“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.”
