“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.”
