A/N: Chapter revised May 5, 2016
Chapter XXV: The Ghost Brigade
Her visit with the princess was moved to the next day, on account that Glorfindel was back and his time was extremely limited. Aeloth woke Lucy from her languid slumber by unceremoniously yanking her covers off the cot; puttering about the room in a single-minded, fastidious manner as she lit the lamps and drew back the curtains around her bed, before opening the closet and rifling noisily through the myriad of dresses to pick out her daily outfit.
Lucy groaned in protest and rolled over, burying her face against the pillow. "Five more minutes." she mumbled, shivering in the cold air.
"You would keep Laurëfindil waiting?" was Aeloth's lofty reply. Lucy gave her a beatific smile, although her eyes remained closed.
"He would wait for me forever." she hummed. Aeloth made a scoffing sound.
"No he will not." she deadpanned, and wouldn't elaborate. Lucy curled inwards, tucking her arms to her chest as she shifted towards the light.
"Five more minutes." she insisted sleepily. "If 'findel wants to leave now, he can get me himself." There was the loud rustle of brocade as Aeloth dragged something from her closet.
"Not dressed like that, he won't."
"But I am dressed."
"A lady does not show so much skin." Aeloth said with clear disapproval. Lucy knew she was talking about her bare legs, but still refused to move.
"M'not a lady," she mumbled. "m'Lucy." But Aeloth wasn't listening to any more excuses.
"Up." she said, rolling Lucy out of bed and dragging her to her feet. "Up. It is time to bathe." Lucy groaned again in protest. Aeloth dragged her to the bath anyways. The water was cold, and getting changed was colder. For once, Lucy didn't mind letting Aeloth dress her. She stood in the center of the room, shivering violently as the elleth pulled an indigo blue dress over her head. The sleeves were so long they dragged across the floor. Like most Noldorin dresses it was loose, tightened only at the hips by a pale gold and silver girdle. After the dress was donned, Aeloth helped her into a six-layered robe, the outermost one a soft sky blue decorated with white star motifs and edged in slate gray fur. There was no howl of the wind from outside, but it was cold in the room, and the rest of the estate promised to be even colder, so Lucy was grateful for the extra warmth.
"Will it snow today?" she asked, reaching up to rub at her throat to get rid of the sensation of dryness. Aeloth hmmed, sitting her down on the stool in front of her mirror so she could braid her hair. In the year and a half that Lucy had been in Gondolin – almost two years, to be more accurate – it had grown out past her hips.
"Yes." Aeloth said, picking up a pale blue ribbon from Lucy's dresser and winding it into her braid as she worked. "Once the storms start, you are to stay inside while Laurëfindil is gone. We cannot risk you falling ill."
Lucy usually stayed indoors without prompting, but she was so ridiculously cloistered that the slightest mention of keeping her caged was enough to raise her hackles. The elves were becoming more protective, not less, as she got older; hoarding her, like a piece of ill-begotten treasure. She hated it.
"But it's just snow." she argued.
"You are no good with the cold." Aeloth countered, finishing off one part of the heavy braid and adding small silver bells to the other. "Edain are fragile. Especially the younger ones."
"No we're not!" Lucy exclaimed.
"You are." Aeloth insisted. "Laurëfindil worries terribly about it. Here, lean back, see? So I can reach."
Lucy grimaced in distaste, but did so. Aeloth grabbed an errant lock of hair, weaving it into the complicated braid that hung all the way down her back. The elleth worked quickly while she was braiding, and was very practiced at doing it for others. A thought occurred to Lucy then, random but incessant.
"Did you have children, too?" she asked, scrunching up her nose as Aeloth pulled a bit too hard on her hair. "I mean, before you took care of Glorfindel?"
The elleth sighed heavily, a sure sign she did not want to talk about the subject. Still, she answered. Her pale face looked ageless in the low winter light.
"No." she said. "I have served the House of the Golden Flower since the very beginning. Before Laurëfindil, I took care of his father, and his father before that."
"And his father before that?" Lucy supplied with a cheeky grin, trying to mimic the elleth's lofty tone. Aeloth gave her hair a reprimanding tug.
"No. Laurëfindil's great-grandfather was one of The Awakened. There were no children before that. I was one of the first."
Lucy narrowed her eyes suspiciously, titling her head all the way back so she could look at the elleth head on. Aeloth pushed her head forward. "Look straight, please." she said. "I must finish your braid."
"Just how old are you?" Lucy demanded.
"Eons, child." Aeloth said with a sigh, tying Lucy's long braid off with a pale silk ribbon and an extra cluster of bells. "You are but a breath of air, and Laurëfindil is naught but a newborn." Lucy leaned forward and plucked Maeglin's citrine pendant off her dresser, intending to wear it. Aeloth deftly removed it from her grasp and put it back.
"No Lucy, no yellow."
"But I like yellow."
"It does not look good on you," she said, picking up a delicate silver chain decorated with pearls and what looked like bits of silver instead. "You are too pale for it, and your hair is so dark. Blue is your color. Perhaps a bit of purple."
