Summary: none given.
Author's Note:Author�s note to my recipient and other readers � I hope that I have fulfilled your hopes, and I hope the ending of the story does not detract from the angst � but I just couldn�t end a Yuletide story on a negative note. I also wish to thank Alex Cat, who beta�d this story at short notice.
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Gondolin, First Age�
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The edhel stood silently in the
shadows beside the window ledge, his keen eyes watching the bustling
street below the King's Tower. As yet he was not used to the throngs
of elves that inhabited the Hidden City; the constant chatter and incessant
vitality within its walls was still hard to embrace for one used to
the dark depths and quiet paths of the forests of Nan Emloth. Even his
frequent journeys with his father to the mines of the Naugrim had failed
to prepare him for this, his reunion with his Eldar kin in a land of
sunshine and elven elegance.�
Noldor.�
Noldor all. �
Most hated by his Teleri father,
despised for their unwanted intrusion into Beleriand and the lands of
the Moriquendi. That E�l had taken a Noldor to wife was something L�mion
had never understood, save that his mother was counted as one of the
beauties of her people. Aredhel, the White Lady, sister of Turgon who
was king of Gondolin, was returned to her people. �
L�mion sighed, his mind whirling
with all the events of the past few days. Mother and son, they had finally
made their escape from E�l�s oppression and their dark life in their
forest home. The many tales his dam had woven in his childhood had filled
him with a yearning to be one with his kindred, especially the uncle
of who she spoke so highly, and so he had persuaded Aredhel to flee
with him when next his father made one of his solitary journeys to the
Dwarves. Long and arduous had been their journey yet, when his mother
had fallen into her sibling's arms and wept with joy, L�mion knew that
it had been worth every step on the winding paths. Turgon had welcomed
his sister home and had embraced his sister's son in a kinsman's embrace,
heaping upon them both high honours and ranking within his court.�
So why now, having accomplished all that they had set out to do, did he feel so
- cold? Why did he constantly look to the rim of mountain peaks that protected
Gondolin, and experience that shiver
of fear at each glance? He knew why. E�l would be searching for them,
his black anger inflamed at their daring to flee his insistent hold.
His perverse pride in his captive wife Aredhel and his errant son Maeglin
would not allow E�l to let them be. The metal smith, with heart and
fists of iron, would never let them go. It was no wonder that he, L�mion,
who had long desired to live freely in Middle Earth no longer sought
to stand bathing in the warmth of the sun but instead secreted himself
away from Anor's revealing rays.�
He heard the light tap upon the
heavy wood of his chamber door, the click of the latch and then the
firm treads across the stonework floor. He smiled slightly, knowing
to whom that warrior's tread belonged. Turning towards the door, L�mion
suppressed his heavy musings and grinned his welcome to the erstwhile
intruder. L�mion did not shy from *this* personification of the sun.� �
"Suilad, Glorfindel."�
The golden-haired lord did not
respond in words. Instead he swiftly pulled the darkling elf into his
arms and laid his greeting upon the red lips in a fervent kiss that
drew the breath from his young lover. L�mion melted against that strong
frame, accepting the kiss and responding with eagerness. Even as he
surrendered to the enthusiasm of his melethron, L�mion marveled at
the speed at which their relationship had flourished...�
....�
From the hour that L�mion and
his mother had first entered the Hall of the King he had felt the edhel's
sapphire eyes upon him. His senses had recognized that a heated gaze
was traversing his slender body, a gaze that even now made him flush
in warm arousal as he looked back at that moment, and he had known that
he was hunted. The curious, the astonished, the doubtful; their roaming
eyes were nothing to the intensity of this steadfast perusal. L�mion
had surreptitiously sought out his admirer in the crowd of attending
nobles, fully expecting his scrutiny to reveal some elf-maid who thought
to catch his attention. Instead he had been shocked to behold the beauteous
and imposing Vanya who stood at the shoulder of his king. Even as Turgon
spoke, the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower kept his steady gaze
upon the dark elf, almost as if the ellon feared that its removal would
cause the object of his desire to fade as easily as the morning mist.�
L�mion had tried to distract himself
from the potency of that avid stare by focusing upon a second blonde,
his cousin Idril Celebrindal. Standing beside her father she was beautiful
beyond measure and, had the taboo of close blood not been between them,
L�mion could easily have wooed and loved the princess who looked at
him with such empathy in her eyes. He truly mourned that insurmountable
restriction for instead, the young edhel had felt the flush of heated
blood rise to his cheeks from the close and obvious attention of the
other Vanya.�
The king had listened with wonder
to the story of his sister's travails and travels and had bestowed upon
L�mion (who had named himself with both his mother- and father-name)
the title of Prince of the Noldor.�
"I rejoice indeed that Ar-Feiniel
has returned to Gondolin," Turgon had said, "and now more
fair again shall my city seem than in the days when I deemed her lost.
And Maeglin shall have the highest honour in my realm."�
Within moments of the audience
drawing to a close Glorfindel had moved quickly to Aredhel's side, renewing
his friendship with the King's sister - and laying siege to her son's
affections, with beguiling smiles, innocuous touches and witty words. �
Within hours the inhabitants of Gondolin found themselves indulging in delicious gossip, reveling in the swift downfall of one of the city's most eligible lords.
Idly had Glorfindel of the Golden
Flower participated in the complex liaisons of the nobles of the Hidden
City, for he had evaded the numerous entrapments of ambitious mothers
of young maidens and had sampled lightly of those older unwed elves
of both sexes, embracing fully of the dual natures of the Firstborn.
