Home's Tale by Haeron

---

Chapter 8

---

The love Ecthelion bore New Gondolin was astounding and apparent most merrily as he guided us around the village. He might have stopped to stoop and tell us of each flower rising from the green turf and each leaf upon the tall, thin trees had the sun not already been perched at her zenith. We had an appointment to keep, but haste was not a thing that existed here in these fae lands though I felt I might have carried some over in my blood, ha! But it was in this opportunity for leisure and calm that Glorfindel basked in, of course, his own love of the land starting to blossom to a fierce and beautiful thing despite us only having arrived a handful of days ago, but New Gondolin was the vision of his ancient city as it should have been; peaceful, quiet and most of all - whole and unspoiled by the hand of evil.

 

Ecthelion was younger of face than I had expected. He laughed often and freely and his hair was dark and exotic and laced with silver and jewels; modest in the way a Lord may be modest. He and Glorfindel struck an imposing image together.

 

To see them now it was almost as though the Fall had never happened. They walked side by side (with me pottering along half a pace behind) and spoke quite plainly of past, present and future but then what else did I expect? For them to be recounting the moment of their dooms to one another under the tree blossoms? No, of course not. But such a conversation would take place, I had no doubt, in some form or another and it would not be a conversation I would be privy to. It was an entirely understandable thing but still it sat uneasily with me. Rationality, however was a quality I had long since bypassed on my descent.

 

Think not of it, I thought, and concentrated quite intently on matching my footsteps to Glorfindel’s.

 

We were being taken to a fountain and as you might expect, it belonged to Ecthelion. Created in the visage of its predecessor (or so I was told), it was strewn with the symbols of renewal appropriate to his Household, with silver chains and iced diamonds encrusting the base of polished marble. There were flowers growing in a tidy bed part way around the fountain, small yellow halos with full petals and green stalks well-watered, and as grand a piece of architectural design the fountain was, it was these flowers that captured my attention so.

 

My footsteps faltered. A second glance was required. They were Glorfindel’s flowers, the symbol he had bore across the Ages -- growing around Ecthelion’s fountain. I coughed suddenly to mask my balking (a knee-jerk reaction to such unfortunate surprises) and Glorfindel turned to ask if I were alright and smiled sweetly when I nodded my untruthful affirmation.

 

‘Good morrow to you, ladies! Though soon the morrow will turn to noon, forgive our lateness -- our tour took us longer than anticipated.’ Ecthelion was declaring loudly to a group of finely dressed elleth gathered around the fountain seat. They looked to us three with bright faces, etched upon which were age and wisdom and their features were unfamiliar and striking to me, much in the way Glorfindel’s had been when first he came to Rivendell.

 

Over we stepped and joined them around the still water, perching on the marble flat of the fountain’s edge. It was not the most pleasant seat, I can tell you, but nobody else seemed to mind much. You’ve spent too much time in cosy armchairs, Erestor. I was in the company of warriors now, after all, and so straightened my back in the hope these ladies might think I had been a might warrior, too. The women were overjoyed to see their golden stranger returned to them and greeted him each, one by one (he knew all their names), some pinched his cheeks as a mother might a wayward child and I must admit the sight was heart-warming. ‘Worry not,’ they said. ‘We can make allowances for our lost Lord and his guest!’

 

Guest? Guest. I blinked and might have smiled incredulously. Was I of such little import that I was considered a mere guest? Nothing more? Blessedly, they mistook my bemusement for politeness but Glorfindel, having been bound to me too long to mistake such a smile of mine, mistook nothing.

 

‘Pray, address him as befits an elf of his standing and reputation,’ he said, using a hand to gesture at me as though I were a sculpture for their perusal. The ladies looked at me, curious, Ecthelion was watching Glorfindel with a proud sort of smile just turning the corners of his lips and I reckoned I knew his thoughts. Yes, he is settling back into the life quite wonderfully isn’t he? Ecthelion’s joy was destined to be twinned with my anxiety, it seemed.

 

‘And who is he? asked an elleth whose voice was rich and whose eyes held mine steadfast when to her I turned. It reminded me of Elrond’s little trick, how he might distract you with conversation whilst he picks and chooses what information he seeks most from your open mind, like picking a ripe grape from a vine. ‘This sweet, young thing without a name.’

 

‘Advisor to the High King Gil-Galad, Elrond Half-elven’s chief counsellor, guardian of the Evenstar, and my husband.’

