Breathless by elfscribe

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Chapter 6 - Rising to the Challenge

Glorfindel must decide how to uphold his honor.

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Dawn was just breaking, spreading a warm light over the room. Ecthelion lay under Glorfindel, a delicious sight. His black hair was spread out over the pillow, his muscular chest heaving, his lips parted and his eyes half-closed in pleasure. Glorfindel was overcome with desire to possess him wholly and completely. “There, you’ve got it all,” Glorfindel said with a gasp, as his abdomen came up flush with Ecthelion’s buttocks.

“Then don’t make me wait; do something with it,” Ecthelion said.

“I hope I don’t get stuck, with a diddle hey diddle,” Glorfindel said. Ecthelion laughed, which Glorfindel felt as a pleasant vibration.

“Um, that might prove awkward if you're trying to fight Rog,” Ecthelion said. "A bit of an impediment, I'd say." They both chuckled. Ecthelion continued, "I'm glad you've developed a sense of humor about Pengolodh's ditty. However, having had sufficient experience with this matter, I doubt there's any real danger. So now I beg of you, finish me off. I'm in need."

Ecthelion’s hands were raised, resting on the pillows near his shoulders. Glorfindel interlaced their fingers, then kissed him deeply. “You are complaining, after everything we did last night?” he said when he pulled back to look at him.

“No complaints.” Ecthelion smiled up into his eyes.  “Just . . . curse you for torturing me like this. You’re a warrior, wield your staff!” 

“Since you insist,” Glorfindel grinned.  He began to move, a long slide out and then a hard thrust, slapping against his lover’s rear, harder and faster until he was slamming his entire length into the tight heat of Ecthelion’s body. Ecthelion reached for his own straining cock and began stroking himself almost brutally, as he rocked his hips, meeting Glorfindel thrust for thrust. 

“Aye, now that’s better,” Ecthelion said. “Perfect. Keep going! More! Harder!”  He threw back his head and groaned in pleasure, as he came in heavy spurts that peppered his chest.  The pulsing sensation vibrated around Glorfindel’s cock, launching him into his own shuddering orgasm.  He thrust harder, and harder, riding out the waves of joy. 

Finally, he came to a stop, still inside his lover. “Do you not agree that this is a better use for a morning staff than we employed yesterday?”

“A thousand times better,” Ecthelion sighed.

Glorfindel slowly pulled out, grabbed a cloth and wiped off Ecthelion’s chest, then lay down alongside him. "We should have done this long ago," he said. "But then, circumstances were different."

Ecthelion rolled on his side, entwined their legs. “I've wanted to do this for years and glad I am that you finally came to your senses."  He stroked his hand down Glorfindel's face. "Last night was one to remember. Curse the King’s edict which denies us such pleasures.” 

“Agreed,” Glorfindel replied. “It’s nigh on impossible to enforce such a decree.”

“Good that Thorondor was willing to transport us off the mountain yesterday,” Ecthelion said. “Gave us more time in bed together. What a sensation to fly through the air like that! I’ll never forget it.”

“Nor will I,” Glorfindel said. “I fear Voronwë and Limíriel thought we were rude, excusing ourselves so soon after dinner.”  

“Nay, they understood,” Ecthelion said. “We’re not the first to come out here for this purpose. Remember what Limíriel said about a refuge from prying eyes.  I’ll return soon and bring some gifts for the girls to make up for it.  But for now, we need to think of the immediate future.”

Glorfindel looked out of the window at the cluster of huts with the backdrop of mountains. “I’d much prefer to stay here forever than to face the challenge this afternoon.”

“Do you think you can take Rog?” Ecthelion said.

“I think so,” Glorfindel said. “But it will likely hurt a lot and I wouldn’t bet on the outcome. The power of truth is not on my side this time.”

“I wonder if Manwë truly cares about our oaths,” Ecthelion said. “If he does, why should a fight settle the question? Why not just send Thorondor down with a scroll declaring one elf to be a prat and a bloody liar, and the other one virtuous and honest?”

