Undimmed by Cloud or Shade of Night by Marta

Undimmed by Cloud or Shade of Night

Elrond turned the glass cup in his hand, watching the firelight reflected in the amber liquid within. He closed his eyes, letting the cackle of the dying fire wash over him, the sound of burning logs on the hearth settling against each other as they were reduced to embers. Further off, he heard a lyre's song amble aimlessly, voices too far away to make out properly. It was peaceful, this tail end of the evening when he could let himself simply be.

"You knew."

That voice was much nearer at hand, more insistent for his attention. Its owner unmistakable. Elrond rotated his head back to ease the growing crick in his neck, breathed deeply, and opened his eyes. "I take it all went well in Rhudaur?"

Elrond sat up and looked at the other elf more closely. He was weary, clearly. That was easily enough explained by his recent travels and the late hour, but that weariness also laid bare his frayed nerves. He was - not volatile, not quite, but something akin to it. Whatever the incarnation, Glorfindel was still the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower in his heart, and it was a rare thing to see his emotions writ so plainly in the thin line of his lips, the determination in his gaze, the still tension of his fingers laced together between his knees.

It unsettled Elrond. It would have unsettled a greater lord than him.

"News of the Trollshaws can wait," Glorfindel said after a moment. "News of Orcrist cannot."

Ah. Perhaps - no; for a certainty - Elrond should have expected this conversation. Perhaps not so soon; but still, Elrond should not have been so surprised.

"You knew," Glorfindel said again. Clearly evasion or even delay would not be permitted.

"I know many things," Elrond said. "That mountain-trolls do not stray so far into the Flatlands, and so near the Last Homely House; not if they have any choice in the matter. They must have been driven, which requires someone to do the driving. I know, too, how they name Gandalf south of Dunland. To us he is Mithrandir, but they call him Stormcrow. Our doors will always be open to him, as to any other kindly traveller who needs our hospitality. But I have seen enough to seek out other portents when he draws near. With Thrór's heir in tow, and a being half out of legend. One of the Periannath! Was I so wrong to wonder what might be afoot beyond our comfortable stronghold? Or to want my own people's report of it, so we might make better plans?"

Glorfindel waved away that suggestion dismissively. "You have other scouts. Your own sons, for one. I was not needed afield, but my memories could have been valuable when it came to making plans. My use these days lies more in the council-chamber than around the campfire." Nearby, one of the logs burned through, causing the one leaning against it to fall down to the fireplace's floor, sending off a shower of sparks. Glorfindel started at the sound, then settled back into his chair. "And do not think I don't see you trying to push the conversation to a form of your choosing. I saw your grandfather play at the same game with his king, remember. And you have not a whit on him."

Elrond saw Glorfindel's gaze soften a little at some memory, and found himself smiling in return.

"I did not send you out lightly," Elrond said after a moment. "There could have been some clue less wizened eyes would have missed, or who would have overlooked its significance. And truly, Glorfindel, I did not know our guests were walking around with blades out of Gondolin. Who would have thought such treasures would be found in a troll's cave, in this late age? And when they saw the moon-runes on their map, I was hard-pressed to convince them to wait even a day."

"Moon-runes?" Glorfindel asked.

"Quite," Elrond said. "And of a cunning design. The Dwarves were so eager to resume their journey, and not miss some clue by being in the right place when the moon's next phase yielded some new information. Never mind that they could miss the chance just as easily by arriving too early as too late. I would have urged them to trust to fate, or to providence, and not to rush out into danger before they were truly prepared; but their folk have remarkably closed ears for such warnings."

"I have not seen moon-runes since the days of Gamil Zirak."

Elrond hummed in consideration. "Narvi knew something of them, if the histories are to be trusted. But certainly none compares to Gamil's skill. The lettering on Thrór's map did not come close, of course, but it was still a cunning design, and the ability to create even the ink is near unheard-of these days. I have not seen such cunning lettering for centuries, and even then only on other relics out of Belegost. Of Doriath."

"And still you did not seek me out."

Elrond exhaled deeply. He had been reminded of those other times when Elves and Dwarves worked together, of what came after. Of other Peredhil twins who had not survived to be found. "You are not the only one for whom the Dwarves' visit brought up old memories, Glorfindel. Things perhaps left buried; though surely not in a troll-horde. I am surprised you ask with such interest about Orcrist. Surely Glamdring should be of greater interest?"

"Turgon's sword belongs in a museum," Glorfindel answered; "or in a cairn. But Ecthelion's." His eyes seemed to dance at that name, and Elrond did not wholly ascribe it to the firelight. "I have so little left of him, and that would still be true even if my body had survived our flight. We left in such haste."

Elrond let his hand slip into his pocket to trace the signet-ring he carried there. It had caused no small amount of scandal amongst those who mistook its insignia for the Star of Fëanor, so he had taken to carrying it around more discreetly; but still he felt incomplete if he did not have it near at hand. Elros had carved it with an early version of his house's sign, and given it to him on a beach south of Lindon when the two had parted ways at last.

He knew well the weight of such totems, but equally how they could serve as ballast.

"I should have known, perhaps," Elrond said at last. "Not much could make you creep in and disturb my solitude."

"I did not creep."

"The price of being so skilled at scouting, perhaps." Now he did feel the smile return to his face in full. "To come upon your lord so exhausted after a long day and longer night, wearied beyond tolerance by Erestor's latest attempt at minstrelsy, and steal what moments of respite he managed to gather for himself? Near treason. But yes; I should have known what that blade might mean to you. And I would have spoken with you about it in time. What I cannot understand is how you learned of it so quickly."

"The Valley has ears," Glorfindel answered, "as Gandalf said; your Halls, moreso. Of course I was told. To think that I might have seen a blade out of Gondolin - this blade! - with my own eyes."

"You might yet have that chance. If the Company is successful, if they win back their home, we would be negligent not to build up our relationship with them. And Glamdring at least is carried by Gandalf now; he will not stay away forever. Even that is something to hope for, is it not?"

"We are in sore need of hope," Glorfindel said.

"Mountain-trolls do not stray so far into the Flatlands," Elrond said again, and this time the words' true weight fell upon him.

"It will keep until daylight. But no; they do not, not if they have a choice in the matter."

"We will speak of it." Tomorrow; not tonight, not in their current moods. Instead, he rang for another drink, for Glorfindel and himself. "For now, tell me: how fares the first harvest in the Angle?"

Chapter End Notes

The title is borrowed shamelessly from the poem Gimli sings to the Fellowship in the Mines of Moria. Listen to John-Rhys Davies recite it here.

The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty kings in Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away:
The world was fair in Durin's Day.

 

A king he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of power upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shone for ever fair and bright.

Ten points to Gryffindor to whomever can untangle the obscure JRRT references from concepts of my own invention. As with most of my fics, the fiddly bits are mostly a healthy mixture of the two that even I can barely keep straight, with one exception: Elros's heavy reliance on Fëanórian heraldry was inspired by this recent Tumblr post.