Now he was constantly seen at the side of the King's nephew, his hand
protectively placed upon the small of his back, his eyes sparkling in
admiration, his lips murmuring sweetly against the pointed curves of
his new consort's� ear.�
Within hours they were friends
within days, they were courting - within a week, they were lovers.�
....�
�
"Meleth n�n," the deep
voice rumbled against the exposed skin of his slender neck where Glorfindel
was indulging in tasting the sweetness of tender flesh. "Where
does your mind wander? Should I be jealous of some presumptuous ellon
that your attention is awry? Or does some flirtatious maid draw your
mind to softer and, dare I say, soggier depths? Have you wearied already
of my devotion?"�
L�mion laughed as he was pressed
further into the soft sheets of the ornate bed, recognizing the sharp
humour in his lover's grumbling. Glorfindel believed, and therefore
L�mion must believe, that there were none who could match him as a
lover or a mate. However he was not as certain as to his own worth as
a bedmate, having been a virgin but a few days before.� Pulling
the blond head away from the nipple that it was worshipping, he ignored
the snorting protest and looked into Glorfindel's glorious eyes.�
"I wonder only at the speed
and strength of your attachment to me, seron vell - and why you chose
me above so many more... attractive... admirers."�
L�mion spoke in earnest, a nervous
trembling in his voice. Since their arrival in Gondolin he had been
overwhelmed by the colour and spectacle of Turgon's court and its denizens
and - with his white skin, midnight hair, sharp features and rustic
manners - he felt himself to be anomalous in this society of careless
elegance. He had quickly recognized from the confused and envious reactions
of those same elves that he was not seen as a suitable match for his
mighty lord, and this inadequacy preyed upon his mind. Now he studied
Glorfindel's face, somewhat fearful that he was only a momentary diversion
for the ellon. When he saw the frown that etched itself upon his lover's
brow, his heart sank.�
"Who has been filling your
mind with doubt, meleth n�n?" Glorfindel asked, his voice pregnant
with annoyance. "Tell me, and I will convince them of the depths
of my feelings for you." The intimidating glower softened and the
golden lord gently placed his large palm upon L�mion's cheek, and the
dark elf saw only truth in his eyes. His words were soothing to the
tremulous ellon.�
�
"L�mion, you called to me
from the moment that you walked into that chamber - only one other person
has affected me as you have done.� You stood before us all, wary
and protective of your mother but with an assured air that spoke of
your heritage as a scion of the house of Fingolfin. In you I saw an
unworldliness that my contemporaries lost centuries ago during the hardships
we had to face, an innocence that I long ago forgot. I saw a heart yearning
to love, a vessel to be filled - and I would do that. I want that. I
saw a sharpness of wit and a sharpness of eye - a keen glance that takes
in much and understands the hearts of all. In you I see someone to whom
I can open my soul. I would be your teacher, your mentor, your guide
in this world. I would be your lover, your partner, your bereth. I would
be yours."�
L�mion's breast swelled with joy
at Glorfindel's declaration, and he was overwhelmed by the honesty of
his lover and his generous heart. He lightly kissed those full lips.�
"You said that I have a keen
eye, a 'sharp glance'. That is the name that my father chose for me,
he named me 'Maeglin' in my twelfth year. L�mion is my essi
terceny� - my mothername."�
"What did he call you before
that? L�mion?"�
The dark elf shook his head, his
bleak face falling into shadow. Glorfindel ached to ease whatever hurt
his young lover was recalling.�
"No, he had no name for me
before then - I was of no use to him being but my mother's indulgence,
her 'pet'. Although it was his right, E�l eschewed the Essecarm�.
Only when I was of age to assist him in the forge, at the age of twelve,
did I become more than a useless mouth to be fed and was named by him
'Maeglin'." L�mion shifted uncomfortably at the hurtful memories
but Glorfindel held him still, calming him with gentle hands.�
"I thought to offer my skills
as an armourer and miner to my uncle, in exchange for accepting us as
refugees," L�mion continued in a subdued tone. �
Wincing at the uncertainty in his
voice Glorfindel kissed the dark elf's forehead, trailing his mouth
over the soft skin of temple and cheek in an effort to distract L�mion
from his dour musings.�
"You and Aredhel are not refugees
but family, my sweet love; Turgon loves you both and no bartering of
skills is required," he murmured as he continued his exploration
of the muscular flesh. He was satisfied with the gasping response as
his lover began to writhe under the arousing stimulation of the dimple
of his navel, now glistening with the moisture from a laving tongue.
"But indeed, do continue with your activities and endeavors if
it helps you maintain this most beautiful physique." �
He lifted his head from the trail
of fine hair that wove a path from firm stomach to thickening shaft.
Smirking unseen at the now-closed eyes, parted lips and clenching fists
that threatened to rip at the twisted sheets, the golden lord knew that
his diverting stratagem had succeeded.�
"Aye, do continue with digging
and delving for your jewels and ores, my little mole, and so will I
- but it is I who will reach the greater depths and its priceless treasure."�
With that happy thought Glorfindel
swooped onto L�mion's weeping erection, tasting of its bittersweet
juices and inhaling the enticing aroma of musky pheromones. L�mion
arched, a strangled cry emanating from a tightened throat as Glorfindel
sucked upon the pulsing length, setting a pace that allowed no room
for thought or feeling beyond acknowledging the mastery of the Vanya
in the act of love.�
L�mion again cried out softly,
reveling in the moist heat that surrounded him. Involuntarily his hips
started to move against the restraining hands that steadied his hips
for he wanted - nay, *needed* - to thrust into Glorfindel's mouth, to
escalate the building pressure of sexual stimulation.�
Sensing that his lover could not
bear a prolonged encounter Glorfindel reached blindly for the phial
of oil that lived on the bedside table, grasping it finally and releasing
the stopper with practiced ease. With oiled fingers he probed the concealing
crack between two firm buttocks, seeking and finding that puckered hole.
Circling and pressing gently, he sought access and was rewarded when
L�mion parted his thighs eagerly, lifting his long legs to rest his
calves upon the broad shoulders. As his digits gained entrance to oil
and widen the portal, so did Glorfindel ease his oral ministrations
upon the elf's penis, grasping the thick rod at the base with his free
hand so as to delay L�mion's imminent orgasm. �
"Hush, my love," Glorfindel
soothed L�mion's mewling protests. "I want you, I want be in you,
I want to find completion by being in you - by filling you and taking
us to our final sensual eruption. I want to make you mine as I am yours,
my Twilight Child."�
The panting ellon nodded, his throat
muscles working hard to prevent a primal scream from escaping his heaving
chest. Less than a week ago L�mion had been a stranger to the intricacies
of male sex; now he fortified himself in anticipation of the burning,
stretching entry of Glorfindel's large rod into his pulsing hole. He
winced as Glorfindel inched forward carefully and though his eyes were
closed, screwed up in reaction to the sharp pain the formidable girth
engendered, he knew that sapphire orbs would be anxiously watching him,
waiting for the moment when the burn had eased enough for Glorfindel
to recommence his smooth strokes.�
L�mion sighed in acquiescence
as the sharp pain ebbed to a welcome throb, and the satisfying fullness
in his channel spurred him to raise his pelvis so as to accept his lover
fully into his depths. Full lips that had been softly caressing the
sweep of his neck now curved in recognition of L�mion's heightened
desire. With a gentle forward movement of his hips, Glorfindel began
the ageless dance.�
The thrusts were small at first but accurate in their trajectory and on each one the head of Glorfindel's shaft traversed across the sweet gland. In his folded state L�mion could scarce breath and he fought to inhale and exhale, his lungs aching as the intense pleasure from the stimulation darted throughout his body.
