The Song of Our Making by Tilperiel

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The Forest

A warning for violence and death in this chapter.

“That’s hardly fair! You’re much more practiced than we are!”

“Not at all! You’re far more proficient in the trees than either of us; I would say that at best it’s even chances for both sides and at worst the odds are in your favour.”

Istin laughed and reached over to pick another grape from the bowl on the low table before them and leaned back, lounging as she was against Elanoriel’s leg, who resumed braiding her hair once she was settled.

After the morning of the aborted ride Glorfindel had indeed sought out Istin, dragging a somewhat reluctant and still in shock Ecthelion along with him and had demanded she explain herself. She had found the whole thing extremely amusing, much to Glorfindel’s chagrin. She had also been rather flippant about both of their attitudes towards any relationship between them causing them so much anguish; but she knew the laws and customs of their people from her brother and had been compassionate enough. It had plainly hurt her heart to see how such laws could hurt those who fell afoul of them.

As she explained, in her own folk she had been witness to unions other than that of man and woman. Granted, it was uncommon and not sought out, for it was seen as ill omen for their futures and such pairs were not encouraged and didn’t make big public showings of their relations either. She’d scoffed at that, for she couldn’t see how the love that she held for Elanoriel could be anything other than good, although having been subject to the pains and sorrows the choices of who you loved could bring, Glorfindel and Ecthelion made no comment. Glorfindel’s thoughts went to his grandfather, whom he wondered if he would ever see again.

As two who had known naught but the ways of the Noldor, this seemed inconceivable to the two young lords, who had plied her with questions as their eyes had been opened to a future which until that moment had seemed filled with fear and judgement, not only from their families but from the Valar themselves.

The four elves; Glorfindel and Ecthelion on one bench chair and the ladies opposite, now spent much time in one another’s company. The anguish Ecthelion ha had regarding the nature of Glorfindel's and Istin’s friendship which had threatened to separate them, now a source of gentle amusement. Both parties had realised just how fortuitous their friendship could prove to be, situated as they were within a Noldorian city.

If others, friends and family of both sets of lords, had seen the four and drawn conclusions from observing them together so often and in such happiness? They were not corrected. The rumours reached them, naturally and some asked outright with smiles and knowing looks when the betrothals were to be announced, but all they received were shrugs and vague comments, nothing of commitment and so the anticipation grew.

Out of them all, this bothered Ecthelion the most and he voiced it fairly often to Glorfindel in private.

 “How long do you expect we can keep this up for?” he’d sighed, throwing himself down beside Glorfindel, “even your mother is talking of what flowers will be growing in the spring, were she needing to prepare arrangements. We have to think about the future. Seriously.”

Glorfindel had bitten his lip, knowing that he was right, just as he had been on all of the other occasions he’d brought it up already, although he wasn’t any closer to an answer as previously either. He looked at Ecthelion who met his gaze and both knew what was on each other's mind, for it was far from their first discussion

“What choice is there?” Glorfindel had asked, twisting about to look at him proper, “it would seem mighty suspicious for us both to declare that there will be no betrothals forthcoming with either lady and there would go our way of spending as much time in one another’s company without question too.” He shook his head and tilted it to one side with a look of anguish. “I simply cannot stomach the thought of ending this. I hate the lies too but-“

Ecthelion had taken his hand and brought it to his lips, a gentle kiss and had softened, pulling him against himself with a sigh.

“I know,” he’d said, stroking through Glorfindel’s hair and placing another kiss amidst the locks, “but this is more than just us. It would need so many lies and eventually, you know the truth would out. Even if it were possible, which I have my doubts about-“

The only solution that any of them had was fraught with danger and most uncertain to work, in any case; which was for the two couples to wed and then perpetuate that which was already believed of them. It would mean Istin and Elanoriel removing to the new city when built, though as Egalmoth had already sworn fealty to Turgon, it was little sacrifice for either.

The ladies hadn’t been able to offer much help in answering their questions of if it were even an option open to them; it seemed that those they knew hadn’t tried, or at least weren’t open about it if they had. The Sindar might have not held to the same frame of thought as the Noldor, but they still revered Eru above all else and any knowledge of him was not spoken lightly, even if they didn't hold to quite the same level of reverence and fear of the Valar.