Lucy grimaced, but let her put it on anyways.
The march to the dining room was just as cold as Lucy had anticipated. As she walked she shivered, the bells in her hair jangling with each step. The elves took precautions where they could when it came to the winter weather, but Lucy had learned from last year's cold snap that this didn't mean very much in the end. There was no central heating on Glorfindel's estate, and the elves were poor judges on how cold things could get. They weren't so affected by it as humans. The previous winter, Lucy had spent most of her time hibernating beneath a mountain of blankets, and whenever she went anywhere it was always swaddled beneath a multitude of over-sized robes. This year, the weather promised to be even worse.
"Is it warm anywhere in Middle-earth?" Lucy asked. Beside her Aeloth shrugged, her gauzy veil whispering around her head. She'd taken to wearing one since the baramog's assault. While she never talked about it, Lucy knew Aeloth was just as vain as the rest of the Noldor, and hated the way she looked after the attack. Everything was about beauty with them, along with a colloquial, encompassing feeling that they simply summed up as life. God forbid a person should get scars.
"In the south the winters are much milder." the elleth said. "But that is Sindar territory. Noldor are not allowed to go there."
"Because of the Kinslaying?" Lucy quipped. Aeloth turned to her and glared.
The dining room was just as cold as the hallway, on account that it was one of the few areas the elves had not boarded up. Like the weaving room it was facing the gardens, and as such was sheltered from the worst of the winds. Although the elves did not need it, Glorfindel had installed glass along several of the windows to keep in the heat; an exorbitant expense, Lucy was told with chagrin. He'd also renovated the room, knocking out the far wall so a hearth could be built, which allowed them to keep a fire going during the winter. Lucy knew all of this had been done for her benefit, so even though she still found the room to be frigid, she never, ever complained about it. Always, she tried to stay on her best behaviour for him. Glorfindel was a pleasure to be around when he was content, and Lucy loved making him happy. It made her feel needed, and she loved being needed. It meant people wouldn't abandon her then.
Aearmarth was already eating when they arrived, as were several other elves from Glorfindel's household. Glorfindel himself was sitting in his usual spot, scrubbed clean of dirt and looking spotless. His hair was loose, tumbling towards the floor like some sort of elvish Rapunzel, and his robes were voluminous – so much so they made him seem exceptionally slender.
The elf lord was reading a scroll with one hand and eating with the other, and as per usual his breakfast consisted of nothing but sweets. Lucy knew Aeloth would give him heck for it. Sure enough, she did.
"The pastries are meant as a garnish, Laurëfindil." she quipped. Glorfindel looked up, wide-eyed and disarmingly innocent, his hand and the aforementioned pastry paused halfway to his lips. He seemed like he was about to speak, but then his gaze alighted on Lucy. Glorfindel's sheepish countenance faded away to be replaced by a smile. Lucy smiled back and strolled over to his side, plopping down in her seat and reaching across the table to grab a piece of fruit and a bit of bread. The ellon finished off his pastry and passed Lucy a bowl of what looked like porridge. Aeloth sighed and dropped the subject, sitting down next to her twin brother.
The rest of the meal passed in a companionable lull, punctuated by the soft murmur of conversation as Aearmarth discussed matters of governance with the other members of Glorfindel's estate. Every now and then, Aeloth interjected with the occasional blandly worded retort, but said no more. Lucy ate without talking, swinging her feet back and forth. She'd grown out in the past year, but she hadn't grown up, and elvish chairs were still too big for her. Throughout the meal she could feel Glorfindel watching her, his heavy gaze following her every move.
The plan for the day was rather simple, now that Lucy's lessons had been postponed: they would visit Erestor, and after that they would make their way down to the river for her outing. Once breakfast was done, Lucy was bundled up in her winter cloak, and they walked the short distance to the orphanage.
The sky was overcast with the promise of snow, the ground coated with ice, but the wind was minimal. Glorfindel was in a good mood that morning, but not very talkative, so he remained relatively withdrawn until they ran into Ecthelion, who was walking up the path towards the estate. The elf lord was accompanied by several of his guards. Ecthelion was dressed in blue again, as was his custom, and his intricately braided hair had been tucked away beneath the voluminous width of his hood. He peered out at Glorfindel from beneath the shadowed rim of it, his blue eyes bright to the point of glowing.
"Laurëfindil." he said, and Glorfindel smiled. "A word?"
Glorfindel's smile melted into a frown, and then in Quenya he said, "I'm busy."
Lucy – who was still pretending she didn't understand a word of it – simply waited by the elf lord's side, staring at Ecthelion with an innocent expression.
"It will not take long." Ecthelion insisted. Glorfindel's lips twisted in a way that made it clear that he wasn't interested in talking, but he acquiesced, falling into step beside the other elf lord. Lucy walked a bit behind them, on account that her stride was nowhere near as long as theirs. She didn't catch much of their conversation, as her understanding of Quenya was not thorough enough to make her fluent. She heard the word for "war" more than once, however, along with something about orcs and keeping the city hidden. The war was pretty much all the elves talked about these days, and for good reason. Gondolin was hidden, but their situation was dire: all it would take was for one lone scout to make it through the mountains and then back again for everything to be discovered. A siege would absolutely devastate the area.
