Home's Tale by Haeron

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Chapter 9

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I began to realise one thing in New Gondolin; none of the folk there seemed to understand the allure of an evening spent indoors, beside a fireplace with a cup of something warm between one’s hands. No, such traditions were completely alien and most days, afternoons, evenings and nights were spent outdoors; in all weather, too, I might add. Clouds and showers brooked no bother for these strange elves and whilst they delighted in the open air and blanket sky I often found myself longing for the comforts of a home; one with a roof, a ceiling and four solid walls.

 

Reclusive? Yes, an apt word that has been used to my description more than once! And I admit it freely, but mind you do not smirk overmuch.

 

The longing came often on the mornings and evening spent out in the tulip garden or at the side of the fountain, perched on the edge of the seat and the conversation, laughing appropriately whenever it seemed prudent to do so but otherwise retreating to my own thoughts. I daresay the people of New Gondolin quickly considered me a recluse, too, but they said nothing and continued to issue to me invitations to gatherings despite my growing reputation as a mute.

 

One day that stirs my memory and quite finely illustrates my point (along with another that will become abundantly clear, momentarily), was a rather overcast day where the wind and breeze were absent and the trees swayed not. The clouds were heavy overhead but for the joy and cheer of the dozen elves sat on patchwork blankets in the goat fields (yes, you heard me rightly), the skies might have been blue. Tea and scones were passed around and I was glad for the food; if I was eating, I would not be expected to talk - no civilised elf would dream of speaking with a mouth full of baked goods.

 

The elleth from the fountain episode had seated herself beside me and passed me butter and a heavy butter knife. She asked if I liked the large flowers neatly potted in terracotta bowls and I said I did indeed, and true, their colours were of an astounding vibrancy; orange, red and yellow. Yet it was for the sight of a wispy dandelion clock that I longed for most, and the elleth nodded quite understandably as I told her so.

 

In her I had found something of a confidante. She was older than most who dwelt within the neat stone houses and offered the kind of brusque advice and unflinching honesty that reminded me again, in large part, of Elrond. She laughed when I told these things to her, and told me I needed more wine, which incidentally was just what Elrond would have said.

 

It was a bittersweet thing, the memory of Elrond. He was further away from me than ever before and I could not help but wonder if I’d have been in the mess I was if fate had seen fit to keep us side by side. Something told me that I would, and I was inclined to agree.

 

‘Watch your scone, dear, the goats are nosey today.’ said the elleth and I did not understand her meaning until I looked down and saw one of the small goats the folk kept in tended fields sniffing eagerly at the scone held absently in my hands. I broke a bit of and threw it to the poor thing, a picnic in a goat field, thought I to myself as I watched it gobble up the crumbs, whoever heard of such an idea!

 

‘Perhaps it’s better not to drift off when such hungry beasts lurk nearby,’ I mused aloud and the elleth chuckled, tossing a piece of her own scone to the goat who, I was sure, would continue to linger by us in the hopes of more airborne teatime treats.

 

He would have to remain unsatisfied, however, and had only just finished nibbling amongst the grass for any last errant crumbs when he was startled at the elleth’s sudden call. His ears pricked up as mine might have done if I were a goat.

 

That was a very strange thought, Erestor.

 

‘Glorfindel!’ she chimed, beckoning. She needn’t have, he looked to have been seeking us out anyway and wore a smile that put a flutter in my heart. ‘Glorfindel, come, share a moment with us.’

 

‘I will indeed!’ he replied, jogging the last few metres before setting himself down heavily at my side. He put his hand on my knee and gave me a very meaningful look that I met for as long as I dared before glancing quickly at the aged elleth. She nodded once, an instruction beyond words that made me wonder just how much she knew... ‘I must have a word with Erestor, and steal him from your company for a minute.’

 

‘More than a minute, I’m sure.’ said the elleth, smiling with a raised brow.

 

More than a minute, I hope, thought I.

 

‘But at any rate,’ the matron said, rising to her feet with grace that was the blessing of the females of the village. ‘I will leave you to your words and give you the privacy your union merits, but mind you don’t let these goats sneak up on you.’