Would he grant such a union? They struggled to see any reason why he would. The binding of spirits, as was the way of the Eldar in marriage, was for eternity after all and it made very little sense that it would be possible between any but man and woman, to either Glorfindel or Ecthelion. Although the thought greatly saddened both of their hearts.

“I would still wish to. To try,” Glorfindel spoke quietly, “if you would have me. I will never take another, in any case.”

Ecthelion had sighed deeply but knew there was no way of knowing anything unless they took action, which he was still too hesitant to risk. No matter how much he might have wanted to. Glorfindel had looked so earnest, so lovely and yet so sad and he’d been at pains to deny him aught.

“Our positions,” he said, pain clear in his voice, “your family- you would risk everything for me. No, I would not have you do that. You’re meant for such greatness and I would not have you held back for love of me.”

“The same argument you have used before and I have said then and will say again now; you are as well loved as I and neither of us would be holding the other back, I believe. I cannot see how this could be anything but good.”

“Perhaps, but perhaps not. It is a great risk and I’m not sure it’s one that would be right to take. Not when we’re both needed; our people look to us and we cannot show weakness.”

“You are not my weakness, you are my strength. You who’ve lost more than most and yet,” Glorfindel dropped his voice and shook his head, a sad smile, “yet you still put all others before your own happiness. I would that I could share such virtue. I do know that you’re right though. I should think to my family and to my people, but there is time. No-one is forcing our hands on this.”

Yet was the unspoken word that hung in the air, because time would not hold out forever; not with their families expecting weddings to be forthcoming. Heir’s were needed now for all the nobility, in this place where the deathless were no longer immune to need for succession.

Glorfindel cupped his jaw before leaning to kiss him properly and once again, the subject was dropped. Deliberately set aside, as they lost themselves in one another, choosing to live in the moment rather than dwell on what was yet to come.

They might have been unhappy about their situation, but it certainly hadn’t stopped them from being together. Stolen moments at one another’s houses in the main, years of pining being made up for. They weren’t so reckless as to take things too far, but often it was a close thing, the folly of youth being upon them in those days. So, in spite of the fear and uncertainty that plagued them, they would later look back on those tentative early months with fond memories and quiet laughter at their younger selves.

Winter almost upon them, the four were gathered at Egalmoth’s house, secluded away in the front parlour and discussing the visit planed to Doriath and the fun they could make of the hunt on the journey.

“I still think we will have to postpone the trip in any case. There’s snow on the way, I could smell it in the air coming down from the north when I was out this morning. I would prefer to be in front of a warm fire when it hits.” Glorfindel shivered lightly at the thought and Ecthelion rubbed his arm soothingly. It sobered them both and the ladies gave them looks of sympathy.

Elanoriel smiled over at them and gave an elegant shrug of one shoulder. “My grandfather has a house. Well, more of a shelter really, but it will be warm and dry and he keeps it well stocked with enough provisions that we might stay a while in comfort. It is in the woods of Núath, so we will be passing through anyhow.”

“I’m not so sure-” Glorfindel looked apprehensive and glanced out of the window as if he half expected to see flakes already falling.

“It will be fine Laurë, at this time of year I doubt it will be much more than a sprinkling even if it does come and I would that you would come with us; I know you will love the yule festivities in the Halls.” Istin reached to pat his leg reassuringly, though Glorfindel still remained uncertain.

It was true that he very much wanted to join them there, for he missed the dances and the laughter and feasting that came with them that he had known in Valinor. There had been seldom chance for such times since their exile and little cause for celebration.The constant threat from the north; battles fought with heavy casualties and the host that dwelt in Vinyamar had found themselves oftentimes sorely lacking in cheer.

The last ball had been almost two years ago when Fingolfin and Fingon had travelled to the coast, and for a while, there had been peace enough to enjoy time spent in good company. Many more Sindar had joined them in the last few years too; word from friends and family who had already settled with Turgon bringing them to the Noldorian city and finding welcome, as well as the promise of protection for all the free peoples who sought it.