The children's home was much the same as it had been before, and like most of the buildings in the city it was boarded up in preparation for the coming winter. When they approached the front gates, Lucy didn't look at the spot where she'd seen Mairon in the form of the smoke man. Even still, just thinking about him caused her thirst to rise. She swallowed hard, her hand flying to her throat. A moment later Lucy lowered it, hoping that Glorfindel hadn't seen the gesture. There was an ache in her belly that had nothing to do with food; a gnawing hollowness that was getting worse the more time dragged on, and she didn't know where it was coming from. She was so hungry.
Ecthelion didn't leave them when they went inside. Glorfindel seemed obliged to keep acknowledging him until Erestor came out to meet them, accompanied by his nanny. As always, the elfling toddled pell-mell towards Glorfindel, eyes wide with excitement and hands grasping, asking wordlessly to be picked up.
Glorfindel did so without restraint, hoisting the child up beneath the armpits and planting a kiss to the side of his head. He settled him against his chest. Lucy caught Erestor watching her from over Glorfindel's shoulder. Although she didn't smile at him, she did wave. The elfling blushed and hid his face, but he seemed happy. He was much older than Lucy had thought he would be – ten years, to be exact – but he didn't look a day over three. He didn't act like it, either.
"It is the way of things." Glorfindel had said after a previous visit, his eyes shiny with moisture as he'd lost himself in memories that Lucy had no part of. "Our… our children stay children for much longer."
"Isn't that a lot of work, though?" Lucy had asked. Taking care of children for decades sounded exhausting. Glorfindel had looked down at his hands and swallowed hard. His hands had been shaking.
"It is joyous work." He'd hedged, and Lucy had known he'd been hiding something from the way he wouldn't look her in the eye. "They are… children are life. Eldar… our children are killed too quickly, now. They are taken from us, and there are not enough. You – Edain… Edain have many children, and they adapt. It is a blessing from the Valar, I think, to be able to do so."
Lucy thought Glorfindel was probably religious, but talking about the Valar was a taboo subject amongst the Noldor. He only ever brought it up in private.
When Erestor buried his head against the elf lord's shoulder, the ellon leaned down and planted another kiss against the side of his head. Glorfindel was so gentle with children, and so very patient. Whenever he was around them his entire countenance seemed to light up with joy. In the year and a half that she'd know him, Lucy's opinion on the elf lord hadn't changed: he would make an excellent father. If she managed to change things this time around, maybe he'd actually have them.
No more balrogs, she decided. No more death. This time, Lucy was determined.
"Lucy, 'nother block." Erestor said.
"Okay." she answered, grabbing a wooden block from the nearby pile, painted bright blue with bits of Tengwar carved along the sides. She handed it to Erestor, who was sitting in her lap. His little feet rocked back and forth as he made happy humming noises.
Glorfindel was sitting across from them on the floor, watching them as if they were the most fascinating things in the world. He had that dopey expression on his face again: that soft, slightly touched look that meant he was deep in fantasyland. It seemed to pop up whenever Lucy was holding children. Lucy usually wasn't allowed near children because of the incident with Mairon, but Erestor was comfortable with her now, and she was allowed to hold him so long as Glorfindel was within arm's reach.
"Lucy." Erestor chirped, holding out a small hand. He didn't look at her. "Block."
Lucy handed him his block without a word. Erestor went back to building his castle, completely uncaring of her arm wrapped around his middle. No one had thought she'd be good with children, but Lucy was surprisingly adept at handling them on the account that she was extremely childish herself. She thought on their level, and made no attempt to act like a "big elf," as Erestor so aptly put it. They were equals, in this regard. She also loved soft things, and babies were soft all over.
"'nother block, Lucy." Erestor said. Lucy decided to be done with it, grabbing the whole pile of blocks and dragging them over to his makeshift castle. The elfling made a gasping noise and waved his arms frantically, trying to push them away.
"Too many, Lucy!" he said. "Too many, put them back!"
"But this way's better." Lucy declared. Erestor's expression was comically offended, his little nose scrunching upwards as he grimaced. Glorfindel kept on staring, slack jawed and eyes dark.
"Your way is stupid." Erestor said. He grabbed one of the blocks from her pile, but shunned the others. "My way is better."
"No it's not."
"Yes it is! You have'ta be careful when you build castles. Blocks have to be in right place. That's what ada says. I going to be a builder, just like him."
Lucy – who knew Erestor wasn't going to build anything, ever, and would end up being the advisor for Elrond's household instead – simply took one of the blocks and placed it on the tip of her nose, tilting her head backwards for balance.
"Okay," she sing-songed. The elfling – deciding that he'd won the argument – went back to building with a self-satisfied expression on his face.
