The Flower and The Fountain, 3/23
The Flower and The Fountain
Chapter 03: The Oath of Fëanor
Pairing: Glorfindel/Ecthelion
Summary: The Light of the Two Trees is gone, the Silmarils stolen. When Fëanor and his sons swear their oath and begin to lead the Noldor from Aman, Glorfindel is torn between staying with his parents or following the rest of his family to the Middle-earth he longs to see.
Warnings: Worksafe
Not mine, all Tolkien's. He would be rolling in his grave if he knew.
It had started out so well; no one was aware it was all about to go so very wrong...
~~~~~~~~~~
The time of festival had come again in Valinor. The fruits of Yavanna were flowering and in their prime, filling the air with a sweet fragrance. Delight was seen in the faces of the Firstborn as they eagerly awaited and prepared for the festival to come. It was a time of joy, peace and celebration; there was little what was thought to be able to mar such a gathering. Even the rift that had lingered between the children of Finwë did not seem to matter as each sibling put aside their quarrels for a time.
Glorfindel was just as eager, if not more so, than most who were to attend the festival that would be held at Taniquetil. It was one of the few times he was able to be with the entirety of his extended family; most days, he rarely was able to see, much less speak, with any of them. His cousins would be there, and Glorfindel was overjoyed to be able to visit with them again.
So eager was he to attend that Glorfindel was unable to sit still for lengthy periods of time in the days preceding the festival. Often he would become fidgety and distractive to the point in which his father would ask him to leave. He would always gladly do so, and made frequent trips to visit Ecthelion. The raven-haired Elf seemed to be the only one able to spend great lengths of times in Glorfindel's company when the golden-haired Elf was overly eager for something to transpire.
When the day of the celebration arrived, Glorfindel was overjoyed to learn that Ecthelion would be in attendance. The raven-haired Elf had agreed to accompany his grandfather, the loremaster Rúmil, to the celebration and said he would be present. He had become so excited that Glorfindel was unable to sit still whilst his mother braided his hair in the appropriate fashion.
"Glorfindel!" Estelien cried in exasperation the evening of the festival. She sighed deeply, taking her son's head into her hands and promptly rotating it back into place. Even though he was grown and well past his majority, she still thought of him as a child and loved Glorfindel dearly; Estelien couldn't help but laugh softly at his eagerness. "Sit still, pen-neth. I will never get you ready and presentable if you do not remain seated for a little while longer."
"I can't help it, Nana," Glorfindel protested, fiddling with the end of a braid Estelien had just finished whilst she began another.
"Nervous?" Nimble fingers plucked up a sapphire blue bead, weaving it into the golden tresses.
"Just a little. I have not seen everyone in so long."
"Aye, 'tis true. The last time you were all in one another's company was at your majority, and that was some years ago. I am sure your cousins are just as eager to see you." Estelien paused, tying off the end of the golden braid with a midnight blue ribbon. "But I do not think it is your cousins that you are eager to see."
"What do you mean?" Glorfindel attempted to turn to face his mother, but was stopped when she quickly put his head back into the desirable position to finish her work.
"You know perfectly well what I mean," the raven-haired lady replied. "It is Ecthelion you are more eager to see."
"Nana!" Glorfindel felt mortified at his mother's words. Again he attempted to turn to see her, and again he was rotated back into place.
"Oh, do not act so indignant, Glorfindel. You know I speak the truth. No matter how eager you are to see your cousins, it is your best friend who draws the most of your attention. You have known him over a century now, and yet you are still excited at the prospect of being in his company for any length of time. Might there be more than friendship between you two?"
"Nana, please..." Glorfindel felt a deep blush just beginning to settle upon his fair cheeks and averted his eyes from the gaze staring back at him through the mirror.
"Glorfindel." Estelien gently urged her son to turn around until he was facing her. Gathering his hands in hers, she locked her gaze upon his, staring into the azure eyes he had inherited from her. "You and Ecthelion are so close. Is there not more than companionship, at least on your part?"
Glorfindel stared down at their joined hands whilst looking deep within himself. If he was honest, there was something he felt for his best friend, something he couldn't name. He had felt it before, a fluttering of the heart, but he had never paid much mind to it until now. "I know not what it is I feel, Nana," he confessed quietly. "There is something, I feel it. It grows day by day, the longer I am in his company. But I know not what it is." Pleading blue eyes stared up at his mother, imploring her to tell him what the elusive sensation was.
