A/N: Chapter revised March 23, 2016
Chapter XI: A Basket Full of Lies
After Glorfindel whispered the words against her hair, and Lucy realized she wasn't going to die from shock, the elf lord turned his attention elsewhere. Blinking rapidly as if to clear the dust from his eyes, he looked ahead towards his captain, gesturing languidly for him to continue. The other elf did so.
A mask of professionalism seemed to fall over Glorfindel, and it was slightly fascinating to watch. It appeared as if once the elf lord set his mind to something, nothing could sway him from the task. With the cool, collected approach of someone who hadn't just abducted a prisoner from his own king's dungeons, Glorfindel set about reviewing the maps splayed across the table. Lucy stayed in her seat beside him, hunching in on herself, the tea untouched between her hands.
The elf lord seemed content to leave her, so long as she didn't try to escape. There was an unspoken rule that she had to stay within arm's reach and in sight of him, or the calm would drop and the ellon would become visibly agitated. Lucy tried it once. About fifteen minutes after they reconvened to review the maps, she abruptly dropped her teacup, letting it fall and shatter against the stone floor with a crack.
Even as Glorfindel was turning around to see the commotion, Lucy was rising unsteadily from her seat, propping herself up on shaky arms as she made to walk towards the door.
"I have to go home now," she said in a daze, not really understanding the words. Her brain didn't seem to be processing her surroundings quite right, and at the moment, going home seemed like a good idea. Her head hurt.
Instantly Glorfindel was beside her, his hands on Lucy's shoulders as he firmly pushed her back to her chair. When she was settled – albeit unwillingly – he crouched down, picking up the shards of her discarded teacup and carefully placing them on the table to keep her from getting cut. The elf lord lifted each of her bare feet in turn, feeling the undersides of them to make sure they hadn't been sliced open by the pottery. Once he seemed satisfied that they hadn't, he stood, returning his attention to the captain. Glorfindel stayed close after that, one of his hands constantly gripping the back of her chair as a cautious measure. Lucy wasn't allowed to get up from her seat, and truthfully she didn't try again.
The elf lord was in serious trouble, and everyone seemed to know this from the nervous looks his household staff were exchanging, yet the golden-haired ellon remained absolutely unconcerned. So long as Lucy didn't move, his utter focus and apparent saint-like calm didn't waver. When the doors to his study suddenly – but inevitably – slammed open, Glorfindel didn't even look up from his maps.
There was a furious elf standing in the doorway, looking about as frazzled and wild-eyed as an elf could appear. His chest was visibly heaving with labored breaths, his pale cheeks flushed. Morwen was standing just behind the ellon, her features drawn as she nervously wrung the wrist of her right hand. The poor woman looked like she was at her wits' end, and Lucy didn't blame her.
"You." said the elf standing in the doorway as he glared at Glorfindel, his words incredulous. It was the same ethereal, black-haired elf lord that had sat beside him in the Council Chamber: the one that had tried to calm him down to no avail. The ellon was dressed in a pale, silvery sort of blue, and his eyes were blue too – a delicate baby blue that was so translucent that they nearly bordered on grey.
Glorfindel finally looked up from his maps, handing the one he was holding over to his captain.
"Ecthelion, pol im asyad?" he asked, his tone innocent. There was no hint of reproach to his voice. Glorfindel's expression was otherworldly in its lack of visible concern. His flaxen-haired captain cast a nervous look towards the elf lord standing in the entrance, but said nothing, bowing quickly with the map in hand as he turned and exited through the door.
The elf called Ecthelion looked ready to strangle someone, preferably Glorfindel.
"Laurëfindil, why?" he finally choked out, entering the room. The elf's hair was almost as long as Glorfindel's, whispering behind him as he moved. It was poker straight and dark as ink, shining blue-black beneath the daylight. Lucy was unable to understand the rest of his words as the elf launched into a verbal tirade, other than a sentence along the lines of "I told you not to." Ecthelion's steps were short and erratic as he paced across the room, one of his pale hands carding through his glossy hair as he ranted, his voice growing louder and louder as he turned back and forth, then repeated the circuit. Morwen remained in the doorway behind Ecthelion, standing still as if she were afraid to enter. The tension in the room was so thick that Lucy felt like she was choking on it, and she knew it would only get worse.
