Fic: Tale of the Ancient Mariner Voronwë/Glorfindel 2/3 Rating: PG-NC17
Title: Tale of the Ancient Mariner
Chapter: Two
Author: Phyncke
Email: jhfink@sbcglobal.net
Rating: PG - NC17
Pairing: Voronwë/Glorfindel, Idril/Tuor
Warnings:Character death
Beta:khylea (and errors are mine)
For Request:Voronwë/Glorfindel in Ardor in August 2008
Disclaimer:I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I have borrowed them for my own amusement and for yours I hope.
Summary: The tale of Voronwë the mariner and his odyssey as he charts his course through the First Age from Nevrast, through the building of Gondolin and beyond. He finds his one great love and is a part of the events of that age.
Written for: Jaiden
Chapter summary: Tuor and Voronwë speak before Turgon.
Chapter Two
"We thought you dead, Voronwë, but now we see you come back with a stranger to our midst. How do we know you were not captive of Morgoth and leading his spies here?"
Glorfindel paced the small room in the guard tower, his feet making no sound on the stone floor. He wore soft boots and had a light step. He wanted answers from Voronwë, glad as he was to see his friend, much as he wanted to embrace him and shout for joy at his return.
"I was not captured Glorfindel, but I did not make it to the West."
The mariner recounted his tale, how he had tarried along the journey to Falas finally arriving there to captain the last ship for Valinor. He spoke quickly, wanting Glorfindel to know that he had done as King Turgon had asked him but had not been able to make it to the Undying Lands. He told of their attempt to make it to the Blessed Realm and how madness, hopelessness and despair had plagued the voyage, They had turned back sailing directly into a fierce storm which had blown their vessel against the coast of Nevrast, thus shipwrecking them. So ended their hopes for the journey. All hands been lost but he had been thrown into the ocean. He firmly believed it Ulmo's design that he survived to make it to shore, where he encountered Tuor, son of Huor in Vinyamar, clad in Turgon's garb. The man had spoken prophetic words, meant for the king and even so, Voronwë had been skeptical. Glorfindel stood with arms folded the whole time his friend spoke, betraying nothing in his expression. Finally there was silence and the younger elf sat in his chair nervously.
"Well that was a mouthful, there is no mistake." Glorfindel finally said, amusement evident. He seemed on the brink of laughter.
"You find this funny?!"
"I am just glad to see you Voronwë. I have missed you very much."
"I thought of you, Glorfindel. I wanted to see you again."
"You look older somehow. Changed. I cannot put my finger on it."
And indeed Voronwë did look different. There was more resolve in his countenance, a maturity to his expression and a resolution in his eyes. No young elf was he. Glorfindel imagined he looked broader and taller too.
"I am not different. It is just me."
"Your hair is longer. You will admit that at least." The inquisitor winked at his friend and Voronwë finally laughed. It would be alright. He knew that though they had important tidings for the king.
"Tuor must speak to the King. He has words of import to tell him."
"We will see to it then and you will come too, to vouch for him. Let me tell Ecthelion."
Glorfindel strode quickly out and across the hall to where Tuor sat in stubborn silence and Ecthelion stood openly exasperated. He looked at the stranger with frank curiosity and then imparted all that he had learned to the Lord of the Fountain. At the last, he insisted that they take the two newly arrived elves to the citadel for an audience with Turgon.
"We cannot until we have learned his purpose, Glorfindel. We do not know what he will say."
"There are greater powers at work here, Ecthelion. Did you hear nothing that I said?!" He spoke in a hushed whisper but he was sure that Tuor could overhear him.
"Alright. On your head it will be then."
/---/
Voronwë and Tuor were led into the king's Great Hall in the citadel. Turgon sat enthroned surrounded by his daughter Idril and his closest advisers, including Maeglin, the betrayer. The king had been forewarned of the recent arrivals and sat wondering what news they would bring.
Voronwë came into the hall, leading Tuor, who was still dressed in the king's very own armor. It was this same suit of arms that Turgon had himself left in the abandoned halls of Vinyamar. Ulmo, Valar of the seas had instructed him to do so and said the one who sought him wearing it would have a message of great import regarding his fate. The king showed no visible reaction as he saw the mortal enter dressed in this manner. He did, however, remember the Valar's words many years before.
"Bring him forward, Voronwë the mariner and first speak of your plight since you left Gondolin. I will hear what has happened to you in your travels. Then the newcomer shall speak to me as he will and tell me how he came to be wearing my armor."
Voronwë stood in front of Turgon, king of Gondolin and all of the Noldor elves in Middle Earth, and spoke of what had happened to him since he had left Gondolin years before on the quest assigned to him. He tried to be to the point and not digress, but he found himself doing so. A quick soft cough from Glorfindel, standing behind him a pace or two kept him on track. It was best not to anger the monarch, as he was not known for his kindness when crossed.
"You say you tarried in Nan-tathren? Had I not give you precise command to sail for Valinor as soon as you could?" Turgon asked, his voice deceptively calm.
