Lifting the latch on the gate, Erestor swallowed hard as he walked out into the pasture. The sun was shining brightly down on the fields, and the horses grazed here and there.

At one end stood the stablehands, with Glorfindel at the center. Gathering his courage, Erestor drew himself up onto the fence, resting on the high wooden barrier. He tried to act as if it were a most natural thing, to be sitting here in the middle of the day. Knowing that a good number of those tending to the horses were now watching him, he kept his focus on the lazily moving clouds.

Curiosity brought Glorfindel over, as Erestor expected it would. Like a moth to flame, Glorfindel sauntered over to the misplaced scribe. "Something I can do for you?" he asked curtly, his arms heavily draped over his chest.

"There is," replied Erestor. "But first, I must make apologies to you," he said as Glorfindel joined him on the fence. "It was absolutely inappropriate for me to laugh at you. I am truly sorry, but I honestly thought you to be jesting."

"Apology accepted," said the blond, keeping himself steadied with one hand resting on each of his own thighs. "I do hope, however, you do not respond in that manner every time someone asks you for help."

"No, I do not," Erestor answered. "You must understand, I thought that you must be making some joke."

"Is it funny, that an elf was never instructed on how to read and write?"

"Nay again," came the answer. "I only assumed, wrongfully, that you were teasing me. Again, I am sorry. I would gladly tutor you in these subjects."

"Privately," insisted Glorfindel. "Please, I want no one to know. Least of all Ecthelion."

Erestor nodded. "A shame that Ecthelion did not teach you; I would have thought he would have most willingly."

"He does not-" Glorfindel cut himself off and grasped for an explanation.

"He thinks you older than you truly are," offered Erestor. Glorfindel's eyes met his with sudden fear in them, and Erestor discretely raised his hand from where it rested on the fence. "I have no reason to tell him or anyone else, but to me it is obvious you are barely past your majority. How you came to be here at such a young age, and to have been given such responsibilities- I can only imagine the hardships you have endured on your own."

Scanning the area as if he were simply watching the horses and not making sure there was no one within earshot, Glorfindel gave Erestor a sideways glance. "Perhaps one day I shall tell you that tale, but for now know that I am older than my years, made so by my own choice."

"Fair enough," said Erestor. "But now, let us speak of the terms of my instruction to you, and yours to me."

"You would have me instruct you?" Glorfindel tried to think on what, and finally voiced this concern.

Looking out at the beautiful horses that grazed and romped across the grass, Erestor said, "I wish to learn to ride. If you teach me to ride, I shall teach you to read."

"And what is your exchange to tutoring me in the art of writing?" questioned Glorfindel.

"Teach me to fight." Erestor breathed in sharply, and it was obvious this had been difficult for him to say. "I do not know how to hold a sword, let alone wield one. I am against war and battle; I do not wish it or to partake in it, but times may come when such skills are needed. If it should come to it, I would want to have means to defend."

"Make me a scholar, and I shall make you a soldier," promised Glorfindel.

"Ehtele, we're borrowing your horse!"

"Must you use that name to call to me? Blast it, Glorfindel, shout it so the whole city can hear!" grumbled the chief Captain of Gondolin. He had spent the morning riding her, but had only been around to the guard posts, so the creature was neither tired nor yet stripped of her saddle. He had removed his cloak of rank and was draping it across his arm as he realized with whom Glorfindel was walking. "Oh, this I must see," he said as he doubled back to the stables.

Ecthelion leaned over the rail of the stall as Glorfindel led Erestor to the cream colored horse and waved the groom away. "I think eventually we shall have you ride my horse, considering how much taller you are and the fact that mine is bigger," he said, to which both Ecthelion and his horse snorted. Glorfindel ignored them both and said, "This is Lord Winnykins. At least, that is the name by which she will respond to you. Her real name is Asfaloth, but some elves," he said with dramatic flair, as his arm waved in the direction of Ecthelion, "think it amusing to change the name and apparently the gender of their mount."

"You are just jealous that my horse has such a fabulous name and yours sounds like one that should be prancing through a field of flowers." Ecthelion was interrupted by one of King Turgon's messengers, and with a nod to his fellow captain, made his way back to the palace.

"I feared he was going to stay and make commentary," Erestor said to Glorfindel very quietly.

Glorfindel looked at Erestor quizzically. "You always seem a little nervous around him," he said of Ecthelion.

"I am always a little nervous around anyone who has taken up sword against kin," he answered honestly. "Be thankful you knew not those days of darkness."

Glorfindel did not quite laugh, but there was some sort of ironic humor in what Erestor had said- at least there was to the blond and yet he did not share what. "Have you mounted a horse before?"

"Only twice, and I was aided both times." Rubbing the horse's nose, Erestor asked, "What was her real name?"

"Asfaloth," said Glorfindel carefully.

Erestor was now very close to the horse, his nose nearly touching that of the mare. He began to speak to her, very softly, almost forgetting that Glorfindel was there. "I can tell you fear me because I am new to you, but believe me when I say I am more afraid of you than you are of me, Asfaloth. Such a pretty girl you are," he continued, rubbing her cheek with his hand. Her eyelids dropped a little and she gave a slow nod of her head. "Please forgive me if I do something wrong, but I am new to this. I know that Glorfindel is going to teach me what to do, but I need your help, too. Will you help me?" Another nod. "Thank you, Asfaloth. I will be sure you are rewarded for your hard work."

"Why do you not simply ask her to dinner and a romantic walk in the gardens?" Ecthelion was at the rail again, grinning when Erestor dropped his hand from the horse's cheek and blushed. "Glorfindel, Turgon needs to see you as well; the messenger neglected to make that clear."

"I will return shortly," promised Glorfindel as he opened the stall and let himself out. Erestor watched the two soldiers through the window, reaching up to pat Asfaloth while he waited. A few times he would smile as the stable-hands passed through the aisle and took note of him in the stall. After the passing of an hour or so, he began to hear them whisper among themselves about him and laugh as well.

Checking over Asfaloth, he decided that she had everything that he would really need. She had a blanket, it was all he had ever seen on Nahar on the two occasions he had rode upon his father's horse. Asfaloth also had a saddle on her back that was buckled around her chest and also her stomach. Dangling down were footholds he had seen others use, not only to mount but also to 'hang on' as it were. Surveying the stall, he saw a wooden box and coaxed Asfaloth to stand beside it before he opened the stall.

"It will only be a moment," he assured her when he stood upon the box, trying to decide his next move. After a few unsuccessful attempts, the scribe managed to clamber atop the horse. "Very good," he said, more to himself than to Asfaloth, and then he waited.

Nahar, being the horse of all horses, knew just what to do once Erestor was on his back. Asfaloth on the other hand stood still, awaiting to be told her commands. "Uhm, can we go forward? Just outside, very slowly," he said, his hands resting on the small hump on the front of the saddle. Asfaloth turned her head around and gave him a strange look, but as Erestor wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to think of what to do next, he was relieved that the horse had decided for herself to leave the stall and take him out into the sunshine and fresh air.

Some say that there are no fat elves - there are 'chubby' elves or elves with 'love pouches' but no fat ones. Except for Salgant. Not only was Salgant fat, he was decidedly so and had been for some time. He was not simply a lover of good food and fine wine as his pleasantly plump and delightfully chubbly counterparts were, he was a glutton. For whatever reason, he chanced to be walking the grounds of the riding and grazing fields just as Erestor came out from the stable with Asfaloth.

Salgant's pudgy fingers rested upon his expansive belly, where he drummed them as he surveyed the scene before him. One of the stable-hands who belonged to his house had chanced to stop by the hall he had been performing in and mentioned in passing that the tall, gangly scribe who had arrived from Doriath was making an attempt to ride a horse. Of all horses, Salgant had not expected to see the wiry elf perched atop the chief Captain's mount.

With an amused look seen only by a few of the elves tending to the horses in the pasture, Salgant took himself over to where Erestor sat on Lord Winnykins and Lord Winnykins stood grazing. "Splendid day for a ride," he announced in a low, harmonical voice. The sound practically scared Erestor off the horse, but he managed to hold on.

"Yes, it would seem that way," Erestor answered unsurely.

Giving Lord Winnykins a pat on the neck, the horse looked up, and seeing who it was began to nuzzle the rotund elf in search of sweets. Salgant pulled a piece of pressed sugar from his pocket and held it out for the horse to daintily take from him. "Looks as if she is all set to go," remarked Salgant as he circled around to Lord Winnykin's hindquarters.

"Y-yes, she is," replied Erestor. He had his feet in the stirrups, but they had been adjusted much too high for his long legs, so his knees were bent too far for comfort. As Salgant continued to walk to the other side of the horse, Erestor wiped his sweaty hands on his leggings. With a grin, Salgant paused, having hoped that the scribe would take his hands from the pommel.

"Well, do not let me keep you, then," he said, and gave the horse's rear a hearty smack with his hand. Lord Winnykins lurched forward, galloping much faster than Nahar ever had, with Erestor clinging for dear life around the horse's neck.

Ecthelion and Glorfindel caught up with Salgant's chuckles as they raced down the hill to the pasture. "Now, why did you have to go and do that?" scolded Ecthelion. He had expected to find one of the stable-hands laughing at the gate, but seeing the large figure of Salgant, Ecthelion had growled to himself in fury. He could not punish the head of another house, for that was up to the king to decide, and he would not put forth a charge so petty.

"Oh, it is only the same as when you have a small child you wish to teach to swim. Just fling him into the middle of the pond and watch him so he does not drown. Instinct will kick in," reasoned Salgant, wiping a tear from his eye as he took note of Lord Winnykins leaping over the barrier of the field with Erestor scrambling to hold on.

Glorfindel had run past Salgant and into the stables, and emerged now on his own mount, riding her without a saddle. He glared back at Salgant as his horse, a more buttery color than Ecthelion's, sped toward the gate.

"Goodness me, can that one never take a joke?" Salgant pulled a cloth of fine linen from his pocket and wiped his brow. "How stern he is, for one so young."

"Young, but a lord of this realm, I remind you," warned Ecthelion. "I would not seek to upset him if I were you, Salgant."

"Phah. He would not do a thing, he knows it was meant in jest," countered Salgant.

"He is not one of us, Salgant," said Ecthelion, and his parting words were, "He is a rogue, and you should not put so much trust in him. Even I am wary to trust him fully."

---

Meanwhile, Erestor had managed to avoid a number of low tree branches, but not the long spindly ones that scraped against his arms, scratching him through his shirt. He could feel the sting on his neck and face where the branches had nicked him. With his arms around the horse's neck, he had tried practically every command he could think to yell to make the horse stop. As they came to a clearing, Erestor opened his eyes and saw before them the fishing pond, coming closer and closer. Too close, in fact.

"Whoa!" His unintentional shout of distress came as they seemed to be headed right for the pond. Without a moment's hesitation, the horse came to a halt, sending Erestor tumbling off and into the icy water.

Sitting up and pushing back the stray hairs from his eyes, Erestor had landed only a few feet from shore, but in one of the muckiest parts of the pond. He was sitting in slime with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms around his legs when Glorfindel emerged from the game forest.

Glorfindel's first reaction was to warn Erestor that it had been dangerous to have mounted and attempted to ride without him, but when Erestor looked up with his large eyes apologetic and his cheeks red in shame and frustration, Glorfindel smiled weakly and dismounted. With a spiteful look to Lord Winnykins, he slapped the horse much as Salgant had. "Go home, Winny," he directed, and without fussing the horse trotted off into the forest again. "Are you hurt?"

"Just cold. And very damp," answered Erestor as Glorfindel helped him up. He wrung the water from his hair and shivered as the wind blew through the trees to where they stood.

Removing his cloak, Glorfindel draped it over his horse's back and then motioned to Erestor. "Take off your shirt, it is soaked. You can wrap up in my cloak and we can ride back."

Doing as Glorfindel instructed, Erestor asked, "How? You sent Ecthelion's horse to the stables."

"Aye. We can ride on mine, you in front of me. I promise you will not fall off or into a lake," he said.

"What is her name?" asked Erestor.

Glorfindel took the dripping shirt from Erestor and walked with it back to the pond. "She is Buttercup. All of the horses in my team are named after yellow flowers. A bit of a tradition." He wrung out the shirt and then stepped back to the horse...

...and Erestor, who was crooning to his horse as he had to Ecthelion's. Only the image was a little different. Standing in the fading sunlight, shadows playing off his skin, Erestor looked so much more natural than he had in the stable- and so much more beautiful. Glorfindel didn't know where the hell that thought came from, but another soon followed as he watched errant drops of water glide down Erestor's hair and slide across his skin.

Most would agree that Erestor was indeed a beautiful elf- pretty, perhaps even. This was not simply an admiration of a glorious specimin of Eru's creation, this was a desirous longing that crept upon Glorfindel. Yet, he walked to the horse with nothing but a friendly smile upon his face, for his reaction to ellyn whom he found attractive was nothing less than a crime, and here in Gondolin it was one punishable by death.

"Here, but do not put it on," he said, handing the shirt in Erestor's direction. Erestor gave Buttercup a final pat before taking the shirt. Glorfindel placed his cloak around Erestor's shoulders and then made a sort of whistling sound through his teeth. Immediately his horse sank down to her knees, giving Erestor an easy way of mounting her.

"I did not mean to ruin our first lesson," apologized Erestor as Glorfindel directed Buttercup to stand again, but the blond waved it off.

"Just a moment, I will be right back," he said, and walked the few steps to the edge of the water. Kneeling down, he dipped his hand in and lifted the water to his lips, already and unknowingly to anyone else plotting his revenge against Salgant.

He took a look over his shoulder, to see Erestor patting Buttercup. The cloak had slipped down from one shoulder, baring once more the pale flesh for Glorfindel to see. His lips were unconsciously licked, and he turned away, hoping Erestor had not seen.

Ecthelion had told Glorfindel that Erestor's heart had been broken by an elleth long years ago, but would say no more on this. It was best to put the idea out of his mind before it even formed. Slowly he returned to the horse, again giving Erestor a friendly smile, which was finally returned. Glorfindel flexed his fingers to keep his hands from shaking in hope beyond hope before mounting behind Erestor.

"My word! Please, Glorfindel, tell me you haven't turned to sparring with the scribes now, have you?"

"Heavens, no, Duilin," laughed Glorfindel sarcastically. "Salgant's taken to trying to have my pupils thrown from their mounts- speaking of that corpulent comrade of ours, where is he this evening?"

There was a pause as Duilin rolled his tongue back and forth along the roof of his mouth as he smiled wryly. "I take it you plan not to dine at the head table with us this eve," said the archer in hopes of changing the subject.

"Why, only if Salgant choking on his dinner is on the menu," replied Glorfindel with mock sweetness.

Again, Duilin paused and looked down at their feet, nodding his head in contemplation. Looking up again, he addressed Erestor and said, "So, from what little I have gleaned from Glorfindel's conversation, you are his latest student."

"That I am," answered Erestor carefully, "though already I am off to a bad start."

"Fear not. Glorfindel is an excellent teacher." Duilin seemed to want to say more or add an aside to this, but not knowing Erestor well, he held his tongue. "Which arts of the warrior is he instructing you upon? Nothing too difficult for a beginner like yourself, I would imagine."

"The sword, the bow, and the horse," spoke Glorfindel before Erestor could answer, "though not in that order exactly." He gave Duilin a challenging look, which was answered with a proposition.

"When you have shown him how to ride and how to swing a sword, send him to me for his archery lessons, Glorfindel." Turning back to Erestor, Duilin said, "There is a fine precision to the art of the archer, one that is not matched by the clumsiness of swordsmanship or riding. Good eve to you both," he then said quickly, for Egalmoth arose from where he had been speaking to another lord in the courtyard and Duilin moved to follow him inside the palace.

Watching them go, Glorfindel gave a snort of dissatisfaction when the duo met up with Salgant near the entrance. He felt a hand upon his shoulder, and turned to see Ecthelion. A look of disappointment crossed his face- somehow he had hoped it would be Erestor who had touched him in the familiar fashion. His expression, at least, was easily covered by what had transpired. "I do not feel like dining in the hall tonight," announced the captain and Lord of the Fountain, who had seemingly appeared from nowhere.

"Barracks?" questioned Glorfindel, and Ecthelion nodded. Erestor, whose minor injuries from his second sword lesson had been bandaged up by the healer on duty and was dressed once more in clean clothing, made to bow and say his farewells, but Ecthelion slapped him on the back, making him take a step forward.

"You are going to join us, are you not?" Ecthelion was already steering Erestor along with them. "Have you taken meals there before?"

"Ah, yes, ahm, no, ah-" Erestor shook his head to clear it. "I suppose I could join you, but I do not wish to be a bother. I did not know of anywhere else to eat," he said as they rounded the palace and made for a large building from which boisterous music came and smoke billowed up from a huge chimney. "I suppose these are the barracks," he said dumbly as they came to the entryway, the doors of which were propped open with large rocks.

"Good evening, captains!" came the voice of one of the soldiers sitting at a log table eating his supper.

"Fine night, m'lords! Good health t'ya," said another who was at a different table. Many of the soldiers began to speak their regards and to wave or raise a mug to the captains that Erestor walked beside. They in turn would bow their heads or nod, smile or call back to something particular with a grin.

Inside, there were rows and rows of tables, with soldiers sitting on long wooden benches having conversations that roared with laughter. There was an area where elves were lined up, receiving plates of food from a line of young maidens who seemed just as rowdy as the ellyn they were serving. Instead of going to where the food was, Ecthelion and Glorfindel led Erestor away from this part of the barracks to a long counter where the officers sat on high stools with elegantly carved wooden backs and armrests to them, drinking from large glasses of wine, though eating the same fare the rest of the warriors did. "Instead of each of us having our own separate training, resting, and dining halls, Ecthelion and I built one massive one," explained Glorfindel.

"Where do they sleep?" asked Erestor. Glorfindel pointed towards the floor while Ecthelion waved his hand at the roof.

"You may have noticed that we had to walk up a few steps into the hall here. There is a level below this one, halfway below ground. Some call it a cellar, but you should see it for it would have anyone fooled. My soldiers sleep there, while Ecthelion's stay up on the second floor."

Glorfindel and Ecthelion each sat upon one of the chairs at the counter, and almost immediately there was a young elleth there to serve them. Before Glorfindel she set a goblet of blood red wine, and a similar one of a paler hue was placed in front of Ecthelion. As Erestor tentatively sat down to the left of Glorfindel, the barmaid stood in front of him and asked him, "Red wine? White wine?" She left it to linger there, for there were other liquors besides these lining the shelves behind her.

"Beer. Well, if you have that," he said, not seeing a barrel anywhere.

The maid looked a little baffled as she eyed up the slender ellon, but asked, "What kind?" as if it were a quiz.

"I would prefer a good stout, but if all you have is an ale, then-" The maid held up her hand before Erestor could continue. She stuck two finger in her mouth and whistled, looking across the hall to the serving line. Erestor shrank down, half-expecting the noise in the hall to cease, but it continued.

"Bring me two pints of the dark, will you, Tir?" At the end of the hall where the meals were being served, there were a number of kegs from which the honey and amber liquid was flowing. The ellyn she called to signaled that he had heard and filled two mugs from a barrel that stood by itself, then brought the foaming, muddy colored drinks up to the front and set them upon the counter.

Erestor nodded his thanks and picked up one of the mugs while the maid lifted the other. "Cheers," she said, knocking her mug against his before sipping from it. Erestor lifted his with a smile and drank deeply, finishing half the contents before setting it down.

"Ah, now that brings back memories," he said to himself.

Beside him, Glorfindel and Ecthelion had both turned to regard him, and with a deep chuckle, Ecthelion said, "My friend, you simply amaze me sometimes."

"My respect for him has doubled this day," said Glorfindel, raising his glass in Erestor's direction before taking a drink himself.

“Buttercup, Sunflower, Daffodil, and Daisy. Sunflower is the only boy of the bunch,” said Glorfindel as he gave each of the horses a rub or a pat as he walked down the line of stalls that displayed the crest of the Golden Flower on the wall overhead. “None of them are saddle-trained, and that was why I hesitated using them. There is a greater desire to ride with a saddle rather than without.”

“Well, if you ride without a saddle, I can probably learn that way.” Erestor’s voice was a little unsure as Glorfindel opened the gate and asked- not told as many of the other elves in the stable said to their horses- if Daffodil would be so kind as to come out for a ride.

As the horse emerged, Glorfindel led the way out of the stable. “No bit, no bridle, no restraints of any kind. I will use a blanket on their backs to show the house colors and to keep my armor from hurting them if I am wearing it, but I do not believe in such a thing if I can help it. They are kind enough to carry me, and I even dislike the harnesses I must use if they are pulling a wagon.” Glorfindel fished a handful of large chunks of carrot from a pouch he was carrying and handed the rest of the pouch to Erestor.

“How is my girl today?” Glorfindel asked, and he received a whinny back. He fed her the chunks one at a time as he told her of his plans. “There is a clearing near the water’s edge I think we should go to. I promised Lord Erestor I would teach him to ride horses. Poor Buttercup had a workout yesterday, and Daisy needs to stay with her baby. And we both know about Sunflower.” Both he and the horse laughed at some private joke, and Erestor smiled as he followed, listening to the two of them, horse and rider, carry on a conversation. Along the way they passed various others who bid them good-day, and Glorfindel took the time to give each of them his regards.

“It seems everyone here simply adores you,” remarked Erestor as the trio began their journey through the woods.

Glorfindel gave the last of the carrot pieces to Daffodil. “It takes very little effort to be nice; it takes much more to be an angry little spiter.”

Furrowing his brow, Erestor asked, “So, why do you so dislike Salgant?”

“He deserves it. He picks on people. I do not trust him. He called me a bastard once because I have claimed not to know my father, however, just because my father will not acknowledge me does not mean I do not have one.” Glorfindel paused, both in speech and in step. “Please do not allow this conversation to be repeated elsewhere, that is not something I meant to say.”

“I will tell no one. I was asking on my behalf; not so that I could start rumors across the city.” Smiling wryly, Erestor added, “Some who have known me a long while know for a fact that I truly am a bastard, so if ever discussion arises on the topic, I am a much easier target for such things.” Glorfindel seemed shaken by this and Erestor continued. “That is not the response you expected.”

“I suppose I just assumed you had a wonderfully loving mother and a brilliant and important father and were brought up in a fine household on a gorgeous estate somewhere.” Glorfindel shrugged. “Completely wrong?”

“Could not be further from the truth. I was born in a river, I was raised in a tent, neither of my ‘parents’ did a lick of hard work from what I could tell- though it took a good swift kick for me to put two and two together and realize my father was not my father. The last place I lived was a cave in Doriath, where I was jailed twice, on trial once, and practically run out of the city.”

“Damn.” Glorfindel took a deep breath and then shook his head. “I guess you win.”

Erestor placed his hand upon Glorfindel’s shoulder, and the blond felt his heart race at the simple contact. “I may have great troubles of my own, but I can tell your life has not been an easy one, either.”

“I- I cannot-“

“There is no need for you to tell me. Just know I will listen if you need someone to lend an ear.” Erestor gave Glorfindel’s shoulder a squeeze. “And I am here even if you do not wish to speak. Sometimes it is simply nice to have a kindred spirit close by.”

---

"This is ridiculous.” Glorfindel threw down the brush in frustration, splattering ink across his paper and the table he sat at. “Almost all of these look the same – how can anyone remember what anything is? It looks like scribbles!”

Calmly, Erestor removed the ruined page and positioned a fresh sheet. “Let us start with ‘noldo’ again.”

“I meant to ask you about that,” Glorfindel said, picking up the brush. “Why is there a letter called ‘noldo’ and not one called ‘vanya’ or ‘teleri’ or anything of the sort?”

“Because it was a Noldo who created this,” answered Erestor simply.

“Well, that was bloody arrogant,” complained Glorfindel. He began to practice the letter, placing two rows of ‘noldo’ across the page before he let out a snort of frustration. “Whoever designed this should not have made nwalme and noldo and numen and malta the same-“

“They are not the same,” interrupted Erestor quietly.

“-and hyarmen and yanta are the same bloody thing. Look, hyarmen,” and Glorfindel hastily dipped his brush in the ink, trailing speckles onto the page from the bowl. “And, yanta.” He drew the other letter beside the first, and then haphazardly tossed the brush aside, leaving it to roll toward Erestor.

The elder picked up the brush. After dipping it into the ink, he smoothly painted the two letters onto the page. “Hyarmen has a long stroke here along the right side, and yanta has a short stroke, like... that...” Erestor offered the brush back to Glorfindel. “Try it again.”

“I hate this,” he grumbled, but took the brush anyhow. His hand had not the practice that Erestor had in writing, and so shook as he dragged the brush across the paper. “There,” he said when he had finally finished.

“Very good,” complimented Erestor. “Perhaps we should stop for the evening?” The midnight bell had tolled from the watchtower some time ago, and more than once the scribe had needed to stifle a yawn.

Glorfindel nodded. “Can you- would you- oh, nevermind,” he said, but Erestor put a hand upon his shoulder.

“What is it?”

Squirming a bit in his seat, the warrior replied, “I was wondering, if you would mind showing me, well, not how to write my whole name, but... I can never sign anything. I always get one of my scribes to do that, I have always told them I have not the time for it. I would like for it to be my mark on the pages.” Glorfindel smiled wryly. “Stupid, is it not?”

“No, not stupid at all, my friend.” Erestor turned the paper to give them more free space to paint on. “This is anga, the first letter of your name.”

“Oh, it would be one of those complicated curly ones,” mumbled Glorfindel as he took the brush. He concentrated for the next few minutes, making one anga after another, over and over and over, until they began to look more and more like the one Erestor had placed on the page. “This should be enough, then, right?”

“For now. We shall continue to practice. Wait until you know all of the letters.” Erestor dipped the brush into the bowl and then proceeded to write the rest of the letters in Glorfindel’s name. “Or, you can join them together like this,” he said, and rewrote them, flowing one letter into the next.

“That is nice,” remarked Glorfindel, looking at the connecting characters. “What does yours look like?”

“Mine? Oh, well, just like this.” Erestor made fewer curves and lines on the paper, and shrugged.

“Beautiful,” murmured Glorfindel, touching the part of Erestor’s name that had dried.

Erestor gave him a little smile. “Well, if you want to write like this, we must start at the beginning and work our way to that point.”

With a sigh, Glorfindel plucked the brush from Erestor’s fingers and tried to copy the letters of his name. “Aiya, this is so hard!”

“Practice, Glorfindel,” Erestor said, patting him on the back. “Practice, and more practice, and a whole lot of patience.”

No one recalled how it started, but it was much too obvious how it ended.

"Produce evidence to the contrary, young Lord Glorfindel," spat Salgant, emphasizing the fact that the fair elf was indeed the less long-lived of the two, "but until you do, you are nothing more than the bastard son of a forgotten elf, making his way only upon his charm and his luck. There is no doubt in my mind that you surround yourself with the more intelligent lords of the realm in an attempt to have some of their wisdom rub off on you."

Glorfindel had tightened his fists until his nails dug into the skin of his palms. As Salgant sniffed at him and turned his head, Glorfindel made to spring forward and leap upon him, but it was Erestor's hand that held him back.

There was a very unamused and almost bored look in his dark friend's eyes. "Never get angry at stupid people," he said rather nonchalantly. Glorfindel blinked, for normally Erestor said nothing or spoke later. Today, he had chosen not only to voice his opinion, but to do so while Salgant and his friends were within distance to hear such words.

"Did you... say something, Lord Erestor?" Egalmoth's words pricked with a sudden anger. Erestor drew himself up to his full height, standing nearly an impressive six and one-half feet. "I thought I may have heard something, but I think again I may have been mistaken."

"I was not speaking in reference to you, Lord Egalmoth, but perhaps I should have been."

Duilin had made it the furthest from the group, but now he came racing back. They had been waiting on Ecthelion's balcony, having been asked there by the high captain himself. When he had not arrived on time, Salgant had seen what he had believed to be an opportunity to persuade Lord Erestor to reorganize his small house under the banner of the House of the Harp. Currently, both Glorfindel and Erestor had their flags flying beneath the House of the Fountain. Rumors had circulated that Glorfindel was moving to establish himself as one of the twelve true house of Gondolin, for Turgon believed to have twelve houses would bring good luck and fortune to the now completed city.

"Lord Erestor, peace, I do not know what comes over him at times," Duilin said now to Salgant in an attempt to calm the seething musician. "A jest, perhaps," he added with an uneasy laugh. Erestor narrowed his eyes.

"A jest only to one who is a fool himself; I do not know who is worse: the idiots or the one who follows them."

"Slander!" shouted Egalmoth, and looked to the door in hopes that Ecthelion had arrived. Accusingly he pointed at Erestor. "You tread on a fine line, friend."

"It is friend only because I have something you wish to have." Erestor's house, though small, was comprised of scribes, scholars, and farmers. The 'outcasts', as he had once heard Egalmoth refer to them. Wealth came to them when they were able to find ways to use what little land was available for raising crops, and by creating new ways to utilize areas such as the rocky cliffs to grow things usually needing rich soils. It seemed perhaps trivial at first, but when the market square began to see items such as oranges and strawberries filling the booths assigned to the House of the Silver Stars, it gave the other lords reason to pause.

Salgant was not so careful with his words as Egalmoth had been. "You have nothing I want. You spend your time in the dirt like a pig, laboring in the sun like a commoner. You would disgrace my house with your presence- 'twas a favor I offered you protection beneath my own banner."

"I would rather be a pig than a coward, though," and now Erestor smirked, "I can see by your girth that you are a bit of both."

With a growl, Salgant turned and retreated with his minions in tow. When he reached the door, he turned again. "Tell Ecthelion I do not wish to have part in any plans that include a mud-wallowing creature and his bastard companion."

Taking himself to the door with swift, long strides, Erestor's sudden movement had shocked the trio into standing quite still, while Glorfindel also remained frozen in his place on the balcony. It had happened in a split second- Erestor's glove was yanked from his hand the thrown to the floor. With the back of his bare hand, he slapped Salgant across the face, sending him stumbling back against the door. "I shall let him know," said Erestor, retrieving his glove.

"You... you..." Salgant shook a chubby fist at Erestor. "I will have your title for this! I will see your house disgraced and disbanded! How dare you strike me!"

"That, was a warning," Erestor heard himself say.

"A warning? A warning!" Egalmoth's eyes were filled with rage. "To think I once sat in council with you." He spat upon Erestor's boots. "I stand with Salgant- (to this, Erestor rolled his eyes) I will see your doom."

"Well, if you are so certain of that," said Erestor, and again he surprised them for his hand, still bare, now came in contact with Salgant's jaw. The impact his fist had was much harder than his open palm, and Salgant fell down upon his posterior. "There. Now it will be worth losing my title over."

"Hold!" Ecthelion had come in through the side entrance, and hearing the commotion raced to the balcony, but reached it too late, except to pull back Glorfindel as he was about to assist Erestor. "Lord Erestor, to the side please. I will have word with you and Lord Glorfindel in the study," he said sternly.

For a moment it seemed as if neither were about to go, but finally Glorfindel walked to Erestor and touched him upon the shoulder. After one final exchanged look of contempt with Salgant, Erestor followed Glorfindel into the small office.

The door slammed shut behind Ecthelion as he continued to stride into the room. He made his way clear across, past the two elves who sat and remained silent, one looking to the floor and the other looking straight ahead and lounging on the chair more than he sat upon it. After pouring himself a drink, Ecthelion turned back around, looking at each elf in turn. “Glorfindel, look at me,” he said, not in the harsh tone he was about to speak in, but in a fatherly manner meant to comfort the younger one. When he did, he smiled solemnly, and then turned his momentarily masked ire upon the other.

“Damn you! Did you have to hit him?” Ecthelion drank the entirety of his glass before setting his eyes upon Erestor again. “What were you thinking? This is not Valinor; rules here are different. No matter what, no one strikes a lord or a king, despite whatever terrible things are said!”

“He was only defending me,” said Glorfindel dumbly, apologetically. He was embarrassed; his cheeks were aflame, and he could not bring himself to look at Erestor, though he forced himself to look at Ecthelion at least.

“Yes, I assumed as much.” Ecthelion sighed. “It was a matter of time before one of them did something they should not have. They can say whatever they damn well want, and unless they outright vilify the king no punishment will be imposed.”

Standing up suddenly, Glorfindel interrupted. “But they are both lords- surely it can not be so bad as-“

“Glorfindel, sit down!” Ecthelion even pointed to the seat with fury in his eyes. Unsure of what to do, Glorfindel glanced finally at Erestor, who gave a little nod and looked to the chair. Numbly Glorfindel felt his legs give way as he sat back down. Ecthelion took a deep breath. “Erestor, I have one elf calling for your dismissal, one calling for your execution, and one calling for both.”

“It is ever so nice to know that Duilin, Egalmoth, and Salgant all have their own opinions. For once,” Erestor said bitterly.

“Erestor.” Ecthelion made his way to the counter where the liquor was kept, set down his glass, and picked up the bottle. “Erestor, this is serious. They wish for us to go before the king himself. At this very hour. A time which was to be joyous and instead will be full of misery. Do you not know why I called both of you here?” Neither answered, but Ecthelion did not expect them to. “King Turgon wished to have twelve houses, of that you must have known. Glorfindel, yours he chose without hesitation to fill one of the vacancies. He has had his eye on you since the day you came into the city,” said Ecthelion, his voice a mixture of pride and sadness. “His second choice was more difficult, for he had two ideas in mind; the first to split a house, for Egalmoth’s followers are numerous. The second was to offer someone else the chance at the honor, and Erestor, he had chosen you.”

For a moment, Glorfindel began to smile. He and Erestor would be lords of the same level as Ecthelion, equal to Salgant and the others. His smile faltered. “Ecthelion, you do not think the king will change his mind because of this, do you?”

But Ecthelion did not answer this question. “Salgant has demanded that you be brought before the king tonight, Erestor. As captain, I must take you there.”

“Does anyone have anything to add?” Turgon had already heard the account from all five parties involved, and though he could tell that Salgant and Egalmoth were embellishing a bit, he was also able to tell that the guilty party showed no remorse for his actions. This appeared to bother the king greatly. Waiting a few moments more before reaching his verdict, he finally said, “Obviously, there is no doubt that Lord Erestor is guilty of assault. Do you deny this charge, Lord Erestor?”

“No, my lord.” A slight apologetic tone, but all for Turgon and none for Salgant. An apology for doing something to lead him to have to make such a decision, to say such a thing.

Smugly, Salgant stepped forward. “I do believe a punishment is in order.”

“Discipline, is in order,” Turgon answered back. “Punishment, is not acceptable. There must be law, order, rules, yes, and those who break them must be subject to some sort of penalty. However, there must be reason for it, a way to learn or train the one who is out of order not to break the rules again. What would you have for a penalty, Lord Salgant?”

“I would have his title removed and-“

“Unacceptable,” announced the king loudly, his voice echoing through the chambers. The meeting, called so late, was being held in private. It likely would have been at any hour, but the time caused it to be not only private, but secret as well. No servants were lurking at this hour, ready to spread the news on to others. Only a few trusted scribes might be about, and they were not ones for such idle gossip. “Lord Erestor, what is your suggestion? How would you have me deal with you?”

“Perhaps I should be jailed, left to think upon my situation for-“

“No. Also unacceptable.” The king frowned. “No one would gain anything from that, and you know it. Jails are best used to scare the young delinquents into being obedient. You would use your time to think of other things while you were there, no lesson would be learned.” He looked to Ecthelion. “Have you a suggestion for me on how to solve this situation we find ourselves in?”

He gave himself time to consider, but eventually Ecthelion shook his head. “No, m’lord. I have no solution for you.”

“I have one.” Egalmoth stepped forward. “Sometimes,” he said, with mock sincerity, “no matter how hard we try to use friendly discipline, there is no positive result from it. You said one must learn, but also you say, one might be trained. I do not think Lord Erestor, in this case, can learn not to hit his fellow lords,” said Egalmoth, and he was on the receiving end of a dark look from Erestor. “He must be trained.”

Egalmoth circled the room, coming to a wall where a smattering of weapons was displayed. “When I train my horses,” he continued, taking one of the weapons from the wall, “I use a whip.” He cracked the whip in the air, then looped it back up again as he walked back to his king. “It takes very few strikes before the beast is broken in.”

The whip was handed to Turgon, who held it thoughtfully. “Usually, I try to come to a compromise between the two parties. However, it is difficult to find a middle ground to losing one’s house and spending a few nights in a cell. Salgant, would you agree to this as fair and fitting discipline?”

“Ahh... yes. Yes, it is.” It took only one prod from Egalmoth for him to agree.

“Lord Erestor, you are to be disciplined by the whip. Have you any objections to this decision?” It was a formality, really, for how could one object to a king, but Turgon asked it anyhow.

Glorfindel flinched as he listened to Erestor agree. Somehow, this seemed so terribly, horribly wrong. There seemed no justice that so good an elf be beaten for one slap and one punch to an elf who deserved such things. He was dwelling on this and trying to come up with something to do or say to stop it, he did not hear his name called out until Ecthelion reached out and shook him. "The king is addressing you," hissed Ecthelion.

“Glorfindel, did you hear what I said?” Turgon looked thoroughly disgusted, and Glorfindel shook his head and mumbled an apology. “Come forward, Glorfindel. Ecthelion, find a way to bind Erestor here. The rest of you- I want none of this to leave this room tonight. No one here is to speak of it or discuss it. Is that clear?”

Salgant nearly objected, but Egalmoth bowed as distraction and made a bit of a speech on how important it was to uphold the dignity of the city and the houses while Ecthelion rigged something with a rope and a few timbers in the ceiling. He frowned and glared at his work in disdain before he beckoned Erestor over to it.

Glorfindel tried to take a step forward, but his legs were shaking. Erestor himself seemed quite calm, too calm. Already he had stripped off the clothing from his upper body. Any other time, Glorfindel would have been thrilled to have seen this. A hand fell upon the blond’s shoulder, nearly causing him to stumble to the ground. Then something was shoved into his hands. “Fifty lashes.” Glorfindel’s mouth fell open as he turned around, his knees nearly knocking together. “Make them count or I shall double them. I know your strength, and Ecthelion is too mighty for this.” Lowering his voice, Turgon stared into Glorfindel’s eyes and added, “I know your weakness as well.”

He gasped in his next breath, and knew he had been discovered. The whip in his hands was not only to discipline Erestor, but to instill obedience in Glorfindel as well. Turgon knew. Glorfindel walked to Erestor with slow, heavy steps, unable to look at him. He would tell himself for years later that he was forced to do it, that he had no choice. In the morning, it was himself he would be unable to look at.

Glorfindel tried not to reveal his trembling hands as he presented the bloodied whip back to King Turgon. He refused to look at anyone as he stepped back in place beside Ecthelion and avoided the gazes of the three elves only a few feet away.

“The task has been carried out. Are you satisfied?” Turgon looked to Salgant, waiting for his answer.

It seemed for a moment that the Lord of the Harp was about to object for some reason. This angered Glorfindel, and he gritted his teeth behind pursed lips to keep himself in check. He had made it thirty strikes before Turgon took the whip from his hands, seeking to quell the disgruntled murmurs of the scorned. The king struck three times, splitting the skin open on Erestor’s back with each blow. “Continue,” he had instructed, haphazardly dropping the weapon back into Glorfindel’s hands. “And do not count mine,” he added as the golden elf shakily repositioned himself.

He had tried so hard not to hurt Erestor any more than he had to, but the wounds made it nearly impossible not to tear at his flesh. Each line of red that sliced across Erestor’s body was a stab at Glorfindel’s soul. Tears stung his eyes as he completed his task, but not once had Erestor cried out or shied from the whip; Glorfindel refused to allow the others any amount of pleasure at seeing their pain.

“Fine, then.” Salgant took a step forward, no doubt intent upon speaking to Erestor, his fingers posed to force the bound elf’s chin to face him. Turgon interceded.

“I think it best,” he said quietly, “if, from now on, the two of you avoided one another. Starting now.” Turgon pointedly looked to the archway leading to the hall.

With a cough of disdain, Salgant waddled to the door, followed by Duilin. Egalmoth paused, and with a false look of regret said, “I shall call for a healer and someone to take him down.”

“Are you King now that you make such directives before me?” demanded Turgon.

Egalmoth took a step back in shock. “No, m’lord. I only thought-“

“I shall do the thinking, thank you.” Turgon stepped away from Ecthelion and handed Glorfindel the whip again, and then walked to Egalmoth, placing his hand upon the elvenlord’s shoulder. “The night has been long, you were not correctly considering your words.”

“No, m’lord,” answered Egalmoth after he was given a chance to respond.

“Let us leave; we have matters to speak of.” When Egalmoth looked over his shoulder, Turgon added, “Worry not. Someone will take care of this.”

Once alone, Glorfindel flung the whip to the ground, causing it to leave a streak of blood in its wake. His fingers flew to untie the ropes that suspended Erestor.

“Careful, here, let me help you.” Ecthelion moved around to support Erestor so that when the last knot was loose and Erestor’s legs gave out, he did not hit the floor. “We should take him to a healer,” Ecthelion said absently.

“No, if we do that, everyone will find out about this,” argued Glorfindel. Retrieving Erestor’s discarded shirt, he held it gently against the wounds and then lifted Erestor away from Ecthelion and into his own arms. “I will take him back to his room. I can care for him.”

“Glorfindel, he should really-“

“My mother was a healer; I know enough!” snapped the younger elf. Taking a deep breath, he sighed, and said, “I am sorry, Ecthelion. It pains me that I am the cause of this. Let me make peace with myself by caring for him.”

Finally, Ecthelion nodded. “We can take some of the hidden passages so that no one sees us. Come, I shall lead the way.”

Seconds passed, seeming to lengthen beyond their ability. Hunched forward on a wooden chair he had dragged near the bed, Glorfindel watched for any sign of consciousness from the dark-haired elf who slumbered before him. He had done all he could. The salve covered the wounds; the injured elf was on his stomach, with only a thin, clean linen covering his back. Pillows had been fluffed, prayers had been said and tears were shed. Glorfindel sat now in silence, eyes red and barely blinking.

As the sun began to set, Erestor finally opened his eyes enough to take in his surroundings. When he locked eyes with Glorfindel, the blond looked away in shame. But the voice he heard was not angry towards him or at all bitter. It was concerned, but for Glorfindel’s welfare. “Have you been here all day? You should go and eat. And rest.”

“Not until you are able to come to dinner with me.” The younger ellon carefully lifted the fabric and examined the wounds for infection. They were healing, as they should be, but it pained Glorfindel to still see many of them raw.

“Please, go and eat. I shall be fine.”

Shaking his head and swallowing back his tears, Glorfindel said, “You are hurt. I can see it, and I can hear it as you sleep.”

“It does not hurt that much,” whispered Erestor.

“Yes, it does,” Glorfindel argued softly. He applied another thick layer of salve to the wounds caused by the whipping he had been forced to administer. Taking a deep breath, he slowly let it out, blowing a stream of cool air across Erestor’s back.

At the third pass, the dark elf shifted slightly. “Glorfindel? May I ask you something?”

Out of habit, the blond nodded, and then said calmly, “You may ask me anything, meldir.”

“How do you know how to take care of me so well?”

“My mother was a healer,” he said quietly after covering Erestor’ back once again with a layer of thin, gauzy fabric. “She had to be.”

“Lots of siblings, always getting into scuffles? Or was she employed to the court of a higher lord or of a king?” Erestor’s questions were so eagerly asked that Glorfindel wished he could answer yes to them. Instead, he bowed his head and heaved a sigh.

“She had to because of me,” admitted Glorfindel just as Erestor’s eyes began to close. “She had to because-“ And there he left it until coaxed to continue.

“You have never whipped anyone before, but you have been whipped in the past, have you not?” Erestor paused for only a moment. “’Tis how you knew how to land the strokes; for the same reason you ride your horses unbridled and refuse to break them. Someone tried to break you once.”

Glorfindel shivered as the truth he had been hiding so long and so well came forth so easily from the mouth of this mysterious and unusual elf. Tears never meant to be shed now fell. “My... my father. He beat me. A lot.”

A pained breath was taken in by Erestor. “But you had siblings and he was not violent with them. You felt you needed to protect them at times and would distract his attention to yourself.”

“How do you know these things?” demanded Glorfindel.

“I am old. I watch and listen more than I act and speak - which is a good thing, considering the trouble I get into when I do act or speak. There is also the fact that you remind me of an elf I knew in Valinor. Middle child, but he was the ‘big brother’ type; his older brothers had been long grown before he arrived, and he was closer in age to his younger brother and sister. He crossed the sea; I am not entirely sure what has become of him,” admitted Erestor. “But you act like he did in his youth in some respects.”

“I... do have younger siblings,” Glorfindel shared. “A sister, and a brother that I hardly know.”

“Ah, just like Angrod then, but in the rev—Fin? Glorfindel?” Sitting up despite ths obvious pain, Erestor took hold of Glorfindel’s hand. “What is wrong?”

Glorfindel shook uncontrollably. “Please… not his name... do not say it again...”

“Truly, I am sorry, I did not know it would-“ Erestor gathered both of Glorfindel’s hands in his. “Was he your-“

Rapidly, Glorfindel nodded, and was now rocking in his chair. “Please,” he whimpered, “Please, please do not say it, please!”

“I will say no more on the subject.” Erestor coaxed Glorfindel to stand up, clenching his teeth as the pair moved slowly to an alcove that led out to the private balcony. “Let me get you something to drink.”

“No, you should be in bed.” Glorfindel made an attempt to turn them around, but found himself gently pushed back into a plush chair.

“I need some air, and I hate resting while on my stomach. No way to really relax in that manner.” Erestor brought forth a glass jug of liquor and two small glasses. Sitting down gingerly on the edge of a footstool so that nothing would be against his back, the older ellon filled both glasses and handed one to Glorfindel. “Tastes horrible the first drink, but by the third you no longer notice.”

Glorfindel thanked his friend and then picked up his glass and tipped it back- indeed, it was foul at first, but the calm that washed over him made up for it. “I feel a fool,” he said as he poured another portion into his glass.

“There is no need for that.” Erestor nursed his drink slowly, sipping it now and again. “Forgive my constant and unintentional observation, but might I pose a different query?”

Laughing at the formality of the request, Glorfindel swished the liquid back and forth in his glass. “What else have you discovered about me, meldir?” he asked with unease.

“To be quite blunt, you are not really four hundred or five hundred or whatever it is you keep telling everyone.”

“That sounded like a statement and not a question,” teased Glorfindel, retrieving the bottle for another refill. Erestor nodded and waited. With a sigh, Glorfindel asked, “Well, then, how old do you believe me to be?”

“Oh, I am not very good at that game,” admitted the dark ellon. “I never really learned my numbers. Let me think... definitely younger. Perhaps, a hundred and fifty?”

“You would have been closer without the fifty. I am seventeen and a century; eighteen this spring.” Glorfindel awaited the inevitable, but when Erestor merely nodded, he added, “I came here as a child, more or less. I made captain before my majority, but no one really knew it.”

“You are more mature than I was at your age,” commended Erestor. “Actually, you may have noticed, there seems to be a part of me that never quite grew up.”

“The part that likes to dance on Ecthelion’s fountain in the early hours of the day, the part that sneaks extra desserts at dinner, or the part that insults other lords back?” wondered Glorfindel out loud.

“Exactly,” grinned Erestor. “I can see I am not the only one who makes observations.”

After a stretch of silence, Glorfindel said, “I suppose you are trying now to determine just how it was that a nearly grown elfling ended up on his own in Gondolin.”

“I was, but I feared it might infringe upon the earlier forbidden conversation,” answered Erestor.

Glorfindel nodded. “The conversation is not forbidden; only the name. I never wish to hear it again, if I can help it.” As if a further explanation were warranted, Glorfindel then said, “He is a kinslayer; he is no more my father than I am his son. He disowned me and I left before he could do what I knew he wanted to.”

“I am so sorry.” Erestor had set his glass down and was now fully paying attention to Glorfindel. “There were times when my parents and I disagreed, and I left as soon as I was able, but... no one should need deal with the sort of anguish you did. I can sympathize with you on one point. My mother was a kinslayer; not exactly something to be proud of.”

“He felt justified. He felt he really had a reason to do what he did. That it was his right to... abuse me, for turning out how I did.” Staring out through the open doors that led to the balcony, Glorfindel sighed. “He thought I was sick- like some diseased animal that should be gotten rid of before they infect any others. The view here is not so different.”

“Because you are- forgive me if I am off the mark,” said Erestor carefully, “but is it that you-- because you have a different... preference, than most males.”

Glorfindel held Erestor’s gaze for a long while, contemplating just how to answer. When he finally decided he had no fear in telling his secret to the dark ellon, he nodded slightly. “I suppose you picked that up from simply observing me as well.”

“Actually, I learned that from watching the way that the ladies act around you. You are trusted by them. Never a threat and more like a big brother instead of a suitor. They like you,” explained Erestor.

“I suppose then it is only a matter of time before one of them gossips to the entire city, and then I shall have to be executed to be made an example of,” spoke Glorfindel ruefully.

Erestor shook his head. “Oh, no. They would never let on about you, and would defend you and your honor to the last. You are a treasure to them, and they will not see you lost. You are beloved of them, Glorfindel, that I easily know.”

Glorfindel’s gaze wandered back to the balcony. “Sometimes at night, I would hide under the bed or outside under the window if I knew he was having a bad day and would come for me. If he could not find me, then come morning sometimes he forgot. It was always good to take the chance; if he did not find me, maybe I would skip being whipped that night.

“There were times when he would come home and slam the door. He would say nothing, he would just growl and start taking his belt off. If I was right there, my mother would rush my sister away and leave me with him. If I was not there, she might try to make excuses for me, but after my sister was old enough to talk back, I never wanted to take the chance. She stood up for me once, my sister, and he hit her; knocked one of her teeth out. Then, he just beat me harder for it. So I stopped hiding and just learned not to scream.”

The blond looked up, wiping away the errant tears, to see the fiery anger in Erestor’s eyes. “How can anyone do something so horrible to their own child?” he murmured to himself through clenched teeth.

“I asked him, before I left to help me. I wish I knew how to change so that I was not like this,” said Glorfindel sadly. “I wish I were not always in fear because someday the wrong person might find out what I am. There are days I pray with all my heart for Eru to take this curse from me.”

“Look, I know there are those who would say it is wrong. There are rules and laws against it, and those who act as your father did and as Turgon does. But there is nothing wrong about being who you are. There is nothing wrong about having the feelings that you do.” Erestor sighed. “Aiya. I wish you had made it to Doriath instead of this place. King Thingol is an ass, but at least he was accepting of the different ways others loved. Your father, Turgon, and many others- they are afraid of what they do not understand, and so they fight it and destroy it.”

“What if they are right, though?” Glorfindel rested his elbows upon his knees and bowed his head in his hands. “What if I am the one who is wrong?”

“Listen to me.” Erestor gently tilted Glorfindel’s chin up until they were looking at each other once more. “There is nothing wrong with you. Eru does not curse good elves, and you, meldir, are one of the best.” The comment had Glorfindel blushing, and Erestor continued. “If we were all the same, there would be nothing to make us special. Wisdom from my father to me regarding the Nandor when they decided not to make the journey to Valinor with the rest of us.”

Dropping his jaw slightly, Glorfindel regarded Erestor in a new light. “Valinor? I knew from what Ecthelion said that you came from there, but you were not born there?”

Uneasily, Erestor said, “I was a child when we began to travel.”

“So you are one of The Eldar, not just one of the eldar,” said Glorfindel with a bit of awe in his voice.

“Not... exactly...” Erestor picked up his glass, frowned, and filled it, and then poured another drink for Glorfindel as well. “You revealed your secret; in turn it is only fair you know mine. My mother, as you may have assumed by now, was Eldarin. My father is an Ainu.”

“One of the Maiar?” asked Glorfindel with overwhelming curiosity.

Erestor shook his head. “One of the... other ones.”

“Really?” Glorfindel studied Erestor hard and then said, “Namo.”

“What? Oh! Oh, no, not him,” smiled Erestor. “You know, he is depicted quite wrong. He is quite fair, like his brother.”

“I was going to say Lorien next, but the way you describe him, I would say that is a no as well.”

“Stop a moment. I just revealed to you my heritage. The fact I am half Valarin. And your greatest concern is guessing which was my father?” Erestor looked thoroughly amused.

Glorfindel shrugged. “I suspected you did not wish to have such excitement made about it, or else it was something you would tell to greater audiences. However, if it thrills you to know, my knees are shaking and my heart is racing to be in your presence!”

The laughter that came from Erestor cheered Glorfindel immensely, for it indeed could be the best cure, and he hoped in some way it might help the dark elf forget his pain (if the alcohol had not already dulled it). “As you should be,” he joked lightly.

“I know who it is- and for a moment I nearly said Tulkas because of your spirit, but it must logically be Orome. In all the history I have ever heard, it is always Orome who is with the host of the Eldar when they come to Valinor.” Glorfindel smiled quite smugly when he was rewarded with a nod from Erestor.

“The ellon I thought for years to be my father named me Tatannin, but my mother called me Eresse and soon after I was born no one called me by the other name. In fact, I only recall the first one because I once asked what it was, and my friends would use it to taunt me,” said Erestor. “But Orome has not told me what he named me. Not yet.”

“A coincidence, then- Glorfindel is the name my mother gave me.” The blond nodded to himself. “My father called me Anglorel, but I long ago stopped using it. My father encouraged my using my mother’s name. It was Laurefinde, actually, but because of the ban on Quenya, no one used that. It was always Glorfindel, except to my Uncle Aegnor, who often said he dared King Thingol to come stop him.”

“You have very lovely names,” said Erestor after a moment’s hesitation. “Nothing like Eresse or Erestor.”

“Your names are just fine,” argued Glorfindel gently. “Nice and short, too,” he chuckled, recalling the lesson they finally reached earlier that week. Now that he finally knew all of the characters in the alphabet, he was working on writing words. Glorfindel had found, of them all, his name was far becoming the most challenging to write. When Glorfindel got discouraged, Erestor had lightened the mood by teaching him how to write short words that had no place in polite company.

“Glorfindel, I must ask you not to reveal anything I have told you to anyone else,” Erestor said in a more serious tone.

“I am certainly not going to say anything. Remember- there are no rules against mixed breeds here, only ‘the unclean’. You hold all of the cards, my friend.” Glorfindel finished his drink, shaking his head when Erestor picked up the bottle to refresh it. “As soon as you are well, the first thing we are going to do is go riding.”

“With the horses? No, thank you,” answered Erestor disdainfully. None of the riding lessons had gone very well, and had soon been replaced with extra archery and swordfighting.

With a simple shrug, Glorfindel replied, “Half-Valarin or not, it would be a terrible tragedy if the son of Orome never learns how to ride a horse.”

“Ladies,” began Ecthelion with a bow and a leer, “although I welcome you to the House of the Fountain, I kindly ask you pay the toll to sit upon my bench.”

“A toll? Your bench?” questioned the golden haired maid. She and her darker companion giggled as Ecthelion nodded.

“Aye, I am the Lord of the House. I demand prompt payment.” Ecthelion waggled his brows.

From across the courtyard, Glorfindel sighed inwardly. Caught between letting his friend have his fun and not seeing these ladies be inappropriately addressed and perhaps even touched, Glorfindel cleared his throat loudly as he approached. “Captain Ecthelion! King Turgon has a question of great import to ask you!”

“I am a bit... occupied at the moment. Know you this question, Glorfindel?” Ecthelion’s eyes never left the demure pair on the bench.

“Aye, he wishes to know what name you would see inscribed upon your blade; the one he hath forged to be a match to his Glamdring.” Impatiently, Glorfindel stepped between Ecthelion and the bench. “Do you need the question repeated, or have you the time to come to answer our lord?”

Taking a moment to glare at Glorfindel before stepping directly around him, Ecthelion tossed over his shoulder, “I have a more pressing matter to attend to. Two matters, that is.” From the direction of the fields and stables, Erestor suddenly appeared, removing his riding gloves and stomping the mud from his boots. “Erestor! Come here, please!”

The dark ellon walked briskly to where the bench was, dipping a hand into the fountain to wash something from his fingers. “How can I be of assistance?”

“These ladies,” proclaimed Ecthelion, waving his hand at the pair, “will not believe me when I say that there is a toll to use my bench. Please, if you would tell them indeed that there is.”

For a few seconds, Erestor gave Glorfindel a sideways look, then nodded his head to the ladies. “Oh, yes. The toll. They must pay it.” Though perhaps convincing to a small child, Erestor’s overly theatrical performance was undoubtedly faked.

With a grin, the bolder golden elleth stood and queried, “And what is this toll?” Her companion stood as well, while Erestor splashed a bit of water upon his face to cool it and then wiped away the excess as he walked to the vacated bench and sat down.

Ecthelion sat down beside Erestor with a wide grin on his face. The Lord of the Fountain then patted his knee. “Have a seat,” he instructed the brave young elleth, “and I shall tell you.”

As she giggled and did so, Glorfindel cleared his throat loudly.

“Are you still here?” questioned Ecthelion as the second elleth sat back down next to him and leaned against him with a smile.

“Your sword needs a name,” said Glorfindel blandly, folding his arms over his chest.

“Call it... Megil,” suggested Ecthelion, whispering his words seductively into the ear of the elleth on his lap. His idea was laughed at by all but Glorfindel.

“I cannot tell them you wish your sword to be called ‘sword’.” Glorfindel narrowed his eyes as Ecthelion’s hands ran down the length of the elleth’s thighs and reached her knees, massaging them. One hand strayed to touch the other young elleth.

“Erestor! Name my sword, and you can collect the toll from one of these beauties. You may even choose which of these lovely fragile flowers to collect it from.”

“There is no toll,” spoke Glorfindel suddenly as the golden elleth slid herself onto Erestor's lap, and the darker one took her place on Ecthelion's. “He just says that to be a flirt.” When no reaction save for giggling came from the pair, Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. “How old are you? Or you?” he demanded, pointing to the other elleth. “Barely past your majority, either of you, if that. Go home to your mothers and stay put until you learn to be ladies,” instructed Glorfindel sternly.

Bowing their heads and shamefully looking about to be sure no others saw them, the pair hastily left, gathering the baskets that they had when first Ecthelion came upon them. As soon as the ellith were out of earshot, Ecthelion snorted and said, “You are no fun.”

“Name your sword,” demanded the golden elf.

“Findelamarth.”

“Theltorog it is,” answered Glorfindel almost immediately.

Erestor snickered before he was able to contain himself, and Ecthelion turned to the scribe now. “Erestor, name my sword,” the fountain’s captain insisted, “before he has them inscribe ‘sparkly snuggly fluffywoofypoof’ on the blade.”

Placing his gloves over his leg, Erestor stared into the spouting sparkling water of the fountain. “Orchrist,” he finally said.

“There you are,” Ecthelion told Glorfindel as he stood up. “Now, where did those girls run off to?” he wondered aloud as he left the courtyard.

Glorfindel shook his head in disbelief at Ecthelion’s reaction. “He seems to appreciate nothing I have done these last few weeks to prepare both of our houses for this event,” said Glorfindel in reference to the official celebration for the completion of the city. “I apologize for cancellation our riding lesson today, but I had so much work.”

“I can understand that,” said Erestor. “We have been so busy duplicating documents, I fear my hands may fall off.”

It was then that Glorfindel noticed the riding gloves, the mud, and the fact that Erestor had come from the direction of the stables and not of the council building. “Were you at the stables?” asked Glorfindel as he sat down beside Erestor. He was given a proud nod. “By yourself, then?”

“Yes. In the stables, on a horse, down to the river, and back.” Erestor’s smug look told Glorfindel how well the adventure had gone.

“That is wonderful!” Without a thought, Glorfindel leaned over and embraced Erestor in a fierce hug. Realizing after a moment what he had done, the blond warrior straightened himself up and gave Erestor a hearty slap on the shoulder. “I mean, good job, man,” he said in a deeper than usual voice in order to reassert his masculinity.

Erestor chuckled and patted Glorfindel’s back in return. “Thanks to you. Making me get on the horses time after time, no matter how many mud puddles I fell into. So, does Gondolin’s star riding instructor get a new blade for the ceremony, too?”

“Yes and no,” answered Glorfindel. “I just get to stand off to the side and look pretty. Er, handsome,” he corrected with a smirk. “Since I have nothing to DO exactly, I have something more ceremonial, like you said. Just something Turgon will present to me when he names the twelve houses.”

“A secret then?” winked Erestor.

“Oh, I have seen it already. They need only inscribe it.” Pushing back his cloak, Glorfindel said, “Here. You will be proud of this.” Handing a sheet of paper to Erestor, he continued, “This is what will be on the blade. I wrote it myself; every word. Even the long ones,” he grinned. “What do you think?”

“The words are beautiful. I am sure the sword is as well,” smiled Erestor.

A little light laughter followed. “It will not be a sword, not like the ones Turgon and Ecthelion are getting. Mine is simply a long knife – sharp though. The blade has quite a sting to it.”

“I seem to have landed myself in quite the predicament.” The young elf looked to Erestor and shrugged. “I was wondering if you might do me a favor and contact my grandfather. My mind is not so strong over such great distances, but I know that yours is.”

With a sigh, Erestor nodded his head. “I am sure King Turgon will not keep you here forever, Laiqalasse. In fact, we shall go to my friend Ecthelion and ask if he might speak to the king.”

“The gate captain?” Laiqalasse shook his head, blond braids gently swinging. “First, he did not believe a place called Green Wood existed, and second, when I told them I was the Prince’s son, he laughed. He insulted my father as well- he said to me ‘Little Thranduil, the philosopher’s son? That amateur shipbuilder would never have known how to become a prince’. Among other discomplimentary things.”

“Discomplimentary?” Erestor chuckled. “Still making up words, then, I see.”

“Someone needs to make new ones up, else we would bore of the old ones,” grinned the young warrior.

“Laiqalasse, forgive me, I should have introduced you. Glorfindel, this is Laiqalasse, the younger son of Thranduil, Prince of Green Wood as I understand it now. Last I saw him, he was barely to my knee and was a constant audience for my fiddling. Laiqalasse, may I present Captain Glorfindel, chief of the House of the Golden Flower.” Erestor politely motioned that Laiqalasse should join them at their table in the garden where they were having tea.

After offering to pour a cup for the newcomer, Glorfindel gave Erestor a smirk. “I never knew you were a musician.”

“I dabbled a bit,” answered Erestor.

“Dabbled a bit? He writes his own songs,” blurted out Laiqalasse. “He sang me to sleep more times than I can count, and Luthien employed him as her minstrel for a time.”

Greatly interested, Glorfindel pressed for more information. “Erestor hardly speaks of his life before coming here. I have a feeling your stories will be fascinating.”

Laiqalasse bit his lip, and glanced at Erestor, who was staring off at a tree in the distance. “Perhaps it best that Erestor tell you those stories, in his own time.”

“My apologies,” said Glorfindel, with a slight bow of his head. “I should not have assumed.”

“Actually, I am myself curious of what young Laiqalasse remembers of Doriath. There is no need to keep the things you recall from anyone- Glorfindel is a good friend, and there is nothing to hide from him.” Erestor picked up a biscuit from the tray, and Glorfindel practically beamed at the comment. “I was simply in thought.”

“What about?” asked Laiqalasse curiously.

“Well, I do believe that you have kin here, Laiqalasse,” explained Erestor. “If I am correct, your father is related to the folk of the tree through his mother. If that is the case, you might appeal to Galdor. He is the Lord of the House of the Tree here in Gondolin. Perhaps his word will be good for the king. If nothing else, he will surely see that you are given good lodgings here.”

“I shall go to see him immediately,” decided Laiqalasse, but Erestor raised a hand.

With a curious smile, the dark ellon asked, “You have my interest, pen-neth, what do you recall of Doriath when I was there?”

“I remember when you left. I refused to eat for weeks after that, and I threw a fit. Thingol limped for awhile from the bite I gave to his leg,” snickered the youth. When he sobered, he added, “I tried to follow you, but I could barely walk. I thought at first you were leaving because of me, because I was always crawling about instead of walking. It took a few years for me to understand it was because of all of the trouble you had with Thingol.”

“You were in trouble with the king?” interrupted Glorfindel.

“We had a... battle of words, one might say,” Erestor stated. “I began something of a small rebellion over the speaking of Quenya. It is forbidden there.”

Laiqalasse’s grin spread across his face. “That is why I began to use this version of my name.”

“We used to call him Legolas,” added Erestor to clear up any confusion Glorfindel may have had in following the conversation.

“So, you started a rebellion. Is that what you were in jail for in Doriath?” guessed Glorfindel. Before Erestor could do more than nod, a messenger approached the table, bowing low.

“Good lords, your pardon. Lord Glorfindel, you are needed at the front gate. No one can find Lord Ecthelion, and we have a party of visitors.” The runner took a deep breath, obviously having raced about in an attempt to find someone who could greet those entering the city. “They have been waiting for some time now, but we have yet to allow them entry.”

“I shall go to the gate at once,” replied Glorfindel. The messenger nodded and ran off again. “Laiqalasse, perhaps we might have another chance to speak again soon. It was a pleasure to meet you,” he said.

“And you,” came the answer.

“Laiqalasse, perhaps we should go to see Galdor,” Erestor reminded him as Glorfindel stood up. “Fin, will you be in the hall for supper?” Glorfindel nodded. “I hope we shall see you then.”

As Glorfindel lingered to watch Erestor and Laiqalasse leave, something seemed to twist at his insides. A pang of jealously, he realized. Although it had not been said, Laiqalasse was something like family to Erestor – like a nephew or something of the sort. For so long, Glorfindel had felt a companionship with Erestor, born mostly from the fact that neither had anyone else, and so, they had each other. This newest development left him with an ache in his heart as he covered the distance from the courtyard to the main gate.

Upon arrival, he found a party of three riders, one of whom had dismounted and was looking particularly bored. “Welcome to the Gates of Gondolin,” announced Glorfindel loudly as a soldier handed him a scroll. He unrolled it carefully, but he was well aware of what was written upon it.

“Before you enter, I have but a few rules to tell you. First and foremost, you may not turn back now. Once you have entered the city, you will be required to stay here forevermore. No one who finds Gondolin may leave Gondolin. Anyone who seeks to escape will be punished by death. Second,” he began, and this was always the hardest for him to decree, “no unclean behavior will be tolerated. The penalty for such an act is death. Third, no one shall steal, murder, rape, torture, or maim. The full sentence for such an act is to be determined by the king, but the ultimate outcome is always death. Do you have any questions?”

“What is the penalty for tax evasion?” asked the elf who was standing, leaning against his horse.

“Ah... we... uhm... what are taxes?” mumbled Glorfindel to the nearest guard, who shrugged.

“Oh, beautiful!” The ellon took hold of his horse’s reigns and began to lead her to the gate. “I like this city already. However, I regret to inform you, I plan not to follow all of your rules, and I plan not to be killed on account of it.”

The full company of guards, including Glorfindel, stood silent and in shock. The pair still mounted began to laugh lightly as their leader further approached. “My name is Gildor Inglorion, and though that may mean little to you, it will mean quite a lot to your king. I am a messenger of the realm of King Elu Thingol, long live the king and may his reign be prosperous and filled with glory.”

“So... so which rules did you plan to break, then?” asked Glorfindel, fairly confused.

“For one, I do indeed plan to leave. I have been assigned to travel between Gondolin and Doriath, with messages and the occasional token or treat.” Gildor took a moment to gaze up at the tall towers and nodded commendingly. “Wonderful design.”

“And... the other?” Glorfindel truly wished Ecthelion had been at the gate instead of him, until the answer was given to his question.

With a wicked smile, Gildor looked over his shoulder and crooked his finger at one of the mounted travelers. As the dark elf who traveled with him dismounted, the other rider grinned, his shoulders shaking in laughter. Very calmly, the brunette strolled to the leader of the party, and paused only when he was standing very close beside Gildor.

The bold silver-blond elf smiled as he licked his lips. Moments later, nearly the entire company was gasping, and two of the guards had fainted. Glorfindel’s eyes were extremely wide as he took in the sight of two male elves kissing. It was something he could not seem to look away from, and an image that he would never forget.

“We are citizens of Doriath,” stated Gildor as a few of the soldiers began to warily draw their weapons. “Your king knew of us before we came, and he has given us clearance. If you do not believe me, then ask him yourself.”

At a loss for words, Glorfindel motioned to the nearest pair of guards. “Please, escort Lord Gildor and his party to King Turgon.” The warriors nodded and walked to join their guests. Glorfindel snapped his fingers, and a stable hand came to take the reigns of the horses.

As Gildor passed by, he stopped before Glorfindel. “Thank you for greeting us. It is a pleasure to meet you-?”

“Glorfindel. I am Glorfindel, of the House of the Golden Flower,” he managed to say without stuttering.

“Glorfindel. Aye.” Gildor locked his eyes with those of the captain, and after a few seconds, his lips curved in an almost obscene fashion. “Glorfindel. I shall remember your name.” The elf then, it seemed, winked at Glorfindel, causing the Gondolin elf’s cheeks to flush, and then he was gone, entering the city with the escort.

It was then that Glorfindel realized he had practically stopped breathing. Filling his lungs with air and excusing himself quickly, he escaped to the stables. For the first time, he felt as if he had been standing before the company of soldiers naked, with his thoughts and soul bared to all who stood there.

Hiding himself in an empty stall, Glorfindel could not clear from his mind the events that had just occurred. Especially prominant was the kiss he had witnessed. His fingers had already loosened his belt, and his hand was hidden down the front of his pants. Closing his eyes and hoping that no one would hear him, Glorfindel began to pleasure himself. The scene replayed, over and over. After a while, Glorfindel knew not when, the elves he had seen with his eyes changed in his mind.

Hastily, he rose upon his knees and shoved his leggings down, stroking furiously as he watched the erotic imagery again. No longer did he see Gildor and his companion. It was him, standing so confidently at the front gate, and in his arms, a beautiful, dark creature. Tall and lithe, proud and mysterious. Glorfindel clenched his teeth as he imagined himself kissing Erestor, holding Erestor, touching Erestor, fucking Erestor.

“Ugghn!” Swallowing the sound as soon as it came forth, Glorfindel panted quietly as he watched through hooded eyes as his seed spilled into the straw . Wiping his hand upon the ground, he sat back to calm himself once more.

Things were going to be more difficult from now on.

“You lost her.”

Ecthelion took a deep breath and nodded affirmatively. “Yes, sir.”

“You.. lost her,” the king repeated, rising from his throne.

“Yes.” Ecthelion did not shy away from the gaze of the king as Glorfindel did. The third elf of the party stepped up before Ecthelion.

“I take full responsibility, m’lord.” Egalmoth glanced to his right, where Salgant and Duilin stood looking on at the host that had returned without the white lady of the realm. “It was my turn for watch. She said she wished a private moment by the river, and I fell asleep without regard-“

“You lost her?!” Turgon’s rage was full-blown, and he shook with fury as he stomped down the trio of steps before the throne. His hand was at Egalmoth’s throat in an instant. “I should have you killed for an act so traitorous!”

“Mercy, m’lord, we are all at fault,” spoke Ecthelion, drawing a short blade from his arsenal. Positioning it to point at his heart, he removed the king’s hand from the other lord’s throat and placed it upon the blade. “If you kill him, it is only deserving I die as well. I was the leader of the party; it was my responsibility to see her safely to Doriath and back.”

"Doriath? For what reason was she there?!" demanded the king. "Why did you take her there?" The blade pressed only slightly forward, close enough for discomfort but not close enough to pierce cloth or draw blood.

"It was her will and her want," explained Ecthelion. "She would not be disuaded, and we could not simply leave her to wander."

"And yet wander she does; if she is not yet dead." Turgon withdrew the blade, holding it with the hilt facing Ecthelion. “I have no time to kill anyone. We must make haste to find my sister. I am going to make myself abundantly clear- this is not to leave this room. You will say nothing of this to anyone. Those present will be sent to search for her in small groups. You will not return until all leads have been exhausted!”

Upon hearing the decree that no word was to leave the chamber, Erestor set down his quill and stopped recording what was being said. The scribe took up a brush of ink and blurred the words on the page before setting it aside to be destroyed later.

“M’lord,” spoke Salgant from the edge of the room where he stood, “what of your decree that no one who enters is given leave to go?”

Contemplating this for only a moment, Turgon said, “I have no time to worry about that. I will not have Aredhel in the wilds alone!”

“Your highness,” spoke one of the two elves in the room who was not a lord nor a scribe, “I know I am an outsider, but I am willing to do whatever I may to aid you at this time.”

“As am I.” Laiqalasse stood up, having been seated behind Galdor, who had taken him into his house some years earlier when he had arrived. “You have my aid as well.”

“Gildor Inglorion, Laiqalasse Thranduilion, I thank you both for your offers. Salgant, you and Duilin will need to find suitable gear for Laiqalasse, and quickly, so that he can go with you to search the south. Egalmoth, you, Ecthelion, and Galdor will go east. Glorfindel, you and Erestor will travel with Gildor to the west.”

Although Glorfindel had feared facing the king, his shiver now was due to something entirely different.

Four weeks after leaving Gondolin they ran out of supplies, with no sign of the lady they were trying to find. They rested for longer periods of time, and though none of them said it, they all were beginning to feel that their quest was hopeless. It was decided that they would stop to hunt, spend another two weeks searching, and then return to Gondolin.

Originally, Erestor had argued vehemently in favor of remaining in the wilds until they found some sign of her, ill or fair. Gildor pointed out that it would be unlikely after the time that had passed that they would find a trail of any sort. It made sense to hunt for her, but it was becoming a hopeless quest. Glorfindel had the final vote in the matter, and struck the two week compromise between them. He hated to return to King Turgon without any hope, but at the same time, it was harder and harder for the Lord of the Golden Flower to believe that they might find Aredhel.

Erestor had appeared defeated, but simply nodded at the logic. Gildor seemed smugly pleased at Glorfindel’s decision, and their hunt continued. Game was scarce, but eventually the trio managed to track a wandering boar. It was killed swiftly, and the three rested as the meat was cooked over their campfire, saying little to one another.

For the duration of their journey, Glorfindel had been unable to keep his eyes off of the elf-lord of Doriath. Gildor was unique. Despite the fact he was allegedly nothing more than a messenger, he carried himself with the air of a prince. Whenever in Gondolin, Gildor broke the rules without so much as a flinch, and always he said the things no one else dared say to the king.

Then there was Erestor, the one Glorfindel truly wished to watch. The one he really wanted, the one who would never consider the blond in the same way he did. Glorfindel knew not why fate would play so cruel a trick upon him.

"You are watching him again," whispered Erestor once Gildor had gone off into the trees to relieve himself. Glorfindel blushed as he turned to look at his scholarly friend. "You know he is no longer with that blacksmith that came with him when he first entered the city."

With a frown, Glorfindel replied, "I believed they were bound."

"No, and that was the problem," answered Erestor. "His companion had been hoping for more than just a friendly fling." There was a pause before Erestor asked, "Are you attracted to him?"

"Why, are you jealous?"

Erestor stiffened a little at the comment, which came not from Glorfindel, but from Gildor. "Merely.. concerned." Standing up, Erestor took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I am going for a walk. Perhaps I can find some wild fruit for dessert." With a nod to each of the elves, Erestor picked up his quiver and bow and then disappeared into the woods.

Settling himself upon the ground close to where Glorfindel sat, Gildor picked up a piece of wood and tossed it into the fire. "You never answered his question."

His cheeks flushed, Glorfindel turned away. His eyes scanned the foliage in the direction that Erestor had gone, but he saw no trail. A firm hand grasped his chin and turned it so that he was facing Gildor. "I ask you the same question. I know you are attracted to me," he growled, lowering his gaze and making Glorfindel feel positively dirty, "but... are you attracted to him?"

"To.. him?" squeaked the captain, scooting away from Gildor's touch. He immediately backed up into a tree, and was pursued.

"To.. him," Gildor repeated, his eyes shifting to the place where Erestor had gone. "To the dark shadow of Doriath; to the wiry mouse of Turgon's council."

"I.. I.." Glorfindel squirmed to get away, but his legs were trapped by Gildor, who was knelt upon them.

"Glorfindel," said Gildor abruptly, "you do know he is not one of us, do you not?"

"One.. one of us?"

Leaning down so that his nose nearly touched Glorfindel's, Gildor smirked. "Yes, darling, one of.. us.." His tongue flicked Glorfindel's lips, moistening them and making the blond open them in surprise. Gildor immediately demanded entrance, his mouth sealed over Glorfindel's. For a few seconds, Gildor's tongue danced about within the cavern of Glorfindel's mouth, with the warrior unable to do a thing but fist the grass and try to keep from passing out. "Did you enjoy that?" questioned Gildor once he had slid out.

Swallowing the knot in his throat, Glorfindel nodded shakily.

"Good," purred the messenger, and narrowing his eyes seductively, he added, "Stick out your tongue."

Hesitantly, Glorfindel did as he had been asked. Gildor moved forward once more, but this time he took what Glorfindel offered between his lips and began to suck. Pulling Glorfindel deeper and deeper into his own mouth, Gildor only relented when the blond gave a little whimper. Sitting back on his haunches, Gildor smiled greedily at the panting ellon before him.

"You wish I was him," said Gildor in a husky voice. Glorfindel's breath hitched as he realized that he had been found out. "I can accept that," purred the older ellon. "It does not bother me that you will call his name as I bring pleasure to you."

The sounds of someone returning caused Gildor to stand up, regal as ever. Glorfindel was more of a mess, finding that his leggings were bulged inappropriately and his hair a bit tousled from the tree. "I.. I must.. go and relieve myself," he stuttered, disappearing quickly in the opposite direction of where Erestor was approaching from. He caught Gildor's self-satisfied nod as he headed off, finding a place some distance away.

Glorfindel grabbed hold of a branch for support, closing his eyes. It was so hard not to take what he was being offered, but harder still to admit he could not take what he wanted.

“Glorfindel, there is something I must say.”

It was nearing the end of the fifth week spent in the wilderness, tracking all possible leads to find Aredhel. Twice, Erestor had farspoken with Ecthelion, letting him know that they were not lost or captured. The other parties had long since returned to Gondolin, but the persistence of these three hunters far outlasted that of their peers. No stone was left unturned in their attempt to find the King’s sister.

The first few days had been awkward, but now things were surprisingly easy for the trio. During spare moments, Gildor stole kisses from Glorfindel, touching the young ellon in ways he had never been touched before. Soft, gentle caresses turned in a matter of days to nipping and biting, groping and grabbing, with the constant throaty laughter from the elf of Doriath.

Gildor convinced Erestor to hunt for the game one night, and while the elder elf was away, Glorfindel was taken to even greater heights of pleasure. As soon as the dark elf was gone, Gildor had him pinned against a tree. Between deep kisses and the occasional pulling of his hair back so that the messenger could gain total access to his throat, Glorfindel realized his belt was being loosened, and his pants pushed down to his knees.

Gildor dropped down before him, and looked up with a smile. "I wonder how you taste," he drawled before lapping at the head of Glorfindel's erection.

Clawing his nails into the bark of the tree, Glorfindel thrust forward as Gildor used his mouth on him, and very soon his essence spurted from the tip. Gildor ran his tongue through the milky substance, cleaning it all away before dressing the panting ellon again. "Delicious," he breathed into Glorfindel's ear before biting his lobe and then swiftly turning to tend to the fire.

They managed for a few days more to hide their actions from Erestor. Then, the inevitable happened. Erestor returned earlier than expected from a hunt. Both of his companions were in states of undress, with Glorfindel nearly naked and sprawled on the ground, panting and groaning wildly. His eyes were closed, and he did not hear Erestor’s return, did not see him or sense him. There was no way for him to, for he was overcome with the sensations he was feeling. On a few other occasions now, Gildor had caused Glorfindel to climax using his mouth. This time was different, for Gildor merely glanced up for a moment to see the dark elf with the dark look before he removed his fingers from his mouth and plunged two of them deep inside of the blond.

It was the first time anything had breached Glorfindel's passage, and he cried out and wailed at first. Then as Gildor began to suck his length, the blond warrior resumed panting and gasping for air as Gildor twisted his wrist one way and the other. Glorfindel came with a loud roar, and Gildor made a show of letting the silvery strands hang from his mouth as he rose up and gave Glorfindel a few final parting thrusts with his hand, which made the blond grunt and sigh.

It had been some sort of silliness for Gildor. When Glorfindel was sated and his ecstasy ebbed away, he was aghast to see Erestor hunched before the fire, skinning their meal. Gildor merely laughed, he often laughed. After that point, their activities were no longer hidden- in fact, as they began to eat, Gildor pulled Glorfindel onto his lap and halfway through dinner, slid his tongue along his ear and nipped it. Glorfindel’s face flushed, and he looked to Erestor, but the only reaction the dark elf had was to concentrate more on his supper.

Now, returning back to Gondolin after so long, Erestor sat with Glorfindel near a stream. Gildor had decided to bathe, and beneath the waterfall could not hear their words. The blond warrior looked to his friend, expecting disapproval. What he was told gave him a bit of a shock.

“I am happy for you, my friend, but I must warn you of something.”

“Erestor,” began Glorfindel, “I know what will happen if he and I do anything in public. Do not worry; we have discussed such things and will be discrete.”

“I do not doubt that,” smirked Erestor. “That is not my concern.”

Furrowing his brow, Glorfindel questioned, “What is your concern, then?”

“You must understand, I knew Gildor from the time he was first born. And, he is trouble. He is a wanderer, and fickle when it comes to love. Take care with your heart, Glorfindel.”

Tightening his lips together, Glorfindel simply looked away and nodded. He had the greatest desire to take hold of the dark ellon’s hand, to proclaim his love to him, how it was not Gildor who held his heart, but Erestor. Instead, he nodded again.

“You should know something else, my friend.” Erestor waited until Glorfindel looked back to him. “I know Gildor’s father.”

“Inglor,” nodded Glorfindel. “Was he a good ellon?”

This time Erestor looked away. “Glorfindel, Inglor is the mother-name of an ellon named Finrod.”

Glorfindel blinked. “I have an uncle named Finrod.”

“Yes,” said Erestor softly.

Inhaling sharply, Glorfindel mumbled, “Bloody fucking Morgoth, he is my cousin.”

Erestor said nothing more, for Gildor had stepped upon shore.

- - -

“I will be leading another patrol out in a week’s time. Turgon is furious, and I cannot blame him. He did say that your search was to be commended,” Ecthelion informed the three elves he sat with. They were on Erestor’s private balcony, drinking wine and going over any possible clues they had found while outside of Gondolin.

“We did what we could,” said Gildor humbly.

Erestor drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Perhaps it is rude of me to say, but why does he not try to contact her with his mind?”

“Not all siblings have a good connection to one another,” explained Glorfindel, then he bit his lip. “Or, so I have heard,” he finished.

Ecthelion nodded in agreement. “I remember that Artanis used to say that she could speak with Orodreth and Finrod, but that Aegnor and Angrod had their own special bond, and would only farspeak with each other.” He frowned, and turned to Glorfindel. “Are you alright? You look suddenly... ill.”

“Just a... a bit too much wine perhaps,” Glorfindel managed to say as he put the glass aside. “I think I shall retire for the night,” he said quickly as he stood.

“I should go as well.” Gildor hastily got to his feet and gave a little bow. “Please, I hope you enjoy your evening,” he said as he and Glorfindel left. “I know I will,” he added slyly, winking at Erestor.

Once the door was shut, Ecthelion turned his strange look from it and onto Erestor. “What was that about?”

“What was what?” Erestor refilled their goblets as Ecthelion sighed.

“You know what I mean.”

Erestor looked his friend dead in the eye and replied, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“It is clear to at least one of you why we are here.” Turgon’s eyes scanned the assembled lords. “Although I will not enforce upon those outside of our realm certain rules which do not hold in theirs, I expect everyone here to abide by those laws which have been written. There is one among you who has not.”

Glorfindel stiffened, his mouth dry. He fought back the urge to swallow hard as long as he was able, doing his best to keep his eyes upon the king. To his left stood Ecthelion, jaw set and shoulders solidly squared. The Lord of the Golden Flower did his best to keep the same stance. He knew that behind Ecthelion in the lower rank of lesser lords was Erestor, his features likely hardened in the same manner. Sweat glistened on his forehead and Glorfindel tried to decide whether to wipe it away or leave it in hopes it would not be seen.

For years, Glorfindel had believed his secret was safe. Only Erestor truly knew that something was going on between him and the messenger from Doriath. Everything had been done with the utmost caution. In public, they were more than formal to one another, even calling each other by ‘lord’ and ‘captain’ now and again.