"My dear child." Estelien caressed a golden braid, allowing her hands to run along its silken length before coming to rest on Glorfindel's cheek. "I cannot tell you what it is you are feeling. You must discover its name on your own."
"But you know what it is." The sudden urge to know began to overwhelm Glorfindel as he felt the fluttering stir again. Now that he realized it was there, it became a maddening sensation, one that seemed to grow whenever he thought about Ecthelion.
"Aye, I do," Estelien replied calmly.
"Then tell me!" Glorfindel's hands tightened over his mother's, eyes pleading for the answer to be given. "I must know what this is. The feeling grows stronger with its presence revealed. Now that I realize I feel something other than friendship for Ecthelion, I must know what it is called. Help me, Nana, please. I know not what sweet madness will claim me later."
"It is not madness, pen-neth. You will learn its name in time if you do not already know what it is. Be patient, my dear Glorfindel." She kissed his brow tenderly, tugging lightly on his hands until Glorfindel had risen from his seat. Estelien began fussing over the white and blue robes her son was wearing for the festival. "There, perfect. Now off with you."
"Won't you and Ada come as well?"
"Later, pen-neth. Now go, or everyone will be wondering where you are."
Glorfindel smiled, giving his mother a gentle kiss upon the cheek before taking the midnight blue cloak she offered, wrapping it about his shoulders before leaving the house for Tanquetil. He hoped his mother was right and that he discovered what this fluttering sensation was that he felt. Clutching his robes over his heart, Glorfindel thought of Ecthelion again and quickened his pace.
~~~~~~~~~~
Though he loved celebrations and gatherings, Ecthelion felt out of place in the midst of the company gathered at the Lord of the Valar's home. He was standing among the members of the houses of Finwë's children. Fair faces all about him were smiling, melodic voices laughing. Ecthelion was merely the son and grandson of a lore master; he had no place among these people. Still, he had agreed to accompany his grandfather to the celebration, and Ecthelion couldn't deny Glorfindel after seeing the glee light up his friend's face at the announcement of his attendance. Sighing faintly, the raven-haired Elf leaned back against the wall behind him, watching the others of the court mingle amongst themselves. He was unaware of the form approaching him until Turgon was at his elbow.
"What bothers you on this glorious night, meldir?"
Ecthelion gave his friend a small smile and a slight shrug. "I'm just a little uncomfortable, Turgon. 'Tis nothing to worry about."
"Ah yes, elaborate celebrations never did suit your mood. You've always felt a little out of place at such fancy gatherings."
"Aye, but I promised my grandfather and Glorfindel that I would be here. I cannot break my word to them."
Turgon smiled upon hearing the loving tone Ecthelion used when the raven-haired Elf mentioned his best friend's name. The son of Fingolfin new both Elves well, and he was also aware of the strong bond of friendship they shared. Turgon entertained the idea of the pair becoming more than merely friends, though he had never mentioned the idea to either of them. They seemed content in their ways, and he didn't want to ruin the relationship with his meddling.
"Ecthelion! Turgon!"
The pair of Elves glanced upward at the sound of their names being called to find Glorfindel weaving his way through the court towards them. A brilliant smile was upon his face as his elaborately braided hair gleamed in the light, the blue beads woven expertly into the mane glimmering brightly.
"Mae govannen, Glorfindel," Turgon greeted. "How are you this evening, cousin?"
"Well, and you?" Glorfindel asked, nodding his head in polite greeting to them both.
"We are both well. But where are your parents? Surely they did not send you here alone."
"Ada and Nana said they would be here shortly. They sent me on ahead to let everyone know of their arrival."
"That is good to know. I have missed speaking with Glorion as of late. I would be very much disappointed if my cousin did not show this evening. I'm sure his mother would be equally disappointed. You have seen your grandmother this evening, Glorfindel?"
"Aye, I was just at her side." Glorfindel was the grandson of Irimë, daughter of Finwë; the golden-haired Elf had inherited most of his traits from his father, Glorion, who in turn had inherited his traits from his father, a Vanya Elf and Irimë's husband. This made Glorfindel related, a little distantly, to the houses of Finwë's children, though he was closest to the sons of Fingolfin.
