Title: Wild Justice 19/?
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Paring: Thranduil/Celeborn/Elrond; Elrohir/Glorfindel; Haldir/Gildor; Elladan/Orophin
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline and my precious, evil mind.
Feedback: Please!
Warnings: BDSM. A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc. Read them in order--Unspoken/Revelations/Changes/One Last Time/Quid Pro Quo--or prepare to be confused. There is an author's note at the end (yes, I actually remembered to include it this time) for anyone who is interested.
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**The main audience chamber of Mandos was similar to many of the meeting halls Glorfindel had seen in his life, if rather darker, being lit only by a few standing candelabra. He reminded himself that this could well be just a mental projection designed to make him feel more comfortable, with the reality being very different. That view was reinforced when he saw the room's occupant. Glorfindel had always been told that the Valar were larger than life, radiant as a star, and terrible in their beauty. It was rather a shock, then, to see the figure lounging on the throne, picking his teeth and looking bored.
"Ulmo! Kindly get out of my seat." The throne's occupant looked up, grinned, and raised a glass to his host, who seemed peeved. "Every time you visit you do this," Namo complained. "Why don't you get your own hall somewhere and stop littering up mine?"
Ulmo rose to his feet slowly, making it obvious that he was just doing it to humour his host. "Littering? I should say rather decorating, Namo," he commented, coming down the stairs towards them, "and this place can certainly use it." Glorfindel could not help but notice that he was very little like the description given in the old legends. He was tall, for instance, but no more so than many elves Glorfindel had known; he did wear an impressive, silver crown and a long grey cloak, and the tunic underneath it, which was slightly iridescent, could at a great stretch be said to resemble the scales of a fish. However, his hair, which was supposed to cascade down his back "as foam glimmering in the dusk" just looked normal to Glorfindel, and there was no sign of the "kirtle of deep green that flashed and flickered with sea-fire as he strode." Perhaps his tailor was having an off day, Glorfindel thought, and fought down an urge to giggle. He wondered if it was possible for spirits to go insane, and if so, if you were then doomed to madness forever or might perhaps recover.
"You aren't mad, Glorfindel, although I suppose you can be forgiven for thinking so," the Lord of the Sea commented, clapping him on the back. He leaned closer and whispered in his ear, "And even the gods dress down when we're at home."
"You aren't AT home, Ulmo," Namo reminded him tetchily. "You are clogging up my palace and adding to my already heavy burden of annoyance." He waved a black robed arm vaguely at the door through which they'd just entered, as he settled himself on his throne. "Go, conclude your business with this one. I said I wouldn't oppose you and I won't, but that doesn't mean I wish to hear about it. It makes no sense having rules if you're just going to go about breaking them all the time."
"He's always like that," Ulmo said, leading Glorfindel out of the chamber. "I'd remind him about Luthien and his own flouting of the rules, and with even less of an excuse than I have, but we need to avoid irritating him further. His support, however grudging, will make all this so much easier."
"Forgive me, Lord Ulmo, but it will make what easier?"
Ulmo just smiled, and towed him down a complicated maze of halls to a very dark chamber where a pool of water flickered under the light of a single hanging lantern. "Go ahead, look!" Ulmo pushed him to the pool's edge, and Glorfindel obediently looked in, but saw nothing extraordinary, just the rough-hewn stone of the pool's bottom, reflecting glimmering eddies of light. Then the surface became opaquely silver, and images started to flicker across it.**
Celeborn looked as if he was trying to absorb the tale, but Thranduil just scowled. "And what, pray tell, does any of your adventures in Mandos have to do with Elrohir? I know what I saw, Glorfindel, and . . . "
Glorfindel held up a hand. "I know this is taking some time, but it will make much more sense if you allow me to proceed in my own way." The really difficult part, he reflected, was ensuring that he did not mention anything that he had seen that did not concern the immediate problem. Few of the scattered and rapidly flickering images had meant much to him at the time, but subsequent events had shed considerable light on them; yet to reveal too much would be to possibly unbalance the way events were meant to unfold. It was a heavy burden, and he had long wished that Lord Ulmo had been somewhat more careful about what he had allowed him to see.
**"I do not understand, my Lord. What is it you are showing me?"
Ulmo had seated himself on one of the large, black volcanic rocks that rimmed the pool, and was combing out his hair. He had perched his crown at a lopsided angle on a small rock and it looked perilously close to tumbling into the pool. Glorfindel wasn't sure if it would be sacrilegious to point that out, so he didn't mention it. "That is the future, Glorfindel, or rather, the future as it stands now--which is not at all the same thing as the future decided, which is all the past really is, isn't it?"
Glorfindel regarded him levelly, and supposed that gods didn't have to make sense, although it would be nice.
"I heard that," Ulmo told him sharply. "Anyway, I AM making sense. You're just a little slow. But no matter, loyalty above brains, I've always said--the former is much rarer than the latter, I've found."