In private, they were even careful. There moments alone were rare, and these were not always spent in passionate embraces. Whenever Gildor arrived, they would spend at least a week of not seeing each other, and the same held true when it came time for the silver-blond to depart. During the time in between, they allowed themselves only four or five couplings. These were done midday when most were working and there was little chance of anyone idly walking through the corridor where the guest rooms were. They used gags to keep from making noise, and many times Gildor even tied Glorfindel down so that he would not thrash about and cause someone to hear the commotion and come knocking on the door.

Everything seemed to have been thought of. Every detail covered. Even so, when Glorfindel had been told of a special hearing that was to take place that morning, he knew. He knew from the way that Turgon looked around the table at the lords who had come to break their fast with the king what was to come.

“One of you has been having a relationship with another ellon. I call him kin and cousin, but for that alone I do not allow his preference to go unpunished. He is under Thingol’s rule, and I will not deny another king his say over his own people. You,” he said forcefully, “are my people. You will obey my laws and decrees. Among you, there is one who has not. I know full well who it is. If they have the audacity to betray me in such a manner, they will also have the courage to stand forth.”

There was a most foul taste in Glorfindel’s throat, and a terrible churning in his stomach. All around, the others buzzed. Salgant, as always, could not keep his mouth shut.

“Sire, if I am correct, is not the penalty still death for such an unclean act?” The harper was smiling wickedly as he looked around the room. “It is a curious thing, to know that you know it to be a Lord of Gondolin.”

“It is I who decides ultimately how to deal with those who break the rules,” Turgon reminded the rotund elf. “Suffice to say, I have strong evidence regarding the identity of the one I am accusing.”

“And who is this one you are accusing?” pressed Salgant.

Turgon looked to the ground. “I had hoped he had more honor than this.”

Tightening his grasp on the rail that encircled the room behind which the lords stood when addressing the king in this full council, Glorfindel knew he was fast running out of time. His feet were frozen in place, and he panicked in trying to decide what to do. Ecthelion was staring ahead, likely trying to assess the situation. Against his better judgment, Glorfindel began to turn around in hopes to receive some guidance or perhaps some extra strength from the ellon behind him. Instead, he turned in time to watch Erestor walk down the stairs past him and out to the center of the room. There were gasps, and then there was silence.

The king was not amused. “Why are you standing here?”

“You know why I am here,” came the soft answer, the deep voice unafraid.

“Yes, it is obvious!” Salgant pointed one chubby finger toward the center of the room. “There is your unlawful lord!”

With very slow, well-paced steps, Turgon circled many times around the dark Noldo. He finally came to stand in front of him. “That is where you are wrong. You know why you are here, but I do not know why you are here. You should be there,” he said, nodding toward the empty spot in the council room.

Erestor did not respond. Meanwhile, Glorfindel helplessly looked on, catching Ecthelion’s gaze for only a moment. His knees shook as the scene played out.

“Everyone else, leave!” boomed the voice of the king. The room began to quickly empty just as he pointed out three of the chief lords. “Not the two of you... or you,” he said of Ecthelion and Glorfindel, and then Egalmoth.

Salgant turned around and gave Egalmoth a questioning look before being ushered from the room with the rest. When the doors finally closed, Turgon paced to his throne and back to Erestor. After a short time, he waved a hand at Egalmoth. “You may go.”

Extreme bewilderment was evident on the lord’s face, but Egalmoth retreated from the room none-the-less. “Erestor, why do you lie to me?” asked Turgon in a dangerously low voice. “Why do you always feel the need to lie to me?”

Again, Erestor did not answer.

“Why do you keep doing this? Why do you protect him?” Turgon shook his head. “I can speculate who ‘he’ is, but you have made it impossible for me to know for certain. He will be more careful now. He will hide deeper in the shadows. He will not give me cause to do this again.”

“I should certainly hope not,” spoke Erestor quietly.

The tone of Turgon’s voice changed. “Why must you lie to me, Erestor? You should not be the one standing here, and yet you are!” Turgon turned his head to the side, shaking it sadly. “Ecthelion.” The king walked back to his throne.

He hesitated, but Ecthelion stepped forward. It was now that Glorfindel’s eyes widened upon seeing the rope in the other elf’s hands. There was no way for Glorfindel to hear the dialogue being exchanged between the two, but he saw Erestor nod and remove his vest, followed by his shirt. Before he could call out an objection, he was called to the throne.

With heavy steps, Glorfindel walked to the king, shaking slightly as he passed Ecthelion and Erestor, who was continuing to undress. “Your highness.” Glorfindel bowed.

“This time,” began Turgon, lifting up a whip he had coiled beside his throne, “make him bleed.”

Glorfindel stared at the weapon. “Sire, I have something to say to you about-“

“No. It is too late for talk, Glorfindel.” Turgon threw the whip at Glorfindel’s feet. “Pick it up. Now.”

Closing his eyes, Glorfindel lowered himself to the ground and took hold of the handle. As he rose up, the braided leather followed like a cobra. Blinking the tears from his eyes, Glorfindel turned around. His gaze fell to the floor as he swallowed back a whimper. Between two columns of the room, Erestor was stretched, with his arms out to either side and tied in place. His feet had been bound together so that he was unable to brace himself against the blows.

Beyond this, Erestor was naked, save for a loin cloth that was wrapped loosely around his waist. His eyes were open, and his head was held up high as he endured whatever was to come with utter calm. Glorfindel had never been as envious as he was now of the bravery the other elf possessed. Holding his tongue, realized Glorfindel, had made him no better than a coward.

“Begin,” instructed Turgon.

Ten minutes later, Glorfindel was still standing and staring, the whip loose at his side.

“I told you to start,” growled Turgon, drumming his fingers on the arm of the throne.

‘Fin. Do what he wants.’

Glorfindel began to shake his head.

‘Glorfindel. If you do not, then he will. He is angry with me, with you, and over so many other things. If he comes over here, I could die. And then, when he finishes with me, he will come after you and what I have done will be for naught.’

As Turgon let a breath out his nose and began to stand, Glorfindel drew back and laid the first stroke across Erestor’s back. The dark elf did not flinch. After four strokes, Glorfindel threw the whip to the floor. A long, red stripe snaked across the marble tiles. Stepping down from his throne, Turgon approached the whip and kicked it back to Glorfindel. “You know damn well that is not good enough,” he growled. “Finish it.”

“No.”

“What?!”

Glorfindel swallowed. He opened his mouth. No sound escaped.

‘Do it.’

Defeat written across his face, Glorfindel clutched the whip and returned to his task. As he fell into a rhythm and slowed his strokes in hopes of buying Erestor a few less, his mind slipped back to a time when he knew the sting of the leather that flew across the dark elf’s skin.

Memories of his father’s cruelty entered into his head. He remembered the first time, when he cried at something his father had shot. It was a deer, and not yet dead as it was dragged back to the house by its back legs. Fighting for her life, the doe’s front legs flailed and blood leaked from her nose.

“Ada! You are hurting it!” shouted the elfling from his tree house sanctuary, clutching the rope that led to the ground in his little hands. “Please stop hurting her!”

“This is dinner, Findel!” shouted Angrod as he reached a tree that was used to hang the kills. The elf lord wound a rope around the hooves and looped it between, securing the deer before he walked around the tree and hoisted up the rope, tying the other end to the ground when the doe was dangling from the tree. Angrod pulled a knife from his boot with the intention of slashing the deer’s throat, but was stopped by his young son.

Pulling on his father’s elbow with all his might, Glorfindel wept as he implored his father to stop. “No, Ada, no! Do not kill her!”

“She is already dead, Findel! Stop it!” Angrod sheathed the knife and shoved the youngster aside. “You see this arrow? It is in her vitals – she will not survive. I am doing her a favor by killing her quickly.”

“No! No!” Glorfindel screeched and screamed as his father went for the knife again.

Rushing onto the porch, Eldalote cradled her baby daughter in her arms. “Glorfindel, what is the matter, baby? Sweetheart, what is wrong?”

“You stay there!” Angrod warned, pointing at his wife. “You coddle him too much, that is why he is like he is!” Grabbing hold of Glorfindel’s arm, he forced the knife into the elfling’s hand and curled the unwilling fingers around it. “Time for you to grow up, son. Stop being such a baby and start acting like a young ellon.”

By now, the deer was drained of most of her energy and only panted with her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. She had not given up her fight, but she lacked the ability to continue. Glorfindel tried to wriggle away, but Angrod held his son fast and forced the knife to the deer’s throat. Slashing it once, the head fell back unnaturally and the blood began to flow like a red river from the doe, who gave one final gagging noise before dying.

Glorfindel’s shrieks began again, and Angrod released the hand that held the knife, grabbing hold of his son’s shoulder instead.

“Angrod, let him go! Please, he is scaring the baby,” begged Eldalote, attempting to come down the steps again.

“Damn you! Get back in the house!” roared Angrod, dragging Glorfindel back to the tree with his little house built in it. “You made him soft, I am going to toughen him back up again. He wants something to cry about, I will give it to him! I take care of our son, you take care of our daughter. Got it?”

Eldalote still appeared about to come down, but the screams from Glorfindel were agitating her other child. Cutting her losses, the elleth disappeared inside.

Shoving Glorfindel toward the tree, Angrod began to remove his belt. “Put your hands up on there, now. Higher!” he barked as Glorfindel sniffled and whined but did as told. The belt snapped as leather cracked against leather. The reaction of the elfling was to cover his backside, and Angrod angrily threw the belt into the grass.

“You are going to take this, and not like a girl. No son of mine is going to be a wimp.” Angrod took hold of Glorfindel’s shirt and lifted it roughly over the youth’s head. “Not about to ruin this. Good money paid for these,” he grumbled, and then used the sleeves of the shirt and the rope from the tree house to tie Glorfindel’s arms above his head.

The elfling whimpered as he wriggled in an attempt to get free. His leggings were pulled down behind him. “There. Now you can take your punishment without me ruining your clothes.” Picking up the belt from the grass, Angrod folded the strap in half and cracked it again, making Glorfindel jump. “You hate that sound, do you? Wait until you hear it against your skin, son. We will make an ellon of you yet, even if it kills us both.”

“Enough!”

Glorfindel drew back, but dropped his arm. The ache in his shoulder was a sudden reminder of where he was. Blood covered his arms as it had that day long ago, but it was no slaughtered deer hanging before him.

Drops of dried blood covered Glorfindel’s arms by the time Turgon had given him the signal to hold. Terrible trails where the whip had left its mark marred Erestor’s once smooth, tanned flesh, and his long braid was draped over his shoulder, caked with blood. Sweat glistened on his skin, mingling with the rivers of red, but now as he panted heavily, he realized he had endured it all. Though worse than the last time, he had managed to keep his senses and not pass out. His eyes sought out Turgon with a defiant gaze. "You can break my body, but my spirit can never be broken."

Turgon stepped down from his throne and stood before the Noldo now, shaking his head. “I sincerely hope in some way that this was worth it.” He did not look at Glorfindel as he passed by, but paused when he reached Ecthelion. “Leave him there, for three days. Lock the doors when you go.”

Ecthelion bowed as Turgon continued to the exit. In a panic, Glorfindel started after the king, but he was stopped by Ecthelion. The dark-haired ellon waited until the door had closed before he spoke. “What did I tell you about your actions, Glorfindel? Did I not say this is not the time nor the place to explore your personal feelings? Now look at what you have done.”

“You told him,” ground out Glorfindel, and Ecthelion made a sort of snorting sound in the back of his throat.

“You think I told him? You have so little trust in me that you think I would have told him? How long have I known? How long?” Ecthelion’s words rose up and echoed off of the high walls. “Damn you, Glorfindel. I treat you like my son, and you accuse me of such a thing.”

The blond had bowed his head shamefully, small sobs beginning to come from him. “I- am sorry- Thel, I-“

“Do not tell me you are sorry.” Ecthelion roughly grabbed hold of the younger elf’s arm, half-leading, half-dragging him to where Erestor was still strung up. “Tell him you are sorry,” he demanded, shoving Glorfindel down at Erestor’s feet.

“Erestor...” Glorfindel looked up into the tired brown eyes whose gaze was upon him. At once, he was brought to tears. “Erestor, I am so sorry, so very, very sorry,” he choked.

“I forgive you, Glorfindel, but you have no need to apologize. What I did I did freely,” responded Erestor between long drawn breaths of air.

“Tell him what it felt like, Erestor. Tell him what the whip he wielded did to you.” Ecthelion was still staring down at Glorfindel unsympathetically.

After a few pants and a gasp for air, Erestor lolled his head from side to side. “No, Thel. Not now.”

“Tell him,” growled Ecthelion. “Tell him what you felt each time the lash kissed your flesh.”

Again, it seemed as if Erestor was not about to respond. As if sensing this to be the only way to make Ecthelion leave, he answered slowly, “It was... hot, like... when you touch an iron in the forge... that has not been cooled. A sudden heat, and then... then you pull away, but still... it burns. Please, Ecthelion... do not make me continue," begged Erestor, looking up from the whimpering ellon on the ground at his feet to the warrior standing before him.

“Glorfindel.” When Ecthelion addressed him, the young elf looked up. “I have been instructed to lock the doors for three days. For three days, he is to hang here on the order of the king. If you cut the ropes or untie them, you will be punished publicly and he will be thrown from the Echoriath. Is that clear?”

Saying nothing, Glorfindel managed to nod as he shuddered, thinking how horrible it would be for one to fall to their death. Giving Glorfindel one final look of disgust, Ecthelion left the council chambers. A loud click sounded as the doors were locked.

At once, Glorfindel began to look frantically around the room from his position on the floor. "How could they do that? Leave us here with no water, no food, nothing to heal your wounds?”

“Now Glorfindel,” began Erestor in a tired voice, “keep your head. You need to calm yourself, or else you will go mad. Go to the window.”

He wanted to ask why, but he dared not question Erestor, not after what he had done. “You saved my life,” he said as he stood. “You took the blame, the pain, the shame of my actions- and... and I have done nothing to deserve that from you.”

Erestor reached out a hand to touch the younger elf’s shoulder or the top of his head perhaps, but the rope prevented that. "You think yourself a grown warrior, brave and mature, and while this may be true, you are still just a boy who was forced to grow up much too fast. You are still a young ellon upon whom such a burden should not be laid. Ecthelion has in your years in Gondolin been like a father to you, but what you also have needed is a friend."

“You should not have to live in fear of being beaten or whipped; no one should have done such things to you,” continued Erestor. He paused when Glorfindel bowed his head. “You are upset. That I think of you as a child.”

“No; only disappointed,” he answered.

“If it is of any consolation- I find I like children much better than I like adults.” Erestor shifted his position, finding nothing was very comfortable and his back was stinging. “The window, if you would, please.”

Glorfindel hastily went to the window and opened it. He stood by and looked back to Erestor, awaiting further instructions.

“Do you know how to whistle, Glorfindel?”

“Not very well,” admitted the golden elf.

“I need you not to whistle a song; I need you to call for someone.” Erestor licked his lips and said, “Can you do this?” He gave a short, high-pitched whistle that sounded like a chirp.

“I will try.” Glorfindel leaned his head out of the window, ignoring the happenings in the streets below. He began to mimic the sound that Erestor had been making.

“Up, Glorfindel, to the sky, not to the ground,” called out Erestor.

Glorfindel tried again, and this time he thought he heard the call returned. He was sure of it when a black and yellow bird with a tuft of red feather on the back of his head landed on the window sill. “Erestor, I think it worked.” Glorfindel lowered one hand to the level of the sill, and the woodpecker hopped into his palm.

“Hello, little friend,” greeted Erestor, smiling wearily at the bird. “I am in quite a predicament and Glorfindel is not allowed to aid me. Will you help?”

The little creature ruffled his feathers once and then took off from his perch and landed on Erestor’s outstretched arm, hopping until he reached the elf's hand. He tilted his head to and fro as he examined the rope, and then began to peck at the braided material. Very soon, frayed ends were visible, and the woodpecker worked on with determination.

---


Water streaked down the pane of glass like the tears that fell down Glorfindel’s face- each perfect droplet another reminder. Soon after the little bird had released Erestor from his bonds, a cool rain began to fall. It was a blessed opportunity that Glorfindel would not miss, and he spent the first part of the storm holding bowls and buckets and whatever else he could find out the window to gather water.

Erestor was resting, though hardly comfortable. He had curled himself on the side that was less torn and bloody and laid his head upon his arms. Glorfindel had offered to set up a better spot for him in the corner, using the seat cushions from the chairs in the room, but Erestor declined. "If I get blood on the cushions, I will never hear the end of it," he had told Glorfindel sleepily.

Now, Glorfindel sat beside the window as he listened to Erestor’s deep, uneven breathing. He would look now and again to the ellon on the floor to be sure he was still sleeping, and more importantly, still alive. The wounds he had inflicted had been cleaned with rainwater; it was the best he could manage for the time being.

Night came, and day followed. Erestor awoke sometime around noon, finding Glorfindel sitting on the floor by a window with a low sill, leaning his head upon his hands and looking out over the midday scenes of the city. “How long have I been out?”

The words startled Glorfindel, in that he had not expected to hear anything but the thoughts in his own head for some time. “Barely a day. How... how are you...” With a frown, Glorfindel realized it wasn’t the best question to ask, so he amended his words and instead queried, “Are you hungry?”

“A little,” replied Erestor softly.

Glorfindel stood up and made his way across the room, retrieving a bowl with nuts and dried fruits in it. “Salgant has quite a stash in his desk; I doubt any will be missed,” explained the blond as he sat down in front of Erestor. “There is water, too, if you are thirsty.”

“Thank you.” Erestor struggled to sit up, but hissed and bit back a wince of pain. “Maybe later,” he said quickly, lowering himself back down.

“Here, I can help.” Glorfindel lifted up a slice of dried apple and offered it to Erestor.

“I am not going to be a burden-“

“Eat,” Glorfindel said in a stern, pleading voice.

Erestor nodded and allowed Glorfindel to feed him his lunch without further protest. When he noticed that the aquamarine eyes kept straying to the healing marks on his body, Erestor told him as reassuringly as he could, “You did not do that.”

“Yes, I did,” confirmed Glorfindel solemnly, looking away. “And it was not even the first time. My stupidity has hurt you more times than I care to think about, and yet, it is all I think about sometimes. I have had time to think on your words,” continued Glorfindel despite Erestor’s efforts to interrupt. “You are right – I am a child. Spoiled, and pampered, and allowed to do as I pleased even when it was not what I should be doing. When I next see Gildor, I am going to tell him things must end between us.”

“I never meant it in that way,” Erestor finally managed to say. “I meant, it is more that I feel a need to protect you – and please, do not take that the wrong way, either.”

“I know what you mean,” Glorfindel said with a sad smile. “That is why I must do this. He is a dangerous distraction to me, and I would rather send him away than have further harm come to you.”

---

As Erestor healed, the pair became bored. There was a limit to the number of topics they could find to talk about, and they both found themselves in a melancholy mood. That changed when Erestor went to his area of the council room and brought back paper, quills, and ink.

“You want me to write poetry? I can not rhyme a thing!” protested Glorfindel.

“Each of us has their own rhythm. Please, try it for me. Just once, and if you truly despise it, I will not make you do it again.” Erestor held out the writing implements once more, and Glorfindel took them with a sigh.

“It will be terrible,” he warned Erestor as the scribe grinned and found a comfortable spot on one of the steps to do his own writing. It was the eve of their third day of captivity, and they had each begun to privately wonder if they had been forgotten by the rest of the city. There was food and water enough for a few days more, so if all else failed, someone would find them when the weekly meeting occurred once more.

Erestor dipped the tip of his quill into the ink and tested the flow on the page. “I will be the judge of that.”

After a few hours of scribbling and scratching, Glorfindel finally called out, “Are we done yet?”

“If you like.” Erestor gathered his things and brought them back to where Glorfindel was as the warrior mumbled something about liking very much not doing this at all. “What do you have?”

“Uh...” Glorfindel, suddenly shy, moved the papers so that Erestor could not see what was written upon them. His eyes wandered over a few lines that he wrote about a beautiful elf who reminded him of the starlit night and shuffled that page to the back. “Ah... what did you write?”

“After you,” insisted Erestor. “Come now, I am sure it is not as bad as you think it is.”

Glorfindel cleared his throat and looked at the next page. It was safe, so he read, “There is something sacred about silence, for it is what was here before anything else, and will exist long after. It mingles with sound and without it such beauty would be only noise.” When he looked up and saw no emotion on Erestor’s face, he sighed and began to crumble up the sheets. “This is stupid.”

“No!” Erestor fought to free the paper before it was ruined. “It is not stupid. It is... quite profound, actually.” He smoothed out the stack, and to Glorfindel’s relief, did not see the page that was hidden from him. “It makes mine seem rather dull.”

“What do you have?” prodded Glorfindel, trying to peer over to see.

Erestor shrugged and read:

Poetry delights him
The Great King who sits on high
Mightiest of the Aratar
Though compassion is his style

The wind and weather are Manwe’s passion
And Varda is his love
He thinks evil can be overcome
That forgiveness is enough

Ai, Elbereth! Gilthoniel!
The Star Queen, up above
Silivren penna miriel
Sparkling diamonds in the rough

Heroes look into the heavens
Hoping she will hear their silent plea
While Varda’s light gives them courage

“And... then it sort of falls apart,” admitted Erestor, flipped through the rest of what he had. He looked over to Glorfindel for his opinion.

“I like it,” said Glorfindel. He nodded and added, “I wish I had met the Valar like you did.”

“Someday, you will,” Erestor assured him. “You will walk upon the white sands, meet the great horse-lord Orome and tell him you taught his son to ride a horse,” said Erestor, to which Glorfindel smiled, “and then you shall come with me to the forests and we shall dance alongside the Maiar and the Lady Nessa, for you remind me of my aunt, and she will take a liking to you I am sure.”

---

“Can I... ask you a personal question?”

“Of course,” answered Erestor almost immediately.

Day four had come and gone, and even with the windows open the council room was humid and deemed much too warm for resting with clothes on. Each of them had created their own nest and was staring at the vaulted ceiling and the designs painted upon it. Glorfindel sat up and stretched his arms above his head, wishing that a breeze would come through the open windows, but none came. “Why... is... your...” The younger elf blushed, finding that the words were easier to say in his head than out loud.

“Why is my what what?” Erestor snickered at the words he had just said. “Oh, this must be one of those really personal ones,” he laughed.

With a sigh, Glorfindel began again. “Why is your... thing different?”

Erestor was laughing even harder now. “So, not only is it a question, but a riddle as well! Just what ‘thing’ are you referring to, my friend?”

“Oh, balrogs' wings, you know what I am talking about.”

Erestor at once became very quiet. “Balrogs are not a thing to joke about, or call upon without cause.”

“I- sorry, I did not mean-“

“No, no, I am sorry,” apologized Erestor at once. “There it is; me treating you as I would a child again. I did not mean it that way. I- have you ever seen a balrog?”

“No,” answered Glorfindel quite uneasily. “Have you?”

“Yes. And I have seen what they were before they were balrogs.” Erestor sat up as well, his knees bent as he rested his arms on them. “They are horrendous. They are your worst nightmare made real and a thousand times worse. They know what you fear; they can get into your mind. And they enjoy death; they enjoy the killing. The darkness, the shadows; the fire and the flames. But for me what is worse than all of this is that I knew them all once, as spirits of light and goodness. They were among the ones who greeted my kin and I upon Valinor’s shores so long ago. They were the ones to guide us; the ones to offer us their knowledge and their love. To see them turned to such wicked creatures sickens me.”

Glorfindel sat in silence for a little while. “No more balrogs,” he promised.

“Sorry... you had a question you wanted to ask me,” Erestor said, abruptly changing the subject back.

“Oh, nothing important.” Glorfindel shook his head and settled back down to rest.

The sounds from outside of hooting owls and an occasional howl of a wolf were the only thing Glorfindel heard until Erestor started to speak again. “By my ‘thing’,” he said ruefully, “Am I to assume you are referring to my penis?”

“Uhm...” Glorfindel turned beat red, but in the dim light, Erestor would not see this. “Maybe?”

“It was not practice to circumcise newborn ellin until the first was born in Valinor. You can thank Finwë for your lack of a foreskin.”

“Uh... why is that?” questioned Glorfindel, sitting back up again. He found Erestor, still sitting up, staring at the wall.

Glancing over at Glorfindel for a moment, Erestor said, “When Feanor was born, his mother more or less abandoned him. Finwë was left to care for his son by himself. He found it was a daunting task to do all that he was expected, and to ease this burden somewhat, he decided that removing his son’s foreskin would prevent having to worry about meticulously cleaning up after him – this after he had heard all of the ellith relating horrible stories of what can happen if baby ellin are not kept clean. The worst of the tales tells how it will fall off completely – obvious exaggeration, but it scared Finwë nonetheless. Consequently, his idea worked so well, everyone else circumcised their newborn ellin to prevent the same sort of thing.”

“Is it going to matter that I do not have one?” asked Glorfindel.

“No,” Erestor said carefully, “but I have been told by others, there are good and bad things about it. You would not last half as long as you do when you are with Gildor if you still had one, however, despite the pleasure lasting longer, it is not as intense as if you still had your foreskin. Now, these are just things others have told me; you either have one or you do not, and there is no way to know how things are both ways. At least, none of us who still have ours are willing to try such an experiment.”

“And, understandably so,” agreed Glorfindel. “Well, at least that explains these scars I have,” he said.

“Scars? What scars?” questioned Erestor with alarm.

Glorfindel immediately drew his legs tight together. “Just... nevermind. Just a few scars that I have is all. Nana would never tell me where they were from and I never would have asked Adar.” Glorfindel curled up on his side, with his back to Erestor. “Thank you for answering my question,” he said before offering his goodnights.

If there was ever a curious elf, it would have to be Erestor. He read every book he could find and constantly asked ‘why’ through his childhood – a childhood that he himself did not realize he was still in, for as one whose spirit was part Vala, he would never quite be considered an adult in Eru’s eyes. So he waited until he was certain that Glorfindel was in reverie before creeping around the room and lifting the curtain up from the nearest window to shed moonlight into the room.

He stood for sometime by the window, looking at the ellon resting on the floor. Glorfindel was a modest elf, so Erestor had never chanced to see the scars before. Something told him they were not exclusively due to a badly performed circumcision, but when his imagination began to fill his head with horrible imagery, he let the curtain down with a shiver and returned to his own spot for the night.

Of all the inhabitants of the hidden city, there was one ellon in particular whom you would always want to have on your side in a fight. Any fight, no matter what, for you certainly did not wish to be opposed by him. He was a cheerful fellow, and rather large for an elf. Although Erestor might have been able to make a claim he was a hair or two taller, his thighs were likely not even as thick as Rog’s biceps.

The Lord of the House of the Hammer was one of the fiercest protectors of the city. His loyalty to Turgon was unquestionable; those of his house were among the bravest in the realm. Rog was well-liked by many, not only due to his size, but due to the size of his heart. Besides making swords and maces and other such weapons, he was known to make tiny toy soldiers and horses from scraps of metal in his shop and to give them to the many children of his house’s people.

When he stepped into the council chamber, it was a great relief to both Erestor and Glorfindel. It was night of the fifth day of their captivity, and both food and water were dwindling. “Praise Aule, you are both well,” he said, his low voice like the rumble of a storm. “I must take you to Turgon immediately; he is in a fit of rage and terror.”

Too stunned to speak, Glorfindel began to feel the worry gnaw at his stomach as he retrieved his boots and pulled them on. As for Erestor, he was not moving with quite as much haste as he did what he could to make his hair, which had remained unbrushed unwashed for nearly a week, look presentable. Rog spent the time walking slowly around the room, taking in the items here and there, the severed ropes, and the stains of blood on the floor that Glorfindel had been too angry to clean up. “I need to have a talk with Turgon,” rumbled the blacksmith, his bulky arms crossed over his chest. He looked even more formidable than usual, his expression dark, and his shaved head making him appear as some great, dark beast and not an Elf of Eru.

His words did not scare Glorfindel, instead, they brought relief. When Rog talked to Turgon, it seemed he had some unknown power to sway the king. It was sometimes balked at that the smith held such a high position in the council, but those who heard him speak knew why. Not a single misplaced word left his lips, and he said only what he deemed needed to be. He disliked debate and arguments with the same passion that Erestor thrived upon them; it was sometimes said that he had one word for every thousand of Erestor’s, and yet, when all was said, they would have said the same thing.

“What happened?” Erestor was ready before Glorfindel, choosing to leave his back and the ugly marks upon it exposed. Glorfindel hurried to join them at the door.

“Aredhel returned,” explained Rog. “But she is dead now.”

---

“I hold Ulmo’s favor, but I swear, you must be in Eru’s.”

Turgon was knelt beside a slab normally used to bring offerings in the Temple of the Valar. Upon the cold stone was his sister, pale as ever, and dark hair shining and meticulously arranged with tiny white flowers adorning it. Erestor stepped past Glorfindel and Rog and lowered himself to his knees beside the king. “Eru did not do this.”

Turgon bowed his head, concentrating on the floor. “Every time you have done something to vex me, the retribution for my rulings against you has been worse and worse.”

“Mere coincidences.” Erestor did not take his eyes from the body of Lady Aredhel even after Glorfindel and Rog joined them.

“My sister is dead.” Turgon choked on the words. “My only close kin not seperated from me by miles, save for my daughter. The best friend I have ever had is now gone. She married; she had a child. I will never hear her speak to me of any of it. So many years of her life lost to me, and so many more lost to both of us now. She will never tell me of these things.”

“I am here, uncle. I can tell you of her life in the past years.”

From the shadows stepped forth a young ellon who, though of obvious Noldorin heritage, was something a little more wild than the nobles of this land. Turgon held out his hand to the youth, who wordlessly came forward and took it, bringing himself down to his knees beside his self-proclaimed uncle. “We had a few hours together before the tragedy that befell her at the hand of her own husband – an elf I was ready to take into my own house, had he not betrayed me with such an action,” spoke Turgon with more than a little anger. “In her stead, my sweet sister Aredhel hath left her son; this is Maeglin.”

Erestor gave a nod, as did Glorfindel. Rog had no doubt met the king’s nephew previously. Their introductions were kept brief, for Turgon once more was staring at the corpse of his beautiful sister.

“She was so insistent to be free now and again. I should have listened to your council to me, Erestor,” admitted Turgon.

With a sad look, Erestor said, “It was not council so much for yourself as it was for me.”

“Even so,” replied the king, “I should have considered your request to court her more seriously than I did. You should have been my brother, and instead, you are my enemy.”

“Nay, there are no enemies here,” corrected Erestor. “Only stubborn old fools who need to do what they can to save their friendship.”

“Your forgiveness comes so swift and easily, Erestor, one would question whether you are mad or insincere.”

“It must be madness, then, for there is nothing false about my words.” Erestor reached out and placed his hand upon Turgon’s shoulder. “All is forgiven, my lord. You did what you believe you needed to do. I hope some day you might forgive me for what I needed to do.”

Turgon turned to his nephew and said, “Perhaps you would give us a few moments alone with your mother. Erestor and Glorfindel were good friends to her. I know this is not the best of times, but Rog could show the crafting houses to you, and you could see the work our smiths have done.”

“I would enjoy seeing your forges, uncle,” answered Maeglin. Glorfindel thought he caught Erestor narrowing his eyes at the way the youth answered, rather casually, as if his mother wasn’t dead before him (and his father at the bottom of a crevice, neck broken and dying in the pit, calling out to his son in his mind). Rog stood and led the way out.

“So,” said Turgon as soon as the three were alone. “I am in Ulmo’s favor, and you are in Eru’s favor, and Glorfindel is in your favor.” At the mention of his name, Glorfindel looked up with a start. “Though I know not why, but that is how it is.”

“It appears so, and I expect it shall continue.” Erestor folded his hands in contemplation and gave a sideways glance at Turgon. “I told you that Gildor would spark trouble. If you take away his ability to cause it-“

“I would rather remove him than remove the law.” Turgon shook his head. “Can you imagine what will happen if I do that?” he hissed.

Glorfindel squirmed uneasily, trying not to show his unrest. Erestor tried to give him a reassuring look, but it was lost in the younger elf’s nervousness. “My lord, all I can think will happen is a few ellyn and ellyth whom no one knew were interested in each other would suddenly be known about. Not that they are all too difficult to spot now – but at least they would be less ill at ease.”

“And what of the ones hiding it so well, they took wife or husband? What sort of chaos would you have here? There will be calls for divorce, which I will not see, and a decline in births. A realm does not survive without constant population growth. Erestor, the ramifications of what you suggest could destroy the order we have. What next after allowing such acts within the city?”

“Ellon and Elleth will still marry, still procreate,” debated Erestor. “You will still have your order, you will still have your realm, and your people. What I suggest is so very little, so very, very little of a change.”

“This is not the time for such discussion.” Turgon’s voice suddenly turned solemn as he looked away from Erestor. “I cannot change the rules, not at this time at least. I am sorry.” He looked up, not at Erestor, but at Glorfindel. “I will give you some time alone to grieve. I need to take myself away from this place for a time. Tomorrow is the... the burial,” he managed to say. “Ecthelion has been making the arrangements; I must go speak with him now.”

When Turgon left, he took with him the torch which had lighted the part of the room they were in. Now, with only a few candles flickering, Glorfindel felt uncomfortable in the dim room full of eerie shadows. He had never been so close to a dead body for so long, especially not one that had been carefully made to look so alive, as if only sleeping, and he was unnerved by it. “Did you really ask Turgon for permission to court Aredhel?” asked Glorfindel.

Erestor confirmed this with a nod. “After I believed I had learned to fight well enough to properly protect myself and others if I had to, and to hunt if the need arose. Something a good friend of mine told his son when the youth had found an elleth he wished to be his wife was that he needed to learn to use a sword and a bow, for he needed to be able to protect his family. I had the same stupid notion after that, I suppose.”

“I had no idea you were in love with her,” Glorfindel said, trying not to appear crestfallen. He hoped his sadness would be taken for grief due to the white lady’s death.

“That, even I do not know. I loved her, I thought she was beautiful, but I am not sure if I was in love or not. It was what I was attempting to find out.” Erestor’s eyes flitted up from Aredhel’s body to meet Glorfindel’s gaze, then back down. Quietly, he said, “I was in love with her cousin. Very much.” Again, he dared look at Glorfindel, but only briefly. “Ecthelion has likely mentioned that to you.”

“He told me once that you were deeply in love with an elleth who caused you great sorrow; that was all,” admitted Glorfindel.

“You should know; it was a lady who is kin to you, Glorfindel. Your father’s sister and I were to be married in Valinor, but things do not always work out as one intends them to. It took me a long time to put that in my past and move on with my life.” Erestor shook his head and leaned his elbows on the edge of the slab. Closing his eyes, he drew the tips of his fingers across them to catch any straying tears. “I nearly died when Artanis left me. And now…” He sniffled and continued, “I just do not know how many times I can survive a broken heart.”

Glorfindel was about to scramble over to approach Erestor, but the elder elf shook his head. “I think I would like to be alone here for a while, if you do not mind.”

“Are you sure?” asked the blond.

“Positive,” said Erestor as a teardrop escaped and rolled down his cheek.

Standing up, Glorfindel fought the urge to drop back down beside the grief-stricken ellon and offer him comfort. “Will you be alright?” Erestor nodded, dismissing him with a pleading wave of his hand.

Glorfindel went to the door, turning around for a moment. “If you had married my father’s sister,” he said suddenly, “then you would have been my uncle.”

“Yes,” realized Erestor, not wishing to turn around and be seen in the state he was in.

“I... would have liked that,” Glorfindel said before leaving. “It... would have been nice to have had you in my family.”

In very little time, Maeglin began to make a name for himself in Gondolin, learning the crafts of those who lived there and adding his own knowledge to the vast library of the hidden city. He voiced his desire to do more, to be more. The pride of his uncle was immeasurable, and though the king had lost a dear sister, he gained a nephew who was to him as a son. No doubt, he told everyone, that the youth was destined for something great.

Meanwhile, changes were taking place in the political structure. Erestor’s words had brought about much speculation regarding the dark elf of Doriath – doubts crept into the minds of many, and rumors spread questioning his character. Slowly, the members of his house found ways to join other less dubious clans, swelling the numbers in the House of the Fountain and the House of the Heavenly Arch and leaving the House of the Silver Stars at a staggering population of one.

“I am sorry, Ecthelion. The rules are clear in this matter.” Turgon averted his eyes away from Erestor, concentrating on the captain instead. “You must find a house with people in it – he cannot represent only himself. There are a lot of houses you would do well to align yourself with – the House of the Mole, for example.”

Ecthelion frowned. “I thought that Enerdhil would have taken your nephew under his wing.”

“Oh, and he has,” confirmed Turgon. “But Enerdhil’s numbers will never be high enough to justify a second vote on the council. You need to find a different affiliate. Erestor’s house no longer counts – well, is it even a house any longer?”

“Look, I am right here,” announced the dark ellon. “If you want to speak thusly about me, kindly do so behind my back.” A number of other lords and captains in the council room laughed at this remark.

“Erestor, it is not that we wish to lose you from the council, but you represent no one. Perhaps one day when your house has regained its former strength,” offered Turgon, “you might rejoin our ranks.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Erestor stared down at the ground. “So, what you are saying-“

“What I am saying,” spoke Turgon firmly, “is that I need to follow the rules.”

Glaring at the floor, Erestor spat out, “You have some rather stupid rules.”

Turgon finally looked to Erestor. “That comment I will let slide, for you still think yourself a lord with the ability to question my commands. From this moment forward, I see you as nothing more than a wealthy and arrogant landholder. Now go. This is a private council for the lords of Gondolin.”

Closing his eyes and holding back his response, Erestor swallowed hard and walked down the steps from the spot he had been at for many years behind Ecthelion. Glorfindel wanted to reach out to him, but he dared not. “About time someone took out the trash,” Salgant said to Duilin.

Upon hearing this, Erestor turned on his heel and stared right into Salgant’s eyes. “I will be back,” he promised before pushing the doors open and disappearing into the hallway.

- - -

“Do you know what your problem is?” asked Rog.

Erestor, who was sitting on a bench across from the fountain with his face in his hands, looked up and sighed. He rubbed his fingertips up over his cheekbones, and then circled them at his temples. “What is my problem?”

“You are wild and untamed. Turgon is right about your arrogance, I think. I have heard rumors about what you did to Salgant,” he continued as Glorfindel came from the same direction and joined Erestor on the bench. “I would like to have the chance to punch him, too. But have I? No. You need to learn to control your temper.”

Erestor burst out laughing. “Yes, well, thank you for that observation.”

“I can teach you how,” offered Rog. “You should come to my house, join the recruits there in two weeks. It is no picnic, but I can help you restrain that wild beast within you. I have had recruits who are worse than you – a little difficult to imagine, but true,” he smiled. “No matter, they all became fine soldiers.”

“He has already been trained as a soldier. By me,” interrupted Glorfindel.

Rog studied Glorfindel and nodded. “You have trained him as a warrior – I will not deny you that. He is one of the better archers in the city, and though he is not the best at swordship, I would trust him to fight with me in a battle. His skills with a horse – improving every day. But a soldier,” said Rog, turning back to Erestor, “you are not.”

“But if I were, then I would not be such a troublemaker. Is that what you are saying?” asked Erestor. He did not give Rog the time to answer as he said, “I am too old for such things. Too old to take commands and be told what to do and when and how.”

“No, you are too stubborn. Too arrogant. Not too old,” argued Rog calmly. “You are already getting angry at me, and all we are doing is having a conversation.”

Erestor was about to dispute this, but closed his mouth and looked away.

“Ah! You see? You know I am right.” Rog took a seat on the other side of Erestor. “Right now, you are like red-hot mithril in the forge. You are strong, you have potential, but you are angry and you burn, and no one can get near you. You need to be molded, tempered, and cooled off. I can help you do this.”

Erestor appeared to be contemplating the offer, and Glorfindel spoke suddenly. “I could help.”

Rog smiled and stood up, patting Glorfindel on the shoulder as he made to leave. “You have a good heart – but it is different when you have such a strong friendship. When he is facedown in the mud, will you hold out your hand for him, or will you push him down further so that he must struggle harder to pick himself up?” When Glorfindel did not reply, Rog said, “You will not be as strict – and how can you? You are his good friend. But I am merely offering what I offer to anyone in the city who wishes to become a great soldier – not a good soldier, not simply a guard at a gate, but one of the best in this city.”

“Think about my offer, Erestor,” said Rog as he walked backwards away from them. “You could be something great. If you keep things up the way you have been, though,” warned the smith, “your fire will consume you in anger, and leave nothing but ash behind. And I can do nothing with ashes.”

When they were alone at the fountain, Glorfindel turned to Erestor and asked, “What you are going to do?”

“I do not know,” replied the scribe, staring at the crystal waters as they rose up and plummeted back into the pool below.

“Do me a favor?”

Ecthelion looked down at Erestor, who had come over to the bleachers to see him. In the arena, the jousters were getting their horses ready for their part of the day’s competition. Leaning closer to the railing, Ecthelion gave Erestor a questioning look.

“Keep Fin busy for me.”

Ecthelion nodded. “Why, if I might ask?”

“I need to go do something, and I do not need him trying to seek me out.” Erestor looked to the field. “Who qualified for the boxing matches?”

“I came too late,” admitted Ecthelion. “I do know that Egalmoth is in. I am sure Rog is in as well. Archery, the only one I knew was Duilin. There are a lot of new faces for the tournament this year. What do you want me to tell Glorfindel if he asks where you are?”

“Just tell him I am busy and will be by for the finals.” Erestor wiped the sweat from his palms on his pants and walked away.

Not more than a few minutes later, Glorfindel came into the area for the audience and headed up the stairs, pardoning himself until he reached Ecthelion. “Have you seen Erestor?”

“Hmm? Oh, he said he would be by for the finals.” Ecthelion kept a keen eye on the preliminary joust, cursing when his house’s rider fell from his mount. “Damn, I wish he was still riding for me.”

“Sorry.” Glorfindel knew better than to bring up the sore subject of Erestor not being linked to Ecthelion’s house, consequently not being able to compete for the house in these yearly midsummer tournaments. “I heard that Salgant did not do as well as expected last night.”

“He is a better minstrel than I,” admitted Ecthelion. “The first competition only weeds out the exceptionally poor. It is the finals I worry about – I have a feeling my house will not take the cup this year.”

“Maeglin seemed to do well for you in the fencing trials. He may surprise everyone and take the ribbon on that,” suggested Glorfindel.

Ecthelion shook his head. “Perhaps. But look at the state of my jousters! I am surprised either of them knows which end the back end of the horse is!”

Glorfindel decided to stay silent for the rest of the qualifying races and matches, only smiling sadly each time his friend’s house did worse and worse. The only redeeming item was that at least Ecthelion had competitors from his house or Maeglin’s in each event – the Golden Flower’s chances of winning the cup were very slim, as they only qualified in three events.

As Glorfindel tried to cheer up Ecthelion with this idea while they ate lunch of chunks of potato fried in oil and breaded fried fish, a hand reached over and stole a potato from the paper cone Glorfindel’s lunch was in. “You never know. If your competitors win all three of their events, and no one else can do better than two, you could still take the cup.”

“Erestor, possible as it may be, the probability of-“ Glorfindel stopped abruptly as he turned his head, and his grin drooped immediately. “What... what did you do?”

“Do not worry, I eat very little and when the line gets shorter I will get another and let you have some,” promised the dark elf as he pushed on Glorfindel’s arm. “Scoot over so I can sit down.”

“I meant-“ Glorfindel was pulled over a little by Ecthelion, who had moved to make more room. Erestor sat down, snagging another piece of potato from Glorfindel’s lunch. “I meant, what did you do to your hair?”

“Oh, I had it trimmed,” answered Erestor, wiping the grease from his fingers off on the side of the paper cone Glorfindel was still holding.

Ecthelion peered around Glorfindel’s back and now, his eyes widened, too. “If that is a trim, remind me not to seek out your barber!”

Glorfindel’s frown deepened as he looked Erestor over. “You are the last one I would expect to chop their hair off.”

“I had to. Rog would not let me join the army otherwise,” stated Erestor as if this was just common knowledge.

“You what? You joined his army? Erestor... why?” Glorfindel ignored the fact that his house’s representative in the boxing matches was being introduced in the third of the three rings of competition of the arena.

“Because a lot of what he said the other day made sense to me. I keep spiraling downward, and one of these days, I will not be able to pick myself back up again. I do not want that. I made enough mistakes in Doriath. I am not about to repeat all of those here.” Erestor ran his hands through his cropped black hair, shorter now than Ecthelion’s shoulder-length curls. “Just so weird. My head feels so light. And, I am sure it looks hideous.”

“Trust me, you will appreciate it from the very start of the training,” ensured Ecthelion. “Plus, the best thing in a battle is short hair – I keep telling the kid here that, but he will not listen to me,” added the fountain lord, elbowing Glorfindel.

Glorfindel rubbed his arm side and shot Ecthelion a disbelieving look. “Battles go so fast, no one has time to think of whether or not they will yank someone down from their mount by their hair. Besides, helmets keep it from being an issue.”

“I do not think I have a helmet for the initial training,” guessed Erestor. “Which begins in three days. Which brings me to something else.” He took a stall key from his pocket and held it out. “Which of you lucky lords wants the privilege of looking after my horses while I am off playing war?”

Snorting, Ecthelion took hold of the key first. “I will assign someone to it. I still feel terrible that you are off of the council.”

“Not your fault. Like I told Salgant, I will be back.” Erestor turned his head to the field as cheering erupted from a group across the field. “Pity that. Your house was just eliminated from boxing,” he told Glorfindel as one of the members of Rog’s house pumped his fist in the air victoriously.

- - -

The next chance Glorfindel had to converse with Erestor was almost three months later. He just happened to decide to stroll around the long way back to the palace instead of taking the way that would lead him past the barracks shared by Ecthelion and Maeglin for their soldiers when the blond spied his tall friend hurrying toward one of the side doors to the palace with a basket heaped with clothing. Glorfindel hastened his step to reach Erestor before the door closed. “Long time, no see,” he began, and Erestor seemed to be startled at first, but then nodded his head in the direction of a flight of stairs leading to one of the cellars.

“I am going this way, if you care to follow.” Erestor disappeared down the dimly lit stairway, and Glorfindel followed. “I only have a little time.”

“What are you doing?” asked Glorfindel as Erestor placed the basket down on a clean table and opened the shutters of the windows in the underground room.

“Some officer’s laundry.” He dumped the contents of the basket onto the table and began to sort the items into piles. “One of the benefits of being a trainee with no rank – you are presented with so many opportunities to perform menial labor.”

“Do you want me to help?” offered Glorfindel, but Erestor held up his hand.

“Stay right there, please,” instructed the dark elf. “The last thing I need is to be accused of having someone else do the work for me. Besides, you are a captain – I really should have saluted you when you came upon me in the corridor.”

“Your hands were full so I think we can let it slide.” Glorfindel dusted off a chair and sat down. “Why are you hiding down here? I would think it would be easier to fold it as it came off of the line.”

Erestor paused for a moment and leaned back against a support beam. “One would think that. Unfortunately, it means that one is open for attack – that is, another officer might happen over with his laundry, and just as you have finished one load, you are again starting another. This way, I have at least a few minutes of peace. And do I need it,” he moaned, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Every inch of me aches, even in places I did not know could hurt.”

Giving his friend a sympathetic look, Glorfindel said, “You are at least halfway done, right? Five months of training.”

“Well...” Erestor opened his eyes and stepped to the table again, picking up a pair of pants and folding it. “I met this girl-“

“Oh, no,” chuckled Glorfindel. “A girl who happens to like an elf in uniform, no doubt?”

“How did you guess?” grinned Erestor. “Actually, did you know that Rog has a daughter?”

Glorfindel’s eyebrows shot up. “You plan to court Rog’s daughter? Are you insane?”

“Probably – I joined the army,” Erestor reminded him. “I met her, briefly, at a party a few weeks ago.”

“It cannot be all bad if you still have time for parties,” said Glorfindel.

Leaning forward with his arms crossed on the basket, Erestor rolled his eyes. “Some time ago, Rog ‘invited’ us to a party. We were told that the guests would arrive at sundown. He said we had to be there, not an option to skip it. Something seemed odd, so, being me, I went to investigate a few hours ahead of time.”

“I snuck my way into the bustling kitchens of his house, and spoke to one of the maids. Sure enough, the plan was that the trainees would arrive in fancy attire, but then be shuffled to the kitchens to help with the serving of the food and the cleaning of the dishes and other such things. Not about to be a total fool, I simply let myself back out, came around the side way, and knocked on the door. When the butler answered, I explained myself, and he led me in to the dining hall where I ended up assisting another who had figured things out as well in setting the long tables. We finished just as the first guests, and unfortunate trainees, began to arrive. Rog came in about then, saw the two of us and smirked and dismissed us. I think some of the other trainees are a little upset with us, but what was I to do? If I had gone around telling the others, it would have taken too much time. And I doubt any of them would have been looking out for me.”

“How did you meet his daughter?” asked Glorfindel.

“Oh! Right, she was the hostess – his wife apparently hates parties. She came into the dining hall to see that things were coming along before the party began. We chatted for a few moments. I have seen her a few times since then and we had a conversation regarding... something or other, I forget.” Erestor placed the shirt he had just folded into the basket and lifted up another. “I spent most of the time paying attention to her breasts.”

Blinking, Glorfindel frowned. “I see.”

“I know, does nothing for you, but trust me. An elleth with an endowment like those...” Erestor cupped his hands, spaced out as if he was holding those of some imaginary female before him. “Just trust me.”

“I suppose I shall have to.” Glorfindel shifted uncomfortably.

“She has a great ass, too,” added Erestor. “Firm, and, damn, I just want to sink my teeth into it. I just want to, you know, bite it.”

Glorfindel burst out laughing. “That I can at least understand a bit.”

Erestor grinned. “Sorry, I will stop. This is the first conversation I have had in weeks that did not consist of ‘yes sir, no sir, how far sir, thank you sir’. Forgive me.”

“How are things going?” Glorfindel tried not to sound too concerned, but he could not help it.

With a shrug, Erestor said, “Fairly well. The first week was the worst. Up before dawn, and we had to run the entire way around all six gates, one way, and then the other. I am not much of a runner, at least, not until now. Then I got used to that. But there was also the total lack of freedom.”

Smoothing all of the wrinkles from a tunic, Erestor paused in his work. “We all wake, dress, and eat, all at the same time. No one talks, no one has any choice over any of it. Then we run, then we train, then we eat again sometimes as we are running, then we have ‘free time’, like right now, only there is no freedom. If an officer sees us and has something for us to do, we do it. No matter what. First time it happened to me, I just went along and did it. I ended up mucking out the stalls of one of the captains that first day. I found out later that night that the ones who refused ended up spending the time doing extremely rigorous exercise – for example, one of them was dragged to a wagon and hitched to it, made to haul a load meant for two horses.”

“How do I miss all of these things happening?” wondered Glorfindel.

“Then we train until dusk. We eat, we shower – which is all of us, five minutes, in a pond by the barracks. And then, you would think we would have some time to rest – no. By candlelight, we have tactical studies, and weapons studies, and things I will never use again except to pass the weekly examinations.” Erestor tilted his head thoughtfully. “At least with that I am excelling.”

“Then do you get to sleep?” questioned Glorfindel.

“Then we drop from exhaustion until it begins again. At least I am used to it now. I have to tell you, as ugly as it looks, I am so glad I hacked my hair off before I started this,” said Erestor ruefully. “It stays fairly clean, I do not sweat like the ones who kept their hair a little longer, and best of all, it is too short for anyone to grab hold of it.”

“Do they really do that?” Glorfindel worried.

Grimacing, Erestor replied, “One of the younger recruits, from Rog’s house, he refused to cut his any shorter than halfway down his back. He kept it braided up, so for a few days I was silently cursing what I had done. Then, one morning he must have forgotten or run out of time. Anyhow, we were out fighting with blunt knives, just going through routines. Rog came over – usually, he leaves all of the training to his lieutenants and captains. He picked up a pair of knives and challenged this boy.” Realizing the time, Erestor went back to his task. “The two of them seemed well-matched. Then Rog threw one knife to the ground, got around him, and took hold of his loose hair. When it was all over, the youth was on the ground screaming, and Rog was holding a fist full of bloodied hair that I think he must have yanked off of his head. Before Rog let the healers over, he pinned the boy down and cut the rest off while lecturing the rest of us as to why it was one of the requirements he had for his soldiers. If you think this is short,” he said, pointing to his own head, “you should see him.”

“Ow.” Glorfindel instinctively rubbed the back of his scalp. “I still think it is rare one would ever encounter that sort of thing in battle.”

As Erestor stacked the rest of the items in the basket, he sighed. “I had best get this to its owner. It was good to see you.”

“You, too.” Glorfindel made it to the stairs before Erestor, blocking his path. “Erestor, I know you are trying to... prove something, or... well, honestly, I am still trying to figure out what you are doing. But, has it been worth it? At all? I hate to think you are only still doing this because you think that Rog has a pretty daughter.”

Erestor rested the basket against one hip. “There is something that Rog attends to personally, and that is to give us ‘individual pep talks’, as I like to call them. He knows why each and every one of us is there, and he reminds us daily. Usually during the training in the evening you will have a chance to spar with him at some point. The whole time, he insults you.”

“What does he say to you?” asked Glorfindel cautiously.

“The first day, he made me so angry,” recalled Erestor. “He called me a number of uncomplimentary things, and pointed out my shortcomings. We were engaged in hand-to-hand combat, and one of the things he said was ‘if you like to hit house lords so much, why are you having such trouble hitting me?’ At that point I stopped using all of the theory and practice I had and just tried to hit him. I landed flat on my back with the wind knocked out of me. He put his foot on my chest and leaned down, squeezing the air out of my lungs, and he said, ‘When we are done, you will be a soldier, but you will also cease to be such a rude, disrespectful ass. Do you understand me?’”

Glorfindel fidgeted, wishing not for the first time in their conversation that Erestor had not decided upon this path. “How did you answer?”

“The only way I could. ‘Sir, yes, sir!’ Do you know how much I am coming to hate that phrase?”

“I can only imagine.” Glorfindel hung his head. “I am sorry I failed you as a teacher.”

“Glorfindel, you did not. You did everything you could – but how were you to rid me of the anger within? Rog said it himself. You and I are good friends. There is no way you would be able to say the things he says. The truthful things he says.”

Shocked, Glorfindel asked, “You agree with him?”

“Every word. You probably still think that I never deserved to be whipped – but, you are wrong. I deserved that, and more,” said Erestor.

Glorfindel shook his head. “No. No one deserved that – for what you did? For hitting Salgant twice, and for lying to Turgon that one time?”

Erestor turned away. “Fin, those were only the things you saw happen. I did a lot of other things over the years, some worse than that.”

“Like... what?”

“Glorfindel, I need to get this back,” Erestor insisted, but the blond did not budge. Sighing, Erestor said, “A lot of things. Things I am starting to regrest.”

“What? What did you do?” Glorfindel placed a hand on Erestor’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. “Erestor, tell me. Do not force me to order you.”

Flinching, Erestor cleared his throat. “Well, captain,” he said curtly in a cold voice that Glorfindel decided immediately that he hated, “there was a day when Salgant was gouging himself on pastries and wine, joking that there may be none left when others arrived. I wandered myself to a healing room, picked up a few things, and added something to his wine. From what I heard, he could not stop defecating for days- and it began while he was sitting atop his horse the next day.”

“That was you?!” Glorfindel gasped. “Sweet Eru, we all thought he was dying the way he was wailing about his arse being on fire.”

For a brief moment, Erestor smirked. “I never heard that part recounted.”

“Remind me not to cross you,” mumbled Glorfindel, coming to the conclusion he did not wish to hear any more. He stood aside to allow Erestor to pass.

“With any luck,” said Erestor as he headed up the stairs, “Rog will be sure to beat that out of me before the end of the training.”

Shuddering at the thought, Glorfindel said, “I am going to be so glad when this is all over.”

Looking over his shoulder, Erestor agreed. “So will I.”

Rog spoke again. “I cannot believe how pathetic all of you turned out. This is the worst lot of recruits I have ever trained. Obviously, my direction has not been flawed, and the instruction of the officers has been superb, so it must be all of you who are the problem. Since I am not about to be embarrassed by presenting an appalling group of dimwitted soldiers to the King tomorrow, we have no choice but to throw all of you off the Echoriath.” A few gasps could be heard, but Rog ignored this, continuing with, “If any of you like, you can at least redeem yourselves in some small way by jumping off on your own instead of being forced over, kicking and screaming like the girls you are.”

Erestor was happy that his blindfold kept everyone from seeing him roll his eyes. With the vast amount of initiation trials that the recruits had been put through, he was surprised that there were still some who thought Rog was telling them the truth. Where they were, he could not tell, but they were most definitely not on the edge of a cliff of the Echoriath. The wind was too calm, and there was grass beneath their feet instead of the rough, rocky soil that refused to grow a thing unless painstakingly cared for.

Earlier that evening, while sitting in the barracks for their final night before being inducted as real soldiers in the army, one of the captains had surprised them with a barrel of good wine. Only Erestor was wary. Since wine was something they had been weaned off of months earlier, the others were only too happy to begin drinking.

As his fellow companions began to slump in their chairs or lazily took to curling up on the floor, the captain approached the lone elf sitting in the corner reading ‘Art and Practice of War’, the only book in the entire barracks. “You should have some of the wine before it goes sour,” said the captain sternly to Erestor, holding out a goblet.

Keeping his finger at the page for a marker, Erestor said quietly, “I will not fight whatever it is you have in store for us.”

“Still,” said the captain, holding the goblet closer, “you should drink the wine.”

“Is that an order, sir?” Erestor swallowed hard, knowing he was walking a fine line at the moment by continuing to disobey. The captain only lifted one brow slightly.

“If that is what it takes for you to drink, then yes, soldier, that is an order.”

Placing the book on the chair as he stood up, Erestor took the wine and went to the bed that was his for the duration of the training. “I do not suppose you would care to share a toast, would you, sir?” Erestor turned away to hide his smirk after receiving a glare from the captain.

As the rest of the recruits dozed, Erestor drank the glass of wine he had been given, then went to the barrel and refilled his cup. He drank the second and began to get an aftertaste in his mouth that was familiar but not one he could place. The fourth he began to drink when it hit him. The drug used in the wine was the same he had tried to poison himself with in Valinor hundreds of years earlier. In moderation, it was simply a heavy and fast acting sedative. Sickness rose in his stomach as he realized that the wine would not affect him.

It was only moments before the doors of the barracks burst open. A group of five officers, along with Rog, marched in. They all stopped when they saw Erestor, still standing. “I thought I told you to drink that wine!” shouted the captain who had brought the poisoned drink.

“I did! I mean, I did, sir, I tried, it has no affect on me, sir,” apologized Erestor, beginning to sweat and stutter. “Sir, I assure you, I have had four glasses of it already!”

Rog walked briskly to Erestor, taking hold of the dark elf’s wrist. “Always the troublemaker,” he said under his breath for only Erestor to hear. “His pulse is slowing,” he confirmed for the others. “Drink another cupful; and stay out of the way.”

“Yes, sir.” Erestor refilled the goblet, keeping his eyes down to try to ignore the officers as they proceeded to enter the room. Each recruit had his wrists bound behind his back, was blindfolded, and then a cloth sack was placed over his head and loosely tied. Nervously fidgeting as he watched, but tried not to, Erestor drank the fifth glass to no avail. He was sitting on the edge of his bed with his hands folded and his head down when the officers approached him.

“What should we do about him, sir?” questioned a lieutenant. He and the others looked past Erestor to Rog, who was standing unseen behind Erestor.

“This is why we always have a backup plan.” Before Erestor could turn around, he felt one of Rog’s powerful arms wrap around his chest, pinning his arms to the sides of his body. Erestor’s head was against the house lord’s shoulder as Rog’s other hand came up and covered the dark ellon’s mouth and nose with a wadded up cloth.

His first reaction was to struggle, but Erestor fought against his own panic. “Just breath and do not fight. It is faster that way,” promised Rog. Uncontrollably, he shook, but Erestor closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Very good. Again.” He repeated this six or seven times until he felt his muscles going limp and his vision became hazy. “There. He will fall asleep soon,” promised Rog as he let Erestor slip from his grasp and collapse on the bed.

Vaguely, Erestor felt the rope being expertly tied around his wrists as his arms were drawn behind his back. The blindfold brushed against his ears, and then the sack plunged him into total darkness as he slipped into a deep but uneasy reverie.

Now, he stood awake on this ridge, with another ellon on either side. From what he could tell, they had been lined up on the edge of something, but he sincerely doubted it was more than the final test they were to be put through. Behind them, there were a number of more experienced soldiers and officers, and Erestor had no doubt that one way or another they were about to be pushed into whatever was before them.

“So, are any of you brave enough to go first?” Rog repeated the question a second time, then made an unhappy tisking noise. “I had hoped there was still some amount of courage amongst you. Go ahead, boys,” he shouted now to the assembled who were not at the mercy of their fellows.

“What do you say? Pitch him in or shove him?” questioned someone directly behind Erestor.

“We have to shove him in. Unless you grab his feet and I grab his arms...”

Erestor, for his part, was having none of that. He was already feeling his way forward with one foot as he heard the rest around him fighting and shouting and generally making asses of themselves. Then, he heard something, nearby but not too nearby, and smiled. It was the waterfall, and now it all made sense. They were on the cliff above a little lake with a waterfall that came down from a stream. The drop was not too high and elflings came here often in the summertime, but it was not a jump that appealed to Erestor, especially not in these cooler months.

All the same, it appealed to him even less to be flung over a cliff into a pond while blindfolded with his hands tied behind his back, so he stood on the edge, took a deep breath, and stepped right off.

The cold of the water did not shock him so much as breaking the surface did. He relaxed and kicked his legs until he bobbed back up out of the water. The blindfold had come loose in the water and floated a few feet away, so Erestor worked on bringing his arms under his legs and to the front where he could reach the rope with his teeth to untie it. In the water, this proved to be easier than it might have been on land. Around him, he heard splashes as others came tumbling off the cliff, or jumping on their own once they deemed it safe.

As the first to free himself, Erestor set about to helping others who were having difficulties and getting the ones who were coughing and sputtering to shore. Periodically, he dove beneath the surface to see if anyone had been swept under – a good thing, for he did pull out a young ellon who had twisted his ankle before making it off the ridge and was struggling to keep his head above the water.

“So the rumors are true.”

Erestor turned and saw a small group who was wading near to the shore looking at him. At that point, he finally realized that they had all been stripped naked, and that the scars from the whip that had yet to fade were visible to everyone. During their group bathing, everyone had so little time that they all concentrated on getting as clean as possible in the short time they were given. At every practice, they wore the same uniform of a simple white shirt and black leggings with red markings to denote Rog’s house and army. For the last nine years, Erestor had kept his back covered, though someone had sparked the idea into the heads of others that the dark elf was nothing but a rogue scoundrel (which was ridiculous) who had been jailed in Doriath (which was true) for heinous crimes (which was not really true) against the crown (which was mostly true) and now in Gondolin had been punished by Turgon (which was absolutely true) numerous times (which was a stretch to say the least).

If Erestor had only told the real story, which was that he was a political nuisance to Doriath, the rumors might not have circulated as widely or as often as to his mischief in Gondolin. However, his continued silence had lost him his house and tarnished his reputation. Now, whatever little respect anyone might have had for Erestor seemed to ebb away as the others backed away from him in either disgust or confusion. Even those he had helped averted their gaze and left him alone.

Stepping onto the shore with a sigh, a towel was thrust at him. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, sir.” Erestor wrapped the towel around his body, making sure his back was not exposed in any way.

Rog smirked. “Do you have any idea why I am congratulating you?”

“I assume for not making an ass of my self up on the ridge, sir?” guessed Erestor.

“For your new rank, sergeant.”

Erestor blinked. “What? I mean, sorry sir, I think I heard you wrong, sir.”

“You jumped first,” Rog said simply. “Ironic that it was you, but you did jump first.”

“Yes, sir, I did jump first, sir.” Erestor’s eyes widened suddenly. “You mean... you want to promote me? Rog—I-I-I m-mean, sir,” he corrected himself immediately, face turning red. Rog grinned in amusement. “Sir, no offense, sir, but you know I did not come here to make a career of this, sir.”

“I know, but I am not one to break my own rules. You jumped first, you are offered the commission. You can of course refuse it, but I will tell you this- if you think making it through five months of training is rough, try earning a higher rank through hard work and years of service. It is not one of those things that just happens overnight,” Rog assured him.

“Sir, I am honored, but-“

“-you will think it over and give me your decision tomorrow,” finished Rog for Erestor. “Dismissed.”

“I-“ Erestor stopped and looked around, noting that the others were in various celebratory modes, and all leaving. “Dismissed, sir?”

“You are finished with your training. You have learned the basics. Now, if you wish to continue, I will see you in the morning. If not, feel free to collect that book you like to read, but you are dismissed for now,” explained Rog, in a somewhat bored voice. Noticing a blindfold floating near the shore, he stepped around Erestor to pluck it from the water.

Erestor turned to watch him, and said a bit timidly, “I was really hoping I would be able to grow my hair back out after this.”

“Officers can keep it longer if they want,” said Rog, pulling a length of rope from the water as well. “Some of them even keep it past their shoulders, though I discourage it.”

“Yes, but... but mine was past my waist,” Erestor said, his fingers playing with the edge of the towel.

With a sigh, Rog said, “Well, I suppose you will have to choose whether you favor personal vanity or public perception. Is it more important for you to look good, or to feel good?”

Frowning, Erestor nodded and pulled the towel tighter around himself. Slowly he began to walk away.

“By the way, Erestor,” said Rog, and Erestor turned around to see him, “good job. Few stay in the water to help their comrades. You did remarkably well.”

Unable to stop himself, Erestor grinned at the praise. “Thank you. Thank you, sir.”

“Of course, we are cutting our meeting short for a very special occasion that only happens twice a year. You are all invited, I believe.” Turgon looked to Rog for confirmation of this.

“Yes, you are all welcome to attend,” said Rog. “I found the recruits this time to be a bit of a challenge, but they all have proved themselves more than worthy of their ranks.”

“More than ten words in a sentence,” whispered Egalmoth to Duilin. “That must be a record.”

“Do you mind?” questioned Duilin tersely. “I am trying to pay attention.”

Egalmoth let the smile slip from his face and folded his arms over his chest. Where once there had been comraderie between the two warriors, there was now mostly silence. Since the day that Egalmoth had been held back in council, neither Duilin nor Salgant had wanted anything to do with the powerful house lord, though he had many times ensured them that he had done nothing dishonorable…

- - -

“If you are not the one who is unclean, then who is it?” pressed Salgant, poking a fat finger into Egalmoth’s chest. “Surely it is not Erestor; he took the place of the cowardly scoundrel! I care not if you are, but I have dined with you and drunk from your glass; I am not about to be called out as one of your kind!”

“It is not me! The king said nothing to me!” swore Egalmoth in a panic. “It must be Ectehlion or Glorfindel! Or perhaps someone else who he sent away! You have been deceived, my friend-“

“You are not my friend, you deceitful liar! The king had his reason for keeping you back, and I will not listen to any more lies.” Salgant spat upon Egalmoth’s boots and turned away. “Never speak to me again,” he sneered, and waved his hand behind him. “Take your filth outside of my house.”

“Salgant, please, I beg you listen to me!” Egalmoth fell upon his knees, crawling around to face Salgant, who backed up and looked away in disgust.

“Out!” roared Salgant. “Out, and never return!”

Egalmoth looked to Duilin pleadingly. “My old friend, do you turn me away as well? Do you not recall our time as younglings, growing up together? Duilin, please, please, believe me.”

It seemed as if Duilin had wanted to believe Egalmoth, but he exchanged looks with Salgant and then shook his head. “You had better leave before he calls for his guards,” said Duilin softly.

Those had been the last civil words the archer had said to him. Since that time, Duilin had aligned himself more and more with Salgant and the House of the Harp. With a sigh, Egalmoth turned his attention back to the king. There was suspicion now- for although he was never close to Erestor, some wondered if they were secretly friends, and if Erestor was covering for the Lord of the Arch. On some level, this theory of conspiracy worked: Both of their lines came from the houses of Elbereth, those linked to the stars. Even Egalmoth’s wife distrusted his fidelity after Salgant had paid her a visit, and their relationship had become strained in the past years.

He had a growing desire to discover who had cost him his friends, his reputation, and the love of his wife. It was no mere coincidence, he later decided, when he was approached by the Lord of the Fountain as the meeting ended.

“Glorfindel and I are going to the ceremony after lunch. I thought perhaps you might like to dine with us beforehand; I know you like to attend Rog’s presentations.”

In the past, Egalmoth would have refused, perhaps with laughter. Today, however, he glanced over his shoulder to see Salgant and Duilin exiting the room, cheerfully discussing their plans for the revitalization of their shared stables - stables that Egalmoth’s horses once lived in as well. Looking back to the captain, Egalmoth nodded. “Sure,” he said, and he could tell that Ecthelion was as surprised as he was.

- - -

Through the main doors of the Hall of Light marched the most recent graduating group of recruits from Rog’s program. Although he always had a small number in each unit, these were soldiers whom everyone was in awe of. Their armor was black and brilliant red, and from the tops of their helmets thick plumes of scarlet and sable feathers marked them as the House of the Hammer of Wrath.

Around the edges of the room, the commonfolk who wished to see the presentation of the new troops gathered. Some had small children up on their shoulders, while others crouched down beside their elflings and pointed to the warriors as they came to a halt. There were twenty-two of them, lead by another whose height made his feathers rise above the others, and whose cloak signified him as the leader of this platoon.

With all of them in the same uniform, accompanied by sabers at their hips and bows carried with dignity, it was difficult to tell who anyone was. Only the lead ellon’s weapons were different than the others, for he carried no sword and had at his side only a trumpet which he would use to rally his soldiers.

After most of the ritual words were spoken from Turgon, who stood at the balcony with his council members, he motioned forward one of his own honor guards. They bowed to him, and brought forth a sword of shining steel. Walking down the stairs to the ground, the king stood beside Rog and asked, “Who shall lead these soldiers, in battle and in training, in times of peace and in times of war?”

“I will.” The elf at the lead, whose deep voice was heard by everyone watching, now removed his helmet. The reaction from those remaining upon the balcony was varied as the officer pledged his loyalty to Gondolin.

“Thel, look! Can you believe it?” Glorfindel was grinning madly. “An officer! I remember when he could not mount a horse or hold a sword!”

Chuckling, Ecthelion said, “I thought that might surprise you. Rog told me this morning of Erestor’s decision.”

“Erestor? That cannot be Erestor.” Salgant leaned a little further over the balcony, squinting to see better. “That elf? Erestor?”

“Imagine him with less muscle and more hair,” whispered Galdor. To this, both Penlodh and Laiqalasse snickered.

Idril sighed and shook her head. “What a shame,” she murmured, and walked past the lords and captains standing at the railing to leave through a door that would take her back into the palace.

Those present stopped their conversation and looked to Maeglin, who had been standing beside her for the duration. “My cousin... must be ill. I will see to her.” The young ellon hurried after Idril as applause traveled up from the crowds below.

“We must go congratulate Erestor,” insisted Glorfindel as the council members either left the balcony or joined the throng on the ground. Ecthelion nodded, and motioned to the stairs.

Beside the Lord of the Fountain stood the Lord of the Arch, and both had been in deep conversation many times during and after lunch. “I will join you in a moment. Ask him if he wants to dine with us at my house tonight,” added Ecthelion as Glorfindel headed down the steps. He jumped down the last few and easily found his target. “This is probably sounding redundant, but congratulations!”

“Thank you.” Erestor had his helmet tucked under one arm and craned his neck a little. “I need to get outside for a bit – much too stuffy in here.”

“I shall split a path through the crowd,” offered Glorfindel. In minutes, they were well away from the hall, and rounding the corner to a series of ponds and statues in a secluded part of the courtyard. “I am simply in awe,” Glorfindel finally said. “You look terrific. You... well, you must be awfully proud of yourself.”

“I guess.” Erestor fluffed the plumes of his helmet before setting it on a bench. “Would you like to see my sword?”

“I would love to,” replied Glorfindel, but the joke was lost on Erestor, who nodded and removed the polished weapon from its scabbard. Handing it to Glorfindel, the Lord of the Golden Flower gave a low whistle. “Nice,” he said, examining the blade. “Going to go slay something with that now, are you?”

Erestor paled. “I hope I never have to. I mean, combat is not the reason I stayed in this. I just feel I am not quite ready to leave yet.”

“I understand,” said Glorfindel, handing the sword back.

“No, I mean...” Erestor looked at the shining sword, a bit of a smile curving his lips, before he slid it back into the folds of leather. “I mean, I feel safe doing this. I have been on my own having to make decisions- very difficult and complex decisions sometimes- for most of my life. When you have someone telling you what to do instead, there is a certain amount of security there. I guess I could say I am taking the easy path right now.”

“Interesting,” mused Glorfindel. “I prefer this lifestyle because I think that the sort of work you were doing as a scribe, no offense, was rather boring overall.”

“Funny how we perceive things differently sometimes,” answered Erestor.

“Ecthelion wanted me to ask you about coming to dinner at-- Oh! I nearly forgot.” Glorfindel looked around, making sure no one was within hearing range. “Egalmoth had lunch with Ecthelion and I today.”

“Oh?”

“He started to question us as to who... who you stood up for a decade ago.” Glorfindel met Erestor’s gaze, and they stared at one another until Glorfindel looked away and said, “Ecthelion told him we did not really know the identity of that elf, and that if he was so inclined he should be inquiring with Turgon.” Again, Glorfindel looked at Erestor, and this time, Erestor looked away first.

‘You should not be here,’ said Erestor in Glorfindel’s mind. ‘He is watching us right now. He hoped that by telling you, he would flush the one I was protecting out in the open for him to catch.’

While Erestor seemed deep in thought at the moment, a look of dawning crossed Glorfindel’s face. He opened his mouth to answer, but Erestor spoke first.

“Glorfindel, I do not care that he wishes to know,” said Erestor sternly. He placed his hands on the blond’s shoulders, clamping his fingers so tightly that Glorfindel squirmed a little. “You tell him that if he wants to know something, he should come and talk to me directly.” Erestor’s voice was a bit louder now, and some who might not have quite been able to hear the conversation were turning their heads. “Go! Tell him that!” Erestor let go of Glorfindel and turned his back on him, giving a statue of a winged nymph with birds encircling her a dark look.

“But-“

“Go,” growled Erestor.

Swallowing and stumbling a few steps, Glorfindel walked away, looking over his shoulder once to see Erestor still staring at the statue.

A moment later Glorfindel heard a voice in his head say, ‘I am sorry I scared you, but it had to be done. I have learned from Rog that sometimes, one must be cruel to be kind. I will see you and Ecthelion tonight at dinner.’ Then, the connection in his mind between himself and Erestor closed.

“That was the stupidest thing you have ever done – second only to sleeping with that whore from Doriath,” spat out Ecthelion.

Dinner sat on the tray near the door as Glorfindel sat on a chair meekly nodding now and then. When the subject of Gildor was broached, Glorfindel’s head snapped up and there was fire in his eyes.

“He is not a whore,” ground out the blond warrior, narrowing his eyes. “It is not his profession and he does not sleep with everyone.”

“Fine, maybe not a whore, but he is a slut. He beds anything male that will spread his legs for him. Wise up, Fin, he does not love you.” Ecthelion’s harsh words made Glorfindel’s anger boil up from within, and he looked to Erestor for help and guidance.

Sprawled out on the sofa, the dark ellon frowned and said apologetically, “He is telling you the truth, Glorfindel. I have heard rumors about your lover and his other conquests, even within our own realm.”

“How can you believe rumors?” questioned Glorfindel. “You as well as anyone should know how untruthful gossip can be!”

The force of Ecthelion’s hand connecting with Glorfindel’s cheek sent the stunned blond back further in his seat. “Rumors which never would have started had you not slept with that whore!” Ecthelion kicked the leg of a table as Glorfindel sat crying and cradling his cheek, toppling the doomed piece of furniture and successfully breaking off the remaining three legs. This sent a pile of books and a candleholder to the ground. Erestor swung his leg over the side of the couch and snuffed out the tiny flames with his big toe before any damage could be done.

“Thel, maybe we should go for a walk before dinner,” Erestor suggested, standing up. As he put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, it was shrugged off.

“I am no longer hungry.” Ecthelion went to the door and yanked it open, giving one last disapproving look to Glorfindel before he left.

Sighing at the door, Erestor came to Glorfindel and crouched down beside the chair. “Let me have a look at that,” he insisted, moving Glorfindel’s hand gently away. “At least he did not punch you – you would have had a shiner for sure.”

Glorfindel’s sobbing subsided as Erestor brought him a cloth that had been submerged in cold water. “Keep this on there a bit. It will help.”

Watching Erestor sit back down, Glorfindel asked in a very small voice, “Are you mad at me, too?”

The new sergeant rubbed his eyes, looking very tired. His gaze drifted to the food at the door longingly for a moment as he said, “No. And Ecthelion is not mad at you. He is worried about you. We both are.”

“Do you agree with everything he said?” questioned Glorfindel. The light in the room was fading as the sun set. The only candles were the ones on the table that had been set for dinner, and they were burning low.

The dark elf was lounged with his back against an arm of the couch and one leg up over the other arm, dangling off. “I have no love of Gildor. I think you are quite aware of that. He is clever and cunning, and does all for himself. When he last left, did he come to say goodbye to you?”

“He never does,” defended Glorfindel. “We are trying to be discrete.”

“If I were your lover- wait, let me rephrase that,” Erestor said quickly as Glorfindel looked upon him with a shocked expression. “If I had a lover, even if they be forbidden to me, I would make every attempt to say one last farewell to them each time I left. Also, I recall that sometimes you have mentioned that he makes plans to meet you and that these plans fail.”

“He is busy,” Glorfindel reminded Erestor.

Closing his eyes and resting his head on the cushion, Erestor said, “He, who is here free to roam, he who has no duties, is busier than the Guardian of the Fifth Gate of Gondolin? Busier than the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower?”

Slumping his shoulders in partial defeat, Glorfindel made one last attempt. “But... I love him.”

“I have never argued with you on that point. What I will question is, does he really love you? Or are you just his lover while he is here, and does he have others he lays with when he is not with you?” Erestor looked over and saw the unsure expression on Glorfindel’s face. “You have your doubts.”

“Sometimes he...” Glorfindel shook his head. “On rare occasion, he has called me by another name when...” His cheeks became red, and he turned away so that he could continue. “He calls me something else, but he says it is his pet name for me. I thought at first it was, but then I heard someone ask him once about someone by that name, so I am not so sure.”

“Fin.” Erestor sat up, moving to the edge of the couch. “Think about something, alright? If he does have other lovers, and he is mixing the names sometimes, who is to say he does not reveal your name when with them?” Glorfindel’s eyes became incredibly large. “Yes! Imagine if he says it to the wrong person, someone who wants to... I do not know, seek revenge or something? Think if that person were to go to the king. Glorfindel, I do not want to scare you, but I have run out of other ways to convince you to change your ways!”

His tears were flowing again, and Glorfindel used the wet cloth to wipe them away. “Then I should stop seeing him.” He broke down upon saying this, and Erestor was at his side in an instant.

“Ecthelion has been right all along. The picture you paint is one that could make anyone wonder. With Egalmoth on the prowl now, you must take care!” Erestor took away the damp cloth and replaced it with his handkerchief, and began to rub circles on Glorfindel’s back. “You have not married; you show no interest in the fairer race what-so-ever. You do not engage in the same humor most ellyn do regarding ellyth, and you certainly do not laugh whenever others make such jokes. Your house is the ‘golden flower’- now, I know that means the sun, not a yellow rose, but the two have become synonymous and most everyone thinks it truly is a flower. You must realize how fey that sounds. Everyone else in the city has powerful symbols, and you are linked to yellow roses and green fields and doves- all of which are very nice things, but they tend to make others wonder.”

“What am I going to do?” panicked Glorfindel, looking pleadingly at Erestor.

“I am working that out in my head right now,” admitted the dark-haired ellon. “As soon as I have something, you will be the first to know.”

- - -

Glorfindel had decided to stay in Ecthelion’s room so that he could apologize to the other captain when he returned. He did not mean to, but he had drifted into reverie while sitting on the chair, and only when the door opened and closed did Glorfindel shake himself from his visions and quickly rise. “Thel, I-“

“Why are you still here?” The question was not demanding, but confused. Ecthelion looked down at the untouched tray of food and shook his head. Walking to the windows, Ecthelion stared outside and said, “You should go home, Glorfindel. Get some rest, you need to be up early tomorrow.”

“Thel, please hear me out.” Glorfindel came to stand beside his mentor. He had thought through in his mind all he wanted to say, but it gushed forth all at once. “Everything you said, you were absolutely right. I have been careless and stupid, and Gildor has not made the attempt to protect me- only you and Erestor have, and that is not fair to either of you. I should have stopped seeing him long ago, but again, I have been an idiot. I will not see him any longer, you are right, you are always right, I should have just listened to you.”

As he was crying again, Glorfindel walked away and picked up the handkerchief Erestor had left with him. “I will go now,” he said quietly. “I am sorry.”

“Shit,” muttered Ecthelion, putting his palm against the window and resting his forehead upon the cool glass. Glorfindel slowly retreated, but he was stopped halfway. “I never wanted to have to say those things to you, but do you know how close to death you are right now? If Egalmoth manages to solve this puzzle, I do not know how Erestor and I will protect you. Do you understand that, Glorfindel? Do you?”

Bowing his head again, Glorfindel nodded obediently. “I know. I know. I do not know what to do either,” he said fearfully. “And then...” Fighting back his emotions to keep himself from crying again, the blond warrior said, “Then you hit me... and...” Tears ran down his cheeks despite his attempt to keep them at bay, and he drew in his breath, sniffling with sorrow and disgrace. “And that is how it started with my father. Before he started beating me and whipping me, it started when he slapped me one day. Just like you did.”

Looking down at his hands, Ecthelion balled them into fists, angered at himself. “I am sorry about earlier, Fin, but do you realize—“ Ecthelion’s voice cracked and he took a moment to compose himself. “I was just so frustrated; I would do anything to make you understand even if I have to hurt you to help you! I feel like a monster for doing it. Do you know how much I care about you? You are like kin to me. It would kill me inside if anything ever happened to you.

“There is such danger in my job, I cannot marry, I cannot have a family. It would be unfair of me to put anyone in that position of my never returning home one day. I will never have a son – but I have you. You are all I have. Do you understand that?”

For the only time Glorfindel could ever remember, he watched Ecthelion turn away from him and blow his nose, wiping the back of his hand across his face now that his handkerchief was dirty. He tried to swallow his sobs as Glorfindel circled around him. “I am the one who is sorry, Thel. I- I have caused both you and Erestor so much pain. I never wanted to shame you like this.”

“Fin...” Ecthelion grasped for the words as he pinched the bridge of his nose and wiped away the rest of his tears quickly. “We all make mistakes. Some greater than others. But when we make them, we should learn from them instead of repeating them over and over. Like Erestor, for example. He knew he needed help with his anger, so he joined the army. It has done wonders for him.”

“You... you think I should join Rog’s army?” questioned Glorfindel nervously.

“Good heavens, no!” Ecthelion shook his head. “Do not dare – in fact, swear to me you will not.”

“I promise,” Glorfindel answered hastily. “Why?”

“You would not make it through the training. Not that I think you would not last the physical part – you would excel at that. You could stand to trim down that lion’s mane, too,” added the Noldo, tugging on a golden braid that was immediately pulled back from his grasp. “They create situations which would reveal you to them, and that is the last thing you want to do.”

“Like what?” asked Glorfindel.

“You can ask Erestor about it some time. They all bathe together at the same time every day,” began Ecthelion, and simply this small piece of information caused Glorfindel’s mind to run wild with fantasies. “Then the officers do all sorts of things to harass the recruits, some of which, well, you might happen to enjoy. Ask Erestor,” he repeated. “He can tell you more about it if you really want to know. Back to the situation at hand- I passed Erestor in the gardens while I was outside. He said something that led me to believe you were going to stop being with Gildor, and I think you just confirmed it when I came in.”

Nodding, Glorfindel bowed his head. “I want to be with him, but I never should have allowed things to go this far.”

“Or to have happened at all,” added Ecthelion.

Again, Glorfindel nodded, deciding to leave out the fact that Erestor had been present when he and Gildor had their first experiences together. He had managed not to take responsibility for years and was not going to shirk it off on Erestor after all the dark elf had done for him. “I need to stop seeing him. Both of you are right. I have no idea how I am going to tell him, though- especially without making him mad.”

