Chapter 45 - Of Idhrenor and Malrin
Glorfindel's entire frame tensed as he listened. Nothing moved. Cautiously, he shifted a fraction further and paused to assess any potential movement on the part of his wife.
Nothing.
My wife.
The smile upon his face nearly split it from ear to ear. With more boldness, he slid sideways across the thick pallet and clambered to his feet.
The tent in which he stood was lit with clearest sunshine, leaking in between the unfastened tent flaps and illuminating the white of the canvas. These twisted and writhed in the slight breeze, preventing the tent - or rather, large pavillion - from growing stuffy. Outside it's door Glorfindel could see the emerald turf, craggy mountains and clear-as-the-ocean sky. His fair face was suffused with a shining joy as he stretched both arms high above his head. He wore soft linen pants but no shirt, and the muscles on his back rippled as he worked his upper body to loosen the kinks like a chiselled athlete.
This done, he glanced down to the sleeping-pallet beside him.
Elanor lay curled upon her left side, where moments ago she had rested within the circle of his arms. Her golden hair was splayed in every direction, and the shapely form was displayed to good advantage beneath the clinging sheets. One of her hands was cradling her own cheek, curled at her pink lips. The once-bronzed skin had lightened to creamy-gold but did not diminish her loveliness at all from the moment Glorfindel had first loved her - in Elrond's study. Her breathing was deep and regular. He had not wakened her.
Smiling once more, Glorfindel padded softly across the ground. The Elves of Rivendell had furnished the tent so that it's floor was covered in fine mats, and it was a luxurious apartment. Aside from the sleeping-pallet, there was some spindly tables made of dark timber, chairs of the same grain, cushions, a rack for hanging clothes and two chests - one for more clothing, and the other for food. It was to the latter that Glorfindel first went, pulling out some fresh bread and an apple. It was yet early, so he decided against waking Elanor - as much as he longed to - and moved silently outside.
The fresh air of the summer morning enveloped him in a gust, setting his spirit singing with gusto. His heart thudded a joyous song, for it was June and, more than that, his lady-lover was finally his.
Despite being only half-dressed, he seated himself so his legs hung over the edge of the low cliff which fell several metres outside the tent. Beginning on the bread, he sighed in utter contentment.
Elanor.
She was witty and enchanting and exceptionally lovely, albeit in the straight-forward and earthy manner of human-kind. Glorfindel toyed with his golden ring absently. The day before had been a whirl of activity with the wedding and feasting, and the prospect of a leisurely fortnight alone with his new wife was bliss. Whilst he had little need for sleep himself, he had laid all night long with her slim form held close to his own. How he had longed to do that for many months! Glorfindel had never shared a bed with any other being, for nights spent huddled around a campfire on campaigns did not count. And, as the Third Age drew to a close, he rested silently with one arm cradling Elanor's head, and the other against her flat stomach.
He had been cautious at first, until she had reached for his hand and pulled it to rest on her hip. The caution diminished then, though his gentleness did not. She had dropped swiftly asleep, perfectly at ease pulled against his broad chest. Glorfindel was surprised how well she fit there, warm and soft and smelling like spring flowers. He had moved with the greatest caution, agonised lest he wake her from slumber. She appeared to be resting soundly, but Glorfindel did not desire to break the spell and lose the sight of her vulnerable face, dark lashes resting irresistibly on the smooth cheeks. Every breath against her hair caused his stomach to flutter in excitement.
Just like you were a mere Elfling again!
Even sitting alone, his fair cheeks flushed slightly. He had courted Elanor properly - held her hand, embraced her, kissed her - yet there was much still of the shy young man in the lord's heart, and he directed his thoughts elsewhere.
It was still a rather baffling notion that he, Glorfindel, was married to the bewitching woman sleeping mere metres behind him. Something in his spirit had finally been unlocked. For many a year had he desired such a thing, to cherish and be cherished, and to have it bestowed upon him was more than he could comprehend. He could not help but recall the desperate ride between Dunharrow and Pelagir those months ago, during which he had silently longed for this moment, knowing it was too much to ask of the Valar that they should do so much. It was not the destiny of all the Firstborn to love, nor was that love always returned. This Glorfindel had known - and second chances were almost unheard of.
