Not mine. No profit. Just for fun sharing with friends.
It was autumn when first we met, in the year's season, and in the season of my heart. I thought of love, as any maid might when setting eyes on him. But he was too wise for love, his defenses too strong. I was practical. Love is not for the practical or the defensive. Thus we shared ordinary pleasures common to all, be they man or maid, the hunt, a walk in a garden, a game of chess at a fireside. I determined to do as men do in companionship. I would put aside what most mattered in favor of light camaraderie. In time it became routine that we met after dinner in the hall of fire. Song, dance, and tales were offered. There where eves we would join in, but more often we'd find a quiet fireside for a game and let courtly entertainments go unnoticed.
Cerise and gold passed to the ice blue and white of Winter. Tapestries covered the casements to keep out the cold. The balconies were shuttered against the snows. One bitter evening, as the fire burned to embers, he rose to stoke and bank it, then added fuel. Flames flared and the wood popped and hissed. The hour was late and the hall empty but for a few straggling mistrals. Their skills brought forth a melancholy harmony. The evening passed and the game was as good as won with my queen captured. A single harper was left to coax his lament from the strings when we met eyes and he said the first words spoken since dinner.
"Check mate."
I bowed my head slightly to his victory. "You've won again and not entirely by skill. I saw you move that rook when it wasn't your turn."
"Your sight was marred from staring into the fire," Glorfindel said dismissively.
I meant it in jest and said so, but my opponent clearly found little humor in it. That he defended himself, albeit slight, betold his sense of honor had been transgressed. It would have been an embarrassment to both of us had I apologized, rather I busied myself gathering the pieces, expecting him to offer his arm to walk me to my chamber when the game was put away. He did not. His squire came from the shadows and placed before us a cup of hot mulled wine each. The night was particularly cold and the cup's warmth soothed the chill on my hands. It was potent. The scent of nutmeg swirled with the tune of the harp. When half my goblet was gone he began a story. It was a surprise, better said a shock, for he was not one to speak much needlessly.
He began to tell of the celebration of an evening long ages past, of a magenta sunset, at the gates of summer and how all seemed in order. The moon was new and the stars hidden behind a veil of cloud. In deepest dark, and after the feast, the warriors were called to arms by the tolling of the night watcher's bell. The city walls had already been scaled and the farmhouses without the walls burned. Dragons filled the sky by a dozen or more. The warriors fell to their flaming breath in hundreds. Those who survived fought hand to hand with orcs and every foul thing Morgoth twisted to his evil will. The far outnumbering enemy decimated the ranks until it was clear the bailey would be breached. Fierce Ecthelion and his forces held in reserve joined Glorfindel and his unexpended warriors to hold back the foe at point of sword and with the shield boss while the citizenry began their escape. There were some dear to him among them. Inexplicably the enemy seemed to dwindle and fall back. The lords and their men cut down stragglers until the innocent were safe. Under sound of retreat the warriors of Gondolin took up the advance and rear guard for the fleeing people.
Glorfindel stood alone before joining the rear guard. No enemy came forward. Mayhap the remnant would be spared. The men at arms led the people out through the mountain passes and he followed last with the lord of the fountain. It was harsh travel for women and younglings, but for a time they made safe passage. Then, after the burning city was well behind them, the cliff-face began to glow red. It came out of the night, a creature of enormous height and cruelty. Horned head and lashing flame, Gothmog's fissured, grey skin covered a molten soul. Ecthelion rushed to battle, Glorfindel alongside him. Scarcely had they begun but a dragon's scream split the air. It's talons gripped a ledge above them and from its back a second Balrog leapted to aid the first.