“Does he get mad often?” questioned Ecthelion with concern.

Shrugging, Glorfindel admitted, “Sometimes.”

“Has he ever harmed you?” Ecthelion studied Glorfindel carefully as he answered to be sure the fairer ellon was not lying.

“No. He just yells, or he...” Embarrassed, Glorfindel shook his head and his gaze wandered up to the ceiling. “Or, he takes his pleasure and gives me none and says if I am better the next time-“

“Glorfindel.” Ecthelion’s stern voice cut the younger elf off. “Yelling and... whatever games he is playing with your relationship, that is abuse. He is hurting you- not physically, but it is a hurt all the same.”

As he wrung his hands together, Glorfindel shifted his feet. “He... he does not mean it... and...”

“Fin, when will he be here next?” sighed Ecthelion.

“In a week or so, before the paths become icy. Then he stays the winter,” explained Glorfindel.

“Not this winter,” declared Ecthelion coldly.

“Erestor. It is time.”

Giving Rog a curt nod, the sergeant tossed his practice staff to one of the soldiers he was training. Retrieving his sword, Erestor joined the pair of elves who were making their way to the main gate. He ran his fingers through his hair quickly to remove any twigs or other such things which might have gotten into it during the practice session.

“Captains at the gate!” bellowed a voice as the trio approached, and Erestor held back a few paces, letting those of the higher rank reach the gate first. Once through, he stepped beside them again.

“What an honor. Normally I just ride right in, but these fellows insisted I wait to be greeted.” Gildor dismounted and patted his horse’s flank before striding over and coming to stand before the trio blocking the path. “Please, do not look so happy on my account.” He stepped forward as if to pass them, but Rog moved to block his way. “So that is how it is then. Alright, you have my ears,” he said, cocking his head to the side and looking to Ecthelion in a rather bored manner.

“I assume you are bringing news from Doriath, and letters from your king to ours,” said Ecthelion. “We will not keep you; you can give them to Erestor and he will be sure that they are delivered.”

“Erestor?” Gildor glanced around behind Ecthelion, looking for the scribe. “Where is—he...” Gildor’s eyes fell upon the tall, muscular soldier to Ecthelion’s right. “Oh, I see.” Gildor’s eyes lingered on Erestor, whose arms folded over his chest mirrored Rog on Ecthelion’s left. “’Rul, bring me the messages.”

A silver-haired ellon swung his leg over the side of his horse, leaping down from it. He opened a bag on the side of the saddle and brought forth a stack of letters and a news scroll that was contained in a leather case. These he gave to Gildor before he returned to his mount.

Before he handed them to Erestor, however, Gildor stepped closer to the group and said in a low voice, “We have permission to stay here for the winter.”

“I will tell our king how very sorry you are to have had to turn down that invitation,” Ecthelion said calmly.

“We need supplies enough to return to Doriath,” added Gildor as he relinquished the package to Erestor. Erestor whistled a page over, and handed it to the lad with instructions to take the items to the king. As the youth ran off, Gildor argued, “You must at least allow us in to rest.”

Ecthelion looked at Gildor for a minute or so, then turned his head to the right. “Erestor? I think you can explain it better than I can. You have a better way with words than I.”

“You are unwelcome here,” said Erestor simply. “Unwelcome and unwanted. My suggestion is that you get back on your horses right now so that you can make it back to Doriath before the snows come.”

“This is ridiculous – this is Turgon’s kingdom, not yours!” Gildor paced a few steps forth and back as if looking for a weakness in their line. “You cannot keep me from entering the city.”

“If you really want to enter,” said Erestor as he stepped aside, “by all means. But if you want to leave, I would advise you to go now.”

Cocking his eyebrows high, Gildor demanded to know, “Is that a threat?” He drew out his sword, at which time all three of the elf-lords before him took a step away from each other so that they could draw their weapons as well. “Would you really kill me on your own doorstep? The repercussions would be severe.”

Ecthelion stepped forward, considered his sword, and sheathed it. Erestor lowered his only slightly, while Rog kept tapping the head of his mace into his open palm, making a heavy slapping sound as it hit his large, thick hand. As Ecthelion approached, Gildor lowered his weapon as well – soon finding this to be a mistake.

Grabbing hold of the front of Gildor’s collar, Ecthelion twisted his wrist so that the material choked Gildor at the neck, and the silver-blond dropped his sword. “You do not fear me, Gildor, but you should. Look into my eyes. I have seen death and dealt it. I am a kinslayer, and there is nothing to cleanse that from me. What is one more mark upon my soul now?” He shoved Gildor down upon the ground. “I wanted to be civil about this, but that is out of the question. Now, would you like to leave quietly on your horse, or do you wish for us to have to send your body back to Doriath with these fine fellows,” he said, nodding to the rest of the small party Gildor traveled with, “along with a note apologizing for the grave tragedy of your death from mysteriously unknown circumstances?”

Gildor scrambled up from the ground, sheathing his sword. He gave Ecthelion a disgusted look and then smirked. “Fine. I will go. I have just one thing to tell you before I leave,” he announced, his voice getting louder and reaching the soldiers stationed at the towers.

Cold metal rested upon Gildor’s skin, and Erestor held his sword a breath away from the younger elf’s neck. “Say his name,” growled the sergeant, “and it will be the last word upon your lips.”

Standing completely still, Gildor looked up the blade and into Erestor’s dark intense gaze. “Why do you care so much for him?” sneered the messenger. “Is it that you secretly desire what I have had? What is he to you?”

“He is my friend, which is more than you will ever be to him,” answered Erestor, keeping the sword steady.

Gildor laughed darkly. “Of course. What else?” He tilted his head to the side, causing the edge of the sword to break the skin just slightly. A line of blood welled up and lingered, but Erestor did not move away. “I think you hope I say his name.”

“Please do,” Erestor said, his muscles still remaining motionless.

“I am thinking about it. What power I have right now,” he mused. “A single name, and my life ends. But yours will to – I know your greatest desire is to sail back to Valinor, and I would take joy in the Halls of Waiting knowing that I had kept you from your dream.” Gildor stepped back. “Not today, I think.” He turned abruptly and went to his mount, leaping upon the steed’s back.

“Give my regards to King Thingol,” called out Erestor as the party readied for departure.

Smiling in a sickeningly sweet manner, Gildor replied, “I would, but I once told him you were dead to cheer him up. As you can imagine, he was overcome with joy about that. So was I.” He paused. “I can always hope.” He signaled the party to ride, and they galloped back through the fifth gate and away from the hidden city.

Off to the side, Rog let out a low whistle. “And I thought you had issues with Salgant,” he said to Erestor as the trio walked back into Gondolin.

“What do you have there?” demanded Salgant.

Erestor stopped abruptly, and examined the sealed envelope in his hands. “My entries for the summer games; what else?” He walked on, with Salgant now on his heels. “They are due in today.”

“Yes, I know they are,” answered the rotund elf with mild exasperation. “But you,” he said, snatching the envelope away, “are not allowed to participate.”

Placing his hands on his hips and staring down at Salgant for a moment, Erestor then grabbed the envelope back, smoothing out a crease. “And why not?”

“You know as well as anyone that those with a criminal background are not allowed to compete.” Salgant sniffed with disdain. “Your record from Doriath is against you, sergeant.”

“It was, yes, that is true,” nodded Erestor. “However,” he said, continuing on his way through the palace with Salgant furiously trying to keep pace, “things have changed. You see, I have learned that that Thingol declared me dead.”

“So?” panted Salgant as they went up two flights of stairs.

“So,” said Erestor, “according to the rules of Doriath, my record has been wiped clean – in anticipation of my ‘rebirth’ of course. Oh, look- here I am!” Erestor stopped at the end of the short line of hopeful artists and athletes with plans to compete in the games that were half a year away. “Did you remember to turn your entries in?”

“My entry has been given to them, thank you,” wheezed Salgant. “What of King Turgon? Surely he has not pardoned you for-“

“Ah ah ah.” Erestor effectively silenced Salgant (and easily, for the other elf was panting for air as it was). “All of the ‘devious’ things I was charged with were never put on record – all closed councils, all absolutely, how shall I put it – nonexistent.”

“Next!” called the ellon standing at the counter. Erestor stepped forward and handed his envelope to him. Salgant tried to get a peek at the papers as they were removed and checked over for verification. “Everything is in order. You will receive further instruction in four months. Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Erestor bowed to the Master of the Games and then turned to leave. “Oh! I thought you had gone,” he said to Salgant as he passed him by.

“So which events are you participating in?” questioned Salgant, blocking Erestor’s path.

Looking for a way around, Erestor crossed his arms over his chest. “I need tell that to no one.”

“I will find out the day of the competition,” Salgant reminded him.

“And so shall everyone else. Good day!” Erestor managed to pass around Salgant, grinning mischievously as he walked briskly away.

Salgant continued to brood for a few minutes until he saw Rog approaching with his entries. “Here now, I see the boxing champion plans to retain his title,” Salgant said in greeting.

Taking his envelope directly to the counter, for the line had dissolved now, Rog shook his head. “No, no boxing this year for me. The last batch of recruits has me tired.”

“Somehow, I am not surprised,” smirked Salgant.

Rog waited as his papers were checked over, and when Salgant approached, he stepped aside so that his entries were visible. “A weight lift, no surprise in that. Swordcrafting. They both make sense.”

“I have wanted to compete against Enerdhil in that event for some time. I finally decided, there is no reason I need to always win the boxing event. There is less thrill if you know from the onset that you will win the event.” Nodding to the game master when he was told everything was well with his applications, Rog strolled down the hallway with Salgant. “Which events have you chosen?”

“Just the historical minstrel competition,” Salgant said. “The same as every year.”

“You should consider boxing again. Especially now that I am no longer competing – that is why you stopped, is it not?” pressed Rog.

Stopping at a window to look outside at the snow-covered ground, Salgant admitted, “I knew you would always best me. I do not appreciate being made a fool of. But six months is little time for me to train again,” he said as they began to make their way down the hall.

“I could have you ready for competition in four. You do not believe me,” said Rog as Salgant began to laugh. “Let me give it a try. You can always pull out of the event up to two weeks prior to the games if you decide you are not ready.”

“Four months.” Salgant looked down at his belly and shook his head. “It would take a miracle.”

“I did not say I would have you in perfect condition; you can still be overweight and be able to fight without falling flat on your ass,” remarked Rog. “Your choice. I just thought you might want the chance to hit him back.” Rog began walking down the hallway again.

Salgant furrowed his brow, and then widened his eyes. “So that is what he is competing in! Tell me, which other event is your newest sergeant signed up for?”

“That I do not know – I only sign off on the sporting events for my soldiers,” said Rog. He slowed his step as Salgant hurried to catch up. “But he is planning to box this year.”

“And? What chance does he have?” prodded Salgant.

Rog tilted his head from one side to the other. “He is strong, but this is newfound strength. He does not quite know what to do with it yet. Whereas you as a trained warrior, with skill and knowledge of the sport. It should be obvious who will win. You may not even end up paired against him, of course,” added Rog.

Motioning that they should enter a little alcove, Salgant lowered his voice. “Who will be making out the rotations for the boxing matches.”

“I will,” said Rog very softly, for such discussion was illegal prior to the events.

“Good. Make sure we pair against one another. Not the first round- I need to see how he fights before I can compete against him. Be sure to give us easy opponents to keep us in, though.” Smiling to himself, he said, “Earlier he told me that Doriath mistook him for being dead. When I get done with him, he will wish he was.”

From his post at the top of the tower of the fifth gate, Glorfindel had a better view than any of the other guardians. His towers were taller than Ecthelion’s, and he could see past the first gate. Behind him, he could see back over the sixth gate and into the city. Except what the palace and some other large buildings hid, Glorfindel saw it all. What he did not see he needed only walk around the ledge of the silver walls to complete the circuit around the realm.

More and more often he had taken to walking the wall, for he took to pulling double shifts to keep his mind off of anything that could lead to mischief. He had not been told the circumstances surrounding Gildor’s abrupt departure after reaching the city two months earlier. Ecthelion had only made mention of it in council that the party from Doriath had respectfully declined the invitation.

When he questioned it, Glorfindel was given the same answer by both Ecthelion and Erestor. “Gildor decided it was in his best interest to return to Doriath as soon as possible.” It was only when he accidentally overheard Rog telling Erestor that he still had to watch his temper and that killing Gildor would not have been an ideal solution that Glorfindel realized fully what the trio had done. Had done for him, one of the voices in his head reasoned, but the other voice sneered that they had done this to him. Torn between love and hate for their actions, Glorfindel concerned himself more and more with his work.

Secretly he took up a partial apprentice with Enerdhil. Not to learn the mysteries of the taming of metals, but to learn their properties, to learn the secrets of the chemist, of the mathematician, and the scientist. Most of the realm had a phrase for Glorfindel he assumed they thought he did not know: Cute, but not too bright. Now that he had the knowledge of the written word, he found it easy to soak up things it took others years to study.

Finding his feet had carried him to the south tower, Glorfindel paused and looked down at the training fields. It was difficult to tell who was who, but one figure was easy for him to recognize.

Erestor motioned for another pair of soldiers to attack, and defeated them both within minutes. Wiping his brow with the back of his wrist, he walked to the bucket of water and lifted up the ladle to take a drink. “That was better,” he remarked to the soldier that had managed to last longer, who nodded. As the ellon passed by, Erestor caught a glint of silver above and shielded his eyes from the winter sun, made all the brighter from the snow that covered the trees, houses, and ground. Glorfindel. Watching again.

They had barely spoken in the last few months, but Erestor had worried about Egalmoth’s ability to reason things out. He had come up with a plan within a few days, but his fear was that putting it into action too soon would alert the Lord of the Arch. Then again, waiting gave Egalmoth longer to think things over. Grabbing a rag to wipe the sweat from the back of his neck, Erestor lifted it up and waved it until he caught the blond’s attention.

Looking down from his post, Glorfindel watched Erestor make a number of discrete signals to him that were used by the guards to silently speak to each other in the midst of battles. Message-for-you-private- was what Glorfindel understood, so he swiftly walked into the tower and told the guard there to take over the watch. Without wasting time, Glorfindel took hold of the rope that lead to the ground and climbed down.

“Sergeant? A word with you, please,” said Glorfindel curtly, walking past and simply expecting Erestor to follow. As was protocol, Erestor pointed to his second to take over the training and fell in step with Glorfindel. They disappeared down into the little room that Erestor had used to hide in recently when he would be required to do the laundry of the officers. Immediately, Glorfindel’s demeanor changed. “I hate you like this,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “You cut your hair again.”

“I only trimmed it to keep it tidy. It was sticking up in the back, and I brushed and brushed to no avail. Besides, I am enjoying this, for now,” admitted Erestor. “All of it.”

Not wanting to argue, Glorfindel asked, “What did you want to discuss?”

“I have a solution to your troubles. Well, in part.” Erestor removed the gloves he was wearing and tucked them into his belt so that they hung over the side, then leaned against the wall. “Are you free for dinner tonight?”

“Aye,” replied Glorfindel eagerly.

“Good. Come to my rooms in the palace,” said Erestor.

Glorfindel blinked. “I thought you had to stay in the barracks.”

“I live in the barracks. There are no rules governing where I eat at the moment,” Erestor reminded his friend. “Better make it later; I am sure I need to clean them up a bit.”

Nodding, Glorfindel asked, “Did you know that Rog is training Salgant for the games? To box?”

“I know,” answered Erestor. “I asked him to.”

Open-mouthed and confused, Glorfindel pointed at Erestor. “You? You asked him to?”

Erestor confirmed it again. “I asked him to be sure that Salgant would not simply fall on his ass the first time I hit him – like he did the last time. I want to get a few punches in before he bleeds.”

“Once again – I am glad we are both on the same side.” Glorfindel paused. “What about you? Salgant used to box back in Nevrast, and from what I am told, he was a formidable opponent.”

To this, Erestor grinned. “During the winters in Valinor, I needed something to do. We would be snowed in for months at a time – like here, only imagine, I spent my winters at an inn, with only perhaps a hundred or so others. I was employed by Oropher – not to tend the bar or to play the music, or to greet the guests or clean the hall. My job was making sure no one started a fuss. If they did, I made sure they knew not to the rest of the winter.”

“You beat up troublemakers,” said Glorfindel.

“I persuaded them not to-“ Erestor stopped. “Alright, yes, I beat up troublemakers. But only if I had to. We would go for years without a problem, and then something would happen, someone would get upset, someone would have too much to drink, and I would end up shoving them out into the snow and knocking them on their drunken asses. Only if I had to.”

Glorfindel paced the tiny confines of the room, sorting this out in his head. “There are so many times that you leave out some details in what you tell me. I believe this is one of those times.”

“How so?” questioned Erestor.

“How did you learn to fight in the first place?” Glorfindel watched as Erestor sighed and sat down upon the table. “Not going to tell me?”

“I knew an elf with a temper worse than my own- maybe some of his fire burned me and that is where I got it from,” wondered Erestor. “Anyhow, most of the time as you know there is a large gap between siblings. Well, this poor child lost his mother and when his father remarried and had five other children in very quick order, he felt in some ways as if his father thought he was inadequate.”

“Feanor,” guessed Glorfindel, and Erestor nodded.

Putting his gloves back on, Erestor said, “When we were children, we only somewhat got along together. As adults, we were even less compatible, but most others our age were not as tall. He came to me one day and said that he was so angry he just wanted to hit his younger brother – I do not recall which it was at the time. He just wanted to hit something; anything. I knew what he was asking- if he revealed this weakness to his friends, they would think ill of him. We began fighting; secretly, in Orome’s forest or anywhere else secluded. No weapons, just our fists. We learned from one another how to fight.”

“Sounds like a normal coming of age sort of thing,” said Glorfindel, without mentioning that he himself had never had a desire to fight, and that when chided by his friends once he covered his face and ran to his mother with tears in his eyes.

“Except it was Valinor,” Erestor reminded Glorfindel. “We were not to fight with one another, and especially not like this. I had to come up with so many stories as to how I returned home with a bloodied nose or cuts on my face. Everyone thought I was a klutz. But do not worry; I beat him more often than he beat me. Beating Salgant will be easy. He is no Feanor.”

“Please; come in.” Erestor motioned Glorfindel into the room and shut the door behind him. “Have you had the pleasure of meeting Aranel?”

“I do not believe I have,” replied the blond warrior, bowing to the lady who stood up from the table she was sitting at. “M’lady.”

“M’lord. Oh dear,” she giggled, “we shall certainly need to rid ourselves of such formalities!” Aranel smiled, and gracefully held out her hand. “Glorfindel, I believe.”

“Aye.” Nervously, Glorfindel looked to Erestor, who was looking much more what he was used to holding a glass of wine in one hand and dressed in black pants and a vibrant tunic of red and blue. “I hope I did not come too late,” he apologized.

Erestor shook his head and rounded Glorfindel. “Dinner has yet to arrive. Come, let us sit by the windows and watch the snow fall.” He offered his arm to Aranel and the pair continued to the destination Erestor had chosen. Deciding to remove his boots at the door, Glorfindel heard the knock before Erestor, but moved away when he saw Erestor leap up from the couch and place his finger to his lips. Swiftly, the dark haired ellon motioned Glorfindel away and opened the door. “Ah, thank you, just in time! Good night!” Closing the door by kicking it with his foot, Erestor took everything to the table and set it down. “All part of the plan,” he said, steering Glorfindel to the sitting area.

With obvious unease, Glorfindel sat down on a chair that faced the couch. As soon as Erestor took his position beside Aranel, he was slapped across his shoulder. “You said you would tell him ahead of time!” she hissed.

“Ah, ah... save that for after the wedding,” he teased, taking hold of her hand and threading his fingers with hers lest he be hit again. “Glorfindel, I-“

“Wedding?” blurted out the blond warrior, in shock. He was fast paling, turning more of a greenish hue, and his expression was aghast.

“Oh, dear. Let me start at the beginning,” pleaded Erestor as Glorfindel began to stand up. “Fin, this is all part of the plan to save your skin, now, sit down!”

Glorfindel took a moment to compose himself with his back turned to them. Taking a few deep breaths, he turned on his heel and sat. “Well?” he asked tersely.

Rolling his eyes, Erestor began with, “I came up with the perfect solution on how to keep Egalmoth and everyone else off of your trail, and for you to regain the respect that Turgon had for you.”

“And somehow that includes you getting married,” interrupted Glorfindel.

“Hush! Yes, it does. Now, if you please,” huffed Erestor. “I speak, you listen. Questions later. This is Aranel,” he said, motioning to his right. The lithe, dark haired elleth waved at him.

“Yes, we have met,” snapped Glorfindel.

Clearing his throat and giving Aranel a pat on the hand he held, Erestor said, “I tend to think that Aranel is one of the most beautiful young ladies in all of Gondolin.”

“Oh, stop!” she giggled, and now Glorfindel rolled his eyes.

“I have never,” he continued, lifting her easily up onto his lap, “seen such a face, such eyes, such kissable lips. A smile so warm and radiant, and a body- well, you will simply need to believe me when I say that she curves in all the right places,” he said, tilting his head and leering at her posterior, to which he gave more than a friendly pat.

Sucking in his breath, Glorfindel asked, “And why does this matter?”

“It matters,” Erestor replied, “because her heart has already been won by another, and no matter how hard I try to woo this fair maiden,” he said, placing her back onto her own cushion of the couch, “my chance of success is zero.”

Looking between the two elves on the couch, Glorfindel finally narrowed his eyes and asked, “Why am I here?”

Waving him off with one hand, Erestor turned to Aranel and endearingly tucked a lock of dark hair that had strayed forward back behind her ear. “We will get to you in due time, Glorfindel. Aranel, I think you should tell Glorfindel about your lover.”

“Must she?” muttered Glorfindel, looking about to gag.

Happily sighing, Aranel gave Erestor a sidelong glance. He winked to her and then sat back, picking up the wine goblet he had set on a table off to the side. “Let me think. Where to begin? Well, she has the cutest little laugh, and an adorable smile. Her eyes are bluer than any sky and-“

“Wait, wait, wait, wait.” Glorfindel sat up, beginning to smirk. “She?” He snorted. “How can she be a she?”

“Because that is how she was born,” said Aranel, a little put-off.

“That is just... incredible,” answered Glorfindel.

“Isn’t it though?” Erestor had a grin on his face.

“Who are you to judge?” Aranel leaned forward with her folded arms resting on her knees. “You like other males.”

Immediately, Glorfindel became defensive. “Who told you?”

“No one had to,” Aranel said dryly. “You might as well sew lace onto your house banner.”

To this Erestor snickered quietly, and Glorfindel gave him a dirty look. “I offer my apologies. You are correct; who am I to judge such a thing? But are not the same rules that prevent me that personal freedom the same that would bind you not to do such a thing?”

“’Tis true. That is how Erestor came up with the plan that he did,” said Aranel.

“Now do we get to the part where I am concerned?” Glorfindel was picking at some loose strings on the chair, and Erestor stood.

Walking out of the sitting area and to the table, Erestor lifted a cover from a bowl, and steam rose up. “I think we should eat while we discuss the plans, else the food will get cold. What say you to that?” Not waiting for a response, Erestor retrieved a third plate from another room, for it was obvious the intention was for everyone to believe that two were dining that evening and not three. However, the portions were large and none of them would go hungry. “Aranel?” Erestor pulled out one of the chairs and the lady came over and sat down.

“Practicing already?” she said to him with a smile. Erestor kissed the top of her head and took his own seat before motioning Glorfindel over.

Glorfindel walked around the table and then stood behind a chair with his palms resting upon the back of it. “Perhaps you will forgive me when I say I do not think I can eat unless I know exactly what sort of scheme you have come up with.”

Placing his napkin aside, Erestor folded his hands in front of himself, his elbows resting on the table. “What is the one thing that would ‘prove’ beyond any doubts that you are not interested in males?”

Looking upon Aranel, Glorfindel said, “I think I just figured out what your plan is.”

“Good! Then we can eat,” said Erestor, passing the basket of bread to Aranel.

Still, Glorfindel did not sit down. “So I am to marry you?” he asked Aranel in a gloomy tone.

“No, I am to marry her,” Erestor corrected. “You cannot marry her; you would show absolutely no appreciation for this gorgeous creature, and that would be most unfair to her. Now, sit down. The food is getting cold." Once Glorfindel grudgingly sat down, Erestor explained, “I am going to marry Arenel; you will marry her lover. We already spend a bit of time together now and then, and it will give the ladies a chance to see one another in private without the fear of being caught. Their parents are all very anxious to get them married, what with their hundredth birthdays fast approaching.”

“My father knows, of course,” Aranel said. “He is who has helped us to construct this plan.”

Slumping in his chair, Glorfindel shook his head while looking at Erestor. “You do know, if you keep telling others about me, there will be no one left to hide the secret from.”

“He knew about you without doubts after that meeting a decade ago,” scolded Erestor. “He knew, for as a father of a young lady whose preference was not as usual as most, he can see now such signs.”

“Huh.” Glorfindel took a closer look at Aranel, his eyes settling upon her bosom, and asked, “Is Rog your father?”

“Of course,” she replied. Looking to Erestor, she said, “You did not tell him that, either?”

“So that is what you meant about her breasts,” continued Glorfindel as Erestor gave him a good glare. “Sorry,” he said to the young lady, “he was complimenting their firmness and size when he first told me of you, but that sort of thing has never interested me.”

“I would not have expected it to,” Aranel told Glorfindel politely. “Erestor, darling, come here so I can slap you for that.”

“After the wedding,” he said quickly as she began to rise from her seat.

As she sat back down with a little huff, Glorfindel leaned closer and whispered, “Remind me later to tell you what he said regarding your backside.”

Tisking while she shook her head, Aranel portioned some potatoes for herself. “He is going to be black and blue on our wedding night.”

“Speaking of that, do we have a date set then for all of this?” asked Glorfindel. Both Aranel and Erestor gave him an odd look. “That would be a no?”

“That would be a no, of course we do not. Glorfindel, you have yet to even meet your ‘intended’,” Erestor reminded him. “All in good time. First, I shall properly court Aranel. Then, at some point, she will introduce you to her good friend, and you shall fall deeply in love, and woo her, and all will be well in the end.”

“So, I am marrying – whatever he name is so that Egalmoth and everyone else leaves me alone, and they are marrying us so that they can be together, but why are you involved with this plot?” questioned Glorfindel.

“I will not lie. I have motives of my own,” admitted Erestor. “First, to my advantage, Aranel has some love of the male elf, so I expect I shall earn myself enough kisses and heated fondling to keep me satisfied for a good long while. Second, I enjoy my rooms here very much,” he said, motioning about. “Of those in the army, only the highest officers and married ellin are allowed quarters in the main palace. The barracks are no place for my gentle artist’s soul,” he pouted, and Aranel laughed as politely as possible to this. “Third, and most important, you are my dearest friend, Glorfindel. More and more like a brother every day. I do whatever I am able to ease your path in life.”

Glorfindel bowed his head for a moment, and nodded. “Thank you,” he finally settled on, looking up to meet Erestor’s eyes with his own. “Thank you, Erestor.”

“No thanks necessary, but you are most welcome. Now,” said the elder elf, snatching a roll from the basket, “let us eat!”

Erestor was sitting naked on the couch in the small antechamber connected to the barracks when Rog found him. It was so early in the morning that the sun had yet to rise. Saluting to the superior officer, Erestor resumed his deep-in-thought position as he stared at the wall.

“Ready for today?” questioned Rog, taking a seat on the other worn piece of furniture, a larger couch that mismatched the one Erestor sat upon, choosing a spot that did not sink to the floor.

“I will be,” answered Erestor softly, not wishing to wake any of his fellow soldiers sleeping in the next room. Nearly all of them would be competing in some way or another, or at the very least helping with the readying of some part of the competition. It was practically mandatory, for Rog’s house was the host of the games this year.

Propping his feet up on a low table that had seen better days, Rog asked, “Do you want me to trim back your hair a bit before the preliminary fights?”

Erestor shook his head. “I really am trying to get it to grow out a little,” he said.

“I know, but that is about the most dangerous length it can be,” Rog warned. “Too short to tie back, long enough to grab hold of.”

“Except, tall as I am, I expect Salgant would need a ladder to try that.” Erestor squinted as the first rays of sunlight came in through the small curtain covered windows.

Rog nodded. “Except that what you forget is you have at least two other matches today. The one before Salgant, and the one after him. Perhaps more. The further along you get, the more likely your opponent will fight rougher.”

“I do not think I shall get very far,” admitted Erestor. “I have not trained as well as I might have. I have been a bit distracted.”

To this, Rog smiled. “But she is a good distraction, is she not?”

Fighting the urge to smirk was useless. Erestor nodded. “Beautiful, strong, and intelligent.”

“No need for you to flatter me with such remarks.” Rog stood up and passed by Erestor, leaning down to whisper, “Just take care of her, and do not fall in love.”

---

“You did well, Glorfindel!” Ecthelion hit his palm against the empty spot on the wooden bench he was sitting on. The blond climbed up into the stands and dropped himself down. It was very early in the games, but Glorfindel was already through for the year. He removed his riding gloves and slapped them down into his lap. “Look at who you were competing against; you did well,” Ecthelion repeated.

“You know, I can never win these things. I do not know why I keep putting myself through this.” Glorfindel leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, forcing himself not to pout in public.

Ecthelion gave him a pat on the back. “If you would only choose something other than chariot racing-“ He was given a dark look. “Fine, then, do not take my advice.”

“You are well aware of the fact I could never make it through anything except the equine events,” grumbled Glorfindel.

Sighing, Ecthelion nodded. “I suppose you are right,” he answered, but neither elaborated. The reason, however, was known to them both. With the exception of events where horses or musical instruments were present, all of the competitors were completely naked. This served two purposes – first, no one had the ability to hide anything on themselves that might sway a competition one way or another, and second, it gave the eligible young ladies a full view of any strong, hearty bachelors that were available so that no mistakes could be made about them ahead of time. Not everyone liked the rules of the games, but the vast majority did attend them.

“Glorfindel? Oh, it is you!” A cheery voice called out some ways away, and soon Glorfindel found Aranel standing on his other side in the bleachers. “You truly excelled in that race,” she complemented. “Would you mind if I sit with you?” she implored. “I have no escort, with both father and Erestor readying for the next competition.”

“Please, that would be lovely,” answered Glorfindel, motioning to the empty space. “Ecthelion, have you had the pleasure of meeting Aranel?”

“That I have,” answered Ecthelion, leaning around Glorfindel a little to give a slight bow to the lady. “Did I hear right that your father is in the next competition? I was under the impression that he was competing elsewhere.”

Aranel nodded her greeting to the Lord of the Fountain. “Oh, he is,” she said. “King Turgon insisted, however, that the boxing champion defend his title. He was not made to partake in the preliminary rounds yesterday.”

This new news did not bode well in either Glorfindel’s mind, or Ecthelion’s. The whole of the watchers turned as a trumpet sounded near to the palace entrance.

“His royal highness, King of Gondobar, Gondothlimbar; City of Stone, Gwarestrin-Gondolin; Gar Thruion the Secret Place; Lothengriol, Tower of Guard, Turgon the Great!” shouted a voice from atop one of the towers, and all stood and bowed very low in reverence as Turgon, crowned with garnets in his magnificent attire of pure white belted and adorned with gold passed with the Lady Idril between the two trees at the palace doors and held their place for a moment as the Song of Gondolin was played upon flutes and harps and the very trumpet that sounded his coming.

Once the king had reached the royal box, from which he, Idril, and others of his fancy would watch the afternoon and evening games, he took the cone which was used to enhance the strength of one’s voice and shouted into it for his people to hear, “Bring forth, the champions!”

It was the same he would echo for each of the competitions for the rest of the day. The first, however, was always boxing, and from within the palace, one after another as their names were called from the tower, the ellyn emerged and would go either left or right, touching one of the two trees as a sign of gratitude to the Valar and Eru. One was silver, and the other gold, and it was said by some that these were trees that came shoots of the trees destroyed in Valinor.

Erestor was near to the beginning of the list, and when he came out he turned to the right, his hands touching upon the golden hued bark of Glingol. “Strange, I would have expected him to choose silver, for his house,” said Ecthelion to Glorfindel.

When Salgant appeared, he was given more applause than the others, but he was also the only competitor who was garnished with boos and hissing as well. His hands, not so chubby as they might have been but thick and fat all the same, pressed to the silver tree, Bansil, before he proceeded to join the others in the field. Idril was still whistling for him and threw a rose down to the ground near the competitors as Salgant took his place; it was obvious that he had the royal favor as Turgon gave him a bow of his head.

“Figures,” sighed Glorfindel as he watched the exchange.

The trumpet blared again, and from on high came the call of, “Rog, Master of the Army of Gondolin, Lord of the House of the Hammer, Reigning Champion of the Mid-summer Games Boxing Tournament!” Amid renewed fanfare, Rog emerged. With his arms spread out, he managed to touch the boughs of both of the trees, and a great cheer rose from the audience.

Beside Glorfindel, Aranel had stood up and was clapping and shouting down encouragements. “Good luck, father! Break someone’s wrist for me!” She was blowing a kiss to him and threw over the heads of those in front of her a bunch of white flowers while both of her companions gave her an odd look.

“Break a wrist? My word,” muttered Ecthelion.

Giggling, Aranel explained, “I yelled it once when I was a little girl. My mother scolded me for three days, but father did as I asked and it was the first time he won the competition. Now he insists I continue the tradition, for luck.”

Absently rubbing one of his own wrists, Glorfindel said, “I sincerely hope he does not break one of Erestor’s wrists.”

“Oh! Good point,” she said, and standing again shouted loudly, “Not Erestor’s! I need his! Break someone else’s wrist, father!” With the excitement of the crowd dying down now, her voice easily carried over the others in the bleachers, and somewhat stopped any discussion in her area. On the field, the competitors were glancing nervously at one another, even Salgant.

In the royal box, the king stood and walked with amusement to the edge. “Rog, would you like your coach on the field with you?” Laughter rose up from the stands.

Shaking his head, Rog shook a scolding finger at his daughter, but was smiling and broke into laughter after Erestor said something to him, which caused him to shake the same finger at the grinning, dark-haired elf on the field.

“I wonder what he said,” mumbled Aranel as the horns sounded for the beginning of the competition. The first match was between an elf from Duilin’s house and one from the House of the Mole. Since none of the three knew either of them, nor the pair that would begin fighting in the second ring, Aranel offered to retrieve some lunch for the three of them while the lords kept watch on the games.

As the first match ended and the second began, Ecthelion said to Glorfindel, “She seems like a nice girl. A little strange, but I suppose being raised by Rog would do that to someone. Do you think she and Erestor will end up binding to one another?”

“Oh, I have a feeling marriage is in their future,” answered Glorfindel, avoiding the actual question skillfully.

It was not long after that, and Aranel returned. She had with her a basket with two bottles of wine, bread, cheese, and fruit, and also another ellon. “Look who I found wandering about on the grounds. I told him he had to join us, and I would not take no for an answer!”

Egalmoth shook his head. “M’lady, as I said, it is quite crowded up here. I do not wish to intrude.”

“I have space on my side, just a moment.” Ecthelion resituated the light cloak he had brought to save an extra space for Erestor, in case the matches did not go so well for the Noldo. “Sit here,” he said, motioning to the spot. “Eat with us.”

For a moment it appeared Egalmoth would still decline, but he walked carefully around the others and sat comfortably down on the bench. Lunch was shared and three more matches were completed before Salgant and Erestor were announced.

“I hope he gets his ass kicked,” growled Egalmoth as the match began.

“Who?” questioned Ecthelion, but his question remained unanswered.

On the field below, clad in nothing save for a mark of paint on their upper arms to show whose house they fought for, Erestor and Salgant began the match. In part, Rog’s assessment had been correct – Erestor possessed a great deal of power, but the rawness of it was untamed, and he lashed out here and there with less practice. Salgant blocked these attempts and managed to get the only connection of the first round before a double blast of a trumpet signaled the competitors back to their own sides.

In the second round, Erestor fared less well, and was struck eight times to the two blows he dealt to Salgant. He returned to his side panting and sporting a bloody chin and a gash above his eye that was already beginning to heal itself. Salgant had thus far sustained only bruises.

Rog held conference with Salgant for a minute while Erestor stood alone to the side. A sharp, shrill whistle came from near one of the gates, and Erestor looked over, as did many, to see young Laiqalasse standing and motioning to Erestor. Erestor shook his head, for it was banned for the competitors to leave the field.

“What does he see?” Ecthelion leaned forward and tried to make out what the Sinda was trying to convey to Erestor. “Something is wrong here.”

Egalmoth was shielding his eyes from the sun, observing Erestor now. “He should not be in such bad shape, not from those few blows. Salgant does not have such power, not even after training these past months.”

By now, the king had seen the commotion at the gate, and pointed down to Laiqalasse and said something to one of his guards. The guard disappeared back behind the royal box.

“Oh, please, do nothing stupid,” prayed Ecthelion, but for whom the prayer was for was unclear. The guard ran down along the side of the field to the gate, and spoke with the young ellon for a moment. Unlocking the gate, Laiqalasse was allowed entrance. He ran to Erestor immediately. “Good. I think our friend from Greenwood must have realized he had to claim to be Erestor’s coach to get to him. Smart boy,” he added.

Glorfindel had one arm around Aranel, who was cringing beside him, whispering a prayer for Salgant not to hurt Erestor any more. Whether an act or not, it seemed quite convincing to Glorfindel, and he held her a little tighter in hopes of relieving some amount of her grief.

On the field, Laiqalasse spoke as fast as he could, knowing they were running out of time until the next round. “In Greenwood, what we do is use hot mithril, mixed with different pigments, and then stab it under the skin while still liquid. It does burn, and removing it is more painful, but it increases the ability to harm someone if used the way I believe he has. Try to get a look at his fists; they will have raised marks on them even if he colored the metallic ink to match his skin.”

“Where did you learn of such a thing?” questioned Erestor.

“The orcs,” replied Laiqalasse in disgust. “It was one of the things that our kin were tortured with; the Silvan clans we brought with us from Laurelindorinan to Greenwood perfected the technique as use as a weapon.” As the signal was given for the competitors to return, Laiqalasse said quickly, “Try to dodge him for a while – he will tire as his hands are heavier with the metal in them. I know you want to beat him, but right now you are in danger if you leave yourself open to attack. Keep on the defense.” Erestor nodded and jogged back to the ring, swiping the blood away from his chin with the back of his hand.

By the end of the sixth round, the audience was getting restless. No match could exceed ten rounds, but it seemed this one would if allowed. Since the beginning of the third round, Erestor had done nothing but block and dodge, while Salgant taunted him and threw punches and even tried of few kicks- none of which connected. When, at one point, he decided to simply rush full force at Erestor in an attempt to knock him to the ground, the lithe ellon scurried out of the path. This caused some of the viewers to shout insults such as ‘coward’ at Erestor, who kept calm and focused on the advice Laiqalasse had given him.

In the interims, the Sinda would give tips on techniques to keep Salgant fighting at full force. Not wanting to wait until the final round for Erestor to rally, Laiqalasse whispered for a long while, and all the time Erestor simply nodded again and again. He patted the dark elf’s shoulder and then as Erestor headed back to the ring, Laiqalasse bowed his head and folded his hands.

“Cannot hurt at this point,” mumbled Ecthelion, who was looking more and more upset as the match went on.

“Never know,” replied Egalmoth. “Eru might grant a miracle yet.”

Whether it was Eru’s divine intervention or simply Laiqalasse’s careful instruction was debatable. The very next time Salgant threw a sluggish punch at Erestor, it was blocked. A moment later, the oversized elf found himself sitting on the ground.

“Yes! Go Erestor! Get him!” Glorfindel and Aranel were standing now, as were a number of the other spectators who had at the onset been cheering for Erestor. The dark elf had crouched down immediately and swung his leg around, knocking Salgant off-balance.

With a roar of frustration, Salgant rolled back onto his feet and spread his legs to stand his ground. “A lucky shot,” he snarled, and with his head down, tried again to ram into Erestor.

This time, Erestor stood his ground, and with one foot behind him, stuck his shoulder forward and met the impact. His bare feet skidded a few inches, but as that happened, Erestor drew back the arm that was unseen by Salgant and brought it under, meeting his belly with the first hit, and colliding under his chin the second time. Salgant stumbled back a few steps, and as he made to regain his footing, Erestor offered him another uppercut. This sent Salgant to having to defend himself as Erestor landed blow after blow with expert precision. He held back his strength to maximize the number of times he would be able to hit Salgant before the elflord went down.

As the seventh round neared a close, the voice of Laiqalasse rose up over the mixed reaction of the crowd. “Finish it, Erestor!” he shouted. Beside him stood Rog, who looked somewhat pleasantly surprised at the outcome.

The final move of the round was a double roundhouse kick, which Erestor executed swiftly. He caught Salgant in the chest both times, and into the dirt the large elf fell. A cloud of dust rose up and settled back again as Salgant made no attempt to move. He blinked a few times and groaned as the judge gave a final count, then raised Erestor’s hand into the air. From the royal box, a number of roses tumbled down to the ground.

After taking the ribbon from the judge that signaled his move to the next round, Erestor crouched down beside Salgant and offered his hand to the fallen elf. It was taken, but just as they were both standing again, the bruised ellon opened his mouth and spat across Erestor’s face, into his eyes. Letting go and grabbing hold of his face, Erestor was further attacked as Salgant lowered his shoulder and bashed into Erestor. This time he fell to the ground, but Salgant’s revenge was yet complete. Just before Rog and Laiqalasse reached the brawl, Salgant stepped down with his bare foot hard, and every male elf in the arena cringed, as well as most of the ellyth, as Erestor let out a scream of agony.

Rog wrapped his arms around Salgant to pull the cursing elf away from the one who was now huddled on the ground, on his side with his legs near his chest. Laiqalasse dropped to his knees and wiped the spittle from Erestor’s face with his sleeve while a girl from the sideline brought a bucket of water to clean out Erestor’s eyes.

The king was not amused.

Teeth clenched and knees shaking, Glorfindel felt Aranel cuddle closer and let out a sob. “Oh, Glorfindel! Take me down to see him! I must see my beloved! How cruel!” A quick look between them told Glorfindel that she knew more about him than he had ever intended for her to. Standing up immediately, he nodded and made his way through the crowd, most of whom were now on their feet.

When they reached the ground and managed to beg their way onto the field, they found Erestor sitting on a stool with a damp cloth in his lap. Laiqalasse was stitching the neglected wound on Erestor’s chin, which had begun to bleed again after Salgant’s attack. “Are you alright?” asked Aranel and Glorfindel at the same time.

“Ughn,” was all Erestor could muster.

At the center of the field, Turgon was now standing before Salgant, shaking a fist at him. Nearby, a guard stood fingering a long, coiled whip.

“Wha’s goin’on?” asked Erestor as he tried to peer around Laiqalasse.

“Sit still a moment,” scolded the Sinda. Nimble fingers tied off the thread before it was cut from the needle with a small knife. “King Turgon said something about ‘fair is fair’ and ‘precedent set’. I think he means to publicly whip Salgant for what he did to you. He attacked after the match was over, and you know the rule about attacking a lord.”

“I have no house any longer,” Erestor reminded Laiqalasse.

The younger elf shrugged. “Apparently, King Turgon thinks different.”

“Nay.” Rog approached them now, shaking his head. “The king has found a worse transgression. Salgant was using an illegal enhancement. When he hit you, did you feel the hard impact? He has mithril under his skin.”

Erestor hesitated and then answered, “Yes, I realized that.” Rog looked surprised, and Erestor stood up. “I have to go stop the king from doing this.”

“What?” Aranel put her hands on Erestor’s shoulders to keep him from standing up. “No! Stay here! He deserves it!” She lowered herself a bit and embraced him, kissing his cheek. “You need to save your strength for your next match later.”

“No. I need to go talk to Turgon.” Erestor took hold of one of Aranel’s hands and kissed it, then stood up. Taking the cloth and tossing it upon the stool, he bit his swollen lip as he walked gingerly to the center where Turgon was motioning to one of the posts used for the jousters and to some rope nearby.

Up in the stands, Ecthelion and Egalmoth were standing with the rest. “What in the name of Morgoth is he doing?” asked Egalmoth.

“I think he plans to save Salgant’s skin,” Ecthelion replied, and then, getting a brilliant, clever, and decidedly evil idea, he added, “again,” then feigned a look of surprise by his own words. Covering his mouth, his wide eyes met Egalmoth’s concerned look.

“What do you mean, again?” Egalmoth snorted angrily. “Erestor covered for HIM?! That bastard,” ground out Egalmoth, glaring at Salgant. “All that time, he made it seem as if it was I who he was ashamed to be seen with, and he did it all to cover his own lies! But why? Why did Erestor do such a thing? They hate one another!”

Feeling the only way to keep Glorfindel safe was to continue with the charade, Ecthelion said, “Who is to know? Erestor is odd like that – he protects anyone he thinks has a case for it. He is sympathetic toward their predicament; a romantic who thinks anyone who wants to be in love should be freely able to show that love.”

“I cannot believe this,” growled Egalmoth. “But it makes sense; Salgant always was a coward.”

At the king’s side, Erestor made his plea. “M’lord, there is no reason for further violence. No need to sully these games.”

“They have been ruined already by the vile acts of this elf, who needs now to be punished!” Turgon grabbed the whip from the guard, holding it out to Erestor. “When they bind him to the post, twenty lashes. Wait, no. You were given fifty, were you not? Fifty, then, and if it is a few more, I shall look the other way.”

Salgant was shaking now and fought the guards who tried to drag him to the post. “Wait! I knew not that the match was over! I was on the ground and in a daze; I did not hear the count!”

“Your highness,” began Erestor again, placing his hands on the whip, but over Turgon’s so that the king could not release it, “I knew of what he did. I could have ended the match early and stopped the incident that occurred from happening. But I wanted to hurt him, I wanted to put him in so much pain that he would remember it for years. That was wrong of me. I entered this competition under false pretense. If he deserves to be whipped, so do I. For making a mockery of these sacred games.”

The king and Erestor stood for a few seconds, observing each other. Finally, Turgon turned his head and signaled for the guards to let Salgant go. Erestor lifted his hands off of the whip. “Salgant, get thyself away from here. I do not wish to see you the rest of the week.”

“But... the minstrel competition this evening...” argued the ellon.

“... will be won this year by someone else,” finished Turgon. “Be glad you are leaving without feeling the kiss of the whip.” To Erestor, the king said, “I do not know what the schedules look like for the next set of matches, but I will be sure that you are not in the quarterfinals. Next year, however, I hope you compete for the right reasons.” Tossing the whip back to the guard Turgon walked away, leaving Erestor alone at the center of the field.

“Fighting from the black corner, Rog!” Thunderous applause greeted Rog as he entered the area for the match. “Fighting from the red corner, Erestor!” Again, the audience applauded as Erestor took his place. “Bow!” instructed the referee, and the two did. “Begin!” he shouted.

Gritting his teeth together and trying not to show his worry, Glorfindel found Aranel taking hold of his hand. “Hold me; I cannot bear to watch!” she said, and the blond was thankful for the act for his benefit.

As he wrapped his arms around her comfortingly, he blinked in surprise. “What is he doing?”

Ecthelion made a noise of disgust. “After all that, he kneels? Fuck, no one does that for these games!” Out of habit, his hand wrapped around one of the soft tomatoes that was beneath his bench, like many others were doing. Lifting it up, he turned to Glorfindel and said, “Give me one good reason not to throw this at him.”

It was not only the Lord of the Fountain who was irritated; Turgon made known his ire as well. “I do hope,” shouted the king from his seat at the arena, “that there is an explanation for this.”

“Peace. I mean no dishonor to these games.” Standing, Erestor addressed Turgon in a loud voice. “I came to the sudden conclusion that it would be a terrible idea for someone to hit his future father-in-law.”

“Would you care to elaborate upon that?” prompted Turgon as the audience started to buzz with commentary.

Scratching the back of his head and giving a sideways glance toward the area that Ecthelion and Glorfindel were in, Erestor further said, “I approached Lord Rog this morn prior to the games to ask his permission for the hand of his daughter. I planned to ask her about it in particular after the fights,” he said in something of a sheepish tone, “but I think now she may know of it.”

Glorfindel felt himself go numb despite the forewarning he had of the situation. He barely registered as Aranel let go of his arm and stood up with a theatrically practiced squeal of joy before daintily making her way through the crowded benches to the ground. She stood at the waist-high blockade of baled hay that fenced off the bleachers from the arena itself, and leaned forward, calling to Erestor.

It took the blond warrior a few extra moments to realize everyone else was standing up or cheering, until Ecthelion shook his shoulder. Of course, Ecthelion had no idea what was secretly going on, and Glorfindel swallowed his emotions, forced a smile on his face, and stood up to applaud along with his friend as Erestor ran over to the barrier and smoothly leaped over it with only one hand on a pile of the bales for balance. The dark ellon lifted Aranel up at the waist, spun her around, and kissed her before the whole of the audience and participants of the games. Aranel said something to Erestor and pointed to the tower. While he headed off to get dressed, she accepted the congratulations of those in the first rows.

Praying that no one took a good look at his awkward expression, Glorfindel fought to keep the happy look on his face despite the fact he felt as if his heart was collapsing in his chest. When Aranel rejoined them, now with Erestor as well, Glorfindel offered his congratulations, and blamed the unexpected stray tears on how happy he was for his friend. Erestor’s response was a questioning look before accepting the well wishes with dignified gratitude.

Watching the rest of the matches kept Glorfindel’s mind focused on something other than his personal thoughts, but he later had difficulty recalling specific fights or moves, other than the fact that Rog had won the competition, and managed to break the jaw of his final opponent, a cocky young archer from the House of the Swallow. Duilin looked more upset that his house had lost than he was about Rog winning, but that seemed to be the way of things. Few were as determined or as strong as Rog.

“I am still unsure if I agree that the trade is a fair one,” debated Egalmoth. “No doubt, your intended is a most charming and beautiful young lady, but do you not think perhaps dealing with her father will offset your gain?”

“Nonsense. My dealings with her father will be no more difficult than the months I spent training in his company,” Erestor assured the elf lord. He paused to drink from the tankard of beer he held in one hand, his other arm around Aranel’s waist for she was sitting on his lap due to the lack of seating available at this point of the day. “You know as well as I that Rog is a reasonable fellow. He only breaks jaws on special occasions.”

Both Egalmoth and Ecthelion laughed at this comment, while Aranel disputed this claim, smiling and rolling her eyes at her future husband’s silliness. Glorfindel pretended to be uninterested as he observed the clearing of the ring and the set up for the final jousts.

---

“I will need to go soon,” Erestor alerted Aranel, speaking loud enough for the others to hear. Glorfindel opened his mouth to ask why, but shut it immediately, knowing it was no longer his place to respond to the dark ellon first.

The elleth on Erestor’s lap frowned and leaned her head on his shoulder. “What for?” she insisted to know, giving Glorfindel a reassuring wink only he saw. It made Glorfindel sigh in temporary relief.

“The minstrel competition is forthcoming.” Erestor took the opportunity to sneak a pair of kisses onto Aranel’s neck.

“So?”

“So...” Pausing, Erestor rather boldly nuzzled the crook of her neck, putting on a much better show than Glorfindel would have liked to have seen, “I need to tune my fiddle.”

“Tune your... oh! Oh, you are not, surely!” Aranel pulled back to see the grin slowly emerging on Erestor’s face. “Oh, you! You are going to! Oh, I love you!” she squeeked, throwing her arms around his neck.

“You better,” he replied, his own arms pulling her closer.

“You are going to compete in the minstrel competition?” asked Glorfindel softly.

Erestor shrugged. “I was playing and singing for Aranel one night, and she made the suggestion. And how can I say no to this face?” he asked, using his finger to tilt her chin back to face him.

“I see.” Glorfindel folded his hands in his lap, each gripping the other tightly.

“Glorfindel has made the suggestion nearly each year for Erestor to enter the minstrel competition,” explained Ecthelion to Egalmoth. “Every year, Erestor has refused.”

“But not this year,” Aranel said happily as she sat back down, having given Erestor a good luck kiss before sending him off.

Egalmoth chuckled and then said around Ecthelion to Glorfindel, “Funny, how a friend can know exactly the thing best for someone, and yet it takes an elleth to give him that final push to change his mind.”

Glorfindel did not think there was anything funny about it at all.

- - -

Without Salgant in the competition, it was quite obvious that the others who were partaking were putting forth a much better effort than they might have. It was a rare chance that one of them might take the prize this year that Salgant coveted so. By far the best was a cheeky young elf playing a harp, until Erestor strolled into the arena to present his piece.

Who sings the sweetest evening lullabies?
Whose silvery voice reaches out to the stars?
Pride of our people and lord of our bards;
Prince of the harpers and master of the musical arts.

“Who... he... is he doing what I think he is-“

“Shhh!” Ecthelion was hushed by everyone around him, not just those he was sitting with. The elf lord shut his mouth, listening with as much intensity as the rest of the audience.

It would never be argued to be a great song; indeed it was a bit raw in some places. The presentation of it, however, was quite beautiful, and the subject matter was one which both amused and confused members of the audience, as well as the judges. No one had ever chosen to sing of Salgant before, though Erestor had now proved it could not only be done, but it could be done favorably.

“I am not sure what to say to that,” admitted Ecthelion after the applause for Erestor died down.

“I doubt I could be more surprised if someone walked over and slapped me in the face,” said Glorfindel in reply, and Egalmoth gave something of a snort to what he believed was a private joke made in reference to Erestor and Salgant.

There was a lull while the top three were decided upon to return and play once more. As the group sat and chattered about whether or not Erestor would make it to the next round, a young elleth with hair that was dirty blond in color and eyes that were dark blue stepped her way up and through the bleachers. Glorfindel caught sight of her first, waving seemingly at him. He raised his hand in confusion, but the elleth shook her head and pointed discretely to Aranel beside him.

Nudging the elleth, Glorfindel nodded in the direction of the newcomer. Once again, Aranel let out her patented squeal of happiness and stood, stretching her arms out. “Tauni! Get up here and give me a hug!”

The elleth gave a cheeky little look and made her way faster towards them. The ellyth embraced, and Glorfindel felt incredibly jealous as he watched them. He knew exactly who she was without ever being introduced. Taking a deep breath, he tried to act as casual as possible.

“Oh, Tauni, I am afraid there are no seats left,” apologized Aranel. “We may need to go to the ground level and stand at the barrier.”

“Nonsense. There are many good seats still available. Such as, this one.” The elleth smoothed the back of her dress properly and then sat down on Glorfindel’s lap.

Ecthelion paused in his conversation with Egalmoth immediately, turning in shock to look at Glorfindel and his new companion. In order to cover his reaction, he insisted, “And what is the matter with my lap?!”

“Your lap, sir,” said Tauni, “is too broken-in for me. I like an unused lap, if I can find one.” She wrapped one arm behind Glorfindel’s back as he encircled his about her waist. “Yours will do nicely,” she told Glorfindel.

“Glorfindel,” said Aranel, touching the blond warrior on the shoulder, “this is Tauniel. Tauni, to everyone who knows her.”

“Pleased to meet you,” answered Glorfindel with a polite smile. He did his best to look thrilled over the fact an unknown young lady had decided to perch upon him, and hoped it did not look too strained.

Tauni looked amused at the blond’s unease, but simply made herself comfortable for the second part of the competition and said to him, “Likewise.”

The next few years were spent keeping up appearances, with Erestor spending the small amount of free time he had either wooing Aranel or secretly teaching Glorfindel how to court Tauniel. The majority of his day was filled with the training and overseeing the newest part of Rog’s army: the cavalry. The one time scholar found himself in the midst of military life, having moved swiftly up the ranks to captain.

Glorfindel’s time was spent less and less in the stables and training fields and more and more in his study or haunting the libraries. Less time outdoors had diminished his tan, and his hair was left to grown past the middle of his back so that when he sat it created a rippling golden pool upon the floor. At first Ecthelion had issued warnings to Glorfindel that his recent behavior was unfit a warrior, but he stopped voicing these concerns after told one day as Glorfindel worked on a particularly difficult mathematical equation from behind his large desktop abacus, ‘Perhaps I do not wish to be a warrior anymore.’

Ecthelion still may have continued to harass Glorfindel about the changes that had taken place, except for one essential fact: Glorfindel spent most evenings strolling in the gardens with Tauni, and it gave Ecthelion great relief to see this change in his friend.

Tonight, Glorfindel was spending extra time readying himself before dinner. Most nights he ate now in the Great Hall, but not with the other lords. Instead, he found a home at the table of high scribes and scholars, where once he used to see Erestor sit for meals. Sometimes he did see Erestor, but when he did, the dark haired ellon took up residence at a somewhat rowdy table of mid-ranking officers from the various houses.

Tonight, Glorfindel was not going to the Great Hall. It was time, he and Tauniel had decided, for him to meet her parents, and more importantly, for him to fulfill his part of Erestor’s grand plan. He checked himself over in the mirror again and again before patting the same pocket of his vest that had been checked over and over. The little box was still there. He pulled it out, opened it, and checked the contents. The silver ring was nestled in the small square of fabric that protected it.

On his way through the corridors to reach his destination, Glorfindel passed by Salgant, who looked startled, and then waddled off quickly with his head bowed. The minstrel, ever since the embarrassing showing at the games, had kept himself scarce. The only time he was heard from was during debates in council regarding the inability of anyone to leave the city. What he once had thought a wonderful idea he now called idiotic and insane. Salgant was now in the process of building a house on some extra land he had, no doubt planning upon residing in it rather than in the tower once it was complete.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Glorfindel knocked on the door and waited to be admitted. The door opened, revealing Tauniel. Glorfindel supposed that any straight, sensible male elf would be delighted to see the elleth as she thusly appeared. Her hair was swept up and cascaded down her neck and back in a waterfall of curls, and the dress she had chosen revealed bare shoulders and a dipping neckline that gave a view of some cleavage. Glorfindel looked at all of the key spots for what he had been told was the appropriate amount of time, while Tauniel smirked, unseen by her parents. “Please, come in. The halls are so drafty.”

“Thank you.” Glorfindel stepped in, carrying a bottle of liquor wrapped in a velvet sack and a bouquet of mixed flowers.

“Oh, how sweet. He brought you flowers, and at such a time when they are mostly frosted over,” said the approaching elleth that Glorfindel took to be Tauniel’s mother. She confirmed this with a curtsey and an introduction. “It is so lovely to have you in our house, m’lord. I am Lasivien, and my husband will be out shortly.”

“Please, please, just Glorfindel. Lasivien, a pleasure to finally meet you. As for the flowers,” he said, adjusting things to hold them out to her, “these are actually for you. I wanted to thank you for raising such an enchanting, kind, beautiful daughter.”

“Oh, for me? Oh, Taunos, look,” said Laivien as an ellon who looked a bit uncomfortable in the formal attire he was wearing entered from a side room. “Flowers, and in the dead of winter.”

“Sir,” said Glorfindel in greeting, giving a slight bow of his head. “I am honored to finally meet you, Taunos.”

“Likewise, your lordship,” Taunos answered, bowing his head lower than Glorfindel had.

Uneasily, Glorfindel shook his head. “Please, just Glorfindel. I much prefer my name to my titles. Sir, your daughter told me you enjoy a good brandy; I thought you would prefer that to a bunch of flowers.”

The group had a good laugh at this which relieved the tension somewhat as the bottle was handed to Taunos. “Interesting. I am not familiar with this type.”

“It was a one-time experiment that Galdor attempted. A great product, but when he found out how long the process took, he vowed never to do it again. A pity, and a promise I hope he does not keep forever.”

“What about my gift? Do I not rate a present?” teased Tauniel.

Glorfindel regarded her with a look which would have fooled anyone into thinking they were in love. “Yours will need to wait until later this evening.”

“Dinner will be ready shortly,” said Taunos. “Perhaps you and I might wait in the study until then, while the girls see to setting the table.”

Glorfindel nodded, his hand absently touching the bulge in his pocket where the boxed ring was. “Actually, there was a matter I wished to speak to you about.”

The ellyn disappeared into another room. Lasivien gave her daughter a knowing look, and Tauniel grinned giddily before skipping her way into the dining room.

Glorfindel looked up suddenly as he heard movement from the front of the room and the sounds of someone approaching. Immediately he yanked the reading glasses from his nose and shoved them into the left pocket of his pants, then bowed his head and concentrated on his work once more, albeit with difficulty now.

The footsteps paused when they reached the table he was working at. “Excuse me, but we closed an hour ago. You need to leave now, sir.”

Flipping to the index hastily and squinting to try and make out the word he was looking for, Glorfindel mumbled, “I just need five more minutes.”

“Sir, you have said that many, many times since I gave you first warning that we were closing. You need to go now, or I will be forced to call security.”

Glorfindel looked up, narrowing his eyes. “I thought you librarians lived in your domains.”

“And rumor has it we never retire, we just die.” The librarian crossed his arms over his chest. “If you want, you can leave those there and come back in the morning.”

“All I really still need is this one.” Glorfindel closed the book he had been attempting in vain to read now and held it up. “If you just check it out to me—“

“No, that is a reference volume. We have been over this before. Reference works stay here. You go now,” added the scholar in a slightly angered tone.

With a snort, Glorfindel slammed the book down on the table and gathered up his notes. “Fine.” Unable to come up with any other response, Glorfindel stomped his way out of the library with the librarian on his heels. The door was promptly locked as soon as he was in the hall. “Bloody stupid jackass,” muttered Glorfindel as he gave the door a good kick. He scuffed it, and turned, checking over his notes as he walked back to the apartment he was renting temporarily inside the main palace before the wedding. Previously he had been living in his penthouse of his and Ecthelion's barracks, but it had been Erestor's suggestion he move to the tower. The barracks would certainly be no place for Glorfindel's future wife, pretend or not.

His inattentiveness did not alert him to someone coming down another hallway, who was also not paying attention. As Glorfindel turned the corner and collided with Erestor, he was knocked down, papers flying everywhere.

“Oh, goodness me! I suppose that will teach me to walk and read at the same time,” chuckled Erestor, though both of them knew he would continue with that bad habit he had anyhow. After offering his hand to help his friend up, Erestor assisted in gathering all of the sheets together. “Is this part of that secret project you have been working on?” he asked.

“I am so very close to reaching my goal. Trust me, you and everyone else will be amazed when I figure everything out.” Glorfindel counted the sheets to be sure they were all back in his possession.

Erestor adjusted the quiver and bow on his back. “I expect full disclosure soon—everyone is wondering what it is you are working on so intently.”

“In time,” promised Glorfindel, shoving his left hand into his pocket. He wiggled his fingers and frowned as Erestor continued talking.

“I suppose you want to keep things secret so that no one else beats you to your discovery. I can understand that; I tend not to share my poems until they are finished in case someone... is something the matter?” asked Erestor as he watched Glorfindel glance about nervously.

The blond bit his lip, squinting his eyes as he looked around. “Erm... I... I think I lost something...”

“Oh?” Erestor began to look about, too. “What is it?”

“Ahm... uhh...” Glorfindel looked to the place he had fallen down in the hall. “Bloody hell, if I left them back in the library—“

Meanwhile, Erestor had crouched down and was inspecting the area as well. Something against the wall caught his eye, and he picked up the wire frames that held two curved lenses. “Have you been doing a lot of reading by candlelight?” asked Erestor as he held out the pair of glasses.

Glorfindel reddened considerably as he snatched the spectacles and hid them away in his pocket again. “Please, do not tell anyone.”

“You should do your reading in the daytime. Or else, use a lantern or sit beneath a well lit chandelier.”

“If the library offered any of these, I would,” said Glorfindel grumpily. “But that stupid git refuses to let me take the books that I need, so I am forced to work in those horrible conditions.”

“Ah. I see.” Erestor took a step closer and asked, “Why not just take the book you need?”

“What? Steal it?”

“Yes.”

Glorfindel laughed uneasily and looked around to be sure no one could hear them. “You really do have a criminal mind.”

“No, no,” argued Erestor. “I always return them later.”

“So you have done this before?”

“Many times.”

“Ai.” Glorfindel shook his head. “Somehow, I would be unable to manage such a thing.”

“What is the title of it?”

After a long pause, Glorfindel said, “I would not want you to get in trouble. Not on my account; you have done more than enough for me already, I am still in your debt from before.”

“Consider all debts repaid,” offered Erestor. “Now, the title of the book?”

“ ‘A Guide to Equations for Alchemists and Mathematicians’,” recited Glorfindel from heart.

Erestor nodded. “Consider it done,” he said, giving Glorfindel a hearty pat on the shoulder.

“Ow!” Glorfindel rubbed his shoulder and hissed.

“Sorry.” Erestor stepped back. “Did I really hurt you?”

“Just a little. You are really strong now, you have to be careful with me. My recent bookishness has made me become fragile.”

At first Erestor laughed, but he killed it with a cough when he saw from Glorfindel’s expression that his friend was not lying. “We have changed much, you and I.”

“Aye. I am sorry I never completely fulfilled my part of the bargain,” said Glorfindel. “You became a soldier without my aid.”

“Untrue. You laid the foundation, just as I could never have instructed you in science and mathematics, but I did pave the way for it.”

There was a long silence until Glorfindel asked, “So, are you ready for the wedding?”

To this, Erestor smiled. “Of course I am. You?”

Glorfindel nodded. “Having them both on the same day is much more economical.”

Erestor rolled his eyes and smiled. They both knew the reason that Tauniel had come up with the ‘most wonderful plan’ of holding a double wedding had nothing to do with economics. “Your future wife is a clever little thing.”

“That she is,” replied Glorfindel. “Well, I suppose I should leave you be. No doubt you have much work to do tomorrow.”

“We graduate another group of recruits in the morning. Are you coming to the ceremony?”

Glorfindel’s gut reaction was to say no, for he had lost the desire to partake in the pomp and circumstance of military celebrations, but instead he nodded. The thought of seeing Erestor dressed in his uniform and riding magnificently atop his horse sent a delightful chill through Glorfindel and caused goosebumps to appear unseen on his arms and legs. “Eru willing, I will be there.”

“Normally,” said a sudden, familiar voice, “I exact a toll for this sort of thing. However, I believe this one time I will allow it to slip.”

Glorfindel looked sheepishly up at Ecthelion, who was hovering over the pair of lovebirds in the courtyard. Tauniel laughed and buried her head against Glorfindel’s shoulder, but her embarrassment was false. With a wink at Glorfindel as he kicked a stone into a small fluffy snow bank that gave the barest proof it was winter, Ecthelion rounded the fountain and continued on his way to the council chambers.

“Psst! As you were, soldier,” teased Tauni quietly so that no one could hear her. It took Glorfindel a moment to realize what she meant. Once again they were lip-locked, holding one another in a passionate embrace. People passing by pretended to ignore them, but it was difficult to do so. It was rather indecent for them to act in such a manner; the lord of a great house and his soon-to-be-wife and lady, but they wanted no one to doubt their relationship.

“So, when you kiss me, who do you imagine you are kissing?” whispered Tauniel into Glorfindel’s ear as he kissed her slender neck.

“Does not matter,” Glorfindel mumbled against her pale skin as his hands lifted her up onto his lap.

A bell tolled some distance away, and Tauniel sat back and wrapped a long wisp of Glorfindel golden mane around her fingers. “Sounds like your council meeting is being called to order.”

“That it is.” He tried to stand up, but her fingers holding onto his hair caused him to be yanked back down again. “I need to go now,” he said, gently untangling his hair from her fingers as she reached her other hand out to snarl into the other side. “Stop that,” he said, shaking his head. “You are going to make me late.”

“Then answer my question.” Tauniel extricated her fingers, but refused to leave her perch upon Glorfindel’s lap. “You kiss me with a great deal of passion,” she whispered. “It nearly felt the way it does when Aranel and I kiss.”

Glorfindel looked away and prodded Tauniel from his lap before standing up. “I must take my leave.”

“Oh, and you think it that easy, do you?” Tauniel followed on Glorfindel’s heels, past the glorious fountain, down the path that led out to the main road. “Look, you! I am not about to leave you be until I get an answer!”

Turning on his heel so that Tauniel walked square into him, Glorfindel smirked and said, “Persistent, are we?”

“Brute!” accused Tauniel, her fist hitting against Glorfindel’s chest. A crunching noise surprised them both, and from his vest pocket, Glorfindel pulled an empty wire frame, followed by chunks and shards of glass. “Whoops.”

Glorfindel took hold of Tauniel’s hand, pulled her fingers until her palm was flat, and deposited the remains of his glasses into her hand. “I need a new pair,” he said in a rather unhappy voice as he pushed her fingers closed over the smashed spectacles.

“All you had to do was tell me who it is,” sulked Tauniel as she stood up and shoved the pieces into her pocket. “You would think, two weeks to our ‘wedding’, you might not keep any secrets from me.”

“Him.”

“Huh?”

“Erestor!” Glorfindel waved his arm in the air to catch the attention of the captain as he crossed the courtyard.

“Glorfindel, you are going to be late for the council meeting!” shouted Erestor back as he continued on his way instead of backtracking to reach his friend.

Tauniel waited until Erestor disappeared past the side of a building. “Well, well. I should have seen that coming. So the two of you—“

“He does not know.” The warning look Glorfindel gave his betrothed made her roll her eyes.

“As if I would say something.” Tauniel gave Glorfindel a gentle shove in the direction of the palace. “Go on. We cannot have you late for your meeting.”

- - -

“The first order of business,” announced Turgon as the council doors closed and Glorfindel took his place, “is to install the newest member of this council. I suppose this is more of a re-installation.”

Glorfindel turned his head just as everyone else did to watch Erestor stand up from a seat that had been placed behind Rog. Nearly everyone, including the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, wore surprised looks on their faces. Erestor stood before Turgon, saluting the King as was proper for a captain greeting his general. “Sir. It is good to be called upon for such a duty of honor once again.”

Turgon gave a small nod and spoke loud so that even the pages and maids listening at the doors could clearly hear his words. “Lord Penlodh’s prestigious house has far surpassed double the size of any house here. Not even Egalmoth’s houses are of such degree as Penlodh’s. A decision has been made, for Egalmoth’s houses to be condensed once more as one house. Because I still believe our numbers bless us, twelve houses there shall be. Lord Penlodh, name your second house.”

“From the House of the Pillar shall rise the House of the Tower of Snow,” announced Penlodh, his smooth tenor flowing in a soothing manner.

“Whom will you choose to lead your house in your stead?” asked Turgon, using a ceremonial air.

“I honor a tradition of old, to pay my respect upon those who aided me. In days of old, when only stars shined across the heavens, a brave elf took the initiative to be the leader of those who are proud to call themselves Noldorin. His name was Tata, and among those he awoke was an Elda named Pendreth. Pendreth was my grandsire, and today I repay my debt to heir of Tata.” Penlodh brought forth a staff, identical to his own. It was a base of silver, with ivy of gold chasing up to the top where a deep red ruby was embedded. “The blessings of Eru be upon you, Erestor, Steward of my house.”

Applause erupted throughout the council as Erestor smiled and took the staff, bowing to Penlodh. Turgon motioned the dark ellon to him and spoke words only for his ears before Erestor took his place at council between Penlodh and Egalmoth, sitting in the front row, directly across from Salgant.

“Well, now that we have that settled, let us get to the issues. I believe Galdor wished to bring forth an item of new business?”

At his place, Galdor stood. Behind him sat his Laiqalasse, his designee in case he should need to leave early and miss a vote. The blond lord shuffled some papers that were before him and took a sip of water from his glass. Someone in the chambers coughed. It seemed out of place for Galdor to act nervous, for he was second only to Turgon in his boldness. Finally, he spoke. “I propose to make an amendment to the current gate rules. Section two of the document states, and I quote, ‘Whoever doth enter shalt not leave, and he who doth tryeth escape woll therefore be sentenced to death.’ I propose to add a sentence to follow which shall read, ‘If a challenge upon thy sentence be made, thou shalt have trial before this council to determine the due course of action.’ In light of certain events which have plagued my mind, I think this the best solution to prevent any other tragedies from occurring.”

“To the floor for discussion,” offered Turgon. It was Erestor’s hand that was up first, and next he stood to speak.

“If I am recalling correctly, the Charter of Gondolin still bears the words, ‘Above all, the voice of the King is the law’, correct?”

“Aye, it does,” offered Laiqalasse, who had one of the few copies of the charter unfurled upon his desk.

“Then, ultimately, the King’s rule would still be the final judgement upon this or any matter?” asked Erestor. Galdor nodded. “Thank you.”

As Erestor sat back down, Ecthelion lifted his hand. “I understand the concern, but does the outcome of one incident make it necessary to alter such a perfect document? There seems no reason to burden the council with trials. We should simply follow, as always, what our King commands.”

Salgant made a snide remark to Duilin, who snickered and shook his head. Turgon frowned upon seeing the exchange, but it was something that was happening all too often for him to interrupt a meeting every time one or the other felt like acting childish.

Penlodh was voicing his concern over the possibility that other rules might be altered when a door into the chamber burst open. A wide-eyed page rushed forth while a bedraggled soldier wearing the colors of Dorthonion followed stoically behind. The page spoke to Turgon while the council members murmured to once another.

Finally, Turgon stood, and victorious was the look upon his face. “Soon, my friends, we shall have need to hide no more! A messenger has been sent, from the lands of Dorthonion and from my father, upon the wings of an eagle. Morgoth the Terrible brought forth upon our kin in other lands a siege of demons and fire, and though our losses were great, we have not given up! As I speak, my father rides to Angband, to slay Morgoth once and for all!”

Cheers rose up, but Erestor bit his lip and furrowed his brow. He began to speak, but too many others began to announce their congratulations.

The messenger, still caked with blood and dirt, cut through the room and came directly to Glorfindel as the council began to break apart. “I beg your pardon, sir, but you look familiar to me. Do I know you?”

‘I look familiar because you could well be looking into a mirror,’ thought the blond, but instead he merely shook his head and frowned. “I highly doubt it.”

“Are you sure? It... it just seems I know you. Forgive the interruption.” The soldier turned away, but just as quickly he turned back. “Is it possible you were ever in Dorthonion? My father was Angrod, perhaps you knew him?”

“Was Angrod?” An odd feeling churned Glorfindel’s stomach.

“Yes.” The young ellon bowed his head for a moment. “My father and my uncle Aegnor were both killed at the onset of the battle. Did you know my father?”

“Briefly,” said Glorfindel quietly. He blinked to stave off his tears – not for his deceased father, but for his mother, whom he knew would fade if she had not already. “I am sorry to hear of your loss.”

“It was more difficult losing mother.” The ellon needed to take a moment to collect himself, which gave Glorfindel time to cover a few tears he was unable to chase off.

“I imagine so. I... I knew Eldalôtë, your mother, as well. She... she was a... very kind lady. Again, I am sorry.”

The soldier seemed to want to ask or say something more, but also appeared to have some way of knowing that Glorfindel would deny whatever claim might be made. It was an internal war that lasted as a few more tears were dried. Finally, he said, "If you ever meet an Elf by the name of Anglorel, will you give him a message? You see, he was my brother, but I never really met him. I was very young when he left. My parents never told me about him, but my sister did. If you meet him, will you let him know his brother and sister are well?"

With a nod, Glorfindel set his jaw, and then nodded again.

"You see, our sister was sent to the Falas, where she is being protected, and I am going there as soon as I am done here. She, her husband, and I are going to be there. He should know that, so that he does not worry, in case he still cares about us."

"I am certain he does," replied Glorfindel, so close, and yet so far from his family. "I will be sure to tell him, if I happen to see him. He will be relieved to know that you are all safe."

"Thank you."

Glorfindel watched the messenger walk away, battling the emotions within. There was a part that rejoiced that he would never again have fear that he might see his father, while another part wished their relationship might have been mended. To learn of his mother’s death was a harsh blow, but to see his brother, grown, alive, and well, was a great relief, as was knowing his sister's fate. He still wished he could have said and listened more, but it was far too dangerous to do so, he realized with remorse.

He felt something poke his shoulder and turned to find Erestor. The dark elf nodded his head to the doors, and Glorfindel followed Erestor out of the room and down a hallways until the joyful camaraderie was vaguely audible. “I wish I could simply give you time to grieve and reflect, but what has happened is much more serious than perhaps it seems.”

“What do you mean?” asked Glorfindel.

Erestor looked around to be sure no one else was around, and even then, his voice was soft and low. “There is no possible way for Fingolfin to fight Morgoth and win. The mission is suicide.”

Nodding, Glorfindel said, “If Fingolfin brings an army, that is another thing, but it sounds as if he plans to battle Morgoth alone.”

“He cannot win, even with an army. We should be preparing here for war now, in case Morgoth finds us, but Turgon still believes the city completely hidden. There is another item that I am now pondering,” admitted Erestor.

“That is?”

“If Fingolfin dies, who becomes High King?”

“Fingon,” answered Glorfindel almost immediately.

Erestor shook his head. “Fingon has no heirs and never will.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because his lover cannot bear children,” answered Erestor with a wry smile. “The title may pass further along, all the way to Turgon.

“Would it surprise you if I said I hope of the two that Fingon is crowned King?”

Erestor did not answer, he only looked about. “Changes, my friend. They are coming, and we must be prepared.”

“There are a few minor problems that have arisen.”

Erestor furrowed his brow as he turned to the door. “Why do I get the feeling these problems are not as minor as you would have me believe?”

Dressed in his finest, the blue, silver, and white that designated him as both head of the military and keeper of the sixth Gondolin gate, Ecthelion scratched at the molding around the doorway. “The official ministrant still keeps his vigil over his father’s body and refuses to come down to perform the ceremony.”

Momentarily, this seemed to dampen Erestor’s spirits. The captain simply shrugged as he turned back to Laiqalasse, his designated elf of honor for the marriage, and continued to ready himself for the day. “Then we shall need to find another to perform the rites. What are the other issues?”

“The wedding cake was accidentally dropped on its way to the hall.”

“I never liked wedding cakes myself. Too sugary. I suspect there is something that can be done to replace it somehow?”

“The bakers are scurrying around in an attempt to do so.” Ecthelion nearly managed to get a sliver in his finger from his worrying of the wood, so he folded his hands before him and said, “There is one other item.”

“Oh?”

“Glorfindel is ill.”

Erestor smirked. “Because he is young, and one would expect him to get marriage jitters. It will be alright; I shall speak with him before the ceremony. I am sure our brides are going through the same thing.”

“No, I think Glorfindel is more than nervous. I truly think he is sick. He is in bed, writhing in pain, clutching his stomach. When I suggested calling a healer, he refused vehemently. I had no idea what to do, except to come to you.”

Unfastening the ceremonial sword from his hip, Erestor placed it upon the bed and turned once again toward Ecthelion. “He is in his room?” Ecthelion nodded.

Erestor took long strides across his room, passing by Ecthelion as he went. “See if you can find a Sedryner minister or something,” he said, to which Ecthelion responded with, “Sure, give me the impossible task.”

Laiqalasse was on Erestor’s heels as he walked briskly down the halls to another wing entirely. “Do you think we might need to postpone?” offered the younger elf.

“No. I think Glorfindel is just being dramatic,” mumbled Erestor with a sigh. The last few days had been full of complaints of headaches, stomach cramps, and fevers, all of which the dark haired ellon had brushed off. He came to the door of his friend and rapped on the wood before trying the knob and finding the door unlocked.

Glorfindel was still in bed, as Ecthelion had described, doubled over and clutching his belly. “Oh, no, none of this. Come on, get up,” Erestor insisted, grabbing hold of one of Glorfindel’s feet and shaking it. A whimper came from the bundle of blankets. “Fin?”

Wincing, Glorfindel sat up, drenched in sweat. “I feel like I am dying,” he moaned.

“You look terrible,” remarked Laiqalasse, standing beside Erestor with his arms crossed.

Erestor sunk down onto the bed and placed his hand upon Glorfindel’s forehead. “You are a bit warm,” he admitted. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere, but mostly here,” he said, still holding his stomach. “And my back hurts, too.”

“Alright, lie down.” Erestor scratched his chin and looked around for a cause. “Have you been drinking much lately?”

“No, nothing. I can barely eat,” groaned Glorfindel.

“It could be a pulled muscle or something of that sort,” suggested Laiqalasse, but again, Glorfindel shook his head.

Looking around the room, Erestor saw the freshly pressed garments for the impending ceremony and the small box of personal items still waiting to be moved to the new rooms Glorfindel would share with Tauniel. “The guests are already assembling. We need to get you bathed and dressed. Laiqalasse, can you go to the kitchens and see if there is some sort of soothing tea or something that you can bring?”

“Sure.” Laiqalasse headed for the door, but then stopped and came back. “Erestor, about the minister... well, I could always try to perform the ceremonies if you want me to. I have never performed one, but if it comes to it, I meet the qualification.”

“I know that, but if you and Galdor want to keep your sway in council, it may be best for you not to appear as a religious extremist,” said Erestor.

“Extremist?” Laiqalasse laughed at this. “I would take that risk; I think you overestimate the negative perception of my beliefs.”

“Overall, the population would side with you, yes. In council, it is a different matter.”

“Still, it is a risk I would take.”

With a nod, Erestor turned his head. “So be it.”

Laiqalasse smiled a little. “Thank you. Now, which of the ceremonies is to be first, so that I can prepare?”

“They are to happen simultaneously.” Erestor moved to the tub to check the temperature of the water, and then added drops of oil into the bath.

“That would not be proper,” Laiqalasse replied.

Walking back to the bed, Erestor coaxed Glorfindel to sit up again. “That is the way we want it to be.”

“You should tell him,” mumbled Glorfindel.

Laiqalasse frowned and came closer again. “Tell me what?”

Erestor chewed his lip for a moment, and then sighed and lowered his voice. “There is a bit of deception going on. It is not Aranel and I who are getting married or Tauniel and Glorfindel, but rather Aranel and Tauniel.”

“I see,” said Laiqalasse after a pause. “So, the two of you are just the stand-ins, to make it look convincing. There does seem to be a flaw in your plans.”

“We will work that out later,” Erestor said hastily. “Knowing what you do now, are you still willing to perform the marriage?”

Laiqalasse nodded without hesitation. “When I chose my path and began to minister, I did so knowing that things like this could happen. I am glad you told me ahead of time; I will adjust the ceremony accordingly.”

“No one else must know,” warned Erestor.

“I assumed as much,” answered Laiqalasse. “I will go to the kitchens and see what I can find to ease your pain, my friend,” he said to Glorfindel, who was huddled on the bed.

Once Laiqalasse had gone, Erestor helped Glorfindel to sit once more. “We need to get you cleaned up,” he said, pulling the linen nightshirt up over his companion’s head. Glorfindel promptly flopped over onto his opposite side, arms crossed over his hips. “Glorfindel, I am going to ask you something. I am only asking once, and I expect an honest answer. It will not anger me to hear the truth, but I will be upset later if I find out you lied to me now. Are you trying to find a way to stop the wedding from happening?”

Glorfindel whined softly, and shook his head. “No. I wish I felt better. I am not backing out, I just feel terrible!” Tears began to fall, and Glorfindel was drawn up into Erestor’s arms.

“Alright, alright, I am so sorry, my dear, dear friend. I had to ask—you understand, I hope,” crooned Erestor, and Glorfindel nodded against him. “Here; let us get you to the bath. It may make you feel better.”

“Is it warm?” asked Glorfindel, teeth chattering. “The air is a bit chilly now.”

Confusion set in as Erestor checked Glorfindel’s temperature once more and found his face and temples were cool to the touch. “When I arrived, you were burning, and now... I wish you would allow me to call a healer!”

“No, no healers. The last time this happened, I was laughed at. They told me it was all in my head.”

“The last time?” Erestor was aiding Glorfindel to the tub, hoping the water had not cooled overly much. “This has happened before?”

“About ten years ago,” confirmed the blond as he sunk down into the water with a shiver. “Feels like ice.”

“You should have gotten in earlier when it was still warm,” Erestor half-scolded. “Wait here, I will be right back.”

“Where do you think I am going to go?” wondered Glorfindel, sinking down into the water until it covered his shoulders and lapped against his chin. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt another sharp pain in his middle and willed himself not to cry again.

Erestor returned soon, as promised. “I asked a maid to bring hot water to add to the bath. Ecthelion was in the hallway, and I told him we found a minister, so he is going to calm the masses and let them know there will be a slight delay. The bakers solved the cake issue, but it is a bit odd what they have done. They are using chocolate cake for the bottom layers and cheesecake for the middle, with glazed strawberries atop. It will be... different,” decided Erestor.

“Cheesecake? Have I had that before?”

“You tell me,” said Erestor as he located the shampoo and set it at the ready for when the water arrived.

“I do not think so.”

“Then we had best make you presentable, or it will remain that way.”

“If Laiqalasse is presiding, who is your elf of honor?” asked Ecthelion.