Glorfindel's eyes were almost black, his pupils blown out. His right hand was twitching as if he wanted to reach out and touch them, but he didn't. Over to the side, Ecthelion – who still hadn't left – was alternating between staring at the elf lord, then at Lucy and Erestor. His arms were folded across his chest, his fingers drumming against his biceps. Finally he seemed to be able to stand it no more, and he pushed himself off the railing he was leaning against, thumbs hooking around the rim of his belt and his stance aggressive. His expression was a mixture of wariness and concern.
"Laurëfindil, a word?" he said. It wasn't a request.
Glorfindel was so out of it that he ignored him at first. Ecthelion snapped his finger and repeated the question, his tone sharp. The ellon jumped at the noise then, blinking hard and looking around with a befuddled expression. It was almost like he was coming out of a trance.
"Pardon?" he mumbled.
Ecthelion sighed and reached down, grabbing him by the collar to yank him to his feet. "Come here," he groused. Glorfindel let out an inarticulate sound of protest and made a half-hearted motion in Lucy's direction.
"But, I cannot –"
Ecthelion snapped his fingers again, this time at the guards, then pointed to Lucy. "Watch her," he said. They stepped forward to do so. The Lord of the Fountain then dragged Glorfindel all the way to the front entrance, and once they were there he began berating him, gesticulating wildly in the air with his hands. Erestor ignored the commotion and continued playing. Lucy – whose hearing was definitely not as good as the child's – leaned down to speak next to his ear.
"Can you hear what they're saying?" she whispered.
"Yes." Erestor chirped, grabbing one of her hands and opening her fist to make her hold a block. Lucy did so without complaint.
"Can you tell me what they're saying?" she pressed.
"They speaking in Quenya." Erestor said, pronouncing Quenya with a bit of a lisp. He added another block to his meticulous toy castle. "I don't know the words."
Lucy pouted and rested her chin atop Erestor's head. He had such soft hair. Glorfindel had soft hair too, but there was something about baby hair that made Lucy want to bury her nose in it and run her hands along the strands. She loved the texture of soft things; the sense of contentment it brought her.
"Lucy." Erestor whined, squirming sideways in Lucy's lap. "Lucy, lean back. You too heavy."
"Sorry." Lucy said, and she did so. Over by the entrance, Ecthelion was still berating Glorfindel. The golden elf was looking towards the ground, anxiously rubbing at the back of his neck.
"S'ok." Erestor said, his past hurts already forgotten. "You soft and squishy, like my nana. I like your lap." There was a pause, then a faintly defiant "but 'findel is nicer."
"I am not squishy!" Lucy said, utterly affronted. Erestor turned around and glared at her in an imperious way that only elvish children could muster.
"Are too!" he said. He reached out, poking and prodding at her middle with his tiny hand. "See? Squishy! Squishy! Just like nana."
"I am not your nana." Lucy said. She wanted to add your nana is dead, but fought the urge to do so. Erestor frowned. His expression became more contemplative, his little hand resting against her middle as he eyed her.
"Are you someone else's nana?" he hedged.
Lucy shook her head. "No." she said.
"Well, you feel like a nana."
"I'm not."
"'findel likes you, like my ada likes my nana." Erestor declared, turning around and settling himself all the way back on her lap. His little legs stuck straight out like dainty toothpicks, his feet rocking back and forth. Lucy re-wrapped her arms around his middle, resisting the urge to squeeze him with delight. "You can't take him 'way, though." the elfling continued. "'findel mine first."
"I'm not taking him anywhere. We live together."
Erestor wrinkled his nose in thought, his tiny fingers reaching up to trace the line of Lucy's fingernails where they met her skin. "Promise?" he asked.
"Promise." Lucy agreed. She wouldn't take him anywhere. No more balrogs, she thought, but didn't say so aloud.
"Does findel have children?" Erestor asked. Lucy knew where the conversation was going, as they'd had it many times before. She understood the child's insecurity, as she didn't like not being first, either. She was also greedy.
"No." she said, reaching up and mussing his hair sideways, before planting a quick kiss on his temple. "You're his favourite."
Erestor tilted his head back until he was looking at her upside down, his expression self-satisfied and happy. "I know." he said. Lucy knew that her words had helped. "You not as nice as 'findel." Erestor continued without pity. "But you are soft. I like your lap." His grin grew wider. "'findel is the best." Lucy definitely agreed with that, and nodded her consent before planting another kiss against his forehead. She was good at understanding selfishness, and knew just what to say to make others feel better in concerns to that.
"Yes, he is." she said.
Erestor's smile grew wide enough to show his teeth, and then he was arching against her, reaching up with open arms.
"Hug." he demanded. Lucy obliged under the ever-watchful eye of the guards, her shackles clinking and the bells in her hair jangling as she turned him around and lifted him up beneath the armpits, settling him against her chest. Immediately the child began running his hands along her scar. He seemed fascinated by the texture of it: smooth in some places but bumpy in others, where they'd been forced to hold the wound together with sutures.
