The Song of Our Making by Tilperiel

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To Join The Stars

A first visit to Menegroth and then return to Nevrast

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Long were those first days that they lay together in bliss, not thinking of the outside world. They left the things that had passed behind them for that time, the grief and the loss. The months wore on, but still time was short, as being but the blink of an eye in their new-founded marriage. Too soon the days had worn on and it came to them that they must not linger any longer. The food was now grown very short and the heavy fall of snow had finally abated. It was the end of winter still, though they would not have trouble in making the path.

There were duties to be done and they knew they must do right by their friends, for Istin and Elanoriel lay still in their frozen shrouds. Their bodies may have been but shells, their spirits having heeded the call would be across the waters in the Halls of Mandos, but they still needed to be returned to their kin, as was the only proper way. It may have seemed uncaring and selfish perhaps to an outsider to hear laughter and happiness in such a sad situation, but for those who had walked the ice and fought upon the new shores of Nevrast, not so. Hard lessons had taught the host of the Noldor to hold onto joy and hope in dire times and Glorfindel and Ecthelion were no different to any others in that respect.

Still, they stayed as long as they might in the small cottage. It was safe there and returning to the real world was a step into what they knew would be difficult at best and dangerous at worst.

“We will be banished,” Glorfindel sighed, not for the first time, his eyes downcast even as he packed his small riding bag with what meagre provisions there were left to carry. They would have need to forage whilst travelling, but it was little hardship to bear.

Ecthelion felt the pang of it in his chest and echoed his sigh, buckling his own pack and dropping it onto the table in readiness. “It’s a possibility, we know that, but it will be together or not at all.” He hoped to convince himself as well with his assertion and approaching him he placed a hand on his arm.

“Come, my love. We will manage. They cannot be so harsh as you fear.” His voice was soft and kind as he perched by his side. “For one, I have fair reason to believe that your mother would not stand for it. Ñolofinwë loves her - and therefore you too - far too much to cause so much pain to order such a thing. There’s been enough strife in your family already, I don’t believe he would willingly be the cause of more.”

“Your family now too,” Glorfindel corrected him with a quirk of a smile. “Apologies for that. At least you wed to the less troublesome side.”

Ecthelion raised a brow at him and snorted softly, pleased that Glorfindel hadn’t completely fallen prey to his melancholy again. “Yes, quite,” he said, “I’m sure Fëanáro would have had a fair amount to say about this union. All of it rather unsavory too, I’m certain. Perhaps it might have even involved swords…Best we try not to cross paths with your cousins for a while, just in case they have the same ideas.”

“I’m glad you find it amusing at least,” Glorfindel grouched but he looked up at him with a spark back in his eyes. “And we’d probably be alright with Nelyafinwë around. Not that I would recommend it.”

“In all seriousness though,” Ecthelion took his hand and held his gaze, “it will turn out alright in the end, I’m sure of it.”

“You can’t know that.” Glorfindel sighed heavily with a slow shake of his head.

“I have faith,” Ecthelion shrugged, “I know you do too, deep down. You haven’t changed so much. Not essentially, at least.”

Glorfindel had spent much time in his youth in the Years of the Trees in the city at the slopes of Taniquetil, the holy Mountain where dwelt the Great Lord Manwë and Lady Varda. His grandmothers’ people loved the Valar most of all the elves and thus had heard a great many poems and been to many ceremonies. Still, he was very much of the Noldor and as a Noldo he couldn’t help feeling the loss of some of the faith of his earlier days, after all that had been lain upon them. He looked at Ecthelion now with a degree of skepticism.

“Don’t you give me that look,” Ecthelion chided and pulling Glorfindel’s hand into his lap in both of his own, he looked at him earnestly.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, “about this. About us. Granted we aren’t a traditional pair. We know there won’t be children given to us and that- Well. It’s hard to accept but I think we both have. Besides, we’re both Lords of our houses and are expected to lead them too when we remove with Turukáno.”

“I don’t see what you’re getting at,” Glorfindel frowned, “we’ve already spoken of all those things, a great many times. Do you suddenly have the answers? We could do all of that regardless. A good deal of our friends already are.”

