Tilion's Night by Ulan

---

Chapter 1

---

Glorfindel stood at the balcony, observing the crowd of Elves below.

Overhead was a clear evening sky, a dark blue dome now above Imladris, lit by Tilion shining full and brightly. On the grounds were a good number of Elves gathered around what would later become a great fire, although at the moment they were still forming the base. From where Glorfindel stood, one could see the way the Elves were carrying dry wood and stacking them all at the centre; on their faces were friendly smiles and talking mouths, likely exchanging stories and gossip.

Ever had the inhabitants of Imladris been this way. It was why they have begun hearing visitors call the main house a "Homely House". It was a good house, Glorfindel had to admit, and if anything, it was one of the things that pulled him to Imladris all those years ago.

He only officially became a resident of Imladris about a year prior, which was likely why he still felt this unsettling distance from the valley and its others residents. It was not a feeling he liked, however, and he looked forward to being rid of it soon. It was difficult, though. They were all barely past a decade after the long war. The High King had died with no one to replace him; the Last Alliance was dissolved, Sauron and his Ring lost. It was a tenuous peace all things considered, but peace it still was, and it seemed that the people of Middle-Earth would cling to what peace they could be given, long tired of the wars of the Second Age.

At the end of that age, Glorfindel had found himself in the unenviable position of being pushed to a role no one else could fill. With no High King to rule it, Lindon had been lost without a lord to help pick up the pieces. Círdan had Mithlond waiting for him, Elrond his Imladris, and even Celeborn had Lindorinand waiting, and that other Sindarin prince, now king, Thranduil, had been expected in Eryn Galen. How fast did tides turn, for suddenly it was Lindon that was at the bottom, once the capital and the greatest of the Elven realms. When it began to seem that Lindon had no one else to turn to, Glorfindel, its captain and the highest ranking of its remaining lords, had had to take the helm.

He brought Lindon's soldiers back to their families after the war, helped the people there rebuild their lives or prepare to sail, many of whom choosing the latter. Of those that remained, he brought to Mithlond, and a good number he also eventually brought with him to Imladris. That was what he later told Elrond: he was long tired of ruling, and keeping Lindon held to him no appeal. He stayed only long enough for the restoration and the transition. Imladris, too, was a refuge that pulled at Glorfindel's heart the first time he saw it built, and even as early as the Second Age, he knew he would dwell there someday, even if it meant that he had to wait an age.

To Glorfindel's relief, Elrond had smiled, and warmly welcomed him to Imladris.

And so here he was, in Imladris finally where he wanted. Yet Glorfindel stood apart from its people, or perhaps he just stood out. People continued to look up to him as a lord, often citing his deeds - leading Lindon's army, fighting the enemy, and some even citing his old battles and that one with the Balrog still - before they would then bow their heads and greet him with his old titles.

It had grown tiresome, asking them constantly to forget such things. It had grown tiresome, too, hearing them defend their position, and their insistence in paying him their respects.

With such thoughts swimming in his head, it was a surprise suddenly when he heard a voice behind him bid a quiet, "Good evening, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel quickly turned. Few Elves called him by name these days, and so it was easy enough to guess among those few who it was that approached.

"Erestor."

He smiled at the Elf now walking towards him, as expected, clad neatly in the robes of his station, and with both hands hidden but likely clasped together underneath the sleeves. Erestor returned Glorfindel's smile with a small one of his own and a slight tilt to his head.

Erestor, at least, had been one of the friendlier ones to Glorfindel. They worked together a few times over the course of their years as subjects of the High King Gil-galad, although their meetings had been few, living apart as they did. Neither was there ever a true opportunity for their meetings to be purely for leisure, as things seldom were during those days. It was only sometime in the last year, when Glorfindel joined them finally here in Imladris, that they became better acquainted. They were still more colleagues than true friends, but nowadays, Glorfindel would warmly welcome something even as simple as that.

"What do you think?" asked Erestor as he stopped beside Glorfindel, following his gaze to the crowd below them.

The counsellor stood a respectable distance away, not touching Glorfindel but near enough for a passer-by to understand that they stood together. The tension Glorfindel had not noticed in himself eased somewhat, making his shoulders feel lighter. Ah, how embarrassing, to catch oneself so wanting for company that chance meetings even brought with them such relief. It was a good thing that thoughts could remain hidden, for who knew what Erestor would think of him if he knew the contents of Glorfindel's mind.