"Want to see Glorfindel?" Lucy asked. Erestor nodded.
Lucy stood with the child in arm, albeit awkwardly. Erestor was small for his age, but elvish children were much larger than human ones. It didn't take long to walk to the elf lords, but they were standing near the front door. The air was noticeably cooler, and as they approached Lucy shivered, goose bumps erupting along her skin.
The ellyns turned to look at them. When Glorfindel saw her holding Erestor, his entire expression softened. Lucy hiked the child up her hip, putting her hands beneath his armpits as she prepared to hand him over. Erestor squirmed.
"Here." she said. "Your turn." The blue in Glorfindel's eyes had been returning, but when she spoke his pupils blew out until his eyes were essentially black. Lucy didn't comment on his obvious fixation with her and children, because it made him happy, but she definitely didn't understand it. Another one of his elf things, she decided. He was peculiar like that, but Lucy was sycophantic enough to oblige him.
Ecthelion saw Glorfindel's reaction. When he did he rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath before he threw up his hood and stalked from the room, savagely slamming the door. A gust of cold air came in with his departure, and Lucy shivered. She crossed her arms over her chest as soon as Glorfindel had taken Erestor. The ellon brought the elfling up high, planting a kiss on his cheek. Erestor squirmed until Glorfindel let him settle against his chest, and then the elf lord held him close, his slim hand stroking the child's back.
"Are we leaving soon?" Lucy asked. Glorfindel made a happy humming noise of consent, his voice taking on a delirious cadence. His gaze was hazy.
"Five more minutes." he mumbled, sounding drugged. He was holding Erestor, but he hadn't stopped staring at Lucy. She nodded and gave him the time. Lucy would give Glorfindel pretty much anything these days. He meant everything to her, and she loved him.
The path they took towards the river wound its way out of Gondolin's front gates, through the alpine meadows and past the tilled fields that surrounded the base of the city. The particular spot where they were headed was in the foothills that came just before the mountains, where the river cut through the rock in a sharp, narrow gorge before traveling west, deeper into the wilderness.
It took them half an hour by horseback to reach their destination, and as they approached the alpine meadows gave way to copses of pine trees packed thick as needles, tall and jagged that weathered the winter winds well. Even from a distance, Lucy could see ice covering their branches, and beneath the hooves of Glorfindel's charger, there was a light dusting of snow. It was bitterly cold out, and every now and then random snowflakes began to fall, as if desperately trying to start a storm and failing. Lucy was not happy about it. In Gondolin, snowstorms lasted for weeks. Once the winter came, the city was stranded.
Glorfindel's hand was a heavy weight against her waist as he held her in place atop his horse, her legs slung sideways across the saddle as she sat in front of him. Fainhul's head was slightly lowered in relaxation, his great hooves churning up the earth as he made his way towards the tree-covered gorge. The stallion's mane dragged downwards in a shimmering white wave, and although Lucy wanted to touch it, she didn't, as the animal made her nervous. She'd wanted to ride her pony before they set out, but the elf lord had told her no.
"Why not?" Lucy had asked, trying – and mostly succeeding – to keep the whine out of her voice. Glorfindel had turned his head to look at her, pausing momentarily as he'd saddled his horse. His expression had been guileless and open.
"I wish to ride together." he'd said, his eyes wide and owl-like. "I do not see you often enough." Lucy had blushed and stopped complaining, because she didn't see him enough either. She was lonely. Still, the animal made her nervous.
A frigid breeze briefly wound its way through the area. Lucy shivered, clutching at Glorfindel's arm. He leaned forward, tilting his head to catch a glimpse of her face, and as he did so a tumble of golden curls escaped from his hood. His own cloak was grey and woollen, edged with fur that looked suspiciously like a wolf's.
"Are you cold, Nimeleth?" he asked. Lucy nodded, hiding her face behind the fur of her mantle as she burrowed herself into the circle of his arms.
"A bit." she admitted. Even though her senses were sharper these days – and maybe because of it – she was still extremely susceptible to falling ill.
The hand at her waist moved down, sliding beneath the edge of her cloak to rest against her abdomen. The pressure of his hand brought about a strange fluttering sensation in her belly, and it became even worse when his thumb began to move back and forth, stroking her in languid movements through the thin fabric of her dress. Walking over a patch of rocky ground made slippery by the ice, the horse swayed. When it did Lucy swayed too, letting out a sharp gasp.
Glorfindel pulled her to him, his fingers splaying across her front. Lucy put her hand over his, squeezing hard.
"What were you and Ecthelion talking about?" she asked. The hand on her belly moved down farther, coming to rest against her pelvic cradle. The elf lord pressed a kiss to the side of her head through her hood. Lucy didn't think he would elaborate – Glorfindel never did – but she felt like she had to ask him anyways. There was something odd about his behavior today, beyond the usual.
"Nothing important." Glorfindel demurred. About thirty yards behind them, Lucy could hear the jangle of the horse harnesses belonging to the guards.