“Yes, we could,” Ecthelion conceded, “but would it be so well? Separately, we might be decent warriors and our people respect us and our opinions. Together we’ll be stronger still, for we won’t be passing our strength into children but to one another.”

“I’m not certain people will see it that way,” Glorfindel countered, “it’s not the natural order of things. Besides, look at Fëanáro! That argument won’t hold much water, certainly not with Ñolofinwë. I’d like to see you suggest to him that he’s weaker for having children.”

“Alright, point taken,” Ecthelion said, “so we’ll just have to make them see that this union is nothing but good. Through our actions if not by words. Given time, I know they will concede the point; for us, in our positions, at least.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our people are not well renowned for thinking long on matters before making hasty judgment,” Glorfindel said pointedly. “We’ll need a better argument than that, at least at the beginning if we don’t want to be banished. Or worse.”

Ecthelion shook his head in frustration. He did see that his thinking had huge holes in it but he hadn’t yet come up with anything better. Not that he was going to stop trying. He wasn’t just going to roll over and live the rest of his life with the reality that they’d never be accepted. Granted it might take a very long time to get there, but then it was a good job they had a very long time with which to work.

“Eru would not have bound us were it not right and our fate,” he insisted, “there’s a reason you and I have one another, whether we or anyone else knows what that is or not.”

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?” Glorfindel asked, giving him a long look.

They both went quiet for a while.

Ecthelion took the moment to take him in, not for the first time wondering at how they had been brought together. Why he had fallen so helplessly and irreversibly for him, instead of any of the fair and very worthy maidens who had crossed his path. Glorfindel was beautiful, no doubt about that. His hair was now neatly braided in readiness to travel and whilst his clothing had seen better days, even though they’d done as best as they might in making repair, he still wore them well. The gold embroidery set off his complexion and even after spending the better part of the winter indoors he still held a tanned glow, so much deeper than his own pale skin. Ecthelion became lost in thought, so much so that when Glorfindel spoke, he jumped a little, and Glorfindel chuckled.

“That Eru has granted this cannot be disputed,” Glorfindel conceded, “and I think that’s the best argument we have. Although I don’t think it will do to flaunt our union at all. I know my uncle; he will likely see that if Eru wills it then he should accept it, even if unwillingly. I’d, in seriousness, prefer not to invoke any more wrath from the Fëanorians though, if it can be helped. I can’t predict their reactions, even though they’re already scattered and it’s unlikely we’ll meet them unless looked for. Nelyafinwë wouldn’t have room to judge, but after everything and seeing as we’re not exactly close, I doubt he’d stand up for us unless there was a good reason.”

They knew the rumours were true of the closeness between Maedhros and Fingon, some of the few who did, but they didn’t see how it was going to be any help. Glorfindel would not admit it out loud, but his cousin intimidated him a fair bit and had done since early childhood, although Ecthelion was well aware. Maedhros was imposing before the Oath; he was even more so now after Thangorodrim and there was an unspoken unwillingness to show weakness before him.

“We’ll be removed soon, it’ll be easier then,” Ecthelion said, hoping this circular conversation they had been having for days on end would be finished soon.

“Yes,” Glorfindel huffed, “yes, we will, but I’m not sure how being in a confined area with the same people for the foreseeable future will aid us in keeping this private. We’ll have to come up with something. It’s not as if we can just not look anyone in the eye ever again and remain mute.” The matter of married Eldar being plain for any of their people to see through their bonded spirits was a blessing and a hinderance all at once for them.

Glorfindel turned away to look out of the window where a few flakes of snow were fluttering past and sighed. “Come on, it’s time to go. I would that this were over.”

Ecthelion squeezed his hand and rose. “I know,” he said and pulling him onto his feet and into his arms, he kissed Glorfindel’s forehead, his lips lingering. He wasn’t exactly feeling wonderfully positive about leaving either and an air of dread sat heavy at the thought of having to face Thingol, let alone their own people. He so badly wanted to make Glorfindel happy though, for it hurt his heart even more deeply that someone usually so bright and cheerful had spent so long being so sad.

