Request: : Established relationship but no character death (either first age or after their returns). No rape, no parody, no non-con, 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).

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The Untold Annals of the First Age present�

The Scepter and the Serpent

A Gondolin Mystery

Part One: Hiss

At the fifth round of pounds on the door, Ecthelion finally grappled into wakefulness, though the climb up the misty mount through ever denser clouds of slumber had been arduous indeed. His subconscious must have considered the reverberating knocks as but echoes of the painful throb currently thundering in his head; the result, no doubt, of imbibing another ill-advised jug of moonshine at one of Galdor�s gaming nights. The House of the Tree was as renowned for its dubious spirits as the Harps were for cheats, which led to Ecthelion concentrating on the position of that orc-bait Salgant�s hands and not the efficiency of the servants, who were under strict instructions to well liquefy every guest of means. Regardless, he should have been more circumspect, since his innate sense of righteousness tended to have unforeseen, and rather ignominious, consequences, such as the state he presently found himself in.

He was, once again, naked and nauseated in Glorfindel�s bed, with not a trace of memory as to what provoked him to venture there.

The first such incident was easily dismissed as a spate of drunken folly, for what two fond warrior fellows had not stumbled upon one another in the wee hours of a night of rampant debauchery? Even Glorfindel himself had appeared tense, as well as egregiously apologetic, blaming, though Ecthelion did not, himself. The second he had chalked up to grief, for the eldest of his advisors had suffered a tragic accident and the Lord of the Fountain had done everything in his power to drown his sorrows in a vat of alcohol after the funeral rite, with his dear, anxious friend Glorfindel perhaps too dedicated to enacting the part of nursemaid. After the third, however, he had sworn off drink for a six-month, since the randomness and callousness of these occurrences were bordering on dishonorable. He was near to treating his sword-brother�s residence like a brothel, as he was of no mind for courtship, of Glorfindel or of anyone, not to mention that his friend deserved far better than him.

Alas, he had grown complacent. He had thought the problem solved by abstinence and temperance, considered himself counseled enough to accept Galdor�s latest invitation before he stopped forwarding them altogether. Regretfully, there was also a smidge of vanity in the mix, for he did relish proving his mastery at the Battle Game, as Glorfindel, the only truly threatening opponent among the House Lords, preferred to try his luck at dice. Yet he was paying for his arrogance now, for his lack of vigilance over the urges that ever overtook him whilst intoxicated, though why these should center on his most loyal and redoubtable of friends, he hadn�t the foggiest notion. Still, he had no desire to sift through his pack of options � availability, handsomeness, rumored prowess, kindliness � to uncover the likeliest sketch of his designs.

At present, focus was far more necessary, as there was not only an unremembered night of passion to dismiss as politely as possible, but also some gossipy interloper to evade. For if they were seen in such intimate circumstances, there would be no end of trouble, royal and otherwise. Thus, he was thoroughly annoyed when Glorfindel swaggered out of the bathing chamber in naught but a drooping sarong, sauntered over to the entranceway, and brazenly swung the door open to confront the beckoning page. Ecthelion had no option but to embrace cowardice by diving back under the covers and eavesdropping through the downy, luxurious sheets. For if it was not Glorfindel�s bed, the darkling elf would have been thrilled to snuggle down for the duration in the silken splendor that enveloped him. The Lord of the Golden Flower was, after all, chiefly enamored with the finer things in life, though hardly a slave to extravagance. Yet his commitment to comfort and his geniality as a host were two of the traits Ecthelion most admired in his friend, however irritatingly thick he could sometimes be in his magnanimity.

Indeed, he was nearly drowsing when the timber of the page�s voice ripped through the sheets like a dagger.

�My Lord, not to impose,� the melodious one intoned, the quality for which his services had first been engaged by the House of the Fountain. �But the King was most insistent that I retrieve Lord Ecthelion from his present whereabouts and escort him to the palace myself. If you would only direct me to the appropriate guest chamber��

In the seconds before Glorfindel�s response, Ecthelion bit back a bilious stream of curses and oaths, though he prayed that his friend had the wherewithal to invent a plausible scenario as to why the page could not complete his errand.