"Are you not in your grandfather's company, Ecthelion?" Glorfindel questioned upon finding his friend alone despite Turgon's company.
"Ata'da is visiting with others at the moment," Ecthelion replied. "He asked that I mingle and mix among everyone. But you know me, meldir. 'Tis not my style to engage myself in mindless gossip."
"Gossip? Mindless?" Turgon pretended to be offended whilst Glorfindel giggled at the act. "Are you implying that my family is witless, Ecthelion?"
"Nay, Turgon. I am merely stating that one does not need to possess brains in order to become involved in a conversation that obviously does not take any brains to begin with. If one is so ready to believe anything one hears in a room full of the best wine of Valinor, then I would have to say one is, indeed, mindless." The trio laughed richly at Ecthelion's sagely sounding bantering.
"For someone who is half-Teler and the grandson of a loremaster, you are indeed quick witted and sharp of tongue," Turgon said, clapping his friend upon the shoulder.
"Ah, but being half-Teler only allows me to excel in musical abilities. My parents are both half-Teler, if you will kindly remember, and they have confessed to not being a sharp as I am."
"Well then, I must believe you to have inherited something they do not display, meldir. But I see my sister is calling me; I shall leave the pair of you to your own devices." With a nod and a smile, Turgon promptly left his companions and went to join the rest of his immediate family.
"It is good to see you here," Glorfindel murmured when Turgon had departed, whilst leaning back against the wall. He turned to Ecthelion and offered a brilliant smile before leaning part of his weight against his friend. Ecthelion merely smiled at the gesture, which caused Glorfindel to emit a small giggle.
"Fëanor has arrived," Ecthelion said, looking past the crowd towards the dark-haired Elf who entered with his seven sons. The pair watched as Fingon, son of Fingolfin, went to greet them. "Do you know your uncle well, Glorfindel?"
"Nay, I'm afraid I do not. Maedhros, Maglor, the twins and I have spoken, but I do not associate much with Fëanor, Celegorm, Caranthir or Curufin. I feel...ill at ease in their presence."
"And you do not whilst in the presence of Maedhros and the others?"
Glorfindel sighed, watching as Fingon made the proper greetings before setting aside to allow others to do the same. "They are more even tempered than the rest of their family. Truth be told, I enjoy being in Maglor's company the most. He is engaging in conversation, and is a delight to listen to when he sings. I like least being in Caranthir's presence, though I would never tell him so."
"You are entitled to your own opinions about those of your extended family, meldir. I must admit that there are those of my own family whose company I would not want to be in should I have a choice in the matter. But come, enough of this melancholy talk." Ecthelion glanced up and caught Rúmil's eye, who signaled for his grandson to approach. "Ata'da is calling me. I would very much like you meet him."
"I would be delighted," Glorfindel replied with a smile, allowing his friend to maneuver him along the floor and to the loremaster's side.
~~~~~~~~~~
As quickly as the Elves had gathered and made merry beneath the light of the stars and in the presence of the Two Trees, the lights suddenly went out. Those present felt as if darkness had entered their hearts at the same moment Ungoliant drank dry the light of the Two Trees, plunging Valinor into eerie black.
"The Light of the Trees has passed away," came the voice of Yavanna as the stars of Varda beamed brightly overhead, casting a pale light on the assembly, "and lives now only in the Silmarils of Fëanor." She stood near the remains of the trees as she spoke, her hands tenderly brushing the branches, which fell away like dust at her touch. She praised Fëanor for his foresight, and implored him to allow her to use the jewels to reclaim the Light of the Trees, a deed the Vala could not perform on her own despite her powers. Manwë too implored Fëanor to listen to her wisdom, to allow her this one request. When the Noldo spoke not a word, Tulkas' voice rang out.
"Speak, O Noldo, yea or nay! But who shall deny Yavanna? And did not the light of the Silmarils come from her work in the beginning?" But Aulë quieted him, asking that Fëanor have some time. When at last he spoke, his voice was laced with bitterness.
"For the less even as for the greater there is some deed that he may accomplish but once only," Fëanor said. "And in that deed his heart shall rest. It may be that I can unlock my jewels, but never again shall I make their life; and if I must break them, I shall break my heart, and I shall be slain; first of all the Eldar in Aman."