The horrors of the Helcaraxë weighed heavy upon them all however and Glorfindel and Ecthelion no less than any other. They had lost so much on the Grinding Ice and it had changed them profoundly. From that that there would be no going back and ever they held deep dread in their hearts for the snow and ice of winter. Ecthelion had said naught but Glorfindel could feel the tense line of his torso against him. He hesitated; another glance out of the window, not knowing how to answer Istin.

“Don’t worry, we’ll come.” Glorfindel looked round with some surprise as Ecthelion spoke up and he received a tight smile in return before Ecthelion looked over at the ladies opposite them. “I’m sure you’re right, it won’t be a problem and we’re very much looking forwards to it. I’ve been composing a new piece I’m hoping you’ll like, if your King would allow me to play.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will!” Elenoriel clapped her hands, clearly delighted. “I’ll speak with Lúthien, she will surely sing with you too. Can we have a preview?”

Ecthelion rolled his eyes in the pretense of being put upon and shifted away from Glorfindel with a more genuine smile replacing the previous one. He could feel Glorfindel watching him carefully and deliberately kept any doubt from both his voice and face. He had a sense of ill portent for the journey, but he was good at not making a show of it and decided to push it aside in favour of living without allowing fear holding him back.

“One minute, I will go to retrieve my flute.”

The horses were making steady headway through the trees; their trunks looming up through the grey-white that had the party squinting from beneath their hooded cloaks as the snow fell in an unending curtain of white dust. Had it begun falling earlier into their journey then it would have been almost a certainty that they would have turned back, Glorfindel and Ecthelion least, though Istin and Elanoriel took no issue with the turn in the weather and seemed still in high spirits. They were doing their best to cheer their companions, who they had much sympathy for, as they knew well of their previous plight and it gave them cause for much sorrow. Even so, the pain was not their own and so the cold was no burden to them. Being of the Eldar, it took extremes for them to feel discomfort in such a way as would the bodies of Men and so without the memory of pain and suffering to accompany the onset of winter, it was no hardship to continue through whilst it was not hindering them on the road.

“Come on now Laurë, it’s really not so bad-“ Ecthelion wasn’t exactly best pleased with the situation either, but decided that he wasn’t going to get anywhere by allowing himself to become morose over it, so he was doing his very best to bolster Glorfindel’s spirits too. After the look that he received, however, he said no more, for now. For whilst sullenness was one thing to be overcome with coaxing and some jest, there was a look of the haunted behind Glorfindel’s eyes and the echoing pain of memories both physical and in mind threatened to bring him into the same attitude, should he allow it.

Watching their exchange with a measure of pity, Istin asked Ecthelion for a song to rouse their spirits, hoping it would help. The day had grown dark much earlier than it might, the night coming fast through the storm that was upon them. As Ecthelion brought out his instrument he looked about at the sparkling blanket that was settling throughout the forest. It brought to his mind a song composed for the Lady Varda as he glanced skywards, knowing the stars were still shining above through the thick cloud cover, even though they could not be seen

Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!

O Queen beyond the Western Seas!

O light to us that wander here

Amid the world of woven trees!

 

 Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!

Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!

Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee

In a far land beyond the sea.1

 

The irony of the words that Glorfindel sang to the well-loved tune was not lost on him or Glorfindel either, for the soft noise he made as the last note faded had him lower his flute.

“Oh, I would that you would translate such pretty verse to sing for our King. I might not know all of the words, but the images-” Istin was smiling over at Glorfindel when he finished and he laughed softly, trying hard to keep his spirits up, in spite of his misgivings.

Ecthelion’s music never failed to help. Putting more of himself into the playing than most; it was a talent that few people could match and he indeed put it to good use. He could rouse the hearts of those who heard him to great deeds of valour or indeed, put fear and dread into his enemy. Their eyes met momentarily now and Glorfindel nodded very slightly in thanks.

“Fair Lady, I would that you might aid in that, ere I would make a poor job of it and your King would think I was making a mockery of him in his own Halls!” Glorfindel laughed.

“How much farther to the cottage?” Ecthelion called to Elanoriel, “I would rather we stop for the day in a place that’s dry and warm than find shelter under the trees. I don’t fancy waking up buried under a drift and I don’t think it’s fair to make the horses ride all through the night.”

“Quite! It’s not far now, just a mile or so more.”