“I want to see you smile properly again and have you being annoyingly optimistic about everything too,” he said quietly, a small smile as he pulled back to look at him. “It feels very odd to be the one taking that position and I’ve a reputation to uphold.”

A ghost of a smile played on Glorfindel’s lips and Ecthelion felt his heart clench just slightly, happy to see some semblance of his old self surfacing. Stepping back, he turned and picked up both packs from the table and held Glorfindel’s out to him.

“Can’t have you taking my crown from me as being the annoying one,” Glorfindel said as he took it from him, clearly steeling himself and trying hard for Ecthelion’s sake, if nothing else, “and you’re right. It’s time to go, before we end up with a search party happening upon us instead.”

---

 “Two stand before me, one clearly of the Noldor and one- I think a Noldo too, but something of our Vanyar brethren also, having arrived in my Kingdom, bearing two of our own. Slain, in what ways we know not. Were it by your own hands I would not think you would be here now, so I would assume there is to be an explanation forthcoming. Firstly, I would know of who you are. Secondly, I would that you stand and tell us your tale in full, leaving naught out, regardless of how small the details. Do not spare us, for it will bode better for yourselves if you do not withhold any of the facts of the matter. A lie by omission is still a lie, my young Lords, so please bear that in mind.”

Glorfindel and Ecthelion stood in solemn silence before Elu Thingol; High King of Doriath in the Halls of Menegroth. The palace had been built like a fortress, deep underground beyond the banks of the river Esgalduin, with but one way in through grand gates high above them and they had been escorted to the throne room by armed guards. They’d approached with more than a little trepidation as they had entered the borders of the great forest, traveling with heavy sorrow afresh in their hearts, for each carried one of the fair ladies shrouded before them as reverently as they could manage.

Thingol sat upon a grand throne carved from a single oak and polished so that it gleamed in the light of the lamps that were strung all about them. They were not the same as those the Noldor used, for they were of a design made by the Lady Melian who numbered amongst the Maiar and burned white rather than the soft blue they were accustomed to. The king wore a shining crown of green and silver atop long pale hair that flowed almost to his waist and he wore robes of a shimmering grey, intricately embroidered with hundreds of silver flowers.

Meliian stood beside Thingol, one hand upon his shoulder and whilst he spoke, his eyes piercing and his expression stony as he looked as to pronounce judgement at the first sign upon the two before him, her own expression was almost impossible to read. Glorfindel glanced at her and she looked to him as though she had already discerned what had happened and was only now waiting for them to give confirmation; although they hadn’t said anything since their arrival.

He didn’t know whether it was in his head he heard the sounds or whether it truly echoed about the shining cavern that they stood within, but Glorfindel discerned the calling song of birds as he looked upon her face. Beautiful and fairer than any of the Children, she held his gaze and her lips turned in the faintest of smiles.

Around the king and queen sat the Marchwardens and their guards. They were clad in dark forest hues of green and brown, their armour as of leaves and were leather in the main, with little plate. Very different to that the elves from Valinor had brought with them and had newly forged; bright polished plate that shone in the new light of unfamiliar lands. Although, somehow they too shone, in spite of their raiment, but it was with an unearthly light.

One of their number stood close behind the royal couple and he held in one hand a long and stout bow. He gave naught away in his expression but it was clear that he was wary of their visitors, for he held his bow-string in his forefingers.

Seeing them all there, hard and fathomless expressions and so unnerving in their appearance, Glorfindel couldn’t help but wonder at whether the Sindar they knew in Nevrast and these were indeed of the same people.

Do any of them have feelings? Are they all made of the same stone as their halls?

Ecthelion spoke with Sanwë, made much easier and more natural now that there was very little barrier to one another’s minds. Glorfindel glanced at him and rose one brow very lightly, for clearly they had been thinking the exact same thought.

The two Noldor, by contrast, were much travel worn and were decidedly not in the finery they would have chosen to meet them with, nor did they hold their faces nearly so impassive. Their shirts and riding breeches showed much wear from battle and travel alike and from months of having few sets to change into. They may have been nobles, Glorfindel a prince in his own right, but a glance at them then would have them taken for the weary warriors they were.