"Not the first," said Mandos. His words confused the gathered Elves; none could decipher his meaning, though all seemed aware of the foreboding such news held. "Thou hast spoken." And with the Vala's final words, Nienna cast back her hood and wept for the Two Tears. It was then that everything happened.
"Lord Fëanor! Lord Fëanor I must speak with you!" A servant of Fëanor's suddenly rushed into the middle of the gathering of Elves, out of breath and his face deathly pale.
"What is it?" Fëanor asked, just a little bit irritated after all the ill proceedings.
"My Lord, I came here as quickly as I could!" The youth's pallor was horrid, and he visibly quaked as he stood before his Lord, attempting not to stutter as he spoke his tale. "After you had gone, someone knocked upon the doors to your home. Lord Finwë went to answer them, and then...and then..."
"And then?" Fëanor's patience was wearing thin as he glared down at the Elf, silently demanding he finish his story.
"Melkor was there, my Lord. He demanded the Silmarils; when Lord Finwë refused, Melkor...he...he struck him down."
"What?!"
The messenger cringed at the heated look Fëanor aimed at him. "Melkor, my Lord. H-he struck down your father."
From behind Fëanor, a dozen gasps sounded. Fingolfin whirled upon his brother and sister, disbelief evident in his eyes. Turgon and Finrod held their weeping sisters whilst their brothers fell into silence. Glorfindel, who had loved his great-grandfather immensely, found himself suddenly in Ecthelion's arms as his legs gave out beneath him; his eyes searched out his father, who had gone still at the news.
"Morgoth!" Fëanor cursed, his eyes blazing in anger and hatred for the one who had taken his beloved father from the realm of the living. He then turned to Manwë, leveling his gaze upon the Vala King. "Curse you for calling me here! Curse you for taking me away from my father!" Without another word, Fëanor rushed from the assembly, speeding his way back to Formenos to see his father one last time, leaving his sons in stunned disbelief among the company of their extended family.
~~~~~~~~~~
Glorfindel felt weary as he returned from Taniquetil. He was grateful for Ecthelion, who had remained at his side throughout the events of the night. The descendants of Finwë felt listless as they mourned the passing of one so loved amongst their family.
"How do you fare, meldir?" Ecthelion's soothing voice sounded in Glorfindel's ear as they walked.
"Weary...and aching," Glorfindel replied. Behind them trudged his parents, and his grandmother; Ecthelion's own family accompanied them, giving them silent support. "I miss him already," the golden-haired Elf murmured, fighting back the tears whilst he clutched Ecthelion's robes in his hand, needing to know his friend was close.
Ecthelion said nothing, hugging the other Elf closer to him. They were vaguely aware of a sudden gathering of Noldor within the center of Tirion as they neared the city so recently built. Clearly they heard Fëanor's words, imploring the gathered group to forsake the Valar's words and follow him into Arda, to Middle-earth, to reclaim the Silmarils that had been stolen at the cost of his father's life.
An oath he swore then, his sons readily following him; swords were drawn, shimmering in the torchlight a deep blood red. Manwë and Varda they named witnesses to the oath that would only be broken with their deaths, to strike down whoever blocked their path no matter who they were. Fingolfin, and his son Turgon, spoke then against the actions of Fëanor, to which heated words were exchanged. Galadriel and Fingon's hearts were awoken by their uncle's words, and they too yearned to leave for the Outer Lands, as did Angrod and Aegnor though they did not speak.
Glorfindel found a similar stirring within his own heart, a chance to see the Middle-earth he had only heard about in stories. It was a dark moment that gave him this chance, but a chance nonetheless. He would go with them, go with the sons of Fëanor and Fingolfin, into this new world, forsaking all that he had known in the Blessed Realm.
"You shall not go alone."
The faint whisper in his ear startled Glorfindel, who immediately turned to find Ecthelion's gaze leveled upon him.
"You shall not go alone," the raven-haired Elf said again, reading his friend's thoughts clearly in Glorfindel's azure eyes. "I shall go with you."
A smile he gave Ecthelion then, one of true friendship, gratitude and something much deeper that even Glorfindel was not able to name. That same stirring of the heart surfaced, causing him to drown in the sensation and in the presence of Ecthelion despite the blackness that was creeping around them.
A vow the pair of friends made then whilst they stared into one another's eyes. Dark times lay ahead of them, but they would see them through, to the very end, together. That was their silent vow which, like Fëanor's, would never be broken, except with their deaths.