Erestor was also near enough for Glorfindel to recognise the scent the other always brought with him these days - traces of winter woods and flowers, with the deep underlying scent of candle smoke. It was an interesting mix, more so because Erestor had thus far been consistent, always clean and formal whenever he walked the public halls, presentable even up to the way he braided his hair - a high official through and through. Glorfindel had long noticed that about him. It was amusing, but perhaps also somewhat inspiring, for Erestor did not seem to shy away from the image of his station.

Glorfindel supposed that this was important, too, for others to see prominent figures doing well, and finding their own place in this uncertain world.

"It looks like it shall be a big event," he said finally, shifting his gaze back down to where Erestor pointed. "Do you do this every year?"

"Not every year. Only when the Moon is full and it aligns with the longest night of the year." At Glorfindel's curious gaze, Erestor guided his companion's eyes up, so that they now looked at the sky above them. "We call it Tilion's Night. We learned it from the Sindar; it is a legend among them. Have you heard of the story about why the Moon looks the way it does?"

Glorfindel returned his gaze to Erestor and repeated the legend he knew. "Tilion rode too close to Arien, but her flames marred the face of his island."

Erestor nodded. "It is said that Tilion loved Arien, but Arien did not love him in return, and so she continued to fly across the sky, unwilling to be caught and uncaring of the other's effort. Long were they like this, and eventually, as he struggled with the pain of love unmet, Tilion thought to look below him. This was how he saw that the same things unfolded in Arda. Love, he found, as many before and after him have also found, was a strange and elusive thing. One can give it but not have it returned; one can be all too ready for it, but have no one come. And is it not so that loneliness comes to us most frequently and palpably in the deepest night, when we are alone? This is how Tilion became recipient to many prayers, mostly from lonely souls who knew his story and thought they would find in him a sympathetic ear."

Glorfindel listened to the story and was struck by it. How interesting, this story of loneliness. He knew of this feeling, too, and all too quickly did other cold winter nights come to memory - of walking alone and going to bed alone, coming home after a long skirmish and no one of his own to greet him.

It took a while for him to notice that Erestor had stopped speaking. When their eyes met again, however, the counsellor smiled, as though he welcomed questions. Glorfindel took him up on it. "What happened after this? Why the fire?"

With his companion listening again, Erestor continued. "Tilion eventually implored to the Valar on behalf of all who were like him: let them find a way to ease the ache, and help all who are left alone to find someone of their own. And so it was that on the longest night of the year, Elves who wished for love but could not find it, come around a great fire, which they light so Tilion knows where to look. See there."

Erestor leaned over slightly to point at the structure now being erected on the far side of the bonfire. The movement brought him closer to Glorfindel, who now felt the warmth of another pressed beside him keenly. He did not move away.

"Elves gather around the fire, which is set close to the edge of the forest, where we build an archway by the entrance. All those who wish to join are given cloaks to wear in order to conceal their identity, so that one cannot recognise another, nor choose or avoid anyone. Now, when Tilion is highest up in the sky, the ceremony begins. Whoever feels they are ready may then step up to the fire and wait until someone else steps up; partners are then bound and they go to the forest."

"How does one know when to step forward?" asked Glorfindel.

"Somehow the participants just know when it is their turn. We have never had any commotion caused by the ritual, if that is what you are curious about." Erestor looked amused. "It is hardly worth a fight, is it? You do not even know who you will be paired with, and so each turn is just like any other. But somehow the participants believe that they are paired with the best person. They say this is part of Tilion's blessing, and that he does his best to pair people with those who would suit their needs.

"Once you do decide to step forward and find your partner, the hoods remain even as you go into the woods. You find a place that suits you both, and then, you kiss."

Erestor chuckled at Glorfindel's raised eyebrow. "It is the first test, to see whether you are compatible. If the other Elf is not to your liking, then the hoods stay up and you part ways, none the wiser who it was from whom you walked away. On the other hand, if you did like the kiss, you may do more, or simply accept the other Elf as your mate for a year. The relationship may go as far and as fast as you wish, but the year is the minimum commitment. You may end it after the year, if you choose."

"Such temporary unions are sanctioned by the Valar?" Glorfindel had never heard of such things.

Erestor nodded. "They claim it so, as it was part of Tilion's plea. Many use the tradition primarily for healing, and so the bond stays for the duration that you need it. Many of those who come together choose to part after the year, but always as friends, and always for the better. It also did not seem to put anyone under the wrath of the Valar, and so even the sceptics among the Noldor began to accept it.

"Of course, many have also found their mates this way. This is yet another matter of faith, for they say that Tilion would not pair any two Elves who wished for different things. I have not heard of anyone wishing for more when the other wanted to end the year." Erestor shrugged, as if allowing Glorfindel to believe what he would of what he had been told.