Two of the Sindar clad in the uniform of the guard, one on either side, moved to escort them to stand before their king, where they remained next to them, long spears at their sides. What they thought either Glorfindel or Ecthelion were going to do was anyone’s guess, but it was clear that Thingol’s court was a much stricter place than they were used to in Vinyamar, which was really saying something. One look at any of the guards’ faces told them they were certainly not welcome, but then, neither would they have welcomed anyone who had shown up in the manner that they had, so it was hardly a surprise.

“Well?” Thingol’s question broke through the silence and demanded attention. Glorfindel and Ecthelion looked at one another, clearly wondering where to begin.

Ecthelion nodded shortly and turned to Thingol. Let me, he thought towards Glorfindel.

Keeping his expression calm and composed as he straightened his shoulders, Ecthelion lifted his chin towards the proud king to meet his penetrating gaze. Swallowing his own nerves, particularly at speaking in a tongue he had only recently mastered, he hoped their explanation would be enough.

“Your grace,” he began, “I am Ecthelion and I am of the House of the Fountain, from Tirion upon Túna. My- companion, is Glorfindel of the Golden Flower, also of Tirion upon Túna, but also too of the Vanyar of Taniquetil and we have travelled from Vinyamar on the shores of Nevrast. It is with great sorrow that we are here in these circumstances, for I believe the ladies whom we have borne back to you had sent message of our coming. We were to be guests at your yuletide celebrations and I would that this were still the case.”

Surprised at the steadiness of his own voice he continued on to recount to the court the sorry tale of their journey from the coast and the consequences thereof.

Thingol did not interject, sitting with his hand beneath his chin and an elbow on one arm of his great throne, he looked down on them both and listened. For his own part Glorfindel wasn’t able to hold back his tears at the telling of the passing of their dear friends, an echoing pain reminding him that he was not alone in his grief. He blinked to clear his vision as the Lady Melion looked upon him and he thought he saw a measure of sadness reflected in her own eyes too, the bird song changing and weaving in greater grief now, softer and with less of a disturbance.

“We would for ask your forgiveness ere we depart to our own people,” Ecthelion said with a heaviness colouring his clear voice, “for it will forever be with bitter sorrow that we will both regret not being enough to have brought our companions to their families, whole and hale to enjoy the hospitality offered to us, instead visiting sorrow and pain upon you all.”

A quiet descended. The only sounds in the hall now were that of the distant echo of water running in the river above and through the rocks around them and the quiet music of Melian. It remained so for what seemed like the longest time.

Glorfindel ached to reach out to Ecthelion, to take his hand at the least, but remained still and reverent, not daring to make a move. Even after so short a time, it had become second nature to seek one another for comfort.

Do you think we shall be allowed to leave? he asked him.

He was somewhat concerned, for it seemed that the King and Queen were in silent conversation, looking at one another with drawn faces and flickering nuances to their expressions.

I think we will find out soon enough, Ecthelion said.

Ecthelion quirked the smallest of sad smiles in his direction before Melian stirred and Glorfindel’s eyes snapped from Ecthelion to her, bracing for whatever was to come.

“You have been through much and have shown bravery in coming here. I sense that there is more which you do not speak of, although I do notthink that you have been false and that perhaps what is not said is private and not for us to know. It is evident that you are both grieving for your losses as much as any of us.”

Her voice was soothing and musical, bringing to mind a garden of light and filled with song, even in the deep cavernous halls. Glorfindel had met those of the Mair before in the Blessed Realm and he was reminded forcefully of the home he had left behind.

It stirred him now to speak where he had lacked the courage before.

“We have brought ill news to you all and for that we are truly sorry.” He dipped his head in respect. “However, the fault is not our own but of the Dark Lord Morgoth Bauglir. I do not need to recount to you, I’m certain, all of which he has wrought; tainting everything he has touched and taking many from us who should still walk this fair earth.”