�Pen neth,� the golden elf tempered him, in the paternal tone that had won him the idolatry of every youth in the guard. �I, of course, well understand the consequences of failure to one of lower rank, and even I am not above reproach for allowing both myself and Lord Ecthelion to laze the morn away, our duties wanting. Yet the evening, as I am sure you well understand, was a rowdy one. Thus the circumstances of our return are somewhat�obscure. While I am certain your master is at rest in one of my many, many rooms, I, alas, cannot point you towards the very one. And though the King�s summons is undoubtedly of highest import, I am also certain he would not have my entire House upended, nor have all the various guests we are entertaining alerted to the trouble at large. Therefore, if you will sneak down to the kitchens and fetch me two cups of cocoa, I will, by the time of your return, have recovered our dear Ecthelion.�

As the utterly enchanted youth sped off, the elf in question marveled anew at his friend�s ineffable charm, a trait that had escaped them from many a mischievous ruse in their own early years and from several far more dangerous entanglements since. With a groan that mingled satisfaction and sulk, he flopped onto his back moments before the covers were thrown off in a brusque gesture. He was then assaulted by the upbraiding eyes of a smug-faced Glorfindel, who snickered appreciatively at his bedraggled state.

�You could have included something to nibble on,� Ecthelion grumbled, as he glared back at his friend. �One can hardly endure the King on an empty stomach.�

�I thought it best to espouse caution,� Glorfindel shrewdly responded. �Especially if you are as green as I am.�

�Would that I was,� Ecthelion sharply answered. �A spate of suffering does much to curdle one�s embarrassment.�

�Trust me, he did not mark you,� Glorfindel appeased him, plunking down perilously near.

The Lord of the Fountain momentarily wondered if he had been possessed by some fell spirit, for his skin began to bristle with want of further proximity, a deplorable consequence of the previous night�s sensuality. Aware of how he skirted the precipice of dishonor, Ecthelion scrambled back from the brink, all but leaping off the far side of the bed and searching manically for his uniform.

�I need to dress,� he mumbled, feeling the sear of his friend�s eyes, no longer as charitable as they were but seconds ago. �Small wonder he�s begun to reconsider the bounds of your relationship,� he chided himself, though his every instinct warned him away from compassion, so easily mistaken for softness of heart.

He had to survive this without wounding Glorfindel, though he was woefully undermanned as regarded courtesy and etiquette. He far preferred directness, which would be unconscionable in this situation, for how does one say to one�s dearest friend, �I have taken liberties with you and deeply regret them,� without abolishing every anecdote in their history?

Glorfindel, thankfully, appeared to interpret his reluctance as fealty to their sovereign, or perhaps was simply glad of a reprieve himself, for he soundlessly pointed towards his wardrobe, on which a fresh Fountain uniform hung.

�With your usual belt and scabbard, he will hardly know the difference,� the Lord of the Golden Flower elaborated. �Though your sash was unscathed, I am not certain we have time to unfasten it from the shards of your tunic.�

�Shards?� Ecthelion demanded, struck dumb by his explanation.

His friend had the grace to look sheepish, though he obviously swallowed back a deserved chuckle.

�There were witnesses,� Glorfindel insisted, with a nonetheless roguish smirk. �A nasty altercation with one of Galdor�s exotic spindly plants, in his conservatory. I was not the cause, though I will not deny that I later took advantage.�

Exhaustion and anxiety weighing upon him, Ecthelion could not save himself. He erupted.

�You �took advantage�?!� he bellowed.

He could have strangled Glorfindel for the coy smile that spread across his lips.

�You were hardly unwilling,� he softly countered.

�When in my cups!!� he hotly retorted.

�As was I,� Glorfindel reminded him, visibly unrepentant.

�So you claim!� Ecthelion coldly accused him, instantly hating himself for the rebuke. �Nay, gwador, I did not mean��

�I know,� the golden elf whispered, managing somehow to soothe despite the vitriol launched at him. �We are both raw, as well as required elsewhere. But do not think I will permit you to just sweep this under the rug along with the rest of our scarlet evenings. You will eventually have to confront the fact that you were a willing, if sodden, participant, *gwador*, and that something as yet unacknowledged is brewing between us.�

Ecthelion was left dumbfounded as Glorfindel stalked into the bathing chamber to finish his ablutions, as magnificent as a lion prowling the veldt. A telltale frisson shivered up his navel, but he forced his attention back to the predicament at hand.