"Father, let him finish." Idril interrupted. "The time for questions is later, once we have heard all speakers today..."
The dark haired royal sat back on his throne, apparently listening to what his daughter said. He did not appear pleased, however, and his slate grey eyes took on a dangerous gleam.
"Continue!"
Voronwë went on and told his account, the rest of his tale was tragic as they could not find their way to Valinor by any sea route by and upon attempting a return, the ship was tossed, and wrecked in a tumultuous storm. Those present listened raptly while the mariner's voice filled the hall, increasing in volume as he recounted the events.
"It was Ulmo who saved me, helping me get to shore and make it to Nevrast. I am sure of it."
"How do you know?" Maeglin asked skeptically.
"I know in my heart, that is all I can tell you. No one else survived with me, if that indicates anything."
"Go on, Voronwë, continue your tale."
The king leaned forward on his elbows to knees now, intently watching the expression of the speaker for signs of falsehood or evasion. He saw none and did not doubt the veracity of what he told.
The mariner chose to omit certain details, that would not be of interest to anyone but his friends. How he had dragged himself from the sea, laying on the beach to look up at Varda's stars with the sounds of the waves to enchant him, as though Ulmo was lulling him to sleep. And he had slept there, for hours uncounted, so exhausted was he. Eventually he woke to stare up into the face of Tuor, honest and candid, seemingly haloed in stars. Later he would tell this in great detail to Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, who was convinced that the Vala was watching over the elf. For now, though, he kept to what was essential to his narrative, just what the king needed to know.
"And there, in Vinayamar, I met Tuor, son of Huor, arrayed thusly."
He turned to show his new acquaintance and his apparel, the armor of the king himself.
"Did you not think him strange, Voronwë? To be cloaked in King Turgon's own suit of arms?" Again, Maeglin questioned him, loudly, with a biting tone.
"I will owe that I did. I did find it odd, quite frankly."
There was a rippled reaction in those assembled, whispering and a close examination of the appearance of the proud mortal standing unperturbed in front of them. Tuor, stood with arms folded, tall and straight, no blush on his cheek and eyes clear. He observed the king and the king alone, aware of the others, but focused on his assigned message and intent. Ulmo bade him come here to the Hidden City. This was his destiny.
Voronwë finished, retreating to stand beside Glorfindel, breathing more easily now that he was not the center of attention or the focal point of the royal gaze. He was a sailor, unaccustomed to speaking for such gatherings.
"You did well, Voronwë, without guile. You spoke plain and true."
"Thank you." He whispered as Tuor strode forward when summoned.
Much is writ of what happened next in the King's Hall in Gondolin, of how Tuor, of the Atani, pronounced Ulmo's doom upon the city should Turgon not abandon its fairness with his people for Sirion. The mortal spoke in a voice that was not his own. It was deeper, more resonant, seeming to come from every corner of the room at once.
"This is a trick!" Maeglin cried. "He speaks false and will lead us to ruin. He is a conjurer, a charlatan."
Idril gripped her chair tightly but kept silent, knowing that she would have time to speak with her father at a quiet moment. She felt dread descend upon her soul, an icy recognition that Tuor would not lie to them this way. He had the appearance of a righteous man indeed. She did not doubt that he was sent by the Vala to warn them of future events. Her clever mind started to plan, as it always did. She could no more stop her thought's workings than prevent the tide of what would come to pass. Something must be done to make them safe, something.
Turgon sat unmoved on his throne, showing no visible change to his expression.
/---/
"Voronwë, are you hungry? You must be. Shall we get something to eat?"
Glorfindel and Voronwë walked through the city, having left the hall amid the chaos, by silent mutual agreement. The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower thought his friend looked tired and now that this Tuor had spoken, the Gondolindrim could make their way to more comfortable surroundings.
"I, myself, am hungry. I could go for some roast beef and some potatoes, and carrots and fresh baked bread with gravy..." Glorfindel's stomach began to rumble as he tried to think of the last time he ate.
"I take comfort in the fact that you have NOT changed, Glorfindel."
"Not one wit. I can always eat." They exchanged knowing grins.
Voronwë followed Glorfindel through the deserted streets, and the almost maze-like avenues. He looked up to the white towers as they passed, so very different than the terrain he had seen in his travels.
"It looks the same here, untouched by the ravages outside the mountains."
"It IS the same here. We came back and sealed ourselves in tighter than ever. You are the first to come for many years. You have been gone a long time, my friend."
"I know. I did not think I would ever come back here again."
They neared the House of the Golden Flower, entering its gate, walking the cobbled path to an ornate entrance. On cue, the front door opened and they were greeted by Glorfindel's always efficient butler. The elf lord made arrangements for a very large dinner to be served as soon as it could be prepared, also ordering a room made ready for Voronwë to spend the night. He simply assumed his friend would want to stay here.
"Will you stay here, Voronwë? At least tonight? I think it will be easiest for now, we can go see Aerlindë tomorrow morning when you are rested." He did not mention that he was unsure of the status of Voronwë's own home. It was thought that he was lost and thus it might be occupied.