Chapter 03: The Oath of Fëanor
Pairing: Glorfindel/Ecthelion
Summary: The Light of the Two Trees is gone, the Silmarils stolen. When Fëanor and his sons swear their oath and begin to lead the Noldor from Aman, Glorfindel is torn between staying with his parents or following the rest of his family to the Middle-earth he longs to see.
Warnings: Worksafe
Not mine, all Tolkien's. He would be rolling in his grave if he knew.
It had started out so well; no one was aware it was all about to go so very wrong...
~~~~~~~~~~
The time of festival had come again in Valinor. The fruits of Yavanna were flowering and in their prime, filling the air with a sweet fragrance. Delight was seen in the faces of the Firstborn as they eagerly awaited and prepared for the festival to come. It was a time of joy, peace and celebration; there was little what was thought to be able to mar such a gathering. Even the rift that had lingered between the children of Finwë did not seem to matter as each sibling put aside their quarrels for a time.
Glorfindel was just as eager, if not more so, than most who were to attend the festival that would be held at Taniquetil. It was one of the few times he was able to be with the entirety of his extended family; most days, he rarely was able to see, much less speak, with any of them. His cousins would be there, and Glorfindel was overjoyed to be able to visit with them again.
So eager was he to attend that Glorfindel was unable to sit still for lengthy periods of time in the days preceding the festival. Often he would become fidgety and distractive to the point in which his father would ask him to leave. He would always gladly do so, and made frequent trips to visit Ecthelion. The raven-haired Elf seemed to be the only one able to spend great lengths of times in Glorfindel's company when the golden-haired Elf was overly eager for something to transpire.
When the day of the celebration arrived, Glorfindel was overjoyed to learn that Ecthelion would be in attendance. The raven-haired Elf had agreed to accompany his grandfather, the loremaster Rúmil, to the celebration and said he would be present. He had become so excited that Glorfindel was unable to sit still whilst his mother braided his hair in the appropriate fashion.
"Glorfindel!" Estelien cried in exasperation the evening of the festival. She sighed deeply, taking her son's head into her hands and promptly rotating it back into place. Even though he was grown and well past his majority, she still thought of him as a child and loved Glorfindel dearly; Estelien couldn't help but laugh softly at his eagerness. "Sit still, pen-neth. I will never get you ready and presentable if you do not remain seated for a little while longer."
"I can't help it, Nana," Glorfindel protested, fiddling with the end of a braid Estelien had just finished whilst she began another.
"Nervous?" Nimble fingers plucked up a sapphire blue bead, weaving it into the golden tresses.
"Just a little. I have not seen everyone in so long."
"Aye, 'tis true. The last time you were all in one another's company was at your majority, and that was some years ago. I am sure your cousins are just as eager to see you." Estelien paused, tying off the end of the golden braid with a midnight blue ribbon. "But I do not think it is your cousins that you are eager to see."
"What do you mean?" Glorfindel attempted to turn to face his mother, but was stopped when she quickly put his head back into the desirable position to finish her work.
"You know perfectly well what I mean," the raven-haired lady replied. "It is Ecthelion you are more eager to see."
"Nana!" Glorfindel felt mortified at his mother's words. Again he attempted to turn to see her, and again he was rotated back into place.
"Oh, do not act so indignant, Glorfindel. You know I speak the truth. No matter how eager you are to see your cousins, it is your best friend who draws the most of your attention. You have known him over a century now, and yet you are still excited at the prospect of being in his company for any length of time. Might there be more than friendship between you two?"
"Nana, please..." Glorfindel felt a deep blush just beginning to settle upon his fair cheeks and averted his eyes from the gaze staring back at him through the mirror.
"Glorfindel." Estelien gently urged her son to turn around until he was facing her. Gathering his hands in hers, she locked her gaze upon his, staring into the azure eyes he had inherited from her. "You and Ecthelion are so close. Is there not more than companionship, at least on your part?"
Glorfindel stared down at their joined hands whilst looking deep within himself. If he was honest, there was something he felt for his best friend, something he couldn't name. He had felt it before, a fluttering of the heart, but he had never paid much mind to it until now. "I know not what it is I feel, Nana," he confessed quietly. "There is something, I feel it. It grows day by day, the longer I am in his company. But I know not what it is." Pleading blue eyes stared up at his mother, imploring her to tell him what the elusive sensation was.