"Will you go out again?" Lucy asked, thinking of balrogs and orcs and three-peaked mountains. Glorfindel leaned his head against hers, the gloved hand that had snuck beneath her cloak moving in soothing circles against her front. His touch was tender, and it was making it insanely hard to concentrate.
"Yes." he mumbled against her hood, the clack of the horse's hooves slightly muffled by the snow. More snowflakes had begun to fall, alighting on his hair like gossamer. "In the next several days, most likely. I will talk to the King, to see if my duties can be shifted to the defense of the city, as they were before." The hand on her belly became more insistent. "I do not… I do not wish to be away for long."
Lucy approved of this. She was insanely sheltered, but the ironic thing about it all was that she wasn't really the one in danger. Glorfindel had a death clock ticking down, and the less the elf lord ventured out, the better. Lucy's hand squeezed his. As she did so she felt the ellon shiver, his breath hitching in a gasp as he shifted forward to press his front against her back.
They neared their destination soon enough. Lucy wasn't allowed to go far, and never anywhere unescorted, but this wasn't too much of a problem. Her favourite spot was a winding bend, where the river narrowed into a stream and the earth rose up into great rocky slabs. During the summer the area was lush and green, the grass thick with wildflowers. The copse of trees and the bend in the river were cold and gray now, but Lucy still liked them. She wanted to hide amongst the fir trees; to wander in between the snowy branches, if only to give herself the illusion of privacy. There was no ice on the stream, yet, but there would be soon.
Glorfindel's guards hung back once they reached the bend. The elf lord dismounted with a disconcerting amount of ease. Lucy wanted to try climbing down herself, but Glorfindel wouldn't let her. She knew he was terrified of her falling. Once he'd deposited her onto the ground, Lucy dusted herself off and strolled into the copse of fir trees with a casual, meandering gait. The storm had finally started and the snow was falling, the flakes thick and heavy and large. They wouldn't have long in the woods before the flurry hit full force, and Lucy didn't want to waste any time exploring.
"Do not go far." Glorfindel said from somewhere behind her, while he made sure Fainhul's bridle wasn't dangling. Lucy called out "alright," then struck out amongst the trees. Her skirts made a soft swishing sound against the inch layer of snow that coated the ground, the air muffled by the denseness of the trees and the snowflakes that were beginning to fall with increasing regularity. Even the bells in her hair seemed muffled, their light tinkling sound dulled down to an eerie hollow.
Around her the trees stood out like toothy sentinels. There was a stillness to the grove that seemed unnatural; an eerie looming that reminded Lucy of the quiet before the storm. Nothing stirred between the branches, but the tightening beneath her breastbone and the tensing in her belly made her think something was there. There shouldn't have been, because they were too close to Gondolin, but none of the elves had sensed the baramog, either. Not until it had chosen to reveal itself. The thought made her sick.
Lucy paused, standing still as she looked around her. Nothing. There was nothing there, but what if there was? Glorfindel will save me, she thought immediately, but didn't quite believe it.
Lucy craned her head back, looking towards the sky. Her hood fell down in the process, her braided hair tumbling past her hips. Above her the trees seemed to converge in a dizzying spiral, and the clouds were dark with the storm. Abruptly, Lucy was struck with the urge to fall backwards and make a snow angel, but there wasn't enough snow for that yet.
A shadow loomed then, and Glorfindel was suddenly leaning over her. His eyes were very blue as he met her gaze: sapphire colored, and luminescent. Everything about him was gem-like.
"What are you looking at?" the elf lord asked with obvious confusion. Lucy gave him a tight smile.
"The sky." she said, thinking of the calm. "It will storm."
The confusion deepened.
"It is already snowing."
Lucy's lips twisted in a grimace and she looked down, stepping away from him and striking out on her own once more. "That's not what I meant." she said, and this time it was her turn not to elaborate.
Glorfindel followed a few paces behind her, letter her walk where she pleased. They persisted like this for several minutes, with Lucy going on about what she'd been doing while he was away, and Glorfindel listening without responding. He liked to talk, Lucy knew – especially to her – but he was extremely careful about what he said, and this came less from Turgon's orders and more from a stifling desire to protect her. Lucy didn't like being cloistered when there was no one to keep her company, but she still let him do it, as keeping her confined and cosseted seemed to bring the elf lord a great deal of relief. To fill in the lulls of his silence, Lucy talked about other things. When the river froze, she said, she wanted to go walking on it.
"Tommy and I tried to go skating once," she told him. She held out her arms with her palms turned upwards, trying to catch some snowflakes. Just beyond the thicket of trees, the river churned, sluggish and barely moving. "Tommy fell a lot, and the skates pinched my feet. I didn't like it, but I want to try again. Maybe it will be different here."
"I do not know what skating are." Glorfindel said. Lucy scrunched up her nose, the bells in her hair jangling as her braid swayed against her hips. She tried to think of a good way to explain it.
"You put blades on your feet, so you can move really fast across the ice." she began.