* * *

�A disgrace to the kingdom and a travesty for such a hallowed court as mine!� Turgon blasted no one in particular, then proceeded to huff testily as he paced in a circle.

Glorfindel and Ecthelion had been awaiting his notice for some time now, but to no avail. The matter must be one of inconceivable scandal to have launched their normally affable regent into such a fit of bluster, from which he appeared unlikely, if not altogether unwilling, to emerge. The warriors had experience enough of his fits of temper to allow him to flame on unchallenged. Besides, both were still recovering from their own muted altercation but an hour before, each in his own idiosyncratic fashion. Ecthelion, Glorfindel intuitively recognized, was in a stew, barely cognizant of the melodrama around him while he ruminated over the golden elf�s earlier affront.

The Lord of the Golden Flower, for his part, was attempting to feign sobriety, while within him raged a veritable festival of good cheer at having so provoked his longtime friend and paramour-to-be. Not that he considered his King�s straits, whatever they might actually pertain to, worthy of jeers. Far from it. If there was an imminent threat to the realm, he would valiantly confront it, as he had proved time and again to his sire. Twas only that the seeds he had planted, as regarded his stealth romantic pursuit of his friend, were finally bearing fruit, and he was as raring for them to ripen as he was for the eventual harvest. Still, his celebration was a cautious one. He had seen others wither before Ecthelion�s renowned chilly demeanor when cornered by a swain, an ill turn of weather that could ruin his entire crop. While Glorfindel believed himself to be of hardier stuff than those withy fellows, he was insightful enough to realize his vulnerability where the Lord of the Fountain was concerned, as well as implicitly versed in his friend�s reluctance to embroil himself on a permanent basis.

Though there were hazards aplenty, he was also confident he would have Ecthelion�s heart before long, for his devotion predated their entitlement, their emigration to the valley of Tumladen, even their crossing to Arda.

On the far shores of Aman, his love had bloomed for one typically unattainable, the rapscallion son of a minor noble house who prided himself on his independent streak, his sword skill, and his musical talents, which wooed many a tipsy swain to his bed, though he refused to commit to anyone. In his early years, Ecthelion had claimed to have the foresight to predict great events: wars, political overthrows, and so on. Like Glorfindel, he was ambitious enough to seek to lead his peers through these harrowing times. Indeed, his improbable inclusion in a master class on battle strategy had first introduced them, though Ecthelion had been far younger than any of his peers, promoted-by-birthright future captains; only years, rather than centuries, past his majority. From the first, Glorfindel had been mesmerized by him, but had soon realized that no ground would be won until they had both survived a few of these portended calamities and the darkling elf�s voracious need to be of service had been sated. Thus, Glorfindel had smartly befriended him, engaging him in a platonic relationship which had been infinitely nourishing since its foundation, though one which chafed him some upon their settlement in Gondolin, where they had been more or less complacent for the lion�s share of 50 years.

This bred unrest, especially in one so elemental as he, who thrived on the hunt, the charge, the strike; who aimed to suck the marrow out of life before feasting on its entrails. Ecthelion�s inner and outer beauty had long been revealed to him. They were intimates, acolytes, co-conspirators in the great gambit of their time. They were sworn brothers and bosom mates, but this was still not enough for Glorfindel; would never be enough when his heart so longed for more. In recent decades, Ecthelion�s libido had tempered some. He had grown restless with the sycophants who trolled his House�s celebrations and the guardsmen who sought to prostitute themselves for his military favor. His disenchantment had motivated Glorfindel to finally plot an advance of his own, which required both pristine timing and perfectly designed obstacles. A touch of subterfuge, so to speak. However frank, direct, or candid Ecthelion considered himself, if Glorfindel were to make a forthright advance, his friend would surely recoil, for he was that terrified of potentially losing someone so dear. Family crisis had schooled Ecthelion early in such tactics, for it was his own laborious birth that had so depleted his mother that she had died in the days after. It was no small feat to countermand a millennia�s self-imposed guilt or the haunting memories of a father�s loneliness and grief, but if Glorfindel was as indefatigable as his reputation claimed, he would triumph over his beloved�s tragedy in the end, if only to avert centuries of sorrow and isolation at having so failed the elf who ruled his heart.