It was not a matter of choice or heroics, he explained with eyes cast down to his wine goblet. The Balrog's ambush called him to meet death, to this he was resigned. For this destiny was he created. He left Ecthelion to his own fate as fire rained down. His combatant's whip whirled while Glorfindel crouched beneath his burning shield. His vambraces glowed with heat. He smelled the sulfur of the Balrog and his own seared flesh. Somehow he threw the charred shield from his arm and advanced against it with sword and spear. His highest expectancy was but to purchase time for the others to further their escape, no more. Against hope, the injured Balrog, intent upon his prey, became heedless and lost footing. For a fleet moment it seemed an unlikely defeat for the dark forces. But in its plummet the enemy cracked its whip of fire as it went and entangled Glorfidel's hair. The victory was shattered as they fell together from the mountainside. There was fire, the pain of burning, and then a drifting away like sleep.
The legend to this point was familiar, but never had I heard it in quite this detail. I only half believed it before. I thought of the moment earlier when I accused him of cheating and the disappointment in his expression. His word and honor held for him value above gold. Glorfindel was not likely a liar, nor did I think would he embellish.
I waited, anxious to hear about Namo and Vaire and the fortress of Mandos, but he did not continue with the tale. He pushed his empty goblet to the edge of the table and his squire appeared with steaming wine to refresh the cups. This too was unusual. He always freed the boy from duty immediately after dinner so he could enjoy his evening at leisure. Something was not right, but neither did there seem to be anything wrong.
"Well," I said placing the warm goblet to my cheek.
The cold had so penetrated the walls of the great house that the fire was of little worth when not blazing. I shivered partly from cold and partly from hearing the adventure from the lips of my companion who had not spoken so many words in all our meetings together until now.
"Go on…," I demanded and drank the wine too fast while it was warm. Repeating what I had seen, I pushed my goblet to the edge of the table. It was filled again at once.
My cheeks were crimson from the wine warming my blood. Across the table I found the lord blushing as well, but doubted it was wine that caused it, for he had not drained the cup as I had.
"Are you well," I asked in concern. Mayhap the retelling was painful. This I did not voice.
"I am, but I am not sure why I told you. It is unlikely a maiden would find anything interesting in a soldier's battle stories. My apologies for any offense."
"Glorfindel," I paused for emphasis the wine making me bold. "We are friends, or so I had hoped. Finally after months you do more than mumble a greeting and think it causes me offense?"
"I do not mumble. I greet you properly. You are not much like a lady, but I treat you like one."
I could feel my mouth gape.
He swore mildly. "That is not at all what I meant. I mean you are unlike a woman in that your company is pleasant and easy, more like a male companion's."
I understood what he was trying to convey but I purposefully did not respond. I would watch him blunder. If he blushed earlier now his ears were as blood-colored as the wine.
"I mean to say, you are a cherished friend."
He stood as he spoke, this time his voice was unaccustomed loud. The crimson had traveled to his throat. His long, fair hair and pale eyes caught the color of the fire-glow. The only sign of age on his face were slight creases at the corners of those eyes. As he told of the fall of Gondolin he seemed sage-like and ancient, now youthful and unsure. I always knew my liking for him. It had grown exponentially in the last hour. Glorfindel sheepishly took his chair again.
Just then his squire, who was named Tathar, came out of his not so clever hiding on the other side of the hearth. "What he means to say, he wont, least not unless the awakening arrives first." With that the boy laid a small folded napkin of white silk in the center of the table. In his other hand was a flagon of wine which he also deposited. Tathar took his leave to the hearthside with his own drink. Glorfindel shot him a glance meant to reprimand that softened to the fondness of a smile. The slightest of it remained to share with me as he unfolded the silk. There gleamed two gold rings, one smaller, one larger, wide but unadorned. He took my right hand and placed the smaller of the two on my first finger.
"I'm glad that it fits," he whispered. "I had to guess at the size."
I placed the remaining ring on his hand as he had done for me and saw him as I had not allowed myself until now. The blue-grey of his eyes, high cheekbones, and mane of gold bejeweled him better than gems, but gems there where. His garnet smile grew to a rare laugh. He was scented with jasmine and the smoke of wood fire and pine. I would, in proper time, know the scent of that embrace with greater intricacy. No matter how the house of the golden flower multiplied, or did not, and I hoped that it would greatly, Winter's cold was gone never to return.