Something Lost, Something Found by Ulan

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Something Lost, Something Found

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Ecthelion supposes that, all things considered, they are fortunate to even be there.

"If I may..." begins their stone-faced host, clad in greys and with his black hair blown to one side by the roaring wind. He does not seem to mind this, for he stands above them looking every bit as though he belongs there in the cold steps of the castle and the overcast skies above them. "Although I can see you are of good standing by your cloaks and the swords you hide beneath them, you still make quite a sight. May I ask what brings three sorry-looking Elves to Himring?"

It happens briefly, but Ecthelion casts a side-long glance and immediately catches Egalmoth's eyes. The other looks none too pleased - but then, few things please Egalmoth, which is why it is always best to remain on the safe side and just be in one's best behaviour around him. Everyone in Gondolin knows this.

Unfortunately, they are not in Gondolin.

"Greetings, master of Himring!" Glorfindel, ever the embodiment of diplomacy and congeniality, speaks first for them. "We are captains of Gondolin who have lost our way. We apologise for arriving without warning, but we are in need of aid."

"Gondolin?" says the master who stands atop the steps. He turns to Glorfindel, and his eyes seem to linger at the fair-haired captain before saying, "It has been centuries since we last heard tidings of your people."

There is an odd pause, a moment during which it might have been polite to inquire what one could do for the guests at one's doorstep. The moment passes in silence, however, with the Elf merely looking down at them. His focus remains on Glorfindel, who, although normally confident and albeit still able to return that stony gaze, strangely seems to struggle with doing so.

"And what aid can Himring bring to the captains of our... most esteemed allies?" The Elf finally asks. He seems to address Glorfindel, who stands stiffly now between Ecthelion and Egalmoth. Egalmoth's frown grows deeper at the questionable pause in the other Elf's speech.

Given his companions' state, clearly, it is Ecthelion's turn to speak. "We are escorts of the Lady Aredhel," he begins to say on their behalf. "I am Ecthelion of the Fountain and these are my brothers-in-arms: Egalmoth of the Heavenly Arch, and Glorfindel of the Golden Flower."

Those sharp eyes glance briefly at Ecthelion before they land once again on their golden-haired friend. "I see," is all he says.

Ecthelion waits, but that seems to be all the other Elf is offering. He frowns, for this has got to be the strangest and most awkward conversation he has had in a long time.

He turns not without a little confusion at Glorfindel. "Do you know him?" he whispers low.

It takes a while for Glorfindel to turn away from their host. "I, ah..." he begins helpfully, when he has finally turned towards Ecthelion.

Their host speaks again, effectively cutting off whatever Glorfindel might have to say. "Before we proceed any further, might I ask for proof of your identity?"

Egalmoth, for his part, seems to have had enough. "While the reputation of Fëanor's followers have never been the warmest, surely you can do better than this," he says to the Elf on top of the steps. Ecthelion hides his resigned sigh behind Glorfindel. "You can see that we are clearly Elves - in a sorry state, as you say - and your lands offer little comfort, for they are bitter cold. Until when will you make us stand here when we can just as well continue this discussion indoors?"

This does not seem to impress their host in the least, for he turns those cold eyes now to Egalmoth. "I will have you know, Lord Egalmoth, that there are few that can come and go as they please along the March of Maedhros, much less enter the walls of Himring."

(The March of Maedhros is not something they have heard, thinks Ecthelion, but trust the sons of Fëanor to name regions after themselves.)

"We see all forms of fell creatures attempt to pass, and the Enemy is not short of their own captains who can change shape in whatever way suits them. We have learnt long ago not to trust any visitor at first meeting, be they fell or fair of form." The Elf's eyes stray to Glorfindel once again, this time looking thoughtful. "Come to think of it, that is especially if they were fair of form."

"Are you then familiar with the crests of our Houses?" offers Ecthelion, stepping in before Egalmoth loses his temper. "You seem to recognise the names earlier. We have our crests and signet rings; will they suffice as proof?"

"I have heard of your Houses, yes," says the Elf. "At the very least, I can recognise items that are of true Elven-make. Please, present the items you offer."

Another Elf, a guard, appears from behind their host. He takes the items - both things mentioned from Ecthelion and Glorfindel, and Egalmoth's ring, which is the only item the third lord offers - and brings them back to the dark-haired Elf.

Their host inspects the items before seeming to nod his approval, and signals for them to be returned. "My name is Erestor," he says to them afterward, "Steward of Himring; I speak on behalf of Lord Maedhros. You say you were with his cousin, Lady Aredhel. It has been a while since we have last seen the fair Lady. Where is she?"