Glorfindel wondered if he had just been insulted.
"If you have, be glad of it," Ulmo told him. "I've insulted most of Arda at one time or another, or at least the better part of it--no good insulting the truly evil as they take it as a compliment--so you should be pleased. Sort of a status symbol, really. Anyway," he jumped down off his rock and pointed at something in the pool, "there you are, right there, do you see?"
He was pointing to the current image, which showed a vast, deep plain filled with orcs, which a great elvin army--and were those men?--were fighting. "I see a battle, my Lord, but I am not there."
Ulmo smiled and patted him on the back. "Exactly!," he said, sitting back down as if that explained everything. Glorfindel regarded him expectantly, and Ulmo sighed. "You aren't there because you're dead." Glorfindel continued to look hopeful--an explanation had to be forthcoming sooner or later that made sense, and it wasn't as if he didn't have plenty of time. Ulmo sighed again. "In that future," he explained very slowly, "you are dead. So, you can't influence matters."
"Yes, my Lord."
Ulmo waved a hand and the images stopped. "There--do you recognise him?" He pointed at a handsome dark elf who was caught, sword raised, about to slay an orc. The frozen face did look somewhat familiar, but if they had met before, Glorfindel could not place him. "Look carefully, does he not remind you of someone?"
Glorfindel regarded the face again, leaning over the pool to get a closer look, and yes, there was something . . . "He looks as if he may be a relative of the king's," he commented, for the elf had the same intense eyes, and the line of his jaw and something about his high forehead reminded Glorfindel of his lost sovereign. Something occurred to him then, and he turned to Ulmo excitedly. "Could I see him? Could I see the king? He must be here."
Ulmo sighed. "Look at the image, Glorfindel, and do try to concentrate." He waved a hand again and, very slowly, the people began to move. At this speed, Glorfindel could see the figure being closely pressed, and then a huge orc came up behind him and skewered him on a long spear. The elf finished off the two orcs he was fighting, then turned and slew his attacker, but Glorfindel could see him weakening, and he wasn't surprised. No elf could withstand a blow like that.
"The one you saw die was Elrond, or rather, he IS Elrond, Turgon's great grandson, for all that is still far in the future. But it is also very wrong. I did not go to all the trouble to set that family up for great deeds, only to have my plans destroyed by an orc, of all things. I mean really--not even a dragon or a balrog, some worthy opponent, but an ORC! Generations of careful planning all gone," he snapped his fingers, looking disgusted, "just like that. And why, do you suppose?"
Glorfindel looked lost and Ulmo seemed to be loosing patience with him. "Because. You. Were. Dead. Do you understand? You couldn't save the day twice, because you'd already done it once and ended up here for your pains. Useless. That's what you are now, completely useless, roaming about Mandos when, if you were there, you could change everything. And you would, wouldn't you, Glorfindel? Your sovereign attacked, surrounded by enemies--you would be at his back, would you not?"
Glorfindel nodded. 'Yes, Lord, unless he ordered me elsewhere, as King Turgon did . . . "
Ulmo waved a hand. "Elrond isn't stupid. You always need someone in battle to guard your back, someone capable enough not to get killed and to see that you don't either. That's what I need for Elrond, and that's why I'm here, depending on Namo's dubious hospitality. Glorfindel, I've come to send you back."**
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Erestor watched Elrohir with a worried frown on his face. They sat outside in the gathering dusk, the mountains within view but their goal still several days' journey away. The camp was quiet, with preparations for the evening meal under way. With the wounded having been dispatched back to Imladris that morning, there was little for anyone, other than the sentries, to do. Erestor fidgeted; he had too much to worry about: the raid on the mines, where, it now seemed, they were expected, so resistance would doubtless be fierce; the problem with Elrohir choosing to remember his past NOW when they were too far away to seek Elrond's help, and then refusing to return to Lorien with the wounded; and his own feelings for Camthalion, which were quite strong and completely unexpected.
Erestor sighed and made a movement towards Elrohir, who was sitting near the edge of the camp, lost in his thoughts. He stopped, however, after a few paces, not certain whether interrupting him was the best thing to do. And how was he supposed to know? Even Elrond had not been entirely certain what should be done, as Glorfindel had been returned as an adult, having "grown up" a second time in Valinor before being sent back. And reanimated elves were not exactly thick on the ground in Middle Earth. It wasn't, Erestor thought petulantly, as if one could simply stroll up to one and say, so, how did your memories come back, then, and did you run amuck for a while thereafter? Kill anyone at all?