Erestor squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the back of his neck. “I have no idea anymore. I tried to find Rog, but that makes no sense. He has to give away his daughter and I... asking someone this late is terribly inconvenient.”

“What about Egalmoth?”

“Oh... is that really a good idea?” Erestor looked over his shoulder as Glorfindel groaned in the room behind them. Slipping into the hallway, Erestor shut the door and shook his head. “I have no idea if there will even be a wedding today, with the state he is in.”

“You have a courtyard full of guests, a kitchen staff rushing to make a cake in time, and Laiqalasse having a grand time mingling with nonbelievers. I am not going to be the one to go out there and call things off.”

“If it comes to it, I will do it. No one likes me anyhow.” Erestor crossed his arms over his chest. “What about Egalmoth... I do not know. I hate to establish an alliance like that.”

“Why? What is wrong with him?”

“Nothing, nothing. Would it hurt Penlodh’s feelings? Of course not, he really hardly knows me, but protocol... well, again, it would be rude, so short of notice.” Erestor paced in front of the door, and then stopped. “Shit, I... I need to find Egalmoth.”

Ecthelion blocked Erestor from going any further into the hall. “No need. I already asked him on your behalf. He is getting ready and will meet us in the grand foyer. Do you think there is any chance Glorfindel will be ready in the next hour? Everyone is being more than patient, but at some point we are going to have some antsy, hungry guests, especially the children.”

“We will be down soon. One way or another.” Erestor went back into Glorfindel’s room and closed the door behind him. On the edge of the bed was a tray with a kettle on it, filled with raspberry leaf tea. He poured a cup and took it to the tub that Glorfindel was still in and knelt down beside it. “Try drinking a little of this. We need to get you ready, and soon. Everyone is waiting. Are you feeling any better?”

Glorfindel shook his head no, and took the cup in his hands. “I am so sorry for ruining today.”

“You have not ruined it, you only delayed it. We will get there, I promise you that.” Erestor coaxed his friend into drinking the entire cup, and then refilled it. “Laiqalasse told me that according to the ladies in the kitchen, this is the best remedy for cramping. It should help you relax. Do you think you pulled a muscle?”

“Maybe, but it never hurt like this before.” Glorfindel drank the second cup thankfully, for it warmed him and after a few minutes did seem to help. “How late are we?”

“Never mind that. I am going to ready your clothing so that the minute you are up to the task we can get you dressed and down to the courtyard.”

“Actually, I think I might be able to right now. The sooner this is over with, the sooner I can return to bed,” reasoned Glorfindel.

Erestor nodded and aided Glorfindel from the tub, helping to dry him off and braid his hair. After getting dressed in the formal, layered outfit that was vibrant with the greens and golds of his house, Glorfindel sat on the edge of the bed sipping what was left of the tea while Erestor laced his boots. “Ready?” he asked, putting his hand on Glorfindel’s knee when the last leather strap was tucked into place.

With a slight nod, Glorfindel stood up, and Erestor joined him. Daring the possibility of revealing his secret, Glorfindel placed his hand upon Erestor’s shoulder. “You look absolutely stunning,” he said, moving his hand away in such a manner that his knuckles brushed against a few stray strands of ebon hair.

“Thank you, but I feel drab compared to your radiance.” Erestor went to the door to open it, missing the wide grin on Glorfindel’s face after giving the compliment. “Well, our brides await us. Terrible to say, but unlike most grooms on their wedding day, my heart is sadly not aflutter with thoughts most passionate. How dreadful, and yet, how true.” He opened the door fully and stepped into the hall, waiting for Glorfindel to follow.

The pair arrived in the courtyard nearly ten minutes later, after Erestor stopped in his rooms, only to find the sword he had left hours ago was no longer there. It concerned him, but he was thankful to be greeted by Ecthelion, Egalmoth, and the missing weapon some minutes later. “Sorry, I thought you would forget it,” apologized Ecthelion as the ceremonial blade was snatched away.

“A likely story. I think you were holding it for ransom,” Erestor teased as he straightened his clothing one final time. “How agitated are the guests?”

“You had best have a LOT of wine,” suggested Egalmoth.

“I hope we do. I expect to be in need of some myself,” Erestor said. He nudged Glorfindel. “Last chance to run for the hills.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes... no, um... what?”

“Sounds like someone is a little preoccupied with his impending wedding night,” joked Egalmoth. Glorfindel blushed crimson while the other three laughed heartily. “Well, then, here it is. Are you walking in together, or separately?”

“Together, I think,” said Glorfindel at the same time as Erestor said, “I can go first.” They all laughed, and Erestor bowed briefly toward Glorfindel. “I defer to you, being the younger and obviously more eager member of the grooms’ party.”

Again, Glorfindel felt his cheeks burning. “I think it would be less intimidating to walk in together.”

“A united force, with the two of us behind. I like that.” Egalmoth nodded. “Best to hurry, though, before the guests decide to skip the wedding and start the reception.”

The quartet had been standing in a covered, curtained gazebo that led down a path to an altar at the front where a small group of musicians tirelessly played. Laiqalasse stood at the ready, his book open in his hands, smiling cheerfully despite the fact it was taking an awfully long time to begin. There was another path leading to the altar, connected to a second gazebo. No doubt, two blushing brides waited therein to begin the ceremony.

With Glorfindel at the left and Erestor to the right, they exited their sanctuary, marching up to the platform with Ecthelion and Egalmoth trailing behind them. Once all four were positioned at the front, the music stopped briefly. The guests rose as one as the song ‘Lady of Starlight’ began, and two veiled ellith appeared from the gazebo, stepping gracefully down the path.

Somehow, Glorfindel managed to stay in a bit of a daze through the entirety of the wedding until he received a nudge from the ellon standing to his right. “Take the rings from Ecthelion,” Erestor muttered in a very, very low voice, his lips hardly moving. Fumbling for the box that was held out to him, Glorfindel smiled his thanks to Ecthelion before lifting the cover. Two golden rings shined in the setting sunlight. One was smaller than the other, and more ornate, and this one Glorfindel took carefully from the box.

“Aranel and Tauniel, stand before me and with witness from Manwe and Elbereth, and His majesty, Eru, speak true these words. I swear to forevermore cherish my beloved, to love, and to be loved; to honor, and to be honored; to share with my life and if it be so, my death.” Laiqalasse waited for the pair to repeat the words, and for the golden rings to be placed upon their fingers.

Then, the Sinda looked to Erestor, and then to Glorfindel. Tauniel slipped the box from Glorfindel’s hands, allowing him the chance to clasp his hands in prayer. The vow was stated to them, and each repeated it synchronously.

As two more golden rings were exchanged, Laiqalasse announced, “From this moment forth until the end of all and beyond, you are, in the eyes of the Valar and Eru Himself, bound to each other. Erestor, Glorfindel... you may kiss your brides.”

Now, more than ever, Glorfindel had to look convincing. He and Tauniel had spent days in secret practicing this moment. Slowly, Glorfindel lifted back the snowy veil to reveal to him the lovely elleth he had befriended some years before. For a moment, as he smiled back at her, he thought, maybe, had things gone a little different, maybe he could have truly fooled some elleth to think he loved her, in order to keep appearances. Then the thought that, had he done such a thing, there would come a time when he would be expected to sleep with her. At least with Tauniel, there was no fear of that.

Bowing his head down slightly, Glorfindel’s arms found the familiar path around Tauniel’s back. He licked his lips, then brushed them against hers. Just as they had practiced: Two chaste kisses, one that was more passionate, she would turn her head slightly and blush, he would grin. They executed the maneuver perfectly to the cheering crowd, while Erestor and Aranel put on a similar performance a few feet away.

Soon after came the long lines of well-wishers, followed by the feast, after which there was to be dancing. The music was continuous, with groups of bards replacing others so that all of the musicians were granted reprieves to join the reception at some point. On another day Glorfindel would have enjoyed the atmosphere, but he said little and ate less and after only a few dances more than those which were customary, he took himself back to the head table and there sat with hopes of the night ending soon, for his ailment was quick to return after the meal.

Then there was Erestor, far seen as the less social of the two, taking on the role of the party’s chief host. He turned down no dance, and mingled from place to place within the crowd, accepting the congratulations and gifts given to himself and Aranel, and sometimes those for the other couple on Glorfindel’s behalf, including two sets of brass keys, identical in make, which Rog handed to him, a ribbon on each. “My wife insisted upon the bows,” he informed Erestor with a small amount of disdain. “Then, she insisted I give them to you. Please, take them, lest I be forced to hold this frill much longer.”

“Why are the keys the same?” asked Erestor, looking them over. “I spy two sets upon each ring, all cut the same.”

“All in good time. Be sure to go through the right door, though,” explained Rog. “Meleth put much work into setting everything just so. I do believe she will expect a full report from you as soon as you emerge.”

“And hopefully that is not any time soon!” announced Caragcal, one the lieutenants serving in Erestor’s company. He saluted sloppily, then slapped his commanding officer on the back. “Many long years of happiness to you, Captain, many, many long years!”

“And my thanks to you for that, and to you and your brothers for your generous gift to us.”

“When will we see you on the practice fields again?” asked Caragcal. “Not that it vexes me so to command in your stead, but your wry humor is missed among the troops.”

“I am not sure, but I expect, there may someday be a chance again for that,” Erestor replied.

As Caragcal tried to make sense of Erestor’s riddle, Rog cleared his throat.

“That looks a little long to be regulation,” commented Rog of Erestor’s hair as a small group of soldiers approached to congratulate their captain on his marriage to their lord’s daughter.

“Section three, paragraph six. This is for ceremonial reasons, and I promised you at the time that if I ever carry your banner again, in practice or in battle, I will be sure it is not a hazard.” Erestor’s hair barely made mid-length down his back, but it was a severe contrast to the short style he had kept while on active duty.

Rog nodded his head. “Yes, I know. Have you told her yet?”

“With the stress of the wedding, I decided to wait until after.”

“Now qualifies as after.”

Erestor smirked as he shook hands with those who had joined them. “Is that an order? Technically, I am still on leave, and unless we are in a state of emergency, I am not obligated to follow your commands.”

“You are lucky I like you or I would kick your ass into next week for that,” answered Rog, but he was smiling a bit as well. “Go tell her. Think of it not as an order from your superior officer, but from your father-in-law. Good luck in taking a leave from that.”

“Yes, sir.” Erestor walked away from the other officers and to the raised platform where the wedding party was seated. He touched Egalmoth’s shoulder as he passed and thanked him for agreeing to be part of the ceremony on such short notice, then smiled to Laiqalasse, and finally came to where his bride was sitting. Placing his hands upon the back of her chair, he bent down to kiss the top of her flower adorned head and then asked, “Where is Glorfindel?”

“Last I saw him heading inside again. His illness seems quite severe. You are sure he will not see someone?”

“I asked him, and I threatened. He claims they will laugh. We will need to keep a watch on him this evening,” he said, whispering the last bit into Aranel’s ear. “I have an announcement to make.”

“An announcement?” The elleth looked more than curious.

“Aye, but he should be here. Is Tauniel with him?”

Aranel nodded and turned to look at Erestor as he sat down beside her. “She was with him, yes. What sort of announcement?”

Taking a sip of wine, Erestor shook his head. “Soon, I want to tell everyone at the same time. Ah, there he is,” he remarked, standing up.

Glorfindel, hanging more onto Tauniel’s arm than she was hanging upon his, noticed the gesture Erestor made to him once he and his not-quite-wife had returned to the grounds. He nodded slightly, and then began to walk toward the platform. “I want to go to bed,” he muttered.

Tauniel gave his hand a little squeeze. “I have a feeling most husbands say that on their wedding night.”

“I want to curl up into a ball under the blankets and go to bed.”

“Well, I suppose everyone has a kinky side. Whatever makes your silmaril shine,” she said with a wink, but her smile was apologetic.

She may not really have been his wife, but Glorfindel smiled at the fact that, for better or for worse, Tauniel was technically the only family he had any claim to. Despite the fact it was really all a big lie, it was a lie Glorfindel found easy to play along with. Their ascent to the head table was not without incident – Ecthelion caught them along the way and insisted upon congratulating them twice more.

Impatiently, Erestor picked up one of the silver stirring spoons and tapped it against his goblet, standing again as he did so. “Excuse me, might I have a bit of everyone’s attention? Your attention, please, everyone.” The tapping continued until the conversation died down and most were either watching the front or else in their seats wondering what was going on. “I have an announcement to make,” said Erestor as soon as everything was settled down.

“We got that impression!” shouted someone near the back, gaining the laughter of some.

“What I would like to say is something that I wish to share with all of you who are here,” Erestor continued, “except perhaps whoever interrupted me.” This caused a few more to laugh. “I think you are all well aware of the massive transition that has taken place for me over the last few decades. A military occupation was never something I anticipated to happen in my life, and yet, it did. I am grateful it happened, and I am better for it.”

A few shouts of things like ‘You think flattery is going to help you?’ and ‘Erestor, I think there is something brown on your nose!’ rose up from his audience, but Erestor continued. “The best part of that unexpected adventure was by far meeting this lovely elleth who today is here, by my side.” He took hold of Aranel’s hand and leaned down to kiss the back of it, which was met with some light applause.

“We will be together now through many things, and one of those many things I wish to share with everyone now. As of this evening, I have tendered my resignation to General Rog.”

“What?” hissed Aranel through clenched teeth, trying hard to force her smile.

Erestor patted her hand, getting a similar sort of reaction from the crowd that was assembled. “As of next week, you can find me upon a stage and not a practice field. I have joined the ranks of the artisans, and will be performing with the White Fawn Acting Guild.”

This gained a goodly amount of applause and hurrahs, for of all of Gondolin’s acting companies, the White Fawn was exceptionally well-known, second only to the King’s Company, which many had no doubts that Erestor would be with within a year or two. In fact, the only one who did not seem so thrilled with this was the supporting actress beside him. “I think perhaps we should have discussed this first,” said Aranel after she had succeeded in pulling Erestor back down into his chair.

“Erestor the actor? That, I have to see!” Egalmoth reached his arm past Aranel to shake Erestor’s. “A huge congratulations to you, my friend!”

“You will do well,” added Laiqalasse before leaving to visit the lavatory. “A fine occupation to choose.”

Outnumbered, Aranel swallowed her arguments for the moment and concentrated on the well wishes of a pair of ladies who had drifted over to the table.

Excusing himself from his conversation with Egalmoth, Erestor followed the path Glorfindel had taken from the wedding party. “Still feeling a little under the weather?”

“I should be in bed,” he complained. He was doubled over, leaning against the side of a waist high stone wall. “When can we go home?”

“Soon. Very soon. In fact, actually, I think I can persuade Aranel and Tauniel to throw the bouquets and be done with it. You are in no state for dancing, and I think I may have upset my wife with my news.”

Glorfindel nodded in agreement, but a sharp pain made him groan and slide down to the ground. “Let me know when we are ready to leave.”

Crouching down in front of Glorfindel, Erestor shook his head. “I am not about to leave you here like this. Come back with me to the table and I shall have the ladies say our goodnights so that we may take our leave. I believe there is indeed a nice, warm bed awaiting you in your new rooms.”

This seemed a much better plan than curling up on the ground, so Glorfindel forced himself to get up and follow Erestor back to the reception. A few words whispered into Tauniel’s ear brought her to her feet, and she began the ritual addressing of the crowd, thanking of the wedding party, and so on. By the time Glorfindel had found a comfortable position to sit in that did not make him look like he had developed food poisoning, he was being ushered away again.

The group made it almost to the entrance of the main palace tower before they were stopped by an unlikely ellon. “I was unable to offer my congratulations earlier, for the minstrels needed my harp and my voice, but I do so now.”

All four looked between one another, until finally Aranel said, “Thank you, Lord Salgant. Your words are kind and appreciated.”

From his side, Salgant lifted up an oddly shaped item wrapped in a velvet cloth. “The maker was unable to produce a proper case for today, but it shall arrive in time.” He held the package out carefully to Erestor. “I welcome you as my cousin’s kin.”

“Uhm... t-thank you,” he stuttered, taking the gift. The velvet was removed, revealing not only the item, but awe upon Erestor’s face as well. “I can hardly accept something so well crafted,” he whispered.

“But you shall,” said Salgant sternly, holding out another item, this one a long, carved stick with a thick length of horse hairs strung across it. “Perhaps you do not recall, but during the games some years ago you sang of me. No one has ever done that before, or since. I know not whether it was done in pity or spite, or if you truly meant what you said, but I expect to hear you play again.”

Salgant walked away, leaving the violin in Erestor’s care. It was made of polished walnut, and the inlay on the back displayed a pasture of grazing horses. “Thank you,” called Erestor once he had regained his sense, though he was not certain if Salgant had heard him or not.

“Can we go inside to look at that more?” pleaded Glorfindel, fighting to stand straight and keep the appearance of health until they were safely indoors. Erestor nodded and the group hastily made their way within. It was then that the keys were recalled, and Erestor handed the instrument to Aranel while he retrieved the two rings from his belt loop. “These are for the two of you, and these are ours,” he said, handing Tauniel one of the sets of keys.

“Eighth story,” remarked Tauniel upon examining the numbers. “I expect the view will be lovely.”

They climbed the many, many flights of stairs; an exhausting task for poor Glorfindel who fell behind more than once. The rooms, as it turned out, were directly next to each other. “This is splendid – we will be able to breakfast together,” Tauniel remarked.

Erestor tried a few keys before finding the one for the main door. It was unlocked, but not opened, and before he entered, he startled Aranel by picking her up in his arms. “Always wanted to do this,” he said with a wink, and a grin to the other couple, and kicking the door open without too much force, he carried Aranel into the room.

A few feet away, Tauniel gave a wistful look at the disappearing couple. “I can try if you want me to,” offered Glorfindel.

Tauniel turned and shook her head, her smile a sad one. “No, not that... I secretly had hoped I would get a chance to carry her over the threshold someday.”

“You want to hear something silly?” asked Glorfindel, leaning against the wall beside their unopened door. Tauniel nodded. “I always hoped that someday, someone would carry me over.”

Taking a step back, Tauniel appraised Glorfindel. “I might pull a muscle in my back, but I just might be able to—“ A loud knock on the inside part of the door shocked them both. “Uhm... yes? Who is it?” asked Tauniel, fearing now that someone had heard their conversation. To her relief, familiar giggles and laughter were heard instead.

Finding the right key, Tauniel unlocked the door and pushed it open. On the other side, she and Glorfindel saw Aranel and Erestor grinning out at them. “What? How did you...?”

“Come in and see!” squealed Aranel in delight, and she yanked Tauniel into the rooms. After a few moments, Glorfindel heard Tauniel’s elation, and looked to Erestor for an answer.

“The rooms are connected by a shared parlor and kitchen.” Erestor led Glorfindel in, and then shut and locked the two entrance doors. “Also, there is a balcony.”

“But is there a comfortable... never mind.” Glorfindel wandered as far as one of the plush settees before settling himself down upon it. He snuggled into the many cushions, and mumbled his thanks as Erestor draped a quilt over him and removed his heavy leather boots for him.

“I will send for more tea, and perhaps water later for you to take a bath; those seemed to help,” offered Erestor, but Glorfindel fell asleep before he was able to answer.

When Glorfindel next opened his eyes, the room was dim and the laughter was soft. A conversation was taking place, but the voices were kept low on account of him, no doubt. There was a hot, sticky sort of feeling in his mouth and he pushed at the blanket tucking him in. He was damp, having sweated during his nap, but felt better now than he had previously.

“Looks like he is awake,” whispered Erestor’s familiar voice. “Aranel, would you kindly warm the tea for him?” A few moments later, Glorfindel was shadowed from the glow of the fireplace as Erestor stood over him. “Did you sleep well?” Erestor knelt beside the couch and took from his pocket his handkerchief, which he dabbed across Glorfindel’s brow.

Glorfindel only nodded, not wanting his voice to drown out the lingering, soothing sound of Erestor’s words. When Erestor sat back on his heels, Glorfindel removed the blanket the rest of the way, still dressed in the finery of the wedding. He noticed that Erestor had removed most of what he had been wearing, but still had on the expensive embroidered pants on that were part of his uniform. “Are you really leaving the guard?” Glorfindel finally asked, for the details of the day were hazy in returning to him.

“Not leaving, exactly. I see it as a temporary resignation. Now that Fingolfin is dead, the second generation of Morgoth’s wrath is gone, and he actively moves to exterminating the third. That includes Fingon, and our king as well.” The worried look on Erestor’s face told Glorfindel the rest; that the fourth and currently final generation now faced peril as well, and though Glorfindel could tell untruths to other elves, Morgoth was not so easily fooled. “But let us not speak of that now, and forgive me for bringing it up.” Erestor stood and tucked the handkerchief away before extending his hand toward Glorfindel. “Maybe we can find some different clothes for you while the tea is heating up.”

Glorfindel followed Erestor into the bedroom on the side of the joined apartment that Glorfindel and Tauniel would share. Quite a lot of things had been put away already, though not where Glorfindel would have placed them. He preferred a closet to a bureau, but opened the door to the closet to find a row of dresses hanging there. “What does she need so many pairs of shoes for?” he muttered as he kicked a slipper that had tumbled out back in before closing the door. He turned to see Erestor opening a dresser drawer and frowning. “Something wrong?”

“I thought perhaps you would have some sleeping pants in here somewhere, but I cannot find any. Maybe they were not unpacked.”

Joining Erestor by the bureau, Glorfindel peered down into the drawer. “That will be amazing if you find a pair, for I do not own any. I have a couple of long nightshirts, but I feel a little silly putting one of those on and going back out there.” He selected a pair of loose grey leggings. “These will do for now.”

When they emerged back into the main sitting room, they found Aranel and Tauniel snuggled close to one another on the couch opposite the one Glorfindel had slept on. Tauniel had one leg twined around both of Aranel’s, and they were whispering to one another as they caressed each other gently. Aranel nudged Tauniel as the ellyn entered, and they straightened back up into more proper ladylike positions again.

“Do not stop on my account,” said Erestor, grinning. He seated himself on the other sofa after rolling the blankets down to the end of it.

Glorfindel sat down next to him and smiled at the ladies. “Those robes look very nice on you. Both of you, the colors are nice.”

“Gifts from my ‘husband’,” said Aranel, putting her arms around Tauniel and leaning against her lover. Aranel wore an aquamarine silk robe with delicate embroidery around the cuffs of the sleeves and the hem. The one Tauniel had was identical, though in a vibrant magenta.

“That reminds me; I have something for you as well.” Erestor patted Glorfindel’s knee twice before standing and disappearing into the other bedroom.

Flushing slightly, Glorfindel called out, “I.. I did not know we were giving gifts.. I.. I have none to give you.. any of you,” he added a little quieter to the pair sitting across from him.

“We did not know he was doing this, either. We have so many wonderful gifts from everyone else.” Tauniel kissed the top of Aranel’s head and drew her closer. “Of course, this is the best gift in the whole world,” she said, tucking Aranel close to her.

Erestor returned with a wrapped rectangular object. “I hope you do not already have one,” he said with a wink as he handed it to Glorfindel. It was in plain, rough paper, but was tied with a yellow ribbon and adorned with a golden hued rose.

As he slipped the rose out of the loop of ribbon, Glorfindel mumbled about Erestor going through too much trouble for him, but part of him was savoring the moment. In his mind, he pretended they were alone in the room, and that the gift was not to celebrate their false marriages, but was instead a token of affection. Glorfindel inhaled the scent of the bloom and a smile spread slowly across his face.

“Well, go on then, open it!” insisted Tauniel. “We have been made to look and wonder all evening!”

The ribbon was untied carefully and slipped off, followed by the paper. Revealed to him was a book, and Glorfindel smirked, for what else would Erestor give as a gift? The title baffled him, and Glorfindel looked at Erestor in alarm. “This... you did not really...?”

“Steal it from the library? Nay, I did not. There are few items I would liberate from the stacks, although, I did consider it. No, this is your copy.”

“Where did you get it? I was under the impression it was rare and I would not be able to acquire my own copy of it.” Glorfindel opened the cover carefully, finding an inscription within. He paused to read it, and tears came to his eyes which were swiftly wiped away lest they ruin the text.

“What is it?” asked Aranel with worry.

“Nothing, just a little message,” said Glorfindel, though to him, it was everything. He reread the message again, which began with ‘To my dearest friend and companion’ and ended with ‘Love and light, Erestor’.

“I copied it for you,” Erestor explained as Glorfindel flipped to the text, and it was obvious to Glorfindel that Erestor had, for his precise penmanship was plainly displayed on each and every page. “Now you will have no worries of evil librarians chasing you out of their domain at night.”

“Other than thank you, Erestor, I do not know what to say. This is such a gift to give me, and I have nothing for you.”

“Your smile and the light in your eyes is gift enough for me. I know it will give you great joy for many years, and that makes me glad enough to have done it.”

“What is it?” asked Aranel again.

“Only the most interesting book in the city. ‘A Guide to Equations for Alchemists and Mathematicians’, and now I will not have to sit in that dark library reading it.” Glorfindel continued to examine the book while Aranel brought him a cup of tea. “I have been working on an idea for something, but it was so difficult to write down what I needed, get home, and realize I needed to reference something else.”

Glorfindel’s excitement ebbed away the residual pain he was feeling with help from the tea, and soon he was engrossed in his book. When he finally looked up from it to rub his eyes and retrieve his reading glasses, he blinked in shock. “Whhh... oh, umm...”

Erestor, who was still sitting beside him but now had his arms resting across the back of the couch on either side, turned to regard him with a smirk. “Well, they seem awful happy together.”

Unable to look away, Glorfindel watched as Tauniel and Aranel kissed one another, hands disappearing between folds of fabric and soft moans coming from each of them. Aranel pulled back with a bashful smile and began to untie Tauniel’s robe. Tauniel tugged impatiently on the sash of Aranel's robe in return. As the blue-green fabric slipped down her shoulders, Aranel leaned her head back. Tauniel continued to push the material away, exposing Aranel's breasts as she crawled atop her lover and shoved her down onto the couch.

The blond warrior’s head snapped downwards. He stared at the pages before him but was unable to make out the words. “M-maybe they should go into one of the bedrooms,” whispered Glorfindel to Erestor.

Erestor shifted to face Glorfindel a little, still keeping his focus on the pair of ellyth. “This bothers you.”

Glorfindel nodded. “I... umm...” He swallowed hard and his eyes drifted to the empty cushion beside him, back to his book, and then to Erestor’s lap. Glorfindel grew even more uncomfortable when he took note of the bulge of Erestor’s desire. At any other time, it would have been arousing. To know that it was Tauniel and Aranel who were causing such a reaction and not him made Glorfindel ill. “I think I am going to go into the bedroom, where the light is better,” he said quickly, leaving his book and his cup of tea before Erestor could speak further to him. Curiosity caused his eyes to flick toward the pair on the couch, and he became more uncomfortable to see Aranel writhing on the couch, fondling her own breasts, with Tauniel crouched down at the foot of the couch, licking and nuzzling the hidden space between Aranel's thighs.

An hour passed, but even with the door closed and the pillow over his head, Glorfindel still heard the faint moaning and panting coming from the main room. There were a few occasions when the noises would stop and Aranel would ask Erestor if they were bothering him. Whatever his soft replies were, they never put a stop to the lovemaking of the two ladies. The few glimpses Glorfindel had gained stirred his imagination, but none of it delighted him as it seemed to please Erestor.

A brief time passed after they finished, followed by gentle laughter, some giggles and insistence, and finally a knock on the door. “Darling, are you in there?” called out Tauniel.

At first he thought to lie and say nothing, and to pretend not to be awake. He was getting hungry, however, and doubted there was any food in the bedroom. “Of course I am. Did you think I crawled out the window or something?”

“I wondered.” Tauniel opened the door and padded in, closing it gently behind her. “Did we traumatize you?”

“Only a little.” Glorfindel yanked the pillow off of his head and tossed it aside. “I was expecting you to be a little more discrete.”

“I apologize. Both of us do. We never dreamed to be together, and now, to have this... it is amazing, and we could not help it.” As she sat down on the edge of the bed, she touched Glorfindel’s cheek. “We both owe you so much, for your sacrifice in all of this.”

Glorfindel shrugged modestly. “Well, I... I am glad to help, and anyway, it is not all that terrible company that I have now.”

Tauniel smiled, mischief dancing in her eyes. “I know. Speaking of... there is something in the living room for you.” Her voice was very low and secretive now. “You must not say a single word, though, and walk quietly. Come with me.”

They snuck out of the bedroom, Glorfindel stepping as Tauniel did so as not to reveal himself. His mouth gaped open and he nearly crashed into a low table when the main part of the room came into view again. Aranel was standing behind a chair, massaging Erestor's temples and saying very dirty things in his ear. He was blindfolded, naked, and tied to a chair, grinning yet nervous, answering her back with little phrases, calling her a naughty little minx and other such things. “Tauniel, did you find it?” asked Aranel. She raised her voice a little louder, helping to muffle any sound Glorfindel might inadvertently make.

“Mmmhmm... and do not worry, Glorfindel is still engrossed in his book.” Tauniel winked at the blond ellon as she plucked a small bottle out of her pocket. She removed the cork and took a small sip. “Mmm... delicious...”

Aranel was handed the bottle and sipped from it as well before handing it back. “That is good,” she purred. She bowed her head back down to speak into Erestor’s ear. “Want to taste?”

“You are both such wicked teases,” he admonished. Aranel smiled and came around in front of him as he flexed his hands against the bonds. His arms were bound behind the back of the chair, and his feet to the legs of two chairs placed at either side and further away, so that his erection was pointing up toward the ceiling. Putting her hands on his shoulders, Aranel leaned down and kissed him deeply, forcing her tongue into his mouth with little resistance.

As she did this, Tauniel offered the bottle to Glorfindel. He took a small drink after sniffing it, and another when she coaxed him to again. The liqueur had a strong minty flavor to it that made his mouth warm and cool at the same time.

When Aranel stepped away, Erestor groaned at the loss of contact and struggled again, to no avail. “Now... the fun part of this game is you not knowing which of us will be where, doing what, and when. The fun starts... now.”

Erestor was letting out soft little pants that were a delight to Glorfindel’s ears. While Aranel had spoken to Erestor of their devious plan, Tauniel whispered to Glorfindel into his ear. “Do not touch him with your hands, for he will know your touch, and do not kiss him on the mouth, for he will know it is not one of us.” The rest did not need to be said.

Glorfindel looked at Aranel, as if seeking permission from her as well, before stepping closer. Tauniel came with him, and stood behind the chair. As Glorfindel knelt down, looking in awe up at the handsome elf, Tauniel fisted the dark hair and pulled back. She began to kiss Erestor slowly, seductively, making Glorfindel jealous. Then he looked back to what was before him.

A leg jerked but stayed in place as Glorfindel's tongue ran up the opposite leg, teasing the skin between thigh and groin. Erestor whimpered into Tauniel’s mouth, but thrust his pelvis out further. “Feels like you have... ughhh... done this before! Ah!” Erestor gasped for air as the talented tongue continued to torment him. Smooth, satiny lips enveloped him, making him cry out again. An assault of both fire and ice shot through his body.

As for Glorfindel, he was trying very hard to make as little noise as possible. He devoured Erestor hungrily, for his taste was so very different from Gildor’s and so much more appealing. Erestor’s scent was muskier, and more masculine. It was enticing, and as Glorfindel looked up, his eyes half-closed, on his hands and knees as he took Erestor’s length down his throat, he could not help but feel subservient despite it being Erestor who was restrained and he who was left free.

It was a powerful feeling, and such a pleasurable one for his imagination to explore. If only Erestor knew it was Glorfindel causing him to gasp and moan. If only Erestor would be pleased to know it. If only Erestor's hands were free, free to take hold of the blond mane, to hold him where he wanted, to wrestle him to the ground without a fight, to keep him on all fours, to make Glorfindel beg to be taken, to prepare the tight passage that had felt only fingers and tongue and longed to be filled with the whole of Erestor's length, to take him rough and yet at the same time with such fierce passion.

These thoughts were making Glorfindel speed up, and he suddenly felt something warm in the back of his throat. With his eyes closed, Glorfindel swallowed again and again while he expanded and contracted his sphincter, imagining how it would feel if the hardness filling his mouth was piercing him from behind instead. He had never quite managed to keep Gildor in his mouth when this happened, but with Erestor, he continued to milk the rest of his essence until he heard Erestor let out a spent sigh.

It was then that Glorfindel realized he had spilled his seed as well. He let Erestor's limp member slip out of his mouth and hastily retreated. His loose hair accidentally brushed against Erestor’s thigh, making the dark one moan one final time.

Tauniel aided Glorfindel in getting back into the bedroom without being heard while Aranel nipped at Erestor’s neck and teased him just a little more. Glorfindel began to speak once they were in the room, but Tauniel put her finger to his lips, shook her head, and silently closed the door.

Looking down at his damp trousers, Glorfindel cringed. He had only the one pair like these, and it would make Erestor wonder if he came out in some other ones. Quickly, Glorfindel stripped them off and began to wash the scent off at the basin. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered quietly, wadding up the now damp leggings. He shoved them into a pillowcase, and shoved this into the closet behind the many, many, many pairs of shoes.

Yanking open the middle drawer of the dresser, Glorfindel sighed as he looked through the contents. Another drawer was opened, and then the top one, but still there was nothing he could find that might work.

The laughter in the main room became louder and louder, and Glorfindel opened the closet in a panic, hoping that perhaps there was something there.

“Glorfindel? Glorfindel, are you still awake?” Aranel called out a third time.

“Yes, are the three of you done yet?” He tried his best to sound exasperated instead of alarmed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his answer. Back to the closet he went, grabbing the pillowcase. He removed the pants and tossed the pillowcase back inside, then raced back to the nightstand, where the remainder of his tea was resting.

He poured the liquid onto the spot on his pants, set the cup aside and waited.

“Glorfindel!”

“Aiya!” He paused and then shouted. “Now I have gone and spilled my tea upon my trousers! It is a good thing it was those and not my book. I will be out in a moment, as soon as I change!” Glorfindel listened carefully, and when Aranel called out an apology, he made some grunting noises of some sort and breathed a sigh of relief afterwards as he pulled out a new pair of pants and a loose white sleeping shirt that was slit a third of the way down the front.

When Glorfindel rejoined them, Aranel had just finished giving her request to one of the maids she had flagged down in the hallway. Tauniel was lighting a few extra candles and Erestor gave Glorfindel a worried look as he took his place once again on the couch. “Are you alright?”

“Just a little wet,” replied Glorfindel.

“You were not burned?”

“The tea was cold.”

“You drink cold tea?”

Glorfindel opened his mouth, and began to feel the warmth in his cheeks. The look Erestor was giving him was so innocent, and yet, there was something so crafty about Erestor. Cursing himself inwardly for letting his guard down, Glorfindel shook his head and said, “No, I just forgot it was cold. What is wrong with cold tea, anyhow? It still tastes the same.”

“No need to get defensive; I was just asking.” But something in Erestor’s tone made it evident he was not simply just asking.

“I asked them to bring up something light for us. The maid thinks there may still be some wedding cake left,” said Aranel brightly. She and Tauniel snuggled onto the other couch.

Erestor was watching Glorfindel curiously, until finally the blond gave him a small glare in return. “What? What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Erestor picked an imagined piece of lint off of his leggings. “So, how is the book?”

“Very nice, thank you,” answered Glorfindel quickly. Perhaps, a little too quickly.

“Good, I am glad. Which chapter are you on?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Which chapter, Glorfindel. You know, chapter, a collection of pages with a similar theme, set aside as a section with a title of its own-“

“I know what you meant,” Glorfindel snapped back.

Erestor nodded, looking down at the pattern on the couch. “Good. So, which chapter are you on? Which one intrigued you the most thus far?”

“I... I do not know, it has been a while since I looked at the chapters in that book.”

“You just spent the last two hours reading it, Glorfindel.” Erestor captured Glorfindel’s gaze with his own. “Or were you engaged in some other activity?”

Across the room, Aranel was looking slightly uneasy as she unbraided her hair. Tauniel ignored the banter, or at least pretended to, as she unpinned her long blond locks and unraveled them from the pile on her head. Glorfindel felt perspiration upon his forehead and pushed his hair back, letting out an indignant little snort. “If you really must know, I was reading about the bonding of inorganic materials, focusing on single and double displacements. There are some theories I have about chemical equilibrium when dealing with the combination of mithril with other metals and substances. I could go into great detail about my work, but then, I think you would all find it rather boring, difficult to follow, and even among the greatest minds, impossible to understand.”

Glorfindel resisted the urge to bite his lip after his short speech. He looked away from Erestor, who slowly licked his lips and sighed. “Alright, I am sorry. I did not mean to accuse you of anything, Glorfindel.” Erestor put his hand on the blond’s shoulder. “Sorry. Truce? Still friends?”

“I suppose,” said Glorfindel with a sigh, thankful that he did not hurt Erestor’s feelings with his comments. Although Erestor’s knowledge covered a vast amount of topics, the simplest mathematical subjects were challenging for him, and alchemy tended to be completely out of the question as something Glorfindel could discuss with his friend. “I really do enjoy the book, Erestor. I just tend not to memorize chapter titles. Actually, I skip around a lot. It is a reference volume, you know.”

“I know. I actually had to smuggle it out of the library to copy it. Bloody library dictator refused to allow me to check it out.”

“You said you did not steal it!” blurted out Glorfindel.

“I did not steal it. I borrowed it without permission, and brought it back later.” Erestor stood up as someone knocked on the door and went to answer it. “Ah, good evening, thank you, I can take it from here.” He returned with a large tray laden with a variety of foods, including a large slab of the wedding cake, smothered in strawberries and fresh whipped cream.

The tray was set on the table, and everyone milled around it selecting bits of this and that. Glorfindel poked the knife at the odd dessert and made a face. “What kind of cheese is in it?”

“Creamed cheese, very soft and sweet,” said Tauniel, plucking a berry from the cake and popping it into her mouth.

Glorfindel put a chunk of bread on a plate for himself and added some of the strawberries that had fallen off of the cake. “I think I shall pass.” He went back to the couch and sat down.

“You have to have some. At least try it.” Tauniel cut a small piece and put it onto a plate. This she took to Glorfindel, holding it out to him. “Please?”

As he chewed his bread, he shook his head. “No thank you.”

Erestor came over to Glorfindel as Tauniel walked away. His plate contained a large slice of the cake and a good amount of cream and berries beside. “Cheesecake is not a thing to miss, in June, under the stars, if you care for such things. That said, I am taking my dessert onto the balcony. The invitation is open to all.”

It was only a minute that Erestor spent alone on the balcony. Glorfindel wandered out to join him, bringing the plate of berries. “You know what goes well with berries, right?” asked Erestor.

“It looks very unappealing,” Glorfindel said.

"It is delicious."

"Cake should be firm. That looks squishy."

“Try it. Just a bite.” Erestor broke away a piece of the cheesecake from the rest and scooped it up with his fork. He dabbed it into the cream and offered it out to Glorfindel. “Just taste it.”

Swallowing hard, Glorfindel was unable to resist even the smallest plea that Erestor made. He reached out to gingerly take hold of the fork, but Erestor still kept a hold on the end of it as Glorfindel closed his mouth around the delicacy. The smooth texture was unexpected, and the taste was more divine than Erestor could have described. “Mmm... that is good.” Glorfindel opened his eyes, surprised he had closed them. Blushing, he let go of the fork he still had hold of.

“I told you it was.” Erestor took a bite himself, and then offered another to Glorfindel, this time with berries. Glorfindel ate without taking posession of teh utensil, secretly pleased that he was sitting on the balcony, alone with his secret love, being fed dessert by him. It was something the blond could get used to. They sat and talked quietly about the weather and their new living space until the rest of the cheesecake was gone, and then returned back inside.

“Ah, we were just about to go to bed,” Tauniel informed them as the doors to the balcony were closed.

“A sound idea,” agreed Erestor, walking toward the bedroom on the east side of the quarters.

Tauniel gave Erestor an odd look as the two of them reached the door at the same time. “What are you going to do, sleep between Aranel and I?”

“Uh... well, I just thought... since... my stuff is in there...”

“That is true, your ‘stuff’ is in there. But so is the bed that Aranel and I are going to be sharing.” Tauniel blew each of the ellyn a kiss. “Good night.” She disappeared into the room, and closed the door behind her.

Erestor was rooted in place, staring at the bedroom on the west end of the shared rooms. Glorfindel finally sighed and patted the pillow that was still on the couch. “I can sleep here and you can have the bedroom.”

“No,” Erestor countered immediately. “I can stay out here on the couch. All of your things are in that bedroom anyhow.”

A long silence followed, which was interrupted by Glorfindel saying, “I promise not to get any of my ‘queer germs’ on you if we share the bed.”

“You know I have no phobias about such things. I just thought it would be incredibly rude to assume...” Erestor turned his head toward the other bedroom as the sounds of passion rose up. “I guess sneaking in there to grab my nightclothes will be out of the question.”

“I would not suggest it.”

Erestor poured a glass of wine and walked toward the empty bedroom. “Do you mind very much if I retire?”

The moaning in the adjoining room became louder. Glorfindel grabbed the pillow from the couch and picked up the open bottle of wine on his way, entering into the room first. The candles were still lit, but they were nearing the end of their wicks, so Glorfindel lit new ones as he listened to Erestor blowing out the rest that were in the main area.

He ventured a look out the window, gazing across the city. The party had not stopped though the hosts had left long hours ago. A group of harpers led by Salgant were playing upon the dais with a handful of flautists from Ecthelion’s house dancing gaily in their midst. The happenings in the gardens could be seen by anyone looking from this point, including a pair of ellyn who looked quite nervous as they sat on a bench almost beneath an elm tree, holding hands with one another. A sudden queasiness hit Glorfindel’s stomach: there was no place secret in the hidden city. The floor above was the king’s own and his penthouse had windows aimed in every direction. Nothing secret, nothing safe.

In his mind, he ran through all of his encounters with Gildor. Outside of the city, those would have been unseen by Turgon. In his rooms or Gildor’s guest chamber, Glorfindel doubted Turgon could snoop. Once in the stable... but from this vantage, Glorfindel could not see through the roof of the building, and it was unlikely Turgon’s sight could be that much better. It would explain how the king knew of their transgressions, but Glorfindel drew a blank trying to think of when it might have been.

Deciding to take his mind from it, Glorfindel engrossed himself once more with the book. He was sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, when Erestor entered. “I tried to enter undetected to get my things, but I was assaulted with this.” He held up a dainty pink slipper.

Glorfindel snorted. “Add it to the sea of shoes in the closet,” he suggested, pointing to the door while still reading. “At least it is good to know they are not helpless creatures,” he added, pushing his glasses back into place.

“I did manage to rescue this, though.” Erestor triumphantly held up a stack of papers bound by blue cording. He tossed it onto the empty half of the bed before going to the closet and opening the door. “My goodness gracious, just how cold does she expect her feet to be?”

Shrugging, Glorfindel muttered, “Ellyth,” as an answer. His eyes wandered to the item that had joined him on the mattress, and found it was a manuscript for a play. Then he froze, his breathing shallow. Past Erestor, in the midst of the shoes in the closet, the pillowcase he had thrown in earlier was visible. Whether the stains of his seed were or not, Glorfindel could not tell, and he hoped Erestor could not, either.

“Quite. Enough shoes for the entire city, perhaps.” Erestor threw the slipper in to join its mates and shut the door before any others could topple out. Realizing he had left his glass of wine in the other room, Erestor simply picked up the bottle Glorfindel brought in and drank from it. “The auditions are in two weeks, but for me, I was told it was merely a formality and more to decide who gets a line or two and who is in the chorus.”

“There is singing? A musical?” Glorfindel set aside his book as Erestor sat down on the bed.

“Not exactly. Just a play with a few songs in it. Seven songs, seven characters...” Erestor turned back the cover and displayed the title to Glorfindel.

“ ‘The Seven Sons of Fire’.”

“They want me to play Maglor.”

“Interesting. I thought they all had red hair.”

“A general misconception. The eldest and youngest did; the middle child looked like Finwe, black hair and all. The rest had brown hair with varying degrees of red highlights, except for Celegorm, who was blond, and honestly, I always had to wonder if he was really Feanor's son or if--" Erestor caught the thought Glorfindel was having and interrupted himself. “Oh... well, maybe we are just supposed to wear wigs.”

Glorfindel tried to imagine Erestor with red hair, and gave up because he knew it would make him break into a fit of laughter. “So, you will be singing?”

“One song, I forget the name of it. The play is fantastic, though, really well written.” Flipping through it, Erestor added, “I hardly have any lines, but I get to be on the stage a lot.”

“No one starts with a lead role,” offered Glorfindel. “Give it a year and I am sure people will be packing the house to see your performances.”

“I just hope I do not make a fool of myself.”

“No, you have nothing to worry about. You control the floor when you are in council; how difficult can it be on stage?” Glorfindel smiled, and nudged Erestor until the smile was returned. “Tomorrow, I want to hear everything about how you were accepted into the guild and what Rog said about you leaving and anything else I have missed.”

“Yes, we should get some sleep. I do not think Tauniel or Aranel will let us miss the gift opening tomorrow.”

“Tauniel and Aranel probably would allow us to miss it. Meleth, not a chance.” Glorfindel set his spectacles on the table a stretched his arms over his head, eliciting a yawn as he did so. “Do you want this side of the bed or is that side alright?”

“Does not matter.” Erestor turned down the sheets, and turned his back as he undressed. Glorfindel watched every movement as the fabric slipped onto the floor. Erestor stepped out of his pants, the toned muscles of his thighs and calves tightening slightly, making Glorfindel swallow hard but silently. As Erestor turned to crawl into bed, Glorfindel quickly looked away. “Go on, it is too hot to wear anything to bed,” coaxed Erestor. The thin sheet covered only to his hips, and just barely as he leaned back against the pillows. “So odd.”

“What?” asked Glorfindel as he removed his shirt, keeping his back to Erestor.

“One of your pillows it missing the cover. It is one of those things I doubt Meleth would have missed when she set up the room.”

Drops of sweat formed on Glorfindel’s brow. “Oh?” he busied himself with his leggings and tried to be as casual as he could.

“Yes, but here, I will just move the one in back in front of the other.”

Glorfindel listened as this was done. He bent down to collect up his clothing, using the opportunity to wipe his brow. “Thank you,” he said, taking the clothing to the basket at the door. His walk back was slightly awkward, for now he was facing Erestor and hoped that even while nude he could hide his emotions from his companion.

They settled in for the night without further discussion, and the candles were extinguished. Faint humming from the harps below made it into the room from time to time.

It was after the sounds began to die down that Erestor asked quietly if Glorfindel was still awake. “Just a little,” replied the blond, though his eyes were staring at the ceiling and no dreams were tempting him.

“I just considered... well, with it being such a night as it is... and you were not with us earlier to find release.”

Whether Erestor suspected, knew, or was just being kind, Glorfindel did not yet know. He did not answer the lingering question, but instead said, “I am fine.”

“Yes, but it hardly seems fair to you.”

“Well, I doubt I can obtain the ladies’ interest now, nor would I want to. So unless you were planning to offer a hand in the matter...” Glorfindel trailed off, his voice bitter.

Erestor was quiet, and then said, “I meant, it would not offend me, if you... if you ever had to take care of matters, as it were, with me in the room. I am sorry that I am not of any help otherwise, but I did not want you to think you had to suffer.”

“Ah.” At first, Glorfindel had the urge to smack his friend with the pillow, and shout at him just what had previously transpired, but he held his tongue. Remembering his own words earlier to Erestor about the play, he fashioned them now for his personal use: Start slowly, Glorfindel, he may well come around. Never could you imagine him sharing a bed; perhaps a day will come to share a spirit as well. This Glorfindel took comfort in, unsure if the words were his own. “I may take you up on that offer.”

“Well, I never would have said it if I did not mean it.”

Glorfindel’s hand slid down under the sheet. He felt his limp sexuality, the head soft as he curled his fingers around the shaft. Twice he stoked his hand up, then stopped. Was this really what he wanted? No. Was this what he needed? No. Tears welled up in his eyes and a miserable sob burst forth.

“Glorfindel?” Erestor sat up with genuine concern. “Are you hurt?”

He had thrown an arm over his eyes, though the tears could not be stopped. “I just... I do not want sex... I just... I just want someone to touch me. I need someone to hold me. I... I hate being alone,” he balled, feeling ashamed of his breakdown. He felt strong arms pulling him up, cradling him against a firm chest, but his mind was no longer envisioning thoughts of sensual pleasures. Instead, he felt the warmth and invitation of a friend, the gentle calming upon his soul as he was rocked and held.

Glorfindel clung to Erestor, matting the dark hair with precious tears. He could blame this upon his father, his past, his failed relationship, but he could not bring himself to name the true cause. ‘I love you’ seemed so far away, and so he sniffled until his eyes were red and dry and his hiccupping interrupted his apologies.

“Shh... it is alright. Nothing here to hurt you anymore.” Erestor brought them back into a supine position on the bed. It was breezier now, and he pulled the sheet up to cover them both before pulling Glorfindel onto his side and against him. He kept his arms around the exhausted blond elf, and kissed the top of his head. “I can do this for you at least, Glorfindel. You need to rest. Sleep; I will protect you.”

A little nod against Erestor was all Glorfindel managed before Irmo intervened. Sleep took him quickly, and he awoke the next morning, still in Erestor’s arms.

“I can hardly believe he is doing this,” announced Aranel, her concern and anger mingled.

Tauniel sat in front of the mirror at the dressing table, fixing her hair. “I thought you had come to terms with him leaving the army.”

“This has nothing to do with that.” Aranel was pacing in a small space just behind Tauniel, so that she appeared in the mirror every few seconds going one way, and then the other.

Glorfindel sat in the corner of the room. He was already dressed and pretending to be immersed in his reading. It was opening night for Erestor and with the play being new as well it was making things in their home more stressful than one might have hoped. Aranel had been very cold to all of them, yet refused to reveal the cause.

“Then what?” Tauniel set her brush down and folded her hands, continuing to watch the mirror. “If it is that important, then speak now, for I will not have you interrupting the play.” For Tauniel, the event was an exciting one as well. Her family could not afford such luxuries that the finer theatres could offer, and had only ever attended the street shows and performances found in the Greater Marketplace. Glorfindel, upon learning this, paid for not only their tickets, but for her parents to attend as well — a gift they had happily accepted after many rounds of thanks that made Glorfindel slightly uncomfortable. For him, the theatre was just another form of amusement, and he had never before realized how few in Gondolin had the finances to truly be able to enjoy it.

The pacing continued though Aranel said nothing. Tauniel muttered a few curses under her breath and went to the closet to find shoes – an easier task than it might have been in the early days of their residence in the suite, now that the clothing had been redistributed into the proper rooms. As Tauniel bent down to retrieve a pair of velvet slippers from the closet, Aranel announced, “Does he realize what sort of message he is sending?”

“What are you talking about?” Tauniel closed the door of the closet and sat down on the bed, watching Aranel walk back and forth, huffing and muttering. “Fine. If you are not going to tell us, Glorfindel and I will take the coach and you can walk.”

“He is condoning it!”

“Condoning what?”

“Everything! Everything he ever said he does not believe in. By being in this production he is a propagandist for the Feanorians!” Aranel shot a look in Glorfindel’s direction. “Even if she can not agree with me, you should be able to.”

“Well, it... it is just a play,” Glorfindel finally answered, truly stuck now and having to take a side.

Aranel narrowed her gaze upon him. “Did you read through it?”

“Of course. I helped him learn his lines,” Glorfindel reminded her.

“Propaganda! And half of it is untrue! It makes all of them out to be heroes, and does it once mention Feanor's madness? No! Does it once tell how he disgraced his wife in public? No! It is a conspiracy, I tell you, one designed to--”

There was a knock on the main door, which Glorfindel hastily went to answer before Aranel could continue. He returned to inform the ladies that Tauniel’s parents had arrived. Aranel took a deep breath, masked her displeasure, and went to greet Taunos and Lasivien.

“Is it just me, or are there times when she is just a wee bit paranoid?” Tauniel asked Glorfindel in passing before joining her parents and secret lover in the sitting room.

---

The journey to the playhouse was uneventful, and after being ushered to their seats, Lasivien thanked Glorfindel for what had to be at least the fiftieth time since his offer had been made to have his in-laws join them. “It looks so big from the outside, but when you are in here, you can see just how majestic it is!” The ceiling vaulted upwards three stories, with statues depicting the Maiar devoted to Nessa adorning the ledge over the stage. Glorfindel had rented the royal box for the full duration of this play – forty-two performances spanning six weeks.

“Wait until they dim the lights and open the curtain,” advised Glorfindel. “Then you will see how large the theatre really is. There is space for an entire orchestra behind the curtain, and a balcony for the chorus singers hidden behind a second curtain.”

They did not have to wait much longer for the ushers to beg silence from the audience, but it was not the narrator who stepped forth onto the stage. Wearing full military garb, minus his impressive spiked helmet, Ecthelion marched to the center of the stage with its curtain still drawn. “Might I have the attention of the house? Your attention, please, ladies and gentlefolk.”

When he had control of the audience, Ecthelion cleared his throat and unfolded a sheet he carried with him. “It is my honor to announce to all of you that our time of mourning our beloved King Fingolfin has ended, and that a new king has been crowned not so very long ago, not so very far away. Three cheers from your, good people, for the reign of King Fingon, brother of our Good King Turgon!”

A trio of huzzahs erupted from the audience. Ecthelion held up his hands for calm once again, and over the buzz of the crowd announced, “With the crowning of King Fingon brings forth changes. I shall not list all of them here, but among them is a charge that all able males between the ages of fifty and three-hundred are expected to complete three years weapons and combat training, as a precautionary measure. Over the course of the next two weeks, those who are eligible and not currently trained will be expected to report to the captain of the house they have registered alligiance to. Anyone who does not adhere to this rule will face a penalty of no less than ten years jail and hard labor. All of the new rules and regulations will be posted at all kiosks throughout the city by noonday tomorrow. Thank you for your attention.”

The buzz grew louder as Ecthelion retreated from the stage. In the next box over, Glorfindel overheard one elf explaining to another that obviously the upper-class would not be expected to adhere to such laws that were really meant for the peasants to follow, and not to worry, for the word of Fingon would not hold up in Turgon’s land. As he rolled his eyes, Taunos, who has also heard the exchange, said loud enough for it to carry, “And so it never changes. Those of us who would do right stay at the bottom, and those who do not, somehow rise to the top. Well, I can say with certainty, if King Fingon thinks it is a good idea for us to be at the ready, then we should be.”

Behind the curtain the musicians were checking the pitches of their instruments, and the ushers began to walk through the audience, extinguishing torches on the side walls and candles in the balconies. The head usher entered the box, bowed to all who were there, and put out the candles before leaving, closing the heavy curtain of the box to keep out the light in the hallway behind them.

The sound of the orchestra died down, and then a single flute accompanied by the softly chanting chorus rose up. Once the audience quieted, a single voice broke through while the chorus fell back and light percussion and harps joined in, and a song of Feanor’s great deeds and Morgoth’s terrible darkness was sung. The singer ended her part, and the flute was again alone. Then came the chorus again, seven voices, and the greatness of Feanor’s sons was proclaimed as the curtain was pulled back to reveal the cast. Glorfindel leaned forward and squinted, trying to see which of the seven was Erestor.

“I thought Amras was killed by his father,” whispered Aranel, directing her comment to Tauniel, who was on the other side of Glorfindel.

Tauniel nodded. “He was.”

“Then why do they have him in the play like he is still alive?”

“Conspiracy, obviously.” Tauniel sat back in her seat and stared straight down at the stage in order to ignore anything more from Aranel.

Glorfindel nudged Tauniel gently. “Tauni, which one is Erestor?”

“Second from the left. Shh, he is about to speak.”

But when Erestor stepped forward and opened his mouth, Glorfindel became even more confused. “That cannot be,” he said, fumbling in his pocket to find his glasses, no longer concerned about his vanity. “That is not his voice.”

“Well, it is him,” replied Tauniel quickly. “Maybe he just sounds different from this distance.”

“No, I know what he sounds like. That is not Erestor.” Glorfindel adjusted his spectacles and focused on the figure that was walking across the stage, addressing the audience casually. It was Erestor, there was no doubt, but the voice was not deep enough, and the speech was too clear and too well practiced. Searching the stage and then the pit for the orchestra, Glorfindel frowned. “That is not him talking.”

“Shh, yes it is,” hissed Tauniel. “Now be quiet or I will call for the usher,” she half-teased.

Glorfindel watched the rest of the play in an uncomfortable state. Every time Erestor spoke, it made Glorfindel frown. There were two songs sung by Erestor, and neither sounded like him, either. When the curtain dropped, and the applause rang out, Glorfindel made haste in attempting to leaving the box.

“Do you not wish to wait for the curtain calls?” shouted Tauniel over the din.

Bowing to the wishes of the others to wait until the lights in the house were relit, Glorfindel impatiently drummed his fingers against the wall beside the box exit until the usher came around to open the curtain to their private little chamber. Dropping a coin into the usher’s palm, Glorfindel led the group down the hall to the stairway.

Tauniel momentarily stopped their progress. “When we leave, we will have Erestor with us. That is going to be quite a squeeze in the carriage, and I am sure mother and father are tired. Could we let them take the carriage back now, and send it back for us later? Surely it will take Erestor some time to get out of his costume and makeup.”

Everyone agreed to this, and after exchanging goodnights, Tauniel’s parents took the passage to the exit, while the others journeyed on to the backstage area. They were stopped by a page, but Aranel’s insistence that her husband was in the cast gained them admittance.

It was a bit of a maze, past prop rooms and long counters and mirrors before they reached a series of chambers used by the principle actors. The one with Erestor’s name upon it was shared with two others, and the door was ajar. Glorfindel peeked in, and then knocked when he recognized the elf sitting on a chair, staring at the mirror. “Can we come in, or are you too famous now for us?” he teased.

“Hey.” Erestor motioned for them to enter. Costumes were draped over every available surface, and a red-brown wig was sitting in his lap. “You came to see the play.”

“I told you we were going to.”

“Oh, right.” Erestor tried to smile, but gave up.

Glorfindel looked to the ladies for support. Aranel pushed her personal opinions of the subject matter aside and placed her hand on Erestor’s shoulder. “We all enjoyed your performance this evening.”

“I was just let go,” answered Erestor.

Aranel’s hand dropped away. “Oh.”

“What?!” Glorfindel’s jaw dropped. “Why?”

“Can we discuss it on the way home? I really want to get out of here. You came in a carriage, right?” Erestor was in motion now, gathering up the few items that were his and shoving them into a burlap sack. He had already changed out of his costume and into his own clothing, but now took a damp cloth and wiped off the remaining powder and makeup that made his appearance so unnatural.

“Nana and Adar took it home. It will not return again for us for a while,” explained Tauniel. “We could walk, though.”

Erestor nodded, and rubbed his eyelids with one hand. “I want to get out of here now.”

They took the back exit out of the theatre, and from there, the less traveled roads and paths. Once they were a fair distance from the theatre, Erestor shoved his hands into his pockets, the sack dangling from his belt by a short piece of thin rope. “Two days ago, when we ran through the dress rehearsal here, I received complaints from the director that when I projected my accent made it hard to understand me. They had my understudy speak my lines from backstage while I acted out front; they told me they still wanted me in the production because I would help attract an audience.”

“There is some truth to that,” spoke Aranel. “I know of five people who came just to see you.”

Erestor stepped closer to Aranel and put his arm around her as the group continued walking. “They were even talking about getting a vocal coach for me... and then the director figured that the added cost of a vocal coach and someone to cue the understudy backstage was not worth it. So, starting tomorrow, my understudy will be playing Maglor, and I will be playing the part of the unemployed actor.”

“I like your accent,” offered Glorfindel. “They were probably just jealous that you really sound better than they do.”

“I appreciate that, but I think if you honestly consider... Glorfindel, how many times in council does someone ask me to repeat what I have said?”

Glorfindel nodded. “I know, but I still like your accent. I like it when you sing, too. Why did they keep you from singing?”

“Yes, that made no sense. When you sing, your accent is much less distinguishable,” agreed Tauniel.

“They did not want the voice to sound different, and I was having some trouble anyhow. The notes were too high for me.” Erestor shivered slightly and rubbed his nose. “I am sorry. We should have waited for the carriage. Surely you ladies are feeling the chill if I am.”

“We are almost home, and it hardly bothers me,” lied Aranel. “When we get home, we will all snuggle on the sofas, have a little wine, and forget all about this. Tomorrow, you can go to my father,” she said to Erestor, “and let him know what happened. I am sure he will be glad to have you back in command of your company.”

Erestor nodded but said nothing, and nothing more was said until they returned. The carriage was just being readied to depart for them, and was instead sent back to the stable. After the long climb to the eighth floor of the tower, the ladies retired for the evening. This left the ellyn some time to share a bottle of wine and reflect upon the day.

A bottle of red was selected, which Glorfindel poured into two crystal goblets. He took up residence on one sofa, while Erestor half-reclined upon the other. “I guess that was a waste of five months.”

“Have you thought of trying another acting company?” suggested Glorfindel. “There have to be at least a dozen others that would love to have you on their cast.”

“Not after tonight. Most of the other theatre owners were there tonight, and they talk to one another. I think I can safely say my acting career is over, unless something strange happened. Maybe if there was someone who enjoyed the gestures I was making tonight, and they were the patron of another theatre... no, it is an impossible idea.”

“I suppose you are going to go back to Rog’s army then.”

“That is my last choice,” said Erestor bitterly. “I would rather work as a scullery maid than return to the military.”

Glorfindel snickered briefly at the odd image Erestor had suggested, but sobered quickly. “You... almost seemed to enjoy what you were doing in the army, though. And, you were good at it.”

“Are you aware of the deal I made with Turgon?” asked Erestor as he regarded the glass of wine in his hand, holding it up to the flickering light. It cast odd red glimmers of light onto the floor. Glorfindel shook his head. “My decision to join Rog’s army was not really my decision. I was ordered to by Turgon, or else he was going to have me denounced publicly as a homosexual, and then killed in front of that same audience.”

Shoulders slumped, Glorfindel apologized. “That was my fault. You would never have been in that situation had I kept my hands off of Gildor.”

“No, it was not. I do not think it would have been very long before I did something else that would have brought upon Turgon’s wrath. For the moment, he is appeased. The army kept me busy, and it was to his advantage to have someone with my skills in that position. He seemed less happy when he was informed of my plans to take leave in order to act.”

“Why does he care?” prodded Glorfindel. “Forgive the blatant honesty, but you have gone from being unpredictable to being quite calm and disciplined.”

Erestor smirked. “Like I said, the army kept me busy. I was too tired at the end of the day for arguments and outbursts. These plays would have done the same, but obviously that venture is now at an end, and I am at a loss of what to do to stay in his good graces. I would really rather not go back to Rog’s army. Then again, what else am I to do?”

Before any other suggestions could be offered, there was a tentative knock on the door. Neither seemed to have any idea whom it might be, and after the second knock, Glorfindel went to answer it. “Good evening, Ecthelion,” he greeted jovially, though his false happiness was not returned.

“Good, you are still awake. I know it is late, but do you mind if I step inside to discuss something with you?”

After letting Ecthelion in, Glorfindel fetched another glass for wine, but Ecthelion declined the offer. “I have been practicing this, so I will be brief. As of late, there have been some changes. You have spent more time at home and in your scholarly pursuits, and I have spent more time on the practice fields. The training center is filling up, but it is my sections that have become crowded while the numbers in yours have dwindled.”

“I have always intended to return in full capacity,” Glorfindel assured his friend. “This has been a temporary leave on my part.”

“Though that may be, Glorfindel, it has lasted for a number of years now. When we built the stadium and the barracks, we had decided that if one of our houses surpassed the other we could buy out the other half.”

“Ah. So... you are evicting me.”

An awkward silence followed. “The new edict will cause a sudden and unexpected influx of new recruits. I know you were not expecting this, so I would give you until the end of the month to move your supplies and weapons, and to give notice to your soldiers. As a... sign of goodwill, I can offer you one hundred and forty percent of the value.”

“I am not in need of charity, Ecthelion. Just pay me what it is worth and I will remove myself and all that is mine by the end of the week.”

Ecthelion looked to Erestor for some support, but the other ellon was amusing himself with the rosy shadows cast by his wine onto the floor. “Glorfindel, this is not easy for me, but you know how difficult it is to find land now. I had no choice.”

“I understand.”

The Noldo closed his eyes and shook his head. “I can tell from your voice how pissed you are right now.”

“I think this was something that could have waited until morning,” admitted Glorfindel, his words terse, expression unpleasant. “This has not been an evening for good news, that much is certain.”

“What else happened?”

Erestor sighed heavily. “Better it come from me than a gossipy housewife. The theatre company I signed on with fired me.”

Ecthelion blinked in shock. “What? Why?”

“Creative differences,” Erestor said wryly.

“I thought you were good. Your voice was clear and very—“

“That was not my voice.”

“Oh.” Ecthelion looked away uncomfortably. “Well... I will return tomorrow with payment, Glorfindel. I wish there had been a better way.”

“Do you want me to show you out?” asked Glorfindel when Ecthelion did not say anything else.

“No, the, uh, door is right over there. I know where it is.” Ecthelion stood up, and unable to come up with a suitable farewell, simply left.

Glorfindel tightened his grasp on the glass he held. “Fuck,” he said, mouthing the word silently.

“That is an excellent summation of the evening.” Erestor drank the rest of his wine, and then went to the bar to refill his glass. “Would you like more bad news, or shall I save it for the morning?”

“Pile it on,” grumbled Glorfindel. He rested his head on the cushion of the couch and stared up at the ceiling.

“You heard the announcement that Ecthelion made? About King Fingon?” To each of Erestor’s questions, Glorfindel nodded. “Well, I saw a copy of this infamous list of changes, and among them, Fingon is charging that a union between any two elves is valid and not punishable by death, as Turgon has been holding to.”

Glorfindel lifted his head. “Any two elves.”

“Yes.”

“Male or female or whatever.”

“Right.”

“So, this whole thing, with you and I and them and... we could have avoided this.”

Erestor nodded. “If we had only waited six months.”

Glorfindel closed his eyes. “Fuck.”

“I know. I am sorry. I rushed us all into this.” Erestor brought the bottle with him and sat down next to Glorfindel. “Aranel and Tauniel could have been with each other, and you could have been with Gildor instead of being forced to share a room with me.” He tipped the bottle to refill Glorfindel’s glass.

“I would much rather have you than Gildor.” The words slipped out faster than Glorfindel expected. “I mean… Gildor... he... it would not have worked.”

“In any case, you could be with someone you wanted to be with.”

After a deep drink of wine, Glorfindel said quietly, “It is too bad you are straight.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Erestor with a little laugh.

“Just, if you ever turn gay, let me know, alright?”

Erestor laughed louder and shook his head. “No, you are much too sweet to deal with anyone as old and grouchy as I am. Besides, I do not think anyone can ‘turn gay’.”

“I said if. Just wanted to throw my hat in early on, just in case.”

“Alright, well, if it happens, you will be the first to know, how about that?” Erestor laughed again. “This conversation is getting ridiculous.”

“Yes, it is, I quite agree,” said Glorfindel, though he was enjoying it and the fantasy daydream being constructed in his head of Erestor suddenly deciding to jump the fence with his sexual preferences. “We should get to bed. In the morning, there are going to be a lot of things to do and decisions to be made.”

“I suppose you are right.” Erestor yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “This has been a most unforgettable day.”

“It certainly has been,” said Glorfindel as he stood and followed Erestor to the bedroom. “Let us hope we do not have another like it for quite some time.”

End: Book One

“What if we built our own theatre?” Glorfindel sorted through the rocks in his pile until he found the one he wanted.

“That sounds expensive,” replied Erestor. “Would we even have enough money to do that?”

“Maybe. Actually, it will be more difficult to buy the land to build it on, although, we might be able to use some of the land that my stables are on. How much money do you have?”

Erestor tilted his head to the side. “From what?”

“From your farming and your soldiering and everything else.” Glorfindel picked up another stone and threw it across the water. It skipped twice, and sunk.

Shifting his position slightly, Erestor nudged a few of the rounder rocks off of the top of his pile and lifted up a thin, flat piece of granite. “Probably... not much? I have some, but just what I need plus a little more.”

“What did you do with the rest, though? Did you save it? Invest it?” Glorfindel sighed at the blank stare he was being given. “Erestor, when you got your profits or when you got your weekly pay, what did you do with the excess – the part you did not need for room and board or other necessities?”

For a moment, Erestor stared back, and Glorfindel wondered if he intended not to answer or perhaps still did not understand him. “Come. I will show you.”

Erestor stood up and brushed the dust from his pants. Glorfindel did the same, and pushed the stones off the edge of the fountain they had been sitting on. It had become part of their morning ritual over the last few days to take a morning walk after breakfast and end up at Ecthelion’s fountain, where they would skip stones until it was time to return for lunch. Without an office at the present time, Glorfindel took the comments and complaints from those in his house in the courtyard. By far, there were more complaints than comments that week.

There was a great deal of concern in regards to what the elf lord intended to do now that there were no barracks or training areas. He had yet to tell anyone that there was no money coming from the king now, either, since Ecthelion’s house had grown to such capacity that the Golden Flower’s meager resources were no longer seen as necessary. A vast treasury, mostly acquired when Ecthelion bought out Glorfindel’s part of their joint barracks, kept Glorfindel’s current soldiers and all debts incurred paid, but it would not last very much longer. It was also a curious thing that Glorfindel was referring those of his house to other houses for the mandatory training, but something no one had yet to question openly. It was more than evident that a new source of income was needed, and fast.

Glorfindel mulled over these thoughts as Erestor led him down the main avenue, and from there down a few lesser traveled paths. They passed the entire length of Glorfindel’s pasture and stables, the last bit of space where the flag of the Golden Flower was still flying. Years ago, Ecthelion had built his own stables; adequate for the few horses he kept, and moved them off of Glorfindel’s land. Erestor walked a few metres further. Then, they stopped.

“This,” said Erestor pointedly, “is mine. From this post, to the forest to the east, and then all the way to the river and across for half an acre, all the way up again, flush with this fence. Actually, a metre or so past, but the fence for the land beside it was here, and it would have cost extra to extend it the extra metre.”

“Wait.” Glorfindel held up his hand. He looked over his shoulder, checking to be sure his stables and horses were still where he thought they were, and then back at the land that Erestor was showing him. “You own this plot of land?”

Erestor looked over at Glorfindel as if he was deaf. “I think I just said that.”

Glorfindel walked up to the fence. “You own... ALL of this?” He motioned with his hands from the post toward the north. “All of this, this is yours?” When Erestor began to nod, Glorfindel burst into laughter. “So you,” he said, pointing to Erestor, “own this,” he motioned to the fenced in area, “while I, own that.” He thrust his arm in the direction of the plot of land directly next to Erestor’s.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Erestor!” Glorfindel stomped his left foot into the ground. “Erestor, sixty years ago, I tried to buy this land to expand my own area. Do not tell Ecthelion, but I had a plan to build new barracks there, and make him pay out to me for my share of the ones we had been sharing. Of course, I was outbid, but I never knew who else was interested. I was surprised anyone else would want it, considering the location.”

“Oh... so you were the other bidder,” mused Erestor. “I had no idea... well, it was a secret auction, how would I?”

“Erestor, that is not the point! I bid eight thousand for it, and it is only really worth seven. To me, it meant more because of the location, but... why would you have paid nine thousand for it?” questioned Glorfindel.

Looking a little uneasy, Erestor said, “I paid eleven for it.”

“Eleven thousand?!” Glorfindel shook his head, looking around. “Erestor, it would be hard to build on, there are no natural resources, and nothing but the land. At least when I bought mine from Turgon, it came with the stables. Besides, I only paid six thousand for mine.” Glorfindel rubbed his jaw. “Of course, that means there was a third party interested, since I was told I was outbid by a bid of nine thousand.”

“That was me, but my nine was outbid by ten, so I went to eleven.”

“Ah. Hmm. I wonder who else might have wanted it, considering how little it is good for.” Glorfindel looked past the river, but the next parcel belonged to the king, and it was unlikely that Turgon would have intentionally tried to raise the price on land he would already have made a good profit on.

“I was going to use it to farm on. With the access to water and the main road it seemed like a good idea at the time. Then, of course, I had the trouble with Turgon and joined the army and no longer had the time for it. But it would still be good to farm on, probably more for an orchard than crops, to raise the profitability.”

Glorfindel looked around. “I suppose you could do that. I admit, my knowledge of farming is limited. The land would be good for it?” asked Glorfindel. Erestor nodded. Becoming quiet, Glorfindel walked back and forth, looking out over the empty area that Erestor had, and then back to his own area. “This is perfect.”

“Sorry. I did not know at the time that you wanted it.”

“No, I did not mean it sarcastically. Honestly, this is perfect. All we need to do is take down the fence and we have all the land we need.”

Erestor nodded reluctantly. “You want to build on my side.”

“No... well, a little something. My side has been so trampled, but yours would be great for the horses. I would assume you could still plant trees and the horses could graze around them. On my side, we can build the theatre.”

“Who wants to go to a theatre that smells like horse manure?”

Glorfindel contemplated this new bit of information. “You do have a point. It would be difficult to build structures on yours, though. See how damp the grass is near the water? I have a feeling if we started to dig for a foundation, we would hit marsh or clay.” He leaned his arms on the tall fence that surrounded his stables and field. One of the sickly looking foals tripped its way over and made a sad sort of noise that resembled a whinny. “At the rate things are going,” Glorfindel admitted, “I may not need the stables very much longer. I have my doubts on whether this next generation will be able to breed or not.”

Pushing the gate open, Glorfindel walked with heavy steps to the stable and opened a box that was nailed to the wall. “Ecthelion believes it to be something in the water or that the feed crops have been bad, though Penlodh assures him that nothing has changed.” From it he took a lump of sugar to give to the foal. He frowned when he turned to see it had not followed them, and went back outside, Erestor following.

“I have heard them arguing in council,” said Erestor. They found the foal sitting in the grass nearby, looking utterly exhausted. His mother, who was grazing some distance away, seemed not to notice or even care. “Who do you breed your horses with?”

Glorfindel crouched down next to the foal and offered him the sugar. It was sniffed at, but the horse gave a tired whuffle and leaned his head against Glorfindel instead. “I do that myself.”

Erestor grinned. “I can see how you are having such trouble with them, then.”

“Pardon?” Then Glorfindel heard Erestor snicker, and he shot him a dark look. “Funny, Erestor, very funny. You know what I mean! I do not hire someone to come and take care of it, I just... oh, never mind.”

“Oh, no sulking, Glorfindel.” Erestor crossed his arms over his chest. “What I meant was, whose horses do you breed yours with? Whose horses sire the ones your mares have, and who do you lend your stallions to?”

“Nobody. Why would I want to give them the advantage? And why would I want to taint the lines I have here? My horses have been pure for centuries. I will not take a chance now at having mottled coats and odd colored tails.”

Looking down at the struggling foal, Erestor said, “You will have no horses at all if you continue like that. Hundreds of years, and you have not interbred? No wonder the horses are all dying.” He began to walk toward the gate.

“Where are you going?” demanded Glorfindel.

“Stay here. I will be right back.”

Glorfindel spent the time next few minutes coaxing the young horse to stand, and after a few failed steps, actually carried him to the mare. “You take care of your baby, Sunshine. No more abandoning him.”

The mare snorted, and stepped away as soon as the foal tried to nurse.

Giving a snort of his own, Glorfindel walked to the front of the creature and dropped down on one knee. “Look at me.” When the horse continued to graze around Glorfindel’s leg, he took hold of her head and forced her to look at him. She clenched her teeth and glared, but did not pull away. “If you are not going to take care of him, then I am sending you off to be made into glue. You want to be made into glue?”

The horse snorted.

“Then take care of your baby.” Glorfindel let go and stood up. He helped the foal to stand again, and this time when the baby started to suckle, the mother stayed put, harrumphing and gnashing her teeth.

A whistle caught Glorfindel’s attention, and he turned to see that Erestor had returned. His friend was riding bareback upon a midnight colored stallion with pure white boots and hooves. Trotting beside him was a dark grey mare, dappled with light grey and brown. “Which ones are your stallions?”

“I only have two. They are still in the stables; they rarely come out anymore.”

Erestor dismounted. “So, if I bring her to them, are they going to be able to handle it?”

“To tell you the truth, I am not sure.”

With a nod, Erestor patted the side of the darker horse. “This is Dragonsong. I doubt you will need to tell him what to do... well, and there he goes...” Erestor and Glorfindel watched as the black stallion sauntered his way down to the end of the pasture where a trio of mares stood.

“Who is this?” asked Glorfindel, nodding at the grey mare Erestor led into the stable.

“This is Aranel’s horse, Cloudancer. Hopefully she will not mind.”

“Who, the mare or your wife?” wondered Glorfindel as they made their way to the stall where two somewhat elderly male horses resided. Each had a thick blanket draped over their back. One looked slightly stronger and was chewing slowly on his feed, while the other stood stock still, staring wistfully out the window that faced outside. Down at the far end of the field, Erestor’s horse was mounting one of Glorfindel’s. The blond became flustered after watching the dark stallion ride the xanthic female for a few moments, and so rushed to close the shutters and block the view.

“Is that Pumpkin?” asked Erestor, somewhat disbelieving. “I did not know he was still around.” Erestor left the mare outside of the stall while he slowly entered and approached the forlorn male.

“Poor thing is losing weight and will not tell me what is wrong.”

Gently, Erestor touched the horse’s side, pressing just a bit as he went. He reached midway before the animal suddenly flicked his ears and pulled to the side. “Some sort of growth, I fear. There is a tumor inside of him, right here... steady, boy,” whispered Erestor when the horse flinched again.

“Is there nothing we can do for him?”

“Other than what you are already doing for him, I do not believe so. He just needs to be kept comfortable.” Erestor rubbed the side of Pumpkin’s face, frowning at the sunken features. “If it was one of mine... well, he is in pain, Glorfindel, and I hate to see him suffer as he starves and wastes away.”

The other male seemed to sense what was being discussed and raised his head from the feed basket. Stepping over, he forced Erestor out of the way and stood between the Elf and the horse. “This one is Birch,” Glorfindel said in reference to the lighter, younger male. “Pumpkin sired Birch, and Birch sired Lemon Drop.”

“Lemon Drop?” Erestor looked around in confusion.

“The little one outside that probably will not make it.”

“Oh.” Erestor nodded. “It seems Cloudancer is getting impatient.” The young mare was pacing at the gate, and nudged it a few times to try to get in. “Is there an empty pen we could take her and Birch to?”

For the better part of the afternoon, the pair waited outside, checking every now and then on the horses in the stable. Each time they checked, Cloudancer would be prancing herself about looking rather discouraged, while Birch ate and Pumpkin watched from across the stable, eyes glued on the newcomer. As they began to watch people heading home after work for supper, Erestor shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose we will have to hope for the best with your mares, because your stallions are of little use.”

“That is that, I guess,” resigned Glorfindel. He opened the gates to lead Birch back to the large stall he shared with his father, but as Birch lazily made his way down the aisle, Cloudancer pushed past and entered the main stall. Pumpkin sprang into action immediately, circling around her. Shoving Birch out of the way, Pumpkin mounted Cloudancer.

“Never underestimate the power of experience,” joked Erestor as he quickly led Birch back over to an empty stall.

As soon as Erestor walked into the apartment, he was shoved against the wall. Aranel poked her finger against his chest and glared at him. “What did you do to my horse?”

“Nothing.” He glanced at Glorfindel and then looked back at Aranel. The two of them had finished their business at the stables late, and after returning the horses to the House of the Hammer, had gone to the library to find books with examples of theatres in them. Erestor handed the books he had checked out to Glorfindel before addressing his wife again. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Aranel narrowed her eyes further, looking at him from tiny slits. “My horse is not right. What did you do to her? My father said you took her and your horse out for nearly six hours today, and now she is exhausted. What were you doing?”

“Do not blame Erestor. He was trying to help me out.”

Turning her attention to Glorfindel, but allowing no quarter to Erestor, Aranel waited for an explanation. “You have ten seconds to tell me what the two of you did.”

“We were breeding my horses,” said Glorfindel, and at once Aranel became even more furious. “Mine are all sickly, and—“

“I know that! Everyone knows that! Do you think I want mine getting the same disease yours have?” Aranel kept shouting, tears running down her cheeks. “Maybe horses are just things you own to you, but I love my horse, and if she gets sick now, I will never forgive you for it! And you! You might have at least asked me!” For a moment, it looked as if she was going to turn around and leave, but Aranel drew back her hand and slapped Erestor across the face. He did not so much as flinch. “I really do not like you right now,” she said before retreating to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

From the couch, Tauniel sighed. “Sorry. She has been in a mood all day, despite the horses. That just put her over. I think you might have to find supper on your own tonight.”

Glorfindel nodded as Tauniel set her knitting aside and quietly walked across the room. She knocked on the bedroom door before letting herself in and disappearing as well. He turned to Erestor and motioned to his cheek. ‘Do you want me to get a cold cloth for you for that?”

Erestor shook his head. “I thought I was getting the calm, reasonable one, and you were getting the spitfire.”

“Surprise,” said Glorfindel after a few seconds. He tugged on Erestor’s sleeve as he opened the main door again. “Where do you want to go, the king’s hall or Ecthelion’s place?”

“Neither. I may still say something regrettable to Ecthelion, and Rog will be in the hall.”

“Still avoiding him?”

“As long as I can. So far, I have done quite well when you consider I have yet to miss a council meeting and still have managed not to be confronted.” Erestor walked with Glorfindel down the hallway. “We should try one of those outdoor places in the valley.”

“You mean the pit?” Glorfindel’s comment received a nasty look from Erestor. “What?”

“Just remember, the undesirable people who live there are the ones who are not as fortunate as us. Undereducated, underpaid, and underappreciated. They cook the food in our halls and clean our chamber pots; I could go on but I think you get the idea.”

Glorfindel nodded meekly. “I did not mean to say that. I just hear everyone else say it—“

“And if everyone else jumped off the Echoriath, would you follow them?” Erestor shook his head. “If you want a world where someday no one remembers the vile definition of ‘unclean’, then I would suggest you give consideration to others who are different for a different reason.”

For the rest of the walk, Glorfindel was silent. They passed away from the tower and down into an area where the buildings were small and crowded together. No ornate gardens were found here, but instead, there were backyards filled with clotheslines and choking gardens. Some of the buildings were constructed so that the living quarters were on the upper level and the lower would be a bakery or a bar. One such spot advertised with a picture of a fish head over the door, and this one Erestor led Glorfindel to.

There were three people in a line at a large open window. Steam rushed out and upwards as a sweaty ellon wearing a grease-covered apron greeted customers and handed them paper cones filled with wedges of potato and chunks of fried, battered cod. As Erestor approached the window, holding up two fingers and depositing a pair of copper pieces into a jar on the counter, Glorfindel exclaimed in fascination, “Look, they reuse the old newsfolios to put the food in!”

“We reuse everything here, m’lord,” said the fish monger as he held out one of the cones to Glorfindel, and the other to Erestor. “Sorry; we ran out of lemon.”

“Not to worry. Your fish is good even without, Vardir.” Erestor led the mesmerized Glorfindel down the path as he began to eat the morsels from his paper dish.

“This is really good! Much better than the dry stuff they serve at the outdoor games.” Glorfindel frowned, licking the oil from his fingers before he reached in for another piece of potato. “Why does Turgon never serve this in the hall, if the same people who cook here cook for him there? It is far better than some of those dry game birds, and there is far more flavor in this than in the fish I have had there.”

“Well, this is peasant food to him,” explained Erestor, enjoying his meal as they walked. “Just wait until we finish this and find a pub. You will be amazed at how different the ale tastes.”

“Do they have wine?”

“They might,” said Erestor. “But tonight, we are going to stick with the general fare, and that means ale. Wine is something left for special occasions down here.”

Glorfindel followed Erestor’s lead, crumpling his empty paper cone when he was finished and tossing it into one of the communal fires that was burning in a common area near a small well, where large pots of water boiled for cooking, bathing, and washing clothes. The came around a corner to a pub that seemed to have a steady flow of patrons, and Erestor casually entered. Glorfindel was slightly more hesitant, but it was that or stay outside. He followed Erestor.

Music was provided by a very lively duet, consisting of an ellon with only one leg playing the fiddle and a spirited young elleth with a patch over her right eye singing bawdy lyrics. Those at tables nearby cheered them on; those at the bar were carrying on hushed conversations with each other or sat alone with their thoughts. Erestor walked to the bar and leaned on it with his elbows until the server came over and set down a large foaming mug with a heavy thunk. “My friend needs one, too,” said Erestor, tossing a coin onto the counter.