"Idhren." Ecthelion spat, grinding his teeth together and back hunching like a furious, hissing cat's. "Daer idhren."
Glorfindel let Ecthelion rant without complaint, his eyes lowered and his expression carefully neutral as he squared away his maps, never drifting from Lucy's side. His expression was almost too calm, and Lucy began to suspect it was merely a mask. This was proven true when Ecthelion made a comment in a language that was more melodic than the regular Sindarin, gesturing briefly in Lucy's direction.
Instantly Glorfindel's hand went to Lucy's head, his fingers resting against her crown in an overtly protective gesture. A visible frown marred his features. He was very tense, although he was trying to hide it.
"Alaná cólórya." he said in the same strange elvish tongue. "Lestarya ea."
Ecthelion scoffed, casting Glorfindel an incredulous glance as he continued pacing. When he moved towards them, Glorfindel stepped in front of Lucy to cut the other ellon off, refusing to let him approach. The dark-haired elf pulled up short, letting out a harsh exhale of breath through his nose as he clenched his jaw. His pale blue eyes were frigid, his pupils narrowed to pinpricks. Glorfindel met his gaze head on, unwavering and chin held high. He squared his shoulders as he awaited punishment.
"Glorfindel, hen heria daro." Ecthelion warned, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
"No." said the elf lord. Although his voice rang clear, there was the slightest waver to it, as if he was somehow afraid. Lucy didn't know from what.
"Glorfindel." the ellon warned, louder this time.
"No." Glorfindel repeated. The waver was stronger.
Without waiting for the elf lord's permission, Ecthelion brusquely reached forward and grabbed Glorfindel by the collar, yanking him violently away from Lucy to berate him. His expression was less than pleased. Glorfindel struggled for a bit, but it was a half-hearted sort of thing, as if he was loath to lay his hands on the other elf. When it became clear that Ecthelion had no interest in Lucy, he stopped fighting altogether, remaining docile under the ellon's grasp. His head bowed, his face turning to the side as he refused to meet the other lord's furious gaze. There was rapid talking between the two parties, with Glorfindel's calm quickly shattering and Ecthelion's anger melting away to reveal sympathy mixed with regret. Glorfindel still wasn't fighting, but he was growing more and more agitated the longer Ecthelion held on to him, his voice beginning to waver noticeably as he tried to free himself through peaceful means. The manner in which he angled himself away from Ecthelion screamed of avoidance; of a deep, entrenched anxiety that had taken root many years before.
"Glorfindel." Ecthelion said sternly, his hands rising to grip either side of Glorfindel's face to keep his head still. "Glorfindel, hen heria daro." he repeated. He tried to force the other elf to look at him, but Glorfindel was having none of it.
"No." he said, shaking his head. He hastily reached up, attempting to dislodge Ecthelion's fingers as his hands locked around the other's wrists, but he couldn't seem to escape. Glorfindel was speaking rapidly, and soon his words were thick with distress. Lucy got the impression that the elf lord was trying to explain something, but he wasn't doing a very good job. The problem seemed to be centered deeper than her, although perhaps it was fair to say Lucy was just the latest catalyst in a long line of mistakes. From the lack of reaction from the brown-haired ellon standing in the corner of the room, and from the expression of deep resignation etched across Ecthelion's features, it appeared as if they were used to this sort of behavior.
Morwen was staring at Glorfindel as if he were insane.
"Glorfindel." Ecthelion said slowly, his voice firm. The ellon was picking rather frantically at his companion's fingertips, but it was an ineffectual sort of picking, full of hopeless frustration. In that moment Glorfindel reminded Lucy of the Glorfindel in her dreams; the one that had clawed at his crown and slit his throat in a spray of blood. Quickly Lucy eyed the blade currently sheathed at the left side of his hip – some sort of curving short sword. It wasn't the greatsword he'd carried with him into the Council Chamber, but it made him no less dangerous. She wasn't the most cognizant of people, nor the most logical, but even Lucy could see the wisdom of divesting someone of any sharp, pointy objects when they seemed close to a nervous breakdown, especially if it was a repeat occurrence. The fact that Glorfindel was still armed was disquieting.