He kicked a rock into the forest and wished there was an orc around to shoot. Preferably several orcs. He usually hated the haphazard violence of combat. Even the best laid battle plans never went as expected, and often who won was less about strategy than pure dumb luck. Erestor preferred things to be laid out with precision, and then carefully followed through, so that everything took place exactly as it was meant to do. It was how he ran Elrond's household and how he preferred to run his life, but there was nothing orderly about combat. Still, he was almost looking forward to the mines in comparison with the horrible conundrum facing him now. When to help might be to harm, but so might doing nothing, who could know the right road to take?
He needed Elrond's wisdom, his patience, and especially his sense of calm. Whenever Imladris' lord was there, things suddenly seemed to fall into place. Elrond's debilitation had seriously damaged Erestor's comfortable sense of well being, as, for the first time in centuries, he found himself working without a safety net. If he made the wrong decision, there was no one to catch him; if he gave Glorfindel the wrong advice, and the Elda had been leaning on him more and more lately, who was there to argue with him? Usually he and Glorfindel were the perfect counterparts--he provided the careful, sane, logical approach to problems, while Glorfindel tended to be bolder, and in Erestor's opinion, sometimes even reckless. Yet Elrond was able to easily judge between them, and almost invariably made the right decision for any given situation. But now they had to find their way alone, as Erestor did not trust Lord Celeborn's judgment as much as he had Elrond's, and he certainly had no faith whatsoever in Thranduil's.
He glanced behind him, to the tent where Glorfindel had retreated with the Eldar in question some time before, and wondered how that discussion was going. He could have worse tasks, he thought wryly. Then he looked back to where Elrohir sat, and noticed the young one regarding him closely. Sighing, Erestor decided that sometimes in life, it was necessary just to take a chance. Gathering his dark robes about him, he wove through the obstacles littered about the camp and stopped before his old charge. "Elrohir, I believe we need to talk."
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"It seemed that my death displeased the Valar, especially Lord Ulmo who has always taken an interest in his envoy's family, and thought my services could yet be of use to them. He told me that he was unhappy with my sacrifice and offered to reanimate my Fëa and send me back to Middle Earth, as long as I would continue to feel bound by my oath to Turgon's line."
"And you agreed," Celeborn commented, looking moved. "To subject yourself utterly to the will of the Valar--it is a rare and beautiful thing, Glorfindel."
Glorfindel shifted slightly in his chair. It hadn't been exactly like that.
**"What did you say?" Ulmo regarded him with surprise. There was as yet no anger in his visage, perhaps out of sheer shock--Glorfindel doubted that anyone had ever been foolish enough before to tell him no, however respectfully.
"I, er, I said that I would rather not, Lord."
Ulmo just continued to look at him, as if re-evaluating his previous comment on Glorfindel's sanity. "Any reason why or just not in the mood?," he asked, finally.
"I . . . well, that is . . . ," Glorfindel could not think how to explain things tactfully, but luckily, Ulmo was continuing his habit of reading his thoughts. The image in the pool changed and there he was, just as Glorfindel had first seen him, his dark hair blowing in the wind, his grey eyes laughing, the sun sparking tiny rainbows off the diamonds and crystals set into his armor.
Ulmo looked stunned. "You would refuse my request for him--just an elf?"
Glorfindel bristled. "He was not 'just an elf' my Lord, and he also died defending Turgon's line, if you recall." Glorfindel pushed memories of that scene out of his mind--he definitely did not want to be shown that again, of all things.
"Don't be impertinent." Ulmo looked faintly amused. "So what did you have in mind? Seeking him out, here in Mandos?"
Glorfindel sighed. He had just woken up, after seeing the city he loved smashed to pieces, watching the only lover he had ever cared about die in agony, and plunging off a cliff to his own fiery end. Since coming back to awareness, not only had he not been given time to come to grips with his emotions, but he had been ruthlessly teased by the Valar, who acted as if his desires were irrelevant in their complex plans for Arda. At this point, Glorfindel didn't care about Arda, he cared about talking to Ecthelion and making sure he was all right, or as much as possible under the circumstances.
Again, Ulmo seemed to discern his thoughts without being told. He was stroking his chin thoughtfully when Namo's voice suddenly rang out, echoing off the chamber's walls. "Don't even THINK about it!"
Ulmo smiled, and gripped Glorfindel about the shoulders. "Terrible eavesdropper--I should have known. Anyway, Glorfindel, I think perhaps we can come to an understanding, after all."**
"So you are telling me you gave the Valar an ultimatum?" Thranduil burst out laughing, but his eyes were impressed. "I always knew you were an original, seneschal! I just did not realise how much! Yet," he grew thoughtful, you WERE drawn to me, when we met--I know this, Glorfindel, so do not bother to deny it. I would hardly have wasted so much time on you if I truly believed your heart belonged to another. So why encourage me, if you expected the return of your life partner?"