Regardless, the chase thus far had been immensely exciting, subtle as his advances had been. While he had deliberately sought to obfuscate the all-too-salient fact that he had not laid a lecherous hand on Ecthelion through the nights they had slept beside one another - he merely maintained the illusion that they had, indeed, shared intimacies � he felt that, in this, his integrity had been sacrificed towards a greater ambition: acclimating the darkling elf to the notion of them as lovers. Ecthelion�s rather classic evasion, his blatant and ludicrous refusal to hash the matter out the morning after, to ask the questions that were no doubt burning his lips, betrayed his sensitivity towards Glorfindel, a hint of vulnerability his friend would not fail to exploit in the hopes of establishing the foundation of a far more substantial relation. Ecthelion, in other words, had to more or less be tricked into recognizing the emotion he was not yet aware of harboring. Glorfindel, however, grew more confident that he did, indeed, harbor some form of softness towards him with every night he lay, chaste and bright-eyed, beside his slumbering friend.

While it was the most excruciating of torments to forbid oneself the ecstasy of a sultry tangle, the golden elf sought a far more priceless prize for himself. Thus, he bore that particular hair shirt with ease, if not outright pride. That virtuousness, he prayed, would eventually lead Ecthelion to forgive him the slight deception; to confess that he was not as readily dismissible as the others (this in itself proven by his friend�s silence and repression, whereas every overeager swain before him had been curtly shooed off); to finally risk everything by giving his heart.

How this would play out in the field during their impending mission remained to be seen. Even if Glorfindel had to improvise a few moves, he was confident he could outrun even one of Ecthelion�s stamina, enough to race past his defensive line and straight towards the goal.

A rough clearing of throat summoned him back to his present audience with his King, who finally nodded solemnly in their direction and waved them into a close circle.

�Majesty,� Ecthelion dispensed with the formalities. �How may we be of service to you?�

�There is a serpent amongst us,� the King all but hissed, his normally kind face hard and cold. �Yestereve, one of your own fellows, a leader of elves and a formerly unimpeachable member of our community, thieved an invaluable item from my very person.�

Both warriors, battle-tested as they were, could not help but gasp at this, for who in all the land could truly possess such gall?

�But, sire,� Glorfindel objected, more for show than out of doubt of his clear-headed estimation of the circumstances. �Surely the servants had easier access-�

�I was a guest at Eol�s table,� Turgon elaborated. �A private meal, served by Aredhel herself. You know what he demands of her, his� old-fashioned notions of a woman�s place.� Both firmed their jaws, for even the King�s wild and willful sister did not deserve such an ogre of a mate. �Alas, he did not move from his place the entire night, nor do I dare suspect Aredhel of such folly. Besides, she knows she need only ask� Idril, I would absolve for similar reasons. Also, it was an intimate affair. Four others shared the table: Salgant, Enerdhil, Duilin, and Penlodh, esteemed lords all. As my most trusted and valiant warriors, I charge the pair of you with ferreting out this serpent and exposing him for the traitor he is. The scent of overthrow is on the wind, but I will not abase myself so easily before such black omens.�

�But, Majesty,� Ecthelion inquired, some time after they had digested his tale. �What is the item in question? What did the culprit steal?�

�My scepter,� the King announced, to the further astonishment of his captains. �The jeweled brooch in that regal shape bequeathed me by Manwe himself upon the summit of Taniquetil, to signify my right to rule and my just succession to our people�s highest office. Even an elf of meager might could, if adorned by an unique and priceless gem, persuade a decent faction of my subjects to mutiny, citing the fact that I carelessly mislaid it. A skilled raconteur could convince a motley rabble, under propitious or intoxicated circumstances, to revolt, by claiming that the gods disproved of my lately judgments and thus withdrew their support. Kingdoms have been toppled on the strength of rumor alone, and, as we have only our own counsel to keep, as well as no fellow tribe to come to my defense, I will not stand to be manipulated in this fashion! This villain must be apprehended at once, and the scepter retrieved. The very sanctity of our city depends on it!�

�They will have to scalp me of my legendary mane before I will see the fall of Gondolin fair,� Glorfindel dramatically declared, bowing piously before his King.

