“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.
