“Surely a lady should not compete!” argued Mablung as Aredhel coaxed her horse to join the other riders. “What are we to do if she falls or is hurt?”
“Pray you are not the one responsible for fear of her brother’s wrath,” joked Salgant, who was standing among the crowd assembled to watch this competition of the Gondolin Games. King Turgon seemed amused by this by the smile on his lips, and all knew that even he did not necessarily agree with Aredhel’s bold intentions to join in these games. But her cousin was even more insistent, for Artanis the day before had raced against the other runners and been crowned with the wreath for third place. There was a bit of a rivalry between the two, and Turgon deemed it was much safer to have his sister riding a horse.
It was a competition of three parts. There was a race from one end of the field to the other, then back. After this, the horses would be rested before bales of hay would be set in the path, and then the jumping competition began. They would return to the hall for a light supper, and then came the final event- a course was set up with obstacles and each rider would complete as many of the tasks as they could, scoring points for how well they competed.
“How shall I score her marks, m’lord?” questioned Ecthelion of Turgon, for it was his first year as one of the three judges- a mending ankle had seen to his inability to compete himself.
Having heard the question, Aredhel held her head up high, the contrast of the lady in white upon a black horse with an indigo blue saddle and bridle quite striking. “Judge me not as a lady, but as a rider,” she warned him. It was known that her pride caused her to once refuse the scores one year for she believed she was given a handicap compared to the other riders.
Just as the flag was about to be waved to signal the riders to begin the first race, one of them held up his arm. “Hold!” he called out, and nudged his mount’s sides with his boots. The horse trotted forward until a whistle told him to stop, and the rider dismounted, plucked something from the ground, and led his horse back to the starting line.
“What nonsense was that, Lord Glorfindel?” called Egalmoth from the rows of spectators while some snickered and laughed.
“No nonsense,” replied the young lord. “But why leave such a lovely thing to be trampled?” He remounted at the line, carefully minding the flower held by its stem between two fingers. Frowning at the adornment of golden flowers woven through his own horse’s mane, he turned to his left where the Lady Aredhel watched with as much amusement as the ellin. “M’lady,” he said, holding out the delicate white bloom.
“Thank you,” she said as she took the small token, trying to act as casual as possible. Her inner reaction was very silly- it wasn’t as if this was the first flower she had ever been given, it wasn’t as if she were some young maiden. She was actually quite sure she was three times Glorfindel’s years, and then some. Placing this fact aside, she was fairly certain nothing was meant by his gesture, but all the same, when the flag was lowered, her distraction cost her a place in the first part of the competition, and subsequent glances to the golden lord through the day caused her to lag further behind in the events.
- - -
“In third place, representing fair Doriath, Mablung of the heavy hand!” Turgon’s announcement was met with cheers from those who had come from Doriath to support their competitors. “Second place, from the forests of Greenwood, Prince Thranduil Oropherion!” There was quite a lot of polite applause and a few cheers from the very small party that had traveled with the elves from the east. “And in first place, for the glory of Gondolin, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, Glorfindel the Good.”
Beneath the roar of the crowd, Aredhel said in a hushed voice to her handmaid, “That is that, then, I suppose my heart was not in it this year. They will all go now to the hall to feast; I am heading to the springs,” she said in reference to the secluded spot where warm water flowed plentifully and few but the royal family and high lords and ladies were allowed to be. “I need to bathe and do not feel the need for celebration this night. Run to the house and bring me towels, clean clothing, and the like.” The servant bowed in answer to the lady’s request.
-*-*-*-
It was customary for the winners to be present at the feast, and for them to be honored at the King’s table that night. It surprised Aredhel to find Lord Glorfindel bathing in the very springs she herself had hoped to escape to. Silently, she continued to advance, unseen by the ellon as he scrubbed his hair and let the warm water wash away the dust and dirt of the day. His normally wavy golden locks were weighed down with water and appearing dark blond.
A snap of a branch caused her to look around in surprise, but the golden lord continued to bathe. “Leave the towels for me on a dry rock somewhere, I shall find them, Erestor.”
The young page of the Golden Flower house gawked to see a lady watching his master in the nude, but Aredhel scooped the towels up from the youth’s arms and ushered him away with a wave of her hand. Not very long after, her own handmaiden came down the slope of the bank, but her steps were quite a lot daintier than the youth who had left, and though surprise was in her eyes, she deposited the towels she had brought into her mistress’s arms and made a hasty retreat.