The server slapped his hand down on the rolling piece of metal, pocketed it, and filled another mug. This one he set a little further away, and upon looking up at Glorfindel as the young elf approached, gave a click of his tongue. “Blimey. Thought it was odd enough seeing a ginger in here once and then, but you really are a different one.”

“Uhm... thanks…” Glorfindel picked up the mug in both hands, and lifted it high enough to sniff. He tried not to look too appalled by the strong smell of the ale.

“Glorfindel, stop analyzing and just drink it.” Erestor was already halfway done with his pint and motioned to the bartender, who came over, drying a mug as he warily approached. “What sort of scotch do you have on hand?”

“The kind you should not drink,” was the reply.

Erestor grinned. “Not to worry. I want a double of whatever is strongest. My friend here will help me find my way home,” he said, slapping Glorfindel on the back. Glorfindel nearly sunk his nose into the foam of his drink. “Oh, come on, Glorfindel, drink it already.”

Glorfindel, still holding the vessel with both hands, brought it up to his lips and took a tentative sip. Erestor rolled his eyes. “What?” questioned the blond, swallowing hard in an attempt to make the taste go away.

“Not like that. Like this!” Erestor hoisted up his own mug with one hand and drank until there was only a little left, then set it down on the counter. “I fear I need another of those to go with the scotch.”

The bartender looked as if he was going to argue against it again, but he looked to Glorfindel, who had pushed the mug slightly away. “You know where this rogue lives?”

“I certainly do, and I will be certain to get him back home again.” Glorfindel looked at Erestor and said, “Does your wife know you come down here to drink?”

Erestor held his finger to his lips mischievously, and used his other hand to pull Glorfindel’s mug closer. “I have never asked her if she does or not.”

The bartender snorted as he retrieved one of the ornate bottles from a shelf behind the bar. “Wives are the reason most of us drink, and most of them let us to keep us from getting in their way.”

“Not my wife,” muttered Glorfindel. “I am quite happy to drink not because of her, when I do drink, which is seldom.” He hid his shock when Erestor downed the hard liquor he was brought, and then the rest of Glorfindel’s ale, only to request another glass of scotch.

When the bartender brought over two mugs, the one he set in front of Glorfindel was much darker in color than Erestor’s. “Try this,” offered the bartender.

Warily, Glorfindel sipped this new concoction. “No alcohol. What is this?”

“Vanilla beer. We make it for the stable boys and pages who come in here. They think they are old enough for the real stuff, but then they turn into lazes. Since they never know what it should taste like anyhow, they never figure out they are getting a forgery. It gets brewed in a similar manner, but made with honey and vanilla and some sort of roots.” Tipping the bottle of scotch to refill Erestor’s glass, the bartender gave Glorfindel an apologetic look. “Good luck dealing with him when he is done.” He set the bottle down on the counter and walked away.

Getting Erestor back home was more of a challenge than Glorfindel expected, mostly because he was not familiar with the surroundings of the valley, and without many streetlights, he took them down dead-end paths more often than not. Eventually, they managed to find the road that led to the upper-class portion of the city, where posts with hanging bowls of oil lit the way back to the tower. On their way back, Erestor’s singing of loud, obnoxious drinking songs earned him a ticket from the night watcher. The ticket was promptly dumped into a garbage bin, but fished out by Glorfindel following a stern look from the watcher and a promise to lock them both up in the jail for the remainder of the evening if they did not get home and keep the peace.

Instead of trying to ready Erestor for bed, Glorfindel dropped his friend off on the couch on his way into the bedroom. The heavy scent of alcohol was not one he appreciated trying to fall asleep to, nor did he want to take the chance that the alcohol that Erestor had imbibed would suddenly be expelled from one end or the other. A few minutes after undressing and crawling into bed, Glorfindel heard the unmistakable sound of someone bumping into the bar, followed by the uncorking of a bottle and the pouring of something into a glass. Sighing heavily, Glorfindel pushed the covers down and dragged his robe from the peg on the back of the door. Emerging from the bedroom as he knotted the sash, he found Erestor hovering over the counter of the bar, pouring liquid into a glass, drinking it, pouring more, drinking that, and so on. “I think you have had quite enough for tonight.”

“I can still think coherentcently, so, no, I have not likely yet so far.”

“Yes, you have.” Glorfindel walked over and gently removed the bottle from Erestor’s hands. “You can have more tomorrow, but now it is time for bed.”

“My head hurts too much to sleep,” mumbled Erestor, his hand still holding the glass as he was herded into the other room. He did not fight against Glorfindel as he was pushed down to sit on the bed, his boots removed for him. After Erestor downed the rest of his drink, he put his hand on Glorfindel’s head and lovingly stroked his golden hair. “What would I do without you?” he asked, setting the empty glass aside on the mattress so that both hands were free to caress the tips of Glorfindel’s ears.

“I would rather not dwell on that.” Glorfindel gently pushed Erestor’s hands away before he reached up to untie the belt and unfasten Erestor’s trousers. Erestor resumed his petting of Glorfindel’s head instead. “Umm... maybe you should finish with this,” Glorfindel said, quickly taking the glass from Erestor after he discovered the slight bulge in Erestor’s leggings.

“Mmm? Oh, alright, then. Have to learn to take care of myself sometime, eh?” Erestor fumbled with his belt and pants, and ended up shoving down everything into a pile on the floor, including his undergarments. He sat down on the edge of the bed again, wearing just his shirt now, and looked down into his lap. “Huh.”

Glorfindel blushed and scuttled over to the other side of the room to examine the state of the unlit candles.

“Well, this is a little odd.” Erestor poked at his erection, pushing it slightly to one side. He looked up at Glorfindel, who was now putting the dirty laundry into the hamper near the door. “Did you do this?”

“Certainly not,” answered Glorfindel. He turned down the bed, and after another glance over at Erestor said, “Stop playing with that.”

“Why? No one else will.”

“Just stop it, alright?”

“I thought you liked to see this sort of thing.”

As he crossed the room, Glorfindel picked up a clean, folded sheet and tossed it into Erestor’s lap. “Not from you.”

“Oh.” Erestor sighed. “Too bad. I think it likes you.”

Glorfindel narrowed his eyes, tilting his head slightly. “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.” Erestor tossed the sheet back in the direction of the chest of drawers where they were stacked. He missed, causing the sheet to splay out on the floor. “Why am I so tired?”

“You drank an entire bottle of... something. You have to sleep it off. Get into bed.”

Erestor turned around to crawl into the bed, and promptly fell off. Glorfindel sighed, and came around to help his friend get back up and under the blankets. “Good night,” he offered, though Erestor was already dozing off. He kissed Erestor’s forehead, and then snuggled himself in for the night.

-----

The very next morning, Glorfindel arose late, and assumed he had missed the wakeup call that Aranel usually provided. He turned his head to see that Erestor was still asleep, eyes closed, and curled up with one leg draped over the side. A gentle nudge did not wake him, so Glorfindel decided to leave him for the time being, and ventured into the sitting room after putting his robe on.

Aranel and Tauniel were on the sofa, carrying on a discussion related to gardening and when the best time was to harvest certain berries. The appearance of Glorfindel earned him a sour look from Aranel, who then excused herself and disappeared into the other bedroom. “Obviously, she is still not happy with us.”

“No, far from it. I would stay well away until she and Erestor manage to smooth things over. She even forbade me to come and wake you this morning, or to ready breakfast.” Tauniel looked over her shoulder, and then said in a hushed voice, “But I could make something for you if you like.”

“No, I would not want to cause a rift between the two of you. Besides, I think tea is about all I can handle at the moment, and I am having lunch with Egalmoth this afternoon,” explained Glorfindel.

“I have news for you, Glorfindel. It is past noon already.” Tauniel frowned as Glorfindel rubbed his forehead after cringing. “I am certain he will understand.”

“Who is going to understand what?” Erestor, eyes squinted half shut, came into the room and stopped just a few feet away. “And why is it so bright in here?”

“Let us see what he recalls from last night,” said a slightly amused Glorfindel, almost forgetting about his noontime engagement. “You took me to a pub, where you decided to get drunk.”

“Did I? Good for me.” Erestor wandered into the kitchen. A few curses later, he returned with a mug in his hand. “This coffee is cold,” he announced.

“That coffee is from yesterday,” said Tauniel amusedly. “Here, give me that and I will warm it for you.” She approached, and took the mug from him, ushering him to the couch. “Stay here. I will be right back.”

“Stay here... where does she think I am going to go with a hangover.” Erestor pulled one of the pillows up from the couch, and used it to help shield his eyes from the meager amount of light streaming inside. “When did you get home last night?”

Glorfindel walked to the windows and began to draw the curtains. “Same time that you did. I was the one who walked you home. You do not remember?” Erestor shook his head and dropped down on the couch with a groan. “You really were drunk, not to recall that.”

“Not were, are. Are drunk, Glorfindel, I are drunk. Am. I am drunk.” Erestor put the pillow over his face as he splayed himself out across the cushions. “How much did I drink?”

“An entire bottle of something that made you uninhibited enough to sing a couple of songs and denounce King Thingol as an asshole and a guttersnipe and a number of other things that I will not repeat, and a few things I did not understand, but highly amused the patrons.” Glorfindel lifted the pillow slightly and asked, “What exactly is a balicker?”

“Hmm... oh...” Erestor chortled, but stopped abruptly and put a hand to his head. “Ow... a balicker... I think I meant a ball licker.”

“Oh. Nevermind, then, I know what that is.” Glorfindel let the pillow flop back down, but lifted it once again. “You really do hate King Thingol.”

“Yes, though I am certain the feeling is quite mutual.” Erestor grabbed for the pillow to pull it back down. He tossed it off as he smelled the coffee being brought in from the kitchen. “Tauniel, you are a life saver.”

“I do what I can.” She lowered her voice and said, “You might want to do something to make things up to Aranel. She feels fairly well betrayed by you, regarding what you did to her horse.”

“She will get over it,” said Erestor as he sat up to drink his coffee.

Tauniel shrugged. “Alright. Do what you think you should do.” She and Glorfindel exchanged a sideways glance before Tauniel excused herself to go to Aranel.

It had been a month since Erestor had put in action the plan to interbreed Glorfindel’s horses with others in the realm. They were fairly satisfied that at least four, including Aranel’s horse, were pregnant. “We will need to watch them closely and make sure they come to full term, which should be a little less than a year from now.” Glorfindel was making notations in a ragged book he had that listed all of the previous breeding at his stables. “Do you think you can bring Dragonsong back again? Cordial Cream is back in her heat again.”

“Of course. We still might want to find another stallion to use, otherwise we will only prolong things another generation or two. We have to be more aggressive about this venture.” Erestor was lounging on the couch and having a glass of wine, while Glorfindel was perched on the arm of the sofa at Erestor’s feet. “We need to acquire more mares, too. It will help make the foals stronger, the more we can mingle the lines.”

“I believe we are going to exhaust our resources sooner than you think. I could try to purchase a few, but horses are more sought after than you can imagine, Erestor.” Glorfindel tapped the feather end of the quill against his cheek as he thought. “I suppose that is all we can try to do, though.”

“Taunos owns a pair of horses.”

“Yes,” confirmed Glorfindel.

“See if we can borrow them. We do not need to purchase more necessarily, if we can borrow mares, and keep the foals. I will ask around and see if there is anyone who is not having successful breedings. Those are the horses we have to try for. We could offer a small fee for just attempting the breeding, and if there is a foal born, then we give them a bonus sum.”

Glorfindel frowned. “What about the ones who keep the foals afterwards? There will be some who will go back on the deal, once they know we can breed their horses.”

“Well, we could set up another course of action, and charge a higher rate for a successful breeding with one of our stallions, working on the same principal. They pay for use of our stallion, and if they end up getting a foal out of it, then they pay us another fee on top of that.”

“Do you think anyone will actually agree to that?” wondered Glorfindel.

Erestor swirled the wine in his glass before drinking from it. “It does not hurt to try.”

A very faint tapping came from the window of the balcony. Erestor put down his goblet and swung his legs back around to stand up before Glorfindel could even wonder what the noise was. He walked briskly to the balcony and opened the glass door. In hopped a thrush, a tiny metal tube attached to its left leg.

“What is that?” asked Glorfindel curiously, standing up now as well.

Erestor had picked up the thrush, which was now sitting in his hand. “Private message.” He walked to a bookshelf and picked up a thin metal rod, which he inserted into the tube. The thrush waited until a tiny little rolled scrap of paper dropped into Erestor’s palm before flying up to perch on top of the bookshelf. “Friend of mine in Doriath.”

“We get regular deliveries from Doriath. Why do you need to use a bird?”

“Because the messages need to be sent in secret, and not via Gildor.”

“Oh.” Glorfindel sat back down in his chair. “Is there anything of interest?”

“Nothing I can discuss... well, I suppose I could but I do not know if you would really understand it.”

“Try me.”

“Alright.” Erestor read through the piece of paper and then said, “Daeron is still in love with Luthien, she still is not in love with him, and Thingol’s hoard grows ever larger. Oropher has continued to side with Thingol in every matter, though he refuses to pledge aid to Thingol in the case that something should happen.”

“Who are these people?” asked Glorfindel.

“No one you know, and no one of great importance to you. Thingol is the king in Doriath I apparently like to curse in song when I am drunk; he fancies himself king of all Beleriand, but it is far too vast for him to control, and he is truly not up to such a task anyhow. His wife is powerful, a maia, and that is most of how he has been as successful as he has been. Luthien is his daughter, and Daeron is a talented minstrel who would make Salgant sound like a court jester. Oropher is the king of Greenwood, and grandfather to Laiqalasse.”

Glorfindel joined Erestor at the desk, where his companion was setting out quill and ink. “So who sends the messages?” he asked, taking a seat beside Erestor on the bench.

“Saeros, a friend of mine in Doriath. However, Saeros is also the chief counselor of King Thingol, and since Thingol would rather I not even exist, my being friends with Saeros is not something he needs to know. Saeros would lose his position, and more than likely worse.” Erestor gave Glorfindel a sideways look. “You do know I was Thingol’s chief counselor before Saeros.”

“How would I know that, Erestor? You rarely tell me anything about yourself. I knew you worked for him, but I did not realize that was the position you held. It does explain how Turgon so readily accepted you when you arrived here, though.” Glorfindel leaned his elbow on the desk so he could rest his cheek against his hand while watching Erestor write. “So, you used to be chief counselor to the elf you hate the most.”

“Yes. Only, at that point in time, I actually had quite a lot of respect for him. It was after Thranduil’s wedding he started to investigate me. I would have left then, had I thought the others would have been safe without me there. Maybe I should have left then. Once he found out who was who, I was really the only one he had issue with being there.” Erestor shook pounce over the ink on his tiny message. He whistled, and the thrush flew over and lifted his leg. After inserting the message into the hollow tube, Erestor took the tiny bird to the window. “Then again, I would not have seen her again. Whether that was a good thing or not, I am not certain.”

“Her?”

“Artan—Galadriel. I keep telling myself I am never going to utter her name again, and it just keeps happening anyhow.” To the thrush, Erestor said, “Safe journey, little friend, and thank you.” He held out his arm, and the thrush flew away.

“I think we should check on the horses again,” said Glorfindel after they watched the thrush disappear into the clouds.

“You go on ahead. I want to see if I can sneak Dragonsong out again.”

Glorfindel nodded, put away his notes, and tucked his spectacles into their case on the table. He doubted he would have any reading to do at the stables, and it was less worry on him that they might fall out of his pocket and be stepped on, or get bent by an excited horse nuzzling him in order to find some treats. As an afterthought, he grabbed a bag of candy from the kitchen, and then headed down to the stables.

-----

“Erestor!” Glorfindel looked around, feeling as if there could be a spy from the House of the Fountain lurking in the trees. “Are you mad?”

“I thought you had established that several years ago.” Erestor was leading not only his horse past the fence of Glorfindel’s property, but had also gained permission to borrow Taunos’ equines as well. The fourth was a tall stallion who looked slightly perplexed as to where he was going, but did not fuss over it. “Ecthelion was not home, so I took that as an invitation to give his horse a little exercise.”

“He is going to kill me. Ecthelion is going to kill me.” Glorfindel shook his head as Erestor grinned and walked past him, letting go of the reins of all four. “He is going to kill you,” he added, poking his finger into Erestor’s chest when he turned to face him, “and then he is going to kill me!”

“Shh, relax. He will never find out.” Erestor patted Glorfindel’s shoulder. “See? Dragonsong is taking care of Saddle Sleeper quite handily, and as soon as High Stepper figures out what to do with Featherflight... ah, there he goes... I will take him back to Ecthelion’s stable.”

“Wha—How—Someone had to have seen you,” Glorfindel protested. “Someone is going to know!”

“No one is going to know anything as long as you stop shouting like that.” Erestor closed the gate and leaned against it, watching and waiting for the horses to finish their couplings.

Glorfindel, on the other hand, turned away, blushing furiously. “Give them a little privacy.”

“How am I to know when they are done?” asked Erestor, but he turned around anyhow. After standing with their backs to the horses for a few minutes, Erestor checking over his shoulder every now and then, he finally said, “I cannot see why you refuse to let me watch.”

“Pervert,” shot Glorfindel as Erestor started to laugh at him.

“Takes one to know one,” answered Erestor in a singsong voice as he walked away to retrieve Ecthelion’s mount.

Phhhhh-phhh-plop. Phhh-phh-phh-plop.

Erestor picked up another rock. “I wonder how long Aranel is going to refuse to talk to me.”

Phh-glub.

“I would ask her, but she stopped talking to me, too. Then again, being as she is not my wife, it makes very little difference that she is not talking to me.” Glorfindel pushed his stones over to Erestor, who had exhausted his pile early, as was becoming custom. “I think we should go to the lumberyard now, scout out what they have, eat lunch, and then go back and put in an order before we go to the masonry.”

“I thought we were going to find out about the lumber after we buy the bricks.”

“Yes, but the more I think about it, the more I think we should get the lumber first,” said Glorfindel. “Prices on bricks stay fairly steady; prices on lumber, if they know how much you need it, will jump. We buy the wood before the gossip starts, and then they might just think we are making things with it, like a bed or a dresser or something. If we buy the bricks first and someone mentions it to the woodcutters before we get the price, I know for a fact it will end up being much more expensive than it should be.”

“Good idea. You are the expert when it comes to trade and finances, Glorfindel, I will not argue with what you choose.” Erestor pulled his arm back to release another rock, but the sound of someone clearing their throat made him pause. “Good day, Laiqalasse. Care to join us?”

“Actually, I have a message for both of you from Ecthelion,” said the Sinda. “He asks you kindly stop clogging his fountain with rocks, or else he will be billing you for the damage and maintenance.”

“If he wants people to leave the fountain alone, he should put it in his house and not in the middle of the thoroughfare,” explained Glorfindel calmly. He took the stone that Erestor was holding and skipped it skillfully across the water. “And, if he does not want anyone to put rocks in it, then he should not line the bottom of it with rocks.”

Laiqalasse sighed heavily and shook his head. “It is no longer in the center of the courtyard as once it was, Glorfindel, what with the buildings that have been erected around it.” Ignoring the snicker from Erestor, Laiqalasse continued. “This area is maintained as a historical marker of the old days of Gondolin, and the Lord of the House of the Fountain would appreciate it if you would leave it alone!”

Erestor was about to answer back, but Glorfindel stretched his leg out and dug in his pocket. “Here. How much does it cost to fill it with water and pull out a few dozen rocks? Two silvers? Three?”

“I would not know the exact figures, but that is hardly the point,” said Laiqalasse quickly.

“Maybe five or six?” Glorfindel counted the money and then held it out, but Laiqalasse took a step away. “Go on. I can pay for his silly fountain to be kept in working condition if he is too cheap to do so.”

“I certainly hope the two of you decide to grow up some day.” Laiqalasse turned and began to walk back to the path that led to the House of the Fountain and of the Tree.

Glorfindel dropped the coins into the fountain, one by one. “I wish,” he said loudly, “that Ecthelion would stop sending you to give me messages and come and talk to me like he used to do, when we were friends.”

As the last coin fell into the fountain, Laiqalasse turned back around. “Perhaps you think you are being slighted, but how oft have you come to seek him out over the past months?”

Glorfindel did not answer Laiqalasse, and the Sinda went back into Ecthelion’s house. “What happened to the sweet elfling you told me about when he first came here?” questioned Glorfindel as he and Erestor stood and dusted off their pants. Erestor shrugged as they made their way to the lumberyard.

-----

Following their excursion into the marketplace and to the various crafters, Glorfindel and Erestor returned to the king’s tower for dinner with Aranel and Tauniel in the main hall. A peace offering from Erestor to Aranel of an opal necklace and matching bracelet made the meal the first civil encounter since the day she discovered her horse was pregnant. Afterwards they retired to one of the many social rooms before returning to their apartment. The ladies drifted in the direction of the ‘powder parlor’, as Elenwe’s Hall was often referred to, while the ellyn continued on to the Hall of the Harpers, where Salgant hosted nightly gatherings in order to have an audience to sing and play to. “Are you sure we will be welcomed here?” wondered Glorfindel.

Erestor nodded. “Salgant seems to have made an offering of peace, giving me the fiddle, and as of yet I have not thanked him for it properly. Going to hear him perform is a start.” They each pushed open one of the doors that led into the dark room. There were no tables set up, but there were many servers with plates of food mingling among the guests. In one corner, Salgant sat at his harp, pudgy fingers amazingly caressing the strings with such elven grace that both Glorfindel and Erestor were temporarily stunned at the door. The sound of someone clearing their throat behind them made them move further into the room.

“He is good,” commented Glorfindel. “Better than when he plays in the courtyard or the king’s hall.”

“He is very good,” Erestor agreed. He plucked two goblets of wine from one of the trays as it came past. “Not many places to sit down.”

“No... look, there is Duilin. Shall we go make friends with him again, too?” joked Glorfindel, but Erestor’s look was thoughtful. “I was kidding. Here, there is a quiet corner at the window.” The pair wandered in that direction, getting closer to Salgant and his harp. “Maybe you should have brought your fiddle.”

“That would have been rude. This is his performance.” Erestor sipped the cherry wine, and looked around. “Rog is here.”

“We should go,” said Glorfindel quickly.

Erestor shook his head. “No, he has spotted us already. It looks as if he is coming over. Besides, I have a confession to make. He asked me to meet him here tonight. I cannot avoid him forever.”

“Great.” Glorfindel took a long drink of wine, and then waited until Rog was a few feet away. “Rog, so good to see you.”

“Likewise, Glorfindel. Erestor.”

“Sir.” Erestor saluted smartly, having placed the wine on another passing tray before his father-in-law came over.

Rog made a wave of his hand. “At ease. For now. We need to talk before you go.”

“We could speak now if you like.”

“Alright.” Rog tipped his head back, finishing the whiskey in his glass. “I want you to be happy with what you are doing with your life, Erestor, since your happiness and my daughter’s happiness are directly related. However, I also want to make sure you are able to support yourself, and my daughter, and any children you might have in the future. Your leaving the army was contingent on your keeping your job with the acting company.”

“I know that.”

“Yet you spent a number of months unemployed.”

“Actually,” spoke Glorfindel, “he has been helping me with a project I have been working on.”

“Does this project offer him regular wages? An actual position?”

“It will,” defended Glorfindel.

In the corner, Salgant finished the song he was playing, and a reserved applause came from the few ladies who were in the room. He motioned a server over, but upon catching sight of Erestor and Rog conversing, he stood up and called over an apprentice to play for a little while.

“My good friends, good evening.” Salgant waddled over to them and smiled in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. Glorfindel noticed for the first time, that if Salgant ate a few less meals in the day and walked a few extra miles, under the bulged cheeks and extreme girth, he was probably quite attractive, with his dark, silky hair and soft grey eyes. The thought went right out of his head, and he resisted the urge to shudder. Had he just imagined Salgant as being attractive? Apparently so, he realized. Quickly, he concentrated on his wine, and on listening to the conversation.

Rog gave a pointed look in the direction of a group of chairs that no one was using, and the party drifted slowly to that location. Once they were seated, Rog leaned forward to regard Erestor, who had chosen to sit across from him. “We have worked out a plan, in order for you not to break the terms of your probation, and so that you might pursue your own interests as well.”

“There is a rumor that you are planning to do some building, Glorfindel, and that you are considering your own playhouse. I do not mean to question your sudden interest in the arts, and it is your prerogative to make such a decision, but I think you will find it difficult to hire many good actors as so many are already a part of established guilds.” Salgant waited to see if Glorfindel would answer, but the blond said nothing. “I will assume it is true, then. Although it is noble to help your friend,” he motioned to Erestor with his chubby hand, “you are not so blind to know that there are certain risks. Are you really willing to take those risks? How much are you willing to lose?”

“There is interest enough in another theatre, I think,” answered Glorfindel carefully.

“If that is true, then I shall reopen mine.” Salgant chuckled jovially at the expression on Glorfindel’s face. “You did not know I had one, did you?”

“But you do have one,” argued Glorfindel. “There is a concert there every other week.”

Salgant traced his fat fingers over the pattern of water lilies that was woven into the fabric of his chair. “That is my concert hall, Glorfindel. My theatre is on the other side, connected by an enclosed walkway. It may be hard to see it now with the weeds and shrubs that have grown up around it, but fear not, I will hire someone to tend to the landscaping. A fresh coat of paint, a new curtain, and it will be suitable for plays once more. I wonder how long it would take to build one up from the ground these days. Four or five years, perhaps?”

“Three to six, according to the masons.” Glorfindel drummed his fingers on the armrest. “I think I can see where this proposal is going.”

“Excellent, for I cannot. I do not honestly believe that another theatre can be sustained. There is a finite amount of playgoers in the city. But then, you must have had some clever plan, Glorfindel. Your young mind comes up with ideas the rest of us would never dream of – and sometimes, they actually work. So tell me, what was your plan?”

“My plan was to build a playhouse with reasonably priced tickets and comfortable seats, featuring entertaining plays. Obviously, Erestor was going to play a large part in the entertainment side of things, whereas I would oversee things financially,” said Glorfindel.

Rog frowned deeply. “After what happened last month at the White Fawn, I cannot believe you were seriously going to cast Erestor on stage in a lead role.”

Glorfindel bristled at the comment. “I had a way of working that out.”

“What were you going to have him do, mime?” Rog looked now at Erestor. “Erestor, you know I have great respect for you. I would never have even considered your petition for my daughter’s hand in marriage if I did not. However, this is ridiculous. What Glorfindel is saying is nonsense. You are not an actor, nor will you ever be.”

“Musicals,” shot Glorfindel before Rog could further berate Erestor. “We were going to do musical productions. Everything was going to be singing and dancing.”

“An interesting concept,” remarked Rog.

“See? I told you he had an idea of how to go about it.” Salgant rubbed his chin. “I could see reopening the theatre as the Fox Hill Musical Playhouse.”

Slumping in his chair, Glorfindel shook his head in defeat. “Well, go on then, steal the plan we had.”

“Child, I am not stealing your plan, I am modifying it. You have already admitted to the fact that it will take many years to construct a new building. Using my facilities hurries things along. Erestor could be upon stage again before the year is out.”

“There has to be a catch,” said Glorfindel, not believing Salgant was really offering something so generous.

Salgant smirked. “Not really a catch, just a contract. I will reopen the theatre and pay for the improvements and advertising. The two of you will do whatever you planned to do once you had your theatre built. I will expect sixty percent of the profits; the rest you may do with as you wish.”

“Forty percent,” bargained Glorfindel. “We will need to pay the other actors and musicians, as well as ushers and ticketers.”

“Fifty percent. The actors and musicians will be on my payroll already. You will have full access to the members of my guilds. Tickets can be handled through the main office. The ushers you will need to hire.” Salgant held out his chubby hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Glorfindel looked to Erestor for confirmation. Before he could get Erestor’s view on it, Rog spoke again. “There is another stipulation.”

“That I reinstate myself in the army,” guessed Erestor. Rog nodded. “I doubted you were here simply to help negotiate a deal between Glorfindel and Salgant.”

“If Erestor is back in the army, he will have no time to practice, and reopening the playhouse will be pointless,” argued Glorfindel.

“It would not be full time. I need you twice a week to teach hand-to-hand combat and occasional seminars on archery and torture techniques.”

Glorfindel choked on his wine. “Torture techniques?”

Erestor ignored his query. “I thought you had three archery instructors.”

“I do,” confirmed Rog. “You have a different way about it, though. Your methods are much more practical. I would rather a few of them end up with slight wounds from your lessons and not get killed on patrol than to have them follow the procedures and protocols and not make it back home alive. That is also why I think the recruits need to be exposed to your talk on torture.”

“I think you know what my answer and counteroffer is going to be,” said Erestor.

Rog nodded. “I still believe it is a battle hazard, but I am not going to force you to cut your hair if you come back. I have more need for a good teacher than an obedient soldier, in this case.”

A smile played Erestor’s lips. “Then let me offer you this. When we get the summons from King Fingon to go to war, because I will not delude myself into thinking we will not, I will be the first in line at the barber.”

“I am going to hold you to that,” warned Rog, but his manner was much warmer than it had been earlier, and he and Erestor shook hands.

“Well?” Salgant thrust his hand out to Glorfindel again. “Do we have a deal, then?”

“Aye.” Glorfindel grasped Salgant’s hand. “Shall we meet tomorrow to discuss details?”

“If you like. Perhaps we should luncheon together after the council meeting. I will make arrangements for food to be brought here. You are both welcome to join us, of course,” said Salgant to Erestor and Rog. Salgant’s nose wrinkled as he looked past Rog. “There are days when I begin to wonder if I should make this room invitation only.”

Glorfindel looked over his shoulder to see what had turned Salgant’s stomach. Standing in the doorway was Enerdhil, the master jeweler. There was an ellon beside him, his arms around the tall, muscular elf’s waist, but Glorfindel could not make out who it was.

“Ever since Fingon made his little changes to the rules, I have seen things I never hoped to.” Salgant pulled a cloth from his pocket and dabbed his forehead with it. “Did you know, Egalmoth thought I was one of them?” He nodded toward the door. “Now we get to watch Enerdhil and his nightly display. I certainly hope Gildor will go back to Doriath sometime in the near future.”

Having apparently heard his name, Gildor separated himself from Enerdhil and sauntered over to the group. “Good evening, m’lords.” Gildor came up to stand behind Glorfindel’s chair and placed his hand upon the blond’s shoulder. “We were hoping to hear you play, Salgant. It disappoints me to see you at rest instead of at your harp.”

Glorfindel shrugged off Gildor’s hand and Salgant gave Gildor a cold look. “Am I not entitled to rest as well?”

Gildor’s mouth drew into a fine line and he tilted his head a little. “If you like.” He gazed down at Glorfindel. “It would seem I am not so very welcome here, but perhaps you and I might speak in private, Glorfindel.”

“I think I should be going.” Glorfindel stood up, but when he turned to Gildor, he surprised him by saying, “I will have to decline your offer, Lord Gildor. My wife is no doubt anticipating my arrival to bed.”

“Oh. Well. Good night, then.” The dumbfounded Noldo wandered back to Enerdhil and clung to the jewelsmith while Glorfindel’s other companions stood up as well.

“Indeed, we should retire for the evening,” said Erestor. “Until tomorrow,” he said to Rog and Salgant, bowing slightly to each of them.

Salgant made a motion to the door with his hand. “I will accompany you to the hallway.” Rog gave an acknowledgement to Erestor’s obeisance before mingling into the crowd again.

At the doorway, Salgant shot another look of distaste at Enerdhil and the messenger following on his heels. “We all knew someone in the council was, but I never imagined it to be Enerdhil.” Salgant’s clear eyes met Glorfindel’s. “Truth be told, I always thought it was you. For that, I apologize. I owe the same to Egalmoth, now that I know the truth. I suppose we shall simply have to live with it now. Good evening.”

After offering their farewells and making it a fair distance from Salgant’s sanctuary, Erestor turned to Glorfindel. “Things are going to be different some day. They are going to change slowly, but they will change.”

“I know,” said Glorfindel, trying to sound positive, but his expression was too easily readable.

“Was that a rat?”

“No, that was a mouse.” Erestor took another step, then stepped back. “THAT one was a rat.”

“And still is.” Salgant pushed past Glorfindel and Erestor, with Duilin following behind him. “The first order of business will be to assess what needs to be done to renovate the theatre. I have no doubts that extermination of the rodents will be top of the list.”

Glorfindel frowned, looking up at the height of the massive building. “That is going to be expensive.”

“We can bring the cats over from the barn instead of hiring a rat catcher,” suggested Erestor.

“Good idea.” Duilin reached up and pulled down a thick mass of cobwebs that was in their path. “Most of the windows will need to be replaced. The glass shifted and the panes are ready to break. When there is a storm, the rattling is very annoying.”

“I will make a note of that.” Glorfindel had already noted a number of problems, and was rethinking the entire idea. Had it not been for Erestor’s sake, he likely would have given up without taking another step into the dilapidated building.

The main curtain was hanging mostly off the beams and had a large rip across the front of it. Salgant rubbed his chin. “I wonder if we could mend the curtain I already have.”

“It would help save money,” said Glorfindel.

“There is another option,” suggested Erestor. “If you mend the curtain, it could be swapped with one of the ones hanging across the back part of the stage so that the mending would not be so visible.” Glorfindel nodded and made a note of this as well.

“All of the seats will need cleaning,” said Salgant. “I would also suggest changing the candles in the chandeliers. Most of them have cracked due to age.”

As the group wandered through the theatre making comments on other items that needed to be cleaned or fixed, Glorfindel began to tally the amounts in his head. Just as he was about to call off the entire plan, Salgant put his arm around him unexpectedly and said, “So, if you pay for the materials for these renovations, I will pay the salaries of the cast and staff including the ushers, and the cost of labor to have the tasks completed. Once the theatre is in shape, you will only need to pay for the routine maintenance of the facilities. I just need to know what you were planning to produce so that I can budget for a large enough cast.”

“I had not considered which play to do yet,” said Glorfindel, but Erestor interrupted to answer the question.

“Have you heard of a play entitled ‘The Tears of Sirion’?”

Salgant smirked. “Trying to curry Duilin’s favor, Erestor? You know, he wrote that in about five days.”

“Actually, I think it is a brilliant play, if I do say so myself. And I do.” Duilin doubled back around from where he was standing examining the ladder that led into the orchestra pit and linked his arm with Erestor’s. “Which character were you planning to portray?”

“I was thinking that Umbereg might be the part I would be best for.” Erestor watched Duilin crinkle his nose in dismay. “Not a good idea?”

“I think you would be much better suited to play the part of Prince Gellin. I thought you wanted to play lead.” He and Erestor walked to the audience area and sat down to talk about their ideas in casting the roles, while Salgant brought out an abacus and led Glorfindel onto the stage, where there were some props set up from a previous play, including some rather comfortable chairs that were draped with dust covered sheets.

Salgant threw off one of the sheets, causing a cloud of dust to billow up and settle onto a broken harp. “Are you familiar with the play that Erestor and Duilin are discussing?” Glorfindel shook his head. “Well, I am. I had to listen to it being read over and over and over when he was writing it. We need a total of fourteen actors and three actresses, plus understudies. Then, you need a chorus.” The beads on the abacus began to be manipulated as he sat down on the uncovered chair. “At least twelve. Maybe twenty. I am going to assume that there will be dancers, too?”

“I... I have no idea.”

“Duilin!” Salgant looked over to where the other two were sitting. “I need to know if you have dancers in that play!”

“I might.”

“How many?” insisted Salgant.

“Depends. How much are you willing to loosen your purse strings?”

“How willing are you to train my soldiers over the next few months so that I can be sure your play is not a flop come opening night?”

Duilin pantomimed firing an arrow at his friend. “Ten dancers and a chorus of twelve for singing.”

“I was going to have twenty in your chorus,” said Salgant.

“Did I say twelve? I meant twenty.” Duilin resumed his private discussion with Erestor while Salgant moved beads further down on the abacus.

“We need a cleaning staff and stagehands and a number of other assistants as well,” said Salgant. “Will you need a personal assistant?”

“Why would I?”

Salgant shrugged. “I always do. Makes me feel important. Try it, see how you like it.” He flicked a few more beads.

“Are you sure you are going to be able to pay for the cost of the salaries for all of these people?” questioned Glorfindel. “I mean... you are going to need a fairly large staff for a theatre this big.”

“I am well aware of that. What you have to remember is that I used to pay out much more, since I used to maintain this theatre besides. Having a business partner who will be taking care of those costs will make things easier, and profitable, for both of us,” explained Salgant.

Glorfindel lowered his voice. “About that... may I make a suggestion? Instead of us having a formal agreement to be partners, would you mind terribly if instead you remained the owner and director, and I was simply the patron or some such thing?”

“A patron does not normally draw a profit,” said Salgant bluntly.

“I know. I was thinking... if you would be amiable to it, that the excess could be filtered into Erestor’s salary, perhaps a bonus or some such thing.”

Salgant’s eyebrows rose. “That seems highly irregular. It would be a very strange sort of arrangement to have.”

“It is because… well, you see, the reasons are quite selfish. If I make money on this, I will be greatly taxed by Turgon. The plan I had with Erestor was originally to have him claim the profits of the theatre I was to build.”

“Ah... yes, of course, since he is not a lord, not really, he does not have the same tax penalties for acquiring a large amount of wealth. Of course, if you are donating the money for the renovations, you will not be taxed on that either... so essentially, you are filtering your money through me in order for Erestor to obtain it and pay far less. I can follow the rest. It is a very clever plan, and one I wish I had thought of first.” Salgant nodded. “I agree to your terms, Glorfindel. Let us hope that Turgon does not catch on to your scheme.”

-----

Glorfindel and Erestor had lunch with Salgant and Duilin at the House of the Harp, after which, they sat down to make a listing of possible musicians, dancers, and actors who were in Salgant’s house that might be able to fill roles. “We can have an open casting call, but this way we will know ahead of time who to keep an eye on, and for what. Of course, Erestor, you will need to partake in the auditions so that it does not seem as if we just gave you the part,” said Salgant.

“Which is exactly what we are going to do,” laughed Duilin. “Are we going to need to have costumes made, or can we get by with what we have in storage?”

“I think for this play, we need to have new costumes made. No one expects a grand reopening with the same old things they saw eighteen years ago.” Salgant walked to a shelf in his study and brought forth a small book that contained a listing of various crafters he had dealings with. “I think we should see if the ones who did the costumes for the final production we had are still in business.”

“No, Salgant, remember how long it took them to finish? We ended up using something else for the chorus than we originally intended, because they never finished the costumes we ordered in time. We lost money on that production because we ended up altering all of those chorus costumes in the last few days right before we opened, and of course everyone could tell they were from the previous shows. No. We cannot use them again.”

Salgant scanned the pages of his book. “What about the couple that made the costumes for ‘Winter Song’. They did a good job. A little on the expensive side, but those really held up.”

“We still have them, actually. The costumes, not the designers,” clarified Duilin. “I believe they are still in the business of it.”

“Excellent. We should go to see them and find out if they can handle this project.”

Glorfindel cleared his throat and asked, “When are we planning to open?”

“The repairs are going to take a couple of months, and the practices and such at least three more. Perhaps six months from now, to be sure that we need not move the date,” said Duilin.

“Or, we could hold the practices while the repairs are going on,” suggested Erestor. “If the repairs to the stage are done first to make sure that there are no safety issues, I am certain that we can work around the upholsterers and cleaners.”

“That might cut the time a little, but I think we should think in more practical terms. Even if everything was conducted at the same time, it would put us at four months. I think it would be hard to find a costumer who could come up with the full order in that time. Normally, we would have plays planned out two years in advance, so we were hiring for the jobs up to two or sometimes three years ahead of time,” Duilin explained. “That also means as soon as we cast this play, we should start thinking of what to do for the next one.”

Erestor nodded. “True. I guess I was just trying to come up with a quicker solution. I should be going, though. I need to stop at Rog’s training field on my way home.” He stood up, and Glorfindel and Duilin did the same. “Shall we meet again tomorrow?”

“I think we shall have to. There are still a number of things to go over. We can post the casting calls tomorrow as well.” Duilin clasped Erestor’s arm. “I am looking forward to your portrayal of Prince Gellin.”

“And I am looking forward to that challenge.” Erestor turned to Salgant, clasping his arm as well. “I hope that from now on the rest of our meetings will be this pleasant.”

“I suppose we both owe apologies to each other,” considered Salgant.

With a brief shake of his head, Erestor replied by saying, “We are better forgetting than trying to forgive.”

“In some strange way, I believe you are right about that.” Salgant nodded and smiled. “Good day to you, Erestor.”

“Good day to you as well, Salgant.” Erestor picked up his own notes from their discussions as Glorfindel gathered his. “There is no need for you to leave on account of me.”

“I thought I would go with you,” offered Glorfindel. “Unless you would rather that I not?”

“No, that would be fine.” Erestor waited for Glorfindel to say his farewells before they left Salgant’s house and made the trek across the lesser market and across the courtyard to get to the practice fields that Rog and Penlodh trained their soldiers on.

A group of fairly new recruits were lined up on the field, each of them looking worn out and apprehensive. Rog was pacing in front of them, and not looking very happy at all. “Shit,” muttered Erestor as he shoved his things into Glorfindel’s arms before jogging ahead to where Rog and the recruits were.

Glorfindel hastened his step in order to get there a little faster, and he caught a bit of the dialogue that Rog was having. “I care very little whether you are a new recruit or a seasoned officer,” he shouted at the line of fresh faced soldiers, “you will make sure that you appear in uniform, and on time. This,” he said, pointing at Erestor, who was standing at attention, mimicking the pose that the recruits were in, “is completely and utterly unacceptable. No uniform. No training boots. No weapons. Lack of punctuality. Lack of discipline. Do not strive for this.”

Without regard for the fact that he was intruding upon another lord’s domain, Glorfindel marched up to Rog and tapped him on his shoulder. “If you will excuse your Captain, he was with me this afternoon attending to matters of importance.”

“No, I will not excuse him,” countered Rog, who was not at all enthusiastic to see Glorfindel standing beside him. “However, I will take into consideration that you claim responsibility for this matter. Is this true?”

“Uhm... well... yes,” said Glorfindel carefully. “I asked him to attend a meeting with me, and then detained him when he made an attempt to leave.”

“Since he is unprepared to demonstrate battle techniques using blades, and since you are here, perhaps you might remedy the situation by aiding him in a display of hand-to-hand combat examples,” Rog suggested.

“I suppose I could do that.” Glorfindel looked down at the clothing he was wearing and at the papers and things he had been holding onto. “Just a moment while I find a suitable place to set these things.”

“Of course, of course. Take your time,” offered Rog.

Glorfindel noted the sarcasm in Rog’s voice as he passed by Erestor, who was giving him a look of trepidation. Ignoring it, Glorfindel set the items he had down beside a rock, which he used to weigh them down. He removed the quilted jerkin and embroidered silk shirt he had worn to the meeting with Duilin and Salgant. Erestor still remained unmoving in the position he had taken up since arriving as Glorfindel walked back over. “Where should we proceed?”

“Right here,” said Rog, motioning to the spot where Glorfindel and Erestor were standing. “Erestor, you should probably remove your tunic.”

“Yes, sir.” Now Erestor pulled his tunic over his head, dumping it off to the side. “Your command, sir?”

“Are you ready, Glorfindel?” Rog stepped away, off to the side. When Glorfindel nodded his head, taking up a stance with his legs a little more apart, his hands lifted up in front of him in a typical blocking position, Rog gave a nod. “Captain! Varda Two!”

Before Glorfindel could even think, his balance was taken from him and he was flat on his back. He could hear the recruits murmuring among themselves as Erestor looked down at him. “Sorry. I thought you would have seen that one coming.” He held out his hand to help him up.

“Soldier! No talking to the enemy!”

Erestor stepped back abruptly, back at attention. “Sir, yes, sir!”

“At ease.” Rog encircled the pair as Glorfindel slowly sat up. “It is vital to memorize certain verbal commands, and certain non-commands. Who can guess what Varda Two means?” Rog pointed to the recruit whose hand went up first.

“It means to use a low kick around, like he just did.”

“Step forward, son.” Rog took two paces closer to the recruit he had singled out. “This,” he said, suddenly grabbing the soldier around the chest and throwing him down, “is Varda Two. This,” he said, after helping the recruit up, “is also Varda Two.” Rog executed a roundhouse kick, knocking the recruit back down. “Does someone else want to tell me what Varda Two means?”

“Sir?” One of the other recruits was raising his hand as Glorfindel got back onto his feet. “I think it means to take down your opponent in any way possible.”

“Very close,” said Rog, and to the relief of the recruit, he did not give another example before the explanation. “It means to take down your opponent in one move.”

With a wicked look in his eyes, Rog glanced at Glorfindel, and then back at Erestor. “Captain! Varda Two!” This time, Glorfindel stood his ground better, making Erestor hesitate. “Remember, he needs to do it in one move, because that is the command he has been given,” explained Rog to the recruits as they waited for Erestor to do something.

Erestor snorted, and drew back his arm to throw a punch. Glorfindel raise his arm up to block, but the impact came against his sternum as Erestor tackled him down. “Close enough,” said Rog as Erestor stood back up, leaving Glorfindel coughing on the ground.

This time, Glorfindel sat up, but did not stand. “How much longer does this session go?” he asked. A few of the recruits snickered and one even dared laugh.

“Until nightfall,” said Rog as he offered his hand to help Glorfindel back up. “Do not worry. We have many, many more things to demonstrate.”

“I was afraid of that,” mumbled Glorfindel, rubbing the back of his head.

-----

“Glorfindel, I am so sorry. I had no idea he was going to involve you in the entire thing.” Erestor peeled back the chunk of raw meat that Aranel had placed on Glorfindel’s cheek and shook his head at the bruise that was forming.

“It was my own fault for stepping in like that. I should have just gone home.” Glorfindel winced as Aranel touched a particularly sensitive welt on his thigh. “I did not realize how out of shape I am.”

“From now on, I think I should go to teach Rog’s recruits on my own. I need to be sure I am on time in the future as well. It will be more than frowned upon if I am late again.”

Glorfindel fidgeted on the couch until he was in a more comfortable position. “Not having barracks or a training field or soldiers has really taken a toll. I need to figure something out, and fast, or I risk losing my house.” This sudden revelation made Glorfindel’s headache worse. “I have no idea what to do anymore.”

“I know what you did with my stallion.”

Glorfindel glanced warily over to the fence, where Ecthelion was standing, leaning on the wooden rails. “Uhhh... nice day for it,” he tried, to which, Ecthelion laughed.

“Galdor pointed out that I may well have been thoughtless in how I approached you regarding the fields and barracks. It has been depressing without the companionship of Erestor and yourself. I apologize; I should have handled things better.” He stuck out his hand. “Truce?”

“I guess...” Glorfindel walked over to Ecthelion, and grasped his arm. This lasted only a moment, until Ecthelion was pulled into a hug. “I have missed you.”

“Likewise.” Ecthelion patted Glorfindel’s back and straightened up again. “So, does this mean I can stop sending the gardener out every morning to clean the fountain?”

“Perhaps.”

“I have another incentive for you to stop,” offered Ecthelion. He gave a whistle, and down the lane came a pair of horses, led by squires of the House of the Fountain. “Someone has been watching you and Erestor, and reported to the king what you have been doing. I do not want you to get into trouble with anyone, so I am offering you the use of two of my breeding mares. If your experiments work, it will mean a great deal. You can keep the first and third foals and so on, but if you are successful, I want the second and forth and henceforth. I will have others in the future for you to borrow in the same manner as well. My stallions are at your disposal.”

Glorfindel nodded. “I think I can agree to that. If I might ask, who was the snitch?”

“Who else but Maeglin? Watch yourself, Glorfindel,” said Ecthelion as the gate was opened for the horses to be brought into the pasture. “He is looking to establish himself as a lord, and he is not too particular about who he displaces. If I had to choose, it would not be you, but he sees you as an opportunity. Do not give that to him.”

“I will be careful. Thank you for warning me.” Glorfindel was slightly put off, for he now knew that Ecthelion’s peace offering had an agenda attached. Keeping Glorfindel’s house strong was in Ecthelion’s best interest, if he did not wish Maeglin to rise in power. Further pleasantries were exchanged before Ecthelion headed back to his house, and Glorfindel went back to the tower to track down Erestor and share this news.

-----

“Erestor is looking for you,” Aranel informed Glorfindel when the blond entered the apartment. “He went to the stables to find you.”

“I just came from the stables.” Glorfindel frowned. “We must have walked right past each other without noticing it. Do you know why he was trying to find me?”

“Actually, Celebrimbor came looking for you, and Erestor said he would deliver the message.”

“Who?”

“Celebrimbor... Enerdhil’s apprentice. It had something to do with a project that you had approached Enerdhil about that he did not want to undertake. Apparently, Celebrimbor has some interest in it.” Aranel handed a cloth sack to Glorfindel as he began to leave. “Lunch, since I know the two of you will not make it back.”

“Thank you.” Glorfindel gave Aranel a quick kiss on the cheek. “Give this to Tauni for me,” he said, kissing her other cheek.

“That, and more,” promised Aranel with a wink. Glorfindel grinned and headed back down to the bottom of the tower.

As he began to pass through the courtyard, Glorfindel was stopped by Lord Galdor, who beckoned him to walk down the path that led to the Houses of the Fountain and the Tree. They fell into step together, and as they passed by the fountain of the old courtyard, Galdor said, “Laiqalasse has brought to my attention that you are in need of a practice arena.”

“Aye, until I am able to build something suitable, we are a little homeless, as it were.”

Galdor nodded. “I have a deal to make with you, if you are willing. My house is not so large as most, but we are strong. However, with the new decrees set forth by King Fingon, I have some worries about my soldiers. Laiqalasse has taken it upon himself to teach them the use of bow and arrows, but I need them to have instruction in fighting with blades. If you might lend to me three or four lieutenants to teach such things, I would allow you use of my arena until you are able to build yours.”

“I would offer one better to that. Let us, for now, combine our forces, and split the practice time. While my soldiers teach yours how to swordfight, yours can teach mine sling work. I would willingly pay rent to you for use of the arena until my fields are finished.”

“That seems fair, but I hardly need to beg rent from you. As an offer of goodwill, use my arena. It sits idle often much of the time.” Galdor raised his hand as Glorfindel began to protest. “If you attempt to argue the point, I shall retract my offer.”

“Then I accept your offer. It would be foolish for me to pretend I have a contingency plan.” He clasped Galdor’s arm. “I appreciate this, my friend.”

“Just wait until you see just how terrible my soldiers are with sharp pointy objects. You may rethink your appreciation.”




Shortly thereafter, Glorfindel had made his way back to the stables, where he found Erestor sitting on the fence with a length of straw jutting from his mouth. “Stop chewing on that and come have lunch with me,” said the blond as he locked the gate and dangled the sack of food before heading to the stable. He dumped the contents of the sack out onto the desk and hummed to himself as he waited for Erestor to join him.

The straw was still dangling out of Erestor’s mouth when he appeared in the doorway. “I noticed we had more horses in the pasture than usual.”

“Those are Ecthelion’s. He brought them by this morning.”

“All eight?”

Glorfindel looked up and frowned. “Now, I know your math is inaccurate at times, but there should only be two, not eight.”

“Then you might want to come out and count for yourself.”

“I can explain that,” said one of the young stable hands that Glorfindel employed to take care of the care, cleaning, and feeding of the horses. He had been passing by behind Erestor and doubled back when he heard the conversation. “Those were brought over by Lord Laiqalasse, but they are also from Lord Ecthelion’s House of the Fountain.”

“Ah. Thank you.” Glorfindel dismissed the hand, and then motioned for Erestor to sit. “Have something to eat. I am famished from chasing you all over the city this morning, and from what I understand, you should be likewise.”

Erestor pulled a stool over to the desk and settled onto it while Glorfindel unwrapped the bread and cheese that had been packed for them. “Celebrimbor was the one who was trying to find you. He managed to make a prototype of something you gave him the plans for and was very interested in another project that you had talked to Enerdhil about.” He pointed to a crate that Glorfindel had yet to notice. “Whatever it is, it is in there. And heavy.”

Glorfindel set the bread down on the cloth it had been wrapped in and approached the square wooden box. It bore the symbols of Enerdhil’s house upon it, and was sealed with wax with a design Glorfindel was unfamiliar with.

“That is the device for Feanor’s house,” explained Erestor once Glorfindel had stared at it for a long enough time without admitting he was confused. “Celebrimbor made it; he is Feanor’s only grandchild.”

“Celebrimbor? Quiet little Celebrimbor?” mused Glorfindel incredulously as he broke the seal in order to remove the lid.

“Aye. He is Curufin’s son, but the rumors I have heard tell he was raised by his mother. Strange story, if you have the time for it.”

Glorfindel turned his head and nodded for Erestor to continue as he began to lift piece after piece of armor from the box. It was brilliantly damasked in gold, and curiosity brought Erestor to where it was to finish the tale.

“You have seen Celebrimbor, so you know how fair he is.”

“Aye.”

“Well, Curufin certainly was not. He was cross, therefore, when his son was presented to him with an amazingly fair complexion and blond hair. Immediately, he demanded to know from his wife who she had slept with. Since there were very few possible candidates, when she swore to him she had not, he started to look around. The only blond in the vicinity was his brother. When he confronted Celegorm, he replied that he did not know if he had slept with her or not.”

“Hold on... is that even possible?” interrupted Glorfindel. He was not sorting out the pieces as he unwrapped the cloth that was around them, carefully examining each of them as he did so.

Erestor shrugged. “Celegorm is a vile, perverse ellon. He has a nasty sense of humor, and a very dangerous attitude. I would not be surprised if he either thought it would be funny to say such a thing, or if he truly had no idea who he was bedding. He is greedy, and there were rumors in Valinor that he approached the wives of others, and sometimes, there was more than that.”

“But again, just rumors.”

To this comment, Erestor bristled. “More than rumors, then.”

“You saw it happening?”

“It was told to me directly.”

Glorfindel could feel the anger flowing from Erestor. “I always thought it was Feanor you hated; you just dislike him. I can tell you hate Celegorm.”

For a little while, Erestor was silent as he decided how to respond. Finally, he answered with, “It should have been him who died on the ships and not Ambarussa Ambarto.”

“So... you REALLY hate this elf. Who did he try to proposition? It must have been someone you knew. Was it Artanis?” asked Glorfindel, keeping his voice low as he dared use Erestor’s former lover’s name.

“It was my mother,” answered Erestor darkly.

“Oh... Oh! Oh my, that is perverted.” Glorfindel shook his head. “I would be pissed at him if he tried to do anything with my mother, too.”

“He did try to do something with your mother,” said Erestor. “Your father hit him so hard he flew into the wall. Then he laughed.”

“Who, my father?”

“No, Celegorm.”

Glorfindel held up the breastplate, a smile spreading across his face. Instead of being one solid piece, it was multiplated in a herringbone design. Near the center, a sun was rising, with rays spreading out from it. “What did Curufin do to Celegorm when he told him he did not know if he had slept with his wife?”

“Nothing, really. Curufin exiled his wife for being unfaithful to him. His parting blow was to name his son as if he was Celegorm’s instead, wanting nothing to do with him.”

“He believed Curufin over his wife?” asked Glorfindel. Erestor nodded. “That is just insane.”

“And now you know why they call the Feanorians mad.”

“Celebrimbor does not seem so,” argued Glorfindel as he stood and held up the armor. “I cannot believe Enerdhil told me it could not be done. Help me put this on; I want to test it.”

Erestor set the cheese he had been eating back onto the desk and dusted the crumbs from his hands before coming back over to help Glorfindel put the armor on. “We could do this after lunch, you know,” insisted Erestor after his stomach made a discontented noise.

“It will not take very long. I do not need all of it on. Here, take my sword.” Glorfindel handed the weapon to Erestor, who held it steady with the blade pointing to the ground while Glorfindel checked over the plating. “I hate to scratch it up, but sometimes it is necessary to know it will work before commissioning more. Go on, then.”

“What?”

“Strike me. Try to pierce the armor.”

“Oh, no.” Erestor held the sword back out to Glorfindel. “With my luck, I will send you to the healer.”

“No, you will not. This is specially designed. No matter where you hit it, the blade will glide away or be caught. Give it a try,” insisted Glorfindel.

After a lengthy glare, Erestor said, “I am doing this under duress.”

“So noted. Now, strike me, or I will find a stableboy who will have no trouble doing so.”

Erestor lifted the weapon, and coming forward carefully, thrust it gently against the armor. The design caused it to slide to the left and away from Glorfindel, who rolled his eyes. “You did that like a girl.”

“I most certainly did not! I did that as a concerned friend,” countered Erestor. “I know a lot of girls... ladies,” he corrected himself, “who can fight harder than most Ellyn.” He drew the sword back again. “Ready?”

Glorfindel nodded, but he did not expect the blow to be so forceful. He stumbled back when the blade struck, but the point was unable to pierce the armor, though it had slid between two of the layers. “And Enerdhil said it was folly,” chuckled Glorfindel, removing the armor in order to check the spot where the impact had occurred. “Hardly a scratch.” He showed Erestor the plates, which, besides being interlaced, were actually folded, so that what appeared to be many layers was just one piece, folded and bent masterfully.

“Incredible. It seems awfully heavy, though,” worried Erestor.

“It is lighter than chain mail and allows more flexibility than ordinary plate armor.” Glorfindel picked up the piece that would attach to the right arm. “With chain mail, you are weighted down, and cannot fight as well. Standard plating only gives the stiff joints at the shoulder and elbow. With this, there is a fuller range of motion.” He showed Erestor how it not only bent, but twisted about in all the ways one’s arm normally did.

“Very impressive. Can we have lunch now?” asked Erestor, who was already wandering back toward the desk. “I do not want you to think I am not awed by your talent and Celebrimbor’s skill, but I am at the moment famished.”

With a grin, Glorfindel set the armor down again and joined Erestor to finish lunch. “Now all we need to do is figure out exactly how to use the land we have to build all of the additional stables and barracks.”

“Barracks? I thought we were just breeding horses.”

“A little of both.” Glorfindel picked up a chunk of cheese and began to pull pieces from it. “I want to keep the soldiers that have stuck by me through the last year and did not pledge an allegiance to another house. I owe them that much. Plus, I had an idea for expanding the current troops.”

“What are you going to do, steal them from other houses like we did with the horses?”

“No...” Glorfindel paused. “You really do have a criminal mind.”

“It was all of the years I spent hanging around Feanor.”

“But you were the elder... are you sure it did not rub off the other way instead?”

Erestor smirked and continued eating. “Well, go on, what is your plan?”

“I want to recruit from the valley.”

Erestor blinked. “You... you want to train the undesirables? Sorry, that came out badly. What I mean is, I am pleasantly shocked. How did you come to this decision?”

“Someone has to. Fingon’s edict is that every able male between fifty and three-hundred be trained. There are an awful lot of able males down there who have never held a sword before.”

“I know. No one wants to empower them like that. There has always been worry that they might decide to overthrow the upper class. There are many more of them than there are of us,” Erestor reminded Glorfindel.

“Yes, and that means I will be able to choose the cream of the crop. I want the strongest, most intelligent, bravest warriors for my cavalry. I expect I will recruit infantry as well. The cavalry is first, however. I need Turgon to see that he still needs me and that my house is a valuable part of the Gondolin forces and not just a twelfth house to keep the numbers lucky.”

“It sounds like a daunting task, but I applaud you for it. If you want to build stables and barracks enough to house an entire cavalry, then you absolutely need more land. Much more. You need pastures, breeding areas, training areas – we do not currently have that space.”

Fingertips strummed the table as Glorfindel chewed thoughtfully on a slice of bread. “Well, there is no way to build west, with the roads and marketplace. North is land owned by Egalmoth. His is facing the same trouble as we are.”

“What about building out into the forest? We could have some sort of flets up in the trees instead of traditional barracks,” Erestor suggested.

Glorfindel shook his head. “It would be disorganized and end up probably running deer and hares from the woods. With food shortages the way they are now, we do not need to press our luck in reducing the land that the wild game is using.”

“We really do not have any other choices.” Erestor sighed. “Unless we build up. Put the barracks on top of the stables.”

Glorfindel snapped his fingers. “I like that idea!”

“I was kidding,” answered Erestor flatly.

“No, that might work. I think it might, the more I dwell on it.” Glorfindel brushed off his hands and then the desk before pulling a clean sheet of paper from it. He began sketching out a few initial ideas as Erestor dug into the sack and pulled out some green plums. He rolled one across the desk to Glorfindel and bit into the other. The first plum hit Glorfindel’s wrist and rolled a few centimeters away as the blond kept scribbling on the paper. “This will be so much better than building in the forest. It is perfect.”

“What would be perfect is if we could get a hold of the land to the south.”

“I know,” said a wistful Glorfindel. “That would be perfect indeed. But Turgon will not sell it. We could see if there is land elsewhere that we could buy, though, and have the stables and barracks here and the training arena somewhere else.”

The plum pit was tossed in the direction of the trash bin at the door as Erestor frowned. “Having two locations would not be ideal. You are right about Turgon, though, he will not sell it. Maybe he would trade it if you had something he wanted that you would not sell, or would not be able to sell.”

Glorfindel tilted his head to the side as he looked across the desk at Erestor. “Such as?”

“This project that Celebrimbor has been working on. I think you could probably offer to share the plans or to provide new armor for his guards or something.”

“You want to sell him an idea?”

“Two ideas – that he gains a cavalry for the same cost he was paying for you and your ground troops, and the plans for the armor. He needs you. He needs the cavalry.”

Glorfindel set down the quill he had been using. “He has Salgant,” he reminded Erestor. “I have to be careful how I approach him. He could argue that he already has cavalry.”

“He needs a much bigger cavalry, especially if we do go to war as everyone seems to think we are going to.”

“Salgant could just recruit more riders.”

“True... that means yours need to be different. Better than Salgant’s,” added Erestor.

“Not better,” warned Glorfindel. “If they are better, how would Salgant manage to keep his employed? I do not want to displace his cavalry, I just want to be back on Turgon’s payroll.”

Erestor nodded. “Different, then. We do not need to risk losing the alliance we seem to have with Salgant. If Salgant continues to keep his as light armored cavalry fighting with arrows, yours could be trained to fight with blades.”

“That means heavily armoring the horses.”

“No good?”

“Very expensive,” explained Glorfindel. “Possible, but not right now.”

“So we need a long range weapon instead.”

Eventually, Glorfindel nodded. “But not arrows.”

“Spears?” suggested Erestor.

“Maybe.” Glorfindel picked up the plum that had come to rest near his elbow and began to peel off the skin. “We would need excellent riders with a lot of strength and control. A lot of training.”

“So, technically, we are talking about not only different, but also better as well. A small contingency. If you use that as a selling point, that Turgon will not be financing such a huge cavalry, but instead a very elite cavalry, it might be enough to work without the armor.”

“No, I need to offer both. The cavalry is to get the money, and the armor idea is the solution to getting the land. The land is going to be tough to get.”

Erestor stretched his arms and yawned. “We could offer some of the new horses when they are born. He could have his choice of the new foals.”

“If we give him horses, we will be that many more behind for the cavalry. They are much too valuable.” Once the plum was skinless, juice running down his palm, Glorfindel began to nibble at the fruit. “We need to speak to Turgon about this today.”

“It might be difficult to get an audience with him so late in the day. He likes to conduct his business in the mornings, but it does not hurt to try. I need to meet with Rog yet today to set up the schedule for the next few months; you should probably let the stable hands know who should go where, because I know you had a very set idea on how you wanted the breeding to go and they seem a little overwhelmed.”

Glorfindel nodded. “I should probably hire a few more. Hopefully, if Turgon agrees to things, I will have the funds to do so.”

“We should meet back home after we are done, and then go up to Turgon’s office together. I will be an hour or so,” said Erestor. Glorfindel nodded as Erestor left the office, and after cleaning up from their lunch, left the room to search for the stable hands.

It was almost two hours later when Glorfindel finally made it home, and another two hours until Erestor joined him. There was no explanation for his tardiness as Erestor put away a plain leather case that Glorfindel had never seen before. A note was left for Aranel and Tauniel before they left and ascended to the ninth floor of the tower.

Carynien, Turgon’s personal secretary, was sitting at the desk behind the double doors at the end of the stairway that led to the top of the tower. She was sorting through various documents and glanced up as the pair of lords approached. “What brings you here to the top of this stuffy old tower on such a fine day, m’dears?”

Erestor leaned on the high counter that had been built over part of the desk and smiled down at Carynien. Everyone in Gondolin knew that Turgon was king, but if you wanted to talk to the person who REALLY ran the hidden city, it was wise to befriend Carynien. Innocent flirting was not a bad idea, either. “Well, love, we were hoping his majesty might have time to see us this afternoon. Glorfindel has a spectacular proposal for him.”

“And your business, sir?” she teased as she pulled a black leather book used to schedule the king’s appointments out of a drawer of the desk.

“Just tagging along. It keeps me out of trouble,” he answered as Carynien opened to the correct page on the first try.

“Mmm... probably a good thing, then. It looks as if he is free, but Duilin is with him right now and he is having dinner with Duilin and Salgant in just a little while. Can I schedule you for tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow... well, tomorrow is better than nothing at all,” said Erestor. “How does the morning look?”

“Bad. Pretty full, actually. Tomorrow after lunch?”

Erestor bit his lip and turned around to face Glorfindel. “Tomorrow afternoon I need to train Rog’s troops. Can you make the presentation without me?”

“I... can... try. I think so,” answered Glorfindel unsurely.

With a nod, Erestor turned back around and gave another to Carynien. “Thank you, love, as always, you are a doll.”

“Oh, I know,” she replied with a sigh as she wrote the note in the planner for the following day. “Have a good evening. Tell Aranel not to be a stranger. I hardly see her stop by anymore.”

“Will do. Good eve, Carynien.” Erestor waited until he and Glorfindel were back in the stairwell to slump his shoulders. “I hate waiting like this.”

“Me, too,” answered Glorfindel, but he said no more as they both heard the sound of someone walking up the steps. Moments later, Lady Idril came into view. Both bowed to her as she approached, stepping to either side of the landing for her to pass.

“Well, look who I have found!” she said. She paused at the top of the flight, barely winded by the climb. “Captain, are the rumors true that you will be performing at Salgant’s playhouse when it reopens next year?”

“Aye, that is correct, m’lady,” replied Erestor. “I am determined, against the odds, to have a career on stage.”

“That is good. I was disappointed that I was unable to make the performance you were previously in. Salgant has already been informed that I want a box the opening night of Tears of Sirion. It is one of my favorites.”

“I hope I shall not disappoint you, then, m’lady,” said Erestor with another bow.

Idril turned her attention to Glorfindel. “And what of your quiet companion? Lord Glorfindel, you really must stop allowing the captain to dominate every conversation.”

“My apologies, m’lady, but his tongue is silver, and he speaks with eloquence I could only dream of.”

“Nonsense. You underestimate your own articulacy. I assume you are returning from meeting with my father. How is he today? I woke late and had already missed him by the time I made it to the dining room to break my fast.”

“Unfortunately, we do not have an answer for you. He is seeing Duilin at the moment, and we have been sent away until tomorrow,” explained Glorfindel.

“Which is doubly unfortunate, for it is another day until Glorfindel can tell your father of the marvelous ideas he has,” finished Erestor.

Idril kept her focus on Glorfindel. “Oh? What sort of ideas?”

“Military things,” replied Erestor. “Weapons and troops and such.”

“Oh.” Idril sighed. “More of that.”

“It is not exactly because I want to,” blurted out Glorfindel. “Fingon is the one who came up with this decree about training. Granted, everyone should know how to defend themselves, but I hope with all my heart we never really need to use the skills. I just want to make sure that, if it comes to it, everyone stands an equal chance, and if that means giving the peasants weapons and teaching them to ride horses—“

“You want to arm the farmers?” interrupted Idril, her eyes wide.

Hesitantly, Glorfindel answered. “Yes, I—“ He was almost thrown off balance as Idril threw her arms around him and gave him a fierce hug. “Uhm, I suppose you like that idea?”

“Finally! I have petitioned my father about this relentlessly!” Idril stepped back, but still kept hold of Glorfindel’s large, rough hands with her delicate gloved ones. “He told me it was silly because no one was going to want that challenge of training them.”

“It will be a challenge, but it is necessary.” Glorfindel made his next move carefully, and asked, “Will you offer your support of the idea when I speak to your father tomorrow? I wish to meet with him to gain his financial support.”

“You do not need to go to him. I already told you that I think the idea is brilliant. Tell me what you need and I will provide the funds.”

Glorfindel blinked. “Really? You can do that?”

“Of course I can. He provides me with a very generous personal stipend, and when Aunt Aredhel left, he refused to touch any of the money she had, so I have that as well to do with as I please. Adar never told Maeglin about it, and as far as I am concerned, there is no reason for him to know. I also have investments, so do not worry, I believe I can support your plans.”

“It is going to be a very expensive venture,” admitted Glorfindel. “There are going to be building costs, salaries, training costs—“

Idril held up her hand. “I am going to give you a number. You tell me if you need more or less.” She glanced over her shoulder at Erestor, and then leaned forward and whispered something into Glorfindel’s ear that made his eyes bulge. “Too low?” she asked with a smirk.

“No, not at all! I would almost say far too generous! It will be more than enough for this year, and next year we can—“

“That is a monthly figure, Lord Glorfindel,” corrected Idril. Leaving Glorfindel speechless, she smiled and curtseyed before dismissing herself. “I need to ready for dinner. Good evening, and I will set up an appointment for us to speak more later, Lord Glorfindel.” Idril disappeared, the double doors swinging as she entered through them, until they slowed and stopped.

Erestor raised one brow, for Glorfindel had yet to say anything. “How much did she offer you?”

“I fear if I repeat it, I will wake up and find this all a dream.”

“I take it we are set for money, then. Which means, all you need to do tomorrow is convince Turgon to give you his land in trade for your ideas,” said Erestor. “Good luck with that.”

“I am going to need more than luck tomorrow,” answered Glorfindel. “I think I used up all my luck just now with Idril.”

Too nervous to eat lunch the next day, Glorfindel paced the sitting room until he could not stand to wait any longer. He bundled up one of the pieces of the armor – the piece that fit over the right arm – and then headed up to the king’s penthouse. Carynien smiled to him as he entered through the doors and approached the desk.

“You are a little early. The king has yet to return from lunch.”

“I know. I thought I would wait,” he said, nervously shifting about. Carynien motioned to the chairs in the waiting area, but Glorfindel shook his head. “Too jittery to sit.” He was sweating, too, but it was debatable whether it was from nerves or the heat wave that was causing the stuffy tower to be nearly unbearable.

“You probably should anyhow. Being fidgety in a chair is less obvious than bouncing up and down having a spasm in front of my desk.”

“Really? Alright.” Glorfindel wound his arms around the wrapped up piece of armor, but before he had the chance to sit down, the doors opened and Turgon casually entered.

The king was almost so distracted by whatever document he was reading that it took Carynien clearing her throat after he passed Glorfindel to make Turgon turn around. “Sire, you have a meeting this afternoon before your cabinet arrives.”

“Oh?” Turgon lowered the document and glanced first at Glorfindel, and then to the wrapped item he held. “Can we perhaps discuss whatever this is later?”

“Your next free appointment is a week from now, and I already rescheduled him,” said Carynien, winking past Turgon to Glorfindel. She picked up a small hand fan from the side of the desk and began to wave it in towards her face. “If you want to put this off, though—“

“No, no.” Turgon sunk down in the seat next to the one Glorfindel was in. “You have five minutes. What is all this about?”

“Well, uhm...” Glorfindel fumbled to unwrap the piece of armor, which he held out to Turgon. “We had this idea... well, you see... do you know the land by the stream by the stables I have?”

“Yes,” answered Turgon carefully, his attention turning to the armor that he was now holding. “You mean the land that I own, next to the land I sold Erestor some years ago.”

“Right... well... you see, I have this idea,” said Glorfindel, stumbling terribly through his speech. “I want to build a series of stables and barracks, and I have plans to train cavalry. Really great cavalry. Mostly, I want to recruit from the valley and do a lot of horse breeding, and I need a lot of space for that.”

“Indeed, you would. I suspect you are lacking the total space you need to see your plan through.”

“Exactly. I was hoping that perhaps... well, I had this other idea, which you can see here.” Glorfindel leaned over and began to point out the features of his design. “This new armor is more mobile, more flexible, and lighter than most. It would be a great advantage to you to have your soldiers clad in this armor.”

“It is a very unique idea. How protective is it?”

“Very,” answered Glorfindel excitedly. “Erestor and I tested it yesterday.”

“You tested it yesterday?”

“Uh... yes.” Glorfindel squirmed a little as Turgon further scrutinized the armor.

The king fit the armor onto his own arm, bending and flexing his muscles to see for himself. “Am I correct in assuming that you want to trade this marvel you have constructed for the land I have along the banks near the forest.”

“There is more to it than just that piece. I have an entire suit made, and your guards would be the first to wear such armor.”

Turgon nodded thoughtfully before finally locking eyes with Glorfindel. For a moment, Glorfindel thought he had succeeded, but the longer he had to hold steady to Turgon’s hard gaze, the more he worried. “You want me to offer my support and thanks and grant you the land you desire in exchange for an idea.”

“I—“

“Did Erestor put you up to this?”

“No... I... this was our idea, not his alone.”

The armor was handed back, and Glorfindel looked down at it in a panic as Turgon stood up. The king towered over him, looking down upon him as Glorfindel sat in the chair, clutching the cold metal. “So your idea was to bribe me into letting you have the land. What will you do if I say no? Will you hold back your plans from me?”

“Well... I...” Glorfindel knew the answer. He could not deny something he knew would save the lives of so many.

And Turgon, it seemed, was able to read Glorfindel like a book. “What about the rest of Gondolin? Do you think they should continue to use inferior armor while your house and mine reep the benefits for your new design?”

“No... I mean...”

“Good. Then you will share these plans with everyone at the next assembly of the council. Good work, Glorfindel.” Turgon stepped over to Carynien’s desk as Glorfindel gave the armor a disheartened look before bundling it up again. As he was leaving, he overheard Turgon say to his secretary, “I need you to clear my calendar for tomorrow. My nephew and I are going to be touring the land I have out near the forest. He asked me yesterday at dinner if he could use it to build a forge, and if we are going to be remaking all of our armor, we are going to need more forges.”

Glorfindel’s feet took him far away from the tower, down to the land he did have. He spent the rest of the afternoon in his office, angrily sketching plans for building barracks on top of stables as Erestor had suggested. As the day went on, his anger ebbed away and his plans began to take better shape. A stable hand alerted him of the coming evening, and the growl from his stomach reminded him he had not eaten anything yet. He locked the papers in his desk before setting out for home.

---

When Erestor arrived home at dusk, he was surprised to see Celebrimbor waiting outside the door. “Good evening. Did no one offer to let you in?” he said by way of apology as he unlocked the door.

“Good evening, Captain Erestor. I knocked only a minute ago. I thought to try again and then seek Lord Glorfindel in one of the dining halls.”

Celebrimbor followed Erestor into the sitting room, where Erestor lit a few candles and found a note on the table. “It seems as if my wife and Glorfindel’s took up a dinner invitation. If Glorfindel already read this, then he may be in the dining hall. However, if I had to guess, I should think he has yet to return. His house shoes are still at the door and he left wearing boots this morning.”

“I see. I hate to be a burden, but I was hoping to speak to him this evening. Do you know if he had a chance to look at the armor yet?”

“Oh, yes, and he is in love with it,” said Erestor. Celebrimbor beamed at the compliment. “I think he will be coming back here before he goes to dinner, in any case. Can I offer you a drink while we wait?”

“If you have wine, I would be thankful. It was a long day today,” said Celebrimbor as he walked toward the settee and chairs that Erestor had motioned to. Something distracted him as he was about to sit down, and he stepped toward the desk instead. “You have a lot of pictures.”

“I like to have pictures of people I care about. It helps to calm me as I am reading and writing things that would otherwise be unpleasant to deal with. There are some of my wife, and some of Glorfindel’s wife. His is the blond one,” Erestor said as he poured out wine for Celebrimbor and something else for himself.

“I know Tauniel. She used to hang about the forge when she was a child. I miss seeing her there.” Celebrimbor gave a low whistle. “Who is that?” he asked as he picked up one of the framed portraits on Erestor’s desk. “She looks nothing like Glorfindel’e wife.”

“Probably because she is not his wife. That is Artanis, daughter of Finarfin. She and I were betrothed in Valinor.” Erestor nodded when Celebrimbor flashed him a look of disbelief. “Yes, I was almost married, long ago. We practically were, actually. Unfortunately, she and I grew apart. It is probably not appropriate for me to even have that anymore, but I could not bring myself to destroy it.”

“She is gorgeous.” Celebrimbor set the portrait back down and took the glass of wine he was offered. “Is she still in Valinor, then?”

Erestor shook his head. “Doriath, last I heard.” He lifted the small frame and looked at the image smiling back at him. “She married a Sindarin elf by the name of Celeborn; she wanted someone who would be more agreeable to her ways and I do hope she found that.” He held the object out to Celebrimbor. “It is not necessary for me to keep this. I see her more than I wish in the recesses of my mind. If you think her beautiful, you should keep this instead. She is a distant relation to you, so it would make much more sense for you to have.”

“Well, I... I do not want to take that which is yours,” said Celebrimbor hesitantly.

Erestor took hold of Celebrimbor’s free hand and placed the framed picture into it. “She was never mine to begin with.”

It was on this part of the conversation that Glorfindel let himself into the room. When he spied Celebrimbor, he adopted a false smile and joined them, pouring a rather large amount of wine into a glass for himself. A quick glance at Erestor told his friend that things had not gone well with the king and that more would be said later. “Celebrimbor, you outdid yourself. I am so very impressed by your work on the armor. I foresee accolades and many orders pouring in very soon.”

Celebrimbor was grinning broadly. “It was an honor to see your project through. However, I came not only to hear your thoughts, but also to speak to you about the weapons.”

“The weapons?”

“Remember the idea that you approached Enerdhil with? The one he said was silly and impractical and could never be done?” asked Celebrimbor.

Glorfindel nodded. “He often tells me how silly and impractical I am, but I think I know which one it is you speak of. It had to do with treating the blades to know if something was approaching, like a warg or a troll or something.”

“Right. I could not quite figure all of it out, but I did use the information you provided for us and came up with this.” Celebrimbor held out a long sword that looked very much like a typical long sword.

Erestor set his drink down on the desk so that he could examine the blade. It not only looked like any other sword, but felt like one as well. He handed it back to Celebrimbor. “What will it do?”

“That is the real trick,” explained Celebrimbor. “It glows in warning when there are orcs about. It was easier to figure out this than the rest, because your initial formula was based off of Elvenkind – a dangerous thing to have developed.”

“I know, but if the enemy is as cunning as we think, there is a good chance Morgoth already knows how to find us,” said Glorfindel.

“If he knew how to find us, he would be here already,” said Erestor quietly.

“True,” responded Glorfindel uncertainly.

“Let us hope he never discovers what you have. I was able to use the information you gave me, and modified it so that it detects orcs but is not thrown off by Elves. Now all we need is a real orc to show you how it works. Fortunately, I know where we can find one.”

“Really?” Glorfindel took the blade from the apprentice. “Can we go to test it now?”

“Right now, if you like,” offered Celebrimbor. “Follow me; they are kept in the dungeons.”

“Is that a wise idea?” wondered Glorfindel as he and Erestor trailed after Celebrimbor. They navigated the hallways into the deepest parts of Gondolin, where the temperature, sadly, did not feel much cooler. “Should we really keep orcs here, even if they are locked up?”

“There is only one,” said Erestor matter-of-factly, to Glorfindel’s surprise.

“What if he gets out?” Glorfindel asked.

“I do not foresee that happening anytime soon,” said Celebrimbor grimly. At the bottom of the last stairwell, there were six posted guards, who allowed the pair past after a quick check of their weapons and an explanation for their being there. “No matter how many times I come through here, they always act as if this is the first time they are seeing me.”

There were small cells with tiny windows in them on either side of the walkway. Most were uninhabited, but there were a few that each had an elf in them. “Watch now,” said Celebrimbor, pulling his sword from his sheath. “Watch the blade as we get closer.”

Glofindel kept his eyes on the metal, and with every step, was delighted to see it glow, first faintly, then more and more, until at last it was bright blue. “Amazing.”

“This is where the orc is kept.” Celebrimbor brought it up against a door of a cell that was marked ‘orc’ on the side. “Look how much more brilliant it becomes. Wait until you see it close to the creature.”

As Glorfindel looked on and marveled, Celebrimbor motioned one of the guards to the door. Keys were produced from a long chain, and the door was opened. An escort of armed guards offered to accompany them into the small cell, but Erestor shook his head and entered first with his own sword drawn instead, and then beckoned Glorfindel and Celebrimbor in behind him.

The odor was putrid, and Glorfindel shielded his eyes from the blue glow. He caught movement and stepped to the side to see what was at the back of the cell, concerned over the fact an orc was actually being held in Gondolin.

The pathetic creature did not look like an orc. It was worse, missing both legs and an arm. There was a thick metal collar fastened around his neck and attached to the wall by a heavy chain. He said nothing, watching them with yellow eyes and breathing through slits where his nose should have been. A few long patches of hair had grown wild, but he was otherwise bald, the greenish skin contrasting the greasy silver strands. “Erestor, is that truly necessary?” asked Glorfindel. The captain was crouched down just behind the wretched creature, holding his blade with his arm drawn back as if he was just waiting for the orc to give him a reason to react.

“You and Celebrimbor do what you have to do; someone has to be at the ready.”

“He hardly seems a threat in the condition he is in,” said Glorfindel. “What is your name?” he asked the orc.

The orc seemed not to comprehend at first, but when Glorfindel shrugged and began to step toward the door, the orc rolled his shoulders and tilted his head, causing the chain to clink against the cold, stone floor. “Before, or after?” came the croaky answer, and Glorfindel turned back around as the orc laughed to himself.

“What do you mean, before or after? Before what?” asked Glorfindel.

“Glorfindel, you should not speak to it,” warned Erestor.

As Celebrimbor handed the glowing blade to Glorfindel, the elf lord frowned. “What is he going to do, Erestor? Chase me down? Shoot me with arrows. He is harmless.” Glorfindel crouched down closer, marveling at the bright glow.

The orc was shielding his eyes with his remaining appendage from the blue light. “If you lower that, I can think clearly and answer you.”

“Sorry.” Glorfindel lowered the sword so that it was down at his side instead of right in front of him. “Is that better?”

“Yes,” hissed the orc, blinking, still displeased with the glow despite it being away from his face for the moment.

“Now, what did you mean about before or after?” Glorfindel pressed him.

“The name I had before this. The one I had before the dark one twisted me and my kin and made us like this. You and your friends forget that our roles could have easily been reversed. It might have been you chained to this wall, and I, still strong and fair standing before you. You all forget that.”

The orc’s words were clearly swaying Glorfindel, but neither Celebrimbor nor Erestor were as convinced. “Glorfindel, we should leave, if you are done here,” suggested Erestor.

“Yes, Glorfindel, we should go. The guards do not like to have anyone interact with this thing.”

Whether Glorfindel actually heard them or was just ignoring them was uncertain as he placed his hand on the dry curve of skin, his fingers brushing against the stump where there was once an arm. “What was your name?”

“Glorfindel, you must leave now,” announced Erestor loudly, as the orc said to the blond, “Closer, friend.”

Glorfindel bowed his head in, his hair sweeping down to block his sight at either side. The orc jerked forward suddenly and bit down hard on his nose. As Glorfindel let out a scream of surprise and grabbed for his face, he let go of the blade. The orc had it in his hand in a second, and drew it back, meaning to drive it straight into Glorfindel’s breast.

The next thing Glorfindel saw as he opened his eyes, besides his hands cupped over his nose and the blood smeared over his fingers, was the tip of a sword. It was not the blade he had dropped, however, it was the sword that Erestor had brought with him. The captain had thrust his sword into the orc, straight through the spine and out the other side so that it was protruding from the orc’s throat. Erestor used his foot to kick the glowing blade from the orc’s hand, and then as the orc gagged on his own blood, Erestor put his foot on the orc’s shoulder and twisted the blade full around with a grunt before yanking it back out. He spat on the ground as the orc fell to the side, choking for a few moments more before the glossy yellow eyes rolled back and his single arm became limp.

Meanwhile, Glorfindel had managed to stand up and was shaking, hands still covering his nose. “That was so stupid... why did I do that? I should have known better,” he babbled as the sound of guards coming down the hallway echoed through the chambers.