He trembled fiercely, his over-stimulated
nerves screaming as he sought a release still denied by his lover, who
now varied the depth and speed of his strokes in sure knowledge that
his skill would bring them to a greater and more powerful climax. �
"Please..please..!" L�mion
begged beneath him, his spine twisting in an attempt to urge his lover
on. Glorfindel could resist no longer and, freed from all control, he
unleashed the passion within him in a final few darting thrusts. Heat
and ecstasy flared through his powerful frame, igniting the same fire
in L�mion and releasing his copious seed into his darling's clenching
channel.�
With a gasping breath Glorfindel
fell forward and to the side, taking care not to crush the slighter
elf beneath him. L�mion let his limbs fall in exhaustion and rolled
toward the golden ellon, accepting the protection of sinewed arms that
captured him in firm embrace. The dark elf pressed thankful kisses upon
the sweat-sheened torso, and luxuriated in post-coital bliss.�
"Meleth n�n, h�r n�n,"
he whispered in happy repletion. �
Glorfindel drew his lover closer,
tucking his head under his chin and gently kissed the midnight tresses.
As L�mion drifted into Irmo's gift of reverie, Glorfindel forever blessed
the choices and the fate that had brought his Twilight Child to Gondolin.�
�
****�
�
Dust motes swam in the shimmering
sunshine that filtered through the protective gauze that covered those
windows of Turgon's library, and this adjacent private study. L�mion
blinked as he brought his gaze to focus upon them, easing his eyes after
his intense research of the day. Strewn on the polished oak desk before
him were maps and charts of the mountains called the Echoriath that
circled the Plain of Tumladen - inadequate charts, as far as he was
concerned. Already he was planning excursions to the most promising
sites in order to survey them properly. Thanks to his father's diligence
in his education he was a master miner and a master armourer - despite
Glorfindel's reassurances, L�mion was determined to be of use to his
uncle and king. By introducing the techniques perfected in E�l's forge,
he could reproduce his father's greatest achievement, the black metal
�galvorn�, and gift the resulting weapons to Turgon's warriors.
And Glorfindel.�
A soft smile played across his
lips. Shifting the papers slightly he found the sketch he had started
earlier, an exquisite design that melded delicate form with strength
and function, a mighty broadsword that would be a gift for his lover.
L�mion stroked his fingers softly across the parchment, hardly daring
to acknowledge his hidden longing - that this magnificent foil would
make a perfect betrothal gift for the elf that he loved...�
Lightly do the Firstborn tread,
their feet scarce making a sound even to acute elven ears and so the
dark elf was startled when without warning the study door was flung
ajar and his anxious mother dashed in. He rose in haste, hurrying to
take her shaking form into his arms.�
"Naneth...?"�
Dread eyes held his in frightened
gaze. �
"He is here."�
The words were stark but the meaning
was clear. E�l had somehow tracked them, though they both would have
sworn that they left not discernable traces of their flight. L�mion
hissed in suppressed anger, anger that was but a fraction of the cold
tyranny his mother had had to bear as the wife of the bitter Teleri.
Feeling Aredhel tremble in his arms his grip tightened, an unconscious
reflex to her fear.�
"I do not wish to go back
with him, Naneth. I will *not* go back."�
Aredhel lifted her head, shaking
it slightly.�
"Whatever he demands we cannot
leave, ion n�n, for it is one of your uncle's strictest edicts - whosoever
enters this valley must remain here lest the secrecy of our location
be compromised. Only the most trusted of his lords are utilized as couriers
to our elven kin in the outside world. Now he is here, E�l must remain."�
L�mion blanched, his white complexion
turning even paler at the prospect of daily interaction with a father
who despised him yet coveted him as a symbol of his prowess, as his
possession. L�mion released Aredhel, turning from her to stride over
to the gauze-covered window and stared out over the bustling city to
the flat plains and snow-capped peaks beyond. To his father, this beautiful
vista would be as the darkest, harshest prison if it meant millennia
in a city of the Noldor. For him it meant love, kinship, freedom. It
was for freedom of thought, of deed and of reunion with his estranged
kin that he had fled Nan Emloth, away from his father's overbearing
influence. He had conspired with his mother to free her from a marriage
not sought and, though accepted in the absence of an alternative, not
happy. He had come to Gondolin seeking solace for Aredhel - and had
found love for himself, a love that E�l would never accept. Now he
ached for Glorfindel's arms, his embrace, his comfort, and love. Pushing
away that which he could not at present have, he turned once more to
his mother who stood awaiting him, a deceptively calm mask now upon
her visage in denial of her own fears.�
"If he accepts the King's
edict and stays, will you still be his wife?"�
The softly-spoken question cracked
the fragile mask. With wide doe-like eyes Aredhel tried to frame a response,
her mouth working silently to answer this vital query. Finally her eyes
dropped in submission.�
"I must. Although I have often
regretted my actions, I agreed to the marriage in awe of E�l's strength
of will." She lifted her head and smiled wryly at her son. "He
is handsome in his rugged way and, at the time, I was in rebellion of
the restrictions of life in the King's Tower and the conventions of
Gondolin society. It is a true marriage and I cannot lay it aside if
he requires me to honour our - commitment."�
"Yet you left him."�
The White Lady nodded, pleading
for understanding in that simple gesture.�
"It was a true marriage -
but not a true love. That comes only rarely and it is only the foolish
and the arrogant that refuse it when it is offered."�
"Mine is a true love." �
He had not meant to say it like
so baldly, to speak of the treasured bond between him and his golden
lord with such abruptness, but even as he blurted forth his feelings
L�mion realized that it was not news to his mother. He froze as she
advanced upon him, unsure of her position in this matter but she simply
lifted her hand to caress her son's cheek in a loving and accepting
gesture. Her sorrow was palpable as she gazed into his eyes.�
"In Glorfindel you could have
found no worthier mate - the Golden Lord does not offer his love lightly.
