehend, let alone meant to disclose.
“Please forgive my advent, if it is untimely,” the darkling elf politely excused himself, then cautiously direct his ensuing comments towards Glorfindel. “I thought it best that we go about our inquiries together. Though conspicuous, it will serve us well in the long run, as we can devote more time to conjecture.”
“You do make such a handsome couple,” Idril could not keep herself from insinuating, which earned her a death glare from Glorfindel and a florid blush from Ecthelion.
As the Lord of the Golden Flower was fumbling for some decent way in which to scold her for her impertinence, he heard his beloved chuckle bashfully, then seat himself at his side on the cushy banquette.
“It appears I am regrettably transparent,” Ecthelion mused, then shot him a sympathetic glance. “Fear not, I know you are confidantes. Indeed, I do hope she counseled you well, for you have been so nimble thus far you are bound to blunder soon.”
The three of them exploded into laughter at this blunt estimation of Glorfindel’s wooing prowess, then settled into the matter at hand. The golden elf’s guilt, however, reared with alacrity, thus confronted by his beloved’s capacity for grace and compassion. Yet his valiant spirit urged him ever on, indefatigable in pursuit of the one he had so long adored.
“And so, to your questions, my brave ones,” Idril deferred, obviously concerned by the potential ramifications of the theft upon her father. “I can first and foremost affirm that Ada was wearing the brooch during the first course, as its sparkle reflected off his plate as it was being raised and thereby caught my eye. I can also inform you that twas I who noted its absence after our meal, while we were conversing with Aredhel. What more I can share with you, I cannot fathom, but feel free to mine my memories as you would.”
“How did the demeanor of the other lords strike you, cousin?” Glorfindel pointedly inquired. “You know them of old. Did anyone appear anxious or troubled?”
“Certainly, they spoke of some problems in their respective houses,” Idril replied. “But they are lords at table with their king. Salgant was his usual self, whiny and ostentatious, but that is the norm, just as Duilin was griping about his mate’s expenditures and Penlodh about the suitors that plague his pretty daughters. I have dined with each hundreds of times, such that I could recite their grievances by rote! Yet the most curious aspect of all of this to me is that these are Ada’s oldest friends! Their behavior is never remotely suspect, though perhaps that is to the villain’s advantage. If I had not had my eye on Eol for most of the night, as truly he is a detestable individual, I would have sworn away my firstborn before I spoke against anyone else among our party.”
“Which introduces a subject that you may find controversial,” Ecthelion gently forwarded. “Tis, however, impossible to conduct a fair investigation without voicing it. Do you believe your aunt to be wholly innocent in this, given how put upon she is in her bond?”
Idril considered this for some time, not a whit offended by the query. Rather, a drama of emotion played across the exquisite canvass of her features, each act dominated by an unmistakable theme: sorrow, frustration, sympathy, regret.
“I can only say that the fear that possessed her upon learning of the scepter’s mislaying was acutely real,” the Princess quietly responded. “Whether it was fear of discovery, fear of disgrace, or fear of reprisal from either her husband or my father, I cannot judge. What I can assert is that I could not in my wildest dreams imagine that she could do such a thing to Maeglin. Though she is not the most adept of mothers, she is fiercely protective of the child, and would do anything to ensure his safety. Aredhel is smart and she is shrewd; moreover, she can effortlessly manipulate my father. She would not chance it, not with Maeglin to defend.”
“Agreed,” Glorfindel acknowledged, before venturing an even more scandalous proposition. “Yet fear is a powerful motivator, especially coupled with a touch of necromancy. So many have remarked that Aredhel is almost impossibly docile since her return. When I visited her yesterday, she displayed nary a trace of her usual feistiness, not a hint of restlessness, though she is all but subjugated by her spouse. This is perhaps a fanciful theory, but do you think it possible that she is under some dark influence? That she is innocent of the crime in that she was compelled by supernatural forces, by the black will of one who claims her very soul?”
The three of them shivered nervously at this, since Eol reluctantly remained in the kingdom and was the likeliest suspect in a plot of overthrow.
“That is a bold accusation,” Ecthelion warned him. “Though not an unreasonable one.”
“Alas, it is beyond the scope of my knowledge,” Idril dismally insisted, herself terrified that this incident had awakened some evil lurking among the nobility. A serpent in the grass, indeed. “I can only caution you both to tread carefully. If my law-brother is so heartless, there is no telling what further treason he may commit, to the ruin of all.”
Duly chastened, Glorfindel thanked Idril for her time, then rejoined with Ecthelion in the corridor. Both strode somberly forth, no thought of flirtation captivating their minds when confronted by such bleak possibilities. At first, they had believed the major threat was to the villain himself, not to the populace at large, no matter Turgon’s talk of mutiny. Yet if the Dark Lord had already infiltrated their refuge, there was no predicting the damage that might ensue; rumor of it alone could disrupt the peace and lead to an epidemic of executions. Mindful of Idril’s advice about his courtship of Ecthelion, but relating it to their mysterious assignment, he turned abruptly towards his friend once they alighted on the palace steps.
“Gwador, I…” he briskly began, then paused to consider how best to phrase his following statements. “As exhilarating as it would be to accompany you this afternoon, our lately conversation has rattled me such that I feel I must chase this theory to its logical end. I would surprise Aredhel with a visit, and report back to you this eve with my findings.”
Though Ecthelion’s ardor deflated somewhat at this proposal, the warrior in him was lucid enough to recognize the golden elf’s righteousness in this, thus he nodded his assent.
“Due justice urges me to counsel caution,” the Lord of the Fountain wryly answered. “Remember that you are meant to gather insights and clues, not attack, even if you find incriminating evidence. You are a captain, Glorfindel, not a mystic. No matter your brawn, you cannot defeat a black elf.”
“Do not fret,” he precociously dismissed. “I would not add fuel to the fire by igniting the family war that is sure to come. Though your care does impress me, Ecthelion, whether judiciously or emotionally motivated.”
“That is a taunt best reserved for twilight’s descent,” the darkling elf enigmatically insinuated, then laid a hand over his companion’s heart. “When under cover of night, we can forget ourselves awhile, that we might learn… far more. Be well, gwador. I’ll await you at *my* table.”
With that, Ecthelion spirited away, leaving Glorfindel amazed at his own turn of good fortune, however ominous the gathering storm.
End of Part Two
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Date: 2008-03-12 06:01 pm (UTC)In any case, I marvel at Glorfindel's patience, and at the intensity with which Ecthelion remains willfully obtuse to his own feelings!
“Think on me,” *PERFECT!*
Ah, the plot thickens... and at last Ecthelion gets a clue! :D