"I want to go now." Lucy repeated, her voice slightly shaking as she gripped the armrests of her chair.
No one heard her, and if they did, they didn't pay attention. Glorfindel was speaking so rapidly he sounded like he was on the verge of the elvish version of stuttering. When he took a step backwards, straining against Ecthelion's hands as he pointed vaguely in Lucy's direction, Ecthelion yanked him forward again, refusing to be swayed.
"Laurëfindil." Ecthelion urged, holding Glorfindel's head still as he tried to get the elf lord to look him in the eye. Glorfindel was trying very hard not to, attempting to speak over the ellon in protest as he pointed in Lucy's direction. "Laurëfindil, uin imya."
"Ten ná." Glorfindel insisted, stumbling slightly under the other ellon's grasp. "Ten ná."
"Laurëfindil," the dark-haired elf said in a hissing whisper, gripping Glorfindel's head and shaking it slightly with emphasis. "Qui carildë ala quildë ilmë, Turgon selma savnatyë laiwa."
"He boe dartha sí." Glorfindel continued, completely undaunted despite his lack of calm. He pointed in Lucy's direction, trying to step towards her. Ecthelion wouldn't let him. "He boe."
"Han û cillín." the other lord said firmly. Glorfindel did not like whatever it was that Ecthelion had to say, and protested loudly. While the two were engaged, Morwen finally moved forward, quickly ducking around the elf lords as she made a b-line for Lucy, her skirts wrapping around her legs as she ran. When Morwen reached her she extended her hand, quickly feeling her forehead and tugging Lucy's nightgown up her shoulder to hide the skin. She pulled Lucy's blankets more firmly around her as Ecthelion tried to talk Glorfindel down.
"Sweetness, are you alright?" Morwen asked in a rush, quickly looking towards the door. She tugged on Lucy's arms, pulling her off the chair and forcing her to stand. Lucy let her, gazing mindlessly towards the escalating altercation. Ecthelion seemed to be running low on patience again, and his voice was rising as a result. Morwen draped her arm around her shoulders, holding her close.
"I want to go home." Lucy told her in a monotonous drone. Morwen nodded automatically, glancing towards the elves with blatant concern. "Of course, Sweetness." she agreed, far too cheerfully. "Of course we'll go back. We'll go to my home, yes? Far away from any Noldor. You can meet my sons. I think you will like that." Briefly, the brown-haired ellon cast a glance in their direction, but he didn't make a move towards them, turning his attention back to his lord. Both Ecthelion and Glorfindel's voices were raised now, although it was hard to tell which one of them was more upset.
"Morwen." Lucy said as the other woman carefully guided the two of them away from the altercation, taking a small step towards the back door. "Why are they yelling?"
"I do not know." Morwen replied, keeping her voice low. "I do not, truly. The Lord Glorfindel, I think he is mad. The things he is saying make no sense."
Lucy thought this was a very astute observation, and told her as such. "I don't like the Noldor." she confessed miserably. "I think someone should take away their swords." Morwen let out a small laugh at this, lightly tinged with hysteria. She seemed about to say something, but at that moment Glorfindel heard them, turning his head in response. When he saw Morwen trying to shuffle Lucy out of the room, his blue eyes widened, his features twisting with panic.
"No." he said, deftly ripping himself free of Ecthelion's grasp and nimbly escaping the other's hands with far more skill than he had utilized before. He stalked towards them, lifting his white-clad arm and pointing at Morwen as he snapped his fingers to get her attention. "No." he commanded, lips twisting into a shaky pout. "Ci hehta dín dan!"
Immediately Morwen let go of Lucy and backed away from her until she was standing on the far side of the room, visibly cowering.
"Glorfindel, stop." Ecthelion commanded, swiftly striding after the other elf lord. Lucy kept standing, but she was thoroughly terrified of the giant blond elf advancing towards her and that awfully sharp sword he had strapped to his side.