Erestor looked up at Celebrimbor. “Let me do the talking,” he said as he gripped the chain that held the orc to the wall. Celebrimbor nodded as Erestor surveyed the links, and choosing the weakest one, slid his weapon between the two ends of it, widening the gap. With seconds left before the room was flooded with soldiers, he set his sword down and strained to pull the link apart enough to separate part of the chain away from the wall, then dropped the link and picked up his sword. He had only just stood up as the soldiers entered.

“What happened here?” demanded the chief guard. The scene spoke for itself, and he shook his head. “The king will not like this.”

“The king should have inspected this cell better, then,” replied Erestor. He kicked at the broken chain. “He might look weak, but this... thing... is stronger than you might think. He broke his bonds and attacked Lord Glorfindel. Has anyone called for a healer?”

It was now that the guards took note of Glorfindel, and concern for his well-being allowed for Celebrimbor to retrieve the sword with the blade whose glow was fast diminishing. “Someone should dispose of this as well,” demanded Erestor authoritatively. “It stinks already; just wait until they have been dead for a few hours.”

A rush of things began to happen, and Glorfindel was ushered up a few flights where the bite on his nose was cleaned and bandaged. As the final bits of linen were being applied, Glorfindel saw Erestor appear in the doorway and lean against it with a sigh. The healer finished and left after making Glorfindel promise to see him in the morning. Erestor waited until the healer left before entering the room. “Turgon took the news much better than the guards seemed to think he would. I got the feeling he felt better with that thing dead than he did when it was alive.”

“Why did he have an orc down there in the first place?”

“Maeglin was the one who brought it in. When it first arrived, it was only missing the one arm, and there were three of them.”

“Should I even ask what happened to his legs, or the other two orcs?” wondered Glorfindel, touching the tip of his bandaged nose tenderly.

“The other two attacked him one day and ate his legs. So, Maeglin killed the other two, and kept the one that was down there.” Erestor sat down on the healer’s stool next to a small counter and started to rearrange the jars of herbs lined on the shelf, placing them in alphabetical order.

“Thank you,” said Glorfindel suddenly. “Not only did you save my life, but you saved me from being the laughingstock of the city with my attempt at befriending an orc.”

Erestor stopped playing with the bottles and jars and moved the remaining ones back in one long row before standing up. He walked to the low table that Glorfindel was still sitting on and kissed the top of his head. “No, thank you,” he said as he turned to head out the door.

“For what?” wondered Glorfindel.

Erestor looked over his shoulder and replied, “For staying optimistic enough to try to befriend an orc. You are never going to realize how rare you are, my friend.”

The next afternoon, Glorfindel walked out onto the balcony, clad in just a towel that was wound loosely around his waist and the clean bandages that the healer had affixed over his nose earlier in the day. The wisps of breeze were blissful with the heat beating down from above. Inside, the air was thick and stuffy, and no amount of fanning off seemed to help. Both he and Erestor had promised Aranel and Tauniel that they would not walk around the balcony or the apartment in the nude (although there were others in the tower and who were, Erestor had argued). Instead, they were taking turns sitting in the tub in the washroom with the lights off and windows open. It was Erestor’s turn, so Glorfindel came outside to try to find some relief.

He contemplated sitting down, but then the space behind his knees and between his legs would get sweaty. Another breeze rushed past, and Glorfindel took hold of the railing and leaned out as far as he dared to catch it. “O, Manwe, do not be so cruel!” Glorfindel sighed and bowed his head as the wind died down again. The ladies of the household had left early and gone into the shaded forest, where most of the ladies and children likely were, either enjoying the cooler shaded areas under the pines, or swimming in the ponds. When it was so hot that it affected the citizens, Turgon restricted certain areas for ellyth and elflings, posting the city’s few female guards to watch over such places, knowing for certain that skirts and bodices would be exchanged for bare skin, and it was the least he could offer to protect their modesty.

When Glorfindel looked up again, a small speck in the sky caught his eye. With barely any breeze, birds had been rare to see. The speck grew slightly larger, and Glorfindel saw that the tiny bird was struggling. There was no time to get to the ground to catch it in case it did not make its destination, so Glorfindel ran to the side of the balcony and held out his hand, his finger lifted like a perch. The thrush beat its tiny wings faster, continuing to struggle. Glorfindel stood on the tips of his toes and stretched his arms out, hands cupped together. As soon as the thrush was close enough, it made to land, but ended up dropping in exhaustion into Glorfindel’s palm.

“I have you, little one.” Glorfindel breathed a sigh of relief and went back into the apartment, losing his towel on the way. “Are you alright?” he asked, taking the bird to the kitchen. He took a teacup and dipped it into the bucket of water on the counter. The bird was yet too weak to stand, so Glorfindel dipped his finger in the water and held the bird upright. The thrush opened his beak and thankfully accepted the droplets offered.

The apartment was dark and quiet, but the gleam of metal somehow caught Glorfindel’s eye, and he carried the bird to the bookshelves once the little fellow had calmed down. “I seem to recall it being over here,” he said, more to himself than to the bird.

“Glorfindel? Who are you talking to?” Erestor’s voice carried through to Glorfindel, and the blond spied the metal rod that Erestor always used to remove the notes from the carrying tube.

For a moment, Glorfindel entertained the thought of looking at the note himself. It was a fleeting thought, and he mentally berated himself for considering such a despicable act. “Message for you from Doriath. I am trying to find the rod you use so that I can bring it to you with your little feathered friend.”

“I will come out. Just a moment,” said Erestor. Glorfindel retracted his hand away from the shelf and sat down with the thrush still in his hand. Erestor emerged with a towel around his waist and gave Glorfindel quite the look. “New fashion statement?” he queried as he walked to the shelf.

Glorfindel looked down at his lap and sheepishly grabbed for a pillow. “Sorry. There was a bit of excitement. Your friend nearly did not make it.” Glorfindel held out the bird as Erestor came by.

“Thank you for aiding him,” said Erestor as he sat down next to Glorfindel. He let the thrush hop onto his hand and extracted the note from the carrying tube. The bird hopped back onto Glorfindel’s arm as Erestor unrolled the note. “Celegorm and Curufin are in Nargothrond.”

“You look worried,” remarked Glorfindel as Erestor stood up with brow furrowed and took the slip of paper to the desk.

“Celegorm and Curufin against Felagund and Orodreth is not something I had hoped to see. Felagund is wise and cunning, but Celegorm and Curufin are dangerous, especially if they still have that dog with them.”

“How is a dog of any consequence?” wondered Glorfindel. The thrush was exploring the couch, hopping from Glorfindel’s arm onto the fabric and back again.

Erestor sighed as he attempted to find the words he wanted to communicate back to Saeros. “It is a really big dog with intelligence far superior to common hounds. Also, it can talk.”

“Oh. Also, it can talk. You say it like a sidenote.”

The desk drawer was opened and then slammed back shut. “It is.”

“Alright, no need to snap at me. I would just think that the fact the dog can talk would be a fairly significant detail. Unless there is something else special about it. Does it dance? Sing? Juggle?”

“Huan once belonged to Oromë,” said Erestor finally. “Oromë gave Huan to Celegorm.”

“Ah ha!” exclaimed Glorfindel, pointing his finger at Erestor in triumph. This startled the thrush, who flew up to the perch on top of the bookshelf.

“What?”

“You are upset that your father gave this magical dog to someone you hate instead of giving the dog to you.”

“Why do I care who he gives his dog to?” muttered Erestor. This was followed moments later by, “I suppose it upsets me a little that—fine, I am mad about it. Damn mad about it! I loved that dog,” Erestor trailed off.

“Sorry. I would offer a hug or something, but the heat might not make that the best idea.”

“I appreciate the thought. If you want to use the tub while I do my writing, you are more than welcome to,” said Erestor.

Glorfindel stood up, keeping the pillow that kept his modesty in front of him as he walked to the balcony to retrieve his towel. “I am going to drench myself, dry off really fast, and take a long nap.”

“That sounds lovely. Might have to join you on that.” Erestor whistled for the thrush as Glorfindel passed by and patted him on the head. “What was that for?”

“That was a ‘still sorry about your dog but still too hot to hug you’ head pat,” explained Glorfindel as he disappeared into the darker part of the suite, determined to build a device to counter the heat just as soon as it was cool enough to think of such things.

---

Despite the heat, the show must go on. The next day found both Erestor and Glorfindel at Salgant’s theatre, which was quickly being put back into shape and was surprisingly cooler than expected. Salgant’s temper, however, was heating up with every mistake that was made.

“Mind your pitch, Erestor! Your words are clear, you are hitting the marks, but in-to-na-tion,” barked Salgant from his favorite spot in his theatre. He was in the upper balcony, keeping a watchful eye on the dancers behind Erestor as well. “Higher with those leg lifts, you there on the end! You look like you are having a spasm instead of dancing.”

Glorfindel was sitting a few chairs away, scribbling down numbers and crossing others out. Opening night was looming, and already they had sold out the boxes and the floor level seating, but in the balconies only a few tickets had been purchased. “We might need to cut the price of the balcony seats by half in order to make a profit.”

“How can you expect to make a profit by lowering the price? You will need to sell twice as many tickets; you need to sell only thirty more to break even,” answered Salgant before calling down to a young actress on stage, “I cannot hear you! Yes, you should sound sweet, like a nightingale, but pretend you are a gigantic nightingale with a loud voice!” To Glorfindel, he added, “What are you going to do, advertise to the peasants?”

“Now that just might work.” Glorfindel started to figure things out again, and nodded. “If we charged a third of the cost for the balconies, not only could we sell them out, but they would be affordable to anyone.”

“Why would you want to make it affordable to everyone? Can you just imagine the type of people you would have crawling around up here if you did that?” Salgant looked utterly appalled as he continued, “Why, they would be scratching themselves in public and spitting on the floors, not to mention they would probably bring their children and reek of goats and other smelly things.”

“I happen to like goats,” Glorfindel told him as he rewrote things on a clean sheet of paper. “I do not know what you care who comes in as long as we make money on this. Breaking even we could do, yes, but it hardly seems worth it for the effort put into fixing things up and getting the show written and running. Not to mention the costumes and the staff... it all adds up rather quickly.”

“And you thought you were going to do all of this on your own.” Salgant gave Glorfindel a haughty look and added, “Silly boy. You are a dreamer, ‘tis true, but sometimes your dreams are much too wild for your own good. Erestor!” Salgant waved his handkerchief to acquire the attention of the chief actor, in case he did not hear the summons. “Come up here; we have something of import to discuss with you.”

Glorfindel sorted through his papers and pulled out the ones he wanted to show to make his point, while Salgant reached down onto a tray that had been placed on one of the seats and lifted up a satin pouch. He folded back the flaps to reveal a handful of roasted almonds and began to snack on them while he awaited Erestor to arrive. The tall ellon had to walk off stage, down the stairs, and all the way to the back of the theatre, then up three flights to reach the upper balcony. “You have a concern over something?”

“Your fiscally frugal friend wishes to procure the peasantry population to bolster the numbers in the balconies.” Salant dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief. “I think the idea is rather shortsighted; it will be extra trouble to control them and to clean up after them.”

“If he wanted to bring sheep or cows up here, then yes, control and maintenance would be an issue. However, I am fairly certain that the peasants you are speaking of are still elves, are they not?” Erestor took a seat in the row behind them, a little closer to Salgant than to Glorfindel. “What harm would there be in making these seats affordable to them? Perhaps it would help to better society, something which you are always speaking of in council.”

“And if something goes wrong? We have already sold a few of the seats up here.”

Erestor shifted a seat closer so that he was almost directly behind Salgant. Placing his hands on the shoulders of the portly fellow, he started to massage his shoulders, working out the tension that this new idea had brought forth. “Do not think of the problems, think of the solutions. This will surely sell out the theatre, and it will increase the amount of people who see the play. The more people who see it, the more people who tell their friends about it, the more potential we have for an audience.”

With jealous eyes, Glorfindel watched Erestor court Salgant’s favor, rubbing his sore muscles and retrieving a fallen almond from the tray for him. Suddenly he grabbed his notes and switched to the seat next to Salgant, shoving the papers between Erestor and Salgant. “As you can see, Erestor, this is an excellent opportunity.”

“Yes, I can see that. It is Salgant who seems unconvinced.” Erestor took the pages from Glorfindel, and while continuing to rub the back of Salgant’s neck with one hand, held the papers down for him to see. “It looks as if Glorfindel has it all figured out.”

“Erestor, I know for a fact that you would have no idea if Glorfindel was showing you the numbers for the theatre or the price of rum.” Salgant took the sheets and looked them over, and nodded at the last. “Alright. We shall try it. When Duilin arrives, I will see if he can pull together a campaign in the valley.”

“Word of mouth and the posters that were discarded due to a few misprinted words will do just fine. There is little reason to spend more money on advertising than we have to, if the idea is to use what we have.” Glorfindel tugged the pages back out of Salgant’s hands. “Thank you, Erestor, I do believe we are done here. You can get back to the stage.”

Erestor gave Glorfindel a surprised look, but stood up, his hands slipping away from Salgant. “Of course. I should really be down there.” He turned, and smiled. “Duilin, it is good to see you. We were actually just talking about you.”

“Were you?” Duilin was giving Salgant the same look Glorfindel had shot at Erestor earlier. “How charming.”

“Glorfindel has a plan to sell the tickets for the balconies to the poorer members of our city at a low enough price for them to afford.” Salgant set down his bag of nuts and dusted off his hands. “What are your thoughts on that?”

“I think we should have done a different play if you had planned to do that, but overall I think the idea has merit.” Duilin walked through the aisle and stood near to Salgant, his back to the stage. “What are you going to sell the tickets at?”

“Glorfindel has the numbers, and this is an idea he just came up with. Next time, we will choose a suitable play for it. If this idea works,” added Salgant as Duilin held out his hand and received the sheets from Glorfindel.

Erestor motioned toward the stage. “I am going to head back down, if that is alright.”

“You probably should. Your understudy is getting a little cocky on stage,” remarked Duilin as he read through each of the pages Glorfindel had written up. Erestor nodded and left the balcony area. As soon as the door closed behind him, Duilin looked over the top of the sheet, glaring at Salgant. “What was that all about?”

“Hmm? Oh, him touching me?”

“What the fuck do you think I was talking about? Yes, darling, his touching you.” Duilin tossed the sheets back in Glorfindel’s general direction with a brief, “Looks in order,” to him before staring at Salgant again. “Well?”

“You should sit down, Duilin, you are obviously worn out.” Salgant patted his knee, but Duilin simply narrowed his eyes more. “He was simply trying to curry my favor. I am not so blind as not to know his tricks. There is little for you to worry about.”

“I should hope so. I will kill him if he has any other intentions other than bending your mind to agree with his ideas. Still, that move was entirely unnecessary. Let him know he should not touch you with such familiarity any more. Ever.” Duilin glanced at Glorfindel and added, “I would expect you will keep what you are hearing confidential.”

“I... I doubt anyone would ever believe me if I tried to tell them what I was hearing,” admitted Glorfindel. He had stopped looking at them and was focusing on the stage, waiting for Erestor to rejoin the rest of the cast. “Besides, who would I tell?”

“Really, Duilin, sit down. Your anger is sweet, but I would much rather have you on my lap.” Salgant waved his hand at Glorfindel, that the other should move, and he did. After this, Duilin did reluctantly take a seat on Salgant’s knee, though he kept his arms crossed and his look contemptuous. “Do not tease about killing Erestor. I have spent far too much money training him to speak without his accent. His understudy is pretty to look at, but his voice grates upon me.”

Glorfindel slid his gaze to the left, taking in the sight of the two lords, Salgant rubbing Duilin’s thigh, his hand moving ever closer to his groin. “Are you not concerned that perhaps you should do that where others will not see you?”

“What others? The actors? The only one on that stage who might say something would be Erestor. The others?” Salgant’s hand slid down, and Duilin slapped it away. “Glorfindel, the only elf in this entire theatre who is not in hiding from the king is the dark haired one singing right now, and he is questionable.”

“Erestor is the gayest straight elf I have ever met,” Duilin mumbled, shaking his head. “Please tell him not to touch you anymore.”

“Done, darling, I will tell him to keep his hands to himself.”

As the curtain was lowered for the second act, Glorfindel could not help but ask, “How long have the two of you been doing this?”

“Since Nevrast,” answered Duilin without hesitating. “Only back then, I was the big one, if you can imagine.” Salgant’s hand wandered again, and was slapped away once more.

“Huh.” Glorfindel concentrated so hard on watching the drawn curtain that Salgant began to laugh. “Did I say something amusing?”

“Did you think you were the only one with the ability to sneak around behind the king’s back? Do not look so surprised, Glorfindel. Many of us knew about you and Gildor. Speaking of, did you change your mind, or is there something going on between you and Erestor?” Salgant laughed harder as Glorfindel’s eyes widened. “Now you amuse without saying a word.”

“There is nothing at all going on between myself and Erestor. I am married, and so is he.”

“Ah.” Duilin smirked. “Is that why the two of you share a bedroom, and in fact, a bed, or is it because you both snore or something and your wives are irritated by this fact.”

“That... that is personal,” floundered Glorfindel. “I mean...”

Salgant smiled, both hands on Duilin’s thighs. “I think we know what you mean.”

“No! Erestor and I...” But Glorfindel could think of no way to explain it without explaining everything, and some things about Aranel and Tauniel he had promised not to share.

The curtain began to rise once more. As soon as the actors and musicians were skillfully focused upon their craft, Glorfindel asked without looking at the pair to his left, “How do you know that Erestor and I share the same bedroom?”

“We can see you from ours.”

Glorfindel mulled this information over, hardly paying any attention to the marks being missed below or the conductor deciding to start the current piece over. “I always assumed that, being that you live in separate houses, you would have separate bedrooms.”

“Technically we do. However, city planning is a marvelous thing. Did you know that there is a tunnel underneath the lesser market?” asked Salgant.

“I am aware of it now,” stated Glorfindel.

“Wonderful thing. It connects Duilin’s bedroom to my very own study.” Salgant smiled at the confusion that was washing over Glorfindel. “I know what you are thinking.”

“Oh really?”

“What you are thinking is easy to see. You are wondering why Duilin and I cast out Egalmoth from our circle of friends. Your belief, and his apparently, was that we did not want to associate with someone who was attracted to those of the same gender. Am I correct?” Salgant waited until Glorfindel nodded to continue. “You see, it is much plainer than that. I did not want to be in the midst of those who are liars. That is why I took issue with some of the things Erestor said and did.”

“Stupid question... should you not be upset with yourself for hiding your true identity?” wondered Glorfindel.

“No. This is a little different. This is a matter of survival. Look down there, Glorfindel. Look at all of the beautiful dancers. I have known many of them since my childhood. When they heard that Turgon was going to lead them to a city of safety, do you know what they thought? They thought what we thought. That we would be safe. That we would not need to hide from people who looked down their noses at us.” Salgant shook his head. “That, we learned very quickly, was far from the truth.”

Duilin slid off of Salgant’s lap, onto the floor in front of him. Almost immediately, Salgant shifted forward and began to rub Duilin’s neck and shoulders. “We came with Turgon because we thought he intended to provide us with a home where we would all be welcome. Then came the rules, which were simple and precise, and made us outlaws. He deceived us first, so there is little reason we should not deceive him.”

“So you are saying that most of the members of your house are of the same mind as you are?” Glorfindel frowned when Salgant shook his head. “Most of them?”

“Some. How many? I do not know. I have a high regard for tolerance in my house, though, Glorfindel. I do not ask them of their private business. I expect that they will not question me of mine.” Salgant shouted further direction to the dancers, and settled back once again, still massaging Duilin’s back. “I cannot stand up against the king for them; he provides us with safety, and a home, and I will not slap him in the face for that. I will, however, protect my people, in whatever ways I can.”

---

The practice did not end until very late into the evening, and Glorfindel and Erestor weaved through the valley in order to post the flyers regarding the discounted balcony seats and at the same time get dinner from one of the street side vendors. Glorfindel steered Erestor clear of the pubs along the way, getting them home in record time. Once safely inside, he revealed the details of his discussion with Salgant and Duilin, making certain that it was clearly understood that the two of them were much more than business partners.

“Sweet Eru, is there anyone in this city who is enamored with the fairer sex?” blurted out Erestor as he went to pour himself a drink.

Aranel raised her hand. “Me, too,” announced Tauniel, giving Aranel a loud kiss on the cheek.

Erestor rolled his eyes and took a crust of bread and a small saucer of water to the thrush, who was still perched atop the bookshelf. “Males enamored with the fairer sex.” He gave the bird a tiny pat with his fingertip before drifting toward the bar.

“That is hardly fair to say, Erestor. Look at Glorfindel. I dare say he is fairer than most females,” stated Tauniel. “Look at that hair, those long lashes. His skin is naturally pale and his cheeks carry just the hint of rose... most ladies would die for that sort of complexion.”

Glorfindel’s cheeks became more than rosy. “Stop that.”

“She has a point,” agreed Aranel. “You should really just give Glorfindel a try, Erestor. It should be easy enough to pretend he is the girl of your dreams. Besides, you already share a bedroom. Just keep the lights off, say nothing to one another, and do not worry about trying to grab anyone’s breasts. In the long run, it will prove pleasant for both of you, and neither of you will ever really have to think about it.” Both ladies started to giggle and twitter, while Glorfindel turned redder, from both embarrassment and anger.

Erestor set the glass he was pouring alcohol into down hard on the counter. “I am going to bed,” he said sternly, and left the room without further discussion, slamming the door of the bedroom behind him.

“He is certainly in a mood tonight,” remarked Aranel.

“We need to tie him up and let Glorfindel have his way with him again,” Tauniel suggested.

Glorfindel shot them an irritated look. “Hush, now, both of you. Can you not see how upset it makes him for you to joke about that? Leave me out of your plans. He is my friend, and I will not have either of you causing him torment.”

Tauniel looked put out. “I thought you wanted—“

“I want you to leave him alone!” Glorfindel walked to the bar and picked up the glass, and then took it to the bedroom. He knocked on the door before entering. “Erestor? I am coming in.” There was no response, so Glorfindel pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was dim, and plunged into darkness when the door was closed again. “I brought your drink in.”

“Thank you. I do not think I need it, though.” Erestor’s voice was coming from the bed, and Glorfindel managed to make out his shape sprawled on his back.

The glass was set down on the table, and Glorfindel leaned one hand against the wall and looked down at Erestor. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No. I am not going to kick you out. This is your room, too. Besides, it was not you. It was the two of them. Why they do that, I have no idea.”

“Have they done this before?”

“Now and then. I do not think you have been around before, though. I am sure it irks you just as much as it does me.”

“I guess.”

Erestor rubbed his eyes, mumbling to himself. Glorfindel did not catch the words, and opted to change out of his clothes. “We need to be up early tomorrow,” he reminded Erestor.

“I know, I know.” Erestor rolled over onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, and watched in the dimness as Glorfindel finished getting ready for bed.

Glorfindel paused as he lifted back the sheet. “Something the matter?”

“No. I was just... thinking about what they were saying.”

An unseen redness crept across Glorfindel’s cheeks. “About turning out the lights and...”

“No,” said Erestor gently, obviously wanting to keep his earlier anger under control. “They are right about you, though. I have known a lot of Elves in my life, male and female, and until I met you, I would have had a hard time naming the fairest.”

With a shy look directed toward the floor, Glorfindel crawled into bed and pulled up the sheet. By the time he worked up the courage to look at Erestor and offer his thanks for what was surely an idle compliment, Glorfindel saw even in the darkness that Erestor’s eyelids were closed and his breathing was steady. Leaning carefully over Erestor, Glorfindel hovered above the elder elf, watching the slow intake of air and the flawless features that Glorfindel had become so enamored with. “I think you are very beautiful, too,” whispered Glorfindel, thinking Erestor to be asleep.

To Glorfindel’s surprise, one brown eye suddenly opened and looked up at him. “Go to sleep, Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel scrambled back to his spot, eyes wide and heart thumping in his chest. He hugged the sheet up to his chest, almost shaking until he heard Erestor’s final words on the matter.

“Good night, fair Findel. Now, go to sleep.”

With a grin plastered on his face, Glorfindel had no need for counting sheep or other barnyard animals as he dozed off, happily dreaming of an Elf he had once accepted as impossible who no longer seemed quite so unattainable. He could hardly know that merely a breath away with a smile of his own, that same Elf dreamed of him.

Summer sweltered on, and autumn arrived without much relief from the heat. The harvest was poor, with many crops being ruined in from the brutal sun. On a day when snow should have been falling, little more than a stagnant breeze was forecasted. Gondolin was in need of entertainment to take such worries from the minds of the people more now than ever.

At Salgan’t playhouse, the company was hurrying to provide some of the much needed distraction. The first rehearsal for ‘Tears of Sirion’ was rushed through, on account of Erestor having other business to attend to. After a few minor changes were made with him present, he quickly gathered up his fiddle and jogged backstage to put things away.

By the time he had come out the exit of the theatre, dressed in his red and black uniform for the House of the Hammer, Glorfindel was waiting for him. “I thought maybe I would walk back with you,” he offered.

“I appreciate the gesture, but I have to run to make it on time. I need to go now.” He gave Glorfindel a reassuring pat on the arm and sprinted off.

Glorfindel gave chase, catching up and matching speed. “Oh, I thought I would come along with you. Maybe help you out again, only this time, maybe I will not end up on my ass. I am back in practice, now that I have use of Galdor’s arena.”

“This is one I need to attend to myself,” answered Erestor with a small smile. He slowed a little due to the heat, for there was already sweat seeping through the front of his uniform. “You should stay back at the theatre and protect our interests. Make sure that Salgant does not change his mind and turn the production into a harper concert.”

“I would rather come with you.”

“No. You cannot.” Erestor stopped, and Glorfindel jogged a few steps ahead before he doubled back around. “Glorfindel, I am sorry, but this is a private training session.”

“Oh.” Glorfindel dug his hands into his pockets. “If you are teaching it out in the open, though, how can it be private?”

“It... I just think it is best for you not to come along,” explained Erestor.

“Is this the torture class Rog asked you to teach?” questioned Glorfindel. “Because... I did not want to say anything at the time, but I feel really uncomfortable with you doing that.”

Erestor laughed. “Glorfindel, do not worry. I will be fine. I am an expert in... are we still going to Ecthelion’s house for dinner?” he asked, changing the subject when he saw the worried expression on Glorfindel’s face.

“Yes.”

“I will see you there, then,” promised Erestor as he sped down the path. “Go back to the playhouse and distract my understudy!” he shouted just before rounding a grove of trees. “Make sure he does not do better than I did the first run-through!”


---

Later that evening, hours after the second rehearsal had wrapped up and Glorfindel had arrived at Ecthelion’s, the two lords were still sitting on Ecthelion’s balcony, awaiting their comrade’s arrival. Although a sudden burst of rain was cooling the air, both had unbuttoned their vests and loosened their collars some time ago. They now listened to the patter of droplets on parched ground and of the soil thirstily absorbing the rain. “Are you sure he was going to meet you here?”

“That was what he told me this morning. He had some... things to teach Rog’s recruits, and then he was going to come over here.” Glorfindel shrugged. “Perhaps he needed to take a shower and get a change of clothing?”

“Or, he forgot. He forgets things sometimes, Glorfindel.” Ecthelion set down his empty goblet and considered opening the bottle of wine that was set aside for their dinner. “He is fairly old, Glorfindel. You need to keep that in mind. He promises to do things, and forgets. He says things, and forgets he said them. When he gets drunk, which is not very difficult I have noticed, he is completely unaware of his actions.”

“Tell me about it,” muttered Glorfindel as the butler came onto the porch to announce Erestor’s arrival. Glorfindel waved his hand toward the interior of the house after the butler left, as if signaling that he knew all along that Erestor would eventually arrive.

Ecthelion picked up his goblet and sighed. “I wonder what his excuse is going to be.”

“I am certain it is valid,” replied Glorfindel as they came back inside to find the dining room empty. “He must yet be at the door.” The pair walked through the dining room, and down the stairs into the vast foyer that held a fountain cut of crystal that sprayed water up three stories. The droplets fell back down like diamonds as they passed by. When they reached the hallway, they found Erestor sitting on a bench, removing his mud caked boots as carefully as he could.

“Should I even ask?” pondered Ecthelion as he watched in amusement as Erestor struggled and failed miserably. There was a trail of mud leading into the house that a pair of maids were trying hard to clean up, as well as the specks of mud that were getting on the marble floor and carved stone statues every time Erestor pulled on his boot.

The look on Erestor’s face was grim. “It is raining outside,” he announced rather tersely.

“I know. We were watching it from the balcony.” Ecthelion snapped his fingers at the maids, and they scurried over to aid Erestor with his task. “Do not tell me the path to the house is flooded.”

“No. I came from the stables.” Erestor looked at Glorfindel, and holding his gaze, said, “We lost Canary Blue. The foal may not make it, either. Something went wrong and she went into labor early; the stable hand managed to find me first because I was out on the training field. I did what I could.”

Glorfindel hung his head and nodded. “Damn. Pumpkin, and now this.”

“You lost Pumpkin?” Ecthelion touched Glorfindel’s shoulder sympathetically when the younger elf nodded. “I am sorry. I know how much you loved that horse.”

“He was old. It was time,” was all Glorfindel said in answer, not mentioning it had been mere days earlier. He pinched the bridge of his nose to regain his composure before looking up again. “Dinner is getting cold. We should eat.”

“I would understand if you wanted to go to the stables to see to things, Glorfindel,” said Ecthelion.

“The stable hands are probably doing exactly what I would be doing.” Glorfindel glanced at Erestor for confirmation, and Erestor nodded. “I think I could use another glass of wine, though.”

Conversation at dinner centered around the opening of the play two nights later, and to how things were progressing with the stables, barracks, and arena that Glorfindel was building. “The weather has allowed us to progress much faster and further than we had hoped. I expect within a month to have all of the officers moved in, and the rest of the soldiers by the beginning of the year. After that I will begin actively recruiting from the valley.”

“Good luck with that. I understand that Fingon is pleased to know that someone here is taking care to train the less fortunate members of our society.”

“I guess I feel a kinship to them,” replied Glorfindel thoughtfully. “When I came here, like most of them, I had nothing. I was lucky enough that you took me in, fed me, clothed me, trained me, and kept me out of trouble. The only reason I achieved what I have is because of my friends, yourself and Erestor, and the others who have come to my aid in hard times, Galdor and Idril, and now, Salgant and Duilin. I think I owe it to others to give back some of that good fortune in whatever way I can.”

The meal was hurried through, on account of Erestor’s tardiness and the long day that was ahead of all three of them the following morning. The rain had stopped, with puddles and a cool breeze being the welcomed aftereffects. Glorfindel insisted upon stopping at the stables while Erestor headed straight for the tower. Smoke was rising up from the small crematorium at the far end of Glorfindel’s land, and he knew Canary Blue’s body had already been taken there. It was probably for the best, he decided, as he entered the stables. Grieving over her corpse so soon after dealing with Pumpkin’s death wasn’t going to do him any good. Instead, he went to her old stall to find it empty. Signs of birth and death were evident, and with a sigh he sat down on a crate next to the gate of the pen.

One of the stable hands passed by a few minutes later, carrying a bucket of water. “If you came looking for the foal, m’lord, we moved her.”

Glorfindel looked up. “Is she still alive?”

The boy nodded. “Barely, sir. We took her in with Sunshine, since she’s the only one nursing right now.”

“And Sunshine is letting her nurse? This I have to see,” replied Glorfindel as he stood. Recalling the incident much earlier in the year when Sunshine had almost run off her own foal, he was surprised when he approached her stall. There he found a very healthy little Lemondrop, now nearly a yearling, prancing about the stall in excitement over having this new adopted sibling, while Sunshine kept the tiny foal on her feet with gentle nudges as the newborn suckled between shivers. “It seems a little drafty here. Can we get those main doors closed or else move them to another stall?”

“We are planning to move them in the morning, m’lord, but Sunshine does not let us get near the little one. I think she knows how vital it is to feed her right now.”

With a nod, Glorfindel entered the stall, knowing that none of his horses would dare resist him entering. It looked as if he was going to be chased away as well, but Sunshine suddenly recognized her master and lowered her head. “Changed your mind about being a good nana, I see,” he said as he approached. She snorted. He spent some time in the stall calming Lemondrop and tending to Sunshine and the foal. Before leaving he gave instructions to the stable hands that he should be informed of any other incidents immediately and where he could be found.

By the time Glorfindel finally made it home, the first rays of the morning light were visible on the far-off horizon. He crawled into bed and fell asleep almost right away; it was only after he woke up that he realized that Erestor had not been there when he had come to bed. Assuming that Erestor had simply left very early, it was only after speaking to Tauniel at breakfast that he discovered that Erestor had not made it home the previous night.

“Let me ask Aranel,” suggested Tauniel after she and Glorfindel had finished their breakfast. They were lounging in the sitting room when Aranel returned from visiting with her mother. “Have you seen Erestor today?”

Aranel shook her head, and placed a basket with eggs and bread on the counter. “I do not seem to recall him even coming home last night,” she said with some concern. “I believe he was scheduled to train father’s troops in the morning, and then he has the dress rehearsal for the play in the evening.”

“Your poor husband is going to wear himself out by opening night. I hope he doesn’t fall asleep on stage,” Tauniel added as Aranel joined them. She turned to Glorfindel and said, “Please tell me you have given him leave this week from tending to the horses.”

“I have, but that has not stopped him from it. In fact, I am wondering if that is where he was last night.”

“Last night?” asked Aranel.

“He never came home, as far as I could tell,” Glorfindel explained.

With a roll of her eyes, Aranel said, “Well, I hope he did not go drinking and pass out at the pub. Ada will be furious.”

“Maybe I should go down to the practice fields, make sure he made it there this morning,” decided Glorfindel, his announcement for no one in particular. Aranel took one of the loaves from the basket and wrapped it in a cloth for Glorfindel to take with him, but he shook his head and left after retrieving his sword and his copy of the script.

Many greeted him as he made his way to the foot of the tower, and many more as he navigated through the crowded midday market. When he reached the edge of the training grounds that Rog owned, he was easily able to see Erestor, and to hear him barking commands to the bedraggled warriors-in-training. Rog was nowhere in sight, but Glorfindel still kept his distance, walking the edge of the field instead of through it.

Erestor whistled sharply and the trainees fell in line. Two lieutenants held up a wooden board. Erestor spoke words that Glorfindel was too far away to hear, and then, after repositioning himself, struck the board with a high kick. The crack of the wood as it splintered in two made Glorfindel flinch, and he hoped no one had caught notice of him. Erestor directed his students to pair off as he pointed to a pile of boards nearby.

Not wanting to disrupt whatever Erestor was doing with his soldiers, Glorfindel decided to go directly to the playhouse and see how the preparations were coming along. It made sense for him to protect his investment, and Erestor had to come to the theatre eventually. On his way he checked on things at the stables, and after deeming things satisfactory, took up residence in the balcony of the theatre with Duilin.

“I had expected Salgant to be up here,” he said as he settled into a seat.

Duilin smirked. “Not the day before. He has to go bustling around checking and double checking everything, giving advice that comes far too late to be taken all that seriously. It makes him feel as if he is still in control when, at this point, all control is lost to him and now it is up to the individual performers to band together as a team and make the audience love them. No words of encouragement or threats of firing will do any good anymore.” He turned his head to regard his fellow lord, seated a few chairs over. “When is your boyfriend getting here?”

“My...” Glorfindel rolled his eyes. “Look, Duilin, I have already explained this once. He and I are not in a relationship.”

“And I only sleep with Salgant because he keeps my feet warm.”

“Well, maybe you do,” replied Glorfindel, pretending that he needed to concentrate now on the moving of scenery on the stage below. He leaned forward a little, putting Duilin out of his view until the other elf moved to the seat beside him. A few moments later, Duilin was leaned over the balcony as well, elbows on the railing much in the same position as Glorfindel. The smirk on Duilin’s face was annoying, as were the occasional sideways glances and nudges. Glorfindel shoved Duilin’s shoulder back the third time. “There is nothing going on between Erestor and I.”

“You share a room, and you follow each other around like lost puppies. Even Salgant and I do not spend as much time together as the two of you do.”

“Erestor is not interested in me whatsoever,” said Glorfindel.

Duilin rested his chin onto his hands and looked down at the rows and rows of seats on the floor level. “But in the reverse, it seems you have certainly taken an interest in him. Salgant thinks it was all some elaborate plan that Erestor constructed to hide the fact that Aranel and Tauniel have been bound for years, and that Rog has been paying Erestor to keep things quiet.”

Torn between trying to keep the secret of the marriages and disputing Erestor’s motive, Glorfindel finally decided on the latter. “I doubt very much that Erestor is being paid.”

“Ah.” Duilin settled back in his seat. Shortly thereafter, so did Glorfindel, looking weary as he rubbed his forehead. “There is no need for you to worry. Have you ever played with dominoes, my friend?”

“Sure, the game with the tiles, where you match the numbers up.”

“No. Have you ever set them up on end in a row and then pushed them over?”

“Oh, that. Sure. They all knock into each other.”

Duilin nodded. “Exactly. We all need to stick together, or else if one of us goes down, so will the rest. That is why, much as Salgant and I dislike Gildor, we leave him be. As annoying as Enerdhil has become, we leave him be. Despite the fact we can see into your bedroom window – well, used to, nice curtains you put up, by the way – neither of us would ever mention it to the king.” He scratched the back of his neck and shook his head. “I am still confused about Erestor, though.” He began to tick of the items on his fingers as he went through them. “There is no monetary gain. There is no additional power he is getting. He decreased his land by giving what he had to you, so there was no gain there. He is allegedly interested in ellyth, and yet is condemning himself to sleeping in a bed with you. Why?”

Glorfindel answered with silence.

“You keep saying there is nothing between the two of you, and, I believe that. Like I said before, we can – could – see your room from ours,” Duilin reminded Glorfindel. “It is the worst show in the city. However, the question is still there. What is Erestor getting out of this?”

“Maybe he is just doing it to be nice,” suggested Glorfindel. “Is it so unheard of for someone to perform a random act of kindness?”

“A random act of kindness would be offering to look after someone’s elflings so that they can have a day of peace with their beloved, or fixing someone a meal after a hard day’s work and giving them a backrub. An elaborate plan that includes a fake marriage seems a little in the extreme.”

“Obviously you have some theory you would care to opine,” Glorfindel said, rubbing his closed eyelids and feeling very drained.

Duilin leaned his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “Maybe he saw this as an opportunity to get close to you in a way he could not admit he wanted to. Perhaps he has the same sort of feelings you have for him, but is too afraid to consider the possibility.”

Below, Salgant’s barking of orders brought the focus for both of them back to the stage. The plump Elven-lord was scolding a dancer who had forgotten her slippers, while the set builders struggled to repair a bit of scenery that had fallen over and cracked earlier in the day. “Where is my star cast?” rumbled Salgant, and one of the leading ladies peeked out from behind the curtain. She said something inaudible to the pair in the balcony, and Salgant threw his hands into the air before shooing her away. “Ten minute delay,” he announced to the rest of the company. “Our leading ellon just arrived and needs to get in costume.”

Glorfindel sighed in relief to know that Erestor had not been kept too late at the training fields. Duilin did not miss the reaction, and smiled knowingly. “You really must love him or something.” Glorfindel avoided answering by continuing to concentrate on the stage. “He might come around someday, you know.”

“Erestor? I doubt that,” replied Glorfindel, though he had to admit to himself that there was always the tiniest glimmer of hope. “I mean, you either are or you are not. He was probably stealing kisses from ellyth when he was a little boy, and when I was an elfling, had we been the same age and living in the same place, I likely would have tried to steal a kiss from him.”

Until the curtain was drawn in preparation for the rehearsal, Duilin watched the rushing about of the cast and crew. As they waited for the swell of the music and the opening of the curtain once again, Duilin said, “He could still change.”

“Doubtful.”

“I did.” Duilin settled into his seat and waited until he had Glorfindel’s full attention. “Salgant and I became friends because our parents thought it would be ideal for him to marry my sister. For a while, everyone seemed to like the idea. He courted her, she sighed and swooned over him, and I played chaperone to their outings as any respectable, concerned older brother should.”

“So, what happened? You and Salgant fell in love, obviously.”

“You are incorrect, sir. It was my sister who fell in love, but not with Salgant. She had become infatuated with the local blacksmith. On the night that Salgant proposed, she rejected him and admitted who her true love was. My parents were delighted, for blacksmiths are respectable and always in demand, and hardly gave the elf who had nearly joined our family, whom they had to that point treated as their own son, a second thought.”

The orchestra began to play, and the lights dimmed as the ushers hurried to put out most of the candles along the aisles. Glorfindel nodded to Duilin to continue, and he did so in hushed tones. “I sought him out, and found him distressed. We walked around Nevrast and talked for a while, ending up on the back stoop of some abandoned house. He asked me to answer a question honestly, and then he asked me if I had ever thought that maybe, if someone had no want of children or of a wife, if I felt it was wrong for two males to love one another and live together. Of course, I have always considered myself fairly liberal in my judgments, so I answered that if there were in fact two males who were interested in such a thing, that I saw no harm in it.”

“Then he asked if I had aspirations to have a wife of my own, and a family, and I told him honestly that I had not really considered it, but that I probably should if I was to carry on the family line. He prodded me further – if I was just a peasant, without an impressive heritage and a duty to my family, would I still marry and raise children. And, honestly? I have a severe disdain of children. I am not sure I even liked myself as a child. So I told him this, and his mood brightened slightly.” Duilin lowered his voice further as the curtain rose up. “Then he asked me, was it something I would ever consider, if there was an ellon who thought I was attractive, if I would ever consider it. I shrugged and said, I supposed I would consider it.”

“And then?” asked Glorfindel. It seemed rude to talk through the opening scene, but he had seen it so many times that he could recite all of the parts from memory.

“And then he kissed me.”

“Ahh.”

“And then I ran away.”

“Ohh.”

Duilin ruefully smiled. “I think it was all too much for a single day. My sister’s announcement, her rejection of someone who had become such a good friend, and then the transition, that instead of Salgant being like my brother, that he wanted to be my lover. It took me a few weeks to come around to talking to him again, and then it was just a greeting here and there when we passed in the market or on the street. I think it was, maybe four years later, perhaps five... it was after his father died, I remember that much. It was actually at a play, oddly enough. We chanced to be seated next to one another, and with a sold out theatre, there was no opportunity for either of us to switch seats. It was during the curtain call, when everything was so loud from applause and cheers that I could hardly hear him, that he whispered an apology to me. It was so... heartbreaking and so sincere. I invited him back to my house to have a drink with me, and he accepted.

“I hardly recall how it happened, but as soon as we were inside, we were practically all over each other. He had gained a little weight by then, and became embarrassed by it when we disrobed. He had been eating his way through his depression. I remember telling him it had nothing to do with the physical, it was all about the spirit and the mind, and it was then that finally I understood as well. There should never be set boundaries to love.”

“The trouble I have with Erestor is that he already believes all of that, but he really wants a family. He would make a good father, too, and I would feel terrible trying to dissuade him from that,” Glorfindel admitted.

Duilin nodded. “Fair enough. Still, I think you stand a better chance with him than you are leading yourself to believe.”

---

After the final rehearsal, Glorfindel rushed down from the balcony to make it backstage. His plan was to walk back with Erestor, but he not only did not find his friend with the rest of the cast, it was evident from the state of his dressing room that he had left in haste. Glorfindel jogged outside, but no matter which direction he looked in, there was no sign of Erestor anywhere.

Arriving home, it was the same story as the night before. Erestor had not returned, and when Glorfindel turned in for the night, he was alone for only the second time since moving into the apartment with Erestor and the ladies.

When Glorfindel woke the next day, it was to the sound of splashing water and light humming. He hastily pulled on a robe and entered the washroom to find Erestor taking a bath. “Where have you been?” questioned Glorfindel as he pulled the stool over to the tub. He yawned and rubbed his eyes as he waited for Erestor to answer.

“Is there a reason you entered without knocking?” asked Erestor back. He was sitting in the tub lathering his hair and looking quite harried.

“Because I have been worried about you,” answered Glorfindel as a knock came upon the main door.

“I appreciate it. Hand me that pitcher, will you?” Erestor motioned toward a pitcher of warm water sitting on the counter.

“Answer my question, and maybe I will.” The knock on the front door became more insistent, and Glorfindel wondered why neither Aranel or Tauniel was answering it.

Erestor leaned out of the tub managed to reach the pitcher on his own. “You had better get the door,” he said as someone switched to banging on the door instead of the polite knocking.

Glorfindel scowled and left the washroom, tying the belt of the robe so that it would not accidentally fall open. He yanked the door open, and one of the stable hands practically fell into the room. “Sir, you need to come at once! There was a pack of wolves and they managed to get into the stables before we chased them off. It was a nightmare!”

At once, Glorfindel held up his hand to silence the distressed lad, and then took quick, long strides into the bedroom to change into leggings and boots. He tied back his hair on his way out, motioning for the stable hand to come with him. When he reached the bottom of the tower, he entered the royal stables. Mounting Dragonsong without a saddle, Glorfindel pulled the stable hand up onto the horse with him, and then set off, racing across the city, hoping he was not too late.

The fastest path was through the greater market, and Glorfindel took the chance, shouting for people to clear the path. He almost knocked an elleth into a well, and had to leap clear over a baker who was concentrating more on the over-laden tray of bread he was carrying than with the horse that was galloping in his direction.

There was a crowd at the fence of the stables when Glorfindel arrived, and he could see Sunshine near the gate in obvious distress. Even with the crowd blocking a fair amount of the view, he could tell that something was terribly wrong. He leaped off of Dragonsong and approached, shoving the masses out of his way without much heed to who he might be offending.

“The wolves came right into the stables and scattered the horses in the pasture. They must be hungry to try that. We killed two of them, but I think the pack leader got away. Some of them leaped into the stall with Sunshine and the foals, so we opened the gate in hopes they would get out. Sunshine kicked at them while the babies made it out and we got them far off. By then, some of the wolves were turning on us – it was a mess. Sunshine bolted when she had the chance, but she ran blindly and tried to leap the main fence. By then, the wolves were rounding back into the forest.”

Glorfindel cursed the fact he had never built a real fence on the side that bordered the woods. There was a knee-high stone wall, but nothing significant enough to keep out wolves or tigers. Neither had ever been a problem; the tigers tended to stay up in the mountains, and the wolves were never bold enough to come into the actual city.

Sunshine continued to struggle, but she weakened more as she did so. The foals, her own and the orphaned one she had taken to, were being restrained some distance away. Glorfindel motioned for them to be let go as he came close to Sunshine, the crowd parting for him.

The mare had attempted to leap the high fence, and whether she failed due to fear or something else, she had only made it halfway. Three of the ornate pickets had spiked through her, and she was caught on the fence. Every twist and turn only dug further into her, and Glorfindel reached out to touch her head and try to calm her. He looked down, the blood dripped down the fence and pooling beneath her. The horse wearily rested her neck over his shoulder and gave a tired huff. “You did good, sweetheart. You saved the little ones,” he said, disregarding the fact he was now crying openly in front of a hundred or more curious onlookers. “See? Both of them are right there. I promise we will take care of them for you, sweetheart. You did everything you could, but you deserve a rest now,” he said, stroking her mane. She wuffled against him as he sniffled and asked for the oldest of the stable hands to bring him a long knife.

“I was wrong about you, Sunshine,” he said as he waited and painstakingly tried to ease her pain the best he could. “You are a great mother.” As she gave a weak whinny in agreement, Glorfindel felt the knife being placed in his free hand. He stepped back slightly and kissed the mare on the forehead, and then did what he had to.

“What happened?”

Glorfindel closed the door behind him with his elbow, his hands still caked with blood. He shook his head as he pulled off his boots and dumped them at the entrance. When he left, he had neglected a tunice or shirt, so his chest was bloodied as well, and Tauniel began to check him for wounds while Aranel, pale and distressed, sat down on the sofa and fanned herself.

“None of the blood is my own,” assured Glorfindel as he walked away from Tauniel and went to the counter that Erestor poured his nightly drinks at. Glorfindel selected the darkest of the amber liquids and poured himself a half glass. He drank it like water, and coughed when he finished.

“Here; come to the kitchen and let me clean this up,” insisted Tauniel as she gently took the glass from her husband. He followed without fuss to the adjoining room, where she used a dishrag to wipe the splatter from his chest and shoulder, and then instructed him to wash his hands while she retrieved a round tin from one of the higher shelves. She lifted the cover and then a sheet of parchment and handed him a thin, round sort of biscuit. “Eat this. It will help soak up the alcohol. You cannot risk being inebriated opening night.”

A shrug was all he offered in thanks before taking the travel bread with him into the sitting room. He cracked it in half, and from first nibble knew it was stale, but it would serve its purpose all the same. It was just as well; he hardly felt like eating, but he had to have something and the wafer was bland and light, but was worth an entire day’s meals.

Erestor chose that moment for his arrival, exiting their shared room and dressed in loose clothing, obviously meaning to relax before the grand event that evening. He glanced at the ladies, and then took a deep breath at made his way to Glorfindel, sitting down beside him. “I take it things did not go so well.”

A piece of the dry bread crumbled and fell as dust onto the floor as the wafer was broken in half. Glorfindel explained the circumstances and the outcome as briefly as possible. Tinier and tinier pieces were broken off, and Glorfindel ate these little bits while staring towards the window, avoiding all eye contact since he had arrived. “It was a lot harder than I thought.”

“It always is,” agreed Erestor, but Glorfindel shook his head.

“I never killed anything before. I know I had to, she was in so much pain, but I... I never thought I would really have to.”

“You have gone hunting before, though,” said Erestor. “I know it is far harder when the animal is your own, but I myself have felt no less remorse shooting a deer than I do when I ease a horse with his or her misery.”

The last morsel of bread was eaten before Glorfindel revealed, “I go to the market and I buy whatever it is I need. I never go hunting.”

“But, we have gone hunting together,” argued Erestor. “There were a number of times, especially when we were searching for Aredhel, and—“ Erestor paused. “And you stood back. It was always Gildor or myself who made the kill.”

Glorfindel nodded, still unable to look at Erestor, choosing to focus now on the empty chair at the desk. “My father once forced me to kill a doe, so I suppose I should take some responsibility there. However, this was the first time it was my hand willingly on the knife.”

In a comforting gesture, Erestor put his arm around Glorfindel and pulled him a little closer. “As soon as this play is over, I am going to request a break from the playhouse and from training and you and I are going to spend a week in the woods behind the stables.”

Thankful for the friendly hug, Glorfindel shamelessly snuggled against Erestor, his head resting on Erestor’s shoulder. “You are probably going to make me go shoot something.”

“We are going to reverse the damage your father did and the negative feelings you have about hunting. You eat meat, and you should know how to catch and prepare it yourself instead of relying on someone else to do that part. It does not mean you should always hunt for everything, but if you are going to eat it you should know how it gets from the forest to your plate. We might have to start with fishing; I am far better at that than I am tracking creature that can run away.”

Glorfindel squirmed slightly, but nodded his head against Erestor. He hated the idea of killing anything, but Erestor’s explanation was sound and logical, and it meant time spent alone with him. Time alone with Erestor was going to be rare to nonexistent in the coming months, especially if the play was a success. With this thought, Glorfindel melted into the moment, enjoying the rare closeness to Erestor until time brought with it reality and forced each of them to tend to certain tasks before the evening arrived.

---

There was hardly a reason to worry about the play, Glorfindel learned hours later. Laughter erupted exactly when it should, and cheers at all the right places. A chase scene brought forth the only error – water from the previous act had not been cleaned up, and Erestor slid on the unseen obstacle. His flailing of his arms and stumbles to keep himself upright only added to the comedy of it, and as Salgant wiped mirthful tears from his eyes, he said to Glorfindel through the din of the theatre, “I wonder if we can plan that for every show!”

Now standing in the receiving line between Salgant and Duilin, Glorfindel had a grin permanently plastered on his face. The compliments rained down so fast as the audience passed them on their way out of the theatre that the lobby was virtually flooded before the balcony even began to empty. Lines had formed at the ticket booths, and an usher had been snagged to mark off shows as sold out as the number of reservations increased.

Duilin glanced down to the other end of the line, where four of the five principle players were busily signing autographs, hugging fans, shaking hands, and accepting bouquets and other small gifts, as well as making apologies for the missing cast member. During a very short lull, Duilin nudged Glorfindel and whispered through his teeth, “Where is your boyfriend hiding?”

“He is not my...” Glorfindel looked around and frowned. “He should be here.”

“Mmmhmm.” Duilin gently pushed Glorfindel out of the line and said, “Go find him before we have a riot.”

The first place Glorfindel headed was back through the backstage area and into the hidden corridors that lead to the dressing rooms. He knocked on the door of Erestor’s dressing room when he reached it, and pushed it open to find a pair of ellin – neither of whom was Erestor – engaged in something more than acting. “Beg pardon,” muttered Glorfindel as he shut the door hastily and continued to search the rooms. An usher directed him to the rear doors, saying that Erestor had left with a petite elleth with dark hair soon after the play ended.

“Ah, yes, his wife,” said Glorfindel with a nod.

The usher furrowed his brow. “She did not look like his wife. Then again, it is dark back here.”

Glorfindel paused, shook the thought from his head, and climbed the stairs that took him to the exit. The streets were dark, for a heavy fog had set in that hindered the hanging street lanterns from doing their duty. It made it difficult to make out who was who of those walking down the misty paths.

Just as Glorfindel was about to walk the perimeter to search for Erestor, he spied a couple standing beneath one of the street lights. Even in the darkness, there was something quite familiar about the ellon, and Glorfindel took a step back into the shadows as he recognized that it was Erestor, standing beside a lady he had never seen before.

Perhaps Glorfindel was not aware of who she was, but obviously Erestor was acquainted. The elleth placed her hand on his chest as she whispered something to him, and he casually put his arm around her shoulder. As Glorfindel looked on, Erestor took the lady into his arms and held her close as she sobbed against him. The first emotion Glorfindel felt was anxiety, and he looked this way and that to be sure no one else was on this part of the street. Second, he was hit was such jealousy and anger that he felt his fists clenching on their own accord as he glared, unseen, at the pair.

Erestor whispered words of comfort as he rubbed the elleth’s back. They embraced again as she calmed, but did not let go for what Glorfindel considered an unreasonable amount of time. Eventually, Erestor straightened himself up. They shared a lingering smile, and then the lady drew the hood of her cloak up over her head and hurried away into the night. Erestor leaned against the light post and gave a sigh. He closed his eyes after she disappeared from sight and smiled to himself.

“Is that what you have been doing instead of coming home at night?” Glorfindel’s voice cut crisply through the night.

Erestor turned abruptly, blinking in an attempt to make out Glorfindel from the shadows. The blond stepped forward, a hard and sour look on his face. Erestor sucked in his breath. “Let me explain,” he began, but Glorfindel cut him off immediately.

“I hardly think you need to. I am not blind, though I almost wish I was. Duilin wants you inside. You have been keeping most of your admirers waiting, although I am certain he will understand when he finds out you were taking good care of one of them.”

“Glorfindel,” attempted Erestor again, but Glorfindel was already on his way toward the front entrance. “Glorfindel, it is not what it looks like!” shouted Erestor, sounding more like he did when barking orders on the field than he normally did at home.

With a dramatic pause, Glorfindel gave Erestor and icy look over his shoulder. “You can explain just what that was when we get home. I am sure your WIFE will want to hear what you have to say about this. Right now, I expect you to return to the lobby, where, as I said, your arrival has been anticipated.”

Erestor shook his head and rolled his eyes but complied without further argument. They both arrived back in the lobby at approximately the same time, though Erestor made sure to keep himself just a few steps behind Glorfindel and not to address his friend directly. There was indeed a small crowd awaiting the star actor’s arrival, and for the next hour Glorfindel nearly forgot about the incident outside as he was introduced to various theatre critics and donors by Salgant, while Duilin kept the line moving and the actors corralled.

“There is a cast party at Salgant’s house. You are invited, of course, if you want to come,” said Duilin to Glorfindel as they locked the front doors after the last of the audience members had left. Duilin looked over his shoulder at Erestor and added, “Both of you, that is.”

Instead of answering, Erestor looked at Glorfindel, who glared hard and then said, “Thank you, but we need to get home. It is late.”

“I am certain your ‘wives’ would not mind if you were out another hour,” said Duilin, having missed Glorfindel’s expression.

“Thank you, but it is late.”

Erestor cleared his throat and said with some amount of uncertainty, “Perhaps we should go. Just for a little while, so as not to be rude.”

Glorfindel sat down in one of the large, plush chairs of the lobby and leaned back in it, his arms stretched over the arms of the chair. “Do you need to change before we go home?” he asked, stressing the last word.

“I probably should,” answered Erestor meekly before taking a step in the direction of the doors that would lead to the backstage area.

“You have five minutes, and then I shall come after you. It would behoove you NOT to have me come after you.”

Erestor considered Glorfindel’s threat for a moment, but merely nodded. He jogged to the doors and disappeared past them.

“Well then.” Duilin sat down next to Glorfindel, perching himself on the edge of the chair. “I suppose I will not be seeing you or your boyfriend at the party.”

Duilin found himself on the receiving end of a very defiant stare. “He is not my boyfriend.”

“Alright, fine, whatever you say,” answered Duilin, though clearly from his tone of voice and smirk, he hardly believed this. “Whatever he is to you, he certainly did or said something to offend you enough to focus all sorts of anger on him.”

“Mmm.” Glorfindel dropped the gaze, focusing a softer look on the doors in anticipation of Erestor coming back.

Duilin nudged Glorfindel’s elbow. “So?”

“What?”

“What did he do? One minute you were sunshine and happiness, and the next you come back and look like you want to tear off his head and piss down his throat.”

Glorfindel ran his hands through his hair and stared up at the ceiling. “I have no idea.”

With a dignified chuckle, Duilin repeated, “You have no idea? You have no idea what he did, or you have no idea why you are so upset?”

“Either... both,” admitted Glorfindel in a tired voice.

“Are you positively certain the two of you are not a couple?” asked Duilin, continuing to laugh as Erestor emerged from the backstage area. “Good luck, Lord Glorfindel, though I cannot say I am certain what I am sending you well wishes for!” To Erestor, Duilin simply said good night before wandering away to usher home any stray performers or workers still in the theatre.

The apartment was dark when Glorfindel and Erestor arrived. Neither had spoken to the other on the long walk home. The former fumbled to light a few candles, only to find that Tauniel and Aranel had made themselves quite comfortable on the couch in their absence. “You have a room for that,” scolded Glorfindel as they hastily scrambled to cover each other with the throw that was on the back of the sofa. Erestor’s gaze lingered on them even after they had managed to hide most of their nudity.

“Sorry!” Aranel huddled closer to Tauniel and yanked the blanket over her bare legs. “We thought you would stay and go off to the party.”

Glorfindel practically threw himself down into a chair, much like a small elfling in the midst of a tantrum while Erestor shut and locked the door. He took up a position between the chair and the couch, waiting for Glorfindel to say something in explanation to the ladies. When nothing was said, Erestor sighed. “After the performance tonight—“

“Erestor was with another elleth,” blurted out Glorfindel. “I saw it with my own two—“

“If you would let me explain—“

“Who cares?” Tauniel was stroking the hair on Aranel’s head to calm her down. “No one ever said he had to stay celibate.”

“If I could explain,” shouted Erestor, and the boom of his deep voice made all three of them cower back slightly. He gave Glorfindel the sort of long, hard look that had been given to him earlier and proceeded to speak. “I would like to preface this by saying I have been very, very open about all aspects of my life with all three of you, except those items which I foresaw no need for you to know or that I had sworn to others not to speak of. This is one of the latter.”

He took himself to the bar, poured a glass of wine, but took only a sip as he returned. “King Fingon’s decrees have affected a fair number of our folk. We have seen increases in all of the armies because of his initiatives. Many artisans and laborers have been uprooted from trades they have perfected, in some cases, for centuries, and have been forced to callous their hands with blades and bows. The lady Glorfindel saw me with tonight is the wife of one such ellon.”

“And I thought the fact you were cheating was bad enough,” mumbled Glorfindel. “With a married elleth, no less.”

“But who is his cheating on?” wondered Aranel. “Certainly not me. I have no quarrel if he chooses to spend time with another lady.”

“Ai! You are certainly dense at times!” exclaimed Tauniel. “You might think it matters not, but who knows the character of this girl, and what if her husband were to find out? If she talks, it could mean all of our necks!”

“Hold, now,” pleaded Erestor half-heartedly. “Your tales rival those of the court loremaster! Hear me out, children,” he said, quite sternly, reminding them without doubt of the vast difference in their ages to his. “The lady is the wife of a soldier in my training, in Rog’s army. She is not my lover,” he said rather pointedly, as if this might help to cease the discussion.

“She and her husband have two adorable children at home, twin daughters of only four years. Imagine their shock when he was told he was expected to leave his employment as a jeweler and take a job paying barely a quarter of his previous wages. They were forced to dismiss the nanny and their maid, and to give up their horses to his brother, for they could not afford to feed them and their children. He barely made it into Rog’s latest group of trainees, for it is more and more difficult than it used to be to be accepted.”

Erestor took a longer drink from the goblet and said, “He turned out to be terrible. I doubt I was even so bad. The first day Rog saw him, he looked him up and down, broke his bow in half and told him to go home.” Wearily, Erestor rubbed his eyes. “My sleepless nights as of late have been spent at his home, sparring with him in his yard. Short of working a miracle, I accomplished in two weeks, especially in these last few days, what normally takes months of training. His wife came to thank me tonight; he went to see Rog this afternoon and was restored into the current group of trainees, so all is well in their small world now, and all appears to be rotten in mine.”

“I apologize, Erestor,” said Glorfindel numbly. “I thought I knew what I was seeing.”

“Ask next time, Glorfindel. Just ask me! Have I not earned enough of your trust for at least that much?” Erestor’s expression masked his emotion, but his voice belied the hurt he felt. Glorfindel dropped his head in shame. “Your imagination turned a kind act into a scandalous affair. I hope you will have enough sense in the future not to jump to conclusions.”

Glorfindel nodded his head, daring not to look up until Erestor came over and crouched down in front of his chair in order to make eye contact. “Sorry,” offered Glorfindel again.

“Just... trust me. And ask next time. And stop pouting,” he added. “Now, I am going to go to the party that Salgant is throwing, if it is not too late. I think, as producer, you should really come along.”

“Yes, please do take him with you,” insisted Aranel.

“Indeed,” agreed Tauniel, giggling slightly. “She and I still need to make it through the second act!”

---

Again the walk was silent, but this time there was much less animosity in the looks that were exchanged. They had to meander through the lesser market to get to Salgant’s house. The empty stalls and darkened tents created an eerie sight. A foraging mouse dashed across their path; a tattered old black cat gave chase. In the distance, a wolf howled, and soon after, they heard the party before they saw it.

The participants had spilled out into the front lawn and back gardens, and some were even making merry on the balconies and sitting on the roof. The pair managed to squeeze their way into the grand foyer, where Salgant played harp at the center beneath a crystal chandelier. Wine was plentiful, and Duilin was masterfully playing host to the vast amount of guests mingling with one another.

Duilin spotted Erestor almost immediately (for hiding when you stand inches above most other elves is never a feat accomplished without slouching, and Erestor never slouches), and waved to Glorfindel moments later. After excusing himself from the actress he was talking to, Duilin arrived between them, an arm around the shoulder of each. “I had hoped you might change your minds. Let me show you to the party,” he offered as he guided them up a curving staircase, which soon gave them a bird’s-eye-view of the chandelier and Salgant beneath it.

“I thought this was the party,” said Glorfindel when they reached the landing, two stories higher than the ground level.

“This way,” said Duilin quietly as they made their way through the sea of guests on the upper floor. They took another flight of stairs up and reached the fifth or sixth level by Glorfindel’s accounting before another corridor and another long stairway brought them into one of the towers of the house. “We always have two parties,” he explained now that there was no one else around to hear them. “One for the cast and their families and friends, and one for our leads and persons we would want joining us in a more intimate setting.”

The doors were pushed open to reveal a small, cozy space. There was a long, padded bench along one wall with a few tables positioned here and there and some chairs, round tables near to the parallel wall with chairs as well, and a wall of tall windows between them with thickly padded comfortable chairs and small tables with lanterns grouped along that side. The middle area was not very wide, and contained a long, high table laden with wine and bowls of bite-sized pieces of fruit and nuts. “I will return as soon as I track down the caterer and drag Salgant away from his harp,” promised Duilin as he deposited them in the room and then closed the doors as he left.

Nearly every seat was taken, and there were even a few ellon standing or leaning against walls. The room was abuzz about the play, as well as life in general. Two of the windows had been opened to allow a breeze and so that the music on the lawn below played by two violinists and a harper would travel up into this sanctuary. Erestor nodded to a small part of the bench and a lady who was motioning them over. Erestor squeezed onto the bench, while Glorfindel managed to find a nearby chair that was unoccupied.

“Salgant said you were not going to make it,” said the lady who had beckoned them to her table. “I am ever so glad you changed your mind.” She was fluttering a wispy feathered fan in order to give herself a bit of extra breeze in the somewhat stuffy room.

Erestor grinned and rolled up his sleeves. “I just had to stop home and see to the missus. Have we missed much?”

“Hardly; only Alaguil making a fool of himself for the fun of us all.” The lady swatted Erestor with her fan and said, “How rude you are, sir, not to introduce me to your handsome friend.”

“Your pardon, sincerely,” begged Erestor playfully. “May I introduce Lord Glorfindel, House of the Golden Flower. Glorfindel, my dear friend and starlet of the show, the Lady Sidheliel.”

“Chrarming to meet you,” said the lady, offering her hand to Glorfindel. It was gloved in pale silk to match her dress, and Glorfindel took hold delicately and bowed his head to kiss the back of her hand. “So, Erestor, darling,” she said, her attention right back on her co-star, “did you hear the idea that Magros had for the next play?”

“I cannot say I have, exactly. I do know he had spoken to Eilien about going over some dialogue he was writing,” admitted Erestor.

Sidheliel smiled demurely, her fan aflutter again. “Darling, it is just the most interesting, innovative idea I have ever heard. A single first act, a single second act, and multiple third acts. Magros has concocted a romantic mystery that can end any one of a dozen ways. Either we change the ending every few weeks, or, we learn multiple endings and surprise the audience each time.”

“That is a brilliant idea,” agreed Erestor. “Do you know if it would be done for the next season?”

“I swear, he told me it was already finished.” Sidheliel scanned the room. “Ah, there he is, sitting there with Ithildir and Aegion. Let us do a bit of polite eavesdropping, darling,” she suggested, offering her arm in a prompt to get Erestor to offer her his, which he did. As Glorfindel began to stand up in an effort to follow them, the lady said, “We shall return as soon as we are able. Thank you ever so for staying and watching the table for us.”

Not one to go where he was uninvited, Glorfindel nodded as the pair made their way across the room to join in the camaraderie of their fellow cast members. He looked to his left, and found the closest three with their backs to him, deeply in humorous conversation. To his right, a couple was sitting at the next table. They had extinguished the candle that would have been between them and were leaned in close, their foreheads touching as they whispered endearments to one another. When he caught himself staring too long, Glorfindel scanned the room briefly before changing to sit at the bench. At least he could people-watch from the new vantage point, even if he could not join.

Some shifting began to occur when Duilin returned, for it seemed the way to drag Salgant up to join them was to drag the harp, or a harp of some sort at least, up with him. As the instrument was positioned near the doorway, those who were displaced scrambled to find other seats. Glorfindel found himself wedged tighter on the bench as others squished onto it, and the chair that he had sat on when he and Erestor first arrived was taken up by a lithe young ellon with a cheerfully contagious shy smile. “Good evening. May I sit here?” he asked, hovering just above the seat. Glorfindel motioned that he should take the spot, and the elf sat. “Thank you. I seem to have lost my chair to a harp. Then again, to tell the truth, I really should not be here in the first place,” he added, and bit his lip, perhaps thinking he had said too much.

“If you can keep a secret, I very much doubt I should be here, either,” admitted Glorfindel. “Except from a financial standpoint, I had very little to do with this production. I cannot even tell the principles from the understudies.”

“Oh! So this is my chance to make you think I really AM supposed to be here!” The youthful ellon smiled and held out his hand. “Sadly, I am one of the humble understudies, and a grateful member of the cast all the same. Faelion, at your service, m’lord.”

“And why would you be at my service?” asked Glorfindel amusedly before shaking hands with the younger elf.

Faelion shrugged. “Why not? You are the patron, after all.”

“I suppose.” Glorfindel rubbed his chin. “I recall seeing you before, now that I think of it, but I cannot think where.”

“It was when your friend was fulfilling his training duties,” explained Faelion. “I am Lord Erestor’s understudy.”

“Ah, yes, that is where it was,” nodded Glorfindel. “Perhaps in the next production you will earn a spot in the regular cast.”

“Technically, I am in the regular cast,” said Faelion. He laughed and shook his head. “I only the one line, though. ‘Sir, your carriage awaits’.” Faelion laughed again. “It would be nice to have a name on the program instead of ‘Footman Number Two’, but, I take what I can get.”

“Was that all they had you do for this play?” Glorfindel asked.

Faelion shook his head swiftly, which caused his light brown hair to appear to disagree with the statement as well. “I was part of the group of dancers. Originally I had no lines, but Footman Number One was unable to change costumes in enough time between the scenes, so they invented my part after hearing me speak through Lord Erestor’s part enough times. I have been fortunate; this was my first play.”

“Oh, well then, you have the potential to eventually star in productions in the future.” Glorfindel sat back as far as the bench allowed and appraised the young ellon’s appearance. “You have that sort of ‘special’ look about you... that ‘star-quality’ everyone seems to be after.” It was true, even among a race who was primarily known for their fairness. “You should have no trouble with your voice, and if you keep up the confidence, your nerves should not bother you.”

The contagious, shy smile returned. “That was why I did not earn a part right away. I froze up at my audition. I seem to be alright when I am with a group, but by myself, the stage frightens me. Although, I will have some time to overcome that later. I doubt you will see me on stage for the next few years.”

“Why not?” questioned Glorfindel.

“The edicts,” said Faelion with a sigh. “My uncle, who is also my guardian, has insisted that I train now while I am young. That means missing at least the next two audition calls.”

Glorfindel frowned. “Why not do both?”

“Uncle wants me to concentrate on the army first. He believes it is best to dedicate yourself to one thing at a time and do one task very well instead of completing a number of tasks and not doing a very good job with any of them.”

Their conversation was cut off abruptly when Salgant announced that the tables were being removed to give everyone a little more elbow room. There was a idle threat of being dismissed if mingling did not occur, and after the tables were taken away, Duilin engaged the group in a series of parlor games that kept everyone in stitches for the duration of the party.

By the time Erestor and Glorfindel were making their way home, the vast majority of the city was either fast asleep or just beginning to wake in anticipation of pre-dawn business activities. Bakers were sleepily lighting their hearths and a few early risers were already setting up their goods in the market as Glorfindel ushered Erestor through. Erestor had not had very much to drink, but the combination of alcohol with lack of rest was a dangerous one with a late matinee planned for the following day.

Once they made the climb up the tower, it did not take long before Erestor was dozing in bed. Glorfindel took a little longer to make it to the bedroom. He paused in the sitting room to straighten the pillows and throws on the couch, and to take the used glasses from the bar to the kitchen to be washed in the morning. Sleep, once he settled into bed, eluded him. Boredom set in after staring for several minutes at the ceiling, and several more at the wall.

Glorfindel carefully climbed out of the bed and walked to the window. He pushed the curtain aside slightly and looked up at the stars that twinkled above. A sudden movement a little lower caught his eye, and he saw from some ways off, a dim light in Salgant’s bedroom. The harper’s house was built on a hill, bringing the windows of the sixth floor in alignment with almost the top of the high tower Glorfindel lived in.

Practically the entire room was visible, from the thick, high mattress to the grand harp in the corner with pearl and ebony inlay. Salgant was reclining on the bed, either talking to himself or to someone not in the room but close by. When Duilin entered the room, he answered whatever it was that was Salgant had asked as he toweled off his hair. Something was mumbled back, and Duilin laughed and threw his towel at Salgant, hitting him on the knee.

Glorfindel smiled and let go of the curtain, leaving it to drop back into place. Oddly enough, Salgant and Duilin made a fairly cute couple. He turned, frowned, and sighed. It was more than he could say for himself, he thought as he watched Erestor sleep peacefully for a while.

Still too awake, Glorfindel peeked through the break between the curtains. The view he had into Salgant’s house was changed. The door of the room had been closed, and Duilin was knelt on the bed beside Salgant, one hand disappeared between the musician’s legs while the other balanced the archer above his lover as they kissed slowly.

Biting his lip, Glorfindel felt his face flush as Duilin scooted down and bowed his head. Salgant was talking to him, his eyes closed and hips thrusting upwards gently. On his back, Salgant did not look quite so plump as he normally did. It was Duilin, whoever, who caught Glorfindel’s eye. The archer had pulled back his hair, twisting it up in a knot to keep it out of the way. It also served to display rather interesting art that appeared to be painted directly onto his body. As Duilin rose up onto his knees in order to stretch to reach a jar on a nearby shelf, the sight of his perfectly toned muscles practically made Glorfindel salivate.

He knew he should look away, but there was an extreme curiosity that took hold of Glorfindel. Pleasures of the oral sort were nothing new, but he had never partaken in... the other, as he thought of it. It certainly seemed crude to call it what it really was, at least in Glorfindel’s mind.

On the other hand, to say that Salgant and Duilin were fucking looked to be appropriate. Duilin had massaged Salgant with oil before discarding the jar over his shoulder. He swung one taut, muscled limb over Salgant and began to roll his hips, undulating to some private, familiar rhythm as Salgant squeezed his thighs. Duilin arched his back as he raised himself into an odd position. Salgant’s hands slid up and gripped his pelvis firmly. There was a moment’s hesitation before Salgant pulled Duilin back down, and Glorfindel swallowed hard as Salgant’s entire length was enveloped.

It was surreal for Glorfindel as he continued to watch the show (which, he admitted, was far more entertaining than whatever Salgant and Duilin might have viewed looking into his window). The experience raised more questions than it answered. Did everyone look that funny when they were fucking? Duilin seemed to have his mouth hanging open almost the entire time. Did he ever drool on Salgant accidentally? Then, there was the stamina. The few times Gildor had brought him to climax with his mouth, and the single secret encounter he had had with Erestor had all been short, yet, Salgant pounded away for over an hour. And was it pounding if you were on the bottom? It certainly seemed as if Duilin was letting Salgant do most of the work, but it was a little hard to tell at this distance without his glasses. And why did Duilin have metal rings pierced through his skin? At first, Glorfindel thought he had imagined that one, but it soon became one of Salgant favorite things to grab. Every time it looked like Duilin was getting tired, Salgant would reach up and twist the rings embedded in Duilin’s small nipples. Watching that made Glorfindel cringe and shiver with delight simultaneously each time.

It appeared that they reached their climax at the same time, although Glorfindel could not be entirely sure. There was a tender moment when Duilin collapsed on top of Salgant and they rubbed their noses together. Salgant rubbed Duilin’s back and whispered something to him, and the smile returned to Glorfindel’s face. “Never in a age would anyone imagine those fellows together,” he mumbled to himself. “But then, love is a strange and unpredictable master.” Unintentionally, he glanced over his shoulder at Erestor, still asleep in bed.

By the time he looked back, Duilin was playfully teasing Salgant, while Salgant handed the previously discarded towel to his lover. There were some directions giving and a shooing motion made. Duilin slung the towel over his shoulder, stuck out his tongue, and waggled his butt at Salgant before leaving the room. The rotund elf lord on the bed threw back his head, and though Glorfindel heard nothing, Salgant was evidently laughing loud and hard.

‘If you cannot sleep, maybe you should come over and have a drink with us.’

Glorfindel stared through the slit in the curtains in wide-eyed disbelief. Certainly, he was tired and imagining things.

‘If we had wanted privacy, we would have shut the curtains. Salgant made a bet that you would not watch the entire time if we did not draw them. I won. So, come have a drink so that I have someone to gloat to.’

With a shake of his head to clear it, Glorfindel scanned the room. It still appeared that only Salgant was there, but it seemed as if it was Duilin who was farspeaking to Glorfindel. The ellon in question entered back into the room, laughing. Then he pointed at the windows, and past the panes of glass, across the market and courtyard, right through the slits in the curtains, directly at Glorfindel.

‘Come on, you. Bring yourself over here,’ said the impatient whisper in Glorfindel’s mind. To accentuate the point, Duilin made a beckoning motion with his hand before walking to the curtains and dramatically pulling them shut. ‘End Act One. If you want Act Two, you have to come here. We will expect you to arrive after this brief intermission.’

“The masters are awaiting you upstairs, sir,” was the greeting that Glorfindel received from the butler as the doors to Salgant’s home were opened for him. The lights of the chandelier in the foyer were dimmed now; the tables which hours ago held food and drink had been cleared away. Everything was shining and spotless, so that he saw himself mirrored clearly in the black marble floor as he walked to the stairway. At the center, the grand harp still stood, a proud reminder of whose house he was in.

Upon further direction from a maid whom had just finished polishing the brass handles and doorknobs on the second floor, Glorfindel continued up to the tower where Duilin had played host to the elite. It, too, was much emptier than it had been. The remaining tables were spread out and the doors of the room had actually been removed, and it seemed this was the usual way. Duilin was perched on the back part of one of the two lounge chairs, wearing naught but some sort of knee-length skirt-type garment belted at the waist. He looked over his shoulder only long enough to acknowledge Glorfindel and wave him forward. In the corner near the door, opposite to where the harp had been, a young ellon was hunched over many papers and open books. Glorfindel made eye contact with him briefly, and recognized him as the youth he had met earlier that night. The young one bowed his head back down to concentrate on his work.

“I hope I did not imagine the invitation,” said Glorfindel as he approached Duilin and stood behind him. The image on the other elf’s skin was clear to him now, despite having his spectacles hidden away in his pocket. It was a tiger, and not the regular sort, but the vicious, burly kind that hunted and haunted the rocky cliffs surrounding the city. The orange and black contrasted one another starkly, and as Duilin’s muscles moved, so too did the sinew of the tattooed beast ripple. The eyes, green and gold, were so lifelike that Glorfindel held his breath a moment, waiting for the feline to leap off Duilin’s back and sink the bared white teeth into his throat.

Duilin shook his head. “I am so glad the heat spell broke. This breeze has been longed for by me for some months now.” He swung his legs around and slid down onto the chair, and once there, made a slow deliberate motion to the chair beside him. “Sit. Stay a while.”

Glorfindel did as told, the feel of the cool leather making him shiver as he settled his arms across the rests. “Is Salgant abed?”

“No, he just wanted to take a bath before entertaining again.”

“I did not mean to cause a fuss,” apologized Glorfindel.

A small smile appeared on Duilin’s face, and he spoke softly. “Nay, nay, I would have made him do so anyhow. When you are as... copious as he is, certain activities require a higher frequency of bathing.” A little louder, he called to the quiet elf near the door, “How is your assignment coming along, Faelion?”

“Well enough,” he answered. “At least it will be done soon.”

Duilin shook his head, and gave a roll of his eyes for Glorfindel to see. “If you take the time to do something, you may as well do it correctly. Is it worth taking the time to throw a pot if you neglect to fire it and it turns back to muddy clay at first use?”

“No,” sighed Faelion, crumbling up a sheet of paper he had been writing on.

“Bring it here, child, let me see it.” Duilin motioned sternly, and Faelion grabbed the crinkled up sheet. He muttered to himself as he stomped over to Duilin, and slapped the wadded paper into his hand.

“So polite, the youth these days,” said Duilin to Glorfindel as Faelion went back to his table and sat down so hard in his chair that it jerked back and scraped the floor. “That floor was just waxed yesterday, Faelion. If you want to redo it yourself, go ahead and scratch it up.”

“I do not know how to wax a floor,” argued Faelion back.

“Then I would suggest you stop throwing a fit with the chairs. And bring yourself back over here; I cannot explain your mistake to you if you are a kilometer away from me.”

“I am NOT that far. Twelve meters at most.” But Faelion came back over anyhow, avoiding eye contact with Glorfindel.

“At least you have an aptitude for mathematical reasoning.” Duilin read through the page, nodding often. “This part is wrong. You need to go and look at your books again.”

“But Finwe WAS the first king of the Noldor,” disputed Faelion.

Duilin handed the paper back. “He was the first king of the Noldor in Valinor; the question directs you to think of the first king of the Noldor after they returned to Middle-earth. That is why it is an essay question and not simply a blank to be filled in. Some will argue it was Feanor, and some say it was one of his sons, either Maedhros or Maglor. There are others who believe that truly it was not until Fingolfin was chosen that there was a king of the Noldor in Middle-earth. You must choose one, research your answer, and offer your proof.”

“Fine.” Faelion grabbed the paper and went back to his seat, and was much more careful this time not to scrape the floor.

Glorfindel tried not to look too confused or curious as to just what was going on. He was beginning to wonder exactly what the relationship was between Faelion and Duilin, but opted not to ask. The butler who had greeted him appeared in the doorway, and after bowing to them, asked, “Will there be three instead of two, sir?”

Duilin nodded, and as Faelion glanced up with a hurt look on his face, Duilin sighed and said, “Make it four, Thrangorn. The bratling intends to stay up past his bedtime.” Faelion stuck his tongue out at Duilin while the butler simply bowed and left. “Would you rather I sent you to bed without supper?”

Faelion shrugged and went back to his work.

In answer, Duilin laughed. “Ah, youth,” was all he said before turning his attention back to Glorfindel. “Did you hear about Maeglin?”

“Recently, I have heard very little,” admitted Glorfindel. “Then again, I have been busying myself with the stables and the play.”

“True... well, I think you should like to know that he decided to sell the gift that his uncle offered him. The land that is near the woods,” he added when he realized Glorfindel was not quite following him. “That wolf attack has had everyone talking. He did not want to take the risk, so he is selling that land in order to pay for a piece of Enerdhil’s land.”

“Really?” Glorfindel rubbed his chin. “Do you know how much he is asking for it?”

“Yes; and I know who made him the offer.”

Glorfindel looked alarmed. “It is not going to auction?”

Duilin shook his head. “No, it was going to, but I will tell you, you would not have managed to purchase it. Someone else would have bought it instead. Land is far too scarce, even with the threat of wolves, and your resources are spread far too thin. Maeglin was only interested in liquid assets and not taking anything on credit.”

“So who is my new neighbor?” asked Glorfindel cautiously.

“Salgant, although, technically, it was my money that paid for it. Not something that Maeglin ever has to know. Salgant has invested most of his money in the playhouse and other entertainments of his.” Duilin looked up to see Faelion staring at them, listening intently. “None of this is to be shared with your friends, Faelion,” he warned.

“Who would I tell?” questioned the youth, looking somewhat hurt as he returned to his work.

Food was brought in and between the butler and two maids a few of the tables were rearranged and lowered to a height consistent with the lounge chairs. Other tables and chairs were pushed aside to make room for two more lounge chairs to be positioned facing the ones that Glorfindel and Duilin were sitting in. Individual trays with salad, bread, and sliced meat and cheese were placed on the tables that had been arranged at the center of the lounges. “Master Salgant said he will be a few minutes, but that you should begin without him,” announced the butler before he left.

“He knows I am going to wait for him anyhow,” Duilin said to Glorfindel. “Tell me, what were you going to do with the land if you had acquired it?”

“Stable expansion and more training fields. I have a backup plan to build one on top of the other, though, and as far as neighbors go... what is Salgant going to do with the land?”

“Greenhouses. He and I are both foreseeing a shortage in the food supply, and we need a more controlled environment. If we can have summers as unpredictable as this one, that would go for winters, too. The greenhouses would be multilevel. Of course, I think that there might be some ways for the two of you to work together,” said Duilin.

“How so?”

“Just as he does not need all of that land for greenhouses, you do not need all of the horse manure that you are going to be producing when your herd increases in numbers.”

There was still hope, Glorfindel suddenly realized, and he smiled in spite of himself.

“The two of you can talk business later. Tomorrow. Next week. Not tonight. Tonight, I am declaring a no-business zone while we eat,” Duilin said quickly as Salgant entered.

“Tonight? Dearest, it is morning already.” Salgant entered, wearing a long that was untied and a pair of loose pants, and purposely waddled to Faelion, ruffling his hair and giving him a kiss on the top of his mussed head before continuing on to join Duilin and Glorfindel. He sidled up next to Duilin’s chair and leaned over, brushing his cheek with a kiss. “Did you order dessert?” he asked as he sat down.