 

She gave me a look, a very pointed look, of intent I could not discern; it seemed encouraging somehow, as though she willed me speak my mind or attempt to unburden my soul out here in the goat field. I wished she wouldn’t go; a dread came upon me that was utterly wrong -- what if indeed Glorfindel had come for serious conversation?

 

I was not ready, not yet, no...

 

‘Erestor,’ he said, softly, turning my face to his with a light finger under my chin. The elleth was a figure in billowing ribbons of purple, stark against the grey backdrop of clouds that now seemed to press down upon me. My breathing became shallow and ever so slightly laboured, I am not ready, I told myself, over and over. ‘Erestor, is everything alright? What sudden fright grips you?’

 

It was the fear of truth, of admitting and telling the truth. I might have laughed at the monstrosity of it but no, I shook my head and forced down the broiling fear. ‘Worry not,’ said I, not even convincing myself. ‘What words did you come to break and what of their heaviness?’

 

‘Let them be light and happily received, I beseech the Valar.’ Glorfindel said with a smile and pressed a kiss to the corner of my eye, then another. Our cheeks brushed and for a moment there was bliss that outweighed the twinge of apprehension at his words and their portent, for a moment I surrendered to him and forget all else that was not his touch.

 

When he pulled away to better look me in the eye, I sighed and much might have been conveyed in the sound that I was certain did not go unheard. Glorfindel took my hand between both of his and I was reminded of the day in Imladris, seated amidst the blossom trees with the roaring falls at our back and the songbirds overhead. The scene did not seem real as I recalled it, it seemed more dream than memory -- the day we had spoken of our desire to be joined and bound by vow and body...

 

Today’s conversation would not bring such joy, I was certain. Glorfindel blinked slowly, golden eyelashes lidding eyes that watched me and my reactions keenly.

 

‘Erestor, what say you to a little sojourn? Myself and a handful of others plan to ride out to the brook between the hills. It’s fine land and even finer company and I’d have you at my side to see it with.’

 

Hope, freshly born, faded quickly to bitter ash. As much as I knew I should say aye and grit my teeth, I found myself shaking my head.

 

‘A kind offer for them to include me in, but one I must decline.’ I lowered my eyes. Glorfindel gave my hands a squeeze but I still would not lift them to his lest both our hearts crack and fracture.

 

‘You must? Erestor, I miss your company, recently,’ he said, quietly, earnestly.

 

Say ‘yes’ you fool, swallow your pride and say ‘yes’!

 

‘As I have missed yours, love, as I have missed yours.’

 

‘Then come with me! Let’s not suffer apart a moment longer, your loneliness and mine need not last beyond tonight,’ he kissed me, sweetly, just a chaste brush. Truth was on his lips, sweetness too and just a hint of butter and scones. ‘Ecthelion will be there, also.’

 

Would he really.

 

I was irked. Glorfindel might have noticed the rigidity in my stance then, he moved away to view my face, my posture in full and rubbed his thumbs over the back of my hands. I worked hard to keep my voice neutral and even more so to keep the words civilised.

 

‘Then you must ride with him, he can be your company for the evening, can he not?’

 

‘I’d have you, too, Erestor. He asks of you often and begins to wonder why we never, the three of us, spend any time together besides when we happen to come together for breakfast. We live in his house, partake of his food and drink and now dwell within his village! If you must, consider it nothing more than courtesy but please, reconsider.’

 

Courtesy? The word struck me like a blow and I knew I must escape the conversation quickly lest I deal Glorfindel some barb of venom or bare my teeth unkindly. But I would not ride out with him and Ecthelion, I would not, I was absolutely certain, and pure Noldorin stubbornness had gripped me in its bejewelled, iron gauntlet and there was a grip that did not yield, as history would have you know only too well.

 

‘I will retire to the house in due time, Glorfindel, and I will not ask that you come with me just as I wish you will not force this decision upon me, now.’ I said, rather clinically. His eyes widened with a horror profound and innocent, he held my hands tighter still and shook his head.