He turned his gaze on Thingol and whet his lips before going on, voice quiet yet ernest. “You knew of my grandfather, Lord Finwë and he spoke of you in terms of great friendship and of an elf as mighty and fair as any who has ever walked these lands. We have vowed to avenge his death and the deaths of all who are innocent and have fallen prey to the Dark Lord’s wickedness. For my own part, I would that I would be bound to my word until such time as the world is changed and he and all of those he has corrupted beneath him are a danger no more. I would offer you nothing but respect, and hope that you would accept our deepest sympathies for this loss to your people.”

Ecthelion gasped very softly beside him with a small Laurë, no! but Glorfindel stood tall, not looking in his direction. He did not falter, even under Thingol and Melian’s deeply appraising gazes.

“I can see that you mean every word you speak,” Melian said slowly, “but know this Glorfindel Los’Lóriol, Eru will hold you to your promise, just as your people are already bound to their doom. More may well be asked of you than you would be willing to give, ere the end.”

He swallowed but didn’t falter. A strange sense of knowing settled on him and it was both terrifying and comforting at the same time; for at that moment somehow he knew that she was right. Iinstead of shying away, he stepped forwards to yet again embrace his fate.

He felt Ecthelion crack inside, but not break. They were in this together, come what may.

---

 After their time in Thingol’s court they had been permitted to stay on to join in bidding their farewells to Istin and Elanoriel. They took their places beside their families, who had not placed any blame upon the two Noldor. They shared in their tears with hands clasped together tightly and had joined them with their own songs as they had been asked to sing. Not the songs they had been preparing and not the ones they wanted to be singing.

Words were spoken too to Lord Námo; to hold and care for them, until such a time as they would be healed and whole. To be re-born unto the world, as was the way of the Eldar and walk the Blessed Lands, or even to return to their home in Arda, where they would be seen again by those who loved them.

Then the pyres had been lit the time had come to send their bodies into the sky in ashes, to join the stars.

Later, when in the privacy afforded to them behind closed doors, it was not lustful need that had found them in one another’s arms. They lay with salt laden kisses where tears mingled and they whispered affirmations; over and over giving declarations of love. They each held the other together.

Then they had spent time amongst the people for a while, finding wariness from most for their being outsiders, but welcome enough and kindness too. Galadriel was there with her betrothed, Thingol’s kin, Lord Celeborn and they had spent many hours in their company, finding comfort in family and reunion. Galadriel had been far too perceptive and had looked at each of them long and hard with the most unreadable expression, but she made no comment on what she thought. She had just nodded once and the conversation had moved on. If it was acceptance or her uncanny perception of things yet to come, neither could afterwards decide, but they took it for good either way and it eased their minds, if just a little. It was odd seeing her there, not at all as they’d known her in Valinor, but then they had the good sense not to ask questions for the reasons whilst in Thingol’s kingdom.

When finally they found themselves set out upon the road back to Nevrast, the snows were receding and the river through Doriath was high with melt water. They came to the Great Gate with the guards in their green armour either side, waiting to close them as soon as they had passed through. The air was scented with the freshness of the new growth of the forest all around them and in spite of all that had passed during the long winter months, they felt renewed in spirits with the coming of the spring and hopeful that all might be well, at least for a while.

Of course, they knew that they had to face the questions that were ahead in Vinyamar and there was no doubt that there would be a great many of them. No doubt they were bringing back a measure of grief too and they didn’t look forwards to the inevitable re-telling of all that had happened. Especially not facing Lord Egalmoth, who they knew would be devastated at the loss of his dear sister.

Just as they were leaving Thingol stopped them, with Melian ever present at his side. It was only the two of them, alone.

"You may not be of our people,” he said, “but whilst you are both young and have seen much which has been hard for you to bear, you have shown courage and respect and have done the right thing, even though you must have known the perils that could have brought. I see in you both that you are wedded and although we have not spoken of this, I believe I know the truth here, for you have not hidden your feelings.”

Glorfindel’s heart jumped hard and hammered in his chest and Ecthelion’s mirrored it, both feeling dread wash over them. It seemed then that the fears they both harboured were about to become reality and they held their breaths, awaiting judgement and both on alert.

