Arms. by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

 "All these were caught in the net of the Doom of the Noldor; and they did great deeds which the Eldar remember still among the histories of the Kings of old. And in those days the strength of Men was added to the power of the Noldor..."

   Hador opened the door, his damp palm sliding on the handle, feeling his breakfast churn in his somach. He feared a knife in his belly from the insulted Gildis, and leaned his head on the doorpost, breathing with an effort. He could think of no worse insult to her pride, he knew that if she had spoken the name of another at such a moment, he would have wished to slay her, and himself. But when he finally swung the door wide, she was standing with her back to him, wearing travelling clothes, fastening the straps on her luggage. She was leaving him !

His legs seemed turned to water, he clung to the handle and felt his hand slide away, his other hand darted forth to grip the carven frame of the door, he gritted his teeth, more nervous than he had ever been in his life. She could not leave him ! The damage would be intolerable. His mother would die in misery, her end hastened by his own folly, the guilt would crush him. His father would never speak to him again, he would be cast out of his family, his people would drive him away, he would have to flee all that he knew and eke out the rest of his days as a wildman in the woods, and die alone. The scandal would force Fingolfin to cast him aside, there would be no more singing with the Elves, and all those who had named him animal would sneer and be proven right. 
The family of Gildis would come for him, and hunt him should he flee, and cut him down like a beast. And should he, in defending himself, slay one of her kin, a feud would begin which would divide their people, as the sons of Finwë were divided among the Eldar.
He hung his head. One word had caused this, or would set it in train, one word. Merely uttering the name of Fingolfin... But at that moment, at that time, it had been a fateful, fatal word, and their love was slain by it.

She had not turned, nor paused in her packing, he closed the door behind himself and leaned against it, not to stay her passing, but because he could not move. Finally, in a voice he did not recognise as his own, a voice crushed and croaking, he spoke her name.
She looked up, but did not turn. There was a long silence, but at last Hador cleared his throat and spoke again, in a small hoarse echo of his former self.
"Gildis, I beg you... Do not leave me ! I know that you cannot forgive me, I would not presume to beg such mercy. I do not deserve it. 
But I beg you to consider our kin, your family and mine, whose hearts would be broken should you leave me. My mother will perish, the news will finish her, she is weak, and hopes merely to see us together, to bid us farewell..." he choked and fell silent, and heard the ragged indrawn breath of Gildis in the silence. But still she would not turn, her shoulders rigid with fury, her fair hair bound back into a long plait, coiled into a net in preparation for a long journey. He frowned, and wondered where she was going, and suddenly he knew: Nargothrond, she was returning to the music, and to the House of Finrod Felagund, her idol.

Hador stood, and stepped silently forwards, but she seemed to feel his movement, and turned her furious eyes upon him, red in her pale face. There was red on her throat, an angry rash of colour, the blood plain to see through her thin pale skin. He clenched his fists, his rage at himself, and at the world which had shaped him thus, burned within him like the touch of ice. 
But Gildis stood as though a thing of ice herself, and Hador could think of naught to soften her mood. Then, as though given to him from without, as though his years among the music of the Eldar had given him a little of their power at passing thought from mind to mind, an image came to him, a picture he had seen. But the image was no painting, for he could see, as though he had, impossibly, been there himself; Melkor, whom the Eldar named Morgoth, falling to his knees before Manwë and Varda and all the Valar, wringing his hands, pleading for mercy. He blinked, and felt his knees buckle as though hands on his shoulders pushed him down, and he knelt before his wife and locked his fingers together and opened his mouth to beg her forgiveness. But no words came, only the tears, which seemed to burst from his eyes, rather than run down his cheeks, spilling from his wounded heart like blood from a deep cut. And though it might be that he had wounded his own heart in accepting the love of Fingolfin while courting Gildis, he could not deny the love that had grown within him, for the beautiful Elf, and in a different way, for the fair Gildis.
He was divided from himself, like a tree struck by the storm, with the pale heartwood raw and exposed in jagged splinters, while the proud branches of the canopy lay low in the dust.

But Gildis frowned, and finally spoke "You do not speak of love. I have looked back, this night, on all your words to me, and you have never courted my love, you did not even kiss me until our wedding. I had thought you... I had thought you delicate and honourable, treating me with the respect due to a lady, I had imagined that once we were united, your nicety and decorum would be left at the door, and your true passion revealed." She stopped and laughed darkly, and turned away again. "And it was !" she almost shouted, and spun back, and glared at him with hatred "And it was ! 'Oh Fingolfin' " she said mockingly, in tones of bitterness such as had never been uttered to him before. "How DARE you ! How dare you marry me as though I were naught but a bitch hound, to breed you pups for the hunt. I could slay you now, and still my rage would scarce be diminished ! I do not know that I can endure even to live while you yet live, so wounded is my pride, so great my wrath !"