"Aye, aye. That is wise, if you don't mind."
"My house is your house, of course. You will have everything you need here, all for the asking."
"A bath and food in that order."
Glorfindel smiled and made a mock showing of examining Voronwë from head to toe, with a sniff.
"You could use a bath, that much is true."
"You would too if you had traveled as long as I had." Indeed he was covered in grime from the long road he had journeyed.
The golden lord moved forward and laid his hand on Voronwë's shoulder. "I am kidding. I know some of what you have been through and would like to hear it all. I am sure it is an adventure and then some."
"You shall then. But first I will bathe so I do not offend." He smiled and yet enjoyed the proximity. Their closeness brought back memories of long ago, memories that had sustained him on his journey.
The bath was drawn, a chamber appointed and Voronwë luxuriated in the scented, sudsy water. He could not remember a time when he had bathed thus. Usually he hurriedly washed in ice cold rivers, or lakes with a bar of rough soap he carried for those occasions. This was nice. He lathered every inch of his body, cleaned his hair and then lay in the large tub for a long soak until he could make no excuse to stay in and the water was beginning to get cold.
He stood reaching for a plush towel. The day had been so strange and now it seemed so normal. He had gone from the trail to the king's hall to Glorfindel's home where he felt perfectly at home and comfortable. He blotted the water from his skin and then padded into the bedroom, wondering about clothing, only to find a new set laid out on the bed, evidently Glorfindel's own. Chosen for comfort, there was a simple white shirt and black leggings, with a belt provided in case they were too big. The other elf was larger than he after all. Voronwë's own clothing was missing and must have been taken for laundering by the staff. His pack lay empty by the door and his belongings had been put away neatly for his convenience.
Before dressing, Voronwë dried his hair as much as he could, combed it out and braided it neatly in one plait down his back. It was his usual method and he did this as much out of habit as anything else. Not being a vain elf, it did not occur to him to do otherwise. Then he donned the clothing. He observed that while he was as tall as Glorfindel, he was not nearly as broad, and there was quite a lot of room in the shirt. It billowed as he walked but was very comfortable, soft fabric. For the pants, he did make use of the belt for his slighter waist. The length in the leg was just right.
Thinking he might lie down for just a moment, he draped a dry towel over a pillow, and stretched out fully on the bed, letting out a contented sigh. How long since he had reclined on an actual bed, and not the hard ground or the base of a tree? This too was nice.
He would just close his eyes for a *little* while.
/---/
Glorfindel paced the salon, alternately stoking the fire and checking on arrangements for dinner. Finally, he was told that the meal was well in hand; no, his assistance was not needed. That was the polite way his staff had of telling him to "go away". He knew this and did not mind. The food would be excellent, as always, complete with wine, dessert and all the fixings. Voronwë would know the hospitality of the House of the Golden Flower.
Time dragged on, and not one to stay idle, the warrior checked his office for any pending work. He tidied up late supply orders and the other administrative loose ends but checked the time eventually. He began to wonder where his friend was. Had he drowned? That elf was like a fish, thus he found that unlikely. Setting his work aside, he strode up the grand staircase, heading for the guest chamber, knocking politely on the door.
No answer.
And so he knocked again, more loudly this time. No answer that time either.
He eased the door open slowly to peer around at the dim room inside. All became clear as he spied Voronwë asleep atop the coverlet, feet bare, dressed in the garments he had left earlier. He entered silently, closing the door with no sound. The sleeping elf did not move but he did snore softly, as he always had. Glorfindel smiled at that and at the many fond memories he had of their joking under star-filled skies deep in the mountains. It was a comfort to know some things would never change about his friend. Moving to the bed, the elf lord sat down and watched the other elf while he slumbered. No trouble seemed to worry him in his dreams and he appeared peaceful in his reverie.
No wonder he was tired, the elder elf mused; to travel all that way and with the worry of bringing this mortal to the king? His lips seemed so soft. Why were they not weathered from all that time at sea? Who knew how long they tried to get to Valinor and the sea was vast and fearsome, winds, sun and waves. Glorfindel frowned as he looked down upon the smooth face, tranquil expression and closed eyes. Later he would wonder why he did this but *as* he did it there was no hesitation. He leaned close and kissed Voronwë's slightly open mouth, to see what those full lips felt like, and they were just as soft as they looked.
The prone elf stirred and came near to wakefulness, eyes half opened.
"Hmm?"
Glorfindel was thankful for the darkness which enveloped them and murmured. "Dinner is near to ready, Voronwë. Time to get up, lazy elf."
"This bed is just wonderful. I am used to sleeping on the ground."
"Ahh. Well you must rouse yourself for dinner, or the staff will roast YOU. They have prepared a wonderful meal for us." He joked but he did not want to draw attention to what he had just done. Chances were Voronwë remained unaware of it.