He was my childhood friend; we traversed the frozen wastes of the Helcarax�
together. He has faced many trials and his heart has been assailed more
than once. Yet still he yearns for that which he was denied in the past
and he deserves the happiness he seeks. If he has found it in you, pen
neth, and you in him then I give my blessing to you both. However, you
know that this match will not find favour with your father?" �
L�mion knew that she was right
- but in his eyes E�l no longer had the right to control his life. �
"I shall not speak to my father
about this or any other matter. It is said that I have the gift of persuasion
in my voice, but E�l is immune to any argument I may lay before him.
I shall be silent lest he seeks to defeat me in debate. Let him make
of my silence what he will." Still, a bleak look passed across
his face as he remembered the few true moments of companionship he had
experienced with his father during their time as master and apprentice,
and he knew that beneath the front of icy coldness there lay a small
child who longed for the love and approbation of a father.�
Aredhel nodded, understanding the
son's reluctance to enter into open and ugly defiance of the father.
Sighing in resignation, she now requested her beloved L�mion to escort
her to the King's hall.�
"I spoke to the guard who
accosted E�l and bid him bring your father hither. They await our presence."�
"Glorfindel...?"�
"He is returned from his patrol
and has taken his place with his fellow lords of Gondolin."�
L�mion inhaled, using the breath
to fortify himself for the confrontation ahead; then he took his mother's
arm and escorted her to the King's hall.�
�
****�
�
The hall of Turgon, King of the
Hidden City, was an imposing edifice that was imbued with light and
beauty, and the potency of power. Many edhil, if called to stand before
the Elven host of Gondolin and its resplendent Lord, might feel somewhat
diminished under its great rafters and echoing vaulted ceiling.�
E�l was not in the least intimidated.�
Indeed he stood there in an enveloping
traveling cloak flanked by his guards, his disdain evident in both his
aggressive stance and the twisted bitterness upon his face. �
Turgon glanced briefly at his sister
and her son, and inwardly berated his wayward sibling for her impetuous
nature that had led her out of his city years before and had ended in
the coils of this ellon. Silently she stood, outwardly composed yet
Turgon knew that, whatever regret he might feel on her behalf, Aredhel's
regrets were multiplied by her concern for her son. As to that son,
L�mion had not spoken since his arrival to the hall; a stance that
his sister had advised him was a strategic one. Nay, not L�mion but
Maeglin: after discussion they had deemed it wise to call him by his
father-name in this audience, the better to deal with the said father.
Now, seated majestically upon his throne, Turgon greeted his erstwhile
brother-in-law with as much civility and pleasure as he could muster.�
"Welcome, kinsman, for so
I hold you. Here you shall dwell at your pleasure, save only that you
must here abide and depart not from my kingdom; for it is my law that
none who finds the way hither shall depart."�
From the disagreeable and sneering
frown the Dark Elf gave him, it was clear that this law was not acceptable
to E�l. The metal smith was swift in rebutting Turgon's hand of kinship.�
"I acknowledge not your law,"
the growling voice rumbled. "No right have you or any of your kin
in this land to seize realms or to set bounds, either here or there.
This is the land of the Teleri, to which you bring war and all unquiet,
dealing ever proudly and unjustly. I care nothing for your secrets and
I come not to spy upon you, but to claim my own: my wife and my son.
Yet if in Aredhel your sister you have some claim, then let her remain;
let the bird go back to the cage, where soon she will sicken again,
as she sickened before. But not so Maeglin. My son you shall not withhold
from me. Come, Maeglin son of E�l! Your father commands you. Leave
the house of his enemies and the slayers of his kin, or be accursed!"�
Outraged cries rang out in the
King's hall as the court of Gondolin took umbrage at the arrogance of
the Teleri elf, but in all the tumult the king heard but two distinct
voices - a distressed cry from the princess, and an urgent shout of
'No! Thou shalt not have him. He is mine!' came from Glorfindel of the
Golden Flower. From L�mion there was nothing. Turgon, although displeased
at E�l's bold and violent tirade, first looked at his nephew before
responding. L�mion held fast to his silence, his face solid granite
that masked any emotional reaction that he may have been had to the
curse laid upon him by his father. Holding his hand up for silence,
Turgon turned back to his reluctant guest.�
"I will not debate with you,
Dark Elf. By the swords of the Noldor alone are your sunless woods defended.
Your freedom to wander there wild you owe to my kin; and but for them
long since you would have laboured in thraldom in the pits of Angband.