“That would certainly be more just,” Glorfindel chuckled. “I always thought that winning a fight has more to do with skill and power and less to do with the strength of one’s convictions.  But Turgon was adamant that I go through with it.  I’ve told myself that I must do what my King commands because of my loyalty and love for him. But fighting to defend a lie, I’m finding it hard to bear.”

“One of the many reasons I love you,” Ecthelion said.  “I do worry though.  The challenge is to first blood only, but accidents do occur.  Remember Penlod’s son last year?  A wrong step and he was run through.  It was almost enough to make Turgon outlaw the challenge altogether.”

“I’ll be careful,” Glorfindel said. “I know Rog; he’s a man of honor. Still, we’ll both strive to win.”  

“Can’t you just throw down your sword and capitulate?” Ecthelion said.

Glorfindel shook his head. “And you wouldn’t either.”

“You’re right. We’re too stubborn for our own good.”  Ecthelion sat up.  “Well then, the sooner we leave, the sooner you can get this over.  We can make it to Gondolin with enough time for you to arm yourself and stretch out.  When are you going to tell Turgon . . . .”

“About what we’ve done? I don’t know.”

“Maybe you don’t need to—not yet,” Ecthelion said.  “Everyone has secrets.  You’ve kept the truth of your relationship with Turgon hidden for years. Why not hide ours as well?”

“I’m weary of secrets, lies, half-truths,” Glorfindel sighed. “Let’s get up and prepare to leave. We have a long walk ahead of us.”

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“You seem distracted, Glorfindel,” Limíriel said at breakfast.  Having just done justice to a plate of eggs and biscuits, Glorfindel sat at the table, nursing a cup of tea. Voronwë was seated nearby repairing a fishing weir by bending the withies in and out of the frame. Glorfindel heard laughter just outside the door.  Ecthelion was playing hide and seek with the twins.  

Glorfindel gave her a smile. “I’ve much to think about,” he said. “Let me ask something a bit delicate. What caused you to defy the Council and conceive your children?”

Limíriel held up a finger.  “All you have to do is listen to them playing, and you’ll have your answer. Those children are the fruit of the love that Voronwë and I have for each other, and our delight in life. But beyond our own selfish desire for children, I believe Gondolin needs them, else as a people we will stagnate and wither.”

“Was it worth being sent away from Gondolin to live a life in exile?”

“Without question,” Voronwë said.

 “Do you not fear increasing the population of this valley beyond what our resources can support?” Glorfindel asked.  “Forgive me, but it is an important question that concerns all of us.”

“Of course I do,” Voronwë said. “We are all in this together. But I believe we’ve been thinking about the problem in only one way, when there are other approaches we might take. Certainly we cannot recklessly beget more children and remain here, but if we choose to grow slowly, I think we can support more people than the Council has determined.  Here in this village we’ve been experimenting, finding ways to increase our crop yields and planting fast-growing trees to use for firewood. Bóralph, who lives two houses down, has created a stove that burns more efficiently so we need less fuel.  If we put the best minds of Gondolin to work on the problem, we can make better use of what resources we have and I think it would be good to have a tangible goal to work towards.”

Glorfindel nodded. “That’s good. You’ve given me a different way to think about this. I’ll discuss this with the Council as soon as I may.  For now, Ecthelion and I had best return to Gondolin.  I have an appointment in the challenge ring this afternoon.”

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“I’d like an audience with the King,” Glorfindel said to Morgil who was standing guard outside the King’s throne room. 

“Lord Glorfindel, it’s a relief to see you back in Gondolin,” Morgil said. “There were others, less trusting, who were making bets that you’d fled the challenge.”

“I needed to get away to think for a while,” Glorfindel said.  “Now I’m back and I need to see him.”

Morgil looked uncomfortable.  “He’s given orders not to admit anyone.”

“He won’t talk to his champion?” Glorfindel asked. 