“No, I thought you did. Should I call Thrangorn back?”

As he sat down, Salgant looked over the number of places set. “Faelion, are you eating with us?”

“In a minute,” he mumbled. “I just need to finish looking over this essay. My eyes are hurting, though.”

“If you bring it here, I can look it over for you,” offered Salgant.

Faelion practically jumped out of his chair, bringing his paper with him. “I think I picked the right one, but it just seems really boring.”

“What is this for? Oh, political history... well, I can understand that, most of it is a lot of the same, over and over.” Salgant read through the paper as Duilin poured wine for all four of them. Glorfindel continued to sit quietly, still wondering about the young ellon with the light brown hair who was slouched next to Salgant. “What is this word?” asked Salgant with a jolly smile.

Frustration twisted Faelion’s mouth. “White birch,” he answered cautiously

“Then it should be Nimbrethil, not Nimpbrethil. Consider, you would say ‘Nimloth’ not ‘Nimploth’.”

“Ooooooh...” Faelion nodded his head to the side of the little, contemplating. “Yes, that makes sense. It sounds far better that way.”

Salgant handed the paper back. “You can finish the rest in the morning. I detect the scent of dessert wafting up the stairs. Organize your things and then join us.” Faelion nodded in relief and was very quick about clearing his mess into two near piles of books and papers. “Duilin, you did not need to disturb Thrangorn.”

“I wanted to bother him before he turned in for the night,” replied Duilin. “Besides, I want my dessert before I eat dinner.”

Supper was more elegant that what Glorfindel had been accustomed to as of late. His many tasks had led to a lot of lembas and very few actual meals. Despite feeling full for weeks, his stomach had been empty for so long he found it hard to eat very much. Not wanting to seem rude, he concentrated on eating slowly and making conversation. “Are you studying a particular field, Faelion?”

“Not exactly,” he said, pushing his salad around on his plate.

Salgant reached over and patted Faelion’s knee. “He is working on finishing up the remainder of his general studies. His concentration on dance caused a lapse in his learning of other topics. I want to be sure he has the basics covered before he starts his military training.”

Faelion gave an irritated sigh, and shoved his plate away. “May I be excused?”

Duilin and Salgant exchanged a hard look with one another before Salgant looked back at Faelion and nodded. “Make sure you take care of your essay first thing in the morning,” Salgant reminded him. Faelion nodded and left the room quietly, taking two of the books from the corner table with him.

After Faelion had gone, Salgant and Duilin relaxed a little more, and more wine was poured. “As soon as he gets it over with, Salgant, he will be back to normal again,” assured Duilin.

“No... being in the service always changes a person.” Salgant pushed his own plate away with a deep sigh. “I think it is going to be harder for me to let him go than it will be for him to actually go and complete the training.”

“Three years is really not a very long time,” added Duilin. “Unless you think he should take up Rog’s offer.”

To this, Salgant looked very torn. “If I sent him over there, he... I cannot do that to him. I know it would be just five months, but it would change him too much. Besides, I think he needs me and needs to be able to come home at night much more than he needs someone to adjust his attitude.”

“Either way, it is a hard choice to make,” said Duilin. “Better you than me; I think he could use a good ass kicking from Rog. I know he has had a tough time, but really, he is an adult who acts like a child.”

“With good reason,” countered Salgant, but his response lacked conviction. He swirled his wine and looked to Glorfindel. “If he was your nephew, what would you do?”

“I guess I am lacking a little information, but let me see if I can put together a basic idea. Faelion has come of age and needs to be trained per Fingon’s orders, and instead of training him with either of your companies, you want him to train with one of the other houses,” said Glorfindel.

Salgant nodded. “He needs to be trained elsewhere. I cannot take the risk that I would coddle him, and with Duilin—“

“There is no way I would be able to control him,” interrupted Duilin. “He would put at jeopardy all of the other recruits in his group with his attitude.”

Glorfindel drummed his fingers on the side of his chair. “Where are you thinking of having him go?”

“Only Galdor and Rog were able to accommodate him in their next rounds of recruits. I just want Faelion to get this out of the way. His depression continues to get worse, because he knows that one way or another his lifestyle is going to change for that time.” Salgant rubbed his forehead. “Either he does his training quickly with Rog, which will be a five month nightmare, or Galdor trains him, and we deal with three years of whining every night until this is over.”

Glorfindel poked at his chocolate cake with a spoon. He chewed at his bottom lip as he watched Salgant stare miserably out the window. “What if I could suggest a third option?”

By the time Glorfindel was walking back home, the sun was already heralding the day. He climbed the stairs high up into the tower with relative ease even having missed a night of rest: Glorfindel, by Elven standards, was still in his youth, and even older, less energetic Elves could forgo weeks of sleep if necessary with few ill effects. On his way, he made a request for water to be brought to the apartment.

When Erestor found Glorfindel, it was little less than an hour later. The tall ellon came into the washroom and leaned his shoulder against the doorway, his robe tied loosely at his waist. “Just where were you last night?” he demanded of the blond, who had one knee bent so he could wash between his toes while singing a cheerful song, inserting his own lyrics as he saw fit.

“Do you always enter without knocking?” questioned Glorfindel at the end of the erroneous verse. The cake of soap slipped from his hands, sinking into the water with a ‘splook’.

Erestor rolled his eyes and turned, his back against the doorway now. “I woke up a number of times through the night. You were not there, and I was concerned.”

“Your concern is noted.” Glorfindel fished around blindly, the fluff of the soap bubbles on the surface impeding his search. “Can you hand me the soap next to the wash basin? Mine seems to be uninterested in being helpful.”

“Tell me where you were and I will,” prodded Erestor.

A smirk pulled at Glorfindel’s mouth. “Not so much fun the other way around, is it?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Glorfindel stretched and retrieved the soap himself. “I had a meeting of sorts. We are getting a chunk of that land we wanted, and all it is costing me is a little time and effort.”

“Really? Who gave it to you? What did you have to do?” Erestor asked.

“Salgant did. We should end up getting about half of the lot.”

Erestor considered this news thoughtfully. “That would be great, considering we anticipated getting none of it. We still have ample supplies for building, considering we acquired enough to put up a theatre. With the wood, we can expand the stables. We are going to need the extra room soon. We should consider fencing off some areas to keep the mares and foals away from the stallions. I want to start housing Dragonsong with the others so that he understands that he is part of the herd and not just a rogue warhorse.”

Glorfindel nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. I want to finish the barracks first, though. My priority right now is having things ready in order to move the remaining officers and soldiers onto the land in a month, and to start a large group of recruits, two if possible, on my land before the year is out.”

“So, what did you have to do to get the land? You must have made some hefty promises.”

“Not much, really. His nephew needs to be trained, and I offered—“

“You offered to train Faelion?”

Glorfindel finished washing, and pulled up a towel sitting on the stool as he stood. “...why?”

“Good luck. He might be of age, and look of age, but he still acts as if he’s twenty. The operative word being, acts. He can be a little overly dramatic at times, if it will offer the attention he craves.”

“I noticed that. Still, I think the exchange is more than fair,” said Glorfindel as he wrapped the towel around his waist and picked up another for his long hair.

“Like I said, good luck.”

---

Six weeks later, a new play had been chosen. Practices for the new one began even as ‘Tears of Sirion’ extended its run another month. When finally the last curtain closed on the debut play, Glorfindel made the decision to lessen his presence in the playhouse in order to concentrate on strengthening his military power once again. Duilin promised to provide weekly updates, and his growing friendship with both Duilin and Salgant was sure to lead to the occasional late night gathering and business meeting.

Cool breezes now dominated, and the warmth of the sun dwindled. Harvest had been meager, but adequate. Wind whipped past the captain, tugging his hair behind him. Braids would have been a better choice for the day, thought Glorfindel ruefully, but it was much too late for that sort of thing now.

The recruits were practicing with long wooden staffs, still learning basic fighting principles. It was almost painfully boring for Glorfindel to watch, for he had soon learned that his skills, rusty as they were, far dominated those of the ragtag group charging one another in the newly opened practice arena. The arena was not quite finished, but in the state it was in was suitable for practice. One of the staffs flew from the hands of its owner, and though some of the recruits ducked away or crouched down upon hearing the outcry, Glorfindel took three strides forward and easily caught the weapon as it spun back down. “Try not to do that again,” he said sternly as he handed the weapon back, and upon seeing that it was Faelion, added, “Shouting like a girl if it does happen is not very soldier-like, either.”

Glorfindel walked away amid snickers from some of the other recruits. Privately, he berated himself in his mind for saying something so insensitive, and then had to rebuke his conscience, reminding himself that he was preparing them for war, not teaching a group of children a game. Passing by one future soldier who had stopped practice to laugh at what had happened, Glorfindel yanked away the staff, and with one swing used it to knock the offender on his rear. “You think this is a joke?”

“N-no, sir!”

Glorfindel spun the staff around with one hand as he walked back to the front of the group. “I want everyone in a line, starting here,” he said, using the staff to draw a line in the sand. There was a moment of hesitation from the group. “NOW!” barked Glorfindel, and the recruits rushed to line up, often bumping into one another and shoving for a place. With a growl of frustration, Glorfindel turned to one of the officers and said, “Fix that.”

“Attention!” The lieutenant looked aghast at the sloppy attempt that the group made to fall in and present themselves properly. “What the fuck was that?! What is this? What do you think you—give me that!” He went down the line, faulting each one for something, and some for multiple offenses. “You are the worst soldiers I have ever seen in my entire career! You can all forget about sleeping tonight. We are going to be working on this after the captain is done with all of you, and mark my words, you will not sleep until you have it right. If it takes days, so be it!”

The veins on the lieutenant’s forehead were threatening to explode, so Glorfindel placed his hand on the officer’s shoulder for a moment. Then he walked back to the front of the line, giving himself a little room between the first one and himself. “If you want a chance to see your bunk tonight, this is your chance to redeem yourself. First one who manages to knock me down gets dismissed for the night. Those who cannot, your ass belongs to Lieutenant Beredir. You first,” he said, pointing the staff he had taken earlier at the first recruit.

Without breaking a sweat, Glorfindel took down the first eight. The next seven proved to be a little more challenging, for the ninth had discovered Glorfindel to be a weaker fighter on his right side. The sixteenth hesitated and was easy, while number seventeen was too rash and after a number of hard blows, none of which connected, he was taken down just as forcefully as he had tried to take Glorfindel down. A few more lasted less than a minute, and then it was Faelion’s turn.

The youth stood back, holding his staff firmly in white-knuckled hands. Glorfindel motioned for him to come forward and attack, but Faelion stood in his spot and started to shake. As Glorfindel angrily approached, Faelion flinched and fell to his knees, trembling. Glorfindel stopped his advance. “What are you doing, soldier?”

Faelion whimpered something inaudible, and Glorfindel looked at the lieutenant, who was closer to Faelion, for clarification.

“He says, ‘Please, sir, do not hurt me’.”

Glorfindel rolled his eyes. “Wrong place for that,” he announced, and though a few of the recruits showed amusement in their eyes, none of them dared make a sound or let a smile escape. “Get up. Get up!” Glorfindel stepped forward and grabbed Faelion by the back of his collar, hoisting him up onto his feet. “Pick up your weapon!”

Faelion fumbled to retrieve the staff. By the time he had it again, tears were running down his face. Glorfindel took three steps back and motioned again. “Now, attack me!”

Instead of running forward or taking a defensive stance, Faelion took one small step after another, skittish as a wild animal. He raised the staff up, hands still shaking, but as soon as Glorfindel had repositioned his, Faelion dropped back down again, cowering and holding up his arms to block any blows.

“This is ridiculous. And, a waste of my time, and their time,” shouted Glorfindel. “Get up, and get off of my training field. Go! Now!”

Choking on his tears, Faelion stumbled away slowly. He let his hair drape down as he hung his head, and shamefully made his way to the other end of the arena. Glorfindel watched him for a few moments before motioning the next recruit forward.

Handily, Glorfindel took out the next handful, but his glances toward the retreating Faelion eventually cost him. One of the older recruits, an average-built ellon named Galdereth, circled around Glorfindel twice before backing up while facing the captain. He adjusted his grip on the staff, and Glorfindel’s eyes flicked toward the corner of the arena. That was when Galdereth charged, and then used the staff to vault over the captain. As he was landing, Galdereth reached out with one hand and grabbed for the long blond tresses, tangling his fingers in them. Glorfindel landed on his back with a thud. As he groaned and reached for his throbbing head, a blurred double vision of Galdereth appeared above him and said with a grin, “I guess I get the rest of the night off, sir.”

---

When the barracks were built, Glorfindel had insisted on having a small area built for his own personal use for days when he did not want to return back to the tower, or on occasions when there was need to stay because of the horses. This area was located as a sort of lower level, essentially built underground. The idea had been sound, allowing for a multipurpose room that easily converted between sitting room and bedroom, with counters and shelves and a closet for keeping wine and preserved foods cold. There was also a washroom with a strange mechanism that intrigued Glofindel. He had read about the idea, and wanted to test it, and in an underground area where no one would see its failings seemed ideal. It was like an indoor waterfall, with the water coming through from the ceiling and draining down a sort of trench that flowed down a closed corridor and absorbed eventually into the ground.

It was fascinating to look at the pictures, and it was even better than he could have imagined when he stepped into the room to try the contraption out. A rope from the ceiling had to be pulled down to release the water, but it was efficient. It was slightly uncomfortable to have to soap up completely before pulling the rope again for more water, but overall, it worked. Efficiency was becoming key in this busier life he now had, and the new shower, though prohibitive in cost for most residents, was a small luxury for Glorfindel.

Washing his hair, however, was another story. The floor of the room sloped to the center where the drain was, and the drain was covered with a sort of metal grid that had been nailed to the wooden floorboards. Normally, this would not likely have been an issue, but as Glorfindel attempted to lift up his hair to wash it, he was met with resistance. The ends of his hair, tangled by the wind, were now wrapped around the grating. With mobility limited, Glorfindel knelt down and worked to free his hair, patiently at first, and then with frustration, for getting closer caused some of it to tangle further up.

Finally freed, he went to the corner of the chamber where his clothes had been discarded in a pile on a bench. The wind, water, and now the grating had created knots and snarls from the waist down, and despite his vanity, practicality won the argument. With the aid of a knife, he reduced the length of his hair drastically, though it still reached past his elbows when he finished. He left the heap of golden hair on the floor as he tossed his knife back onto the pile of clothes, and then returned to the center of the room to finish showering.

Upon leaving the bathing chamber, newly woven towels draped around him, he discovered he was not alone. Faelion was seated on the couch, biting at his nails and nervously staring at the floor. When Glorfindel stepped into the room, Faelion dropped his hands into his lap and swallowed hard, but said nothing until the elf lord came forward with a puzzled look. “I am sorry to disturb you, sir, but I... please do not cast me out!” And from then, Faelion fell to his knees, sobbing and begging, most of it incoherent, until Glorfindel pulled him back up onto the sofa.

“Faelion, it is not that I want to have you go,” began Glorfindel with a sigh. “It is that you do not yet seem ready for this. Come back in a few years; you have a little time before you need the training. Go and do another play or two, and when you are ready--“

“But I am ready! I am ready! I am! I am!” Faelion grabbed hold of Glorfindel’s arm. “Please, sir, I have to stay here, and I have to train now!”

“And this is the reason why you are not,” said Glorfindel calmly, loosening the grip that Faelion had on his arm. “We are starting a new group every six months. If you are ready by the next go, you are more than welcome to join those recruits.”

“But... please, you do not understand! If you kick me out right now, my uncle will make me join
another army. Probably Rog’s, or Ecthelion’s. I... I want to stay here.”

“Because it would be easier to train here?” asked Glorfindel dryly.

Faelion drew his fist across his cheeks in an attempt to conceal his tears. “No. I love horses. I have been taking care of my uncle’s horses since I was tall enough to muck out the stalls. This would be a great opportunity for me. Please, sir, I need to stay.”

“If I let you stay,” said Glorfindel after several thoughtful minutes, “I expect you to act like the rest of the recruits. If I see another display like the one I did earlier, you will be out, and you will not have another chance later. Understood?” Faelion nodded. “Good. Now get out of here.”

With another nod, Faelion stood up and shuffled to the door. Glorfindel sighed and closed his eyes. “Out of curiosity,” he said as he heard the door being opened, “were you acting just now, or when you were out on the field earlier?”

“How did you know?” stuttered the young ellon.

Glorfindel shook his head. “Let me make this perfectly clear. My training field is not a stage. This is not a play; this is not a game. If you plan to treat it as such, do not bother showing up tomorrow. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Faelion hurried out of the room, closing the door behind him.

It pleased Glorfindel the next morning to see Faelion on the field with the other recruits, and more so when he was close enough to see the concentrated look on the young elf’s face. The dramatics appeared to have passed for the time being. Orders were given to the officers, and after leading the training until the afternoon break, Glorfindel left his second in command in charge, taking the rest of the day off. There was still a matter of keeping up appearances, and he had not seen his wife in nearly a week.

As he entered the apartment, he heard all three – Tauniel, Aranel, and Erestor – enjoying lunch on balcony. A narrow table had been moved out to join the chairs, and Glorfindel dragged a fourth chair to the doorway, peering around it with a hopeful look. “Might I impose?”

“Well, look who apparently still lives here!” Tauniel stood up and helped situate Glorfindel while Aranel ladled soup into a bowl for him and broke off a chunk of bread from a large crusty loaf for the warrior to eat. “I just asked Erestor this morning when he thought we might see you again. It was a relief when he said you were going to try to make it home for lunch. I was beginning to wonder if we had caused you to run away.”

“Just busy training.” Glorfindel returned the smile Aranel gave him, and then looked across the table at Erestor, who seemed to be trying to look around him. “Something wrong?”

“You cut your hair... is it shorter than mine? I think it is,” Erestor half-mumbled. He took a moment to size up the length of Glorfindel’s compared to his own. “Shit, Glorfindel, Rog is going to be a pain in my ass over this.” His tone was joking, but Glorfindel frowned apologetically nonetheless.

“It got caught on something. However,” he cautioned the others at the table, “my official stance is that it was getting too hot during practice.”

Erestor had settled back into his chair and chewed on his bread thoughtfully, pulling small parts from the whole instead of biting into it directly. “Oh, right, Ecthelion will end up giving you shit for it otherwise.” As Aranel loudly cleared her throat, Erestor glanced sideways to her. “What?”

“Could we possibly tone down the language during mealtime?” she asked in her sweet voice that really meant she was very close to being not-so-sweet if the behavior continued.

“Sure.” Erestor rolled his eyes as soon as Aranel focused hers away from him. He was given a slightly disappointed look from Tauniel, while Glorfindel decided a subject change might help the situation.

“Faelion has been quite a challenge, but I think I finally have him on the right path,” Glorfindel declared as he poured wine for himself from the carafe.

Erestor crumbled the rest of his bread crust into his soup. “Good for you. Is he staying in the barracks or is he still at Rog’s house?”

“Good question. I never considered looking at what his arrangements were. With the barracks still unfinished, I just assumed the option of having some of them live in their current homes was going to work well for everyone concerned.”

“Even if you do that for the new groups, when you get to the second level, if I were you I would make them stay in the barracks,” suggested Erestor. “They will gain a better sense of fellowship if they are all living under the same roof.”

“I know. I just have no idea where to put them all.”

“When the barracks are finished, there should be no worries about that, though, right?” asked Aranel.

Glorfindel nodded. “Right.” He rolled his neck back one way and around the other. “I promised myself I was not going to worry about that today, though. I took the afternoon and evening off, and unless something happens where I am needed I am taking a week for myself.”

“A vacation? You? Unheard of,” teased Tauniel.

With a mischievious smile, Erestor picked up his glass of wine. “Really? A vacation? What do you have planned?”

“Uh... nothing,” answered Glorfindel before realizing this was the wrong answer.

“Well, it just so happens I have the next four days off.” The mischief was making Erestor’s eyes sparkle now. “Do you know where we are going to go?”

“Uhm... the... stables?” he guessed.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” Erestor gulped down the rest of his wine and then stood up, patting Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Go change into something comfortable and find your bow. Pack your bedroll, too, if you can find it.”

“I know where it is!” answered Tauniel cheerfully. She pushed back her chair and edged he way around and back into the apartment past Erestor.

Erestor reached down the table and grabbed the rest of the bread loaf. “I think we should take this along just in case we do not manage to get anything tonight. Suppose I should get ready, then, too,” he said to no one in particular as he left the balcony.

Glorfindel scrambled after Erestor. “I was thinking I might spend a few days here. Sleep, read a book or two. You still like books, right? We could sit on the porch, read a few books, drink a little wine. I know you still like wine,” Glorfindel argued unsuccessfully as his bow was taken out of the closet by Erestor and handed to him.

“I think I know where the arrows are. You had better go pack a few things,” he suggested as he walked to their shared room, passing Tauniel coming from the room as he went.

Tauniel could not wipe the grin from her face as she handed a bulging sack to Glorfindel. “Here you are! I placed clothing for you on the bed, and you have everything else you need to take along in there, except your bedroll, which I am going to retrieve from the linen closet right now—oh, never mind, Aranel beat me to it.”

“If I did not know any better, I would say the two of you were trying to get rid of us,” muttered Glorfindel as he snatched the satchel from Tauniel and stomped toward his bedroom.

“Who, us?” asked Aranel with a wink as he walked by, scowling best he could. Could he blame them for wanting time alone? Not really. Was he looking forward to time alone with Erestor? Did he really need to answer that question? It was the thought of what the true purpose of the excursion was that put him on edge, and he said a little prayer that all of the creatures of the forest would keep hidden over the next few days.

“Where are we going?” wondered Glorfindel. “The forest is that way.”

“I know. I thought we should see what Ecthelion was up to; see if he wanted to come along.”

Glorfindel took a few fast steps, coming in front of Erestor to block him. “Why would we want to do that?”

“Because... Ecthelion could use a little time off, too? Besides, I thought you two were close,” said Erestor, adjusting the pack on his back up higher.

“Well, I guess. I suppose. Sure, why not,” Glorfindel finally conceded. They continued on the path that led to the joint courtyard of the House of the Fountain and the House of the Tree. As they passed the fountain that some years ago had been their thinking place, a group of elflings with paper kites trailing after them only a few feet from the ground came running out from the archway, giddy and giggling and barely missing the pair as they chased one another by. The pleasantly cool breeze whispered through the trees as they continued along the walkway.

Streamers adorned the lower branches and bunches of flowers were skillfully arranged at the centers of tables that were placed in small groups. Erestor slowed his step as they passed more and more people, talking and mingling, carrying exotic drinks with colorful birds made of various fruits perched on the rim of their glasses. At the far end, multiple tables displaying platters of appetizers that looked almost too dainty to eat were set up to either side of a group of musicians. “It looks as if Ecthelion might be busy,” guessed Glorfindel as Laiqalasse approached them.

“I was wondering why the two of you were not here earlier!” Laiqalasse stepped between Glorfindel and Erestor and put an arm around each. “Come, let us get you something to drink.” He looked down and laughed. “Fairly drab outfits for a party.”

Erestor stopped and gently shrugged off Laiqalasse’s arm. “I do not think we were invited, Laiqalasse. We came to see if Ecthelion was free this afternoon, but obviously, he is not.”

“Oh... no, he... oh.” Laiqalasse folded his hands behind his back. “I am sure you were both invited. That would be odd...”

“What is the party for?” asked Glorfindel.

“Nothing in particular. Egalmoth suggested it at the last council session, and Ecthelion offered for himself and Galdor to host it. Perhaps the invitation was misplaced, but I am sure you were supposed to get one. All of the lords and their families were invited.”

It certainly seemed that Laiqalasse was telling the truth, for among those in attendance Erestor spotted Salgant, Duilin, and his own in-laws, while Glorfindel noted Enerdhil, Maeglin, and the king himself.

“Come on. There is Ecthelion; he will tell you. It was just a misunderstanding,” explained Laiqalasse as he tugged on Erestor’s sleeve. When the dark elf did not budge, he turned to Glorfindel. “I promise you, this is just a simple mistake. He may have even thought he was going to tell you in person and never got around to it.”

“It is fine, Laiqalasse, you need not make excuses. I understand.” Erestor turned to go. Glorfindel, after taking a final look around, followed suit.

“Wait, both of you.” Laiqalasse fell in step with them. “You should really stay. It is going to be a very enjoyable evening. Salgant is playing later, and there are competitive feats of strength—why not go home, change into something more festive, bring your wives, and stay the evening? Let me get Ecthelion – he can clear it all up for you.”

“Thank you, but we have plans,” answered Erestor curtly, and knowing he was defeated, Laiqalasse stopped with a sigh and returned to the party.

“Maybe it was just an oversight,” said Glorfindel once he and Erestor had gone beyond the civilized part of Gondolin, into the dense forest. It seemed almost as if an ent had herded the trees together in this small area to keep them from being chopped down in anticipation of Gondolin being built. Most of the city was made of stone, for only dying trees were taken for paper or timber. They trudged through the leaves that were just beginning to change color and fall; the forest was in its transition, for some trees were yet green and others sun-kissed, and some remained uncertain and showing signs of both.

“That is possible,” allowed Erestor. “It still gets to me. I know I should not let it, but it does. I still feel like the lowly, indigent farmer who everyone assumed was so backward he lacked basic etiquette, but was invited out of pity. I expect pity from no one.”

“I doubt it was that,” said Glorfindel gently. “Ecthelion may truly have forgotten.”

Erestor snorted, and Glorfindel sighed. They walked along quietly, but Erestor’s memories began to nag at him as he recalled a time long ago...

“Uncle Eresse? Where are you going?”

Erestor turned around and scratched his head. “I reckon I have no idea.”

His mannerisms made the group sprawled about at the top of the landing laugh, and Russandol motioned over the slightly confused elf. “That corridor will take you to the suite the bride and groom are using,” he was informed. “Unless that was your intention, uncle?”

“Might have been,” answered Erestor casually. The group was laughing again, none more than Feanaro himself, who nudged two of his younger offspring off of the ornate settee in order to make room for Erestor, who sat down. “For a couple of newlyweds, it sure does not sound as if Turukano and Elenwe are.”

There was an awkward silence about, which was when Erestor noticed Findekano cuddled beside Russandol. In an attempt to cover it, Makalaure played his harp a little louder. Erestor considered an appropriate apology, when Carnistir spoke up. “You know why they had to wed, right, Uncle Eresse?”

Erestor shrugged and tried not to look at Findekano, who was obviously not very comfortable with the current conversation. “I am going to assume it had something to do with love.”

“If that was the only reason, they would have been engaged for a year or more,” Tyelkormo said with a smirk. “I suppose it would have been in bad form for them to have to interrupt the ceremony in order for Elenwe to nurse the baby. So, Fin, are you ready to be an uncle in, what is it, six months? Five? It explains why things are so quiet, though,” continued the fairest of Feanaro’s sons. “He is probably getting what sleep he can while she stuffs herself with the rest of the desserts from the reception.”

Findekano glared silently at Tyelkormo before wrenching himself out of Russandol’s arms. He left hastily, taking the stairs down to one of the lower levels of Finwe’s expansive house.

Again, Makalaure strummed the strings harder. Feanaro drank from a glass tumbler that had been rested on his knee. “Go apologize to your cousin, Turka.”

“What? Why? Is it my fault his brother cannot keep his pants up?” demanded Tyelkormo.

Feanaro shook his head. “No, but there was no reason to say what you did, and despite not being fond of most of my relatives, I actually like Fin. I am actually surprised that your brother has not punched you for that remark.”

“Oh, do not worry, I will,” vowed Russandol as he finished gathering up some books that had been strewn on the floor. He tucked the pile under his arm and excused himself before following the path that Findekano had taken.

With a very serious look at Tyelkormo, Feanaro pointed to the stairs. “Go apologize. It is not a suggestion.”

“Fine.” Tyelkormo stood up, tapping Curufinwe on the head as he went. “Come with me, penneth,” he said, and Curufinwe immediately stood. “How come you always protect Fin even though you hate Uncle Nolo?”

“Because Fin, unlike the rest of my bastard relations, knows his place – beneath us,” replied Feanaro. Carnistir snickered; the other brothers smirked, except for Makalaure, who kept his head down and continued to play. “Go; you are just wasting time now.”

Tyelkormo and Curufinwe headed down the stairs, and Erestor stretched out his legs now that there was a little more room in the alcove. “So why are all of you hiding up here, instead of down in the hall with everyone else?”

Feanaro turned a look of amusement upon his long time friend. “Because my family is down there, the ones I am stuck with and not by my own choice. You have met my family, right? Couple of annoying bastard half-brothers, and the stupidest sisters anyone could be stuck with... why would I want to force myself to stay there any longer than I had to?”

Carnistir laughed again. “Of course he knows your family, Ata. You are still sharing a bed with our cousin, are you not, Uncle Eresse?”

“Is that really a topic for polite conversation?” asked Erestor, but his look of bemusement showed he was not at all angry. “Artanis and I are still cohabitating, if that is what you mean.”

“Cohabitating! My goodness; a polysyllabic word!” teased Feanaro. He was given a playful shove by Erestor as he chuckled to himself.

“Uncle Eresse, why are you and Cousin Artanis not married?” questioned Ambarussa.

“It is... complicated,” answered Erestor.

“Obviously. It is Artanis; of COURSE it is complicated,” said Carnistir. “Artanis is not worth your time or talent, Uncle Eresse. If you really want to marry into this family, then you should get rid of Artanis and go for Irisse instead.”

“Sure, if you want Tyelkormo to slit your throat.” For the first time since Erestor’s arrival, it was Makalaure who spoke. “He has his eyes set upon her, and I would not dare another to even think such a thing.”

“Sound advice from my serious child. Humor your father and play something happier,” insisted Feanaro. Makalaure repositioned his hands and began another song. “Maybe Turukano has the answer to your problem, Eresse.”

Erestor made himself a little more comfortable, slouching against the back of the settee. “And what would that be?”

“Get Artanis pregnant. If you think Nolo was quick in getting Turukano and Elenwe wed, Ara will be five times as fast in making sure the two of you are married.”

At this, Erestor could not help but laugh. “You think that would solve my problem? It would only create others, not the least of which would be acquiring the scorn of the entire family.”

“Scorn? Nay, I will be the first to congratulate you!” Feanaro sat up as his ears twitched. “Sounds as if we have been found out,” he said to his sons.

Moments later, Finwe appeared to them on the steps, and came around to address the group, with Indis behind him, keeping a careful distance from her husband’s progeny from his first wife. “I was wondering where you were keeping yourselves hidden. Are Russandol and Findekano here as well?”

“No, Atar, they left a little while ago. Tyelkormo and Curufinwe went to find them.”

“Hmm.” Finwe’s eyes flitted briefly to Erestor, then back to his eldest son. “I bid good evening to those two in the hall. They appeared just as I was about to retire. I suppose I shall have to forego bidding them a good night. I shall offer all of you my wishes for a fine evening, or, is it morning already?” He looked at Erestor again. “You are not one of mine, are you?”

“No, sir,” answered Erestor, standing up and offering out his arm in greeting. “Eresse Tataion. I, uhm, was invited,” he began as Finwe simply stood and regarded him warily.

Indis dared to step closer, and curled her fingers around Finwe’s biceps, her cheek resting against his left shoulder. “Artanis’ beloved, darling. You met him a few summers ago when we were at Arafinwe’s garden party.”

“Ah, yes. The farmer.” Finwe turned his head to look down at the four grandchildren on the floor. “Does your grandfather get a proper hug before he retires for the evening?”

The twins were up from the floor immediately, and Erestor dropped his arm and moved aside to give them room. Makalaure was next, lifting his harp from his lap and carefully setting it aside. As the minstrel passed his younger brother, he yanked Carnistir up by his collar. “I was coming!” laughed Carnistir as he was pulled along by Makalaure, who was wearing a silly grin and with the help of Carnistir practically tackled Finwe.

Erestor used the moment to disappear around the corner to wait until Finwe and Indis had gone. Feanaro seemed to have the same idea, for seconds later he joined Erestor in the darkened hallway. “I hate it when he brings her with him,” mumbled Feanaro as he leaned his back against the wall. He made a sort of growl of discontent in the back of his throat and added, “I hate that bitch.”

“No, you hate what she did.”

“Nooooo, I hate that bitch. Slut. Bitch.” Feanaro peeked around the corner. “Dammit, I wish they would not give her hugs, too.”

Once Finwe and Indis began to make their way down the main hallway, Feanaro motioned for Erestor to follow him back to the alcove again. “Father, can we—“ began Ambarto, but Feanaro held up his hand.

“Go ahead.” Before he even had time for the words to completely pass his lips, the remaining four sons were gathering their things and heading for the steps. “You can both let Tyelkormo and Curufinwe I will deal with them later.” The four left and Feanaro stretched out on the settee that the twins had been sitting on previously. “I doubt very much they encountered Fin if they made it to the reception again.”

“Why were you keeping them from the reception?” asked Erestor as he sat down on the other settee.

“Silent protest. Nolo refuses to grant his blessings to Maitimo and Findekano, but he was practically ecstatic when Turukano told him about this little scandal.” Feanaro shook his head. “One of these days, he is going to realize he alienated his eldest son, and I just hope it will not be too late. Knowing the stupidity level of my brother, however, I have my doubts he will ever realize it.” He rubbed his forehead. “I should turn in. Nerdanel went to bed hours ago, but she never sleeps well without me there.”

“I will walk with you,” offered Erestor. “I think the guest room I am in is close to yours.”

“It is,” Feanaro confirmed. “Just down the main hallway, not the one you were about to wander down earlier.” They both stood, and Feanaro led the way. “Is Artanis still downstairs?”

“To tell you the truth, I have no idea. She kept wandering away from me. I just assumed that eventually we would end up in the same place,” said Erestor. They paused when they came to a series of doors. “I think I recognize my room.”

“As you should,” answered Feanaro as he pushed Erestor down the hall a little. “Next one,” he added when Erestor took a hold of one of the handles. “Good night,” he said, opening his own door.

Erestor gave a slight wave and quietly opened the door to the guest room, not wanting to wake Artanis if she was asleep. It was dim as he entered, but there were candles lit past the small wash chamber. He took a few steps and heard voices, and decided to stop just in case he was in the wrong room. It would not have been unheard of for Feanaro to play a harmless trick on him – or the reverse to happen, for that matter.

“We just want to make sure you are happy, dear.” The voice belonged to Indis, Erestor has heard it recently enough to recall it immediately.

“I know.” Artanis, without a doubt. Erestor held his breath.

“He just seems so very... plain,” Finwe settled on. “Are you certain he is the one?”

There was a long pause. Erestor bit his lip to keep from shouting, ‘Of course I am! I love her!’ He felt the numbness travel from the tips of his toes and fingers through his entire body as the silence dragged on.

“Sweetie, we just want to make sure you are taken care of. He is hardly nobility, and you know he is never going to amount to anything more than what he is now.” Indis again. “You know, we would never invite his kind to events like this if not for the fact he is with you. But why is he with you? He is probably only using you for his own gain.”

Then Finwe cleared his throat, and in a very clear voice, said, “You can do better.”

“I know,” came the quiet answer.

The words were so simple, stinging him. Unable to hear more, unwilling to, Erestor backed his way out of the room. There was more, some talk from Indis on how she could introduce Artanis to some bright, young ellyn from noble houses, closer to her age, more interested in her interests, better, stronger, richer, younger, smarter. Erestor did not bother to close the door as he stumbled a few steps down hallway and absently knocked on another entrance.

Feanaro appeared a minute later, robe hastily tied around his waist. “This better be good, Eresse. Nerdanel and I were working on number eight, and... are you crying? Are you hurt?” Erestor shook his head and was ushered in and the door was closed. “Alright, who was it and what did they say?”

All Erestor managed to get out as he was settled into one of the plush chairs in the waiting room was, “Indis.”

Feanaro dropped down in the opposite chair and nodded as he adjusted his robe. “I told you, I hate that bitch.”

---

“Erestor? Erestor?” Glorfindel poked his friend’s shoulder. “Erestor, are you hearing me?” he hissed. There had been some movement in the trees, and hushed whispers. Glorfindel’s shouts of greeting to whomever they encountered were returned with silence, and he feared orcs and a trap. “Erestor!”

“Huh?” A tear strayed down his cheek, which he concealed by pretending to have to wipe his nose with the edge of his cloak. “What?”

“In the trees.” Glorfindel pointed and nodded toward them. “My... I left my glasses at home. Can you see anything?”

“You mean we are out here with you hunting half-blind?” Erestor sighed, and looked up into the trees. “Yes, I see them,” he said, and then shouted up into the branches, “You can come down, Hurin, and bring your little brother with you.”

Hurin dropped down from the tree, landing with an ‘oof’ in a crouching position before standing up with a grin on his face. Huor followed a few seconds later, and brushed the bits of leaf from his tunic. “I beg your pardon, m’lord, but I am not the little one,” argued Huor as he pulled himself up to his full height, which topped Hurin by a few inches. “Younger, perhaps, but not littler for two summers now!”

“I am just resting my bones, little brother. I will catch up to you, and then we shall see who calls who little!” Hurin was still grinning madly. “Did we surprise you?” he asked hopefully.

“Hardly,” replied Erestor. Both he and Glorfindel were smiling. The young brothers who had arrived unexpectedly in Gondolin not long ago had been of interest to all of the residents, though their time was often spent shadowing Turgon and Ecthelion. Upon thinking this, Erestor asked, “Why are the two of you not at the party Lord Ecthelion is hosting?”

“Because this is much funner than that,” answered Huor.

“Much more fun,” corrected Hurin before either of the elves could, as he poked his brother in his side.

Huor snorted. “Yes, yes, LITTLE brother, much more fun!” He scooted away before he could be poked again. “We wanted to come out here where we would not be stared at and questioned all evening.”

“It gets tiresome being the only man in the city,” nodded Hurin.

“You the only man? What am I?” wondered Huor.

Hurin grinned. “You? Still just a boy, I believe.”

“As if you act adult!” Huor kicked his foot at Hurin, which led to a playful little scuffle.

“Well, I guess we should leave the two of you to your tree climbing,” said Erestor, stepping blatantly between the brothers as he passed. He paused and looked over his shoulder and added, “I would invite you along to hunt with us, but I doubt it would be as exciting as what you have been doing.” He turned to Glorfindel and winked as Hurin and Huor separated themselves and hurried up to them.

“You would let us go hunting with you?” asked Huor incredulously.

Erestor nodded. “Of course, if you had something else to do—“

Hurin, still grinning, fell in step beside Erestor. “This is grand! To hunt with elves, Huor! I bet either one of you can fell a buck with a single arrow!”

“Well, Glorfindel is a little younger than I am, so it might take him two,” said Erestor. “In fact, it is why I came with him. Sometimes, he needs a little help and-“

“Oh, you think I cannot take a buck by myself, is that it? Is that your challenge?” asked Glorfindel. Erestor shrugged. “Alright, then, I will take one down, with these fine men as my witnesses, with a single arrow.”

“Well, alright then, we had best stop talking about it and start tracking them,” said Erestor.

“I really hope we find some deer tomorrow,” said Huor between bites of his meal.

Although deer had been scarce, the hunting had gone well. Erestor had managed to instruct Glorfindel by making it seem as if he was explaining things for the sake of their young guests. The brothers had been so excited to be hunting with elves that neither noticed Glorfindel flinch when Erestor made the first kill, or when he nearly threw up when Erestor sliced open the belly of the rabbit and showed them all how to best skin one.

The second day was mostly spent tracking. Instead of rabbits for supper, they practically tripped over a plump turkey. Glorfindel had yet to make a kill, and Hurin beat him to this one as well. The bird was far more difficult to prepare, but proved tastier than supper the night before.

Tonight was rabbits again, mostly due to the fact they were virtually everywhere and involved very little hunting or tracking to catch. This time, although he had yet to shoot anything, Glorfindel was given the task of cleaning the conies. He accomplished it with a fair amount of ease, due mostly to not wishing to make a fool of himself in front of Hurin or Huor. Erestor’s compliments on his fast, accurate work helped him as well.

“Tomorrow, we will head deeper into the forest. I promise you, we will find deer there,” said Erestor as he tended to their campfire.

That night the winds became harsher, making a fire unsafe. “We need something to ward off the wolves, or we might as well go back into the city for the night and come back in the morning.” Erestor brushed off his hands, having covered the last of the embers with dirt. “Maybe we should head back. We can use your training barracks and be back tomorrow.”

“That really interrupts it, though,” replied Glorfindel as he dug through the sack of supplies. “I like what we have been doing, hunting, tracking, camping under the stars, not another soul in sight.”

“But, there is a safety concern,” warned Erestor. “We know there are wolves, and without a fire, they might get bold.”

“Not with this.” Glorfindel pulled out a vial from his pack, holding up the liquid so that Erestor could see it. “I knew I put it in there!”

“What... is that?” asked Huor, reaching forward to touch the glass container.

“Tiger urine. Wolves might be bold, but they are hardly stupid,” explained Glorfindel. Huor withdrew his hand and made a face. “All I have to do is dribble it around the perimeter, and we will have no wolves to worry about.”

“Have fun with that,” said Erestor, crinkling his nose as Glorfindel removed the stopper. “Should I even ask—“

“Probably best not to.” Glorfindel set about marking the trees around them with the potent liquid. “That should do the trick,” he said as he settled down on his bedroll again.

As the wind whipped through the trees, Huor said, “The wolves w-would be stupid t-to try coming out anyway.” He had his cloak tightly wrapped around himself. Hurin had done the same.

“Maybe we should go back,” said Glorfindel quietly to Erestor as the stars became brighter in a sky devoid of clouds. “Turgon will not be pleased if they become ill.”

Erestor contemplated while staring up at the heavens. “No, I know it would be the easy solution to return, but something makes me think we should stick it out.”

Glorfindel nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Huor shivering. “Next time, we should do this in the spring,” he said as he stood up and unfastened his own cloak. He walked around the extinguished campfire and draped the cloak over Huor’s shoulders. “That should help,” he said, catching himself from giving Huor’s head a gentle pat. Although they were both matured by the standards of Men, in Glorfindel’s eyes, they still looked barely out of their childhood.

It was not long before Erestor’s cloak was being worn by Hurin, and shortly thereafter the menfolk had burrowed under the warm fabric and were peacefully sleeping.

Few words were exchanged as Glorfindel and Erestor settled in, or rather, on their bedrolls, for the night. The breeze was uncomfortable and chilly, but not unbearable. Glorfindel felt reverie wash over him swiftly.

In the morning, he awoke as the sun was rising, and not quite where he had fallen asleep. He was now sharing a space with Erestor; one of their rolls had been drawn up over them. Vaguely, he was aware of the fact he seemed to be clinging to Erestor, but since he was not being pushed away, did not yet withdraw. “What are you doing here?”

“You must not remember.”

“If I could remember, I would not be asking.”

With his gentle smile, Erestor explained, “I had nearly drifted off when I heard you crying. At first, I thought it was one of the boys, but after I checked on them I realized it was you. You were very upset, though, I am not sure exactly why.” Erestor glanced over to make sure that the brothers were still sleeping before he continued. “You were pleading to someone to stop and when I tried to wake you, you pulled me down, burrowed against me, and sobbed for some time. I... I think you thought I was your mother.”

“Oh?” Glorfindel fought to recall, but it was as if his dreams had been erased. “Why is that?”

“As I was holding you, you kept saying things like, ‘Please, Nana, do not leave’. You... do not remember any of this, do you?” Glorfindel shook his head. “Ah, well, perhaps it is better that way. I only wish Irmo had intervened before you had your nightmare.”

“Sorry,” apologized Glorfindel, now withdrawing himself from Erestor. “I did not mean to cause trouble.”

Erestor tried to catch Glorfindel’s arm as the blond stood, but his fingers only brushed the hand of the other. “You need not be sorry. It was not your fault.”

Hurin was beginning to stir, and the bright sun promised to wake Huor soon as well. “Well... thank you,” said Glorfindel uneasily as he riffled through a sack to find something for their breakfast. Erestor nodded and began to fold and roll their bedding, saying nothing more of the incident.

The hunt was yet again not the success that had been hoped for, but it was far from a failure. Deer evaded them at every turn, and the one they came upon, a doe, was deemed by Erestor far too young for them to shoot. “If all of the children are killed, and only their parents left to live, who will bring on the next generation?” he questioned after shooing off the doe. Hurin grumbled at this, but Huor nodded in agreement. Glorfindel simply sighed to himself in relief.

Their spirits brightened, however, when, as they were trying to decide whether to head back south or go northwards, a wild boar made his appearance in the distance. Glorfindel caught sight of it first, though without his spectacles, he was slightly uncertain just what was nosing about in the bushes. Trees were climbed, and of the four, Glorfindel found he was the one with the clearest shot.

His eyes were closed as he drew an arrow from the quiver and positioned it. His hands began to sweat as he focused on the creature and aimed. A branch somewhere cracked, and his arrow flew at nearly the same moment. The head dug into the ground barely a whisper from the pig’s snout, for the creature had taken a step back from the previous noise. As if on instinct, Glorfindel’s hand had drawn another arrow even as the first flew, and his second shot squelched a warning squeal. The boar toppled over, dead.

For a moment, Glorfindel expected the animal to stumble back up and flee, but when it made no further movement he shouldered his bow and climbed swiftly to the ground. Erestor was at the bottom of the trunk to greet him; the brothers were already running towards the boar and chattering about a job well done. “Congratulations,” said Erestor softly once Glorfindel was out of the tree. “How do you feel?”

“I feel bad about killing it, but... I have to admit, these last few days have been a lot of fun. And, up there, that was fairly exciting just now.”

“Good. Sorry it was not a deer. I really thought we were going to have a shot at one of them,” said Erestor.

Glorfindel shrugged as they walked to join Hurin and Huor. “I suppose it is better that it was not. Maybe next time.”

“Next time. That is good; I am glad to hear that,” said Erestor as he gave Glorfindel a pat on the shoulder.

---

The next day brought them back into the city, and late in the afternoon Glorfindel was once again training with his recruits. It seemed that most of them were performing better than they had been the week before, which was a welcomed change. A few, he noted, had dropped out, but whether it was to pursue a more difficult plan with another house or because they thought his methods were too difficult, Glorfindel did not worry himself about. There was far too much going on to worry about individual soldiers.

After the final exercises of the evening, Glorfindel received a message from one of the stablehands that someone was waiting for him in his private chambers inside the barracks. He pulled off his shirt as he headed inside, draping it over one shoulder after using it to wipe the sweat from his brow. Ecthelion was in the small multipurpose sitting room when Glorfindel arrived. The blond began to point to the door and open his mouth, but Ecthelion spoke first. “Before you throw me out, thinking I am no longer your ally, hear me out.”

Glorfindel leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “Speak.”

Ecthelion snorted. “Here.” He tossed two envelopes onto the table.

“What are those?”

“The invitations for you and Taniel, and Erestor and his wife, for the celebration last week that you did not attend.”

“A little late to deliver those,” remarked Glorfindel.

“A little late for you to receive them, actually. They were delivered weeks ago – placed on your chairs at council. Only, neither of you have shown up for a meeting in months.”

Glorfindel pursed his lips and stared down at the embossed letters, sealed with blue and silver wax. “I owe you an apology.”

“No, you need to get your ass to the council meetings. With the two of you gone, it makes the room very empty. No one is as vocal as Erestor, and there are times when you are the only one who can keep the peace. It has been a nightmare trying to get anything done,” explained Ecthelion.

“I had no idea,” admitted Glorfindel.

“Will you be there tomorrow?” asked Ecthelion.

Glorfindel nearly made an excuse for himself, but instead, nodded. “Aye, though I cannot speak for Erestor.”

“Good. And Glorfindel, never think we are not friends,” Ecthelion reminded him.

Glorfindel nodded.

“After council tomorrow, you and Erestor should come and have lunch at my house. It has been too long since we have had a chance to simply talk.”

“That would be good. I will be there, and hopefully, so will Erestor.”

“Excellent.”

They exchanged farewells, and then Glorfindel washed up quickly. A council meeting meant rising early, reassigning his work with the recruits, and actually getting to the meeting on time. A night of rest on the couch sounded delightful compared to sleeping on rocks and leaves.

Glorfindel emerged back into the sitting room, towel around his waist and another over his shoulders. Once again, he found he was not alone. “How do you keep getting in here?” he demanded, more curious than sore.

“Sorry, sir, I knew you would be here. I just had to talk to you about something, sir.” Faelion was still in his uniform, though he had changed to a different pair of boots so as not to track mud inside.

Glorfindel rubbed his eyes tiredly. “It cannot wait until morning?”

“Please, sir, I would rather get it off my chest now.”

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Glorfindel crossed his arms over his chest, still damp from his shower. “You have two minutes. Start talking.”

Faelion wrung his hands, twisting his fingers as he stared at the wall. “I want you to know, sir, this is not an act.”

“Alright,” replied Glorfindel, sitting down on the couch next to Faelion. “So what did you want to tell me?”

“I have a little problem, sir. I wanted to come to you about it, because... I do not think I can bring it up to my uncle. Actually, I do not want to bring it up to him, sir. I do not know what he would say about it. Maybe that is not quite true,” amended Faelion. “More, rather, I think I know what he would say.”

“And just what is it that you are not wanting to tell him, but could not wait a few hours to tell me?” prodded Glorfindel as he toweled off his hair.

He took a deep breath, and then Faelion said, “I am having trouble concentrating while I train.”

“Ah. Well, the library has a number of books on how to focus on a particular task while blocking out all other distractions,” said Glorfindel. “Perhaps before practice tomorrow you should check a few of them out and read them during the midday break.”

“I do not think that will help me, sir. You see, the distraction is on the practice field. There—“ Faelion looked around, and then almost fearfully locked his gaze with Glorfindel’s. “There is an ellon I am... attracted to,” he said, whispering this concern very quietly. “I am finding it hard to keep my focus with him around. I would not have said anything, except I know you are not against such things, for uncle told me so, sir.”

“Well... I suppose there are a few options. The first is to move you into the other company.”

“That would not work, sir. I would still see him.”

“Oh... one of the officers?” Glorfindel smirked as Faelion nodded bashfully. “Alright, well, you could be discharged and join up with another army, but we both know that is not something you want to do. The only other option you seem to have is to check out those books and find something in there, for I am all out of ideas for you.”

“What would you do, sir?” asked Faelion.

Glorfindel retrieved his comb from a small side table. “I think I would go for the books. You may come across many distractions, and in battle, it is best not to have to worry about any of them, be they foe or friend.”

“I mean, what should I do? I already know... well, I think I know... I am fairly certain that this sort of behavior is not repulsive to him.”

“Oh, about that...” Glorfindel combed through his hair thoughtfully, thinking on the possibilities. “I suppose, if you are certain that he might be interested, it would be best to tell him or at least ask his views. I would be careful, though. Even though King Fingon’s rules allow for it, King Turgon is much closer and less tolerant. Make sure you speak to him somewhere private or secluded.”

“But you think I should tell him?”

“Absolutely.”

“Sir...” Faelion was pulling at his fingers again as he took another nervous breath. Then he lunged and surprised Glorfindel with a very brief and awkward kiss.

“You need to go.”

Faelion blinked and bowed his head. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” He stood up, looking to the ground the entire time.

Glorfindel waited until the young ellon was nearly to the door before speaking again. “Faelion, it is nothing against you. You are a very nice, talented person who will make someone very happy some day. However, and perhaps you were not aware, I am married.”

“Sir, I...” Faelion turned back around, looking miserable. “Glorfindel, I know the truth. I know you are unhappy. I can tell how you feel and I hear the things Uncle Salgant talks about with Duilin.”

“And what is it that you hear your uncle say?” pressed Glorfindel, too curious now to force Faelion out just yet.

“That your marriage is untrue; that it is false and merely for appearances. That...”

“That what?” prompted Glorfindel.

Faelion’s gaze shied away. “That you are in love with Erestor, but he is not in love with you. I guess I just thought... since Erestor... and you... well...”

“You thought you could do better as the lead than as the understudy.”

“Something like that, sir,” replied Faelion.

Glorfindel leaned his head back in order to look up at the ceiling, taking a moment to decide upon the right words. Finally, he looked forward again and lifted up his hand. His fingers twisted the simple band of gold, lifting it just past his knuckle but not off. “Do you believe in keeping promises?”

“Yes, sir, of course I do.”

“This,” he said, rubbing the smooth surface, “represents the promise that I made.” He slid the ring back down his finger. “And I intend to keep this promise.”

Faelion swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, sir. Sorry to disturb you, sir.”

“Is this going to cause a problem on the training field?”

“No, sir,” replied Faelion in a cold, stern voice.

“Good. You are a good rider. I would hate to lose you from the cavalry.”

Faelion hesitated for a moment. “Thank you, sir. Permission to leave, sir.”

“Granted.” Glorfindel waited until Faelion had gone to drop his stoic façade. He combed and braided his hair before curling up on the couch, sick in his stomach from turning Faelion away. Before bed, he prayed he made the right decision.

---

The next day was a rush, between reassigning his officers the duties he had planned to take on, to attending council and having lunch with Ecthelion. Erestor had declined the offer to join them, stating he had other plans. The meal proved more business than pleasure; there were many topics that had been addressed in council with which Glorfindel was sadly unfamiliar, and Ecthelion spent the afternoon happily tutoring his old squire. A visit by Galdor extended the informal meeting, leading to Glorfindel being late to dinner with Erestor and the ladies.

The conversation was at best, boring. Glorfindel found he was doing most of the talking, and that answers were polite, but brief. The courses were rushed, and dessert was presented immediately after the last morsel was eaten. It began to make Glorfindel uncomfortable, and upset his stomach slightly. He pushed the thoughts aside and turned the discussion to telling them how Ecthelion was doing.

At the mention that the invitations had been delivered but never received, Aranel cringed and apologized. “I forgot about that! Father mentioned it to me three or four times, and I kept neglecting to mention it to you.”

“We actually attended the celebration,” said Tauniel. “After the two of you left, we were going to go to the market. On the way, we encountered Lady Idril, and she insisted we join her.”

“That had to be exciting,” acknowledged Glorfindel, for although he had contact with the Gondolin nobility on a regular basis, it was not often for Tauniel or even Aranel to speak with the king, his daughter, or his nephew.

“Oh, it was thrilling!” answered Tauniel. “We had the most wonderful talk about embroidery!”

To this, Erestor rolled his eyes, but remained silent as he finished his tart. Beside him, Aranel was grinning madly. “Lady Idril remarked upon how lovely the pattern was on Tauni’s gown. She asked for the name of the dressmaker, and when Tauni explained that she was the one who sewed it, well, it was a lovely conversation and by the time we reached the party we were invited to join the lady’s sewing circle. Well, Tauniel was, but she told Lady Idril that we were best of friends, and the invitation was extended to me as well!”

“Sounds wonderful,” chuckled Glorfindel, mostly to the eye rolling going on across the table. “What do you think, Erestor?”

“Fabulous,” said Erestor, instantly transitioning into professional actor. “Marvelous opportunity. No one is happier than I.”

“Is that why you keep making funny facing?” mused Tauniel as she stood up to collect the dishes. “You know, if you keep doing that, your face is going to freeze that way.”

Erestor smirked and pushed his chair back from the table. “I suppose I should be content. I would much rather the two of you spend your time knitting and stitching and gossiping.”

“As opposed to what?” asked Aranel.

“As opposed to other, more masculine pursuits. Like, swordplay and chariot racing and politics.”

“Ah. Did ‘she’ do those things?” asked Aranel. No one needed to explain that ‘she’ was meant to imply Artanis.

He nodded. “And how.”

Glorfindel gathered the rest of the dishes and left Erestor and Aranel to discuss the differences between genders. “Let me do something around here to help out,” insisted Glorfindel as he carried the bowls into the kitchen.

“No need for that.” Tauniel took the stack out of Glorfindel’s hands. “I have everything under control. The garbage was sent down the chute earlier, Aranel and I changed the linens and folded the rest, and all of the chamber pots were emptied this morning.”

“I can wash the dishes, then,” he suggested.

“Oh, you do not have to do that,” said Tauniel as Glorfindel pumped water into the sink. “I can take care of those. Besides, you have so much work to do down at the stables.”

“Actually, I assigned the other officers to take care of things this evening and tomorrow,” he explained as he looked in the cabinet for a towel.

“Are you staying here tonight, then?” Aranel asked.

Glorfindel began to nod, but when he looked up and saw that Aranel and Erestor had moved closer to the room and that the other three exchanging looks, he said, “Well, I was going to. Unless, of course, you would rather I not be here.”

“That is silly, Glorfindel,” admonished Tauniel. “Why would we want you to leave?”

He closed the cabinet and returned to the entryway between the kitchen and sitting room in order to address all of them. “So that the three of you can be alone.”

The uneasy silence was broken by Tauniel. “That is ridiculous. Why would we—“

“It smells like sex in here,” he cut in. “I might be half-blind, but I can see what is going on. The two of you go either way, and he hardly cares who as long as it has breasts and wears a skirt.” Glorfindel shrugged. “No room for me in a trio.” When none of them responded, he locked his gaze with Erestor and said, “Must be nice to have a harem.”

Aranel stomped out of the room and into the bedroom she and Tauniel shared. Erestor followed soon after. Glorfindel was unsure if he was more hurt by what was going on behind his back, or that Erestor made no attempt to deny it. He spotted a towel hanging over a chair and pulled it off, draping it across his shoulder. Tauniel followed him back into the kitchen. “There is no need for you to clean up. I will get to it in the morning. Come on,” she insisted as she gave a tug on his arm. “Come with me to the sitting room. I can fix you a glass of brandy and we can sit and talk a while.”

“I hate brandy,” answered Glorfindel as he finished pumping water into the basin.

“Some... something else, then. A glass of cherry cordial,” she suggested.

Glorfindel shook his head again. “I detest hard liquors.”

“Wine,” Tauniel corrected herself. “You like wine.”

“What kind?” he asked in a restrained voice.

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I... red? White?”

“Blush; sweet and dry.” He began to scrub the dishes with the washrag. “Have I been gone that long?”

Tauniel let out a frustrated sigh. “Blush, right. I should have remembered. Glorfindel, you have to take into consideration the fact that we barely know each other. Except for the fact that we are in the situation we are in, neither of us would ever have known one another at all.”

Very calmly, Glorfindel set the rag aside and washed off his hands. He turned and said quietly, “You like lilies, the little white ones, not the big orange kind that grow wild around the gates. If you had a choice of desserts, you would choose chocolate cake with vanilla icing. You like cows, hate pigs, wish we owned a dog. Your mother’s pet-name for you is Lira, but she named you Elmirien. You have far too many pairs of shoes, because you hate to go barefooted indoors or out because you once stepped on a nail that went through your big toe when you were little. It left a scar for years and permanently left it crooked after it healed, and your favorite color is blue. Light blue, like the sky, not dark blue like the sea.”

“How do you know so much?” wondered Tauniel as Glorfindel folded the towel and set it back on the chair.

“I listen and I observe, and I guess maybe I was trying too hard to get to know you. I guess I thought we were supposed to at least pretend we liked each other for this marriage thing to work.”

“Glorfindel... you poor thing,” said Tauniel, touching his cheek gently. “You were really taking this seriously.”

Glorfindel shrugged.

“Did you learn nothing from Erestor’s non-scandal? Neither I nor Aranel care what the two of you do nor whom you are with. Find a lover, Glorfindel, enjoy yourself. Yes, the three of us are enjoying each other’s company, and no, you have no interest in what we are doing, and no, I am sorry, but he does not have the same feelings for you that you have for him. So... find someone. Please,” begged Tauniel.

With a steady stride, Glorfindel went to the couch to retrieve the jerkin he had taken off earlier. He pulled it back on and did the same with his boots. Standing at the door, he looked over his shoulder and asked, “Do you at least know what my favorite color is?”

Tauniel folded her hands together and gave one of her famous far-off looks. “Is it... gold or yellow or something?”

“No, but thanks for at least guessing,” he mumbled.

“Blue!” she called out as he opened the door.

“Green,” he said before shutting the door behind him.

Glorfindel’s first thought was to go back to the stables and barracks and sleep in his private quarters. By the time he reached the bottom of the tower, he seemed to have remembered that Salgant’s house was on the way, and that Salgant was one prone to insomnia. With any luck, the portly fellow was still awake and would welcome the idea of entertaining someone at the late hour, if Duilin was not already there.

Deciding to take the chance, Glorfindel set his course for the House of the Harp. His path was obstructed by many couples who had decided to take in the night air, including one couple who looked quite familiar. At second glance, he saw that it was the pair of ellon he had seen hiding some time past. King Fingon’s overturn of the Gondolin law had brought many out into the open who would not have dared in the past, but Glorfindel was still cautious and was glad that Tauniel and Aranel had decided to remain so as well.

The knocker felt heavy, due to Glorfindel’s exhaustion. He fought to recall the name of the butler as he heard footsteps approaching the door. Thran...something. Perhaps he could muddle the second part a bit. Thranvorn... Thrandor... it was close, and hopefully, it would do.

But when the door was opened, Thran-whatever-his-name-was did not open it. “Good evening, sir.”

“Faelion... good evening.” Glorfindel looked past the young ellon, noting the darkened foyer.

“You were expecting Thrangorn. Tonight is one of Uncle’s nights to perform in the tower. He always takes the servants with him for the evening,” explained Faelion. He sighed and added, “I am actually glad he is there. I did not want him to be here when you came.”

Glorfindel entered the house as Faelion stepped aside. “You... were expecting me?”

“I was expecting one of the other officers, but I guess I should have known that you would come instead.”

The door was closed as Glorfindel tried to find a logical explanation for Faelion’s words. “Maybe you should tell me why you assumed that one of my officers was going to pay you a visit tonight.”

“To be honest, I was anticipating an earlier visit when I did not show up for practice today, but then I realized you would not send someone until after the day’s training was over.”

“Oh.” Glorfindel crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “You never showed up. I would not have known that; I was in meetings all day and put my chief commander in charge. Your absence must not have bothered him enough to seek me out. There is probably a report on my desk mentioning it. You do know this qualifies as desertion and is punishable by a sentence of one to three years of confinement in the king’s dungeon.”

Faelion let out a resigned sigh. “I know. I will not fight you, either, so there is no need to put me in chains. I will go peacefully.”

A small smile uneasily came upon Glorfindel. “You would go to trial first, and I have a feeling you would be granted a stay if you agreed to fulfill your training at another house. However, I could also say that I gave permission for your absence and neglected to tell my commander about this. With everything going on, it would not be so strange to say it slipped my mind.”

“I do not want you to treat me any differently than you would any of the other recruits, sir,” stated Faelion. “There is no reason I should be given preferential treatment.”

“I am a big advocate of second chances,” said Glorfindel. “I would more than likely do the same for any of your peers. Things happen, and... it could not have been an easy night for you. I think, if I were in your place, I may have done the same thing. I do not think I would want to face me in the morning. And, in regards to last night, I must apologize. I was harsh and unkind.”

“You were just being honest,” reasoned Faelion. “Thank you for that.”

For a few awkward moments, they stood near the door and stared at the ceiling, floor, and dark paths until Glorfindel cleared his throat and said, “I should probably, um... leave. I mean, obviously, you will want to get some rest for practice tomorrow.”

“I will be up for a few hours more,” said Faelion. “I was just about to have a little snack, if you would like to join me. Dark chocolate, and uncle brought in some strawberries yesterday.”

“Where did he find strawberries at this time of the year?” wondered Glorfindel.

“They came from the new greenhouse. He took the best plants from the fields and orchards, moved them to pots, and brought them into the enclosure. They have been flourishing.” Faelion led the way through the dim house to the kitchen, which Glorfindel was not surprised to see was quite large. Half of the strawberries were in a bowl on the counter, while the other half had already had their stems removed and were on a plate. “I will be done in a few minutes. I like to remove the stems ahead of time, it just takes a while.”

“Can I help?” asked Glorfindel.

Faelion held out the little knife he had picked up. “If you want to finish these, I can get the chocolate.”

Glorfindel worked on carefully trimming away the leaves while Faelion retrieved a large brown brick-like object that he chipped a number of chunks from. “This is some kitchen,” remarked Glorfindel as Faelion wrapped the remaining chocolate in a cloth and put it away.

“My uncle likes to walk around and taste everything as the cooks are making it, so he made it big enough for that, and for lots of people to work in here at the same time without bumping into each other.” Faelion set down the smaller plate of chocolate next to the one with the strawberries on it. “Let me find a tray and we can take all of it up to the observation room.”

“Where is that?” asked Glorfindel as Faelion dug around in one of the cabinets. A couple of pots crashed out, but Glorfindel caught them before they hit the floor.

“You were there before. The room upstairs with the windows on the ceiling and the great acoustics. We sit up there a lot after dinner because it has the best view and the most comfortable chairs.” Faelion led the way, and after some twists and turns, they arrived at the same room where the private cast party had been held, and where Glorfindel had spoken to Salgant and Duilin many nights ago. “Would you like some wine?” asked Faelion once they had settled into the chairs nearest to the windows.

“I would appreciate that, thank you,” replied Glorfindel as he picked up a sliver of chocolate. He inhaled the intoxicating scent before biting into it and letting the candy liquefy. As he reached out for a strawberry, he felt the stem of a goblet brush his hand and took hold of it instead. As soon as he saw the contents, he stopped and stared.

Faelion was lowering himself into his own chair, and paused upon seeing Glorfindel’s expression. “Sorry, I thought that was the kind you liked. Let me get you something else,” he said as he stood up again and reached for the glass of pinkish colored wine.

Glorfindel shook his head and set the drink beside the treats on the little table between their chairs as he himself stood up. “You know me so well,” he said softly.

Blushing, Faelion dropped his hands to his sides. “I love you,” he said, part explanation, part apology.

“Oh, honey...” Glorfindel took hold of one of Faelion’s hands. “Love... love is one of those things...” Glorfindel shook his head. “It is one of those words best left for later. If you say it too soon—“

“You do not need to love me in return,” rushed Faelion. “I know you cannot, but I had to say it.”

Glorfindel placed his hands on Faelion’s cheeks, forcing the younger to focus on him. “Never, ever give yourself to anyone for anything less than love.” Faelion tried to respond, but eventually nodded as Glorfindel drew back and turned away to look out the window.

“Are you going to leave?” asked Faelion to break the silence. “I really hate being alone here, and no one else will return for hours.”

“I can stay a little while longer,” decided Glorfindel. “It would be just as lonely where I plan to spend the night.”

Faelion picked up the glass of wine and offered it back to Glorfindel again. “Were you asked not to sleep in your apartment anymore, or do you just like sleeping beneath the barracks?”

“You certainly ask a lot of questions,” Glorfindel replied. The plate of strawberries and chocolate was held up for him, and he gladly took one of the berries, having been rushed through dinner.

“I have an inquisitive mind, uncle says.”

Glorfindel smiled. “You certainly do.”

“Do you want to spend the night?” Faelion abruptly asked. “Then we would not both be alone by ourselves.”

The young ellon’s cheeks were colored an endearing shade of red, which only deepened in color when Glorfindel said, “I suppose there must be a guest room somewhere that is not being used.”

“I was actually thinking of my room,” mumbled Faelion. “I have a really big bed and I promise to stay on one half if you use the other. I sleep very soundly, uncle says.”

“And what will your uncle say when he returns home and finds me in your bed?”

“Oh, when they get back they will be so tired they will all be abed immediately. And I am always an early riser, so we will have no trouble getting you back out while everyone is still asleep.”

Glorfindel finished the wine in his glass and set it empty back on the table. “I suppose with the alternative being to walk all the way back to the barracks, it makes more sense for me to stay here. Besides, then I will be sure to get you to practice in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Faelion, though his attempt to contain his excitement failed.

---

The sunlight streamed in through the break in the curtains; the rest of the bed was empty. Glorfindel somehow suspected it would turn out this way. Shoving aside the sheets, he let his hand wander to indentation of the other pillows. His fingers brushed across smooth, cold linen.

This tactile moment awoke his senses and unlocked his memory regarding the previous night. The agreement was to stay on opposite sides of the bed; a noble idea. It had begun that way, with Faelion politely offering Glorfindel his choice of sides. Once settled in, they had decided that putting a pillow between them would help create that needed line not to be crossed.

But it was crossed, and Glorfindel’s lazy smile as he continued to rest in the cozy bed beheld no regrets. Faelion managed to nitpick about, setting out clothing for the next day and refilling the pitcher of water among other things, far longer than necessary. He did so clad in only his loincloth, with Glorfindel left to lounge in bed and watch. It was difficult to say whether the young ellon was aware of the seduction or not. He finally got into bed, and upon discovering that the candle was still lit, crawled over Glorfindel to blow it out.

His shock may or may not have been an act as his thigh brushed against Glorfindel’s erection, covered only by a sheet. The blond took a deep breath in, the scent of Faelion intoxicating. Before words could be spoken, Glorfindel pulled Faelion down and hungrily kissed him.

It had been a long time since the scattered nights spent with Gildor, and the wedding night antics that Tauniel and Aranel had persuaded him to partake in were still bittersweet. For the first time, it was more than pure lust. There was some sort of respect as they each stripped down the other. Words were useless after that. They communicated in glances and groans, advancing slowly, coaxing with touches and gentle nuzzles.

There was still hesitation when they had reached that frenzied point beyond return. Glorfindel took the initiative, but his solution was to straddle the younger ellon and taste the hard length that jutted invitingly upwards. Faelion gasped and took a few moments to overcome the initial shock before he regained the ability to reciprocate.

Afterwards, there were questions. Faelion’s curiosity knew no limits. They snuggled together in a cozy haze, but Faelion’s hands explored every bit of flesh within reach. “This does not make us bound, does it?”

“No, not yet. We would need to go further for that,” said Glorfindel.

“Are you staying the night or will you be gone in the morning?”

“Whatever you wish,” Glorfindel replied.

Faelion’s hand brushed against Glorfindel’s groin. “Umm...” he paused, and resumed his caresses elsewhere, though Glorfindel had some notion as to what the question would have been.

“Do you want me to flatter both of us, or tell you the truth on that?”

“Hmm? On what?” But Faelion’s hand moved back to where it had previously been. “I guess I just thought they were all the same size.”

“If only,” mumbled Glorfindel. “You have nothing to worry about, though. From what I have observed, you would fall into the category of adequately average.”

“Oh. I guess I was hoping that yours was average and mine was a little more than average,” said Faelion, half-grinning.

Glorfindel made some sort of grumbling sound that made Faelion laugh. “I may never reach the heights that most do, but it at least seems thicker than most others. Try putting your hand around it and you will see what I mean.”

Faelion gave Glorfindel a sly look. “Just to test your theory, of course.”

“Oh, absolutely,” agreed Glorfindel with mock innocence as Faelion’s fingers encircled his awakening member. “If you move your hand up and down a little, you will see what I mean,” he added in the most professional sounding way possible.

An reenactment of that was occurring, minus Faelion’s assistance. Glorfindel replayed the most enjoyable parts of the night over and over in his mind as he stroked himself, faster and faster, hoping that the maids would not enter to tidy the room until after he had finished. He reached his goal, but just barely, for once he had cleaned himself up there was a knock on the door. Hesitantly he answered it, finding one of the maids on the other side.

She curtseyed, and then said, “Master Salgant wishes to speak to you in the observation room. He said that he trusts you will be able to find your way there.”

Glorfindel donned his crumpled clothing before he made his way up into the little tower that Salgant enjoyed so much. His dulled senses from the night’s activities diminished some of the timidity he would otherwise have felt. When he came to the doorway, he leaned against it and looked in. Duilin was sprawled on the long bench poking at half of a grapefruit, while Salgant sat upright at one of the tables eating alternatively from three plates of various foods that were spread out before him. “Good morning,” offered the blond.

Duilin acknowledged him by raising his hand slightly before refocusing his concentration upon his fruit once again. The other ellon glanced at the door and motioned for Glorfindel to enter. “Well, come in then, what do you think I am going to do, bite you? I think that is best left to Faelion,” he stated. Duilin smirked.

“I guess you know what went on, then,” said Glorfindel as he pulled out a chair from the table Salgant was at. He sat down and folded his hands together.

“Faelion and I had a little talk after I returned home. I found your boots at the door and had a suspicion as to what had transpired.”

“We did not quite do what you may think we did,” interrupted Glorfindel.

Salgant cut into a fat, greasy sausage. “Do I look as if I care if you did? I can think of many worse, less discrete influences upon him. You were not the focus of our conversation, however. We talked about his commitment to his training, and how waiting would only make it that much harder to complete. I also voiced my concerns about him continuing in your unit now that you have established a relationship of some sort.”

Glorfindel sighed and nodded. Their affair was a risk that could affect how each of them reacted on the practice field. Ordering Faelion about might not have been too terrible, but the thought of watching other recruits fight against him ignited a sudden protectiveness. “What did you suggest he do?”

“Find another house to train with. I know that Ecthelion would make room for him, and if he did not want to go there, Egalmoth would not be so unkind as to turn him away. He will find another army to train with. In the meantime...” Salgant set down his silverware and looked across the table at Glorfindel. “I trust that the two of you mean to keep this a secret, all things considered.”

“Yes, undoubtedly,” promised Glorfindel.

Salgant gave a sage nod. “Good. I am yet wary of Turgon, even if Fingon sees no harm in us revealing ourselves.”

After breakfast, Glorfindel returned first to the tower in order to bathe and change into something less wrinkled. He found the apartment apparently empty, thought there was no evidence that anyone had awoken and left the other bedroom. Glorfindel finished his business quickly before returning to his stables and barracks.

One of the sergeants jogged to him immediately as he opened the gate and let himself in. “Sir, we have a soldier absent from the ranks, two days running now.”

“Faelion?” he questioned, and the sergeant nodded. “He transferred to another house.”

“Which one, sir?” asked the sergeant. “I went about and checked with all of the other captains yesterday, and they all told me that they had no knowledge of his joining them.”

“Let me check the transfer order,” said Glorfindel as he strode towards the stables to where his office was, hoping to buy a little time. It suddenly hit him that, wasn’t he the captain here? “When convenient, I will let you know. Now, I think you have work to do, unless you need me to find something for you?”

“No, sir. Plenty busy here, sir,” answered the sergeant, quickly returning to drill the recruits he had been working with. Glorfindel shook his head and entered the stables.

The office tended to be fairly tidy, except for the floor, where straw would undoubtedly appear no matter how many times the room was swept. On the great wooden desk, Glorfindel kept only a blotter and his set of quills and ink. Boxes containing the latest armor delivery had been left in the empty corner.

Glorfindel walked straight to the desk, hardly noticing the boxes or the item on his desk until he sat down and opened a drawer in order to pull out of sheet of parchment. Before he could set the sheet on the desk, he had to move the obstruction, and upon picking it up, had the answer to the question he had been asked.

He set aside the light brown length of braided hair and wrote out the transfer, carefully dating it two days prior. A candle was lit, wax was spilt, and Glorfindel stamped his seal on the bottom of the order. He took it with him when he left, making sure to show it to the inquisitive sergeant in order to keep rumors from starting.

Practice was the focus of his day. Glorfindel took the lead for most of the exercises and drills and made sure to engage each of the new recruits at least twice. This time, he made sure beat them all without any doubts; against Galdereth, he fought hardest and prevailed both times.
“Tomorrow is going to be even harder than today,” announced Glorfindel as the day was winding down. “The good news is, you will not need to wear your uniforms to practice. The bad news... you are all going to be learning everything there is to know about horses, from mucking out a stall to riding them.” There were quite a few cheers and happy murmurs between the future soldiers. “You are going to be placed in teams, four to a team. Sergeant Ithilfinion is going to read off the assignments, after which, you are dismissed for the day. In the morning, I expect all of you here an hour before sunrise. Is that clear?” Glorfindel watched as all of their heads nodded in synch. “Sergeant,” he said, and left the field as the names were being read.

The shipments had to be looked over, and each piece of armor accounted for. Then there were the bills from the market for food and from the fletcher for arrows. Glorfindel recorded the amounts in the ledger before clearing off his desk, which included tucking the braid into the back of one of the lower drawers. He made the rounds in the stable, checking on the horses and receiving updates from the stable hands. Everything was positive, for once. The mares were all either nursing or doing well with their pregnancies; one, it was determined, was carrying two, and though it was a concern, she seemed to be well (despite looking as if she might totter over if the wind caught her the right way).

The light in the room was dimming, and Glorfindel reluctantly pulled out the pair of spectacles that were tucked in his desk. He read over his correspondence, checked his calendar for the next few days, and made a few notes before putting everything back in its place, including the glasses. It was becoming slightly ridiculous to continue the charade, for enough people had already seen him pull them out in the theatre. Still, he continued to pretend there was nothing wrong with his sight as he headed for the door, tripping over a carton he had moved earlier.

The field was devoid of soldiers when he arrived outside, replaced now with stable hands walking the horses or in some cases riding them. While the sun continued to creep towards the west, Glorfindel took the opportunity to ride Lemon Drop, his beloved miracle horse. The stallion nodded at every apology Glorfindel quietly offered, and happily obliged as they rode into the woods. The path was a familiar one for the horse, and Glorfindel simply kept his balance while the trees passed them by.

By the time they returned, the smells from the dining hall in the barracks made Glorfindel’s stomach rumble. He had planned to return home for supper with the others, but that thought almost made him lose his appetite. Salgant’s house was inviting, but without invitation, he decided against going there, or to Ecthelion’s home, despite the apparent open invitation he was granted centuries ago. Thinking of Ecthelion made him remember the early years, when they shared barracks, when Ecthelion had no house, when the barracks were their home, and they would eat their meals with their soldiers.

As Glorfindel approached the double doors that led into the hall, he slowed his step. The design of the old barracks had an area for officers to dine away from the soldiers. It was one of the things that Ecthelion had taught him – never associate with the common soldiers more than necessary. Never become their friend.

The barracks had been hastily built, and in doing so, this bit was forgotten. From the distance he was, he was able to peer in and see the officers scattered among the other tables, carrying on loud conversation with the recruits they were training. What was the reason he was not supposed to make friends with those who might potentially need to save his life someday?

Glorfindel pondered this as he slowly walked into the hall and down the steps. He crossed the room without being noticed at first, but as he joined those waiting to receive food from the line, the whispering started. He ignored it, and when the recruits standing in front of him started to turn around and motion he should skip ahead of them, he shook his head and gave them a friendly smile when they further insisted.

As he stepped from station to station, each server looked on with apprehension as they deposited various items onto the tray he held. One offered immediately to fetch something else if boiled green beans were not to his liking.

“There is no need for that,” he answered patiently as he continued to hold out his tray.

“But I could,” answered the server, shaking like a leaf.

Glorfindel tried not to laugh. “Just put them on there,” he said, holding the tray a little closer.

When it came time to find a seat, offers came from just about everyone he passed. There were few chairs left open, but he spied one at the table that Galdereth and a few other recruits were sitting at. The occupants looked a little shocked, but none of them did anything silly like scatter or offer to butter his roll as he might have expected from some of the others. They had silenced their conversation, however, so Glorfindel made an attempt to be social. “So, how is the food in this place?” he asked as he started to cut his meat.

It seemed as if he was not about to get an answer, but finally Galdereth said, “The rolls are more useful as weapons than as bread. The rest of it is fine, except when they make fish.”

“When they try to make fish,” added Mirdirin, another young recruit. “It gets all oily and dry, and it tastes like ass.”

“It tastes like piss water,” corrected Galdereth as he reached for the pitcher of water and refilled his glass. “Unless you have some insight on how ass tastes, Mir. Been known to lick a few asses, have you?”

“Oh, shut it,” Mirdirin responded, adding a gesture to his retort as well.

Glorfindel soon learned what the warning meant about the rolls as he attempted to saw through his. He discarded it when his knife became momentarily stuck. “Have to do something about that,” he muttered to himself.

“Captain, can we ask you something?” This came from Elluil, who had remained quiet throughout most of their supper. When Glorfindel nodded, he asked, “What happened to Faelion?”

“Magadnor said you sent him to the dungeons,” added Mirdirin.

Galdereth gave Mirdirin an odd look. “Mags told me Faelion was whipped for deserting, and sent back to his uncle.”

Before any more possibilities could be announced, Glorfindel said, “All of that is untrue. Faelion transferred to another house two days ago.”

“Which one?” wondered Mirdirin. “Everyone else is harder than here, and he was terrible.” When Galdereth punched Mirdirin’s shoulder, he received a glare in return. “It is true, and you know it. This is the easiest place to get through. No offense,” he said as he addressed Glorfindel. “The other houses are too damn strict. None of them give you leave to go home during training, and most of them have so damned many rules. Look, I have a wife and a little boy at home. I want my son to be able to remember who I am after I get this stupid training out of the way.”

Glorfindel held up one hand, the other occupied with his fork. “I am not about to take offense for the truth. Someone has to be at the low end of things. I think, after tomorrow’s lessons, you might not entirely agree with the statement that it is easy to be here, but, I agree on your other point. You do have flexibility here.”

They were quiet for a few moments, Mirdirin’s question forgotten. Elluil nudged Mirdirin and said, “I had no idea you were a father.”

“Do you want to see a picture?” Mirdirin was pulling it out before anyone had a chance to object. “Only eight and he has his heart set on being in the fire brigade. At least these laws about needing military training will not hinder him,” he said as he passed the small ink drawing around the table. “Those fire and law units all work out of the king’s house as a part of his guard. No trouble there, not like me.”

“What were you doing before you got here?” asked Galdereth as he passed the drawing over to Glorfindel.

“Merchant work. I sell crafts at the lesser market. Fine art type things for different people on commission. Mostly I sell things for ladies who maybe only paint two or three things a month or finish one tapestry every few years. They do not have enough items to set up their own booth, nor would they want to waste the time doing it,” he explained.

“I think I might I have purchased something from you,” Galdereth said. “Set of wooden figurines, a chess set, I think.”

“Was that the one with the different colors? The rook was orange and the king was red, and on the other side they were all in blues and greens and violets?”

Galdereth smiled. “Yes, that was it. Present for my uncle. He likes unusual things.”

“That was certainly an unusual set.” When the drawing came back to Mirdirin, he tucked it away again. “So, what did you do before you came here?”

“I was studying to be a chef,” answered Galdereth.

“A chef? Well, get on up there and cook something better for us!” insisted Mirdirin, giving Galdereth a little shove. “No wonder you are so critical of the food!”

“Maybe I should transfer you to roll duty,” said Glorfindel, and everyone laughed, not because they felt they had to, but because Glorfindel knocked the hard roll against the table and it was truly humorous to watch half of it break off in a very unappetizing fashion. “What about you, Elluil?”

“Me?” The youngest of the three shrugged. “I really did not have an occupation.” He stared down at his plate. “I was living in the valley. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Glorfindel had finished eating, but the stories he was listening to were much more interesting to him than the walk back to his room or the apartment would be.

“You probably do not remember... well, I hope you do not remember,” he mumbled. “When you and Lord Ecthelion still shared the base near the king’s tower, there was a group of us orphans who used to sit up in the trees and we would come down to take the food out of the bins in the back and sleep under the stairs in the winter. One time, you and Lord Ecthelion left early and I think you thought we were hiding under the steps playing or something. You chased us off and told us not to go under there or you were going to tell our parents. We were afraid when you found out what we were doing we would get thrown in the dungeons for steal

Elluil swallowed hard, for he realized that most of the conversations near to them had ceased and many of his peers were focused on his tale. He took his glass of water and drank it slowly, his eyes cast downward.

“You ate the food from the trash,” repeated Glorfindel, making sure he had heard correctly. Elluil nodded, his face red with shame. “Are there still... bands of children who do this?”

“Yes, sir,” said Elluil. “Some of them live in the woods now, because they can sneak here late and escape back if one of the guards hears them. And, your bins tend to be kept clean. Some of the other lords dump wood scraps and manure into the bins after they put the food in to keep the orphans away. They... still tend to dig through and find what they can,” he finished quietly.

Glorfindel stood up abruptly and marched to the other side of the room where the food was. The servers were beginning to clear things away, but Glorfindel halted them. “Is everything still warm?”

“Everything but the soup,” replied the lead. “That seems to have gone cold.”

“Heat everything up again,” he instructed.

“My lord,” interrupted the lead server, “Our shift ends in ten minutes. We have barely time to clear the line before we leave.”

“Consider your wages doubled from now until you are released for the night,” he replied, but he was interrupted again.

“I have other things to do,” said the lead. “I have no intention of staying a minute past my shift.”

Glorfindel looked the server up and down. “Really. Anyone else hold this opinion?” Two others raised their hands. “Fine. You three, dismissed. Do not return tomorrow; your services are no longer needed. You,” he said, pointing to the server who had fussed over the vegetables. “You are in charge. How long until you can start serving again?”