"Have you ever participated?" Glorfindel asked, after a while.

The question silenced Erestor for a moment. He seemed lost in thought, but not offended, so that Glorfindel just stood there waiting as the other seemed to gather his thoughts.

"I did participate a few times, the last being a century ago," Erestor said finally. He seemed to feel Glorfindel's gaze on him, for he turned and flashed a somewhat uneasy smile. "Loneliness comes unexpectedly at times, and sometimes one just does not know what to do with it. Opportunities like this... well, they are there for a reason, are they not?"

It was uncanny, hearing these sentiments from one such as Erestor. But then, Glorfindel thought with chagrin, of course he could feel such things, too. Was Glorfindel not just lamenting earlier how he was not thought the same as the others? It seemed that he had committed the same mistake with Erestor, who, despite his titles and despite all appearances, must certainly also feel the same things, the same loneliness, that all Elves must have felt at some point.

"What happened?" Glorfindel asked, for he was humbled by this realisation, and because he was also genuinely curious.

"The last time? I found my lover for a year, and we parted at the end. I did not go in intending for a long-term commitment, and neither did he. But it had been a good year, and I treasured his company."

"You never participated again after that? Will you do so again?"

"Well, would you like to go?" asked Erestor, suddenly turning the tables. He did not seem to do so maliciously, however, as there was even a small smile on his face. All the same, Glorfindel's lips suddenly sealed shut, which made the chief counsellor smile even wider. "You look interested, but you have not yet said anything. I just thought, perhaps, you feel yourself too new to go about such things? You really need not feel that way. It is a good tradition, widely accepted here should one wish to participate, and it is a tradition best suited for those who feel unsettled still."

"Ah, are you saying then that I look unsettled?"

"Everyone seems to be these days, and with good reason." Erestor did not apologise, nor did he retract his statement. Again, he did not look like he meant to offend, and Glorfindel was not even sure if he was indeed offended. It was not as if what Erestor said was not true. "I just thought it not a stretch to think so," added the counsellor, almost thoughtfully.

Glorfindel looked at him for a moment before looking down again at the scene below them. It seemed that the Elves were done setting up, for the crowd had dispersed. The night, too, was growing deeper, and soon they would hear the bell ring for supper.

Glorfindel was not quite sure what he was thinking when he said, "Then, come with me."

When he realised what he just did, he fully expected Erestor to refuse. The chief counsellor looked surprised by the invitation, too, for who would not be? It was hardly an event to which one would invite a colleague; but then, perhaps something about these conversations with Erestor made Glorfindel feel at ease with him. It would be good, he thought to himself, to have Erestor as a friend. Erestor at least seemed comfortable with Glorfindel, and he was kind enough, and Glorfindel learned much from him. Indeed, he hoped that their relationship would be that of friendship soon.

Glorfindel had no idea what thoughts went through Erestor's head, but all of a sudden, the counsellor looked pensive, then curious, then just simply amused. His lips twitched in a pleasant way before he finally chuckled.

"All right, then, if that would make you feel better about it." He outright laughed at the look of surprise on Glorfindel's face, but Erestor did not call him out on it, nor did he give Glorfindel the opportunity to back out. "Meet me here again before midnight."

---

That was how they eventually found themselves at midnight, in a large crowd around the fire.

"I did not expect for there to be so many," remarked Glorfindel, scanning the dark figures under Tilion's light. There was a low murmur of voices and words intermingling, although underneath it all was the gentle hymn that began a few moments earlier. It was a hymn to Tilion, Erestor had explained, but one that could also stand as a love song that can be sung on any other lonely night. It pulled at Glorfindel's heart, for one, and he knew the words would remain with him even after this night.

"Like I said," said Erestor beside him. They had donned their hoods earlier, but looking at Erestor now, with the plain cloak and with his robes hidden beneath the heavy material, somehow he still managed to look elegant and put together. Glorfindel wondered if that was a talent of his. "It is a popular tradition, and one that seems to be most needed, so desperately do we still cling to this new peace. One would think it was as though we could lose it still."

"I wonder how this kind of tradition would be met in the First Age," Glorfindel thought out loud, which gained a thoughtful hum from the Elf beside him.

"This would have been most welcome," said Erestor. There was a far off look to him when Glorfindel turned to check, for he spoke slowly, and sounded pensive. "Ever had the air been dark and dreary in Himring, and the stench of Thangorodrim was never far on those days. Any escape from it, however fleeting, would have been a blessing."