 

It was the first bliss I had felt for such a long time, being introduced so by one who spoke each word as the complete, indisputable truth. Glorfindel met my eyes and lifted my hand to his lips and I dared, for a second or two, to caress his cheek. As if on cue there came a dreamy sigh from the congregation of elleth gathered witnessing our little display of affection and immediately I withdrew to a more forthright position (if a blush had crept onto my cheeks I will never admit it). Glorfindel laughed, a sound to warm the heart.

 

He put an arm around my shoulders and drew me close.

 

‘And his name is Erestor.’

 

***

 

We dined upon the grass that day and the fruits were sweet, light and cleansing to the palate of mine that had been so bitter of late. I seated myself with the women of the fountain who, I found much to my surprise, proved to be excellent company. Each spoke as I might speak and in time (and after many cautious slices of orange and apple and pear) I added my own voice to theirs; they welcomed it and thick and fast we fell into familiar conversation.

 

Of Lindon, Imladris and Lórien they wanted to know and I readily accepted their questions though my heart hurt still at the memory of those places so recently departed. I asked myself what I truly missed; the lands themselves or the life I had when I abode therein? Most likely it was a melancholy mixture of the two, colouring my voice so that the elleth smiled and one patted my knee with a delicate hand, asking instead of Arwen and the twins and their youths spent in the embrace of the valley.

 

I agreed to the request, it would be a delight to recall those images to mind but only on the promise that they, in turn, tell me of Idril and her child when they could be named “young”. They smiled, the women of New Gondolin, and said of course.

 

And it might have been a wonderful afternoon in which I could have returned to myself and learned of a few secrets which might delight Elrond when next we met, had not my attentions been drawn constantly to Ecthelion and Glorfindel, sat a little ways off from our group and talking animatedly about something or the other. Try as I might to eavesdrop nonchalantly, I could not pick up a word of their speech that made sense to me.

 

One of the ladies (with fine, long lashes and a most mischievous smirk) saw how my concentration wavered in my storytelling upon a time, and saw too the cause of it. She hummed in the way that portents further speech and I felt my gut contract at such a sound paired with a most knowing glance.

 

‘Now that he has seen it may be done, he’ll take a leaf from your book, dear Erestor, and sink his claws into Glorfindel just as deeply!’ and then, to my absolute disbelief, she and a handful of others found this to be amusing. They laughed and it sounded like the birdsong from the sparrows and starlings that flitted overhead to chase the small flies up into the clouds. Yet to me its sweetness was marred by stark absurdity that had struck me like a flat blow to the stomach. Was I completely uncultured? Was this the very height of Gondolin-esque humour?

 

Ridicule, really?

 

Even if it had been - I still would not have laughed.

 

‘Pay them no mind, Erestor!’ said the elleth who had first inquired after my name, seeing my distinct lack of mirth. ‘Do not tease him so! He’s done well with Glorfindel, this small raven of ours. You’ve made him happy, at last.’ and she smiled then, warmly, so that I understood her words held no mocking undertone.

 

I bowed to convey my thanks and held my tongue as chatter struck up once again. I let it wash over me without listening too intently to their lilting voices and light laughter that so matched the lay of the land upon which we sat; the flowers nodded their heads though the breeze was light as if they listened and laughed too. To Glorfindel I looked then, regretting slightly how easy it had been to see myself become disinterested in converse with my new acquaintances. He was caught in the raptures of laughter and I had not seen him so merry in such a long time; I exhaled.

 

The elleth, as wise as she might be, was wrong; I had not made him happy, of course not! I had broken his heart and now who was it restoring his spirit? Not me, that was quite certain. I was offered another slice of fruit and I took a shining segment of orange, holding it between my fingers for a moment and testing its elasticity with a slight pinch.

 

If Ecthelion could heal him, my husband of centuries, then perhaps some good would come of our sojourn. It should be me, I told myself as I bit shyly into the orange, I should be the one sat with him and to whom he might confide. But then any conversation of serious matters would have turned to disaster with me in my current state, no, it would not be possible. I would need to find my own healer in this foreign place, though I had long since come to believe there was only one who might save me now.

 

All I had to do was persuade him to the task.

 

‘Whatever are you thinking of, Erestor? With a look as profound as yours I simply must know.’ I was asked and a dozen eager faces with two dozen shining eyes echoed the question so I felt quite on the spot.

 

I took my time in finishing my orange slice and then it was my turn to hmm and hum.

 

‘That,’ I said, licking my lips and smiling as best I remembered. ‘Would be telling. My secrets are worth more than just a polite request to their unfurling.’

 

A ripple of laughter, a dozen white smiles.

 

‘Elbereth, fetch him the wine, then!’