And here I am King; and whether you will it or will it not, my doom
is law. This choice is given to you: to abide here, or to die here;
and also for your son."�
E�l's face darkened as the heated blood rushed through his inflamed veins lit with his ire. Turgon saw the smith's hand clench under his cloak as if he groped for the sword that had thankfully been taken from him on his arrival at the valley gates. Although Turgon knew that L�mion had chosen to remain (he had already sworn an oath of allegiance, and the king was not blind to the attraction between his nephew and his formidable golden lord), he was uncertain as to E�l's choice as well as being uncertain as to whether he could abide the
edhel living in his city, so apparent was the vile disdain that E�l held for the
Gondolindrim. Turgon watched in
disgust as the smith obviously sought to contest his ruling. A sideways
glance at L�mion showed that E�l's son still refused to react to his
father's anger.�
The king's musings lasted but seconds,
for E�l was unrepentant and the Dark Elf acted quickly.� �
"The second choice I take
and for my son also! You shall not hold what is mine!"�
E�l the smith not only knew how
to forge weapons, he knew how to wield them too. With a speed borne
of centuries of practice he threw back his long shielding cape to reveal
an evil-looking javelin and, with a mighty thrust, he aimed and flung
it at the dais, directly at his son's heart.�
The velocity of a thrown spear
is swift indeed, almost too swift for even elven reflexes, but there
were at least two who reacted instinctively to intercept the javelin
before it reached the target. L�mion was not one of them - the young
elf did not move, though later witnesses would debate whether it was
from misplaced bravado or frozen shock. Glorfindel however had leapt
from the ranks of his fellow lords but all agreed that despite his valour
(and his accompanying agonized cry) he was at too great a distance to
have reached the king's nephew in time.�
Another *was* within reach and
sadly, she succeeded.�
"Naneth!"�
�
****�
The princess's chamber was a quiet
bustle of activity as healer's strove to soothe the fevered and delirious
elleth. They had acted quickly to clean and dress the wound in the aftermath
of the assault in the King's hall, and Aredhel had seemed to recover
quickly although the spear tip had caused her great pain during its
removal. Silent tears had coursed down L�mion's face as he had kneeled
and cradled her in his arms upon the marble floor, whilst Turgon's chief
physician had attended the wounded elleth. Aredhel had not remained
silent though, and had pleaded urgently with her brother not to act
rashly against her estranged husband.�
"Let not your actions be dictated
by him, my lord! He tried to commit the very crime of which he accused
you by attempting to slay the closest of his kin, his son: do not commit
the same crime whilst possessed of great anger. See, my beloved brother
- he did not succeed! L�mion took no hurt and I received the merest
scratch."�
Her niece Idril had echoed her
aunt's sentiments and in turn had sought to stay her father's hand.�
"Peace!" he had cried
in the end. "I will do ask you ask." He turned to E�l, who
was now bound and held firm by Ecthelion and Galdor. A rag had been
strapped firmly in his mouth, for the dark elf had continued to spew
his hate-filled vitriol even as he had struggled against his bonds.
"Take this miscreant and secure him in a stoutly-barred room and
guard him well. My lords," he turned to his nobles about him, "I
would take counsel from you in the matter of retribution against E�l
of Nan Emloth - for although none here can fail to be affected by the
events of the afternoon, more so will our realm be diminished if we
allow this atrocity to go unpunished."�
And reluctantly Glorfindel had
taken leave of his stricken lover, entrusting him to the gentle care
of his cousin. Together L�mion and Idril had taken the wounded Aredhel
to her chambers, where she had insisted that she needed no vigil to
be held for her.�
"Although my wound aches,
so will a warm poultice sooth it. I am weary and will sleep."�
Yet in the outer room L�mion and
Idril remained; L�mion was still shaken from the evil encounter with
his sire and its consequences; Idril, of kind heart and sympathetic
nature, talked softly with her cousin until late, drawing him out and
L�mion was grateful to his beautiful kinswoman. They were not disturbed
until a healer sought entrance, so as to check Aredhel's wound and the
efficacy of the poultice. All were horrified upon entering the bedchamber
to find Aredhel in a relentless and distressing fever. �
Now, hours later, the fever refused
to break despite the best efforts of the physicians and only lately
had the theory of a poisoned dart been mooted. During all their ministrations
L�mion had sat at his mother's side holding her hand, weeping in grief. �
Idril was called from her aunt's
side where she had been attempting to cool the princess with cold cloths
applied to her burning skin by a scratching at the outer door. She returned
within minutes with a message for L�mion.�
"Cousin," she said, touching
him lightly upon the shoulder to gain his attention. "Glorfindel
is without and wishes to speak with you."�
L�mion looked up at Idril, his
eyes shadowed with concern, then glanced longingly at the outer door.
He shook his head.�
"My mother ails. I cannot
leave her."�
"I will stay with her, L�mion,
and will fetch you if her condition should change," Idril assured
him. "Glorfindel worries about you, and needs to be sure that you
took no hurt."�
The dark-haired elf *did* long
to see his melethron too and so finally yielded his place at his mother's
side, slipping out of the room to where Glorfindel waited in the torch-lit
corridor. The Golden Lord opened his arms and gathered his young lover
close, offering comfort and love.�
"How fares Aredhel?"
he asked, his voice trembling with concern. L�mion shook his head sorrowfully.�
"Not well - they believe now
that the javelin tip was poisoned by my father." His voice cracked
as the full import of the existence of poison flooded his body, and
the dark eyes he raised to meet Glorfindel's were brimming with shining,
unshed tears.�
"He hates me, Glorfindel!
My father sought my death rather than allow me to live in harmony with
my Noldor kin! Why - how could he -?"�
Horror and sorrow filled him and his swollen throat blocked further speech.
Safe in the strong arms of his
lord, still he could draw no comfort from him even as Glorfindel pressed
small kisses upon hair and face, murmuring sweet and soothing words.
L�mion took a resolution at that moment. Pulling back, he lifted his
head to look at his lover.�
"I must speak with him, Glorfindel.
I must confront him and discover why he promulgated such a dreadful
fate upon me, one that my mother took upon herself even to the sacrifice
of her life."�
Glorfindel looked doubtful and
L�mion knew that the golden lord was loath to allow his lover to face
the warped creature who was his father; he knew not what other vile
arguments and curses E�l might heap upon the young elf. �
"He is guarded, meleth,"
Glorfindel explained gently. "Turgon honours your mother's wishes
and so is holding E�l securely but without harm. I am not sure that
whoever of my fellow lords is guarding at present would allow you an
interview with him."�
L�mion looked at him carefully.
"You are one of the King's most trusted advisors - do you not take
your turn at this duty? Mayhap I could see him on your watch."�
Glorfindel shook his head, running
his hands softly down L�mion's arms, trying to reassure him.�
"Turgon honours your mother's
wishes," he repeated. L�mion looked blankly at him.�
"So?"�
Glorfindel gazed into his eyes
and even in his grief L�mion wondered how anyone could resist those
glorious orbs. Glorfindel smiled wryly.�
"Turgon knows that I would
kill E�l for what he has done to you and your mother; the King has
commanded that I do not approach him." His gaze was soft, pleading
as he stroked his large hand over L�mion's cheek. "It would not
be wise for you to confront him this night, meleth. He is bitter, twisted
- he will not repent of his evil deed. Leave him for tonight at least."