At the mention of the old kingdom, Glorfindel could not help but just stare at Erestor in wonder. He knew somehow that Erestor was from Aman, but from which camp, he did not know. Whether he came to Middle-Earth by Telerin ship or through the unforgiving stretch of the Helcaraxë was a question Glorfindel never thought to ask. Those who followed Fëanor's sons, too, seldom mentioned such things out loud these days, for the events around the old kingdoms and the old lords were often too painful to be retold.

It was the first show of deep trust he received from Erestor, in the long years of their acquaintance. Glorfindel found he did not know what to do with it.

Erestor did not seem to be waiting for a response anyway, for in the next moment, he was turning his face up to Glorfindel. He gave him an odd sort of smile, one Glorfindel could not read. There was something entirely too solemn about it.

"My friend," said Erestor, the second surprise, for again that was the first that he called Glorfindel thus. "I wish you well. I pray that you find your peace, Glorfindel of Lindon, and now of Imladris."

And again, Glorfindel was struck for the third time, but this time it was followed by a seeping warmth that bloomed in his chest. Never had he been called these things, ever known as he had been for his allegiance to the fallen city of Gondolin. For all that he had done for Lindon, never had anyone given him more than the title of its captain. Never was the city attached to his name.

He was about to speak - to thank Erestor, perhaps, or strangely, to tell him that he had changed his mind, that although he indeed wanted a new beginning here in Imladris, he did not wish to do so with a stranger picked by mere chance - but already Erestor had turned and disappeared. Glorfindel was left blinking where he last saw the counsellor's face, but just when he began searching for him, a voice called out from near the bonfire.

It was the chief of ceremony, with her head bare and white ribbons in her raised hands, to be used to bind the Elves with their chosen partners. With a deep and solemn voice, she signalled the beginning of the ritual, and invited the first Elves to step forward.

Soon, Elves began pairing off. Glorfindel looked around him again, trying to find Erestor in that sea of heads, but the attempt was moot, for everyone looked far too identical. He wondered at the disappointment that welled in his chest. Did they not say that they would do this together?

Of course, he supposed that he could always leave, but somehow... somehow, knowing that Erestor was still here made Glorfindel feel that he ought to stay. He tried to squash, too, the apprehension that came with the thought that Erestor would be paired off with or without him. He found that to be a strangely unpleasant thought.

The crowd had begun to dwindle as time passed. Glorfindel looked around him and noted the ones left behind. He still did not recognise anyone. The evening was deepening further, too, and they were nearing that time of night when it grew coldest, and this time in winter, that time could grow cold indeed. More and more did the call of the fire look alluring, and after all, Glorfindel thought to himself, he had been standing here for perhaps close to an hour. Was he still so unsure?

He watched as the next pair of Elves were bound and ushered towards the forest. Almost immediately after them, another hooded Elf stepped forward toward the fire.

A year of welcoming warmth. A year of respite from a long life he had walked alone. Nothing like this had ever been done nor allowed in the First Age, and his own coming in the middle of the Second Age marked the beginning of Middle-Earth's journey to yet another war. This would be the first time that Glorfindel would ever know peace like this, freedom like this - dare he take it?

Finally, Glorfindel resisted no more; he stepped up, and stood beside the hooded Elf from earlier.

"Welcome," said the lady at the centre, smiling at the two of them, each in turn. She gestured for them to raise an arm for her tie their wrists together with a white ribbon.

Glorfindel watched as she worked, suddenly nervous as the back of his hand touched the skin of the other Elf beside him. This Elf was his potential partner for a year... or more, if things progressed well. He dared to peek under the hood, but again, it was useless. The hood hid the other's face, and anyway, it likely would not matter, for still so many Elves in Imladris were unknown to him.

"Good luck!" was the lady's softly bidden farewell before she was gesturing them toward the edge of the wood.

They passed the archway together and walked for some time. They did not exchange any words, but somehow they took paths together, chose turns even without asking the other. Glorfindel marvelled at it, and slowly, he felt some of his nerves begin to drift away.

The forest around them felt oddly welcoming and he wondered how true it was, this legend of Tilion. What magic surrounded this night, for things to seem peaceful? Or, perhaps they truly were at peace, and the land was merely waiting for them, for their hearts and minds to settle, and let go of their imagined worries.

Finally, they stopped. Dried leaves crunched beneath their feet and their breaths made white clouds in the chill air. There was a sudden tug to his arm; it was the other Elf, pulling the white ribbon loose so that it fell on the ground beneath them.