But he had won her, and not because it was his due - for there were many of the Race of Men who could have claimed the hand of Elanor. She was beautiful and mysterious due to her unknown heritage. More than that, she was charming and personable, well-dressed, witty and well-spoken. She might have been the Queen of Rohan, had the King Éomer been slightly less proud and gruff, or even the wife of the Steward.
And somehow she is mine. I can imagine no happiness greater than that she has brought me, and only fate should place two such as she and I together from beyond the borders of Arda...
For the first time that morning, Glorfindel ceased to wear a beatified smile.
Elanor was fresh-faced and young, having turned a mere twenty-three half a year previously. Whilst to the Eldar that was scarcely more than a child, amongst mankind Elanor was a full-grown woman. As best as he had attempted to hide it from his lover, Glorfindel was unable to disregard the fleetingness of her allotted span. The pain and tension the topic had caused between them was enough to sour his stomach.
Swallowing the last morsel of the bread he had been slowly munching, he began on the apple with a sharp crunch.
Yet if the Valar destined Elanor to come to Arda, to arrive in Elrond's house by the slimmest twist of fate through Lord Boromir, and to be wedded with me, they shall answer if they allow the years to take her from me, he muttered internally, with no small degree of fierceness and determination. They shall not! Did I not lose the one I first loved to another? Shall they again watch me suffer in Elanor's passing? No, for if there is to be no gift of life everlasting on her behalf I will not leave her whilst those of Elvenkind depart for distant shores. I will rule our fates. And until I may promise Elanor all is well, I must stay silent. Never again shall we quarrel on this matter.
A pensive cloud swept across his features, shadowing the blue eyes as the vehement thoughts gradually faded from his mind. Taking another large bite of his apple, he ushered the frustration into a corner of his mind and sealed it off. The unwelcome thoughts thus contained for the present, Glorfindel allowed himself the luxury of taking in the scenery before him. It was rendered even more beautiful by the new light of morning than by the twilight of yestereve, when he and Elanor had first entered the pavilion. So consumed by the view was he that he did not hear Elanor brush aside the tent flap until she was just behind him.
Turning hurriedly, he sprang upwards - dropping the half-eaten apple in his haste - and stood before her. She was clad in a long, flowing white robe fastened snugly about her enticing waist - a very flimsy garment compared to her usual attire. He realised then that he was also half-naked in full view of nature and stared at her blankly for a moment. On very few occasions had Glorfindel found himself so nonplussed as he did then, encountering the new-made wife before him with a coy expression on her countenance.
It was, indeed, a situation he had never experienced.
"Good morning, husband," she smiled teasingly, eyes moving up and down his form without any hint of shyness. She lingered long on his bare torso and Glorfindel was rather horrified to find his face growing redder. Elanor had never been brazen - and could not have been called so now - but if he had harboured any doubts, they were now dispelled. Elanor clearly liked what she saw.
Seeing his discomfiture, Elanor grinned wickedly and loosened her robe with slow, deliberate fingers, so it slipped off her shoulders slightly and swept down dangerously close to cleavage.
Indeed, you are a childish Elfling! came a scornful voice, and in an instant he had scrabbled for the shreds of his composure. He should not be bested.
"Morning, lady-wife," he replied jauntily, willing his cheeks to cool and stepping towards her with an implacable facade of self-confidence. Feeling rather wicked, he reached up to brush where her robe now rested on the smooth, creamy shoulder, all the while staring into her eyes. As his fingers wandered down her arm - casually taking the robe with it - it was Elanor's turn to blush and glanced downwards, one hand coming up to stop the robe falling off completely.
"Glorfindel, we're outside," she half-laughed nervously.
"Come inside, then."
She grinned like a girl, and reached up to encircle his neck. Glorfindel kissed her thoroughly, with far more boldness than he had during their betrothal. Lifting her off her feet, he began to half-carry her back towards the tent. Ducking inside, he placed her softly upon her feet. Her hands moved down his neck and across the muscle-knotted shoulders, then to his chest and stomach. Small fingers were distractingly warm on his bare skin. He had almost managed the fastening on her robe when Elanor suddenly withdrew from the kiss. She surveyed him with serious eyes before speaking.
"Hang on - did you eat breakfast without me?"