Istin laughed, brightly at that, “come on, I’ll race you!” She turned to drop Elanorial a cheeky smile and pressing her heels to her horse’s deep chestnut flank the two sped up and soon joined the grey-white shadows in the trees.

Glorfindel groaned quietly and Ecthelion gave him a sympathetic look. “Come on,” he encouraged him with a nod of his head in the direction the ladies had vanished into, “you were saying you wanted to improve your riding skills. Now’s your chance.”

“I wasn’t exactly thinking of needing to navigate through a snowstorm,” he grumbled.

“No, but we’ll get there more quickly this way in any case. I can light a fire and warm some of the spiced wine I brought when we’re there.” Glorfindel looked a little brighter at that. “That’s the spirit, come on then.”

Ecthelion had, as the rest of them, a layer of white covering his clothing and his mare’s rump and as he urged her into a canter it blew off them in a stream, so to Glorfindel it looked as if it were a shower of glittering diamonds as caught in the last of the light. He took a moment to admire the beauty of the moment, for even though he could not entertain the thought of enjoying the weather he could still admit there was much to be appreciated.

Taking off himself, his own stallion's hooves thudded dull upon the ground, dampened as his steps were by the forest floor. Head forwards and ears flat, Glorfindel leaned over his neck to hide his face some against the cold stinging onslaught, narrowing his eyes. Elanoriel had shot off with a bright laugh after Istin and with Ecthelion gone too, Glorfindel was back of the pack. Through the ethereal light of the drawing evening in the quickly snow covered surroundings, he had lost sight of the others already, although with good sense of direction and hearing, he hoped it would mean he would not loose the way.

A number of quite colourful curse words were muttered through gritted teeth as saplings, unseen until the last moment, whipped at him as he rode on. He didn’t dare to take such a speed as the others had done, for out of all of them he was not the best of riders and it was very much true that he knew he needed more practice. Saddle-time Istin had called it and laughed at his blush when she had made mention of bruising becoming less of an issue.

He could hear that laughter now and turned his horse towards it, the bright sound muted but loud enough to follow as it carried back to him through the trees. He knew he needed to snap out of his maudlin, that he was bringing down the mood of the party and determined to try to not let whatever had a sense of dread creeping over him take the fore. Ecthelion seemed to have much less issue with the turn in the weather, whilst he had been through as much as he had himself. Still, he couldn’t shake the growing shadow in his mind, fear prickling over him and he shook his head sharply in an attempt to clear it.

Then, just as he had made the commitment, a loud howl rent the air some ways ahead, followed by another to his left and answering calls followed in succession all around. His heart jumped in fear and it spiked his blood; all thoughts of past hardships fleeing in an instant as horse and rider as one picked up momentum.

The forest was home to all manner of creatures and not all were friendly. The enemy had corrupted many beasts of the land and air and it was often not possible to tell which was fair and which was foul before they were upon you. The Wargs however, twisted forms of wolves, taken and bred by Morgoth in his fortress and released to do his bidding; they could not be missed. Larger in size than any wolf born of natural birth they were broad but swift and carried a mouth full of razor sharp fangs, hideous to behold. Thankfully Glorfindel had not had the misfortune to come across them before and had no wish to now, but it seemed that fate had other ideas.

Torn for a moment he hesitated to call out to his companions for fear of discovery by the pack and being picked out as a lone rider, but he was no coward and so drew his sword and took the reins in one hand, trusting his horse to keep his footing and not let him fall.

“Ehtelë!” He shouted out in a voice which was whipped away by the wind, hopefully still loud enough for them to hear him. “Istin! Elanoriel!”

He listened hard with held breath for a reply, shouting again lest they hadn’t heard him. It was a long moment, too long, before he heard anything back other than the howls, which had increased in tempo as the chase was clearly on.

Then, a female scream echoed through the trees and Glorfindel’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Laurë!” Ecthelion’s voice did naught to help as he could hear the terror it held. His horse was brave and he carried him on without fault in his footing, for which he would ever be grateful and so whilst it seemed like it took an age to reach them, it was thankfully only a few moments more before he came upon the others and was immediately thrown into the fight.