 

‘Force you? No, I’d never! But Erestor, you must see this from another angle, from Ecthelion’s angle, perhaps. I understand what eats away at you, love, and you think I cannot feel it? Well, I do.’ he spoke strongly and kissed my cheek, a sharp peck, when I turned my face to avoid his words and gaze. ‘But it will only worsen if you cannot put it aside, let me help you tonight. Cast away your jealou-’

 

‘Glorfindel,’

 

He stopped, silenced by the quiet menace in my voice I had not meant to project so strongly. He swallowed his words and I avoided his glance, still, fearing my own tempestuousness. Ah, you understand now what the catalyst of this disaster was but perhaps you have long since figured it out! Jealousy, envy; those most base and grotesque emotions that fell even the greatest of elves -- and I was not a great elf. I had nurtured my envy well and it consumed me, gradually, like ivy over the face of a cobbled house.

 

I’d hurt him, snapped at him as though he were a foolish elfling meddling in grander affairs than were his to meddle in, but he was my husband offering my his hand to drag me to salvation and joy, and I had pushed it and him away. Harshly, too harshly.

 

Glorfindel regarded me with caution usually reserved for dealing with cornered snakes and again pride became my downfall and the dagger in my hands. Still and silent I became and did not seek to soothe him or allay the quaking of his hands. His heart’s blood may as well have been spilling through my fingers, staining the patchwork blanket we sat on.

 

‘You really do not wish to come?’ Glorfindel asked, sorrowful and beautiful; my golden flower searched ever for the sun, but whenever has such a name suited me?

 

I shook my head, though it was wrong.

 

‘Do you want me to leave you now?’

 

I nodded before pausing to think over what had been asked of me. And then he did leave, he let go my hand so that it fell heavily in my lap and clambered to his feet where he looked skywards for a moment, as if pausing to make some final statement. But he did not, and I was both glad and saddened by it.

 

He walked away and the wind stirred not his golden locks nor the long, flowing jacket he wore against the briskness of the afternoon, and much like the elder elleth he walked away into grey gloom and left me alone with an empty plate and nothing but the crumbs of what once had been sweet.

 

***

 

Glorfindel had not returned to our bed that night.

 

Through strength of will I kept myself awake long enough to watch the shadows of the tree branches outside the window creep over the ceiling, inch by inch in their dark pursuit. He is not coming, I asked him to leave me and now he has. That night I slept long and without dreaming. It was a single blessing in what was otherwise a very, very dark night.

 

I recall the following morning more fondly, thank goodness, awaking to see a familiar shape in bed with me and a familiar mass of golden tangles spread across the pillow in a resplendent fan. But the smile on my lips had died quickly, those precious few moments where events of the night previous are unremembered were abruptly ended and I felt and saw it all anew. Guilt and horror rendered me moveless, always, always it was guilt and horror. I lay my head back down on my own pillow whereas on a different day I might have woken Glorfindel with a rousing touch or kiss (or both), and allowed myself be consumed with visions of that goat field with the looming clouds and things I ought not to have done. How ridiculous that I lost my own mental autonomy, still, I worried it would happen again. Inevitability hounded me. Would today be different than yesterday?

 

It could be, if you make the effort to shape it so.

 

My stipulations were promptly interrupted and I lay quite still as I heard Glorfindel stir abnormally early for saying it was a Sunday after a rather vibrant Saturday, especially if the sounds that had drifted in through the window the night before were any clue. He groaned, stretched and rubbed his eyes; his usual morning ritual of huffs and puffs and accidental limbs knocking into my softer body parts. Today, however, he was very careful not to do so.

 

There was something between us besides the duvet and blankets and he felt it too and just as keenly; that became starkly apparent. Neither of us knew what to do, for our relationship had been built and sustained on absolute trust, fierce co-dependence and loyalty; separation would be the death of it -- but how might one combat death?

 

‘Weighty thoughts for so early in the morning,’ Glorfindel said, voice thick with sleep and apprehension. He flashed me a smile that allayed a minute quantity of my fears. I smiled back but it all felt staged somehow; an act.

 

‘Tune them out then, love, and listen to the birdsong. Valinor sings a sweeter chorus than I in these early hours, it seems.’

 

He laughed and I kept my smile, but we both turned away from one another. I pressed my face into my pillow lest I betray myself to him with errant tears or some such; it had all changed in one night, and truly, nothing was ever the same between us ever again. Did I tremble? I might have done for fear of losing one’s soul moves even the oldest and most steadfast bones to shivers. Loathing wracked me and I basked in it horribly, ignoring the call of sunshine begging to be let in behind our curtains. Glorfindel ignored it too, which was most odd.