Ecthelion, ever less extravagant in his fealty, affected a similar gesture of deference, but already his logician�s mind was scouring out the flaws or inconsistencies in their sovereign�s testimony. He was prepared to question him further within seconds. Yet he was also no rube at investigative work, wisely tabling his inquiries until the King was in a more tempered mood, in case he ill-received them. Regardless, within moments of their vow to bring the perpetrator to justice, they were marching down the northern corridor towards the rear veranda, perhaps the most private outdoor area in all the kingdom, save the mountaintops that encircled them.

Once assured of their isolation, they shared a meaningful look, both overwhelmed by the magnitude of what they had just learned and the potential ramifications of their detective work. The dead drop below only served as a visceral reminder of what would transpire upon the culprit�s unmasking, devastating consequences that they would be directly responsible for. While neither was of such pithy mettle as to shy away from their duty, neither would they forget the absoluteness of the punishment when they finally accused someone of the crime.

�Though I cannot fathom anyone chancing so much,� Glorfindel commented, breaking the introspective quietude that had descended upon them. �We must be certain. Our proofs must be irrefutable. I swore once that I would raise no sword against my brethren, and I will not gainsay such an oath now.�

�If only banishment were an option,� Ecthelion mused, his frustration plain. �We came to this valley to be steadfast against the Dark Lord, to conserve our lives whilst we plotted unilateral conquest. To what purpose such ploys for power before the heathen charge?�

�Worse still,� Glorfindel sighed. �It is beyond my comprehension that any one of those named seeks to defame the King, their longtime sword-brother and genial friend. It would be as if��

He could not speak the words, but Ecthelion understood him readily enough, and clapped an empathetic hand on his shoulder.

�*That* is a patent impossibility,� he zealously insisted, while Glorfindel dared a squeeze of solidarity over his friend�s own, imparting far more with a true and tender look.

Ignoring his discomfort, Ecthelion straightened his stance, intimating that they must recover themselves and attack the present trouble with full force. Concurring, the golden elf released him.

�To my mind, our first order of business is to examine the banquet hall,� Glorfindel proposed. �Plot out of the seating arrangement, learn of who shifted where at what time. Aredhel will have to be questioned, and she will probably be the most knowledgeable as concerns everyone�s movements, since she served the courses. Idril, as well, will have keen insights as to mood and demeanor. I have oft been privy to her secret observations, and she is quite a formidable witness.�

�Indeed,� Ecthelion concurred. �Yet tis of supreme import that a timeline be established whilst such incidental observations are still fresh in the minds of the participants. While Aredhel is a key element, one of us must visit Galdor�s house master before the day�s end, as well as forward discreet inquiries through back channels as concerns the whereabouts of all participants after they left the table. Salgant, we know, joined our own festivities, but at what time compared to when he departed Eol�s residence? Did the others leave early, and whom, if any, did they visit before retiring? This information might prove useless in the end, but we must gather it posthaste all the same.�

�Then you are thinking along the same line as I,� Glorfindel pinpointed, reading beyond his friend�s statements. �That Salgant was quite flush when he arrived last night, and that he spent far more than usual.�

The Lord of the Fountain appeared mildly sheepish at this declaration, which confirmed his suspicions.

�Tis far too early to identify a likely candidate,� Ecthelion evenly opined. �And we must not allow our distaste for him to color our conclusions. Besides, I daresay even he is too thick to so gauchely threaten the King�s supremacy. Regardless, we must leave no stone unturned. Even the strongest case against the others will be incredible to any who know and respect them, thus we must believe everyone a villain even as we strive to absolve them all.�

�Well reasoned,� Glorfindel accepted, though he could not resist the chance to needle his friend some. �I suppose you mean to scuttle through the back channels whilst I must negotiate the hurricane moods of the Lady Aredhel.�

Ecthelion�s aversion to their sovereign�s sister, who stubbornly sought to woo him for centuries prior to their crossing, was all but a matter of public record.

�Twould be a most gallant gesture,� the Lord of the Fountain beseechingly smiled, his noble face imbued with an air of earnest warmth that had enslaved the golden elf from the first. �To say naught of efficient, sparing me an afternoon of steering through the choppy waters of her companionship.�

�Very well, then,� Glorfindel acquiesced, though in truth he wanted to evaluate her level of sincerity, since a cat in a bag was one of the most unwittingly vicious creatures of all, one that would do anything to ensure its freedom. �Shall we meet in your study at seven bells to compare our findings?�

He strategically suggested a neutral ground, one of security and control, lest his prey grew skittish. For no matter whose life was at stake, Glorfindel would not fail to wholly embrace this opportunity to work in such close quarters with his beloved.