"We were to escort her east to where she said her cousins resided," Ecthelions says. "We reached the woods of Doriath where we sought passage, but we were denied. We had to make do with the lands outside of it, on the plains north of the forest."

For the first time, this gains them a reaction, for Erestor's eyes widen in surprise and they even seem to flash with fury. He glares, once again (oddly) turning that gaze towards Glorfindel. "You crossed the Nan Dugortheb? On your own? How many were you?"

Here, Glorfindel seems to find his voice, for he answers: "There was the Lady and the three of us, plus a few from our Houses that made fifteen of us in total."

"And how many remain?"

"There are three of us -- that we know."

The glare this time is cast upon all of them. "Are you telling me that you stand here on our steps with tidings that Lady Aredhel is lost to us?"

Egalmoth steps in, glaring back at the other Elf. "We said lost, not dead. Why else would we ask for aid?"

"She might as well be, left to her own devices in the Valley of Death! You fools. We here do not even dare send an army there, but there you were, escorting a lady across."

Erestor throws up his hands, then turns his attention back to Glorfindel.

"First of all," he says, in a voice that he thankfully seems to rein, "you were of course denied entry to Doriath, for the so-called 'Lord of Beleriand' has learnt of the events leading to the Noldor reaching these shores, and has thus denounced all dealings with our people. Secondly, the lands you crossed are infested with the children of Ungoliant, and over the years creatures of shadow have joined them there. My lord, if you intend to return to Gondolin, I suggest you take a different route. Do you even have a map on you?"

"We do--"

He cuts Glorfindel off. "I beg your pardon -- a map that was made in the last century, I mean."

The three lords stand silent, which has their host looking at them all with disdain.

"It figures," he near sneers, "only the best from sheltered Gondolin, eh? Are you familiar with the lands outside of your own at all? How is it that you even reached Himring? Have you already passed my lord's brothers' lands in Himlad, south of here? For I suppose that that is where the Lady intended to go, given her friendship with its lords."

"We took to the route near the mountains," says Ecthelion, "for it seems the creatures were fewer there."

If anything, this piece of information only makes Erestor's face look even more sour. "The plains is where those creatures hunt; the mountains is where they nest. I take it you lost your horses along the way and had to tread on foot, for I surmise that the reason you did not see those creatures is because they were underground. Elven feet are luckily light. Had you been a Dwarf, you would have woken them, and they would have buried you alive with their numbers and sucked you dry before you were even done screaming."

Even Ecthelion cannot help but scrunch his face at the picture that painted.

"I pray," continues their host, "that the Lady Aredhel, whom I know is no fool and could wield a sword well enough on her own, had better sense of direction than her minders. She might have found her way to her cousins' fortresses in Himlad, which, you might be surprised to know, my lords, is just east of the shadowed lands you crossed."

"If you could offer us a reliable map, then you would be of great assistance to us," says Ecthelion.

"I can give you a map, which I shall also go over with you. This I find I must do, for from your stories, the odds of you three returning home intact are slim to none. As it is, that you even stand before me now is a miracle."

"I am this close to pulling out my bow," Ecthelion hears Egalmoth whisper to Glorfindel. "For I have about enough of this Elf who needs lessons on diplomacy."

Erestor speaks to Ecthelion this time, as he seems either oblivious to Egalmoth's wrath or chooses to ignore it. "Unfortunately, I can but only offer the hospitality of my office, and then the outer rooms with guards for a single night. Lord Maedhros is away on a trip with his brothers in Thargelion. I am merely their steward, and I am afraid that my duties are more about keeping unsolicited visitors out rather than in. Please excuse me."

Erestor leaves, presumably to arrange things for their (considerably short) stay -- at least, Ecthelion hopes so, for they are once again left to brave the cold on those sorry, stone steps.

He catches Egalmoth seething beside Glorfindel, and cannot help the amused but tired grin that spreads on his face. They have had a very trying couple of days. "Peace, Egalmoth. He is helping us, when I thought at first he would not. We are in a territory plagued by fell things, which we even encountered coming here, and we see that here the Iron Mountains are ever visible. I can see the reason for his reserve."

He then turns to Glorfindel, whose eyes still stare blankly at the empty steps above them. "And you? What is the matter with you?"

Glorfindel blinks, and seems to look... guiltily, at Ecthelion. "Nothing," says the Lord of the Golden Flower, but he says it far too quickly.