When Glorfindel reached for her, Lucy shied away and dropped to the floor, crawling underneath the table and frantically scurrying out of reach of his hands. The elf lord let out something that sounded like a gentle curse, dropping to his own knees to reach under the table and grab her. As he did so, Ecthelion grasped him by the collar, yanking him upwards and loudly berating the other elf while doing so. Glorfindel began explaining something, but Lucy didn't care what it was. She crawled on her hands and knees until she was as far away from the golden-haired elf lord as she could get. When she hit the wall she stayed there, putting her back to it and curling up in a protective huddle as she glared outwards. Glorfindel and Ecthelion had moved towards the door.
A few minutes later, Lucy felt a hand clamp down on her arm. She nearly screamed aloud, but was stopped from doing so when Morwen slapped her other hand across her mouth, shushing her quietly. She pulled her up from underneath the table, keeping low to the ground as the two of them huddled side by side. The elves seemed to have forgotten that they were there – the initial conflict over Lucy having been passed over for something deeper – but they didn't try to leave again. The atmosphere was far too tense. The argument went on, and on. Lucy wasn't sure if it would ever really stop. Fifteen torturous minutes later, when Ecthelion was back to pacing and Glorfindel had been forced to sit in Lucy's chair, the King of Gondolin arrived. He did not look pleased to be there.
The King appeared as if he had been called there in a hurry, and Turgon's expression was as close to furious as Lucy had ever seen it. His gray eyes were darkened in anger, his brows deeply furrowed. The Noldo prince was dressed in a casual manner, his deep red robes loose and thick as if they were meant for lounging instead of matters of state. There was at least a dozen royal guards accompanying him, and behind the guards Lucy actually spied a peevish looking Anaduilin lurking in the hallway, visibly biting at the inside of his cheek as he glared.
Ecthelion seemed overwhelmingly relieved to see the King. The minute Turgon stepped into the room the ethereal elf bowed low in a shimmering fall of pale blue fabric and glossy black hair. He placed one of his slim hands across his chest as he lowered his gaze in obedience.
"Nín Aran." he began demurely, but with a hint of urgency. "Nanyë ú –"
Turgon silenced him with a firm squeeze to the shoulder, gliding past the smaller ellon and further into the room in a loud rustle of crimson robes. Glorfindel had been forced to sit in Lucy's chair, and was currently slouched like a disobedient child about to receive a scolding. When the King approached he lifted his head, his entire countenance brightening as he stood. His expression was not quite hopeful, but definitely desperate.
Lucy stiffened as he did so, backing away and pushing hard against Morwen's arm slung around her shoulders. She tried to make herself as small as possible. It didn't matter in the end, as Glorfindel seemed to be entirely focused on the King. When he spoke, his tone of voice said as much.
"Nín Aran." he began, but just as soon as he stood Turgon was stepping forward and pushing him down, the action done in a manner that was ironically reminiscent of the same way that Glorfindel had treated Lucy. The elf lord jerkily fell back, his expression a mixture of abject hurt and confusion. Even still he stayed where he was, looking towards the King with puppy-dog eyes as his fingers twitched nervously against his armrests. Glorfindel appeared even younger next to Turgon, and the elf lord's inability to sit still added to this effect. Twice he opened his mouth to speak, and twice the King cut him off with a sharp click of the tongue or a venomous sounding word designed to make him fall silent.
The King paced in front of Glorfindel for a time, saying nothing as his crimson robes dragged across the pristine tiles. His elegant right hand kneaded at his temple as he glared absently at the floor. Eventually he stopped his pacing, but only for a bit, and when he began to move again his wandering was slower, his expression more conflicted than angry. Glorfindel turned his head back and forth to watch the King, the intense blue of his eyes making the hue of his skin seem downright pallid. From where Lucy was huddled on the floor, it appeared that Glorfindel stared at everything with the same level of intensity that he had done so with her, or at least the things the he granted importance to. The elf had a debilitating one-track mind.