�Agreed,� Ecthelion acknowledged, then awkwardly nodded his head, betraying his discomfiture at last.

As he strode off, Glorfindel indulged in a quiet smile, though his heart thundered in his chest. If the darkling elf only knew what power he wielded over him, he might not be so conservative in his regard.

*

Aredhel was how he expected her: frazzled, scattered, and eager to accommodate. Her perspective in this was far too easily discerned, since her brother was her only ally in what was a borderline abusive relationship with the imperious, secretive husband who had tamed her. The repercussions of disobeying Eol she had been enduring for years, but that Turgon had been so dishonored at her table threatened her very survival, her only chance to escape her troubled marriage unscathed, when the time came to do so. As the lady confided everything in the princess who also kept his ear, Glorfindel was privy to all the scandalous details of her breaks and mends with Eol, none of which mattered a whit to him beyond the bounds of his investigation (though he could not imagine putting up with such theatrics daily and did harbor a minute measure of sympathy for her dubious mate). If his insights into her character could serve to provoke or entrap Aredhel, then he would deploy them with due severity.

Otherwise, he expected her to be honest and explicit, in her own inimitably eccentric fashion.

At present, she appeared more than willing to comply, having prepared a recreation of the evening�s initial seating arrangements in advance of his visit, since Turgon had alerted her to this essential intrusion into her home. The room itself was dank and somber, with vulpine stone arches supported by dense slabs of pillar, a cape of black curtains hanging limply between. The birdcage lanterns were like miniature prisons stifling the dim flame within. The furniture was rudimentary at best, pathetically plain at worst, a hulking mass of darkly varnished oak without any discernible carvings. Her dour son Maeglin, the child forced upon her in the wake of her binding night, was playing silently in the corner with a pile of monochromatic rocks, only further imbuing the macabre atmosphere with a greater sense of gloom.

�He aspires to be a miner,� Aredhel excused his presence, in her flighty way. �The mountains are rich with ore, you know, enough to treble the royal coffers� current trove of gold. He gathers his specimens on our strolls. They are his obsession. Commendable, is it not, to dedicate oneself to a trade at such a tender age?�

�Indeed,� Glorfindel conceded, with a strained grin, as the elfling had not yet seen twenty-five summers. �So you are certain your brother shifted seats between the second and third course?�

�Aye, to be closer to his nephew, who was being taunted by that regrettable Salgant,� Aredhel confirmed, much to the golden elf�s bemusement. �By the fourth, he was conversing with Penlodh and Enerdhil � you know how they drone on about their years as novitiates.�

�Aye, their wild and errant youths,� Glorfindel quipped sympathetically, as he had indeed been in attendance during just such flights of nostalgia, which struck them far too often.

Though this was yet another reminder of the depth of the friendships at stake, he concentrated on envisioning the movements of the players, such as in a realistic version of the Battle Game. Yet a snicker sneaked out when the Lady rolled her eyes, indicating the liberties taken in these boastful accounts.

�The cheese course came seventh, and Turgon retreated back to Idril,� she continued. �While Salgant excused himself, I believe, to join you and your companions at Galdor�s.�

�Around nine bells?� Glorfindel verified, imagining the ritual farewells as they might have played out before him. �Is that when the King moved to Idril, or prior?�

�Methinks it was my brother who rose to take Salgant�s vacant spot once he was gone,� Aredhel explained, growing somewhat pensive herself. �In truth, I have revisited those last moments so many times, I begin to wonder if I have improved on them. I try to recall if a glimmer from the brooch caught my eye at any time, if when I leaned over him I remarked it. Alas, my brother is so fond of the bauble, I cannot recall an occasion when he was not wearing it.�

�Which could in itself have alerted you to its absence,� Glorfindel reassured her, for by her stricken visage, she was all too aware of her failings in this. �At what hour did the others depart?�

�Eol lured Enerdhil to the ale hall at ten bells,� she remarked. �Penlodh excused himself soon after. Turgon and Idril stayed on for some time after that, to chat with me as I cleaned the dishes. It was when my brother moved that the scepter�s absence was noted, and the alarm raised among us.�

�Therefore the crime occurred sometime between six and ten bells,� Glorfindel reviewed. �In this room, which no one entered or exited before nine bells, and then just Salgant.�

Aredhel went oddly pale for one usually so spirited and stubborn.