“There is no need for your apprehension,” Thingol said, in a softer tone than they had heard him use till that moment and he laid his hands upon each of their shoulders. “Your wives will not think unkindly on you and will be proud that you’ve not hid away from your duties. You will be reunited once your time in Arda has passed, or if they are permitted to return to us. This my wife has told me of Mandos Halls, for they are but a place of waiting and healing. Your separation will not be easy, granted, but you must keep faith. You have good hearts. I would that the blessing of Eru be upon you both in your futures.”

They nodded mutely, scarcely believing that he had made the error but not thinking for a moment to correct him, for they were suddenly aware of Melian’s gaze, which with a blink told them that she knew her husband was mistaken. However, she did not say anything.

A small smile curved her lips as Thingol stepped back, allowing them passage and they bowed with their respects to them both, murmuring thanks as they finally left their kingdom.

They dared not speak aloud whilst they were still within the Girdle of the forest, for they knew they were followed by a good number of the Sindarin guard ere they crossed the border. Unseen, but ever present as the feeling of eyes upon them on either side through the dense trees.

Do you think it might work? Ecthelion glanced across at Glorfindel, a troubled look upon his face.

I honestly see no reason why it would not

But if we’re caught out on a lie-

Then we don’t lie. Perhaps the omission will allow them to come to the same conclusion as Elwë? Already people have been making the assumption of a forthcoming betrothal and would it not be logical for them to make the leap? Glorfindel gave him a hopeful look.

Aye- but your family also? Your mother, Laurë?

And so they went on, discussing the solution that Thingol had unwittingly laid before them; knowing it would not be a good idea but both succumbing to the convenient cover it allowed them. Neither was comfortable with it, feeling very wrong, but the alternative they knew may well cost them dearly and putting it off for a later point was very appealing.

“I’ll speak to my mother. I’ll not hold the truth from her.” Glorfindel shook his head as he stared into the fire they had built one evening. They were all but a day’s ride from home and still they hadn’t reached a consensus. Ecthelion was growing weary and Glorfindel was agitated with the thought of not being able to share his happiness of being wedded to someone whom he loved so deeply from his mother, especially as they were very close.

“But what of your uncle?” Ecthelion asked, for what seemed like the hundredth time, “she won’t want to withhold it from him and asking her to do so would be equally as wrong. We should either tell them all or none at all.”

“I don’t want to tell him and besides, he’s in Barad Eithel and doesn’t need to know! I’m more worried about Turukáno, who will be there and won’t want to have either of us as leaders of his new city.” Glorfindel threw out passionately, folding his arms tightly over his chest.

“The deceit and lies we’re bringing with us are not right!” Ecthelion threw back, equally as impassioned. “If our argument is going to be that Eru’s given his blessing then how will lying about it look if we’re caught out? I don’t like it, it doesn’t sit right and will bring far more shame than if we’re just open from the beginning. At least then, whatever happens, we’ll have clear consciences.”

Glorfindel groaned in frustration, knowing Ecthelion spoke honourably and he felt wretched for being a coward. Although, he still felt sick to his stomach at the thought of speaking to either his uncle or cousin. He didn’t want to admit it, but a fair bit of him was also upset at the thought of not being accepted as he was by all of their people too. It was vain and selfish and he was angry at himself. He dropped his head into his hands, hair dropping over his shoulders and hiding him from sight. Tired and in an ill mood, when Ecthelion reached a hand to his arm he shrugged him off.

“Well.” Ecthelion huffed and folded his arms over his chest now instead, shaking his head in Glorfindel’s direction and feeling equally as annoyed. “I suppose if we are not much on speaking terms when we arrive it will make this easier.”

Neither said anything more that night, each choosing to roll out his mat on opposite sides of the fire. They were feeling the pain of what they knew was going to be much more difficult than it had been in Thingol’s palace by the time the next evening arrived.

They both knew that the other was not actually upset with him; it was almost impossible now to hide their feelings with their union, which was a blessing and a curse all at once. So, it was only inevitable that when morning came it was a contrite pair of elves who made apologies and carefully wrapped one another in soft embrace, admitting they were scared and knowing they needed to be strong.

Even so, it didn’t solve anything and they knew that they had fundamental differences to reconcile, which they could no longer put off doing.