Hador, in the midst of his agony, looked up at her with new respect. He had never yet seen her in anger, it was stunning. He imagined her, spear in hand, running him through, and he thought of the respect shown to a worthy foe, and wished suddenly, more than anything, to have her fight beside him, rather than against him. But her face was red with rage, the air around her prickled with the force of her fury, and he knew that if he expressed such thoughts he would drive her to rash deeds that he would not live to regret.

He bowed his head, and slumped down, his mind empty of thought, awaiting her judgment. If death was to be his punishment, then surely he deserved it; he would not raise his hand to defend himself. 
The tears ran down his cheeks, he watched them stain his tunic, catching in pools in the silver embroidery, as his wife stood still and silent, controlling her breath as the musicians of Nargothrond had taught her in her youth. Slowly, as the tears drained the anger from him, he began to return to himself, and knew that there was naught that he could do, naught to be said that could excuse his deeds. 
He must wait, his life and his fate lay in the hands of Gildis the bard, who stood over him, weighing his worth in the scales of wisdom and of love. But with every moment that passed he felt her further from him, as though she were aboard a boat, on a river, being carried downstream, leaving him farther and farther behind, alone.

"By the void !" she said at last, but her voice had changed, and hope bloomed within him like a flower from the magic trees. "By Varda Elbereth and all the Valar, but I should slay you ! " she sighed, and turned away again, and his courage rose within him, and he risked a glance at her. Her shoulders were sagging, her head drooped sadly, and he understood that she had accepted her grim fate, her empty marriage, and her worthless husband.

Moving as softly as a hunter, he unfolded his limbs and rose to his feet. Still she did not move. He stepped forward, stealthy as a cat, until he stood beside her, and saw the tears fall from her face, dripping onto the strap of her satchel, and splashing on the gold buckle. His heart wrung within him, he did love her, but alas, he did not love her as a husband loves a wife, and he loved her too much, or perhaps she knew him too well, for him to counterfeit such passion. But with the simple kindness of his heart, he put his arm around her shoulders, and she turned to him, looking up into his large blue eyes, as red with tears as her own, and she sobbed, and he held her in his arms, comforting her. As though he could. As though the guilty could ever comfort the injured.

But for Gildis there was no other to ease her heart. It must be he, and this was his penance. His duty was plain. He must devote himself to righting the wrong he had perpetrated in marrying her at all by making her married life as happy as he was able. 
He stroked her back as she gripped him, sobbing, and he thought of Fingolfin comforting him. There was no comparison, he thought, but still, grief was grief, and the warmth of another’s arms provided a comfort that nothing else could; not the warmth of the bath, not the heat of the fire, not even the sun. Only the presence of another could truly comfort the wounded heart, and he must be there, he must be beside her, for all the rest of their lives, to heal her spirit, and to amend the injury he had done her.

After an age her tears passed, and she was still. He lifted his head, which had rested on hers, and she looked up at him again, and again the feeling came from beyond himself. He leaned forwards and placed his lips on hers, the wetness of their tears smoothing their skin, and she returned his kiss, with the eager passion of her young flesh. The night they had passed together had left its mark upon their flesh, their bodies knew the sense of homecoming and a reluctant welcome, and they moved together, fitting in ways that though strange to the wishes of Hador, yet spoke to that, deep within him, which sought to bring new life into the world. The kiss grew in passion, her hands moved across his body, and he pressed her close to him, thinking that at least he had an understanding of what was needed, of what must be done. With great daring, he unfastened her hair, and loosened the plait, and felt the fine softness of it under his hands, and tried to block all thought of the heavy dark swing of the hair of Fingolfin from his mind. Here was a creature of an altogether different kind, a love of an altogether different kind, that he need not enjoy, but did not utterly disdain. It was his duty, it was more pleasant than many of his duties, and he could at least give pleasure to his wife, though his heart lay elsewhere.

Her breathing became hoarse as he held her close to him, and he understood that her rage had passed, for a time, and that he must press home his advantage, and reclaim his place in her bed. He swept her up in his arms and laid her gently on her bed, and threw off his clothes. She looked up at him, her expression unreadable, but her eyes darkened into pools of desire. He smiled, tentatively at first, then with rising spirits as, for the first time, she smiled sadly back at him. He sighed, relief bringing fresh tears to his eyes, as he lay beside her, and turned her chin towards him, and kissed her again.