The door opened and Idril came out, dressed in a white gown and wearing her golden hair loose about her shoulders.  She smiled at him. “Glorfindel, I’d heard that you were back.”

“Milady.” Glorfindel inclined his head. “I wish to speak to your father but I’m told he’s not receiving visitors.”

“He will see you,” Idril said firmly.  “I will insist. Captain Morgil, let him pass.”

Morgil bowed and stood aside.  Glorfindel followed Idril through the throne room and down several hallways to the King’s library.  She knocked on the door and then opened it without waiting for an answer.  “Father, Glorfindel is here to see you.”

“I told Morgil no visitors,” Turgon growled.

Idril opened the door wider. “You will see Lord Glorfindel,” she said.  “I believe you two have much to discuss.” She nodded at Glorfindel and then departed, leaving the door partially open. 

The King reclined upon a sofa, with books piled about his feet.  He held an open book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. He snapped the book shut. “I was told you’d left the city, without asking leave.  I feared you’d run off.”

“Have you ever known me to do such a thing?” Glorfindel said angrily. 

Turgon set the wine glass down. “Nay, you are nothing if not loyal. Why then did you wish to see me?”

“I’ve taken some time to reflect upon our situation.  I cannot fight to defend a lie.”

“Then fight to uphold the honor of your House and mine.  Both have been besmirched by Pengolodh’s slander.”

“I do not agree with the way in which he did it, but he is right, Túrukáno.  You yourself have said, what is a King who cannot follow the law?”

“I have been weak, as have you.  I know that,” Turgon said. “Come sit beside me.”

“Nay, what I have to say, I’ll say from here.” Glorfindel steeled himself. “I can no longer come to your bed, Túrukáno.  You feel it’s wrong.  The laws of our city say it’s wrong.  And we are not being made happy by it.”

“I have come to the same conclusion,’ Turgon said. His face looked tired. “But we have made this vow before and it has not availed us.”

“There is more,” Glorfindel said. “I have lain with Ecthelion and he has my heart.”

Turgon swiftly looked up.  His eyes snapped in anger.  “How long have you been dealing double with me?”

“Only since last night.”

“How could you! I forbid it!  I’ll send Ecthelion out to guard the gates.”

“You and I may not be together, but yet you would deny me happiness with another?”

“By law and custom of the Quendi, you are engaging in forbidden acts.  We shall both ask for absolution from Manwë and we shall refrain from all further congress, as must all the Gondolindrim from now on.  Our survival depends on suppressing desire as our wise counselors have determined.”  He gestured at the books lying open around his feet.

“I do not believe that it does,” Glorfindel said. “I have spoken with Voronwë whom you exiled.  He and others in Thoronsîr have begun developing ways to stretch our resources.  I suggest we reconvene the Council and listen to his ideas.”

“As you well know, we have studied the matter and this is the only way,” Turgon said. “Believe me, I do not want to enforce this law.”

Glorfindel folded his arms. “It is only outdated laws and customs that forbid men from lying with men or women with women. Allowing what you and I have been doing is a solution to our problem.  Why do we make it a crime?”

“You would change everything, change who we are as a people just to enjoy these filthy lusts!” Turgon cried. He got up and began to pace.  “It is my duty to maintain our laws and keep our people safe from evil.  I cannot simply throw thousands of years of custom out the window.”

“I would change these customs because they are wrong, Túrukáno, because love is never wrong.  I believe your heart froze long ago when the beautiful Elenwë died and you have never forgiven yourself or me for that day.  Well, I choose to move on and to love whom I will!”

Turgon’s face contorted in rage.  “How dare you speak to me of Elenwë! This I say as your King and sovereign: in two hours time you shall appear in the arena to defend my honor even if you have none left yourself.  After this, we will have no further relations but what are required by your position as head of your House. But if I discover that you are continuing this affair with Ecthelion, I shall exile you.  Is that clear!”