"I do not like ice." The ellon said suddenly. He sounded extremely distressed in a faint, muddled sort of way. "It is cold and dark, and when you fall it… it grinds your bones between the cracks. Beneath it, you can see them drowning. They bang on the water, but it does not break, and you must step over –" He stopped himself, as if suddenly realizing what he was saying. An awkward silence followed.
"I am sorry." Glorfindel said eventually. His voice cracked on the last word. "I did not mean to –" He couldn't finish.
Lucy turned around to look at him. Even with his naturally porcelain complexion, the elf was looking rather pale, rubbing at his throat and swallowing heavily. He was visibly upset.
"Are you alright?" Lucy asked him. She couldn't keep the concern out of her voice. Glorfindel looked to the side in a skittish manner, and for a moment he seemed at a loss for words.
"I am fine." he finally managed to say, but Lucy knew he wasn't. Then two and two clicked together, and in a spark of understanding she remembered The Helcaraxë from Tommy's books.
None of the Noldor liked to talk about it. Even the mere mention of The Grinding Ice seemed to bring about a collective sort of trauma, full of curses and threats and how dare the Fëanorians desert us. Glorfindel didn't like talking about the Fëanorians in general, but he never mentioned the dawn of the First Age, as it seemed to fill him with crippling grief. Lucy was smart enough to realize that it had been an especially hard time for him; that he'd suffered some sort of traumatic loss that he'd never recovered from. Sometimes, she thought he was still in mourning.
"I won't go on the ice," she said quickly. Glorfindel's gaze went back to her. "I promise."
The elf lord swallowed thickly, and murmured a quiet "thank you." Lucy smiled warmly, trying to make light of the situation through sheer force of will alone.
"Anything for you." she said flippantly, thinking it would cheer him up. But Glorfindel's quick glance turned into full on staring, and soon he was just standing there in the clearing, his expression bordering on shock.
"Glorfindel?" Lucy pressed, worried by how still he'd become. When he didn't respond she quickly stepped forward, reaching out with both hands. He watched every movement with rapt attention, and soon the shock on his face faded to resemble entrancement. The glade around them was so quiet. All that could be heard was the muffled fall of the snow.
"Laurëfindil, what's wrong?" Lucy asked, using his real name. Glorfindel always responded to it, and sure enough a visible shudder went through him at the mention of Laurëfindil, a gasp of air being sucked through his teeth. A moment later the tips of his fingers alighted on her cheek with agonizing slowness. Lucy blinked at the contact. There was something strange about it this time.
"You look like you did before," he said in Quenya, and Lucy understood him. His hand trailed down her jaw to her neck, past the clasp of her cloak to rest against her collarbones. His eyes were almost black, his pupils were so big. "The same age," he mumbled, and his hand slid beneath her cloak, running along her partially bared shoulder. "The same shape."
Still silent, Lucy took his wandering hand and held it to the center of her chest between her breasts, watching as his eyes grew darker still. Nothing separated them except for her clothes, but even that seemed unbearable. She clenched her fingers around his palm as she desperately willed him to feel the beating of her heart. It was his.
"What do you want, Glorfindel?" she asked. It was an utterly honest question. "I'll give it to you. I promise."
The elf lord swallowed visibly as he stared at his hand on her chest. He never asked for anything unless it concerned her safety, but Glorfindel desperately wanted something now, and Lucy was determined to figure out what it was and give it to him. She would kill for it.
"You should not ask me that, Dear One," he said rather shakily. "I do not… I do not think you know what it means."
"But I want you to be happy." Lucy said rather bluntly, becoming frustrated with his reluctance. A flush spread across Glorfindel's cheeks. His lips parted, his breathes turning shallow.
"Happy?" he mumbled. "I am… it is not…" The hand on her chest curled inwards, his gloved fingers slipping beneath the collar of her dress to absently explore her skin. Lucy let him, watching the elf lord's expression as his fingers moved across her flesh until they got to her scar. He began tracing the silvery path as if in a trance, her dress dragging down with the movement to reveal the upper curve of her breast. The weather was cold, but Lucy didn't feel it. There was a fluttering sensation in her belly: a hunger that was driving her insane and a ravenous desire to be filled. Glorfindel's expression was similar to Maeglin's in that moment, but there was something odd about it. Deeper, and utterly obsessive.
Lucy put her hand over his and held it to her breast, letting him cup the heavy curve. Glorfindel shuddered and whet his lips.
"Is this what you want?" Lucy asked, trying to keep her voice neutral as she let him fondle her, but it wasn't working. She didn't know what this was, exactly – she couldn't quite put it into words – but she could feel it.
"It feels the same." Glorfindel said in a hush. His fingers spread, cupping her further. He sounded utterly out of it. "It feels the same as before."
"What happened before?" Lucy asked. She needed to know. The elf lord didn't answer. Then his eyes narrowed, and like a dog catching a scent on the wind Glorfindel jerked his head up. He glared furiously towards the trees where they were the thickest, towards the rocky gorge.
