Home's Tale by Haeron

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Chapter 7

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New Gondolin had very much captured the spirit of its predecessor and the carvings on the marble pillars and doorways were etched with a kind of longing so strong that even I, a stranger to both dwellings whether past or present, could feel it. It was a pleasant village where the essence of ancient grandeur was whisked about on the breeze, not quite a city yet, but with many rows of modest houses with flower gardens and blossoming hedgerows; the plants turned their leaves to the sun and indeed, Anor seemed to favour the place and she shod it with light.

 

She shone on Glorfindel too, as ever she would, and he and I walked hand in hand down into the main square of the village along a neat path of chipped bark and pebbles. He was rife with excitement he worked hard to contain and his earnestness was utterly endearing to me. I might have felt young to see the sweet smile on his face, fair and bright with relief and longing come to fruition, but darker, more base thoughts broiled within me; I had become a melting pot of the macabre and bubbled with dread, jealously, and a profound discomfort within the bones of my own body.

 

I swallowed it all down and smiled to him who was pointing out the sigils above the doors and the colours of the plant pots that all had the most apt meanings. The folk of Gondolin would always have an affinity with symbols, it would seem.

 

He called out that we were almost there and my nerves must have displayed on my face for he laughed and bade me not be nervous. I smiled to him, again, and for the pure innocence of his request, but it was no true smile. The guilt I bore for the merriment it caused him and his answering beam was a weighty thing. I smiled because I could not do anything else; if I talked I feared I would retch and that would not have granted me a favourable first impression amongst these esteemed villagers at all.

 

‘Erestor,’ he said, slowing to call me back to life. ‘Erestor look at me.’

 

And I did.

 

‘I love you,’ said he, quite seriously, and with his free hand he brushed the back of his fingers down my cheek. I delighted in the touch utterly and might have closed my eyes for but a moment before recalling where I stood and the situation at hand.

 

He told me again that he loved me and I believed him, truly I did. So why do I feel as I do? I asked myself with no real hope that an answer existed; reason would be denied me for so long as I denied myself the frank truth, it was a fitting punishment and one I embraced though not without griping about it.

 

We were walking into the final home where dwelt the heroes of lore, we were come to heal the last of Glorfindel’s hurts garnered from two lives of ill-made war; I should have been ecstatic or at least hopeful - but as it was, I felt nothing short of sick.

 

***

 

Ecthelion greeted us (both Glorfindel and myself, much to my own surprise) like old friends and brothers and his enthusiasm was such that it left me stunned and unable to ruminate at all, a blessing in disguise. He clasped Glorfindel’s shoulder and they stared at one another for a time until Ecthelion turned his gaze to me, standing rather sheepishly at Glorfindel’s side. I dread to think how I appeared; a fraught little thing, a pure raven child of the Noldor come to his tranquil home with a dourness that might well have manifested as a black raincloud above my head.

 

At least it is better than retching.

 

He looked away from me without word and only smiled, insisting we enter his home with a voice that was kind and musical and pleasing to the ear. His door was silver and Glorfindel stepped through eagerly to begin a barrage of conversation that I knew would last many days yet, naturally. Neither of them could stop grinning nor laughing and I found myself standing in the doorway, unsure what to do. It was not a feeling I was (or am) used to and I liked it not at all, yet how could I have demanded attention for myself at that moment? I could not.

 

They chattered away as we were given a brief tour around Ecthelion’s home with the promise we would come to know it all soon enough. Glorfindel laughed, I laughed; it was all very civilised. His house was quite lovely, in fact, the rooms were spacious with the kinds of tall windows I recognised from my studies of ancient architecture, there were handsome beams in the ceiling of dark wood and the kitchen smelled of bread and sugared cakes. Dotted about on the surfaces and shelves (lacking a certain artistry in their construction that was abundant in Imladris, I must say) were the kinds of trinkets I knew would stir Glorfindel to pleasant memory of his time in Gondolin, and indeed he remarked at them as we went and a new, heady conversation began in which I had no part. Just as Glorfindel was reminded of the home he once named so, I was reminded how I had not. It became apparent with each footstep placed behind those of theirs that I was very much a stranger to these memories, to this house...