The younger elf sat up, and reached a hand behind his head to feel his braid, to see if it had come undone. It was still damp yet intact and not too messy. He had felt the kiss, it was what brought him out of sleep, and not unpleasantly, but it was all too brief for his liking. He debated with himself whether to mention it, return the gesture, or simply let it go as an accidental occurrence.
"You kissed me."
"I did."
"Why did you do that?"
"To see what your lips felt like." Glorfindel always told the truth.
"And?"
"Inconclusive, it was too short to tell really." The warrior smiled in the dark room.
"Ahh. So you are saying a longer kiss would serve your purpose?" Voronwë had never been kissed and so would have liked to be awake for it. A long smooch was just what he wanted.
"Sure."
"Well then, have a go."
"That is not very romantic, Voronwë."
"After what I have been through, Glorfindel, hang romance and kiss me."
Glorfindel would have laughed but did not want to lose this moment, so he cupped Voronwë's face with both large, sword roughened hands. Letting a thumb caress his friend's bottom lip, he leaned in to bring their mouths together. Just before contact he whispered, "Your lips look so soft, not at all touched by the elements."
Voronwë's answer was smothered by Glorfindel's slow growing kiss, gentle at first and building in passion, there in the dimness of that chamber. Dinner would wait, as they gave rein to the first blossom of their longing and love. For long moments they let their mouths touch, embracing and breath mingling. Both felt the thrill of first discovery.
Finally, Glorfindel drew back, a sensuous look in his eye, his lips full and swollen, his hair was tied in a loose knot at the base of his neck, coming undone. He let his hand caress Voronwë's face, the smoothness of his skin. He felt the warmth there.
"We should go eat."
Voronwë nodded, though he appeared befuddled. As they both rose from the bed, he said,"That was my first kiss."
"I had a feeling that was, and technically it was your second. You were asleep for your first."
"You took liberties."
"Yes, and then you asked me to again."
And so they discussed as they left the room for dinner. The staff at the House of the Golden Flower was very discreet so *if* they heard anything of a personal nature, it went no further and *if* anyone was holding hands, no one would know anything about it.
/---/
Idril was delegated the responsibility of seeing to Tuor. This made her unaccountably nervous. Well she supposed she could account for it, as he was dressed in such a way as to make one wonder and he had just pronounced doom on the city that she loved so dearly. As she led him through the royal tower, she babbled, her tendency when not exactly comfortable.
"I am taking you to the guest wing. We will have to find you some clothes. You will not want to stay in that." She waved her hands. "Armor cannot be comfortable really. I have heard that it gets dreadfully uncomfortable when worn for a long period of time and so very heavy after a while. How long have you been wearing that? It is quite amazing that my father's suit fit you after all, though you are just his size, eh?"
I am a ninny, Idril thought to herself, a first class ninny.
Tuor listened politely as he walked down the well lit corridors. He found now that he had done his duty, he was quite tired but he was also simply enjoying Idril Celebrindal and her effusive manner. She talked quite a lot which amused him. She was very beautiful and her feet made no sound on the stone floor. He tried to see what shoes she was wearing but her dress was too long.
"I have lost count of how long I have been wearing this, some months now. And yes it is uncomfortable."
They turned the corner, proceeding through an archway.
"My father said he would like to have you come to dinner tomorrow night. He thought tonight you might be too tired. I think he means to get to know you so he can determine the truth in what you said. Personally, I believe you. Hearing you now and remembering how you spoke in the hall, well, there is no question..."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Idril, my name is Idril."
"Idril."
"Thank you."
As they entered the royal residence, she was greeted by the King's very efficient staff. Idril gave swift directions for quarters to be readied for Tuor, son of Huor, and a small dinner to be prepared and laid out in one of the smaller salons. When all was organized to her satisfaction, the king's daughter turned to the mortal, explaining to him:
"I do not think you should eat by yourself this evening for that might lead to melancholy so I will dine with you, if you do not mind. This is a new place for you and I am quite good company when I am not prattling on about things."
She wanted to assure him that she was not a ninny.
"I imagine you are a fine dinner companion. That would be very nice, Idril. I will enjoy your company very much, once I have changed and had a bath."
Blushing ever so slightly, Idril motioned to the chief of staff for the King.
"Please take Lord Tuor to his quarters and be sure he has adequate clothing. I will see you in about an hour in the small salon. Until then..."
She curtsied as her mother had taught her and hurried off to prepare for their meeting later. For some inexplicable reason it was very important to her that she make a good showing. Tuor watched her leave with a small smile on his face and then followed the other elf to his rooms.
/---/
Maeglin, son of Eol, the dark elf, retired to the House of the Mole to hatch plans. He had no doubt that Tuor spoke true but his words must be contradicted in the mind of the King. There must be enough doubt to...
He had work to do.
To be continued.