“Perfectly,” Glorfindel said through clenched teeth.  Anger flared white hot throughout his body.  It was all he could to keep from breaking something. Without waiting to be dismissed, he stalked to the door, then he turned.  “I truly loved you, my Lord.  I thought you were better than this.  You are better than this.  I don’t know what has taken over your heart, but you may as well open the gates to the city and allow Morgoth’s hosts in!”  He slammed the door on the way out.

Outside, he suddenly felt overcome with fury.  He slammed his hand into the wall.  Idril glided up to him.  She put her hand on his shoulder. “Calm yourself, my Lord. I heard some of it and he  confided in me last night. You are correct. He is better than this and he will remember it in time.  Let me talk to him.”

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Dressed in his armor, and sweating in the heat of the late afternoon, Glorfindel stood under an awning located to the side of the amphitheatre and arena where Gondolin conducted their games. All of Gondolin seemed to have turned out to witness the challenge.  There was a festive atmosphere as crowds of colorfully dressed elves threaded their way into the stands. Elves were selling ale, wine and viands from carts. The enticing aromas of baked apples and fried sweet cakes filled the air.  Directly across from Glorfindel rose the pavilion for the Lords that included  the royal box, draped in the King’s colors: white, gold, and red with his emblem of the sun, moon, and scarlet heart. Turgon and Idril would appear when everyone else was seated. The place for Lady Aredhel would, of course, remain vacant.  The sight of her empty seat filled Glorfindel with remorse.

Standing a few paces away, Rog Camdring was flexing his bulging arms and then swiping his longsword through the air.  His helm with the tall crest and broad breastplate emblazoned with his House symbol of the hammer and anvil, made him appear larger even than Glorfindel remembered.  Glorfindel pulled on his heavy gauntlets, and rotated his arms and neck to loosen up, then squatted down and back up to loosen the hamstrings. 

Ecthelion and other members of his House filed into the arena, followed by Medlin and Broneg, from Glorfindel’s team. Behind them came Salgant, his son Talagand, and his nephew Tavorian, who made a rude gesture at Glorfindel, which immediately occasioned a shoving match between him and Broneg before Ecthelion broke it up.

“Hail Glorfindel!” Broneg called. “We know you’ll vanquish him. When you have truth on your side, you can’t lose.”

Glorfindel shook his head. When they knew the truth, would they ever trust him again? He would’d be letting down everyone who had been vigorously defending him the past few days. At this point he just wanted to get the whole thing over with.

Loremaster Pengolodh arrived, escorted by a guard on either side.  He was seated in a box in the pavilion reserved for a challenger.

A horn winded signaling the arrival of the King and Turgon appeared with Idril at his side. They climbed the stairs to their box, stood and waved at the people, then sat. Turgon’s face looked drawn and weary.  

Glorfindel moved closer to Rog, who stood half a head taller than him.  “I didn’t know you were such a friend of our Loremaster’s,” Glorfindel said.

Rog turned his head but Glorfindel couldn’t see his expression through his face guard.  “I’m not, particularly,” he said. “But I believe that if a King breaks the law and then denies that he has broken it, he takes the first step towards becoming a tyrant. By and large, Turgon has been a good King, but he must be stopped. We don’t have to do this, Golden Flower.  All you have to do is admit the truth.”

“Are you so sure what the truth is?” Glorfindel said.

“I was there when Pengolodh sang his ridiculous ballad, and when you confronted him. I saw you refuse to swear an oath. That was enough to convince me. This does not become you, Glorfindel.  It’s not the man I have come to know and respect.”

“When your King gives you an order, do you dare to disobey?” Glorfindel said.

“A difficult choice, my Lord,” Rog said. “Shall we see what Manwë decides?”

Ecthelion came up to Glorfindel, checked over his armor, then clapped him on the shoulder.  “May the Valar protect you,” he said.

The horn winded again and the voices stilled.  The crier came out onto the field and made the announcement. 