Turgon finally stopped pacing, standing to the side as he bowed his head, his dark hair spilling down the front of his chest. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. The King's entire posture radiated displeasure, but also concern. When he spoke his voice was surprisingly soft.
"Glorfindel, lhaewdhir ad?" he asked. Glorfindel shook his head adamantly, his fingers clenching tightly against the armrests of his chair. His deep blue eyes were wide and round as saucers, his expression horribly honest.
"Û, nín Aran." he said.
"Ú furudhir enni?" Turgon asked, just as softly, his eyes still closed and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He sounded incredibly weary.
"Û, nín Aran." Glorfindel repeated. Turgon frowned beneath his hand, rubbing at his forehead between his sharply defined brows. When he asked his next question, it was simple enough for Lucy to understand.
"Why?" he said, his voice monotonous with exhaustion. Glorfindel shifted nervously in his seat, his gaze darting apprehensively to the side as his fingers picked self-consciously at the hem of his ivory sleeve.
"Ten pen varna" he declared. Although there was a tremulous waver to his tone, Lucy could detect a reckless sort of strength behind it that made it clear that he believed what he was saying. Turgon's eyes finally opened, and his expression grew even darker. When he spoke again his voice was firm.
"Hen polú vorima, Glorfindel." he said. "Ten ná úthaes."
"Nín Aran –" Glorfindel began, leaning forward in his seat as if to stand.
"Úthaes!" Turgon snapped, raising his voice to a yell. "Hehtanë ilquen vi raxë –"
"I did not!" Glorfindel countered, standing despite the insistence of his King, who was back to pacing. Glorfindel shook his head fervently. "Vá haru Gondolin. Vá –"
"He boe dadwen." Turgon said, rubbing tiredly at his forehead. Glorfindel paled. Behind the King Ecthelion was standing as rigid as a livewire, gnawing on his thumbnail as he watched the altercation in silence. Glorfindel's expression was distraught.
"No." he countered. "Û, uvarna."
"What's he saying?" Lucy asked Morwen in a hush, dreading the answer. The other woman leaned in, placing her lips next to Lucy's ear as she spoke in a low whisper. "I think the Lord Glorfindel is worried about putting you back in the dungeons." she said.
"Oh." said Lucy. She didn't really know what to say to that.
"Im henia hen ná valdëa andh." the King was saying, his finger pointed in emphasis, his voice firm but entreating for understanding. "Nó im equë ci ú." Glorfindel continued to blanch, the color draining from his cheeks as he shook his head.
"She is a child." he insisted.
"Glorfindel." the King countered, raising his voice again. "Ci ava."
"Please." Glorfindel said.
Ecthelion let out a soft hissing sound of distress that whistled between his teeth, his slim hands rising up to clench nervously in his hair as stared at the other lord with blatant worry. "Laurëfindil." he said in a pleading tone. "Lá daur."
One of the royal guards shifted his weight from foot to foot as he looked towards his King for instruction, and on the other side of the table the brown-haired ellon that had accompanied Glorfindel moved forward. "Hîr nín." he began.
"Please." Glorfindel repeated, keeping his too intense gaze on the King. Turgon was beginning to look fairly furious again.
"No." he said.
Abruptly Glorfindel got down on both knees, bowing so low it was practically supplication, his forehead nearly touching the floor. Turgon did a double take when Glorfindel sunk to the ground, then made a sound of intense displeasure. He clenched one of his hands, using the other to gesture rapidly towards Glorfindel in a manner than made it clear he wanted him to rise.
"Taram." he said, glaring fiercely. Glorfindel stayed where he was, for once completely immobile.
"Lá, nín Aran."
"Glorfindel, taram!" Turgon demanded, his voice harsh.
"Please." Glorfindel begged, bowing even lower. His forehead thunked against the tiles. His golden hair spilled across them. "Poldhir ú mentarya dan. Ná alvarna."
As if suddenly realizing that Lucy was still watching, the King looked up towards the back of the room to where she was huddled beside Morwen. Lucy drew her knees up to her chin. Immediately the King raised his arm, turning to the brown-haired ellon as he waved his hand in Lucy's direction.