Aerlindë=sea chant or song of the sea
Voronwë=steadfast
Bronwë=Sindarin form of Voronwë
Nan-tathren=valley of willows
Laurëa Melda=Golden Beloved
Ondolindë: The Rock of the Music of the Water
For all Ardor in August stories go here: http://www.geocities.com/slashysanta/
Chapter: Two
Author: Phyncke
Email: jhfink@sbcglobal.net
Rating: PG - NC17
Pairing: Voronwë/Glorfindel, Idril/Tuor
Warnings:Character death
Beta:khylea (and errors are mine)
For Request:Voronwë/Glorfindel in Ardor in August 2008
Disclaimer:I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I have borrowed them for my own amusement and for yours I hope.
Summary: The tale of Voronwë the mariner and his odyssey as he charts his course through the First Age from Nevrast, through the building of Gondolin and beyond. He finds his one great love and is a part of the events of that age.
Written for: Jaiden
Chapter summary: Tuor and Voronwë speak before Turgon.
Chapter Two
"We thought you dead, Voronwë, but now we see you come back with a stranger to our midst. How do we know you were not captive of Morgoth and leading his spies here?"
Glorfindel paced the small room in the guard tower, his feet making no sound on the stone floor. He wore soft boots and had a light step. He wanted answers from Voronwë, glad as he was to see his friend, much as he wanted to embrace him and shout for joy at his return.
"I was not captured Glorfindel, but I did not make it to the West."
The mariner recounted his tale, how he had tarried along the journey to Falas finally arriving there to captain the last ship for Valinor. He spoke quickly, wanting Glorfindel to know that he had done as King Turgon had asked him but had not been able to make it to the Undying Lands. He told of their attempt to make it to the Blessed Realm and how madness, hopelessness and despair had plagued the voyage, They had turned back sailing directly into a fierce storm which had blown their vessel against the coast of Nevrast, thus shipwrecking them. So ended their hopes for the journey. All hands been lost but he had been thrown into the ocean. He firmly believed it Ulmo's design that he survived to make it to shore, where he encountered Tuor, son of Huor in Vinyamar, clad in Turgon's garb. The man had spoken prophetic words, meant for the king and even so, Voronwë had been skeptical. Glorfindel stood with arms folded the whole time his friend spoke, betraying nothing in his expression. Finally there was silence and the younger elf sat in his chair nervously.
"Well that was a mouthful, there is no mistake." Glorfindel finally said, amusement evident. He seemed on the brink of laughter.
"You find this funny?!"
"I am just glad to see you Voronwë. I have missed you very much."
"I thought of you, Glorfindel. I wanted to see you again."
"You look older somehow. Changed. I cannot put my finger on it."
And indeed Voronwë did look different. There was more resolve in his countenance, a maturity to his expression and a resolution in his eyes. No young elf was he. Glorfindel imagined he looked broader and taller too.
"I am not different. It is just me."
"Your hair is longer. You will admit that at least." The inquisitor winked at his friend and Voronwë finally laughed. It would be alright. He knew that though they had important tidings for the king.
"Tuor must speak to the King. He has words of import to tell him."
"We will see to it then and you will come too, to vouch for him. Let me tell Ecthelion."
Glorfindel strode quickly out and across the hall to where Tuor sat in stubborn silence and Ecthelion stood openly exasperated. He looked at the stranger with frank curiosity and then imparted all that he had learned to the Lord of the Fountain. At the last, he insisted that they take the two newly arrived elves to the citadel for an audience with Turgon.
"We cannot until we have learned his purpose, Glorfindel. We do not know what he will say."
"There are greater powers at work here, Ecthelion. Did you hear nothing that I said?!" He spoke in a hushed whisper but he was sure that Tuor could overhear him.
"Alright. On your head it will be then."
/---/
Voronwë and Tuor were led into the king's Great Hall in the citadel. Turgon sat enthroned surrounded by his daughter Idril and his closest advisers, including Maeglin, the betrayer. The king had been forewarned of the recent arrivals and sat wondering what news they would bring.
Voronwë came into the hall, leading Tuor, who was still dressed in the king's very own armor. It was this same suit of arms that Turgon had himself left in the abandoned halls of Vinyamar. Ulmo, Valar of the seas had instructed him to do so and said the one who sought him wearing it would have a message of great import regarding his fate. The king showed no visible reaction as he saw the mortal enter dressed in this manner. He did, however, remember the Valar's words many years before.
"Bring him forward, Voronwë the mariner and first speak of your plight since you left Gondolin. I will hear what has happened to you in your travels. Then the newcomer shall speak to me as he will and tell me how he came to be wearing my armor."
Voronwë stood in front of Turgon, king of Gondolin and all of the Noldor elves in Middle Earth, and spoke of what had happened to him since he had left Gondolin years before on the quest assigned to him. He tried to be to the point and not digress, but he found himself doing so. A quick soft cough from Glorfindel, standing behind him a pace or two kept him on track. It was best not to anger the monarch, as he was not known for his kindness when crossed.
"You say you tarried in Nan-tathren? Had I not give you precise command to sail for Valinor as soon as you could?" Turgon asked, his voice deceptively calm.
"Father, let him finish." Idril interrupted. "The time for questions is later, once we have heard all speakers today..."