The warrior looked over the dark elf's shoulder at the closed door behind
him. L�mion lifted his own hand in a reciprocal gesture, drawing his
lover's attention away from Aredhel's chamber back to him. He drew a
steadying breath for he knew that in speaking of his fears he was making
them more real.�
"It must be tonight, Glorfindel.
I have given to the healers all the knowledge I have of the poisons
my father would use but Naneth is not responding to any of the remedies.
I fear that she will not see the dawn. In that case I will be an orphan,
for Turgon will not suffer his sister's murderer to live."�
The stark reality of that statement
caused Glorfindel to shudder and L�mion saw a bleak anguish fill his
lover's sapphire eyes: his heart burned that the golden lord should
hurt so much for his sake. Glorfindel gathered L�mion to him, curling
him into his arms and he pressed a comforting kiss against his forehead. �
"Then I will accompany you."�
L�mion shook his head.�
"I must see him alone. Besides,
you are still under interdict - you may not attend him." He pressed
his fingers against those full lips to stall the swift protest there.
"If you would ease my heart, take up my vigil at my mother's side.
You are her childhood friend and she loves you, as my melethron - I
know she will be easier if you are there in my stead."�
Although he still looked worried,
Glorfindel acquiesced.�
"Take care, seron vell. Hateful
words has he spoken already - I wouldn't not have you hurt more this
night."�
With a final sweet kiss the two
lovers parted, one to sit beside the bed of a dying elleth; the other
went to face her murderer.�
�
****�
�
There were no dungeons in Gondolin
- there was no need, for the elves of the Hidden City bore great love
for their king and his firm yet benevolent rule. Still, they had found
a dark and dreary room in which to imprison E�l of Nan Emloth, a room
lit only by the pale midsummer moon that shone in through a high slit
window. Yet further illumination was not required - the acuity of elven
sight negated the need for torches or candles, either of which could
have become a weapon in the hands of a desperate prisoner.�� �
L�mion had not found it difficult
to gain entry to his father. The young elf had a persuasion in his voice
that few could deny and Egalmoth had felt deep sympathy for the son
who had to face such a cruel and violent sire, bound though the Dark
Elf was. Still the Gondolin lord advised Turgon's nephew to have care.
L�mion thanked him quietly then requested privacy for his interview,
"... for this is a painful and sorrowful night for us all, yet
more so for me."�
Egalmoth nodded then retreated,
having first removed the gag from E�l's mouth. L�mion stood facing
the bound elf who sat across a dividing table, suddenly unsure how to
address the edhel who would have taken his life. E�l had no such reservations.�
"So - the whelpling braves
his father - though I am ashamed to call myself such. Ashamed I am to
admit such a traitorous and cowering creature ever sprang from my loins!
I will ever rue the day I named you as my son."'�
"Late you were in the naming,
and you only deigned to do so when I became anything other than a hindrance.
Nor will you have long to bemoan my existence, for Naneth fails fast
and my uncle will not suffer you to live if she dies." L�mion
leaned forward urgently, thumping his fists upon the solid wood of the
table. "What poison did you use? None of the remedies we have tried
are efficacious. Were you to give me that antidote, I could yet ask
the king to spare you!"�
"Plead not for me with that Noldor scum - you are ill-witted indeed if you think any of those kinslayers wish to see me live after I named their sins in public!"
E�l smiled, and L�mion shuddered
to see the evil in that grimace. "There is no antidote and if there
were, I would not reveal it! The female means nothing to me now, nor
do you. Let the Noldo weep for his sister - his tears are but that of
a reptile, false tears for show. They will never match the tears that
were shed following the atrocities of Alqualond�. Hypocrites!"�
L�mion recoiled from the vehemence
of his father's ranting, and knew at last that there was no hope for
his mother. A great sob rose up, choking his throat yet he would not
allow E�l the satisfaction of its release. Seeing his sire as if for
the first time, he was surprised at his response to E�l's outburst.�
"I feel sorry for you."
His words came from his heart. "Since our arrival I have found
acceptance, as both a nephew and a friend. I have been given the rank
of a prince and all honour that the rank is due. And I have found love.
I have found so much since we came to my mother's kin and you - you
have lost...everything..."�
"Love? You? Hah, so some vacuous
Noldor whore has trapped you in her coils! It seems we are more alike
than you would wish."�
L�mion straightened, tensing as
he realized that the love he was so proud of would be mocked and reviled.
Still he *was* proud of his golden lord, and he was not afraid to acknowledge
his powerful lover to his father.�
"My love - my true love -
is Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower; he is a warrior
of great renown and a favourite of the king of Gondolin."�
The proud declaration produced a most unexpected result. His mouth agape in shock, E�l began to shake and L�mion feared that his father was in the imminent throes of some kind of fit. His surprise became intense confusion when instead
E�l laughed, a roaring hysterical
laughter that did not soon abate. Indeed it took the Dark Elf many minutes
to comport himself enough for intelligent speech, so amused did he seem.
Blinking his eyes to rid them of the tears his laughter had produced,
E�l finally found breath to speak.�
"Aiya, what an opportunist
that elf is! I almost admire his determination, even if I damn his soul.
Does he seek to work his way through Fingolfin's entire brood? For his
method of gaining the power he obviously seeks seems to be failing dismally!"�
L�mion could make no sense of
his father's musings. What had he said to elicit such laughter?�
"Who are you talking about?"
he asked in annoyance, for this conversation had not developed in the
manner he had foreseen. "Why do you speak of the king's family?"�
E�l shook his head, wry mirth
still evident in his visage. �
"Turgon is a self-important
fool - I have no inclination to dwell much upon the imbecile - but Glorfindel...
When he failed with the brother he sought the sister - and when *she*
spurned him, he seems to have succeeded with the son. I did not realise
that I had whelped such a dolt!"�
L�mion went cold as suspicion
flooded through him. Despite his father's harsh dismissal of him, he
was noted for his sharp senses, both physical and intellectual. It did
not take a genius to comprehend his father's aspersions. His eyes narrowed
at the disgusting implications.�
"You lie!" he hissed,
his hand itching to strike the smug grin off his father's smirking face.
"I know that you love to spread dark rumour and discord, and you
shall not succeed! Glorfindel is truthful and honorable - and he loves
*me*!"�
False sympathy covered his father's
face. "Of course," he agreed with obviously sweet insincerity.