�Excepting myself,� she all but whispered, her eyes pleading with the lord for some reasonable alibi.

�Aye,� Glorfindel assuaged her. �But I trust you have already considered whether the brooch might have been carried off in a bowl or on a plate.�

�I scoured the kitchens,� she assured him. �This hall, the corridor, even the waste bin. Not a trace.�

The Lord of the Golden Flower fell silent a moment, absorbing every detail he could of the room.

�No doubt,� he finally responded. �For I need not remind you of the consequences of this vile act, if indeed it was a purposeful sabotage and not a peculiar accident.�

�You need not, my Lord,� Aredhel murmured, by her ashen face all too concerned about the very same potential indictment that loomed large in Glorfindel�s mind. �An accident it may have been, but I am certain I was not the cause.�

�As am I, my Lady,� he concluded, then requested a quiet corner in which to scrawl out a few relevant notes and sketches.

It was just as he was finishing his seat-switching chart that he spied a rather unusual item on the mantelpiece. He tucked this insight away for later revelation, then set off to meet with Ecthelion, much relieved by what he had learned that afternoon.

* * *

A storm cloud hung about the Lord of the Fountain as he navigated his way through the stark nighttime streets, his mood as gray and broody as the overcast sky above. While the value of the evidence he had collected that day would only be weighed when they had finished interviewing all the relevant witnesses, Ecthelion was grim with dissatisfaction over his preliminary findings, as well as sobered by his rather pathetic level of distraction as he had gone about his duty. Normally the purview of one of his lesser officers, he had struggled to maintain focus throughout the afternoon�s tedium, his thoughts drifting off as he listened to a servant�s graciously given testimony, his mind unable to wake from a fugue of introspection in the moments between interviews. To his further irritation, the subject that dominated his inner musings was not the consequences of a false accusation or the challenges of pinpointing the perpetrator with any accuracy when his crime had gone unnoticed by those around him, but a trifle of a matter when compared to the potential execution of an elven lord.

That was, Glorfindel. Jovial, wily, strident, and genial Glorfindel, the most sterling soul in his vast acquaintance; an elf of legendary heart and indefatigable spirit, dogged in loyalty, compassionate to a fault, as well as egregiously, epically kind. Ecthelion, alas, had unwittingly taken to treating him as a bed-treat, a somewhat more respectful role than that of a concubine, but far less so than a friend of his worth merited. Yet the golden�s elf�s early hours charges had echoed through his head incessantly since the second they were uttered. What had led him to succumb to his friend�s charms, not once but on four separate occasions? Intoxication was indeed no proper excuse. Rather, what did an excess of wine facilitate that was otherwise not permissible? Was Glorfindel correct in his assertion that something was �brewing� between them? Had he so repressed an initial attraction that it was now unfathomable to him that he had ever felt thusly? Most essential of all, what was the nature of his desire for the Lord of the Golden Flower? Was it merely carnal, or was there genuine care involved, an emotion that might eventually blur the bounds of their friendship? Was he prepared for such an eventuality, and did he perhaps secretly aspire to it?

Overall, Ecthelion had been generally befuddled over how he could be so oblivious to the yearning of his own soul, as well as terrified about what the consequences of further, clear-headed experimentation might be. Such a feeling was anathema to one of such fearsome military courage and he was all the more cowed by it, though he was far from truly daunted. Alas, the devising of a suitably practical and unthreatening resolution had high-jacked his concentration for the lion�s share of the afternoon, the results so muddled that he had been fouled by the very effort, to say naught of aggravated by the waste of time.

Thus, when Glorfindel�s page had barely avoided smashing into him as he made his way back to his study, it had required every ounce of his diplomacy not to snap at the exuberant youth, so typical of the upstart types the Lord of the Golden Flower preferred to employ. Upon receiving his message, he had poorly restrained his temper, which had come on like a thunderclap. Wary of unduly berating his friend in a more vociferous fit than that which had enraged him that morn, he had briefly considered improvising an excuse and retreating to his chambers for the night. He could not conscionably insult his King by permitting personal troubles to overwhelm him. Instead, he barked out his assent, then shooed away his escort before he gave in to his annoyance, though he would certainly not deprive Glorfindel of an earful once he arrived.