Lucy didn't have time to process what was happening, he moved so fast. One moment she was standing in front of him, and the next Glorfindel was grabbing her arm and pulling her backwards, throwing her to the ground in his haste to get her out of the way. A small dirk was removed from his belt, and the blade went flying, the metal singing in a quicksilver arc through the air.
Before it could land, a blue blur emerged out of the trees, knocking it aside as it rushed straight at the elf lord. Glorfindel decked the intruder across the chest with a furious scowl, and they went down in a clatter of armour. Immediately a second blue blur emerged. Glorfindel drew his sword. Lucy was still reeling from the sudden movement, but she could tell that whatever had attacked them hadn't been an orc. Then the second blur of blue was upon them, moving even quicker than the elf lord.
There was no clash of swords, nor the grinding of metal, but suddenly Lucy heard Glorfindel let out a gasp. In an instant, all movement ground to a halt.
A strange ellon stood in front of them, holding a great curving blade to the elf lord's neck. He was the same height as Glorfindel and just as slender, but the ellon's hair was pitch black and braided with gold. He had a pretty face and bright blue eyes, and despite his complexion was distinctly Noldo. Behind him two dozen elves melted out of the woodland copse; all heavily armed and clearly foreign, their silver helms crests in an arc. It took Lucy less than a second to realize that the elves weren't from Gondolin, and judging from Glorfindel's reaction they shouldn't have been there at all. Intruders.
Glorfindel dropped his sword and fell to his knees, his hair tumbling across the snow in a golden wave as he bowed his head.
"My Liege, forgive me." he gasped, sinking low in deference. Behind them, Glorfindel's own guards – who had come rushing forward at the commotion – bowed too. The strange elf with the golden braids blinked once and tilted his head like a bird, eying the elf lord with interest.
"One of Turgon's lords, I take it?" he said. Then he lowered his own sword, a friendly – but extremely distant – smile on his lips. The ellon was visibly on edge, and there was black tar splattering his boots and leggings. "My apologies." he continued, the gold in his hair tinkling like wind chimes. "We came upon orcs in the gorge. It startled my guards." He paused. There was slightly contemplative tone to his voice as he eyed Glorfindel further, kneeling wide-eyed on the ground. "I have seen you before, haven't I?"
"Laurëfindil, My Liege. From the House of the Golden Flower." Glorfindel supplied shakily. Lucy eyed the two of them, desperately wanting to flee. She wished she'd brought Morwen's knife with her. She wished she could do something. Being helpless was terrifying.
The strange Noldo let out a shout of surprise at Glorfindel's name, and then he grinned. It was a true grin; still slightly distracted, but much more open and genuine.
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "I remember you now. Forgive my. Vanya blood is strong the first generation or so, so I did not take you to be Noldo. It's the same with my niece – she looks just like her mother."
"Yes, My Liege." Glorfindel choked out. The dark haired elf with the golden braids grinned wider still. With a quick, effervescent gesture, he motioned for Glorfindel to stand. The elf lord didn't.
"Will you not stand?" the strange ellon asked. Glorfindel still wouldn't look up. Lucy did, and glared, but the stranger ignored her.
"No, My Liege." Glorfindel said. "I raised my sword. It was a grievous error."
"It is done," the ellon said, and suddenly there was a hardness to his tone beneath the friendly nature. "You will not worry about it any longer. I am telling you to stand."
The elf looked oddly like Turgon, of all people; he had the same shaped eyes, the same tilt to his cheekbones and the same bow to his lips. If Lucy looked hard enough, she could even see traces of Maeglin in him. Glorfindel stood, but with obvious reluctance. When he did Lucy didn't miss the way that he subtly shifted his weight to stand in front of her, hiding her from view. From the way the other ellon's gaze moved to hers, she didn't think the stranger had missed it either.
With an errant wave, the elf raised his hand and made a gesturing motion with his fingers. When he did even more blue-clad elves whispered out of the trees, all of them armed for war. Most of them were splattered with that same black, tar-like substance, and one soldier was actually injured, limping heavily with his arm slung around the shoulders of another. His thigh had been cut open.
The ellon in front of them was pale as a ghost, save for the faint flush that dusted his cheeks from the chill. "Now, tell me." he began. His tone was friendly, but Lucy knew it was a command. "Where is Turgon? I need to speak to my brother."
Author's Note
A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorited/followed! And once again, an extra big thank you to those who gave constructive critique.
To those I couldn't PM (and sorry if I've missed anyone's reviews):
Mellon: Yes, "practiced" is a very apt term. Unfortunately I can't answer your other question, as it goes into spoiler territory. Guest: I think being simultaneously turned on and creeped out will become something of a given? While certain scenes will definitely be toned down to comply with the rating system on this site, my writing had always veered towards the dark erotica/horror side of things. So, fair warning. Elvia: I'm glad I updated too! Re Noldor: I love them, I really do, but I agree. Their pride was basically their Achilles heel, and they paid for it big time.
Glossary
Ada – Daddy
Nana - Mummy