The dark haired royal sat back on his throne, apparently listening to what his daughter said. He did not appear pleased, however, and his slate grey eyes took on a dangerous gleam.
"Continue!"
Voronwë went on and told his account, the rest of his tale was tragic as they could not find their way to Valinor by any sea route by and upon attempting a return, the ship was tossed, and wrecked in a tumultuous storm. Those present listened raptly while the mariner's voice filled the hall, increasing in volume as he recounted the events.
"It was Ulmo who saved me, helping me get to shore and make it to Nevrast. I am sure of it."
"How do you know?" Maeglin asked skeptically.
"I know in my heart, that is all I can tell you. No one else survived with me, if that indicates anything."
"Go on, Voronwë, continue your tale."
The king leaned forward on his elbows to knees now, intently watching the expression of the speaker for signs of falsehood or evasion. He saw none and did not doubt the veracity of what he told.
The mariner chose to omit certain details, that would not be of interest to anyone but his friends. How he had dragged himself from the sea, laying on the beach to look up at Varda's stars with the sounds of the waves to enchant him, as though Ulmo was lulling him to sleep. And he had slept there, for hours uncounted, so exhausted was he. Eventually he woke to stare up into the face of Tuor, honest and candid, seemingly haloed in stars. Later he would tell this in great detail to Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, who was convinced that the Vala was watching over the elf. For now, though, he kept to what was essential to his narrative, just what the king needed to know.
"And there, in Vinayamar, I met Tuor, son of Huor, arrayed thusly."
He turned to show his new acquaintance and his apparel, the armor of the king himself.
"Did you not think him strange, Voronwë? To be cloaked in King Turgon's own suit of arms?" Again, Maeglin questioned him, loudly, with a biting tone.
"I will owe that I did. I did find it odd, quite frankly."
There was a rippled reaction in those assembled, whispering and a close examination of the appearance of the proud mortal standing unperturbed in front of them. Tuor, stood with arms folded, tall and straight, no blush on his cheek and eyes clear. He observed the king and the king alone, aware of the others, but focused on his assigned message and intent. Ulmo bade him come here to the Hidden City. This was his destiny.
Voronwë finished, retreating to stand beside Glorfindel, breathing more easily now that he was not the center of attention or the focal point of the royal gaze. He was a sailor, unaccustomed to speaking for such gatherings.
"You did well, Voronwë, without guile. You spoke plain and true."
"Thank you." He whispered as Tuor strode forward when summoned.
Much is writ of what happened next in the King's Hall in Gondolin, of how Tuor, of the Atani, pronounced Ulmo's doom upon the city should Turgon not abandon its fairness with his people for Sirion. The mortal spoke in a voice that was not his own. It was deeper, more resonant, seeming to come from every corner of the room at once.
"This is a trick!" Maeglin cried. "He speaks false and will lead us to ruin. He is a conjurer, a charlatan."
Idril gripped her chair tightly but kept silent, knowing that she would have time to speak with her father at a quiet moment. She felt dread descend upon her soul, an icy recognition that Tuor would not lie to them this way. He had the appearance of a righteous man indeed. She did not doubt that he was sent by the Vala to warn them of future events. Her clever mind started to plan, as it always did. She could no more stop her thought's workings than prevent the tide of what would come to pass. Something must be done to make them safe, something.
Turgon sat unmoved on his throne, showing no visible change to his expression.
/---/
"Voronwë, are you hungry? You must be. Shall we get something to eat?"
Glorfindel and Voronwë walked through the city, having left the hall amid the chaos, by silent mutual agreement. The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower thought his friend looked tired and now that this Tuor had spoken, the Gondolindrim could make their way to more comfortable surroundings.
"I, myself, am hungry. I could go for some roast beef and some potatoes, and carrots and fresh baked bread with gravy..." Glorfindel's stomach began to rumble as he tried to think of the last time he ate.
"I take comfort in the fact that you have NOT changed, Glorfindel."
"Not one wit. I can always eat." They exchanged knowing grins.
Voronwë followed Glorfindel through the deserted streets, and the almost maze-like avenues. He looked up to the white towers as they passed, so very different than the terrain he had seen in his travels.
"It looks the same here, untouched by the ravages outside the mountains."
"It IS the same here. We came back and sealed ourselves in tighter than ever. You are the first to come for many years. You have been gone a long time, my friend."
"I know. I did not think I would ever come back here again."
They neared the House of the Golden Flower, entering its gate, walking the cobbled path to an ornate entrance. On cue, the front door opened and they were greeted by Glorfindel's always efficient butler. The elf lord made arrangements for a very large dinner to be served as soon as it could be prepared, also ordering a room made ready for Voronwë to spend the night. He simply assumed his friend would want to stay here.
"Will you stay here, Voronwë? At least tonight? I think it will be easiest for now, we can go see Aerlindë tomorrow morning when you are rested." He did not mention that he was unsure of the status of Voronwë's own home. It was thought that he was lost and thus it might be occupied.