Aredhel’s eyes traveled up and down the muscular form of the ellon who stood ankle deep in the warm rushing water beneath the trickle of a waterfall. He shivered at the contrasting cold water as it hit his head and washed away the suds from his hair. Not wanting to quite be ‘found out’ but knowing she could not escape the predicament she was in (nor did she wish to), Aredhel called out, “You’d do better to scoop the warm water over your head!”
Glorfindel paused, but did not turn around or startle. A moment later he replied, as if he weren’t caught naked by the king’s sister, “You did well in the competition, but, you are not at the feast?”
“You won the competition, but, you aren’t at the feast, either,” she responded.
“I stink. At least, I did,” he admitted. “What is your excuse?”
“Same as yours, only, I find I was bested in this race as well,” she said ruefully. She smiled when she heard him chuckle softly. “As long as I am here, there is something I wished to speak with you about.”
“And that is?”
“I wished to ask you about mating.”
This comment did cause Glorfindel to look over his shoulder. “About mating?” he repeated, quite calmly.
“Our horses.”
“Ah.”
“My mare is near five years now, and I’ve not bred her. How old is your stallion?”
“Seven,” answered Glorfindel as he retrieved the hunk of soap he was using and lathered his skin, still keeping his back to Aredhel lest she suddenly see something inappropriate for the eyes of a maiden. “I had planned to ride him another few years before turning him to pasture to stud. He hasn’t sired anything yet; I found long ago once they do they become distracted.”
“I don’t know if I’d want to wait years from now,” she said, setting the towels down and coming closer to the water. “What if something happens to one of them in that time?” She removed her riding boots and stockings while sitting on a rock, and dangled her toes in the water.
Hearing the light splashing, Glorfindel observed her over his shoulder again. “M’lady, this really isn’t appropriate.”
“Oh?” Aredhel raised her toes just out of the water, letting the droplets drip down and form rings in the water.
“You know as well as I that, truly, one is supposed to breed their horses within their own house,” he said as he looked away, although he was certain she knew this knowledge.
“We would never need tell anyone,” she said simply. “We could just lead our horses to some secluded place- a place like this,” she added, motioning around her. “Turn our backs, let nature take its course- and no one would ever know.”
“What if someone did find out? What then?” questioned Glorfindel.
Aredhel loosened the belt around her waist and pulled her dress up over her head, leaving it in a pile on the grass. Her remaining clothing was discarded before she stepped into the water and walked the short distance that separated them. The only remaining adornment was the white flower, tucked in her hair above her ear. “I’m sure we’d come up with an appropriate excuse, if the need arose.” Her small hands tentatively reached out and touched his back. Water and mist dampened her hair and skin, and she reached for his hand, pulling the soap from it. She threw it in the direction of the shore, not watching to see if it had landed on the bank or not.
“You tread dangerous waters,” he warned, keeping the palms of his hands flat upon his thighs. Hers were finding their way over his shoulders as she pressed against his back. “Your... gestures are appreciated, but this is neither the time nor the place,” he informed her, his voice rising up as her hands found their way lower.
“Lord Glorfindel?” called an uncertain voice from the shore.
Stepping forward and well away from Aredhel, Glorfindel looked over at the young page, whose eyes were bugging out at the scene he saw. “Yes, Erestor, what news?”
The page, who would of course never share what he was seeing with anyone, had his eyes upon the blushing Aredhel as he spoke to his lord. “King Turgon grows weary of your absence. He wishes you to come to the feast at once.”
Glorfindel was already out of the water, wringing out his hair and hurrying to where the towels had been left. “Tell him I will be there shortly. Go,” he added when he noticed that Erestor was frozen in place, eyes traveling up and down Aredhel’s body despite the fact she was trying to hide herself behind some ferns. As soon as Erestor was gone, Glorfindel dressed quickly after drying himself off and hastily combing his hair. “M’lady,” he called out before leaving, bowing to her. “Until... next time,” he said, winking before heading back into the heart of the city.
-*-*-*-
Aredhel entered the hall after much of the feast had already been done. Trays laden with pastries and other sweets were situated at the center of the tables, as were bowls of fruit. Many had already left for the evening, but here and there were small groups of elves who had made the decision to stay a little later.