He barely had time to register what he saw. Two forms on the snow-covered ground and Istin’s horse lay dead from great wounds beside them. There was no time to go to them yet however, for he counted quickly five in his sight of the great creatures, working together to overcome Ecthelion in a circle around him. He was dismounted and valiantly holding them back, yet more, Glorfindel knew, were likely to be hidden close by, shrouded in darkness. He could feel them watching, though he had no time to look to them

Galloping into the clearing and he could watched as Ecthelion’s long pale blade sliced through the air. As graceful as he was deadly, he slashed a great rent across the haunch of one who had tried to leap at him and it fell dead at his feet. He lept over it, fair voice loud and echoing through the forest, as another took his place and Glorfindel charged, still mounted, with a great cry to stop the beast who was coming in from behind.

Swinging his own blade around and it came down hard on the creature’s neck as he rode past, black blood covering his sword as it followed its arc through and sliced its head cleanly off where it fell and rolled out of sight. He wheeled around, ready to drive forwards into its fellows as its body dropped like a sack in his wake.

The wargs were in disarray following his entry to the fray and there now came forward those who had been holding back from the line of trees, who came at Glorfindel, aiming for his horse. The stallion reared and with a loud squeal that rent through the air, came crashing down to turn and kick out with his hind legs, sending one of them flying into a trunk where it fell broken in a heap.

Glorfindel, hood fallen back and with golden braids whipping around slashed at another who had lept towards him with claws extended. Having slain one, another came to replace the first and he dismounted in a smooth leap, dispatching it as quickly as he could whilst his horse took off in the other direction. He hoped he wouldn’t be pursued.

Together Glorfindel and Ecthelion danced; they were frightening to behold in their strength and beauty, the fierce Noldorian anger well and truly firing their fight and terrible was the light in their eyes. The snow was coming down heavier and heavier and the visibility was lowering along with the night drawing in, yet still they were unrelenting in their task. For all the while, they were acutely aware of the two who lay behind them and the soft weeping that reached their ears in spite of the growls and cries renting the air around them.

As the last beast fell, it’s brethren deciding to retreat as they finally realised that they stood no chance of survival in this fight, Ecthelion stood breathing hard, eyes blazing. Glorfindel reached and grasped his arm tightly, whether in reassurance that Ecthelion was still standing or of his own survival he wasn’t sure.

Roughly he palmed his hair out of his eyes, now soaked through with both snow and blood and turning from the scene he ran back, dropping to his knees with deeper dread still unfurling in his chest.

Elanoriel cradled Istin on her lap and the tears streamed down her face, clutching her lifeless body to her chest, looking beseechingly at him. Glorfindel didn’t need to check or ask the question, it was painfully clear that her spirit had left for the call of Námo some time during the fight and there was nothing that could be done to bring her back. He shook his head mutely as he stared back at Elanoriel, unable to say anything at all.

Glorfindel didn’t realise how hard he was shaking until he felt himself being helped back to his feet, strong arms wrapping around him and he choked on a breath.

“Come on, we need to leave this place.” Ecthelion’s voice was low and thick with emotion by his ear and he held Glorfindel as if by doing so he would hold himself together and prevent his own breaking. Not for long though, for he was acutely aware that the storm was growing steadily worse and the risk was high that the wargs would re-group, possibly with orcs on their tail. “We cannot linger.”

Glorfindel pulled himself free and with a single long look before squaring his shoulders, he bent and retrieved his sword from beside Istin. Grimly he wiped the blade with a handful of snow before sheathing it at his side. He had to remain strong, now was not the time for allowing grief to take hold, for he knew that before long, it would. For now, the walls were up and he held it all back, feeling oddly devoid of very much emotion.

“Let me-“ he said quietly and reached to unhook his cloak from under his pauldrons, Ecthelion immediately moving to help.

He shook it out then laid it over Istin covering her over and as gently as he could took her from Elanorial's arms and gathered her reverently in his own. Ecthelion helped Elanoriel to her feet and she stumbled against him where he caught her. A loud sob escaped and she clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and not leaving Istin for a second.

The two Lords looked silently at one another, faces set and solemn with a silent understanding passing between them before Ecthelion carefully guided Elanoriel over to Glorfindel, where she instantly clung to his side and he ran quickly to gather the remaining horses.

He returned with just two; his own and Glorfindel’s.