The sun had risen high by Elanor and Glorfindel had laid out a small feast upon a picnic blanket. The latter had spread a rug upon the springy grass at the bole of an oak tree, and they settled there to enjoy their breakfast spoils out of reach of the warm summer sun.
Elanor, face pink and mouth upturned, knelt carefully upon the rug. She had dressed in a grey gown and found her stomach rumbling as Glorfindel tore off morsels of bread and spread them with fresh honey.
He proffered one to her, and before relinquishing it swept in for a quick kiss. It was almost sweeter than the honey.
"Did you sleep well last night?" Glorfindel inquired, beginning on his own slice and slipping one arm about her shoulders.
"Very well, actually," Elanor admitted. "I wasn't sure if I would because I've never slept with anyone except Georgia and Mum once, but when I stirred at all I went back to sleep almost immediately."
Glorfindel nodded. "I am glad. I was worried I would disturb you."
"Nope," his wife laughed. "Though I did have half a second of shock when I realised I was sleeping next to you. Then I remembered we got married yesterday." She held up her slender left hand, so that the band of gold about her fourth finger glinted in the dappled sunlight beneath the oak tree's canopy. "I like being married."
"So do I - though I daresay most people allow a little longer before they make such a definitive statement," chuckled the Elf, brushing back his golden hair. The soft strands, hanging past his shoulders, were unfastened from any kind of braid. Tilting her head to get a better look, Elanor realised she had never seen her husband without some form of braid.
"Your hair's not done," she mused, turning slightly and brushing breadcrumbs off her hands. "I thought you left the braids in?"
Glorfindel shrugged. "Not all of the time, though I do during campaigns."
"Could I braid it for you?" pleaded Elanor, a little shyly. "I've never done a man's hair before."
"Do men not grow their hair long in Australia?"
"Not many of them, and I never played with their hair," with a wrinkled nose, recalling the thick, matted hair of some Byronites of Georgia's acquaintance.
"Then braid away."
Elanor beamed and moved so she knelt behind her husband. "Shall I do your normal braids?"
"Do you think you could manage that?" he teased.
"Yes," came her honeyed retort, "though I thought I might experiment a little."
"By all means."
Grinning, Elanor began to run her fingers through the thick, satiny gold hair. Her own curls were soft and smooth, but his Elvish tresses were like a river of pure silk between her fingers, softer than velvet or ducklings or a baby's skin. For several minutes, she simply marvelled at it's beauty and couldn't believe she hadn't accosted him to play with his hair earlier.
It's beautiful!
Acutely conscious of her own hair's limitations, she smoothed his and parted it. Beginning just above his ear, she started on a minute fishtail braid along the side of his head.
"Would you like some strawberries and cheese?" Glorfindel inquired, attempting to gather some more foodstuffs whilst restricted by Elanor's ministrations.
"Yes thanks," she replied absently, head held at a right angle in an effort to keep the braiding neat and even. She loved to braid, and her fingers were nimble after much practice on herself. Still, she realised that it was not quite as perfect as Glorfindel's own work, and this caused her to purse her lips in mild annoyance.
"What would you like to do today, loveliest of wives?" the Elf asked brightly, passing a generous wedge of cheese followed by a handful of strawberries over his shoulder. Elanor paused in the braiding, holding the plait between two fingers as she munched thoughtfully on the sweet, red berry.
"I don't know," she mumbled, wiping juice from her lips and swallowing. "I feel horribly lazy."
Glorfindel chuckled, a sound which turned to an indignant grunt as the movement caused him to pull against Elanor's hold on his hair.
"Careful, El! You'll pull it out of my head!"
Laughing and finishing another strawberry, Elanor continued the tiny braid. "I thought you'd have a better pain threshold than that, seeing as you keep your hair so long and leave it out!"
He paused. "I suppose I am not accustomed to another tending to my hair. No one has since my mother."
"Oh," she replied slowly, her fingers moving mechanically as she thought. "Glorfindel?"
"Yes?"
"Will you tell me about your family?"
There was a fractional hesitation, before he nodded and released another sigh of pain.
"Sorry," interjected Elanor.
"It is of no matter. Yes, El, I shall speak to you of my family. It is many years since I dwelt upon them, for I looked upon Turgon's kindred as my own - and now you are my kin."
And I rather like hearing you say that...