 

Was it jealousy that twinged at me then, as I saw Ecthelion take Glorfindel’s bags up to our room? Ah, I feel as though we come now to the ugly heart of the issue -- but do not do me the disservice of attributing my mottled grief to jealousy alone, pray. But I felt the barb of something very alike to irritation as they gambolled up the stairs, Ecthelion with Glorfindel’s possessions and Glorfindel with my own. Neither of them looked back and so I wondered if I were even supposed to follow them at all!

 

The most obscene thought (that I neglect to put into words very much on purpose) accosted me then and I deemed it prudent that I did follow, and took the opportunity whilst they nattered to cast a glance at the artworks on the walls, into any rooms where the door might just slightly be ajar and where I maybe ought not to be peeping. Ecthelion laughed suddenly and loudly and I near toppled back down the staircase, whispering a frantic oath under my breath as I clung to the banister for dear, grim life.

 

It seemed as though they were continuing a conversation started three Ages ago judging by the familiarity with which they spoke to one another and all the jokes interwove into their speech that left me none the wiser. I had never seen Glorfindel in such a mood, true, his idiolect always shifted when he spoke to his men and fellow soldiers, but now he spoke with an ease and a joy I had only ever heard him use speaking to one other: namely myself. Erestor, I warned myself, feed not the beast in your breast. Sound advice, soundly ignored.

 

I almost walked in to Glorfindel, not noticing our tour had come to an end. As I bumped into him gently he wound an arm about my shoulders and despite all I had just suffered I felt myself smiling upon receiving such a gesture. We were stood in the doorway of the guest room which was to become our room, my stomach lurched. I deliberately did not peep into that room.

 

‘But the hour of the evening comes soon and these lands are a fine spot for our horses, will you come riding with us?’ Ecthelion asked, quite merrily.

 

‘Aye, a mighty idea!’ Glorfindel said, agreeing on the spot. I could not fault him so, his joy was often in riding and the journey across the sea had long separated him from his steed. The journey to New Gondolin had not been the galloping across golden fields which was promised to him now, either.

 

Temptation stirred in my husband.

 

‘And you, Erestor?’ Ecthelion asked, my name sounding familiar on his tongue already. I felt myself seize up at the question, surprised that an invitation had been issued to me at all. Ecthelion mistook whatever tumult I was feeling for reluctance, apparently. ‘Do not feel compelled so say yes as quickly as your husband, here, there’s plenty else to do if the wilds are not to your liking!’

 

‘Then thank you. I will remain here upon two legs,’ said I. ‘The city is new to me in a way it is not to Glorfindel, I will find somewhere to be.’

 

Glorfindel kissed the side of my temple and asked, for my ears alone, if I was certain. I said I was very certain indeed and he gave me a look of understanding marbled with a sadness that had not been my intent. I wanted to kiss him and take away that look in his eye and would have done so if not for the third one of us stood in the doorway. Ecthelion, however, smiled too, ‘Very well,’ he said, still rather cheerily.

 

He was a perfect host which only served to heighten my guilt -- amongst other things of a less savoury nature. And plenty of time I was given to dwell on defining them to a morbid clarity as I walked the path to the stables with my husband and his greatest friend of cherished lore. The light had turned soft and orange by the dusky magic of the evening and I watched them ride out together along with a handful of others, away into a clear sky beyond the village. The two legends of Gondolin, the Lords of the Golden Flower and the Fountain by the side of the other again at last. They had been immortalised in ink and stone together as Glorfindel and I had never been, no, not in all our years of marriage.

 

And I wondered then would more tales be told of them as the pair all Arda knew them to be? Is his soul truly complete now? I thought. Is he whole at last? It was a dour time when it should have been the utter opposite. Even if such thoughts were true I questioned myself as to why I would feel so grimly about it being so, why should I not want such for Glorfindel? It was absurd! I was absurd, quite absolutely and yes, I see you agree.

 

I walked back to the house, ignoring completely Ecthelion’s words of there being plenty else to do. Nothing appealed to me more than sleep, dreamless and deep and undisturbed. When I reached the doorway I turned to look down the rows of houses, through the branches of the trees where the sun tried so very hard to reach me. It was gorgeous, New Gondolin was the haven Glorfindel had always dreamt.

 

But I was stood alone and resigned myself to watch whereas I should have made a grander effort, oh, I knew that from the start. The village was beautiful, bathed in a sunset glow, but as I looked to yonder I saw only each facet of my life, tarnished, and falling out from under me.

 

I fell.