 

Just what was he thinking? I dreaded to even wonder. It’d be guilt (it is always guilt), would it not? Misplaced guilt that there was a single thing he could do that might revert us to our marital bliss, guilt borne of some irrational fear that he had caused this... sundering.

 

And still I could not reach out to him neither mentally or physically. Grief was a lead weight in the pit of my stomach and grew denser and denser as the silence went on and allowed for too many ill thoughts. How much I hated myself then, completely, I cannot express, but know that it was sheer and black as bile.

 

Would you believe that I felt alone then? My husband lay inches away from me, the folk of New Gondolin welcomed me now warmly to their companies and even Ecthelion was astoundingly friendly towards me. I half wished he wasn’t. I half wished he sought discord between us so that my jealousy might be the least bit justified. Only he didn’t and it wasn’t, in fact the only occasion I ever heard Ecthelion speaking honestly and confidentially about me was when I chanced to overhear a whispered conversation in the kitchen, a few days prior.

 

I had had two or three cups in hand and was bringing them to be washed with the other teatime crockery, but I paused before pushing the door ajar at the sounds of hushed, severe dialogue just barely audible in its confidentiality. Curiosity, ever my great downfall (and a quality I would always feel rather hypocritical for reprimanding the twins for indulging), moved me to eavesdrop and hold the teacups quite firmly in my hands lest they clink together and sound out my snooping.

 

Ecthelion asked why I never deigned to sit downstairs with him, why I never lingered after meal times and why I chose to walk alone when he had made offer to walk at my side down the garden paths. I remembered each occasion as he asked and the memories were cruel ice to the skin of my conscience, but Glorfindel plied the old excuse of introversion on my behalf and my chest swelled with an everlasting affection for the old warrior.

 

But he had more questions, this Lord of waters and clarity. Ecthelion had asked if I were feeling quite alright, if I were longing too painfully for the shores of Endor or if I perchance did not enjoy his company? But as I have said, Glorfindel diverted the questions with clever answers and I could hear the airy smile in his voice. Ecthelion might even have believed him but I rather suspect he quit his line of questioning with a realisation that it was a hopeless chase; Glorfindel would be loyal to me, he would keep our infighting private.

 

And how dearly I loved him. He fought for me and Glorfindel is nothing if not a fighter, of course, but new battles were on the horizon of the like he had never yet faced; quieter, shorter skirmishes but just as bloody and vile as the ones from the days of yore. Glorfindel would fight whereas I would surrender, he’d fight even himself and I bled for him as I witnessed. Whenever we sat together, he and I, alone in the room sharing a bottle of some dark, red wine that swished cynically around the glass, I would see him about to add Ecthelion’s name to our chitchat but stop himself short. His face would darken for but a moment and Ecthelion’s name would not fall from his lips.

 

I was glad of it, I am afraid to say. I did not particularly wish to hear Ecthelion’s name (each vowel stroked the agitation of the jealous beast within my breast) but Glorfindel had the right to speak it, of course he did! He may weave it into our talks as often as we did Elrond’s or Lindir’s or Arwen’s. Ecthelion was his best friend, his blood brother - what nonsense it was that he felt prohibited to talk of him.

 

Because of you, because of his love for you.

 

What a terrible burden. Oh, yes, such is how I began to view it. If Glorfindel were free of me, he would be free of sorrow. If Glorfindel were free of me, he would know freedom and righteousness, he would be free to find a whole soul that would love him purely and fiercely. If Glorfindel were free of me, he might find another who would go on those horse rides, those treks to the brook between the hills.

 

But then, what if such a soul already existed? It was a steep spiral of thoughts, each more slippery than the last and they flew thick and fast at my dozing countenance on the bed that morning. We lay back to back, heart from heart, and I wondered if freeing Glorfindel was truly the most viable option now.

 

My thoughts must have been over-vivid. Glorfindel was roused from his torpor and had come close to nestle behind me as we had not lain in such a long time. He kissed the back of my neck, where there were thin, soft hairs that delighted in his touch.

 

‘You,’ he said, sleepily, earnestly. ‘Are my greatest love. There is no freedom without your heart bound with mine. There is no better life I might live than what we share, Erestor. Erestor...’

 

A tear rolled down my cheek -- I had almost believed him.