"I'd love to hear it," she said aloud, frankly. "Though I'd never want to pry, hon."
Elanor having finished the braid, Glorfindel turned around to face her, his eyebrow quirked in childish curiosity.
"What is hon?"
"Short for honey," came the merry reply. "A term of endearment."
"I like it," smiled he, leaning in to brush her lips again. "And Elanor-" with seriousness "-you will never pry, and not because I shall ask you not to. You are my wife, and any concern of mine is a concern of yours. Thus, you may be at liberty to question me in any manner you desire, and I will hide nothing from you, no matter how long-ago or painful in remembrance."
This time, Elanor kissed him, filled with a fresh appreciation for her new spouse. Despite their long years, oftentimes the history of the Elves was left unspoken out of pain and tenderness. She supposed it was because they had endured many wars, and death to the Eldar was a bitter cup, best left untasted. Elanor had asked Glorfindel for many stories of his second span in Middle-earth, dwelling in Rivendell with Elrond's household, but had generally avoided anything prior to his encounter with the balrog in Gondolin. Upon discovering the breadth of her new freedom, Elanor was unsure whither to go. There were many questions she longed to ask.
Finally, she smiled again. "I would love it if you told me about your parents."
"And so I shall." He turned so she was at liberty to continue her work on his hair. "What do you desire to know?"
"Oh," Elanor considered. "Well, first, did they ever come to Middle-earth?"
"No, they remained in Valinor. I left them to journey with Turgon's people east-wards, to Beleriand. My father's name was Idhrenor, in the Sindarin tongue, and my mother's Malrin."
"They're beautiful!"
"Yes, though I find the Sindarin translation a peculiar taste upon my tongue."
Elanor paused, mid-way through braiding down the other side of her husband's head. "Idhrenor... is that - wise man or some such thing?"
Wary of unexpected tugs, Glorfindel merely laughed. "Your Sindarin improves! And Malrin?"
"Golden crown, perhaps?"
"Lady crowned with gold, yes. My mother was of the Vanyar."
"Oh," smiled Elanor. "Well that explains it."
"The colour of my hair?"
"Well, that too, but I was thinking the reason you're so good-looking."
He laughed heartily. "You speak honeyed words, Sunstar!"
Had Glorfindel been facing the other way, he should have seen the look of arch satisfaction upon his wife's face. As he was not, however, she continued braiding uninterrupted. After a moment's consideration, she switched to Sindarin, eager to brush up on her vocabulary.
"You are part Vanyarin? I believed so. Please, continue."
"In this tongue?"
"Yes. It will help me learn."
"I shall begin with my Father," Glorfindel shrugged. "Pray, interrupt if you do not understand anything I say. In some senses, describing him is simpler than my mother. He was a Noldorin Elf, accounted high amongst the House of Finwë, though not of their kin. Thus did I become part of Turgon's company, for he was well-acquainted with Idhrenor of the Noldor, first in a line of Princes. He wed my mother in Valinor, and I was born in Tirion, in the Years of the Trees. Lady Idril was some years my junior, for I was full-grown when we crossed the Helcaraxë, and she but a child. She was one of only two Elves of the third generation that passed out of Valinor."
He paused, and Elanor interjected swiftly before he could dwell long on Idril's mother's death, "So you left Valinor of your own accord?"
"Indeed, though I shall come to this later, oh impatient one," he protested, cheerfully. "Let me continue the story as I see fit! Idhrenor was never deep amongst the councils of the Noldor, for he had little interest in politics or intrigue. He was tall and proud, raven-haired and fair, with great wisdom. Many questioned this wisdom, in that he remained aloof, yet for my part I consider it greater still in that he did not join the march east-ward. I cannot say the same for myself," he chuckled wryly, "though I see now that I have been blessed. The wisdom of Idhrenor, perhaps, saved me from much greater pain - I was given leave to return to Middle-earth, and thus encounter thee, by the grace of the Valar. And, I suspect, in no small measure due to my father's influence over Nienna, Lady of Mercy."
Elanor smiled softly behind his head, finishing the second tiny braid. As Glorfindel continued, she reached for the thick portion which fell down the middle of his back and began to experiment with the supple strands.