Thus freed, Glorfindel turned to the Elf beside him, facing him - for he was sure now that it was a male Elf with him - for the first time. There really was nothing in the hood and the dim light to aid one in recognising the other. Throwing caution to the wind, Glorfindel stepped forward, slowly so as not to startle, and bent down to the other Elf's height for the kiss.

It seemed to happen slowly. It was good, the first touch of their lips; the ones against his were soft, the breath that came with them warm and subtle, just a hint of respite from the cold of the wood. His companion was quiet, but he was welcoming enough, and he kissed Glorfindel back with lips that knew how to kiss. It was pleasant, the way they closed around Glorfindel's upper lip, then his bottom lip, before pressing their mouths together again fully, warming Glorfindel with his soft exhales.

And then, finally, it registered: that scent, not of the bonfire but of candle flame, of fresh pine at the start of winter, and the faintest, most subtle hint of lilies. Glorfindel wondered if it was wishful thinking, that perhaps he thought about it too much, but all the same he found himself deepening that kiss. His fingers crawled beneath the other Elf's hood, touching smooth cheeks and feeling a sharp jawline. He tilted that face further up to meet his, and he heard the other Elf gasp as Glorfindel's tongue ran against the seam between the other's lips, pushing past it, finally tasting.

What were the odds? In that great sea of Elves, in the time it took Glorfindel to throw away his doubts long enough to step forward, what were the odds that they would find themselves this way? For as time continued to pass, as the kisses flowed one after another, touches exchanged and hands growing bolder, more and more did Glorfindel become sure. He heard, too, the subtle hint of an actual voice behind a gasp he coaxed out from the other when he pulled them closer, bodies nearly flush together, overwhelmingly warm despite the season.

"It is you, isn't it," he finally said, at a pause in their kisses. They were heady, those kisses, and good - so good that Glorfindel had become breathless and his heart was pounding in his chest as though he had just run many leagues.

"I had wondered." Breathlessly said by the other, but with the touch of a smile. The voice under that hood was unmistakable. "I expected it."

"Did you know?" Glorfindel asked.

"I just had a feeling, near the end, when I approached the fire." The Elf paused, then shook his head. "Nay, not then. Even before, when I... Forgive me; I left you."

Glorfindel smiled, for the other's actions then finally made sense to him. Joy bloomed within him, warming his cheeks, fluttering in his chest until he could not wait any longer. He pulled the other's hood down, revealing Erestor's face. How beautiful he looked, in moonlight.

"Erestor." He smiled; he said that name with relief. He took those hands again, pulling Erestor closer and wrapping his arms around Glorfindel's waist. "You oddly superstitious fool. What if I lost you? How hopeful I was, that it would be you. At the end, I wanted it to be you."

Though he smiled at their folly, Glorfindel was also sending a hundred prayers to any of the Ainur who cared to listen. Indeed, what were the odds? It was the most foolish way to test an idea, not to mention impulsive on both their parts. Yet somehow they found each other, and it was nothing short of a miracle.

Erestor smiled, but no longer said anything. So much about him was still a mystery to Glorfindel, some things wholly unexpected, but in that moment, Glorfindel was sure that he wanted no other. He was sure, too, that discoveries of today were only the beginning, and he looked forward to it all, everything about Erestor that he could yet learn.

And so, when Erestor pulled them to lay on the ground, Glorfindel followed. "Did you ever go this far, those other nights?"

"Don't be stupid." Again, that old familiarity, as though Glorfindel was not who he was long known to be, but just any other Elf. Despite the words, Glorfindel found them thrilling, for he could not remember either when he was last insulted by another. Erestor was even frowning at him. "Of course not. Now stop ruining the mood."

They exchanged no more words, allowing the songs of the night to envelope them, and later, drown out the sounds of their kisses and their gasping moans.

And much later, when it was all done and they were laid out tangled in each other still, with Erestor breathing steadily in exhausted slumber, Glorfindel remained awake, thoughtfully observing his companion. Did Erestor not come here on an impulse, not even for his own sake, but only so that Glorfindel had a companion for the ceremony? What would he think of all this, Glorfindel wondered, when he woke in the morning?

Glorfindel knew what he wanted, coming in. He was not the kind of Elf who wanted for a temporary partner, and so he wondered how reliable this legend of the Sindar could be. He knew his own heart, but what of the Elf beside him? Would they really be the same?

He watched Erestor sleep among the dried leaves and the grass. He truly was beautiful, and he felt good and warm in Glorfindel's arms that Glorfindel could not help but continue kissing him, wherever he could reach him. As he did so, he noted Tilion's light on the woods around them. He looked up at the white face of the Maia, and sent a prayer to him.

May the legend be true.