"I am sure that you believe he cares for you and I am also sure
that he does - you are, after all, the king's nephew."�
E�l's face darkened in cruel cunning,
his cold heart grasping onto his son's distress. Whatever the truth
behind Glorfindel's transferred attentions (E�l knew not if Glorfindel
had indeed finally found his soul mate in his son) yet still the Dark
Elf realized that this minor breach of L�mion's trust in his uncle,
mother and lover was a burgeoning seed that he could encourage to grow
with carefully chosen insinuations. Through this falsehood would E�l
leave a final legacy, a division within the ranks of the Noldor that
could reverberate down through the centuries. He thus berated his son,
using vicious words set to foster his innate insecurities.�
"Hah, I named you fool and
fool you are! The brief and failed affair with Turgon was probably only
the fumbling of youth - it occurred after all just after their majority.
And I cannot say if he attempted Idril, I have no knowledge of that
and from what I have heard the little bitch avoids entanglements of
that nature (so it seems at least one person in that clan has some sense).
But of Glorfindel and Aredhel, I do not lie! I have no need to - especially
now at my life's end."�
His head swimming with undefined
emotion, L�mion could not take in all of his father's speech. It was
not true. They were childhood friends. Glorfindel... his eyes... the
truth of his love in their depths... And yet - �
"No, you *do* lie!" He
shook his head defiantly, attempting to be strong in his love, to apply
logic to an intensely emotional situation. "You lie," he repeated,
trying to calm his tremulous voice. "You have never been to the
Hidden City before. You never met Turgon, or Idril, or Glorfindel, so
there can be no basis for your accusations. It is but your long-standing
hatred of our Noldor brethren that leads you to this wild...insanity!" �
E�l snickered, the hysterical
edge still evident in his words and tone. �
"I had no need to enter this
unholy madhouse to know the truthful nature of its inhabitants! Think
you that Aredhel and I were always at a distance? How in the name of
the Valar do you think you came to be? We were not always at odds. In
the early years she spoke often of her life in the city, and of the
society therein. The White Lady of Gondolin did indeed sicken here,
trapped like a wild white bird in a gilded cage. She fled to escape
boredom and was at first content in the quiet groves of Nan Emloth.
It was later, after you were born, that she began to turn against me
and taunted me incessantly with tales of her former lovers and mostly
of her most persistent suitor, Lord Glorfindel. Glorfindel probably
always coveted power - Turgon has no male heir. If he were to become
the king's brother-in-law then he would be well placed to take the throne
if anything were to happen to Turgon. When Aredhel broke off their liaison
he probably turned to Idril, yet naught seems to have come of it. Now
Aredhel has returned but as the wife of another, ruling out *that* association
- so now he seeks an alliance through you, as the nearest male heir
and new-made prince." �
"He... They... They did not..."�
E�l saw that his son wavered in
his trust of his lover's motives and so cruelly thrust and twisted the
last jibe, the aim� to sever that even faint hope. �
"Of course they did! Aredhel
and Glorfindel lay together, they were lovers - and he rammed the same
rod up her twat that he has shoved up your hole, you ignorant catamite!" �
An overwhelming grief shot through
L�mion, a powerful wave of despairing loss that caused him to stagger
on his feet, a roaring in his ears making him deaf to all but a resounding
echo of a single name. 'Glorfindel!' his heart cried in a last brief
spurt of faith before an icy crust formed around that betrayed organ,
locking away all the innocent love of the last week. The seed had germinated
and, as a virulent weed, it had taken hold and now grew quickly. �
A touch upon his shoulder startled
him, jolting him from his mental isolation. Looking up he saw Egalmoth
now entered the room and standing beside him, his face stained with
tears.�
"L�mion, your mother..."�
Without a word of acknowledgement,
the young elf turned upon his heels and exited his father's prison,
never to speak again to his sire in this life.�
�
*****�
�
The king stood by his sibling's
deathbed, copious tears spilling forth from his brimming eyes as he
looked down upon the still figure. Newly found and newly lost, the king
grieved for his only sister. Others who stood about the chamber, gathering
the failed accoutrements of healing, exhibited similar signs of sorrow
- but the only figure that L�mion could see was that of Glorfindel,
his golden locks spilling onto the rumpled, sweat-stained sheets and
his shoulders lifting in heaving sobs as he bent his head to that unmoving
breast and wept for his childhood playmate and one-time lover.�
L�mion did not move, did not speak,
did not weep. He stood alone and untouched at the edge of the scene,
forgotten until his cousin, the sweet and beautiful Idril Celebrindal,
opened her compassionate heart and folded him in her consoling arms.