"Aye, aye. That is wise, if you don't mind."
"My house is your house, of course. You will have everything you need here, all for the asking."
"A bath and food in that order."
Glorfindel smiled and made a mock showing of examining Voronwë from head to toe, with a sniff.
"You could use a bath, that much is true."
"You would too if you had traveled as long as I had." Indeed he was covered in grime from the long road he had journeyed.
The golden lord moved forward and laid his hand on Voronwë's shoulder. "I am kidding. I know some of what you have been through and would like to hear it all. I am sure it is an adventure and then some."
"You shall then. But first I will bathe so I do not offend." He smiled and yet enjoyed the proximity. Their closeness brought back memories of long ago, memories that had sustained him on his journey.
The bath was drawn, a chamber appointed and Voronwë luxuriated in the scented, sudsy water. He could not remember a time when he had bathed thus. Usually he hurriedly washed in ice cold rivers, or lakes with a bar of rough soap he carried for those occasions. This was nice. He lathered every inch of his body, cleaned his hair and then lay in the large tub for a long soak until he could make no excuse to stay in and the water was beginning to get cold.
He stood reaching for a plush towel. The day had been so strange and now it seemed so normal. He had gone from the trail to the king's hall to Glorfindel's home where he felt perfectly at home and comfortable. He blotted the water from his skin and then padded into the bedroom, wondering about clothing, only to find a new set laid out on the bed, evidently Glorfindel's own. Chosen for comfort, there was a simple white shirt and black leggings, with a belt provided in case they were too big. The other elf was larger than he after all. Voronwë's own clothing was missing and must have been taken for laundering by the staff. His pack lay empty by the door and his belongings had been put away neatly for his convenience.
Before dressing, Voronwë dried his hair as much as he could, combed it out and braided it neatly in one plait down his back. It was his usual method and he did this as much out of habit as anything else. Not being a vain elf, it did not occur to him to do otherwise. Then he donned the clothing. He observed that while he was as tall as Glorfindel, he was not nearly as broad, and there was quite a lot of room in the shirt. It billowed as he walked but was very comfortable, soft fabric. For the pants, he did make use of the belt for his slighter waist. The length in the leg was just right.
Thinking he might lie down for just a moment, he draped a dry towel over a pillow, and stretched out fully on the bed, letting out a contented sigh. How long since he had reclined on an actual bed, and not the hard ground or the base of a tree? This too was nice.
He would just close his eyes for a *little* while.
/---/
Glorfindel paced the salon, alternately stoking the fire and checking on arrangements for dinner. Finally, he was told that the meal was well in hand; no, his assistance was not needed. That was the polite way his staff had of telling him to "go away". He knew this and did not mind. The food would be excellent, as always, complete with wine, dessert and all the fixings. Voronwë would know the hospitality of the House of the Golden Flower.
Time dragged on, and not one to stay idle, the warrior checked his office for any pending work. He tidied up late supply orders and the other administrative loose ends but checked the time eventually. He began to wonder where his friend was. Had he drowned? That elf was like a fish, thus he found that unlikely. Setting his work aside, he strode up the grand staircase, heading for the guest chamber, knocking politely on the door.
No answer.
And so he knocked again, more loudly this time. No answer that time either.
He eased the door open slowly to peer around at the dim room inside. All became clear as he spied Voronwë asleep atop the coverlet, feet bare, dressed in the garments he had left earlier. He entered silently, closing the door with no sound. The sleeping elf did not move but he did snore softly, as he always had. Glorfindel smiled at that and at the many fond memories he had of their joking under star-filled skies deep in the mountains. It was a comfort to know some things would never change about his friend. Moving to the bed, the elf lord sat down and watched the other elf while he slumbered. No trouble seemed to worry him in his dreams and he appeared peaceful in his reverie.
No wonder he was tired, the elder elf mused; to travel all that way and with the worry of bringing this mortal to the king? His lips seemed so soft. Why were they not weathered from all that time at sea? Who knew how long they tried to get to Valinor and the sea was vast and fearsome, winds, sun and waves. Glorfindel frowned as he looked down upon the smooth face, tranquil expression and closed eyes. Later he would wonder why he did this but *as* he did it there was no hesitation. He leaned close and kissed Voronwë's slightly open mouth, to see what those full lips felt like, and they were just as soft as they looked.
The prone elf stirred and came near to wakefulness, eyes half opened.
"Hmm?"
Glorfindel was thankful for the darkness which enveloped them and murmured. "Dinner is near to ready, Voronwë. Time to get up, lazy elf."
"This bed is just wonderful. I am used to sleeping on the ground."
"Ahh. Well you must rouse yourself for dinner, or the staff will roast YOU. They have prepared a wonderful meal for us." He joked but he did not want to draw attention to what he had just done. Chances were Voronwë remained unaware of it.