“A challenge has been made and accepted to settle an accusation by Loremaster Pengolodh against our Lord and King Turgon, son of Fingolfin of the House of Finwë, and Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower.  Pengolodh has alleged inappropriate conduct, which has been countered by the King’s accusation of slander. Our champions are Lord Glorfindel for the King and Lord Rog for the Loremaster. They have chosen the longsword as their weapons and the terms are to fight to first blood.” 

Galdor then entered, carrying his staff of office as arbiter.  Glorfindel and Rog squared off against one another.  Galdor set his staff between them, then removed it with a flourish. “Begin!” he cried.

Glorfindel immediately retreated and began circling his opponent, back and forth, sword held low.  He knew that Rog relied on his superior size and strength but wasn’t as agile as he was. If he could just keep out of range and then dart in, he might get the advantage of him. It was bothersome not being able to see his opponent’s eyes through the slitted helm.

Rog surprised him by immediately charging and striking at him with a heavy sideways blow.  Glorfindel’s sword met Rog’s with a harsh clang, block, deflect, engage, block, deflect again.  They retreated and circled.  Glorfindel feinted, then came again from a different angle, so Rog had to turn to one side and then turn again.

“Appears you like dancing,” Rog called.

“I’m a great favorite at parties,” Glorfindel replied.

It was hot as Morgoth’s forge. The sun, mid-way above the western horizon, beat down on his armor. Sweat beaded upon his brow. The noise of the crowd on all sides was like buzzing insects. He watched Rog’s body, how he held himself, noticed that he took a moment to move his bulk into action.  Glorfindel could sting him like a fly, push him into making mistakes.  Glorfindel flew in, metal clashed high, low, side, disengage. He turned his sword and thrust the pommel into Rog’s visor. Bang!

Rog staggered back before Glorfindel could grab his sword away from him.  Once more they circled, rushed, engaged, deflected. Each time, Glorfindel was feeling him out, seeing where the weaknesses were.  He couldn’t find any. 

Glorfindel’s breath was coming harder now.  Again, attack, block, disengage. He smelled the dust and his own sweat. Glancing up, he saw Ecthelion standing on the side, watching intently.  Next to him Galdor was poised with the staff.  Hundreds of blurred faces yelling in the stands. He couldn’t make out individual words, but heard his name, Gloooorrrfinnnnndel!!

Rog swung his sword parallel to his head and hit Glorfindel on the helm with a tremendous blow that made Glorfindel’s ears ring.  Glorfindel staggered back for a moment and Rog took advantage of it to push him back against the side of the pavilion. He heard cries of dismay from the elves in the seats above. Rog pressed up against him, and banged with his mailed fist on Glorfindel’s helm. Like a hammer on the anvil. Glorfindel’s head reeled.  He brought his knee up hard into Rog’s stomach.

“Oof,” Rog gasped and doubled over. Glorfindel knocked him on the back of his head with his pommel again. 

But instead of falling as, bloody well he should have done, Rog bucked his head up, smashing it into Glorfindel’s face, and throwing him backwards. He hit the ground hard and his sword went flying. Where was it? The ground shook with Rog’s footfalls coming for him. Glorfindel rolled, and felt the whoosh as Rog smashed his sword into the dirt where he’d just been. The crowd roared.

Glorfindel rolled back the other way, and felt the impact as Rog stumbled over him and fell heavily to the ground. Glorfindel looked around wildly for his sword. Ecthelion shouted, “Fin! Over here!”  Glorfindel glanced up at him and then down at the ground nearby. There it was!  A  few steps away.  He staggered up and lunged towards it, reaching down and scooping it from the ground.  He turned just in time to block another tremendous blow aimed at his neck but he lost balance and dropped to his knees. Rog thumped him on the back and then in the kidneys with his sword pommel and gold stars erupted in Glorfindel’s vision.  Angband’s pits that hurt!

“Glorfindel!” He heard Turgon cry from the stands. The fear in his voice was like a bolt of lightning.  Glorfindel rolled out of the way, lurched to his feet, and then ran backwards out of harm’s way, with his sword held over his shoulder.