He did not speak, he did not weep - but he melted into the embrace of
the one person who had not betrayed him, and an unnatural love took
hold of his lonely desires that were now isolated from a frozen heart.�
�
****�
�
Turgon's judgment was swift and
expected. In the dawning light of daybreak, even as the body of his
sister lay in state upon the cold bier now set in the King's hall, Turgon
of Gondolin watched as E�l was led by Egalmoth of the Heavenly Arch
and Glorfindel of the Golden Flower to the city walls. There at Caragd�r,
a precipice of black rock on the north side of the hill of Gondolin,
E�l would meet his fate. Maeglin, son of Aredhel, stood beside his
uncle and king, and he did not speak to his father but rather stood
with a stone-like demeanour even as his father berated him with his
last breath.�
"So you forsake your father
and his kin, ill-gotten son! Here shall you fail of all your hopes,
and here may you yet die the same death as I."�
And Egalmoth with Glorfindel lifted
the bound elf and cast him down to his death, his body breaking upon
the black rocks below. �
When Glorfindel approached his
lover, seeking to console Maeglin through tender touches and gentle
words of love, he found Maeglin gone. And never more did the young prince
allow him to approach but sought instead the company of the one elleth
he yet trusted and came to love illicitly, for the taboo of blood was
overwritten with unnatural carnal desire.�
'...but Idril was troubled, and
from that day she mistrusted her kinsman.'�
----�
�
Epilogue:�
�
The Halls of Mandos are grey, filled
with a swirling mist that muffles sound and distorts vision. Thus it
is intended to hold separate the inhabitants so that their years of
residence following their death are spent in solitary contemplation
and reflection so as to cleanse and ready the souls for their eventual
rebirth. The corridors and chambers are lined with mirrors that do not
reflect their appearance but their lives, in moments and glimpses of
regrets, sorrow and joy. Only on the judgment of N�mo and Manw� are
the souls released to be born in physical form, their putative parents
being amongst the residents of Aman; but not all souls are eligible
for a renewed life in Arda's realms and thus dwell permanently in the
quietness of N�mo's home.�
Glorfindel of Gondolin was called
forth from a repose that had spanned almost an Age; he was called forth
to answer a need and to fulfill an oath. He held an unswerving devotion
to the scions of Fingolfin's line, in whose service he had given of
his life in a fiery tumble from the cliffs of Cirith Thoronath. In a
deviation from the norm, Glorfindel was brought forth from the halls
in his adult form, in a body cleansed of the scars gained in his previous
life. The mighty warrior was guided in the first years of his rebirth
by the Maia Ol�rin, with whom he found great friendship; he spent those
years in learning all he could of the history of the House of Fingolfin
and the incumbent lord - Elrond, son of E�rendil, who was herald to
Ereinion Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor.�
The day came when Glorfindel of
Gondolin was to sail across the shining sea to a Middle Earth that was
beleaguered by Melkor's former lieutenant, who wielded a commanding
ring of gold in his quest for absolute power. In the hours before he
boarded ship the warrior lord was brought before Manw� in all his glory
for a final admonition and blessing.�
"Glorfindel - in recognition
of your earlier sacrifice and acceptance of this new duty that has been
laid upon you, I grant you one boon of your choice to ease you in your
return to Middle Earth. Speak, and if it can be granted it will be."�
The golden lord stood straight
and tall before the leader of the Valar and spoke his boon with earnest
desire.�
"Lord Manw�, I am honoured
that you have granted such mercy to me, one who left Aman as an Exile
and a rebel against your edicts. In turn I ask that you grant this boon;
that you would show the same mercy to one whom I long sought whilst
sojourning in the House of thy brother Mandos, but never found. His
crimes in life were evil indeed - yet they stemmed from a soul that
had been ill-used, torn as it was between warring parents, and battered
by unstinting bitterness that twisted all rational thought. Grant mercy,
my lord, to him of whom I speak, that the punishments he has engendered
may be tempered by some hope of redemption."�
Manw� frowned, for this would
be a heavy boon to grant and he said this to the waiting Glorfindel.�
"It was not thought that the
elf of whom you speak would ever leave the misty halls; for if he were
to live once more amongst his kin in the same form and with the same
nature that was his before his death, then his appearance would create
great distress for his many victims and their hatred would wound his
already tortured soul. I cannot see that I can grant this boon, but
be assured that your generosity of spirit has done no harm to his cause."�
And so Glorfindel had to be content
only that he had laid the case before Manw�, even if he was disappointed
in its answer and he set sail at the appointed time. But Varda, wife
to Manw�, was intrigued that an elf who had betrayed his own kind in
such a dreadful way could still bring forth such compassion and love.
In turn her own compassion drove her to the Halls of Waiting where she
spoke to Vair�, and saw within her tapestries the truth of the life
of the elf in question. Of Nienna too she took counsel, for this fair
and gentle sister of N�mo and Irmo had given strength of spirit to
the edhel and had wrought much good in the cleansing of his soul. Slowly
a plan formulated in Varda's mind and when the time was right she brought
it to her husband, and Manw� saw that it was good. And so, when an
Age had ended with the death of three kings and the severing of a ring-bearing
finger from a black-armoured hand, Varda sculpted the new form and Nienna
cleared the mind of all its dread memories, and Vair� began to weave
a new tale with a tarnished silver thread that had been burnished anew.�
�
****�
�
Imladris, Third Age�
�
�
The snow was falling heavily on
the Yuletide Eve that brought a young edhel to the elf haven high above
the frozen Bruinen, there to begin service to its lord as a lowly scribe.
It was said that he was somehow kin to the lord, but it was hard work
and devotion to his duties that furthered his career rather than any
familial favours, until he rose to the highest office and became Elrond's
most trusted counsellor. Ever did he eschew the weapons of war, declaring
his abhorrence for sword and spear, but instead wielded the mightier
weapons of quill and ink and negotiating skills, all for the benefit
of the grandson of Turgon.�
Of slight and slender build, with
midnight hair, exotic eyes and a complexion of cream; his beauty brought
admiring comments - but a sharp glance, sharper tongue and biting wit
dissuaded potential suitors from furthering their acquaintance. Only
the pure heart of a golden lord saw through the cool exterior, and his
gentle love thawed the heart that had been frozen thousands of years
before, and an imprisoned soul soared free to find and meet its patient
and long-sundered mate. Whether the golden lord recognized his lost
prince in his now-changed form it is not known, but he received the
edhel�s soul in bonded marriage with thankful joy, and loved and protected
him through all their days.�
Their tale has been told elsewhere
in many different forms but, with the aid of his love long ago lost
and newly found, the once-traitorous soul supported his lord through
rings lost and found; witnessed the unstinting valour of periannath;
held fast against siege in the assault of war; and stood at his lord's
side as Elrond gave his beloved daughter in marriage to a mortal king.
For the purity of his spirit the edhel was renowned and at long last
that soul - whose dark and previous memories had been erased - gained
redemption that he did not know he needed, in the unknowing eyes of
the kin that did not recognise him as the once-vilified edhel on Nan
Emloth.�
And so, on the final remove to
Aman, he was welcomed personally and with much satisfaction by the Queen
of the Valar; and the once-damned soul found peace and love and a second
chance, and the hand of his golden lord.�
�
�
FIN�
Author�s Note: Many of the speeches (of Turgon and E�l) within this story are
direct text from the chapter �Of Maeglin� in �The Silmarillion� by J.R.R.
Tolkien.�
�
Elvish:�
edhel - elf (sing.)
Suilad - Greetings
melethron - male lover
ellon - male elf
Meleth n�n - my love
seron vell - beloved
Bereth - spouse
essi terceny� - mothername
Essecarm� - naming by the father
h�r n�n - my lord
Naneth - Mother
pen neth - little one
edhil - elves
elleth - female elf