"My dear child." Estelien caressed a golden braid, allowing her hands to run along its silken length before coming to rest on Glorfindel's cheek. "I cannot tell you what it is you are feeling. You must discover its name on your own."
"But you know what it is." The sudden urge to know began to overwhelm Glorfindel as he felt the fluttering stir again. Now that he realized it was there, it became a maddening sensation, one that seemed to grow whenever he thought about Ecthelion.
"Aye, I do," Estelien replied calmly.
"Then tell me!" Glorfindel's hands tightened over his mother's, eyes pleading for the answer to be given. "I must know what this is. The feeling grows stronger with its presence revealed. Now that I realize I feel something other than friendship for Ecthelion, I must know what it is called. Help me, Nana, please. I know not what sweet madness will claim me later."
"It is not madness, pen-neth. You will learn its name in time if you do not already know what it is. Be patient, my dear Glorfindel." She kissed his brow tenderly, tugging lightly on his hands until Glorfindel had risen from his seat. Estelien began fussing over the white and blue robes her son was wearing for the festival. "There, perfect. Now off with you."
"Won't you and Ada come as well?"
"Later, pen-neth. Now go, or everyone will be wondering where you are."
Glorfindel smiled, giving his mother a gentle kiss upon the cheek before taking the midnight blue cloak she offered, wrapping it about his shoulders before leaving the house for Tanquetil. He hoped his mother was right and that he discovered what this fluttering sensation was that he felt. Clutching his robes over his heart, Glorfindel thought of Ecthelion again and quickened his pace.
~~~~~~~~~~
Though he loved celebrations and gatherings, Ecthelion felt out of place in the midst of the company gathered at the Lord of the Valar's home. He was standing among the members of the houses of Finwë's children. Fair faces all about him were smiling, melodic voices laughing. Ecthelion was merely the son and grandson of a lore master; he had no place among these people. Still, he had agreed to accompany his grandfather to the celebration, and Ecthelion couldn't deny Glorfindel after seeing the glee light up his friend's face at the announcement of his attendance. Sighing faintly, the raven-haired Elf leaned back against the wall behind him, watching the others of the court mingle amongst themselves. He was unaware of the form approaching him until Turgon was at his elbow.
"What bothers you on this glorious night, meldir?"
Ecthelion gave his friend a small smile and a slight shrug. "I'm just a little uncomfortable, Turgon. 'Tis nothing to worry about."
"Ah yes, elaborate celebrations never did suit your mood. You've always felt a little out of place at such fancy gatherings."
"Aye, but I promised my grandfather and Glorfindel that I would be here. I cannot break my word to them."
Turgon smiled upon hearing the loving tone Ecthelion used when the raven-haired Elf mentioned his best friend's name. The son of Fingolfin new both Elves well, and he was also aware of the strong bond of friendship they shared. Turgon entertained the idea of the pair becoming more than merely friends, though he had never mentioned the idea to either of them. They seemed content in their ways, and he didn't want to ruin the relationship with his meddling.
"Ecthelion! Turgon!"
The pair of Elves glanced upward at the sound of their names being called to find Glorfindel weaving his way through the court towards them. A brilliant smile was upon his face as his elaborately braided hair gleamed in the light, the blue beads woven expertly into the mane glimmering brightly.
"Mae govannen, Glorfindel," Turgon greeted. "How are you this evening, cousin?"
"Well, and you?" Glorfindel asked, nodding his head in polite greeting to them both.
"We are both well. But where are your parents? Surely they did not send you here alone."
"Ada and Nana said they would be here shortly. They sent me on ahead to let everyone know of their arrival."
"That is good to know. I have missed speaking with Glorion as of late. I would be very much disappointed if my cousin did not show this evening. I'm sure his mother would be equally disappointed. You have seen your grandmother this evening, Glorfindel?"
"Aye, I was just at her side." Glorfindel was the grandson of Irimë, daughter of Finwë; the golden-haired Elf had inherited most of his traits from his father, Glorion, who in turn had inherited his traits from his father, a Vanya Elf and Irimë's husband. This made Glorfindel related, a little distantly, to the houses of Finwë's children, though he was closest to the sons of Fingolfin.
"Are you not in your grandfather's company, Ecthelion?" Glorfindel questioned upon finding his friend alone despite Turgon's company.