"E." he said. "Edraith dín." Instead Ecthelion began moving towards Lucy as if to complete the request. Before he could step past the King however, Glorfindel's brown-haired companion was maneuvering deftly around the table, reaching out an inviting hand to Morwen. The ellon spoke softly, a benign smile on his face. The woman watched the elf with blatant suspicious, but eventually nodded in acquiescence and rose with the ellon's hand on her arm. He guided her towards the back door. Morwen pulled Lucy along with her.
As they were standing, Lucy turned her head to look at Glorfindel. He wasn't staring at her for once, and was still on his knees, though his left hand was twitching slightly as if he was desperate to move forward. The King was back to pacing in front of him, his brow furrowed in anger, his voice full of concern as he spoke. A moment later the brown-haired ellon shut the door with a muted bang. The wood groaned as it swung inwards, obscuring their view of the main room.
It was the last Lucy saw of the King or Glorfindel for hours.
The room they waited in was much smaller than the last but just as beautiful, the walls made of delicately carved marble, a single window overlooking the city below. From her spot by the awning, Lucy could see the entrance to Glorfindel's estate, the white cobblestone road sloping down towards the lower levels of the city. The sharply pointed roofs of the nearby buildings shone uncomfortably bright against the glare of the sun, and beyond the city she could see the tips of the encircling mountains, rising like a golden-hued ring in the distance. It was late in the afternoon, so the sun was lower in the sky. When Lucy looked to her left, she spied a creeping vine of delicate white flowers clinging to the edge of the window. The bench she and Morwen sat on was made of pale wood and artfully carved, the seat padded with dark blue fabric.
Glorfindel's companion sat with them the entire time, quite benignly and in near-total silence. His ash brown hair reflected a myriad of silvered highlights beneath the fading sun. When Lucy started shivering – as her blankets had been lost in her scramble underneath the table – he fetched her another russet red cover from a nearby cupboard that was sinfully soft. For the rest of the time, he seemed content to sit in his chair and read in contemplative silence.
There was no exit from the room except for the one that they came through. The lack of escape options, Glorfindel's proximity, and Lucy's all-too-recent memories of the creature in the dungeons only served to heighten her paranoia. When the door finally swung open several hours later, she tensed, shirking back in her seat as she eyed the door with fresh despair. The King entered instead of Glorfindel, but Lucy didn't know if she should've been grateful.
The Noldo prince paused briefly and looked around the room before he entered, his hand resting against the flat surface of the door. At the King's side was a single royal guard, although Lucy supposed that the rest were waiting outside, as the antechamber was relatively small. Turgon was very tall up close, and standing as he was in the alcove – less than six feet away from Lucy – he made the space feel downright claustrophobic. She swallowed heavily, trying to combat her suddenly dry throat.
Quietly, Glorfindel's companion rose to greet the King, placing a hand across his chest and bowing in greeting. His gaze flickered past the Noldo prince towards the other room, presumably to look for his lord. Exchanging a knowing glance with the brown-haired ellon, the King nodded towards the elf and swung the door wide, letting his arm fall to his side. The ellon quickly step past him into the other room.
Once Glorfindel's companion was gone, the King turned back to Lucy, a complex, somewhat chagrin expression on his face as he came forward and grabbed the departed ellon's chair. Turgon dragged it forward to sit within arm's reach. Once he did he leaned forward, clasping his elegant hands together and resting his arms on his knees. The setting sun glanced off the King's sharply defined cheekbones, throwing the space beneath them into shadows. Lucy's nose was less congested now, and she could tell that the room smelt of slightly damp stone. From the creeping trellis of flowers there was a trilling sound from somewhere amongst the foliage, akin to a cricket chirping.
Turgon began speaking, his voice tired and soft.
"The King wishes to know if you saw it." Morwen translated. "The creature in the dungeons."
Lucy looked down, averting her eyes and clenching her hands against her nightgown. Normally she wasn't one to watch what she said, but her memory of the balrogs was still too vivid, and the way the white, rubbery creature had clung to the ceiling like a crab was uniquely terrifying. When it appeared that Lucy wasn't going to answer the question, the King spoke again.