He spied his friend at their usual table, then all but blazed through the crowd, cursing himself for attracting such notice before aiming dagger eyes at his golden companion, whose own sapphire irises twinkled with typical mirth. There truly was no quieting Glorfindel�s innate impishness, especially not with the bile that currently rose into his throat. Ecthelion might have regarded him less dyspeptically if he were not so strangely compelled by his relentlessly affable demeanor.

�Well met, gwador,� Glorfindel welcomed him, clapping a fond hand on his shoulder. �By all appearances, the weather has infected you with an uncharacteristically ill mood. Fortunately, I have taken the liberty of ordering up some savory vittles to warm away the damp-�

�Have you gone mad?� Ecthelion demanded, in a raspy whisper. �We mean to identify a potential traitor to the realm and you would have us compare notes in such a public forum?!�

�Rather, I aim to provide you with a decent meal,� Glorfindel bemusedly replied, not a whit bothered by his anger. �As I wager you have not eaten since our paltry excuse of a fast-breaking. Such is your wont when you are preoccupied, however foolishly so. Even we titans require fuel enough to sustain us. Once our hunger is sated, and hopefully your humor improved, then we can squire off to your study, to undertake this wretched business once more.�

Blindsided by his goodly intentions and concern, Ecthelion could not deny that his stomach rumbled in uproarious agreement, though he simultaneously suffered a bout of queasiness that almost prompted him to protest.

�Do my cooks� efforts so offend your palate?� the darkling elf nonetheless inquired of him, as snidely as he could muster. �They gladly could have prepared something suitable, to be consumed in due privacy.�

�I thought it best that we be seen,� Glorfindel admitted, his visage growing stern out of distaste for the criminal element lurking among them. �While our absence would not draw particular suspicion, if we are accounted for, then there is no cause whatsoever for doubt. Also, it might do to monitor the behavior of those we may come to accuse. Though this is by nature a precarious prospect, since anything can be distorted into dubious action, our case hinges on circumstantial evidence for the time being; thus we must gather as much as we may. However, if you remain affronted, then I will gladly follow you home, as I confess a part of me desired to delay my duty awhile, to bask in our city�s bounty and to ignore the encroaching rot.�

With a blustery sigh, Ecthelion released all the pent-up frustration that had lead him to once again unleash himself on his undeserving friend, then met Glorfindel�s bright eyes with a penitent gaze.

�Forgive me,� the Lord of the Fountain begged, though he knew by his patient, giving smile that his testiness was already forgotten. �This black business has me riled.�

�To say naught of how you began the day depleted,� Glorfindel clucked sympathetically, greeting their serving wench with a beguiling smile, his momentary gravity obliterated in an instant. �Come, now, to the feast that you may replenish yourself! I have selected hardy fare: lamb�s stew with ale-thickened broth and vegetables, sour cream potato mash, a slaw with cider vinegar, and a massive piece of berry peach crumble. Is there aught else that strikes your fancy, gwador?�

Ecthelion was quite astonished to realize that there was not. The meal ordered for them was precisely what he craved, as if his friend knew better than he what silenced his roaring appetite. With a humbled shake of his head, he refused anything further, then dug into his plate before Glorfindel�s acuity could rattle him more. Yet every delectable morsel underlined how doting the golden elf could be. What other delights awaited him if he were brave enough to gamble with their friendship? He understood, then, that he was being subtly courted, though he had not the faintest notion as to how he should respond to such an odd and uncomfortable development, nor if there was any means of extricating himself from it without tainting all the perfectly chaste care that had ever existed between them.

Thankfully, Glorfindel devoured his own food in strict silence, his gaze occasionally straying from the table, towards one of their quartet of subjects. Ecthelion was equally aware of how it fleetingly fell upon him when he happened to glance down, the weight of this particular burden too much for him to bear just then, when a stealth chaos waited for the opportune moment to erupt, potentially razing to ruin their city fair.

End of Part One

On to Part Two