At the front of the room sat her brother, as was usual. Turgon took note of her and raised his hand in a friendly gesture, an informality reserved for only a few here in Gondolin. With a smile, she approached, setting her sights momentarily upon the blond warrior whose back was to her.
Her place had always been beside her widowed brother at any such function, and a place had indeed been set. On his other side, the place was already cleared. Likely it had been Ecthelion but this mattered little to her. Only one other was seated across from her sibling, the elf of Doriath who had placed in the competition. “Master Mablung, your riding was enjoyable to watch today,” she remarked as she sat down.
“Thank you, Lady Aredhel. I hope to do better in a few days during the wrestling competition,” he admitted. “The riding of horses is not a refined art in Doriath.”
“One would never know,” she replied, taking from the bowl of fruit one of the more exotic selections. Her hand took a firm hold on the base of the banana as she slowly stripped it of its skin. “I would congratulate the our other foreign winner were he here,” she said, scanning the crowd for the Prince of Greenwood.
“Long since retired, dear sister,” said Turgon. He motioned to Glorfindel and said, “You have before you our champion, if you wish to give your congratulations to him.”
“Indeed.” Aredhel, unseen to the other two occupants of the table, traced the tip of her tongue up the length of the pale fruit before enclosing the tip of it in her mouth and biting it off. After chewing the mouthful she smiled to Glorfindel and said, “My congratulations to you.”
Glorfindel only managed to swallow hard and blush.
“Oh, Lord Glorfindel, do not be so modest!” laughed Turgon. “Your handling of your horse was by and large superior to that of anyone else. You more than deserved your reward.”
Affirming this, Glorfindel nodded. He could not trust himself to speak with Aredhel’s bare foot in his lap, caressing the ever hardening muscle there. Hidden beneath the table and the heavy cloth that covered it, Glorfindel still shifted as far back against his chair as he was able to. Aredhel smiled sweetly, took another bite of her banana, and stretched her toes until they made contact again.
Licking his lips and fighting to control his breathing, Glorfindel decided to play the game as well. Ignoring the conversation going on between Turgon and Mablung, the golden warrior pulled the fruit bowl a little closer and looked over the items within. He lifted up a peach. As he held the fruit up before him, he glanced over to be sure that only Aredhel was paying attention to him before flicking his tongue out against the bottom of the fruit that came to a point. Latching his mouth over the peak, he eyed Aredhel’s breasts, and bit into the fruit, allowing the juice to trickle from the corner of his mouth a moment before wiping it away.
“Everything is so... ripe,” commented Glorfindel at a lull in the discussion. Aredhel’s foot had already retreated, for now she was watching Glorfindel eat his peach with fascination, how seductively he managed to without her brother or their guest ever suspecting a thing was amiss.
“Aredhel dealt with the menu for the evening, I believe,” said Turgon, stifling a yawn midway.
Realizing she was expected to reply, Aredhel managed to nod, but barely trusted her voice. Glorfindel smirked at her, but wiped it away quickly. Standing up, he excused himself and wished them all a pleasant evening. It wasn’t until she herself returned to her rooms for the evening that Aredhel realized she had been bested by the ellon not once or twice, but three times in one day. Doubly frustrated, she rested fitfully, her mind dwelling on how she would get her way.
-*-*-*-
Normally, after a long ride, Glorfindel would leave his horse in the care of the stable master or his own page. Since the master of the horses was not present when he returned, Glorfindel was about to hand his reigns to young Erestor when he heard the familiar singing of a particular maiden coming from one of the stalls near the back. Shuffling along the hay covered walkway with his mount, Glorfindel motioned for Erestor to leave once he confirmed what he suspected.
As Glorfindel strolled down the passageway to the back of the stable with his horse, Aredhel looked up but continued to sing. She had decided on an early morning ride and now spent the late morning washing down her mare and plotting. It seemed the Valar had a strange sense of humor to have brought Glorfindel here when all of her plans were merely half-formed and her brain refused to think now when he was around.
“Do you mind?”
Aredhel looked up to see that Glorfindel had taken up residence in the adjoining stall, his steed snorting at the fact he was penned up now. The blond had a cloth raised over the bucket of warm water she had been using, obviously planning to share the water.
