Home's Tale by Haeron

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Chapter 6

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Glorfindel was merry as an elfing on the road from Celebrían’s cottage. His glee was abundant as he trotted along upon his pale horse, following the worn pathways where a blanket of yellow and green leaves stretched on before us. I followed, more demurely, leading my own tan mare in his wake and wondered what thought enthused my husband the most; the chance to walk a road absent threat of orcs and foul creatures lying in wait? The sojourn through the fabled countryside of the Undying Lands? Or, as I suspected was most likely, (my stomach complained at my certainty) our impending visit to New Gondolin?

 

We crossed paths with countless other elves journeying here and there, some with children, some alone and some with great bands of followers cutting across the land with their banners streaming behind them on silver poles. It was strange seeing so many wayfarers taking so eagerly to travel but then why not? The great danger of the outdoors was not known here and I needed remind myself on more than one occasion that not every elf was as I; preferring to reside and dwell in one fixed place.

 

I was unused to taking to the road without a larger company of elves and diplomats at my flank, but Glorfindel was no stranger to such cross-country endeavours and needed only stop for directions (and inevitably end up chattering away to whatever poor sod he happened across) twice or thrice. Days went by without incident and we did not speak of our argument or the ripple of deceit (mine and mine alone) that had cracked our foundation, but I often felt his eyes on me when I rode ahead. He had begun to regard me warily.

 

Is that what I have become? thought I to myself. A creature that requires a constant eye? A fuse about to blow?

 

I felt so sometimes. Every stretch of land we passed saw me grow quieter and retreat into the internal grinding solitude that I had slipped into at Celebrían’s cottage. Glorfindel would smile and crack all the jokes that had sailed with him to Valinor, much to my despair, and I would laugh and play the part of a whole, hale elf that was not dreading completely arriving at journey’s end.

 

In the moments where his gaze lingered elsewhere and my facade was allowed to slip, I resented myself fiercely. I was becoming a pretender, a shape shifter and complete liar -- and yet I had the power to absolve myself and neglected to embrace it! My heart would not allow it, my mouth could not form the words though upon a night I tried and took Glorfindel’s hands and willed myself to frank speech. It was a folly; I could not do it.

 

My heart hurt and it was a pain as cruel as any blunt blow from a sword, I tell you that much.

 

It hurt for him and for his love; the affection of which I was most assuredly undeserving. Glorfindel would try and soothe me on the nights we lay together in our modest tent out in the wild, under the blanket of the dark pinpricked with stars. My thoughts were as tangled as the tree branches that grasped for each other in the dark and it was a grim comfort to see in nature what within me. The open air provided a kind of distraction, it must be said. Such an outdoor experience I had not had in centuries, not since the war, and I longed to share it with Glorfindel, to touch him with the fervour I knew lived within me but my hands shook when I reached for him.

 

They had shaken when we had made love for the first time, too, and often I found myself recalling those bygone nights where the gulf between us was but a dreaded nightmare. Glorfindel mistook my trembles for cold shivers and the innocence of the man (whose heart must beat with molten kindness, I am certain) bade me accept his tightened embrace and answer it with one of my own.

 

The truth of it was not that I was cold, how could I have been with the body of the balrog slayer pressed so close against my own? No, it was fear that caused me to shake. I was afraid and remembered the words he had said in the garden, come back now to haunt me. I was afraid I was going to lose him and it was the first time such a fear had taken full shape and meaning. I was going to push him away. I was going to live a life alone. Without him, without Glorfindel...

 

And so, one day where the clouds were knitted together, I told him of my mind or at least, began to. We were stood by a brook that looked like it had been transferred to the land straight from one of the paintings of the First Age and Glorfindel had been knelt, splashing his face with the clear water. He had looked at me and rose to stand.

 

‘That could never be so,’ he said with a smile. ‘Never.’

 

I wondered if he truly believed that but dared not question him lest he admit so and his ‘beliefs’ shatter to glass. As content as I had been with his response, he was less satisfied with my own; contemplative silence and a nod of the head. I was watching the leaves ferry to and fro on the current of the brook, like small upturned boats for the butterflies and ladybirds if ever they dared travel by sea and fall from the air.

 

‘I know what it is you are thinking about again. You must put it aside.’ he said, airily, kneeling to cup more water in his hands and wake himself with a splash of it to his face. The leaf-boats quaked at the disturbance. ‘The history books are prone to lies of omission, or even outright lies depending on the cronky old scholar who wrote them - you should know that! They over exaggerate, Erestor, because sometimes history requires it.’

 

I’d smiled at his jest and even believed him for a moment, he knew how to placate me with logic and sensibility and it worked each time he applied it. Privately, we both wished it could be so simple, that the blame might be affixed to a historian with an agenda not befitting the pages of ancient conquest. It became a brief time of peace where I watched him rub his eyes and wash his hands and I fell to other thoughts besides theone that most often dominated my waking hours.

 

Where was everyone else? Lindir, Gildor, the twins, Arwen...

 

Where were they?

 

Out of reach, all of them.

 

Glorfindel looked up to me. There were crystalline droplets of pure stream water rolling down his face and then his neck. His gaze softened as might have mine (he was a marvel of physical geography, even clothed), he blinked his golden lashes and smiled the smile he reserved for his gentler moments and for my more despairing ones.

 

‘We will be home soon, Erestor. Fret not.’

 

I smiled, but no, it was he who would find his home amongst the legends of the city to which we travelled. Gondolin would be his home as long as he drew breath, but me? No. My home was neither behind me nor in front.

 

I said nothing of this, and took Glorfindel’s outstretched hand to pull him to his feet.