Earlier in the fight, Rog would have caught him, but the smith was tiring. His breath wheezed through his visor.  They both stood, facing each other again, gasping for air, their swords lowered to the ground. Sweat dripped in Glorfindel’s eyes and he could barely see.  

“Bloody stubborn Noldo, let’s end this,” Rog called. “You know the Loremaster was telling the truth. You’re fighting for a lie!”

“Nay, I’m fighting for my King,” Glorfindel said, as they closed on one another. 

This time Glorfindel went on the offensive. Thrust, engage, push.  Then, he was inside Rog’s guard. Glorfindel hooked his leg behind Rogs’ knee and jerked his leg out from under him. Rog fell like a boulder and landed on his back with a thunderous crash.  Glorfindel stood over him, holding the point of his sword at Rog’s throat. 

The crowd roared with approval.  “First blood,” someone cried and then they began to chant, “First blood. First blood.”

Glorfindel let the sword hover over Rog’s throat just to make his point. Then, as Galdor moved in with his staff, Glorfindel threw his sword down with a clank into the dust at his feet. He pulled off his helm and wiped sweat from his eyes. “I have done my duty as my King’s champion,” he cried out, “but I will not take first blood because I am guilty.”

“Ohhh,” the crowd gasped.

With a groan, Rog slowly rose, unstrapped his helm, and threw it at Glorfindel’s feet. He waved weakly at him. “Now that’s the Glorfindel I know,” he said in approval.

Glorfindel knelt down before the King and raised his hands, palms together. “I have disobeyed you, my Lord and submit myself for punishment.”

Slowly, Turgon rose from his seat and lifted his hand for quiet.  “Nay, my loyal servant and dear friend, you deserve no punishment,” he said gently, but his voice carried through the ampitheatre. “May the Valar forgive me, the fault is not yours and never has been. I have proven myself subject to the desires of the flesh and am responsible for taking you to my bed.”

Shocked whispers echoed around the arena. Feeling light-headed from the fight, Glorfindel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Turgon was taking all fault on himself, but surely Glorfindel held much of the blame.

The King continued, “I now realize how impossible a burden I laid on the people of Gondolin.  It was wrong to deny our need to love with our bodies.  Here is my decision in an attempt to put it right.  I extend a royal apology to Loremaster Pengolodh who had the courage to speak the truth.  And I hereby lift the edict against physical expression of love—all love.”  More whispers from the crowd. “Tomorrow, I will convene my Council and we will explore ways to husband our resources so that Gondolin may be blessed with more children.”

Glorfindel raised his head in wonder.  Here was the fair and wise master he’d adored. The murmurs of the crowd turned into a sigh, and then tumultuous cheering.

Pengolodh rose from his seat and bowed towards the King.  “My Lord, I only wanted the truth and now I have it.  I accept your apology and remain, as ever, your loyal subject.”  He sat again.

Glorfindel suspected that it was not over between them as Pengolodh had demonstrated a shocking lack of respect, but at least publicly they had reconciled. 

Turgon nodded curtly at Pengolodh. He raised his arms and proclaimed, “This challenge has been fulfilled.” 

Still feeling disoriented, Glorfindel stood. He bowed deeply to the King, then offered his hand to Lord Rog, who clasped it heartily. 

The cheers became deafening as the crowd waved handkerchiefs and tossed yellow flowers down onto the field.  Many left their seats and surrounded Glorfindel, clapping him on the shoulder and offering to buy him drinks.  He saw Ecthelion trying to push through the crowd. Glorfindel shoved his way towards him until they met and embraced.

Ecthelion was grinning broadly. “What a display of courage!  Well done, my friend,” he cried, thumping Glorfindel on the back.

Glorfindel pulled him close. “My friend, my love, you are a wonder.  For the first time in many years, I feel I can breathe again.” 

 

The End

 

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Chapter End Notes

Many thanks to my good friend and fabulous beta, Russandol, for the quick edits, astute comments, encouragement and camaraderie.