“Go ahead,” she said. “If you’re too lazy to get your own,” she muttered to herself. As soon as she said it, she bit her lip, but she had turned away from Glorfindel and he had not seen this reaction. When she looked back, she saw him walking back down the passage with the cloth over his shoulder. After a few minutes, he returned with his own bucket of water and silently began to wash his mount.
Glorfindel kept stealing glances across the railing to the elleth that appeared to be ignoring him. Unsure of exactly what he had done to receive such a reaction from her, he tried not to dwell on it as he rubbed down his horse. Picking up a brush from a small shelf, he haphazardly tossed the damp cloth a little harder than intended into the bucket of water on his side.
Aredhel had been crouched beside her own bucket when it happened. The force of the rag landing in the bucket had caused the water to spray up and out of the bucket, with much of it going through the slats of the gate and hitting Aredhel. As water ran down her face from her hair, she angrily stood up to face Glorfindel, but found he had his back to her as he brushed his horse’s mane.
One moment, Glorfindel was dry. The next, a splash of water hit his neck and ran down his back. Looking abruptly around, he received another handful of water right in his face. Throwing the brush the floor, he marched to his own bucket as Aredhel pulled hers further into the stall she was in. Her move was not enough for her to escape, and Glorfindel cupped his hands and flung water at her, making her squeal as the front of her blouse was doused.
She was too far away now to splash the water at him, but Aredhel dropped her cloth into the bucket, swirled it around, and then threw it at Glorfindel, hitting him square in the chest. With a growl, Glorfindel approached the barrier and put his foot upon it, intent on climbing over. Aredhel picked up her bucket in a panic and tried to toss the remaining water over him. Her first attempt failed, for it was too heavy, but with less water now she managed to completely soak him the second time as he stood at the top of the rail about to come over the other side.
He used one hand to wipe the water off of his face, and shook one finger of his other hand at her. Then he continued to follow after her. With a squeak, Aredhel dropped the bucket and raced to the gate, opening it and slamming it closed just as Glorfindel reached it. She leaped out of the way as he grabbed for her hands, and Glorfindel started to climb up and over again. Aredhel called out for help, but with no one to hear her, she reached the end of the passageway before Glorfindel caught up. After a short-lived battle between the two, the warrior managed to sling her over his shoulder and took her to the center of the stables.
Many of the horses were looking on and pawing at their gates as they watched Glorfindel bring Aredhel, kicking and cursing, to the trough at the middle. It was rather large and much like a tub for a bath, so Glorfindel has no problem with putting Aredhel into it.
Flailing and trying to make contact against Glorfindel with her fists, Aredhel finally sat up in the trough. “You... you... argh!” Her fists slammed into the water, spraying them both with more water, though they were both as wet as they could be. “How could you!”
“Me? You started it!”
“Did not!” she snarled back, slapping away his hand as he offered to help her up. “You splashed me when your rag landed in the bucket, but you were too... you... to notice!”
“Oh. Well...” Glorfindel offered his hand again. “I apologize.”
Pouting a little longer, Aredhel took his hand and stood up, stepping out of the trough. “Apology accepted,” she said, refusing to look at him.
Looking ashamedly at the sopping wet lady beside him, Glorfindel reached into his pocket to offer her his handkerchief, but pulled it out to find it absolutely soaked as well. Aredhel smirked as she watched him wring it out and then offer it to her with a half smile.
The pair stood looking at the drenched cloth for a while, until – and neither knew quite who started first – the pair was laughing merrily for no reason other than the apparent silliness of it all.
“You do know, I am going to have to kiss you after all of this,” warned Glorfindel with a slight growl, backing her up against a post in the stable. “Promise not to kick me or bite me?” he teased lifting his hand to her lips and rubbing his thumb against the bottom one just before moving it lower to tilt her chin.
She took a playful nip at his fingers, but when his head moved forward, she eagerly kissed him back. After a series of kisses that swiftly grew bolder and more needful, Aredhel was panting and paused for a breath of air. “So... does this mean we can breed our horses now?” she asked him, her eyes only half-open.
“Not yet,” he whispered huskily. In one fluid motion, he picked her up, and spying a stall with fresh hay and no horse, carried her there. “But very, very soon,” he promised.