No-one spoke as they mounted. Two per horse; Glorfindel taking utmost care with Istin, whilst Elanoriel was coherent enough to get them to her grandfather’s cottage, but no more. By the time they reached it the visibility was barely enough to see the trees before they were upon them and it was a wonder that they made it at all. Only the fact that Elanoriel knew the lands so intimately being their saving grace.

Glorfindel laid Istin in her make-shift shroud with the horses in the small stable, a firm set to his jaw and a twitch in his cheek as a tear fell, before he covered the firm hand that was laid on his shoulder and they turned for the house. Inside, door closed and they found themselves cold and wet through and shock was beginning to set in for the two lords also.

“Get a fire going,” Ecthelion told Glorfindel as he bade Elanoriel to sit before him and took off her riding cloak and boots, finding blankets and pelts and anything to help; for she was frozen to the touch and no longer responding. He worked automatically, thinking only of the practical steps and keeping a mask of utter calm about him; the only way he had of making it through.

Glorfindel did as he was asked, hands shaking as he lit the fire, taking strength from Ecthelion, even while his mind, no longer able to keep the walls in place, reeled from the tragedy and couldn't help reminding him of the comparison to some of the deaths on the ice.

All through the night the two tried valiantly to bring Elanoriel round as best as they might. The cottage was warmed through and they made a fortifying broth of herbs from their packs and commodities found in cupboards. It revived their own spirits enough to allow them to carry on, although it could not take away the pain of loss.

The same could not be said for the lady Elanoriel.

“Laurë, we have to get her to help, this isn’t going to be enough.” Ecthelion rubbed her arm through the layers of coverings they had lain upon her on the bed, although she was growing colder whilst they had thawed out and it was clear there wasn’t much time.

 

“We’re more than a week’s fast ride from Vinyamar and it will still take another two to Menegroth,” Glorfindel said through gritted teeth, anxiety running deeply, “and the storm isn’t abating; we would never make it.”

“We can’t just let her fade-“

“I know, but-“ Glorfindel shook his head at Ecthelion and blinked, a tear spilling over and running silently down his cheek.

They had seen this too many times. Too many had been lost since they left Valinor and it was almost too much to bear to find themselves loosing two of their closest friends so unexpectedly, so fast. They might not have known one another for very long, but that didn’t make it any easier. It wasn’t the natural way of things for the Eldar and each passing affected them very deeply. Immortal as elves were and as robust and hale as they might be under all but the most difficult of circumstances, they were not immune to death and indeed, neither Glorfindel nor Ecthelion were strangers to it. The soul deep pain of loosing those closest was too much for some who couldn't find the heart to continue in the waking world when loved ones were not there. It seemed cruel that fate had again brought more sorrow upon them, especially in times of relative peace in these shadowed lands.

They clutched one another’s hands tightly whilst trying to provide what body heat and comfort to Elanoriel that they might and stayed by her side, unmoving.

By morning, as pale gloom filtered in through the windows to join the light provided by lamps and the fire, Elanoriel had joined Istin in the Halls of Mandos. Lord Námo would have presented the choices to her and both had known from the outset that it was almost certain she was going to take his offer of rest and healing; joining her spirit with the person she cherished most of all. The two had been as close as any they had ever known, in spite of not being bound and it was inevitable that neither would be long in the realm of the living without the other.

The fight and grief had left Glorfindel and Ecthelion exhausted and without speaking they covered their friend and took her body with care to lay beside Istin in the stables, knowing that they were in a place where they could find peace. They made prayer to the Valar to keep them until they might walk the fair lands once more and returned to the house.

“Come.” Ecthelion tugged Glorfindel’s hand gently where he stood before the fire, unmoving and unseeing, pulling him away. “Come and sleep. We can do naught else. I would not have you give in to grief too, my heart.”

“How are you so strong?” Glorfindel asked in a whisper and turned into him with wide and shining eyes.

“I’m not,” Ecthelion said with a press of his lips and Glorfindel just nodded once.

Willingly he let himself be led away and they curled up together on a pile of pelts on one of the cots and pulled woolen blankets atop. Wrapped tightly in one another’s embrace, they both fell into deep sleep.

Chapter End Notes

1. J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, "Three is Company" Elven Hymn to Elbereth

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