"Ata'da is visiting with others at the moment," Ecthelion replied. "He asked that I mingle and mix among everyone. But you know me, meldir. 'Tis not my style to engage myself in mindless gossip."
"Gossip? Mindless?" Turgon pretended to be offended whilst Glorfindel giggled at the act. "Are you implying that my family is witless, Ecthelion?"
"Nay, Turgon. I am merely stating that one does not need to possess brains in order to become involved in a conversation that obviously does not take any brains to begin with. If one is so ready to believe anything one hears in a room full of the best wine of Valinor, then I would have to say one is, indeed, mindless." The trio laughed richly at Ecthelion's sagely sounding bantering.
"For someone who is half-Teler and the grandson of a loremaster, you are indeed quick witted and sharp of tongue," Turgon said, clapping his friend upon the shoulder.
"Ah, but being half-Teler only allows me to excel in musical abilities. My parents are both half-Teler, if you will kindly remember, and they have confessed to not being a sharp as I am."
"Well then, I must believe you to have inherited something they do not display, meldir. But I see my sister is calling me; I shall leave the pair of you to your own devices." With a nod and a smile, Turgon promptly left his companions and went to join the rest of his immediate family.
"It is good to see you here," Glorfindel murmured when Turgon had departed, whilst leaning back against the wall. He turned to Ecthelion and offered a brilliant smile before leaning part of his weight against his friend. Ecthelion merely smiled at the gesture, which caused Glorfindel to emit a small giggle.
"Fëanor has arrived," Ecthelion said, looking past the crowd towards the dark-haired Elf who entered with his seven sons. The pair watched as Fingon, son of Fingolfin, went to greet them. "Do you know your uncle well, Glorfindel?"
"Nay, I'm afraid I do not. Maedhros, Maglor, the twins and I have spoken, but I do not associate much with Fëanor, Celegorm, Caranthir or Curufin. I feel...ill at ease in their presence."
"And you do not whilst in the presence of Maedhros and the others?"
Glorfindel sighed, watching as Fingon made the proper greetings before setting aside to allow others to do the same. "They are more even tempered than the rest of their family. Truth be told, I enjoy being in Maglor's company the most. He is engaging in conversation, and is a delight to listen to when he sings. I like least being in Caranthir's presence, though I would never tell him so."
"You are entitled to your own opinions about those of your extended family, meldir. I must admit that there are those of my own family whose company I would not want to be in should I have a choice in the matter. But come, enough of this melancholy talk." Ecthelion glanced up and caught Rúmil's eye, who signaled for his grandson to approach. "Ata'da is calling me. I would very much like you meet him."
"I would be delighted," Glorfindel replied with a smile, allowing his friend to maneuver him along the floor and to the loremaster's side.
~~~~~~~~~~
As quickly as the Elves had gathered and made merry beneath the light of the stars and in the presence of the Two Trees, the lights suddenly went out. Those present felt as if darkness had entered their hearts at the same moment Ungoliant drank dry the light of the Two Trees, plunging Valinor into eerie black.
"The Light of the Trees has passed away," came the voice of Yavanna as the stars of Varda beamed brightly overhead, casting a pale light on the assembly, "and lives now only in the Silmarils of Fëanor." She stood near the remains of the trees as she spoke, her hands tenderly brushing the branches, which fell away like dust at her touch. She praised Fëanor for his foresight, and implored him to allow her to use the jewels to reclaim the Light of the Trees, a deed the Vala could not perform on her own despite her powers. Manwë too implored Fëanor to listen to her wisdom, to allow her this one request. When the Noldo spoke not a word, Tulkas' voice rang out.
"Speak, O Noldo, yea or nay! But who shall deny Yavanna? And did not the light of the Silmarils come from her work in the beginning?" But Aulë quieted him, asking that Fëanor have some time. When at last he spoke, his voice was laced with bitterness.
"For the less even as for the greater there is some deed that he may accomplish but once only," Fëanor said. "And in that deed his heart shall rest. It may be that I can unlock my jewels, but never again shall I make their life; and if I must break them, I shall break my heart, and I shall be slain; first of all the Eldar in Aman."
"Not the first," said Mandos. His words confused the gathered Elves; none could decipher his meaning, though all seemed aware of the foreboding such news held. "Thou hast spoken." And with the Vala's final words, Nienna cast back her hood and wept for the Two Tears. It was then that everything happened.