“I... I am not sure... I—“

“How long!” Glorfindel crossed his arms impatiently as the three elves he had dismissed removed their aprons and threw them into a heap on the ground.

The timid elf scurried from station to station, checking the food. “We need about twenty minutes; we have to wash some dishes and heat the soup and bring out more water.”

“Good. Tell me when you are ready.” Glorfindel marched back to the table he had left and addressed Elluil. “Can you find these little ones who are hiding in the woods?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Bring them here. Tell them supper is on in twenty minutes.”

Elluil nodded emphatically, and as he stood, Mirdirin did as well, offering to help.

Glorfindel turned to Galdereth. “The rolls they have over there are pitiful, and we are down three staff members.”

“Show me to the kitchen. I might not have enough time for the bread to rise, but I can make something,” he promised as Glorfindel led the way.

When Glorfindel returned to the hall, he found that the recruits and officers were working to clear the tables and gather the trays. Some of them had entered the kitchen while Glorfindel was there with Galdereth and were now washing the dishes. A few others with experience enough in cooking were gathered by the serving line receiving instructions from the new head server. “I wonder how many there are,” said Glorfindel to Ithilfinion, who had positioned himself in the doorway with a lantern to help guide the children to the hall.

Ithilfinion peered out into the darkness. “Someday people are going to sing songs about you.”

“What? Why do you say that?” asked Glorfindel with uneasy laughter.

“Because, while other people talk about doing things, you actually go and do something.” Ithilfinion raised the lantern higher as the first of the children began to peek their way around the trees that edged the woods. Glorfindel smiled and waved at them, and as Elluil emerged the children crept forward. As the scent of warm food assailed them, they started to run towards the hall, though some of the older ones were slightly more cautious.

In all, Glorfindel managed to count about thirty-five, ages ranging from fifteen to early forties. The gobbled up everything they were given, with no complaints that they didn’t like a particular food or wanted something else. The officers were only too happy to offer to sleep in the hall with the tables cleared away if Glorfindel wished to house the little ones in the officer barracks.

“Why is this happening?” Glorfindel asked Galdereth as he helped him to clean up the kitchen once the children were bedded down in the barracks. Mirdirin, along with two other volunteers who were fathers, took charge of the ‘orphan ward’ of the Golden Flower barracks that night.

“I think because you let them in,” answered Galdereth.

“No, not that. Why are there children roaming the forest, eating out of the trash bins? We are the largest, most powerful nation—“ Glorfindel stopped there, unable to continue. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before he could continue washing out the pans.

After checking over everything and everyone, Glorfindel made the decision to sleep in his own bed that night. If he was going to be riding horses in the morning and figuring out just how he was going to be the caretaker of thirty-five elflings, he wanted comfortable rest in fluffy, downy bliss. As he walked back to the tower, he wove his way through some of the places he thought might attract the little ones who were abandoned. Just as Elluil had said, most of the houses made sure to destroy the remains as best they could; at Salgant’s house, Glorfindel noted there were no scraps in the bins, but then recalled that Salgant raised livestock, including swine, and probably had the excess dumped into their pens.

The climb up the stairs of the tower seemed unending. Once inside the dark apartment, Glorfindel poured himself a rare drink at the bar and downed it swiftly. There were few types of liquor that he could stomach; rum was one of these. It was sweet and spicy, and did not burn like the types that Erestor favored. He left the glass to be dealt with later and came into the bedroom, only to be assailed by brighter light than he would have liked. “Oh, it is just you,” he said, finding Erestor in bed, reading.

“Good evening,” replied Erestor carefully. He watched as Glorfindel started to undress. “If you want I can sleep on the couch tonight.”

Glorfindel paused and plopped down onto the bed, his shirt and loincloth the only clothing remaining. “You can stay here; it does not matter to me. I just thought you would have been with them.”

“Once in a while, I have... I need to... I have my needs,” he finally settled on. “I think we should have all sat down early on and talked through all of this. It would have saved us trouble now. None of us mind if you have a relationship outside of our group. I am sorry that you cannot get any pleasure from joining us, or we would have invited you.”

For a moment, Glorfindel nearly made a proposition, but his mind was never affected the way that Erestor’s was from drink. “I understand that now.”

“I... yes, I know. I mean, you got my message, right?”

“Uhm... what message?”

“The one I left on your desk.”

Glorfindel pulled his shirt over his head. “I saw no message. The only thing on my desk this morning was a length of braided hair, which I took to be Faelion’s. It appears he joined Rog’s army?”

“Yes, but he did not leave it there. I did. I was going to write a message, but Faelion asked me to leave the braid for you, and I did not know if it was wise to write anything, so I just left it and assumed you could figure it out.”

The loincloth was tossed into the basket at the door, and Glorfindel crawled into bed. “So, he must have told you a few things.”

“He told me everything,” answered Erestor as he set his book aside. “I was leaving the tower early this morning so that I could get to the market before the fruit was picked over. I ran into Faelion, who was actually preparing an attempt to flee the city. He seemed pretty lost and confused, so I led him off the path and we talked in the gardens for a while. When I found out what happened last night, I offered to train him privately in order to get him caught up if he joined Rog’s army.”

“Thank you,” said Glorfindel, knowing that both his secret and his young lover were safe with Erestor.

“There was... something else he wanted me to give you,” added Erestor. “Since you will not see him for a while. He has many months of training to go.”

“What is it, a message or something?”

Erestor bit his lip. “I guess you might call it that. It... well... here.” Erestor leaned over and kissed Glorfindel on the cheek. “That is from him. And also, he says he loves you.”

Glorfindel grinned, unable to contain his bliss. “Could I have that message again? I want to make sure I understood the whole thing.”

“He said he loves you,” repeated Erestor.

“No, the first part.”

“Oh, honestly.” Erestor rolled his eyes, but after a sigh, muttered, “The things I do for you,” and kissed Glorfindel’s cheek again. “There. Satisfied?”

Glorfindel simply continued to grin.

“I am going to bed,” announced Erestor. He blew out the candles and drew up the covers.

After a few moments, Glorfindel slid down as well, fluffed up his pillow, and snuggled his cheek against it happily.

“So... do you love him?” asked Erestor in the darkness.

The grin returned to Glorfindel’s face. “You know, I think I might.”

“What are you going to do with all of them?”

“I have no idea.”

Glorfindel was standing on the outside of the fence that encircled his property with Ecthelion. The council had met earlier in the day, and more than one joke was made regarding ‘Glorfindel’s new pets’. For the first time ever, the blond stomped out of council early, leaving the door to slam behind him. Ecthelion had come to update him on what had transpired after his departure.

“How many are there now?” Ecthelion asked.

“You actually expect me to try to count them all?” Glorfindel made an attempt to, but there were dozens, and they frolicked about as children should, making it difficult to keep track of their numbers. In the few weeks since Glorfindel had first opened his doors to them, the population had swelled to the point that now his soldiers were chased out of the barracks completely. Groups of tents not only held his recruits, but some of them were set up for the older orphans as well.

“You know you cannot keep them all here,” said Ecthelion.

“I certainly do know that!” snapped Glorfindel back. He sighed as Ecthelion raised his brows, but said nothing. “Sorry. This is not quite what I had anticipated. I thought maybe there were a few and that we would just find homes for them, but there are so many. Who knew we had so many orphans?”

“Not all of them are orphans.” Both of the ellyn turned upon hearing Salgant’s voice behind them. The portly elf strolled up to the fence, leading a stubborn snorting mare alongside him. “Some of the families in the valley are having difficulties, what with the droughts and now the late frosts. They are sending some of them here, knowing you will not turn them away.”

Ecthelion’s mouth twisted unhappily. “How well they know you, Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel turned his attention to the nag that was now draping her head over his fence. “Where did you find her?”

“Ah, yes. She was formerly assigned to the king’s guard. Unfortunately, she does not play well with others.” He patted the side of her neck and was nearly bitten for his efforts, which he laughed off as the other two ellyn exchanged uncertain looks. “Here.” Salgant handed the rope he had been holding to Glorfindel.

“What am I supposed to do with her?”

Salgant chuckled and looked past Glorfindel to Ecthelion. “What is he to do? My, and here I thought I was bringing her to the right person.”

“No offense, but she hardly belongs here. Even if the children were not about, I do not need one badly trained horse to rile the rest of them.”

“Well, then, I must hurry along. The butchers in the valley close earlier than the one near the market.” Salgant reached over to take back the rope, but Glorfindel held fast.

The blond tightened his grip when Salgant gave a tug. “You are going to have her sold to the butcher?”

“Yes. Although horseflesh is less desirable, with the drought, I am sure she might fetch a bit of coin.”

Glorfindel stared hard at Salgant, attempting to read him. Part of him was certain that the horse would not meet such a horrible fate, but the other part was not willing to take that chance. “Fine. You win,” he said finally, giving the rope a tug strong enough to dislodge it from Salgant’s hands.

“Good. I knew I brought her to the right place.” He patted Glorfindel’s shoulder before giving a nod to Ecthelion and then heading on his way. Glorfindel sighed and watched the mare butt her head against the fence when some of the children came too close for her liking.

Ecthelion scratched his head. “I thought the point of our meeting was to come up with some ideas on how to decrease the population here.”

There was a little grumbled muttering as Glorfindel unlatched the gate and pulled the mare onto the pasture. “I just need an infinite amount of money and unlimited land, and I will be fine.”

“A logical solution.” Ecthelion followed after Glorfindel, keeping a safe distance from the horse. “And if you are unable to conjure up a million pieces of gold and a thousand acres?”

“Then I guess I am just going to go broke.” Glorfindel tied the rope to a post normally reserved for the laundry line and left the mare to graze. “I hate being so nice.”

“Of course you do. But you are so good at it,” commended Ecthelion.

---

“So, what are you going to do?”

Glorfindel handed Erestor a glass of wine and shook his head as he sat down on the chair beside him. “The reason I just explained everything to you was so that you could tell me how to fix it.” The pair was on the balcony, watching fireflies lazily dance about.

“How do you expect to learn anything if I just give you the solution?” asked Erestor. Glorfindel glared back at his companion, who shied away slightly. “Alright, alright, let me think about it.” At least ten minutes passed before Erestor said, “Boy, you really dug yourself in deep this time.”

“I know.” Glorfindel gulped the wine in his goblet. “Now, if you would kindly help dig me out I would be forever grateful.”

“You could probably funnel some funds into the valley. Set up a few schools or an orphanage or something, and that might help take care of some of the problems. At least that way the children would have somewhere to go.”

“Of course, that only fixes things temporarily. Once they reach a certain age they will be expected to fend for themselves, but without training and without a family, where do they go?” Glorfindel rubbed his head and groaned. “If it was just one or two, it would be easy. When Ecthelion took me in, he was able to concentrate on just me. One on one it would work, but there is no way I can handle all of them.”

Erestor shook his head. “You keep taking the angle that it has to be you at the center of it. You need to learn how to delegate more.”

“I... fuck. Fuck!”

“Shhh... we should go back inside,” suggested Erestor. He gathered up both of the wine glasses and ushered Glorfindel back indoors. He decided against another glass of wine and placed the empty goblets on the counter as they passed. Once they reached the bedroom, Glorfindel threw himself onto the bed and flung his arm over his eyes. Erestor sat down on the edge of the mattress and pushed on Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Take off your shirt and roll over.”

Under normal circumstances, Glorfindel might have been hoping to hear such a thing, but at the moment he was much more in need of what he was sure Erestor was going to do. As soon as he had settled his head upon the pillow, he felt Erestor’s warm hands at the base of his neck. Slowly, the day’s tension was massaged away, from his sore shoulders to the kink in his back. “How is Faelion doing?” he managed to ask as he began to doze.

“I think he made the right decision. He improved quickly. How are the rest of your recruits doing?”

“Not bad, all things considered. We are much further behind than I planned to be at this stage,” Glorfindel sleepily admitted. “I feel as if they will never master the skills they need to at this rate.”

“I am certain they will. You took on a large group, and it takes more time to train so many.”

Glorfindel fell asleep with this thought in mind.

“Teamwork.” Glorfindel let the word linger before speaking again. “What you see before you was not constructed by one elf. It was not built in a single day. This is the long, hard labor of many people working together for the good of so many others who never asked, who never complained, who never knew how to ask, who never had anyone who put forth the effort to ask, why? Why was nothing done before now?”

He looked out over the crowd, noting the mixture of soldiers among the residents who had come to hear him speak. Shuffling to the next page, Glorfindel continued his speech. “When we began this project, there were many who thought it would never be completed. I myself was skeptical at times. I am lucky to have been proved wrong.”

The ribbon was cut and the door to the Fingolfin Memorial Orphanage was pushed open. As Glorfindel stepped down from the podium he encountered a great number of people who felt it necessary to shake his hand or even to embrace him. By the time he made it to the king and his escort, he could not help but to grin triumphantly. “I believe you were among the nonbelievers?” he teased.

“I said it would be nearly impossible for you to manage yet another project of such magnitude. I stand corrected,” Turgon admitted, clasping his hand upon Glorfindel’s shoulder. “You have done well, and I appreciate the gesture of the name.”

Glorfindel smiled and nodded as a young artist managed to sort his way through the crowd with his easel. “Excuse me, your majesty, your lordship! Might I get a sketch, both of you in front of the orphanage?”

“I see no reason why not,” answered the king for both of them. Glorfindel followed dutifully through the parted crowd to the open doors where people streamed in and out and oohed and aahed. “Perhaps we should stand by the windows, next to the sign,” the king suggested when it was apparent that the artist was not going to get the sketch he had hoped for.

The king’s presence outside of his tower was rare, and the opportunity was taken. As Turgon and Glorfindel posed for the artist, Erestor, Aranel, and Tauniel took the time to stroll through the newly erected building. There was a large central playroom with windows that allowed the elflings the freedom of interaction with one another while prospective parents observed, and hopefully, chose a new son or daughter. Dormitory rooms filled the majority of the rest of the building, with a special area for babies and a large room for meals. The path from the back led to a school not very far away where the older children would be given at least a simple education and taught basic skills. This part was more innovative than the idea of having a place for unwanted and orphaned children to go, and as it had been Erestor’s idea, he made sure that they toured it as well.

“The concept is very sound. Boys are distracted by girls, and girls are distracted by boys. If you separate them, they will both learn much better.” Erestor waved his hand towards the left side of the hallway. “Boys have their classes over there, and girls,” he said, making a motion to the right, “over there.”

“I would think it is twice as expensive to have two teachers teaching the same things,” said Aranel.

Erestor shook his head. “No, the children are assigned a room by their level of comprehension, and then the teachers move. So in the morning, language might be taught to the boys, and then in the afternoon to the girls. History in the morning to the girls, and in the afternoon to the boys.”

“That makes sense,” agreed Tauniel. “But what if a male teacher goes to teach the girls or a female teacher teaches the boys. I think that would defeat the purpose of the arrangement.”

“There is no worry of that,” explained Erestor casually. “There are no female teachers.”

Both of the ladies stopped abruptly so that Erestor was nearly three metres ahead of them before he noticed. “No lady teachers?” asked Tauniel to be quite clear.

“Well, yes,” said Erestor as he returned. “The boys need a strict instructor, and the girls benefit by not being coddled by—“

“How can you discriminate like that?” huffed Aranel. “There are a lot of female teachers who would do just fine on either side of the hallway.”

“I suppose I should not say there are no teachers who are female,” corrected Erestor. “There are the ones who teach domestic skills, poise, and etiquette.”

“Do they teach that to the boys, too?” wondered Aranel.

Erestor looked extremely confused. “Why would boys need to learn domestic skills?”

“Why, indeed,” grumbled Tauniel. “So while the girls have those classes, I suppose the boys have training or something?”

“Weaponry, combat, and eventually an apprenticeship,” replied Erestor.

Aranel crossed her arms over her chest. “What if one of the girls wants to become a blacksmith?”

“Well...” Erestor frowned and began to inspect the woodwork around the doors. “In theory, they could be privately tutored on the subject, but I see no reason for that. No one would ever apprentice them.”

His wife cleared her throat in order to gain his attention. “My father allowed me to apprentice with him.”

“Oh.” It was hard to tell whether Erestor was simply shocked or slightly disgusted with the idea. Before Tauniel could add her comments, they heard the doors to the school open and looked down the hallway to see Glorfindel approaching them.

“Sorry, I did not wish to say no to the king.” Glorfindel came to a halt beside Erestor. “I hate to drag everyone away, but the ceremony is taking place at the tower soon and I assume we wish to be there on time.”

“I have a question for you, Glorfindel,” interrupted Tauniel.

“Uh-oh,” he said quietly, but it did not go unheard.

Tauniel sweetly smiled and asked, “If you had a daughter, would you allow her to apprentice as a blacksmith if she wanted to?”

“Oh.... do I have to answer this with Erestor here?” he queried back. He made sure to keep his gaze focused on the wall so that he was not swayed by his friend. When Tauniel nodded, Glorfindel sighed. “I think... everyone should be allowed to do whatever they want to do. If an elleth wants to be a soldier and her brother wants to be a midwife, then, wonderful, why make them unhappy by telling them they have to go be a housewife and a healer or something like that.”

“Ha! Three against one; you lose!” announced Aranel. Glorfindel cringed, knowing how much Erestor hated losing, and most of all when it came to debates.

But Erestor stepped forward, drawing his sword as he did so. Tauniel was closest, and he backed her against the wall to the shock of the others. He did not point the tip of the sword at her, though, he offered her the hilt. “Alright, you want to be a warrior, go ahead. Show me how to do it.”

“I never said that,” she defended, her palms flat against the bricks.

“Go ahead, though,” he said with false sweetness. “Just take the sword for a moment.”

Tauniel furrowed her brow, but reached out and grasped the sword with one hand, for that was how Erestor was offering it. As soon as the ellon let go, Tauniel was dragged forward and had to quickly use her other hand to grasp the sword and keep it from hitting the ground. She had difficulty lifting it back up, and it wobbled in her hands.

Erestor stepped back and motioned for Glorfindel and Aranel to do the same. “Take a practice swing,” he suggested to her as she fought to keep the blade balanced above her waist.

She stepped from the wall and drew back the sword, but did so too quickly. The weight of the weapon dragged her down and caused her to lose her balance. Before she hit the ground, though, Erestor had stepped forward, freed the sword from her hands with one of his, and caught her centimeters from the ground with his other arm. “That, my dear, is just one of the many reasons why we do not teach soldiering skills to the young ladies here.” He righted her onto her feet and sheathed his sword once again. “Perhaps you think I am being mean, but I am being realistic. Most of the girls in this school will grow up, marry, have children, and take care of daily domestic activities. In the rare cases that we have a future blacksmith walk through the door, she will still be schooled the same as her peers, and can make the decision to apprentice when she comes of age. All of the boys in this school, whether they want to be blacksmiths, or... midwives,” he said, pointedly looking at Glorfindel, “will need to fulfill Fingon’s edict and be proficient as soldiers. We are giving them an edge by training them early.”

“With the proper training, those girls can learn to fight, too,” argued Aranel.

“No doubt,” Erestor agreed. “But, fight what? The weapons need to be a certain strength in order to kill orcs and trolls, to say nothing of dragons and balrogs. Some ellyth, even if trained, will never have the ability to lift the proper weapon, let alone strike with it. If we are sent out of the city to fight, we will not bring ellyth with us. Too great is the danger that they might be killed, or worse, captured. If the enemy ever finds us, we will send away the ladies and the children, in hopes they might escape while the ellyn fight the enemy here in order to distract them from those fleeing.”

“But, if the enemy does come and we fight together—“

Erestor cut Aranel off. “If the enemy comes,” he said, lowering his voice despite the fact that classes were not in session and no one else was in the building, “Gondolin will fall. We are a self-contained dot on the map. When he finds us, he will stop at nothing to destroy all that is here. Our only chance then will be escape.”

There was an eerie silence that followed, which Glorfindel broke by reminding them, “We should really get back to the tower. We may be late as it is.”

“They cannot begin without me,” said Erestor, but he turned and marched back down the corridor and exited as the other three walked together slowly.


“I do not recall the crowds being so big before,” commented Glorfindel to Idril once he had taken his place on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Normally the ceremony was held indoors, but the room had filled so quickly that it was soon reassigned to be held outdoors. The streets on either side were crowded with people, and the balcony, though twice the size of the one used indoors for the lords and their families, was nearly to capacity.

Idril looked over the masses and replied, “I was told that the group is much larger than in previous years. It would make sense, if indeed Fingon’s rules are being upheld.”

Warning trumpets sounded and places were taken. Glorfindel was surprised as Rog and Meleth joined the group on the balcony, Aranel and Tauniel following behind. “Where is Erestor?” asked Glorfindel as Rog positioned himself at the railing next to the blond.

“Down there,” answered Rog, nodding his head toward the ground. Glorfindel peered around Rog, and saw a lone figure standing apart from the crowd. He could not be sure it was Erestor except for being told it was, for he was dressed in the official uniform of the House of the Hammer’s army, reserved for such occasions. Black and red, like the smoke and fire of the forge. The ornate plumes atop the helmet danced in the breeze. “I convinced him to lead the ceremony this time.”

“I thought you could just order him to do things like that,” said Glorfindel.

“It is far more fun to win an argument of words with that one than it is to demand he do something,” said Rog. Meleth giggled and Rog smiled as she did, as if it was the punch line to some fabulous joke. Glorfindel only nodded, for the trumpets sounded again and movement down the path quieted the crowds into awe.

By far, it was the largest group of graduating recruits that Glorfindel could recall from the House of the Hammer. He spent less time listening to the ceremony and more of it trying to determine which of them was Faelion. Turgon, as usual, gave a speech about loyalty and honor, addressing it to the entire crowd. He then directed his praises upon the soldiers standing before him, armor shining, uniforms crisply pressed. After this, it was Erestor, not Rog, who led the soldiers in their recitation of their oath to the city and to their king.

Turgon entered back inside, only to appear a minute later on the ground before the soldiers. There was one final item to attend to as Turgon motioned one of his own warriors to him. A sheathed blade was passed to him, and the king stepped forward to stand beside Erestor. They both faced the elf who had led in the other soldiers. In a clear voice that carried through the crowd and up to the balcony, Turgon asked, “Who shall lead these soldiers, in battle and in training, in times of peace and in times of war?”

The leader stepped forward. “I will,” he said as he bowed his head to remove his helmet. Glorfindel’s stomach clenched as the newest of Rog’s sergeants revealed himself, while a few feet away, Salgant happily began the thunderous applause that luckily drowned out the sorrowful noise that Glorfindel unintentionally made.

As the ceremony ended and the balcony cleared quickly, Glorfindel stepped aside for others. He was not so certain he wished to join the festivities below just yet. When he felt he was being watched, he turned to see Idril was the only other occupant of the balcony.

“So, the rumors must be true,” she murmured.

“What? What rumors?” Glorfindel frowned when Idril only winked at him, kissed his cheek, and then left to join the others below. He sighed and shook his head, unmotivated to follow and demand an answer. Instead, he continued to watch everyone below. Salgant was standing proudly beside Faelion, shaking hands of everyone who passed within range to do so. Erestor and Turgon were conversing with Rog, and though Glorfindel wanted to know exactly what was being discussed, he dreaded having to mingle with so many people. He waited until the crowd thinned, and even then took his time in walking back through the tower and outside.

He was later than he would have liked, however, for everyone he might have wished to speak to had already gone, save for Duilin. “They saw you coming and ran for the hills.”

“Oh,” replied Glorfindel, to which Duilin laughed quite loudly.

“Oh, my, you are so easy to tease at times. So serious about things.”

“I knew you were just joking; I am just not much in the mood for it,” answered Glorfindel.

“Fine then, be that way.” Duilin was still smirking. “If you are going to be sour, I simply will not invite you to the gathering Salgant is having for Faelion, which everyone is either traveling to or at already.”

“Oh. Alright.” Glorfindel turned to walk back to the tower, but Duilin slung his arm around him and pulled him a few paces towards the House of the Harp until Glorfindel reluctantly fell in step.

When they reached the festivities, wine and beer were already flowing, and there was a bit of a competition in progress. It seemed as if a discussion on singing had turned into a challenge, and now the rules were being determined by Rog while Salgant, Erestor, and of all others, Turgon, stood before him, sizing each other up, and generally being of good spirits about the whole thing. “This looks like an event not to be missed!” decided Duilin as he found an empty bench and procured a glass of wine.

Glorfindel considered sitting down, but the rowdiness in the foyer was making his head ache, and he slipped up the stairs to take the familiar path to the hidden room above.

As he continued on, the crowd thinned out, but as he approached the room the same level of noise came from it. Peering within, he saw dozens of soldiers, new friends of Faelion no doubt. With Faelion nowhere to be seen, however, he decided to leave.

Glorfindel turned, and nearly stepped on Faelion’s toes. “Sorry, excuse me,” he said, at first not realizing who was standing in front of him.

“Pardon us, Captain,” said another soldier who was standing next to Faelion just as Glorfindel figured out who he was looking at. “If you are looking for the other lords, they are down in the foyer.”

Glorfindel nodded and stepped aside. The other soldier continued on his way, but Faelion stood awkwardly still. When it was realized that Faelion was not walking with him, the other soldier returned. “Sergeant?”

“Take this with you,” directed Faelion, handing the soldier a pitcher of beer he had been carrying. The young warrior shuffled about the items he was holding in order to accommodate this new one. “I will be in soon,” promised Faelion. The soldier gave a nod, and left the pair to their privacy in the hallway.

“C-congratulations,” said Glorfindel, extending his hand as he looked up. In the months they had not seen one another, Faelion had had a spurt of growth, and now stood taller than the older elf.

Faelion looked upon Glorfindel’s hand, but did not take it. Instead, he looked down the corridor, first in one direction, and then the other. He then looked back to Glorfindel, who had dropped his hand down to his side. Faelion now lifted his hand, but used it to caress Glorfindel’s cheek. “I missed you,” he whispered as his hand slid down to cup Glorfindel’s chin. He tilted Glorfindel’s head up and bowed his own head. They kissed roughly, hungrily, each of them trying to gain control. It was Faelion who won out, using his other hand to turn Glorfindel to the side before pinning him against the wall.

The blond gasped as his head back was pushed back. Faelion grasped Glorfindel’s neck, kissing and sucking, finally biting and causing Glorfindel to twist out of his grasp. “Not out here,” panted Glorfindel, already worried that someone might have peered around a corner and seen them.

With a nod, Faelion went to a door, opened it, and ushered Glorfindel inside. As soon as the door was closed again, Faelion had Glorfindel against a wall. “I have been yearning for this for months,” he admitted, his fingers holding Glorfindel’s wrists tightly above the blond’s head. “I hope you have no other plans for the evening.”

Glorfindel whimpered in answer as he was kissed until his lips were sore and his breathing ragged. His knees weakened when Faelion let go of his wrists, and he somehow managed to make it onto the bed before they began again. This was short-lived, for Faelion caught the bed sheet in his armor and had to extricate himself while Glorfindel attempted not to laugh. The armor was discarded onto the floor, and soon after, the rest of their clothing was dismissed as well.

“Look!” announced Faelion as he knelt over Glorfindel, his legs straddling the chest of his prey. “I am standing at attention for you, captain!”

With a chuckle, Glorfindel said, “What an obedient little soldier.”

“Little?” Faelion crawled forward. “Little, you say? If he is so little, you will have no trouble letting him rest in your mouth a while.” He lowered himself down, the tip of his erection pressed against Glorfindel’s lips. “Or should I put it somewhere else...”

Glorfindel licked his lips quickly and groaned as Faelion pushed his way between them. He swallowed, and Faelion dug his fingers into the long golden hair. Between Glorfindel’s experience and Faelion’s youthful urges, it was not very long before Faelion was releasing his seed down Glorfindel’s throat.

“Now, what should I do with you?” pondered the younger elf. He kissed Glorfindel as roughly as before, spreading his essence around both of their tongues. “I know what I want to do,” he said, and he pressed his lips against Glorfindel’s again, this time thrusting his tongue in and out. Glorfindel’s body shook and he whimpered and writhed and practically forgot about everything else in the whole of Arda. “I want to see you on your hands and knees.”

Shakily, Glorfindel obeyed. Once positioned, Faelion pressed his hand against Glorfindel’s neck and pushed his front half down, so that the older elf had his rear up in the air and his cheek on the pillow. “Very nice,” he purred as he inspected the blond. “I have dreamed about seeing you like this on many occasions.”

Faelion disappeared out of Glorfindel’s view, but the blond soon discovered where he had gone. Powerful hands gripped him from behind and thumbs spread him wide. A shiver ran down his spine as he felt the wet warmth of Faelion’s tongue penetrating him eagerly. As soon as Faelion deemed him ready for it, the tongue was replaced with fingers that did not just plunge into him, but stroked him within, massaging and pushing him to the edge before pausing long enough to pull him back, only for the torturous pleasure to begin again.

At some point, Glorfindel heard himself beg. This seemed to be what Faelion had hoped for, for he changed his position so that he was able to take Glorfindel into his mouth without withdrawing his fingers. Glorfindel grasped for the release he had been continuously denied and moaned and panted blissfully when it was granted.

They spent the night talking until their desires resurfaced and they made love once again, more subdued and bittersweet the second time, for their discussions had led to decisions. Faelion, like Erestor, had found an odd sort of enjoyment of army life. There would be little opportunity for trysts, and both admitted that there was the chance that things could happen, as things often do, to keep them apart longer than expected, or even disrupt their relationship altogether.

To remain friends was all they could promise one another at that moment, but each felt strangely at peace with that decision. They refused to sleep, hanging on to the final moments in each other’s arms as the sun began to shine through the window. “I need to go,” said Faelion abruptly. “I am expected on the training fields. The new recruits are arriving today.”

Glorfindel nodded and relaxed his arms so that Faelion could crawl out of the bed. “Good luck with that,” he said as he sat up and watched Faelion get dressed.

Faelion smiled. “Thanks. I need all the luck I can get.” He gathered up the armor and set it aside in the corner of the room, not needing the ceremonial part of the uniform. His hand grasped the door knob, and then fell away. “Can I ask a favor?”

“Of course.” Glorfindel nodded.

“I... well I was wondering, if you kept my braid or not. Erestor said he left it in your office for you.”

“He did, and yes, I did keep it.” Glorfindel had tried not to concentrate on the short bristly haircut that Faelion now had, preferring to recall the long auburn hair instead. “I suppose you have to keep yours short for a while.”

“As long as I am with the army, yes,” replied Faelion. “I was, uh, wondering, though, if maybe I could, uh, have just a bit of yours, to, well, keep with me or something. I mean, I know we said we were not really going to stay together exactly, but... I am still quite fond of you. Alright, I love you,” he admitted again. “I do not think I can stop myself from that.”

“I love you, too,” answered Glorfindel as he beckoned Faelion over. “Yes, I think it would be fair for you to have at least a lock of mine since I have the rest of yours. I should have a knife in my belt over there.”

“Oh, I have one here,” said Faelion.

He held it out to Glorfindel, but the blond shook his head. “No, I trust you.”

“Are you sure? I do not want to take too much.”

“As I said, I trust you. And in all fairness, you could have demanded the whole thing.”

“I just want enough to carry with me.” Faelion took hold of a curl and held it up. “Is this one alright?”

“Oh, I am not sure... that one is my favorite.” When Faelion began to look for another, Glorfindel laughed. “I was just kidding. That one is fine.”

Faelion twisted the hairs together and carefully cut through them. “Thank you.” He bowed his head and kissed Glorfindel one last time before hurrying out of the room, his precious treasure hidden tightly in one hand.

Time passed. In all other places, the darkness grew, choking the people of Middle-earth with doom and despair. There were tidings of happiness in some places: The birth of Fingon’s son, Ereinion, was a blessing and joy even in the midst of near hopelessness. Doriath continued to prosper, though they remained cautious as ever to those from the outside. Only in Gondolin did the changing of the world go unnoticed, for it was that Gondolin remained unnoticed, though not entirely unknown, by the enemy.

---

Glorfindel awoke one morning rather early. The sheets on the other half of the bed were discarded in a clump on the floor. It was a sure sign that Erestor was not only awake, but had risen hastily. The blond stretched his arms and left the room, only to find Erestor occupying the couch. There was a bird perched on his shoulder and a small note in his hands. “Is something wrong?”

“Finrod is dead.”

Glorfindel paused and a shiver snaked down his spine. “My uncle.”

“Yes.” Erestor said it as if only realizing this the moment it was said by Glorfindel. “Sorry. You probably remember him a bit.”

“I knew him as a child. He seemed really nice, really intelligent. I never became very close. I suppose, maybe a little, he was the only male adult who seemed better than my father was. He treated me better. But I only knew him a little while.”

Erestor said nothing in response.

“Were you close to him?”

The message was rolled up again, more out of something to do than real need to do so. “I was close to Artanis, and she was very close to him. He was over so much while I was with her that I half expected him to move in sometimes. We had many conversations that began before dinner and only ended when she prodded us to the breakfast table.”

“Then it is I who am sorry for your loss. The most I really remember was sitting on his lap while he read me a book or being allowed to pluck his harp even after my parents told me not to touch it.” Glorfindel felt a sudden sway and braced his hand upon the wall. “Does Gildor know?”

“I am uncertain of that. The message only just arrived, and the bird was exhausted. We have not received word from the messengers. He might know of his own accord.”

“I... I need to go and see Gildor. When my parents died, I had no forewarning before the news came. How I will explain knowing this is a mystery to me, but-“ Glorfindel shook his head as the note was held out to him. “I cannot reveal your correspondence with Saeros.”

Erestor stood up and took the note to Glorfindel. He took hold of Glorfindel’s wrist and lifted his arm, placed the note in his palm, and closed his fingers tightly over the small scrap of paper. “The note is from Artanis. You need not say how it arrived. It is more important you have the proof to show him.”

Glorfindel dressed quickly and then hurried down the steps of the tower, note clenched tightly in his hand. As he reached the ground and began to walk in the direction of Enerdhil’s house, he loosened his grip for fear the ink might run.

Only now did he read the message, written in the flowing script of his aunt, with stains from her tears on one side. The words were so simple, and yet her sorrow was still evident somehow.

Felagund’s spirit resides in Mandos.
A werewolf. He perished in defeating it.
Send only your prayers for him;
condolences unnecessary.
~G

On the back there were words as well, and Glorfindel read these as he passed through the lesser market and arrived in the plain where many of the artisans and metalworkers, including Rog and Maeglin, lived. Enerdhil’s workshop was one of the furthest back, set off from the others with a fence surrounding it, less to keep anyone out and more to keep the dogs he owned in. Glorfindel nearly walked right into the fence as he attempted to read and walk. He stopped and leaned against the high barrier in order to read the rest.

He spoke highly of you,
as I am certain you know.
There was talk of you constantly.
I truly believe he wished for you
as his brother-in-law instead.

Glorfindel was already aware of the fact that Erestor’s one-time lover had married another, but it seemed more believable now that the proof was here before him. No names were mentioned; none had to be. Celeborn was the one Artanis favored; obviously, her brother did not agree. The message on the reverse angered Glorfindel. It was as if she was taunting Erestor in some way, as if to say, ‘do not expect your praises to continue – and by the way, you still will never have me’. He rolled the note up to prevent further wear on it, and as he pushed the gate open muttered, “He is too good for you anyway.”

Since Fingon’s absolution of the dreaded rule that denied public freedom to those who wished to love others of the same gender, Gildor had made himself a nearly permanent fixture in Gondolin. Instead of spending most of his time in Doriath with brief intervals in the hidden city, he ventured out only rarely to collect news and messages and bring them back. It meant that more often, Voronwe was sent out on duty as the messenger, while Gildor spent his days in the marketplace watching street performers and his nights in Enerdhil’s bed.

In hopes that it was still early enough to find Gildor at the House of the Mole, Glorfindel hurried toward the house. The building was set into the side of a hill so that the jewelers could directly enter the mines through a guarded room. The front of the house was guarded as well, but Glorfindel’s status allowed him to pass by without being questioned.

Servants swarmed about, readying the house for the day. Glorfindel stopped one of the maids and gained directions on where he would find Gildor, finding that breakfast was just being served. She seemed very worried that he did not wish to wait until after the meal, but did not stop him from going to the room. He hesitantly entered the private dining chambers used by Lord Enerdhil and his family. At once the conversation stopped, and it was evident to Glorfindel that in this house everything happened in a precise manner. “Excuse me,” he said when Enerdhil folded his hands and looked rather upset at the intrusion. “I have an important matter which I must discuss with Gildor.”

“Go ahead,” said Enerdhil tersely.

Glorfindel waited for Gildor to stand up and perhaps suggest some place they could go to talk, but Gildor only sipped from the goblet of water and watched Glorfindel quizzically. “The matter is a rather private one,” Glorfindel awkwardly explained as someone in the room coughed.

“If it is not important enough to tell him here and now, I am sure it can wait.” Enerdhil made a dismissive motion, and the butler moved around the table to usher Glorfindel out.

“Sir, I must ask you to leave,” whispered the butler as he gripped Glorfindel’s upper arm.

Glorfindel hooked his foot around the bottom part of the doorway as he was being forced out in order to gain a little time. “This is important! Just because I do not want to announce in front of everyone—Gildor, it concerns your father!”

The butler paused and glanced over his shoulder, but Enerdhil pointed once more toward the door. Glorfindel shook the insistent servant off and stomped into the hallway, shaking his head. He looked down at the note in his hand and then back at the dining room. As the maid he had spoken with when he entered passed him by, he pulled her aside, handed her the note, and gave her instructions as to where it was to go. She looked unsure, but after reading it, nodded and entered into the dining room.

The next minute Glorfindel spent pacing the hallway as the maids and pages began to whisper among themselves regarding the disturbance. It was not long after that Gildor exited the dining room and approached Glorfindel. “Is this true?” he asked, holding up the note. Glorfindel nodded and Gildor’s hand dropped to his side. He gazed blankly down at the floor, blinking furiously in an apparent attempt to keep from appearing emotional. “Thank you for telling me.” Gildor offered the piece of paper back to Glorfindel as the doors to the dining chamber burst open.

Into the hallway stumbled the maid, tears streaming down her face that was red with embarrassment. “This is what happens to those who are disobedient!” Enerdhil emerged on her heels, chasing her further away. “Away with you, wench, and never return!” He shifted his attention upon Gildor. “I thought I told you not to leave.”

Gildor looked Enerdhil up and down smugly. “You think you have some right to make me listen to you?”

Enerdhil flinched, but his wrath reemerged quickly. “In this house, I am law.”

“You are nothing,” replied Gildor flippantly. He still held the paper between two fingers, and raised it up with a smirk. “Would you like to know what this says?”

For a moment, it looked as if Enerdhil wanted to chase Gildor off the same way he had run off the maid, who had already been escorted from the house. “What does it say?” he asked. Those who had been dining in the room had filtered out to stand in a crowd behind their lord.

“To paraphrase, you are now addressing the King of Nargothrond.” Gildor crossed his arms over his chest. “I expect you to treat me as such.”

Everyone was quietly buzzing between one another with the news, while Gildor and Enerdhil attempted to stare each other down. Sensing it was the best time to leave, Glorfindel reached over and easily pulled the note away from Gildor. He backed his way to the door, and nearly tripped over the maid who was sitting on the ground outside the door, sobbing miserably.

Glorfindel knelt down and placed his hand on the maid’s back. “I think, once you have had time to reflect, you will find that this is a blessing and not a curse.” He helped her to stand and tried to take a step forward, but noticed that the guards who had ignored him earlier were now standing before him with swords drawn. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Sorry, sir,” replied one of the guards. “You may leave. She is not allowed to go yet.”

“What? You cannot hold her here; she has done nothing, and your lord has cast her out.”

The soldier nodded. “We are aware of this. However, while Lord Enerdhil has released her, he still holds ownership over all she has.”

“If you would please say that again, without the riddle.” Glorfindel put an arm around the maid, who was whimpering and shaking with fear. A crowd was developing around them and Glorfindel glared at the guards to hurry them.

“She needs to leave her uniform here,” explained the other guard.

“What is she supposed to wear?” wondered Glorfindel.

The guard shrugged. “That is not our concern.”

Glorfindel shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Does someone have something she could borrow for a few hours, just to get her out of here?” he asked the crowd. More people began to mill around, waiting and perhaps hoping to see the embarrassing display that was sure to follow. “So, is this the way he keeps you in his service? The promise of such a punishment -- to be made to walk naked through the streets if you leave?” Glorfindel looked around, searching for ideas, as Gildor stepped out of the house. The other ellyn looked quite perturbed as he joined Glorfindel and the maid. “Trouble with your lover this morning?” asked Glorfindel.

Gildor had a dark look on his face. “He refused to allow me to gather my things. I must see Turgon.”

“Good to know he does not discriminate.” Glorfindel placed his hand on Gildor’s shoulder when he noted that Gildor had managed to retrieve his cape. “I need your assistance for a moment.” He explained the situation, and his plan, to which the maid at first tried to refuse. In the end, however, Gildor used the cape as a shield between the onlookers and the maid. It took several minutes before her dress was deposited on the doorstep and a few more before she was dressed in the shirt, pants, and boots that Glorfindel had been wearing.

The focus of the crowd was no longer on the young maid, but on a mostly naked and very comfortable looking Glorfindel, who sported a loincloth only. He offered his arm to the maid and led her away from the house, with Gildor following their path.

---

“Thank you for having the consideration to obtain clothing before you came here,” commended Turgon. Glorfindel could not help but smile and shrug. “Now, regarding the matter of this young lady, am I to understand she has been reemployed?”

“Yes, but not by Lord Enerdhil. She will be teaching in one of the schools we are planning for the future,” explained Glorfindel. “Until that time, she will be trained by some of the current staff and will assist in the orphanage.”

“Excellent. I appreciate your willingness to aid in this situation, Lord Glorfindel.” Turgon rubbed his brow and looked at Enerdhil. “I am not happy with what I am hearing about your house today, Lord Enerdhil. I am fining you for your behavior towards your staff and will be reassessing your policies in three months. If there is no improvement, I may fine you again.”

Enerdhil said nothing, but once Turgon turned to Gildor, the Lord of the House of the Mole focused his look of anger upon Glorfindel. Glorfindel examined the dirt under his nails and pretended not to notice Enerdhil.

“As for you, my cousin, I am sorry to hear of such a loss. Permission is, of course, granted for your departure.”

“Thank you, cousin.” Gildor bowed to Turgon, something he had never before done and likely would never again, before leaving the room.

“We are adjourned.” Turgon stood and left the council chambers, and the lords began to leave the room as well.

When Glorfindel exited into the corridor, Gildor pulled him aside. “I wanted to thank you again. It is not easy to defy Enerdhil, and I know how this may hurt your standing in the council.”

“I could not make you wait to hear such news.” Glorfindel put his hand on Gildor’s shoulder and said, “I am truly sorry for your loss.”

Gildor swallowed hard and nodded. “I have something to ask you.” Glorfindel waited until the rest of the council had filed out and then nodded. “Would you consider leaving Gondolin?”

“I... well, it is not quite possible for me to do that,” Glorfindel reminded him.

“Actually, I think it might be. I am leaving here and going to a place where I am unknown to proclaim myself as their king and ruler. It might not go over very well, and if I had an army I think I might do better.” Gildor smiled. “You have an army; I have a kingdom. It is a great opportunity. For both of us.”

Glorfindel bit his lip. “I... I do not know, Gildor, I...”

Lowering his voice, Gildor said, “We could... rule together.” He placed a hand upon Glorfindel’s chest and twirled the fingers of his other into his ex-lover’s hair. “I know what you have been up to, sweetheart. I feel so bad for you whenever I see you having to pretend like you do. You can bring them with you, even Erestor, I would not mind.” Gildor’s words were soothing and aimed to pull Glorfindel into a trance. “Imagine, darling... freedom from all of this.”

For the briefest moment, Glorfindel considered what Gildor was offering. It seemed so perfect and so obvious and so simple, but in reality, Glorfindel knew it would not be. “I am sorry. I have to stay here.” He detangled Gildor’s hand from his hair and held Gildor’s wrists between them. “There are responsibilities that I have here. I...” Glorfindel shook his head and let go of Gildor’s wrists. “I wish you all the best.”

Gildor nodded and leaned down to kiss Glorfindel’s cheek. “I suppose I came to my senses about all this too late. Maybe you can forgive me sometime.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

For a moment, it looked as if Gildor wanted to say something more, but he eventually nodded and patted Glorfindel’s cheek. “Take care of yourself.” Gildor turned to walk away. He gave Glorfindel one final glance before he disappeared around the corner. Glorfindel sighed and counted to a hundred before heading home. He knew if he encountered Gildor again he might not be able to refuse him a second time.

The next time that Gildor set foot in the city of Gondolin, he was neither king nor was his presence welcomed in the same way it had been before. He came alone, on a horse who was half-starved, in the middle of the day. It was a message of great urgency, and one he took straight to his cousin without revealing the contents to anyone.

There had been a committee meeting in progress with only a handful of the full council present, but Turgon allowed the interruption and sat stoically upon his throne as Gildor relayed the news. It was a call to arms, anticipated yet not hoped for. Those there were dismissed immediately and asked not to share the news until the king deemed it necessary, but some left and refused to heed him.

News traveled from the bottom of the tower up, and from the tower across the city in all directions. Meleth heard it from one of the ellyth whose child she nursed; in turn, Meleth ran to the forge to tell her husband. Rog told Salgant on his way to the tower, and continued on to let his daughter and those who lived with her know. He was informed of the same sort of news as he hurried up the stairs to the upper part of the tower, and at the top of each flight the story was changed in some way until even he was not entirely clear of what the reality of it was.

So it was that Glorfindel went to the door, where Rog stood pounding his fist upon it. “Oh, good day,” he said as he opened the door, but Rog’s expression clearly showed that it was not a good day at all.

Hastily, Rog shut the door and pushed Glorfindel into the center of the sitting room. “We have a problem. There are—“ Before he had a chance to explain, Erestor burst into the apartment. He was panting and looked as if he had fought his way up to the suite. Both Aranel and Tauniel had emerged from their bedroom looking quite concerned.

“We have been summoned to war,” announced Erestor very calmly as he entered. He deposited the case that contained his violin with Aranel. “It seems that Gildor only just arrived with the message an hour ago.”

“The news is spreading like wildfire. Turgon has not been able to control the rumors. I have heard everything from Fingon being dead to Morgoth being defeated. We need to get to the council chambers now.” Rog looked up as the bells at the top of the tower began to ring. “Nevermind. It sounds as if Turgon wants us on the balcony instead. He must plan to address everyone at once.”

“A wise decision,” remarked Erestor as he picked up his quiver.

Glorfindel looked confused. “What do you need that for?”

“Crowd control. Not knowing what will be said, I think we need to be prepared. Make sure you bring your sword.” Erestor was fastening his scabbard to his belt as Glorfindel opened the closet to look for his own.

“Quickly, we need to leave now. Our king needs us.” Rog hustled a weaponless Glorfindel out of the apartment. “Here, carry this, and from now on, make sure you have your sword at the ready,” he said, handing a dagger to him.

Erestor was already a few paces ahead, and the distance widened. All around, others were coming out of their apartments or from workrooms to see why they were being summoned, or to share the knowledge they thought they had. The hallways became crowded, and Glorfindel and Rog lost sight of Erestor until they emerged out onto the balcony that overlooked the mass of people gathering below.

“My brother, King Fingon, and Lord Maedhros, leader of the Feanorians, have requested our aid in the upcoming battle against Morgoth.” Turgon waited until his words had a chance to sink in and spoke again. “It is a dangerous journey, and one that will end in the deaths of many. I will make no request to any of you to follow me, but I would be honored by your loyalty if you did.”

A murmur went through the crowd; no doubt everyone had the same thought on their mind. The king intended to leave Gondolin, to go to the aid of his brother. The question of who would go with him weighed on them all.

“Our king is, at times, too proud. It is this pride that prevents him from asking for your help.” It was Erestor who was speaking now, and Glorfindel wished he was closer so that he might cover his mouth and hush his friend. Now was not the time for Erestor’s political agenda, whatever it might be at the moment. But before Glorfindel could attempt to inch toward the Noldo, Erestor spoke again. “His concern has always been for you. For all of you. You are his people; his family. He wishes to protect you and keep you safe. It is for that reason he would go alone to this war. Many of you know, in your hearts, that you cannot let him go on his own. Think of all he has done for you. Think of all he has sacrificed, for you. And for you. And you.”

Erestor addressed the crowd with such sincerity, that is was difficult for Glorfindel to know whether or not he was acting. “Consider: Where would you be without him? Where would your families be; your sons and daughters, your husbands and wives. We live in peace because of the sacrifice of others. If we do not go to their aid, we will soon forfeit everything we hold dear. It is upon the other realms that Morgoth places his wrath, though he would gladly be here if only he knew where this place was.

“I will stand beside our king in battle whether it is to face our doom or our glory. I hope that the rest of you will stand beside us and come with us to aid his brother. Remember: Turgon is your king, but Fingon is your king as well. Long live Gondolin! Long live the sons of Fingolfin; long live our kings!”

There was an eruption from the audience of like emotion, with some of them hurrying to their homes to prepare for war and others cheering and offering up shouts to the king of gratitude and praise. Turgon looked upon Erestor in wonder and then turned to address the people once again.

“If you intend to stand beside me in battle, come to my hall beginning this afternoon to sign up for that honor. For those who intend to stay here, I shall think no less of you. We will need some to stay in Gondolin to protect our fair city, for once we leave, we may be spotted, and when we return we surely shall be.”

“I, and all the soldiers of my house will fight at your side,” announced Rog’s booming voice. The soldiers of his house who were assembled gave three cheers of huzzah, raising their fists in the air. Faelion was among them, weaving through the crowd to find and give direction to those of his platoon.

Salgant stepped forward then and announced, “The soldiers of my house will be honored to stay here and guard the six gates from enemies who might try to penetrate our fortress.”

“As I expected,” mumbled Egalmoth from behind Glorfindel.

Ecthelion had stepped forward to pledge his forces to Turgon’s cause, but Glorfindel missed the announcement, for Erestor had sneaked around and was pinching his shoulder. “What?”

“Turgon will need cavalry. You are the only one who can provide that,” whispered Erestor.

“It is the decision of the individuals whether or not to go to war,” hissed Glorfindel back. “I will not make that choice for my soldiers.”

“Then you should not be a captain,” shot Erestor back.

The two stared at one another while Duilin, Egalmoth, and Penlodh made their vows of fealty to the king. “If you do not, you will ruin what I just accomplished, Glorfindel. Yes, it helps that everyone is coming forth to offer aid, but you are the one who will bring the reassurance to the people.”

“Why me?”

“You are the youngest, the most idealistic. Newly married, with hopes and dreams for your future that these other lords have in their own lives seen fulfilled. You need to be the one to guide your peers, Glorfindel, for no one else will. They will not listen to me, nor will they listen to a group of kinslayers or old ellyn, but they will listen to you.”

The last few words that Erestor spoke were softer than the others as the noise began to die out from the crowd and from the balcony. Glorfindel took a deep breath and pushed his way past Salgant to stand at the railing. For a moment, he looked down over the crowd. Among them, he could see the sparse members of his house, and faces of friends and acquaintances. The more he looked, the more he recognized them. The thought of just how connected he was to the city suddenly struck him. There were so many people here that he knew, and so many who knew him. They were scared, and hopeful, and nervous, but they were strong, and they were proud, and they would stand beside him if he asked.

“My friends,” he began, speaking clearly but not shouting like the others had. “I ask you... no, I implore you to come with me, to join me on this journey, to aid King Turgon and his brother. I...” He looked out over them again, and shook his head. “I cannot speak to you like this.” Rushing past the other elf lords, he unlocked the gate on the side of the balcony and kicked the rope ladder down off the side. Within seconds he had climbed down and was standing on the ground before the people who were still in the courtyard. “I will not demand that you follow me; I will not pledge your loyalty. That is something you must decide. But I beg you,” he said, as he lowered himself upon one knee before them, “to consider, this is our time to rise to the challenge set before us. Will you join me? Will you say yes to the request of your king?”

There was a long pause, and Glorfindel feared he had chosen the wrong path. Then, from the crowd, Galdereth came forward. “I will stand with you... I should say, I will ride with you,” he said, offering out his hand to help Glorfindel onto his feet again.

“As will I,” came the voice of Elluil, coming forward from the crowd.

Soon a throng had formed around Glorfindel, and among them the majority of the cavalry, as well as many others who had once been soldiers of his house. He looked up to the balcony until he caught Turgon’s gaze and shouted to him, “You have the horses and horse lords of the House of the Golden Flower, my king, our swords, and our lives if it should come to it.”

Turgon scanned the courtyard, and all the areas he could see from the balcony. “Thank you. Thank you all.” He swallowed hard and walked back into the tower, where Idril was waiting for him. She threw her arms around her father and wept, and he held her as the other elf lords filed back inside.

Erestor leaned on the balcony and looked down at Glorfindel. “Are you coming back up, or shall I come down?” Glorfindel made a motion with his hand, and Erestor used the rope ladder to join him on the ground. “That went well,” he said as soon as the crowd dispersed. “Come; we have planning to do.”

“We need to check the supplies and see what needs to be acquired. I do know we will need to set everyone we can spare to fletching arrows,” said Glorfindel as he and Erestor started to walk down the main road.

“It would not be a bad idea to have some extra rope woven as well. We need to figure out who to leave here to tend to the foals and the mares who are pregnant, and who to bring with us. I know you would say, they should decide, but there are some with certain skills who we should either leave here, or be sure to have with us.” Erestor stopped and frowned, then looked over his shoulder. “We need to make a quick stop before the stables,” he said, walking back in the opposite direction.

“Alright.” Glorfindel followed Erestor as they passed by a blacksmith and a bakery, and paused outside of a small shop with a striped awning and an ornate bell on the door. “Where are we?” he asked as Erestor pulled open the door and walked in. Glorfindel followed, and took in the bench along one side of the wall with six or seven young ellyn sitting in a row. They were all talking excitedly about the upcoming war. There was a mirror along the other wall, and four chairs. One was occupied by another young ellon. An older elf stood behind him with a cape in his hands, which he draped around the younger with a flourish while chatting with him about the weather.

“I hate to pull rank, Oronion, but do you think I could interrupt and get a trim? I need to get down to the stables, but I know you are going to be extremely busy in the next day or so,” said Erestor.

“Erestor! Of course, come over here! It is has been a long time since I saw you last. A trim, is that what you call it?” teased the barber as he good-naturedly chased the youngling off of the chair and back onto the bench. “You let it get much too long,” scolded Oronion. “I had it very nicely cut for you, and you let it grow wild. Sit down and I will tame it for you again.”

Glorfindel took a seat uneasily on the edge of the bench close to the door while Erestor hopped up onto the chair. The cape swung around and settled over Erestor, and the barber started his work, speaking about the war and the weather and other items of less importance as he took out a large comb and sized up the task before him. The comb slid back into his apron, and out emerged a large, shiny pair of scissors. As they began to chew through dark hair and severed the long strands at the base of Erestor’s neck, Glorfindel tensed up and looked away.

“Are you planning to take a lot of horses with you?” asked Oronion after the metallic sound of the blades rubbing together made Glorfindel realize the worst was over. He looked back and watched as the comb came back out, and a smaller pair of scissors. While Erestor and the barber talked, and more and more dark hair fell onto the floor, Glorfindel stood up and wandered to a wall where there was a bookshelf and a few dog-eared volumes. He picked up one, and found they were sketchbooks of various hairstyles of differing lengths, though most were on the short side. He placed the book back in place and pulled out another, finding more of the same.

“All done. Which of you was next?”

As Erestor hopped down from the chair and brushed a few stray hairs from his shoulder, the young soldier who had previously been sitting in the chair said, “I think the captain was next.”

“Ah, yes. I forgot we had two of them in here.”

Something nudged Glorfindel’s shoulder and he looked up from the book to see Erestor regarding him. “You should probably consider having him do something with all of this,” he said, tugging on one of the long golden curls.

“Are you done?” Glorfindel closed the book and put it back onto the shelf.

“It would only take me a moment, m’lord,” offered Oronion as he waited patiently, cape in hand. Out of the corner of his eye, Glorfindel caught sight of the gleam of metal of the scissors. “Long hair is a terrible battle hazard.”

“I have things to tend to.” Instead of waiting to hear the reply, Glorfindel marched himself out of the shop and began to walk back down the road again. Erestor joined him shortly afterwards. “You could have done that later.”

“What was that all about?”

“What?” Glorfindel kept walking, eyes straight ahead.

Erestor continued to walk next to Glorfindel, observing the same silence until they reached the stables. “Which one are you going to ride into battle?” he asked as they strolled past busily scurrying stable hands. He stopped at Dragonsong’s stall and directed one of the young ellyn they had working there to check over his gear and make sure it was sturdy and still fit his mount.

“I think I want to ride one of my own.” Glorfindel looked down the rows of the stable. “I should really choose one of the saddle trained horses, but I am myself uncomfortable in a saddle. It would also mean one less warhorse for someone else to ride.” He walked to Lemon Drop’s stall. “I think Birch is too old to take into battle.”

“Birch is... well, if he was not your horse…”

“I know. He has not sired any in two years and his back legs are going. If he was your horse, he would not still be a financial burden. I fear I am far too attached to all of them.” Glorfindel held his breath until his emotion passed. “I wonder how many will make it back home.”

Erestor nodded, thinking the same thing as he watched the young soldiers and stable hands passing by. “I am going to take the roster to Turgon, detailing the numbers of our forces. Actually, you are going to be the one commanding them,” realized Erestor. “I will be with Rog’s infantry.”

“Oh.” Glorfindel gave Lemon Drop one last pat on the nose. “Will you be able to ride your horse?”

“Of course. I have to be on horseback, as a high ranking officer. But you are going to have to refrain from giving me any suggestions that would appear to be orders, and vice versa. It would be confusing,” said Erestor.

Glorfindel crossed his arms over his chest. “I am well aware of the proper rules of engagement and I am most certainly not going to interfere with Rog’s soldiers. If you thought I forgot you are one of them, no, I am well aware of it. Remember, I was the soldier first.” He left Erestor standing there and went to the small office to retrieve the rosters.

Erestor appeared in the doorway just as Glorfindel had gathered the materials he was looking for. “What is your problem?” demanded Erestor as Glorfindel pushed past him. He followed him out of the stables and back down the path toward the tower. “I hardly appreciate being treated like this.”

“No one said you had to follow me.”

Despite this bit of information, Erestor did follow Glorfindel back to Turgon’s council room, which had now been converted into a war room. “Sire, the roll for the cavalry.”

Turgon wearily took hold of the papers he was handed. “Thank you. Oh, Glorfindel... I have something for you as well...” Turgon shifted through the numerous documents that were spread across the large table at the center of the room. “Here we are.” He handed him an envelope. “And thank you, both of you, for your support this afternoon.” He placed a hand on the shoulder of each of them. “I appreciate it, and it means a great deal to me.”

Each of them nodded, and Erestor said, “We are behind you one hundred percent, sire.”

Turgon squeezed Erestor’s shoulder and nodded, and then excused himself to tend to business brought to him by Enerdhil. Nearby, Gildor was standing, watching over the entire scene. Erestor ignored the Sinda completely, but Glorfindel offered a slight smile that was returned with a curious raise of Gildor’s brow and a weary smile of his own.

Once they were outside again, Glorfindel slit the envelope open and brought out the two sheets that were inside. One was an official proclamation of the war, complete with the King’s seal. Within the document, it was stated that Idril would be left in Turgon’s stead to rule over Gondolin, and in the case of his fall, her firstborn male heir would take over the rulership of the city. “Well, that is a surprise indeed,” mumbled Glorfindel.

“That it is. I rather expected him to put Maeglin in charge.”

Glorfindel folded the sheet over on itself, glaring up at Erestor. He had forgotten that the elf still walking in step beside him was taller and could therefore easily read over his shoulder whatever was on the page. “Was it addressed to you?”

“No, but I suspected you would have told me what it said anyhow,” replied Erestor, sounding slightly hurt.

Letting the page go back to where it had been, Glorfindel did not stop Erestor from reading further if he wished, though the older elf stepped aside so that he was not walking so closely. The rest of the paper went on to state that Salgant would replace Ecthelion as first captain within Gondolin until the soldiers returned, with Enerdhil and his army as the backup force. “Not sure if I like that.” When Erestor did not reply, he added, “Ecthelion is still his chief captain in battle, but Turgon is putting Salgant in charge of the military here until we return.”

“Ah. Well, someone has to do it.”

Glorfindel did not answer as he traded the first sheet for the second, and stopped dead in his tracks. “This has to be a mistake.” He turned around and started to walk back to the tower, but Erestor stopped him. “Erestor, get out of my way, I need to speak to the king.”

“I will let you, but tell me first what it is you think is in error.” Erestor tried to tug the sheet away, but in the end had to settle for Glorfindel holding it up to him. “That... well, it has your name on it.”

“It has my name, yet it must be wrong.”

“It has your name, and your house. I think it is meant for you.”

Once more, Glorfindel read the sheet, out loud this time. “By order of King Turgon, henceforth Captain Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, is proclaimed Second Captain of all Gondolin and her armies, unless his title be stricken by his death or by the king himself. Proclaimed, this day in Gondolin...” Glorfindel shook his head. “Why did he choose me?”

“Again, if you cannot answer these questions, perhaps you should not be in the position you are in.” When Erestor received another glare and was walked away from, he said quietly so that Glorfindel did not hear, “Perhaps it is because you cannot answer such questions that you are the answer to them.”

It had been dark a long while by the time they arrived back home again. Erestor opened the door to find a group of ladies assembled in the sitting room, which had been drastically rearranged. Instead of the couches and chairs comfortably distributed, a large table was in the center of the room and many chairs were situated around it. Some of the ellyth chattering away were sitting and fletching and others were either tending to the children they had brought along or making food in the kitchen. Feathers and wooden shafts were scattered about, and three full barrels of arrows were standing at the door, with another half-full near to the table.

“Erestor, darling, father wants to see you in his apartment,” shouted Aranel over the din. “He said you should bring Glorfindel with him.”

Despite being exhausted from the events of the day, Erestor nodded and backed out of the doorway. “Aranel says—“

“I heard her.” Glorfindel was already walking down the hall, and Erestor rushed to catch up to him.

“Are you going to keep up this attitude all night? I have no idea why you are even upset with me.” Erestor hurried down a few steps, and then blocked Glorfindel’s path. “Tell me what I did, or I am not going to let you past.”

“Then I will just take the other stairway.”

Erestor glared, and Glorfindel glared back. “Glorfindel, will you please tell me what I did?”

“I would rather not discuss it.” He tried to step around Erestor, but was blocked again. “Fine, you want to know what you did? You tried to coerce me in public. Twice!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Up on the balcony, you could not let me handle it the way I wanted to. You had to make me feel like I had to do what you wanted me to do because it would ruin your plans. Then, you drag me into... that place... and with all those people sitting there, you try to get me to give up the one thing, the only thing, that I can really take any pride and enjoyment in!” By now, Glorfindel was slightly red in the face and pacing back and forth on the step. “This is not the first time, either. You do this constantly! You make my decisions for me! I know I am young, and I know you are older and wiser and are trying to help, but will you please, for the love of Eru, let me make a few of my own decisions?!”

“I am sorry. I did not know that was how you felt.” Erestor stepped aside to allow Glorfindel to pass. “I did not mean to be so persistent on the balcony. In the midst of all that was going on, I was caught up in it. I apologize. As for your hair, I was not trying to persuade you, I was just making a suggestion. I do not want to see you get hurt because of it.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I will be fine.” Glorfindel sighed. “Sorry. I guess the stress of the upcoming march and battle is getting to me.”

“It is getting to all of us.” Erestor patted Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Let us see what Rog wants, and then I think I am going to take a nap.”

“A nap sounds like a really good idea,” agreed Glorfindel. They went down a few flights to the fifth floor. Rog’s apartment was on the other side of the tower and it was one of the smaller ones, for Rog and Meleth normally lived in their own house and not in the suite that they had been granted in the king’s tower. Glorfindel knocked on the door, which was almost immediately opened by Meleth.

“Oh, good, there you are. You just missed Galdor and Ecthelion.” Meleth led the pair at the door through the narrow hallway and into the multifunction room which served as a kitchen, dining room, and sitting room. There was one other room for sleeping, with a curtained bathroom and a small storage space under a built-in counter where the washbasin was placed.

Rog was sitting at the table in the main room, where he had lists drawn up of things which the various houses would need. He did not look up, but acknowledged the pair by demanding information. “Glorfindel, I need a list of what you will require for your house for this war.”

“I have adequate stores to supply my soldiers, save for arrows, which are being made as we speak.”

“War takes extra preparation,” explained Rog, as patiently as he could. “There are items you will need that I doubt you have.”

Glorfindel bristled. “I am quite prepared, Rog. I know how to take care of my own army.”

“Erestor, what does he need?”

“Spears. Enough for three hundred riders. We have shields and armor, chainmail, all of that. Swords are not an issue, either. I need to speak to Galdor about bows. We should have extras in case any break.”

“Spears? My soldiers do not even know how to fight with spears,” argued Glorfindel.

“Then teach them. You have two weeks,” said Rog sharply. He chose to look up, first at Glorfindel, then to Erestor for a moment, and back. He stared without saying anything, rubbed his chin, and shook his head. As he looked back down at his paper, he said, “First thing tomorrow, go down to Oronion’s and have him cut your hair. You need something sensible for the battlefield, such as Erestor or Ecthelion.”

“I intend to do no such thing. In fact, I am staying as far from Oronion’s as possible.”

“Fine. Meleth can do it for you,” said Rog, waving absently to where his wife was trying to stay quiet and unnoticeable, making tea.

Glorfindel stopped Meleth from giving her answer. “Thank you for the offer, but it is unnecessary. That is to say, I am not cutting my hair.”

“Then you are a greater fool than I originally thought.” Rog focused on his planning again, accepting a cup of tea when it was brought to him.

Meleth dutifully offered Erestor a cup as well, and when it was declined, brought it to Glorfindel. “I know you think he means I should cut it the same way they have theirs, but I could just trim it down, leave some length on it for you. I have seen many soldiers who leave it to their shoulders and they are fine. We just want to make sure you will be safe.”

“No one is safe in a war,” said Glorfindel solemnly.

“You are right about that,” admitted Rog from the table, “but there are certain things which you have control of. Perhaps you think this is all your decision, but remember, you are responsible for everyone who follows you into that battle. Part of that responsibility is an assurance that you will not be killed in the first five minutes of the war because of something as stupid as your vanity.” Rog pointed to his gleaming, bald head. “You think it all fell out? You think I was born like this?”

“Darling, you were born like that,” mumbled Meleth as she took the cup of refused tea back to the counter.

Rog paused, but only for a moment. “The point is, I would be far more handsome than I already am if I still had a full head of flowing red hair. But I sacrificed that for the ones who make sacrifices for me.”

There was silence, but then Meleth shook her head. “At least be honest with him, Rog.” She looked at Glorfindel and said, “He used to keep it short, to his shoulders, but he still had hair for a long while, back in Nevrast where we met. One day the blacksmith he was apprenticing with was concentrating far too much on his work and far too little on his own wellbeing. One of his braids caught fire, and I will spare the details, but I am sure you can determine what happened next. Ever since then, ever since taking over the forge, Rog has had me shave his head, every other day.”

“She does a good job, too, only ever nicked me once,” said Rog.

“That was your fault for turning your head when I told you to hold still.”

“Yes, dear.”

A smile played on Erestor’s lips, but Glorfindel remained as impassive as ever. “Thank you for your concern. I will be fine.”

“Meleth, perhaps you should go and see if our daughter needs any help making those arrows,” suggested Rog.

Setting down the teakettle she was about to clean, Meleth nodded. “I am certain they could use an extra pair of hands.”

As soon as Meleth had left, Rog looked up at Glorfindel sternly. “Glorfindel, you have to get your hair cut.”

“No. Not going to.”

“Glorfindel, you are a fucking idiot.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Rog grunted under his breath, and looked to Erestor. “Is he always like this?”

“No, not really. But when he is, I know enough not to push him. He bites.”

“I do not,” growled Glorfindel.

“Alright, perhaps not, but I worry you might.”

There was a knock on the door, and Rog waved his hand for them to leave. “Go home and rest. Tomorrow will be a harder day than today was. Maybe you will wake up with some commonsense, Glorfindel. Please let Ecthelion in on your way out.”

As Glorfindel and Erestor walked to the door, Glorfindel asked, “How is he so sure it is Ecthelion?” The door was opened, and Ecthelion nodded solemnly to them before stepping around to greet Rog. Erestor shrugged and exited the small apartment.

Glorfindel stepped outside as well, but as he was closing the door, someone pulled on the knob from the inside. He let go, and was faced with Ecthelion. “Rog just told me what a dumb ass you are being.”

“Oh, not you, too.” Glorfindel headed down the hallway, ignoring Ecthelion’s speech on the hazards of long hair on the battlefield. “I would love to hear more,” shouted the blond as he reached the stairway, “but I really must be going.”

“Glorfindel! I am warning you…” But the rest of the warning fell upon deaf ears, with Glorfindel taking the steps two at a time until he made it three flights up and far enough away not to hear Ecthelion.

“You are really adamant about this golden treasure of yours,” said Erestor, tugging on one of Glorfindel’s errant curls.

The warrior pulled the tress away from Erestor. “No handling of the hair. Anyone touches it from now until we return, I give fair warning that they are liable to be injured.”

Erestor raised his hands in the air in a position of surrender. “I will keep my hands off. Although, if you really are planning to go into battle like that, you are going to have to accept that you are going to have it whipping in your face and into others, hindering whoever is fighting beside you.”

For a moment, Glorfindel slowed his steps, considering Erestor’s words. Then, he shook a finger at him. “Stop that. None of your ‘what about this’ and ‘what about that’ philosophies.”

“I was just stating facts.” Erestor kept silent the rest of the journey to their apartment. When they entered again, they found an even larger crowd of ladies gathered. “Good evening, darling, I see you have acquired more helpers.” After walking around the table to kiss his wife in thanks, Erestor addressed the entire group. “I thank you all kindly for your assistance and sacrifice this evening.”

Many of them smiled and said things such as ‘anytime, m’lord’, and ‘we are with Gondolin to the end’. Glorfindel offered similar thanks, and even those who had continued to work through Erestor’s words now paused and bowed their heads or told him how honored they were to be part of the war effort. Some of the children were asleep on the couches that had been pushed back, but a few of the older ones were being shown how to affix the feathers to the shafts of the arrows.

“I think I am going to take a nap,” said Glorfindel to Tauniel. She nodded and stood, and beckoned him over. They hugged and kissed, keeping up appearances to those present, before he wandered into the bedroom.

Erestor squeezed Aranel’s hand and said, “I think I might lie down for a while as well.” He began to walk in the direction of the room that Glorfindel had gone, but the fact that he could not disappear into the same room as Glorfindel in front of the company made him turn around and say, “I need to consult with Glorfindel for a few minutes. Would you mind fixing me a drink?”

“What would you like? Brandy?”

“That would be fine. Thank you.” Erestor smiled, and then casually walked to the door, knocking on it as an afterthought.

A puzzled Glorfindel peeked past the door and gave Erestor an odd look, but opened the door wider. “Why did you knock?” he asked after Erestor had entered and closed the door.

“Shh... the ladies out there. The last thing we need to have circulated is that you and I are sharing a bed,” he whispered. “I am going to go across and sleep in the girls’ room tonight, or at least until the others leave.”

“Good idea,” answered Glorfindel with a nod. He watched Erestor gather up a few items and place them into a small sack. “See you tomorrow.”

Erestor tied the sack off and set it aside. “Where is your hairbrush?”

Glorfindel gave him a wary look.

“Trust me, Glorfindel. Where is your brush?”

Hesitantly, Glorfindel pulled it out of the top drawer of his dresser. “Here.”

“Sit down on the chair over there.”

After checking around to make sure that he did not see any scissors anywhere, Glorfindel sat down. Erestor walked up behind him and unbraided the thin plaits that kept the hair at either side out of Glorfindel’s face, and then started to brush out the snarls that worked their way in throughout the day. “How were you planning to keep it up when we go fight Fingon’s war?”

The repetitive motion and the bristles massaging his scalp were making it hard for Glorfindel to come up with a good plan. “I... whatever. I think like I just had it.”

“That is no good at all. Let me try something.” Erestor set the brush aside and gathered up the hair on one side and started to carefully braid it. Instead of making a normal, flat herringbone plait, he was weaving something more rounded and ropelike. “When I was with Artanis,” he said in a very soft voice as he reminisced, “she wore her hair up most of the time. I never saw it down, except after her baths when I would braid it for her.”

Erestor continued his work, pulling hair up from the back and the other side as he worked his way around. Eventually he had woven and wound it all the way around Glorfindel’s head, and with practiced fingers, tucked the ends into the first crossovers. “Now, I really should have thought of this for myself, but on the other hand I doubt I would have the discipline to keep mine braided the entire time. Come and take a look.”

Glorfindel walked to the mirror, reaching his hand around to feel the back of his neck, which was oddly exposed. His reflection showed an elf with what looked like a golden crown perched on the top of his head. “You put all of that up there?” he asked with slight skepticism.

“I promise when you take it down in the morning you will find it is all still intact. Try sleeping on it tonight, and see if you could get used to that. It will be a long march and there will not be many opportunities to redo it, but I think it would suffice.” Erestor picked up his bag from the door as he heard Aranel knock and declare that she had his drink ready for him. “Good night, Glorfindel. Sleep well,” he added as he left the room.

Two weeks flew by faster than any previous two weeks ever had before. Neither Glorfindel nor Erestor recalled getting much sleep or anything else for that matter, but training and planning took place day and night. Ten houses were ready to march forth, while two, the armies of Salgant and Enerdhil, were to remain in the city. Each of the ten had prepared an army of one thousand soldiers, the finest chosen from their full compliments.

King Turgon had declared that the final day before the departure was to be used to spend time with families and to rest before the long march. There were still a few preparations to be made, but for the most part everything and everyone was ready to go. Almost everyone, actually.

“Would you like me to make you something to eat?” Tauniel sat down at the table next to Glorfindel when he shook his head. “You skipped lunch and dinner. I have a feeling you are going to skip breakfast in the morning as well. What if I just make something light for you now?”

“Maybe some porridge,” Glorfindel finally conceded. He was still planning out various attack strategies and making notes on which ones he believed would work well or fail miserably. It was just as Tauniel stood that a knock came upon the door. He glanced up at her and she silently nodded and moved towards it.

The door was opened to reveal Faelion standing on the other side. He was dressed in military garb, but as Glorfindel took a second look, it was not the colors he expected to see him in. “Silver and black...” he muttered to himself. “Wrong colors...” He rubbed his closed eyes, and opened them to see Faelion had entered and looked very somber. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes. I... is Erestor here?” asked Faelion as he untied the cape he wore and draped it over his arm.

Tauniel shut the door and touched Faelion on the shoulder. “He is with his wife. I will go and get him for you.” She walked briskly to the bedroom and went inside after knocking softly.

After making a few final notes, Glorfindel set down his quill and stood up. “Those are Salgant’s colors,” he realized, and he watched as Faelion first looked away and then bowed his head. “You are not coming with us.”

“I wanted to,” admitted Faelion. “Unfortunately, my uncle does not want to take the chance that something might happen, so I have been reassigned. That is what I came here to tell Erestor.”

Erestor, who had emerged from the room without either Glorfindel or Faelion seeing him do so, now approached the table with a frustrated groan. “On the eve of our departure Salgant makes this decision? I asked him last week and he told me he expected you to go!” Erestor shook his head and gently pushed Aranel away when she came out of the bedroom and tried to comfort him. “This is not acceptable.”

“I am sorry, sir, but these are my orders. The king has signed them.” Faelion held out a sheet of parchment to Erestor, but the older elf made a dismissive motion. “For what it is worth, it was not my idea.” He turned to leave and then turned back at the door and said, “I hope you both fight well and stay safe, and return.”

There was little for either of them to say in reply, but Glorfindel did acknowledge him with a stunned nod. Aranel saw Faelion to the door, for they were related distantly and though it caused tension she was happy to know he would stay safe in the city. After Faelion had departed, Erestor picked up one of Glorfindel’s books from the table and hurled it angrily. He aimed at the couch, which cushioned the impact but still made the other three occupants of the room jump where they stood or sat. “Go have a tantrum with your own books,” scolded Glorfindel as he retrieved the volume.

“Damn him!” Erestor hit his fisted hand against the wall, though only hard enough to created a loud noise as the plates on the shelf nearby rattled.

“He already said this was not his idea,” said Glorfindel in defense as he sat back down at the table.

“Not him; Salgant.” Erestor ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I need to talk to Rog. I am certain that Faelion did not go to him and explain this.”

Aranel, who was still standing at the door, slipped on her shoes. “I can go and bring father up here,” she offered.

“If you can find Pengolodh, please ask him to come up here as well.” Erestor dropped down onto the couch after Aranel left and said, “I could just about wring Salgant’s neck right now. Faelion was supposed to herald Rog’s army.”

“Oh, shit.” Glorfindel, concentration now lost, organized his papers before joining Erestor in the sitting room. “Who was the backup?”

“There was no backup. You know Rog does not think that way. He just deals in absolute. He absolutely believed that Faelion would be there, and he had no reason to doubt that.”

Tauniel hurriedly prepared for guests, but Glorfindel shook his head as she brought forth a bottle of wine. “That is the last thing we need right now,” he reminded her, and she went to the kitchen to prepare tea instead.

The story was already relayed to Rog and Pengolodh by the time they arrived with Aranel. Rog snorted angrily as he entered the suite, while Pengolodh was calm but displeased. “So far, we have devised a solution – I suppose I should say, by your inclusion of me we have figured out what your intended solution is. However, that creates yet another problem,” said Pengolodh as he sat down on the couch next to Erestor and accepted a cup of tea from Tauniel.

“There are few who know all of the maneuvers of Rog’s army as well as I do,” explained Erestor. Although he had been trained with Rog’s forces, his lordship came through Pengolodh’s house. It had been previously decided that he would therefore herald Pengolodh in the battle. “That would leave you in a bind, but it would be possible to teach someone what they need to know in order to aid you. Since Rog’s battalion will be in the lead alongside Ecthelion’s contingent, there needs to be someone who can change orders quickly or we risk suffering a great loss.”

“Then we need to find this someone who can learn what they need to know.” Pengolodh looked at Rog. “Do you have anyone we might swap? Most of my army is made up of young soldiers with limited experience. I do know how some of them will act under pressure.”

“I have the same trouble,” admitted Rog. “I know my soldiers are drilled harder than any others, but there is no way to know their true worth until we reach the battlefield. No one comes to mind that would be a reliable risk for such a thing. We also need someone who is an officer, and someone who can ride. There are variables beyond simply being competent enough to learn a few battle strategies.”

Glorfindel had until now been quietly mulling over the situation while he held his cup of tea between his hands more for comfort than out of real need of it. He cleared his throat at the pause and said, “My herald would easily be able to learn whatever maneuvers and information and such that he would need to. I would hate to lose him from my ranks, but I am aware of the fact that cavalry has less of a need of a second than infantry does.”

“Who is your herald?” questioned Pengolodh.

“Galdereth,” said Glorfindel.

Pengolodh shrugged. “I have never heard of him.” He looked to Erestor for guidance.

“He is a very intelligent young elf with a keen sense of loyalty. He would do well as your herald.”

It seemed this was all Pengolodh needed, for he nodded in approval. “Before we depart tomorrow, bring him to meet me, Glorfindel. I am certain we can find an extra uniform and shield for him.”

“He is just a little shorter than Erestor,” said Glorfindel. “I am sure he could fit into Erestor’s uniform, as I assume Erestor will be arrayed as a soldier of Rog’s house if he is now heralding him.”

“Undoubtedly.” Rog drank his tea, watching Glorfindel thoughtfully. “Then who will herald you?”

“Not only do I need a herald, but I need another person,” he realized, as Faelion’s transfer left the entire army of Gondolin one short of ten thousand. The obvious answer came to him, but he batted it away in his mind until no other ideas came forth. “I have an idea, but I will need to speak to someone without delay. If you will excuse me.” He set his untouched tea on the table before leaving.

Aranel met him at the door as he laced up his boots and offered to retrieve whomever he wanted her to so that he did not have to go himself. “Thank you, but no,” he answered. “There are some things that fall to the captain to do, and this is among them.”

Glorfindel’s path took him far from the tower and into the valley. Though late, there were a number of houses with lights still burning, windows glowing faintly. Preparations were still being made, even at this hour. He took an unfamiliar path, yet he knew it to be correct from the few times he had traveled it. His pace was rushed, and he soon found he was knocking on the wooden door of a small but well-kept house.

The lady who answered he knew from sight, but could not recall her name. “I am terribly sorry to disturb you so late in the evening...” he began, but the sad look on her face caused him to trail off.

“I knew you were going to come for my husband,” she said softly. “Even after the lists were posted and his name was not on them, I knew.” She opened the door wide enough for Glorfindel to enter. “He is in Diruil’s room putting him to bed. You can wait in the sitting room, or you can go up to see him, if you like.”

Glorfindel nodded as he entered. He stepped into the tiny room for receiving guests. There were only two chairs and a bench in the room. The entire area of the house was less than his own luxurious sitting room. Feeling a sense of urgency, Glorfindel crossed the room to the staircase and ascended to the upper level.

He found the hallway to be very narrow and saw three doors, only one of which was open. There were hushed voices within the chamber, and Glorfindel was certain to walk heavily enough to make his presence known so that he did not overhear any private conversation.

Inside the room was a bed, a chest, a shelf for toys and games, and a set of carved wooden elves in a spot of honor on a shelf above the bed. Instead of regular toy soldiers, Glorfindel noted they were miniature fire brigadiers. He knocked on the doorway to announce his presence, and the little elfling in bed looked up with a grin while his father solemnly looked over his shoulder at their visitor. “Good evening. I regret my need to visit so late,” apologized Glorfindel.

“That is quite alright, Captain. Diruil, do you remember Captain Glorfindel?”

“Do I!” Diruil stood up in his bed and pulled one of the toys from the shelf. “Look, sir, I keep them up here and dust them and I even repainted the one I scuffed up.” He held out the miniature for Glorfindel’s approval.

“Very nice,” said Glorfindel, nodding his head.

“He loves playing with them. It was a very nice gift; he appreciates them very much.” Mirdirin gently tugged on his son’s arm and said, “Time for bed has come and gone, and you are still up. Say goodnight to the Captain, and then I shall tuck you in. We cannot have you waking up your sisters.”

Diruil set his treasure back onto the shelf and dutifully crawled into bed. “Goodnight, Captain! Goodnight, Ada.”

“Goodnight, squirt.” Mirdirin tweaked his son’s nose and received a giggle. He pulled up the covers and kissed the elfling’s head before blowing out the candle and joining Glorfindel in the hallway. “Shall we talk outside?”

Glorfindel nodded, certain that was to keep any of the children from overhearing the conversation. Besides Duruil, Mirdirin and his wife had two other children. Each of Duruil’s sisters had been adopted shortly after Mirdirin finished his mandatory training.

The ellyn walked outside and down the block a few houses before either of them said anything. Finally, it was Glorfindel who spoke. “To make a rather long story as short as possible, someone unexpectedly left Rog’s army, and in the shifting I lost my herald to another house.”

“Are you enlisting me to take that position?” asked Mirdirin uneasily.

“No. I am asking you, and I hate myself for it. I tried not to take anyone who has a family away from the city for obvious reasons, but I am in a very bad spot on this and there are few I trust as well as I trust you. However,” added Glorfindel quickly, “there will be no hard feelings between us if you decline.”

Mirdirin glanced at his little house, the dim light of the sitting room visible even at their distance. “I would hate myself if I refused you. If I go, I will know that I did everything in my power to keep them safe. If I stay and war reaches us, I will never forgive myself. I will always wonder if I was the one who could have made the difference.”

Glorfindel gave a curt nod, and as he looked up caught sight of the house not so far away. In the sitting room he could see Mirdirin’s wife slumped in a chair sobbing, and peering down at them from the upper window a small elfling watched with concern. All at once and before it even started, the true meaning of war hit him and tears began to streak down his face. “I am so sorry,” he whispered. He did nothing to hide his emotions.

“I need to return home,” said Mirdirin. “I will report to the barracks in the morning,” he promised. Glorfindel nodded but said nothing as Mirdirin began to walk away. The merchant turned back halfway and called out, “Captain.”

Glorfindel looked away from the second story window.

“You are a good elf. I am honored to serve with you.”

He felt he should reply in kind, but the words would not come to him and Glorfindel only nodded. His steps were heavy in returning home, with the image of the little boy looking out his window haunting him in his dreams.