The younger elf sat up, and reached a hand behind his head to feel his braid, to see if it had come undone. It was still damp yet intact and not too messy. He had felt the kiss, it was what brought him out of sleep, and not unpleasantly, but it was all too brief for his liking. He debated with himself whether to mention it, return the gesture, or simply let it go as an accidental occurrence.
"You kissed me."
"I did."
"Why did you do that?"
"To see what your lips felt like." Glorfindel always told the truth.
"And?"
"Inconclusive, it was too short to tell really." The warrior smiled in the dark room.
"Ahh. So you are saying a longer kiss would serve your purpose?" Voronwë had never been kissed and so would have liked to be awake for it. A long smooch was just what he wanted.
"Sure."
"Well then, have a go."
"That is not very romantic, Voronwë."
"After what I have been through, Glorfindel, hang romance and kiss me."
Glorfindel would have laughed but did not want to lose this moment, so he cupped Voronwë's face with both large, sword roughened hands. Letting a thumb caress his friend's bottom lip, he leaned in to bring their mouths together. Just before contact he whispered, "Your lips look so soft, not at all touched by the elements."
Voronwë's answer was smothered by Glorfindel's slow growing kiss, gentle at first and building in passion, there in the dimness of that chamber. Dinner would wait, as they gave rein to the first blossom of their longing and love. For long moments they let their mouths touch, embracing and breath mingling. Both felt the thrill of first discovery.
Finally, Glorfindel drew back, a sensuous look in his eye, his lips full and swollen, his hair was tied in a loose knot at the base of his neck, coming undone. He let his hand caress Voronwë's face, the smoothness of his skin. He felt the warmth there.
"We should go eat."
Voronwë nodded, though he appeared befuddled. As they both rose from the bed, he said,"That was my first kiss."
"I had a feeling that was, and technically it was your second. You were asleep for your first."
"You took liberties."
"Yes, and then you asked me to again."
And so they discussed as they left the room for dinner. The staff at the House of the Golden Flower was very discreet so *if* they heard anything of a personal nature, it went no further and *if* anyone was holding hands, no one would know anything about it.
/---/
Idril was delegated the responsibility of seeing to Tuor. This made her unaccountably nervous. Well she supposed she could account for it, as he was dressed in such a way as to make one wonder and he had just pronounced doom on the city that she loved so dearly. As she led him through the royal tower, she babbled, her tendency when not exactly comfortable.
"I am taking you to the guest wing. We will have to find you some clothes. You will not want to stay in that." She waved her hands. "Armor cannot be comfortable really. I have heard that it gets dreadfully uncomfortable when worn for a long period of time and so very heavy after a while. How long have you been wearing that? It is quite amazing that my father's suit fit you after all, though you are just his size, eh?"
I am a ninny, Idril thought to herself, a first class ninny.
Tuor listened politely as he walked down the well lit corridors. He found now that he had done his duty, he was quite tired but he was also simply enjoying Idril Celebrindal and her effusive manner. She talked quite a lot which amused him. She was very beautiful and her feet made no sound on the stone floor. He tried to see what shoes she was wearing but her dress was too long.
"I have lost count of how long I have been wearing this, some months now. And yes it is uncomfortable."
They turned the corner, proceeding through an archway.
"My father said he would like to have you come to dinner tomorrow night. He thought tonight you might be too tired. I think he means to get to know you so he can determine the truth in what you said. Personally, I believe you. Hearing you now and remembering how you spoke in the hall, well, there is no question..."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Idril, my name is Idril."
"Idril."
"Thank you."
As they entered the royal residence, she was greeted by the King's very efficient staff. Idril gave swift directions for quarters to be readied for Tuor, son of Huor, and a small dinner to be prepared and laid out in one of the smaller salons. When all was organized to her satisfaction, the king's daughter turned to the mortal, explaining to him:
"I do not think you should eat by yourself this evening for that might lead to melancholy so I will dine with you, if you do not mind. This is a new place for you and I am quite good company when I am not prattling on about things."
She wanted to assure him that she was not a ninny.
"I imagine you are a fine dinner companion. That would be very nice, Idril. I will enjoy your company very much, once I have changed and had a bath."
Blushing ever so slightly, Idril motioned to the chief of staff for the King.
"Please take Lord Tuor to his quarters and be sure he has adequate clothing. I will see you in about an hour in the small salon. Until then..."
She curtsied as her mother had taught her and hurried off to prepare for their meeting later. For some inexplicable reason it was very important to her that she make a good showing. Tuor watched her leave with a small smile on his face and then followed the other elf to his rooms.
/---/
Maeglin, son of Eol, the dark elf, retired to the House of the Mole to hatch plans. He had no doubt that Tuor spoke true but his words must be contradicted in the mind of the King. There must be enough doubt to...
He had work to do.
To be continued.
Aerlindë=sea chant or song of the sea
Voronwë=steadfast
Bronwë=Sindarin form of Voronwë
Nan-tathren=valley of willows
Laurëa Melda=Golden Beloved
Ondolindë: The Rock of the Music of the Water
For all Ardor in August stories go here: http://www.geocities.com/slashysanta/