"My father was fierce and hot-tempered, and I learned swiftly that to defy him was to incite his wrath. Yet he was fair-minded and kind, and his anger just. I fear I inherited his temper, though it was never turned towards my mother. Now I come to her, lovely even amongst the Vanyar. Her hair was clearest gold, and her lineage a match for my father's. Thus Malrin was her name, gold-crowned in every sense. As with most of the Vanyar, she had no desire to leave Valinor, and it was her longing and disappointment more than Idhrenor's anger that I feared when I departed.
"Mother was as a bird, sweet in song, graceful in movement, and gentle always. Where ada was stern, proud, strong, she was as malleable as soft clay and cheerful as a stream which laughs over the stones upon it's bed. Only one thing might incite her to anger - to see that which is good and lovely destroyed, and well do I remember her grief when the light of Laurelin and Telperion became sullied.
"I spent much time with my father, for as a child I longed to imitate Idhrenor in thought and deed. Still do I cherish this, and in times of woe oft turned my thought towards him beyond the sea - but much of my mother I loved also, more because I did not understand it. Her music could stir Manwë's heart, and under her tutelage I learned to caress the harp's strings."
"I didn't know you played!" cried Elanor, leaning down so her face stood near his ear and planting a kiss upon his cheek. "We must ask Erestor to send us a harp, so you may serenade me."
"If you desire it I shall," Glorfindel smiled. "There - now you know of my kin. I have no brothers nor sisters. Ecthelion was perhaps the closest I have ever come to such a being. You would have liked him."
Elanor nodded slowly, her quick mind attempting to take in all that he had said. She had become quick at switching between Sindarin and the Common Tongue, but still it took more thought than regular conversation. As her husband spoke, weaving the tales of a family left behind in Valinor, Elanor found that they came to life before her eyes. Dark-haired Idhrenor, with the stern jaw and serious eyes, and Malrin dancing circles about him. Her face was harder to encapsulate, spoken in the poetic language of birds and brooks, yet Elanor decided she would have a slim, girlish face and a faraway look in her eyes.
Somehow, the picture ended up looking distractingly like Evanna Lynch playing Luna Lovegood in Elven-robes.
Shaking herself and trying not to laugh at the impression, she abandoned her husband's hair and let her hands fall to his shoulders. She could also see traces of her Glorfindel amidst the images he wove - there was something familiar in his description of Idhrenor, and it mingled pleasantly with Malrin till it became her husband. As her fingers tattooed a rhythm on his back, she silently recited to herself:
"He was tall and straight; his hair was of shining gold, his face fair and young and fearless and full of joy; his eyes were bright and clean, and his voice like music; on his brow set wisdom, and in his hand was strength."
She smiled softly. Her affection for the Elf had run deeper than her own awareness; she had copied that quote from the now-destroyed copy of The Lord of the Rings before she left Rivendell with the Grey Company.
I would have liked to meet his parents... I think Idhrenor would have been one of those kind, yet rather gruff types, like Uncle Matt back home. And Malrin...
...Luna?
If that slips out you're going to have a lot of explaining to do!
Well it kinda works! Anyway, I think Malrin would be one of this airy-fairy types, amusing and kind but not quite grounded.
Shame you'll never meet them.
Yeah... and that he'll never meet your family.
A pang struck her chest, and with it the pain of their past disagreements. Glorfindel still did not mention her mortal fate - even though we're married now, and it's too late to do anything about it - and it was a rather melancholy prospect that neither should become acquainted with the other's parents.
Even more so that you might be parted from him forever!
"So what made you leave Valinor?" she inquired, reverting to the Common Tongue and hurrying onwards.
"Oh-ho," Glorfindel replied, with a merry grin as he turned around. "You shall not hear that yet - at least until you afford me the pleasure of fastening your hair! I assure you, I am exceptionally capable."
Elanor laughed helplessly as he chivvied her around so that their positions were reversed. Within seconds, Glorfindel had unfastened her long braid and was finger-combing the hip-length, golden curls.
"It's knotty," she warned him, acutely conscious of how the fine strands liked to wind themselves together. Nothing like your hair.
"It's lovely," Glorfindel asserted, beginning above her right ear.
Shrugging inwardly, Elanor adjusted her seat slightly. "All right then - part two of the epistle?"