"Lord Fëanor! Lord Fëanor I must speak with you!" A servant of Fëanor's suddenly rushed into the middle of the gathering of Elves, out of breath and his face deathly pale.
"What is it?" Fëanor asked, just a little bit irritated after all the ill proceedings.
"My Lord, I came here as quickly as I could!" The youth's pallor was horrid, and he visibly quaked as he stood before his Lord, attempting not to stutter as he spoke his tale. "After you had gone, someone knocked upon the doors to your home. Lord Finwë went to answer them, and then...and then..."
"And then?" Fëanor's patience was wearing thin as he glared down at the Elf, silently demanding he finish his story.
"Melkor was there, my Lord. He demanded the Silmarils; when Lord Finwë refused, Melkor...he...he struck him down."
"What?!"
The messenger cringed at the heated look Fëanor aimed at him. "Melkor, my Lord. H-he struck down your father."
From behind Fëanor, a dozen gasps sounded. Fingolfin whirled upon his brother and sister, disbelief evident in his eyes. Turgon and Finrod held their weeping sisters whilst their brothers fell into silence. Glorfindel, who had loved his great-grandfather immensely, found himself suddenly in Ecthelion's arms as his legs gave out beneath him; his eyes searched out his father, who had gone still at the news.
"Morgoth!" Fëanor cursed, his eyes blazing in anger and hatred for the one who had taken his beloved father from the realm of the living. He then turned to Manwë, leveling his gaze upon the Vala King. "Curse you for calling me here! Curse you for taking me away from my father!" Without another word, Fëanor rushed from the assembly, speeding his way back to Formenos to see his father one last time, leaving his sons in stunned disbelief among the company of their extended family.
~~~~~~~~~~
Glorfindel felt weary as he returned from Taniquetil. He was grateful for Ecthelion, who had remained at his side throughout the events of the night. The descendants of Finwë felt listless as they mourned the passing of one so loved amongst their family.
"How do you fare, meldir?" Ecthelion's soothing voice sounded in Glorfindel's ear as they walked.
"Weary...and aching," Glorfindel replied. Behind them trudged his parents, and his grandmother; Ecthelion's own family accompanied them, giving them silent support. "I miss him already," the golden-haired Elf murmured, fighting back the tears whilst he clutched Ecthelion's robes in his hand, needing to know his friend was close.
Ecthelion said nothing, hugging the other Elf closer to him. They were vaguely aware of a sudden gathering of Noldor within the center of Tirion as they neared the city so recently built. Clearly they heard Fëanor's words, imploring the gathered group to forsake the Valar's words and follow him into Arda, to Middle-earth, to reclaim the Silmarils that had been stolen at the cost of his father's life.
An oath he swore then, his sons readily following him; swords were drawn, shimmering in the torchlight a deep blood red. Manwë and Varda they named witnesses to the oath that would only be broken with their deaths, to strike down whoever blocked their path no matter who they were. Fingolfin, and his son Turgon, spoke then against the actions of Fëanor, to which heated words were exchanged. Galadriel and Fingon's hearts were awoken by their uncle's words, and they too yearned to leave for the Outer Lands, as did Angrod and Aegnor though they did not speak.
Glorfindel found a similar stirring within his own heart, a chance to see the Middle-earth he had only heard about in stories. It was a dark moment that gave him this chance, but a chance nonetheless. He would go with them, go with the sons of Fëanor and Fingolfin, into this new world, forsaking all that he had known in the Blessed Realm.
"You shall not go alone."
The faint whisper in his ear startled Glorfindel, who immediately turned to find Ecthelion's gaze leveled upon him.
"You shall not go alone," the raven-haired Elf said again, reading his friend's thoughts clearly in Glorfindel's azure eyes. "I shall go with you."
A smile he gave Ecthelion then, one of true friendship, gratitude and something much deeper that even Glorfindel was not able to name. That same stirring of the heart surfaced, causing him to drown in the sensation and in the presence of Ecthelion despite the blackness that was creeping around them.
A vow the pair of friends made then whilst they stared into one another's eyes. Dark times lay ahead of them, but they would see them through, to the very end, together. That was their silent vow which, like Fëanor's, would never be broken, except with their deaths.