"One of the guards is missing." Morwen relayed, sounding nervous. "Anaduilin's Third. They have found his sword, but nothing else."
Lucy did speak, then. "I think it ate him."
"Lucy!" Morwen said, her tone aghast. "Why would you say such an awful thing?"
Lucy shrugged, but her assessment felt right, somehow. She could feel it in her bones, the same way she could see what people were like on the inside, assigning values to them like color swatches on a paint rack. The King was watching her avidly, his gray eyes intently fixed upon every minute expression.
"I don't know." Lucy mumbled in response to Morwen's question. "It looked hungry to me." The other woman translated this. The King sighed and reached up to rub at his forehead. He looked decidedly troubled as he spoke.
"The Lord Glorfindel is very, very worried about you." Morwen admitted, emphasizing the very.
"I know." Lucy said. She did know – even she wasn't blind to his focus – but she didn't care.
"The King apologizes for the way Glorfindel has treated you, but the Lord Glorfindel is a very particular elf, yes? He believes very strongly in what is right and wrong, and once he makes up his mind he does not change it. The King does not approve of what the Lord Glorfindel did, but he is in agreement with him that the dungeons are no longer safe."
"Nowhere is safe." Lucy said churlishly. "Take me home. I need to speak to Gandalf."
Morwen didn't translate this until the King insisted, and when she did Turgon sighed loudly, partially closing his eyes and rubbing more intensely at his brow. He looked oddly fatherly at that moment. Lucy wasn't sure what to make of this impression.
"Glorfindel says you know him." Morwen translated for the King, frowning heavily as she did so. Lucy frowned too, but for different reasons. "He says he knows you too, and very well. The Lord Glorfindel thinks that he should have a say over what happens to you in the future, because he is the only one that you are familiar with."
"Well, I think he needs to die in a fire." Lucy spat. She couldn't help it. It was such a presumptuous statement on the ellon's part – that he should have a say over her future – that it had her seeing red. Elves. Goddamn elves. She was sick of them.
"Lucy!" Morwen chided. "That is not a kind thing to say." But Lucy was already kneading at her blanket in distress, clenching her teeth hard. The King watched her with a calculating gaze, but also one of sympathy, as if he actually understood her plight. Lucy was almost positive that he didn't. No one could. She was alone, Tommy was dead, and there was no one to rescue her from this hellhole. It was almost enough to bring her to tears.
"I don't care," she said shakily. "I don't. He doesn't know me and he's lying, he's lying and I hate him. He can't tell me what to do. It's his fault I'm here."
Morwen looked hesitant when she spoke. "Sweetness," she began gently, but with a hint of reproach. "You do realize you have spoken different truths more than once, yes? Even now, you tell the King that you know the Lord Glorfindel. Then you say that you don't. It makes your words seem false."
"Yes." No. She hadn't realized she was giving them different stories at different times, but she wasn't going to admit it now. "I'm not lying." Lucy insisted desperately, looking up and trying to plead with her eyes. "Please. I want to go home."
The King spoke. Morwen translated.
"The King does not think Glorfindel is lying either, Sweetness." the woman warned. "He says the Lord Glorfindel never lies. He is too honest and very poor at telling falsehoods. Everyone knows this. But you work for a creature that is made of nothing but lies. It is not good, in this case."
Lucy lifted her chin, glaring at the King with more confidence than she felt. "So?" she said. "I don't care. He's lying. He is."
"He is not." Morwen translated for Turgon. "The King does not approve of the Lord Glorfindel's methods, but he does trust him, and in light of recent events he is inclined to grant his request. It is... the best of bad options? I think that is how one says it."
A horrible tenseness sprung to life beneath Lucy's breastbone; an almost suffocating sort of apprehension that nearly caused her to vomit. "What request?" she asked, shifting her gaze rapidly back and forth from one individual to another. When the King responded, he ran one of his elegant hands through his hair. The glossy locks rustled and fell over his broad shoulder.
"Right now you are the King's Ward, yes?" Morwen said. "The Lord Glorfindel, he wishes to adopt you into the House of the Golden Flower. He has been asking this for weeks. As you have no next of kin, and you are familiar with him, by Gondolin's laws he has the right."