"If you insist," he sighed dramatically, "though this part shall be short, for there is no real reason to linger upon my reasons for departing. I was young and fresh, of the second generation of the Noldor, proud and, at times, frustrated with the immovability of my father. My mother had grown grief-stricken at Morgoth's work, and the destruction of the Trees, and grew increasingly distant. Those bitter memories have long since ceased to pain her, for when I was brought forth from Mandos' Halls I beheld her once more. Still, at the time, I knew nothing more than a restless, cynical anger, and oft found greater comfort with Turgon and Elenwë."
"And you followed them?"
"Aye; Father was infuriated at the prospect of a rebellion against the wishes of the Valar, and forbade me to even associate with any who contemplated leaving. Naturally," he chuckled, "I became fast friends with Turgon and Elenwë, and also Galadriel, if you would believe it."
"Of course," laughed Elanor, recalling her handful of personal memories associated with Galadriel of Lórien. "She crossed the Helcaraxë too. Finwë's household was a determined one."
"Indeed they were! They offered me the prospect of fame and glory, of prestige amidst the Gondolindrim. What did you make of your second meeting with the Lady Galadriel, at the wedding?"
Elanor paused, and gave a shrug. "Honestly, she's more than I can wrap my head around-"
"What does that mean, dearest?"
"Oh," she realised, then laughed heartily once more. "It means, to understand. Sorry."
"Pray, do not apologise! I am learning a great deal in your presence, melleth nin."
"Anyway, Galadriel is very... deep, I guess. She seems far, far older than any of you others, even though you are not so much younger. In which case, I must assume she has a different personality. She seems like she's lost in her thoughts most of the time."
"There is much of her that one must grow accustomed to," Glorfindel admitted. "But you like her?"
"Oh, yes - even if she's very different to the Galadriel I imagined."
"That is well. Have I explained myself well enough in all we have spoken of, dearest?"
Elanor smiled and attempted a nod before she remembered Glorfindel was holding a chunk of her hair. Half-laughing, she replied,
"Yes, I believe I understand you a little better."
"And," came his smug addition, "you've had a taste of your own medicine now. See, it does hurt!"
Elanor patted his knee with infuriating condescension. "Come now, you great silly - have a strawberry, they're soothing."
For several minutes, they sat in silence, Glorfindel's clever hands weaving what Elanor supposed was a bafflingly intricate pattern across the side of her head. She frowned thoughtfully.
"Glorfindel?"
"Yes?"
"You said you had told me the Sindarin equivalent of your parents names. Does that mean you had a Quenyan name as well? All of you?"
"Indeed - mine is Laurefindil."
"Laurefindil?" Elanor tasted it. "Do you like that name?"
"I-I have not been spoken of so for many years, since before my return to Middle-earth in the Second Age. But I think I would not mind, if you were to use it."
Grinning a little wickedly, Elanor put on her best voice of innocence. "What if I called you Laurie?"
"Laurie?" the surprise evident in his tone. "Is this a name of your world?"
"Ye-es," replied his wife, thinking of Little Women and the boyish neighbour Theodore Laurence.
"I believe I could grow to like it," he considered, slowly. Elanor almost started at his swift acquiescence.
"Excellent," she smiled, then added in an inaudible tone, "Just call me Amy."
Here we have our first post-wedding chapter, in which I hoped to capture as much as I could of the pair's playfulness. I can't imagine them not having fun, even doing mundane things like braiding hair and eating breakfast.
I also wanted to speak of Glorfindel's family, as there's not anything really on his history prior to joining Turgon in Gondolin. Thanks to the One Wiki to Rule Them All, I was able to ascertain several important facts:
- he was born in Tirion
- he was obviously a second-generation Elf, as he passed the Helcaraxë with the Noldorin and yet Idril and one other were the only third-gen Elves
- he was born during the Years of the Trees (as far as this is assumed)
- he was of a line of princes, so evidently his Father at least was of a high-Elven line
Anyway, I wanted something of his family to come through (plus who doesn't love Luna Lovegood references?) and decided this was the perfect time.
Please also excuse the Little Women reference - that was one of my favourite childhood books (and still in adulthood) so it needed a bit of lip-service.
Thanks for continuing with the fic this far! It's not over yet, but we're getting towards crunch time. :3
Please leave a review if you have time!
- Finwe. x