Ecthelion, of course, frowns at him. They have been friends for too long for him not to recognise the signs of Glorfindel distracted. "Do not lie. You have barely spoken since the greeting. Did our eloquent host rob you of your tongue? He looks at you oddly, but then maybe it's your hair." The last part he says in jest, to make light of their current situation.

Glorfindel, however, does not laugh or roll his eyes as he usually would have done when teased about his namesake, and in fact seems to struggle with his response. Later, Ecthelion would realise that it is only their great friendship that let Glorfindel speak as he did in that moment at all.

"Egalmoth," the golden lord says, turning to the other. "Did you not say that you recognised your wife at first meeting?"

"What?" Like Ecthelion, Egalmoth looks at Glorfindel in confusion for a moment at first -- and then, he gets it. "What!"

When it sinks in for Ecthelion, too, he in turn ends up laughing so hard, he has to lean on to Glorfindel's shoulder to keep himself standing. "What indeed. Hold," he begs them, for he cannot breathe amidst his laughter. "Oh, Glorfindel. Glorfindel, no. Our most venerable lord, favourite of the King -- with a Fëanorian? Are you sure?"

Glorfindel heaves a great sigh, though his eyes stray again to those empty steps like a forsaken child. "Of course I am not sure."

"What should we do? Do you wish to court him?"

"Court him!" bellows Egalmoth. "When he looks more likely to stab you in the eye? It is bad enough we have lost Aredhel, but to linger here for something so trivial--"

"Oh-ho, my friend, but love is never trivial!" says Ecthelion. He pats Glorfindel's shoulder in a gesture of support. "I suppose he is pretty, if you, ah... like the tall, cold types with a lot of problems."

"He is terrible," says Egalmoth, with finality. He, too, turns to Glorfindel. "Glorfindel, just leave it. I doubt it is even worth it. 'Tis late in your life anyway, and did you not say you were content as you are?"

That may be true. Egalmoth met his wife early in Nevrast, and came with her and wed her in Gondolin. But Glorfindel, like Ecthelion, has never met his mate and so has been alone for a long time. While they say such things matter little given the good life they have in their fair city, Ecthelion also knows how the years sometimes seem to stretch on in a life as quiet as theirs.

"For what it is worth," he offers to his closest friend, "this is the first time I have seen you stare at another so. If not for anything else, to me that is a promising thing."

"Nay, enough," says Glorfindel with a sigh -- with good timing, too, for Egalmoth looks ready to protest again. "I did not leave Gondolin hoping to find a mate, and so I was merely surprised. We continue looking for Aredhel. If..." He falters, and Ecthelion sees how his eyes glance at those steps again. "If he truly is the mate meant for me, then perhaps I shall meet him again at another time, when days are better. At least I know where he lives."

Ecthelion grins. "You could send him letters."

Finally, Glorfindel allows a smile. "And have Turgon officially kick me out of the city we are supposed to keep hidden? Nay, I do not think so."

Erestor returns, which he announces by calling for Glorfindel by name first before the others, which of course promptly has the old lord nearly jumping in his feet. Ecthelion hides a laugh and catches the look of exasperation on Egalmoth's face.

"I am not above thinking he allows us in now because of you," he cannot help but say as they are finally led up those stairs. "Strict steward and unsolicited visitors and all. Rather unexpected that we be welcomed in, no? Are you sure you still wish to come with us? Egalmoth and I can search for Aredhel, we will not mind. Well, Egalmoth might mind a little..."

"Ecthelion," sighs Glorfindel, for the third time. "Be quiet."

Erestor, who walks ahead of them, looks back and arches an eyebrow at their whispering. "Problem?" he asks their friend, in a tone that... is not warm, per se, but better. Ecthelion sees it now; the Elf is kinder to Glorfinder.

"It is nothing," Glorfindel answers him quickly.

They are guided through a long hallway that leads presumably to the steward's office. They are silent for the most part during their walk, for Erestor offers no welcoming tours or small-talk. No one seems to mind this, however, least of all Glorfindel, who uses the silence to watch their host, eyes intent and searching. Ecthelion thinks that he has seen that look of wonder many times in others before, for even as he searches still for his own half, he has ever been fascinated by the journey of others around him finding theirs.

The Lord of the Fountain therefore cannot help but throw one last quip at his friend, just to plant another idea: "I suppose a lot can happen in a night."

Glorfindel elbows him hard. But well, Ecthelion thinks with not a little amusement even as he rubs his side, one cannot fault a friend for trying.