Lucy felt the bottom of her stomach drop out beneath her, her lungs constricting violently. She couldn't breathe. "No." she said tremulously, then began shaking her head back and forth. "No. I refuse! Tell him I refuse! I don't want to do it!"
"You cannot." Morwen said sadly, her expression apologetic. "Amongst the Noldor children have no rights until their majority, and the King can no longer deny his request. You are in his care until they find a better solution."
Author's Note
So. We're officially moving out of the first arc of this story and into the next. Are you excited? I'm excited. If you haven't figured out yet, this story is gonna be long. Really long. Way longer than I had anticipated.
Sammi: Your reviews are gonna make me blush, seriously. I'm not sure what I should do with so much praise, but I am glad you are enjoying Glorfindel. He's the best character ever, but every time there's a movie adaptation he gets totally shafted and his character is destroyed and I'm like super passionate about how much this annoys me. So it's good to know that I'm doing his character some justice. He needs it. Mellon: Yes, I am drawing a connection between Glorfindel and Tommy, but not for the reasons you've theorized. It's a surprise. N95: Yeah, there's way more elves in this (especially OC elves) than I had originally planned.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorited/followed! I am glad you guys are enjoying the story. Thank you to msg839 and EpitomyofShyness, for beta'ing.
Glossary
There's a fair amount of Quenya this time – some purposeful, some used to complete sentences where there was no Sindarin equivalent. So, beware of bad Sindarin and Quenya grammar.
EDIT: I've been asked if it would be possible to write down who says what in each line in the glossary. Normally I wouldn't as everything's in chronological order, but it's a simple enough edit and the glossary is pretty big this time.
[Glorfindel] Ecthelion, pol im asyad – Ecthelion, can I help you
[Ecthelion] Idhren. Daer idhren – Unwise. Horribly unwise
[Glorfindel] Alaná cólórya. Lestarya ea – It is not her burden/fault. Leave her be (Quenya)
[Ecthelion] Glorfindel, hen heria daro – Glorfindel, this must stop
[Ecthelion] Laurëfindil, uin imya – Laurëfindil, it's not the same (Quenya)
[Glorfindel] Ten ná – It is
[Ecthelion] Qui carildë ala quildë ilmë, Turgon selma savnatyë laiwa – If you do not calm yourself, Turgon will think you are ill (Quenya)
[Glorfindel] He boe dartha sí. He boe – She needs to stay here. She must
[Ecthelion] Han û cillín – That is not your choice
[Glorfindel] Ci hehta dín dan – You put her back
[Ecthelion] Nín Aran. Nanyë ú – My King. I am not - (Partial Quenya)
[Turgon] Glorfindel, lhaewdhir ad – Glorfindel, are you sick again
[Glorfindel] Û, nín Aran – No, my King
[Turgon] Ú furudhir enni – You are not lying to me
[Glorfindel] Ten pen varna – It wasn't safe
[Turgon] Hen polú vorima, Glorfindel. Ten ná úthaes – This cannot continue, Glorfindel. It is wrong (Partial Quenya)
[Turgon] Hehtanë ilquen vi raxë – You put everyone in danger (Quenya)
[Glorfindel] Vá haru Gondolin. Vá – I would never hurt Gondolin. Never (Quenya)
[Turgon] He boe dadwen – She must go back
[Glorfindel] Û, uvarna – No, it's not safe (Quenya)
[Turgon] Im henia hen ná valdëa andh. Nó im equë ci ú – I understand this is important to you. But I told you no (Partial Quenya)
[Turgon] Ci ava – You will not
[Ecthelion] Lá daur – Please stop
[Glorfindel's seneschal] Hîr nín – My Lord
[Turgon] Taram – Stand up
[Glorfindel] Lá, nín Aran – Please, my King
[Turgon] Glorfindel, taram – Glorfindel, stand up
[Glorfindel] Poldhir ú mentarya dan. Ná alvarna – You cannot send her back. It is not safe (Quenya)
[Turgon] E. Edraith dín – Out. Get her out