Glorfindel shook his head, smiling faintly. "The Valar promised to return Ecthelion to me, but they did not say when. I had foolishly assumed that we would be sent back together, but I was returned to Middle Earth alone. For centuries I waited, believing that any day he would come, yet the years passed and still I was alone. I finally decided that I was being punished for my presumption in dictating to the Valar, and that he might never come, or might do so just before I died--again--which seemed a likely possibility on several occasions. Then, after Barad-dur, I gave up all hope, sure that, as I had fulfilled my purpose, Lord Ulmo would have no incentive to send my lover back to me. I finally resigned myself to living without him, resolving to find love, or at least companionship, where I might. Then I met you, and was instantly drawn to you."
"But your vow still held, to serve Elrond's family always." It was as if Glorfindel and the king were alone, as Celeborn had backed out of the conversation, looking on from the shadows, but saying nothing.
"Yes, and I remained faithful to it, despite temptation to the contrary." Glorfindel smiled--he might as well admit it, Thranduil had always made a tempting offer. "I think now that that might have been what prompted Lord Ulmo to fulfill his vow. The Valar saw that I kept my word despite their tardiness in honouring their's, and decided to reward me. They gave me an added gift in not only allowing my lover to return to me, but also insuring that he was born into the family I had promised to serve, thereby permitting me to keep my vow and also to have him near. Waiting for him to reach maturity was difficult, but not as much as remaining silent about who he was. Lord Elrond was told what had been decided before Elrohir was born, and agreed to accept him into his household for my sake. He made no objection to his being given the same appearance as Elladan, whom Ecthelion resembled in any case."
"But why all the secrecy?," Thranduil burst out. "Your gift is also one to all the Sindar! Our greatest hero has returned, and yet you said nothing! For fifty years . . . "
"The Valar warned that it would be dangerous to reveal his identity to Elrohir too soon. I can attest to the truth of the old rumour that no elf remembers his former life as soon as he is reanimated. I was more than one hundred cycles old before I began to remember, and there are still some things I do not recall until a chance remark brings them to mind. Most reanimated elves live out their lives in Valinor, where they have the help of the Valar in bearing the burden of many centuries. How well do you think Elrohir would survive having millennia of memories crash down on him all at once, and at such a young age? We were told the result could be madness." Glorfindel leaned over the table, willing Thranduil to understand. "We did not dare to tell you, for fear that you would insist on talking with him, questioning him, and that, unwittingly, you might cause him harm. That is why Elrond steered him toward Lorien at his coming of age, rather than sending him to your court as Elladan was. No one else was told of his true identity either--Lord Celeborn did not even know, although I believe the Lady Galadriel suspects. She once remarked to me that she has great difficulty reading Elrohir--as rarely occurs in any but the most powerful of elves."
Thranduil glanced at Celeborn. "So you did not warn them that I was expected."
Celeborn shook his head; he seemed overwhelmed. "I have not had the opportunity to spend much time with Elrohir; I honestly did not know."
Glorfindel agreed, wishing that he felt less like a traitor for keeping the secret. "There was no reason for you to suspect--if Lord Elrond and his entire household accepted him, why should it occur to you to question his identity? But Thranduil had never met him, although he did know Elladan." Glorfindel turned to the king, "Had I known you would be in Lorien, I would have kept Elrohir in Imladris. You are famed for discerning the hearts of others better than any elf in Arda. We thought it likely that you would compare Elrond's two sons and become suspicious."
Thranduil smiled, his expression dreamy. "I could hardly fail to recognise the greatest warrior of them all. I grew up on tales of his exploits; as elflings, we used to act out the slaying of Gothmog, trying to come up with a way Ecthelion could have accomplished it and still lived. I once said that, could I meet any elf from the past, he would be my first choice. I would like to think I would have recognised him."
"Which is why either myself or Erestor was always with Elrohir, so we could hurry him away should you come around. I kept your interest on me at the reception that first night, because I could not risk your taking too much notice of him. I apologise if that gave you hope of renewing our acquaintance . . . "
Thranduil waved a hand. "I already had such in mind when I arrived in Lorien." He sat quietly for some time, then spoke. "After what we witnessed today, I cannot doubt your word, but I am unwilling to have . . . Elrohir . . . continue to think of me as an enemy and to deny his identity. He must be told."
"In time, he will be, when he is old enough to bear it, assuming he has not already remembered for himself. I do not know if he will choose to go to Mirkwood when that time comes--naturally, I will do all I can to persuade him to stay with me."
Thranduil inclined his head. "We agree, then. He will have his choice freely, when he is able to make it. Now, I have a story for you about the elves in the mines, and what Lord Elrond and I saw is almost as incredible as what you have told us."
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Author's Note:
I usually try to avoid explanatory notes; I don't like to read them in fic and I assume most people feel the same as they aren't all that entertaining. I will keep this one as short as possible, and I tacked it on to the end of the chapter so those of you with no patience for this sort of thing can easily skip it. But before I get howled at via e-mail, I did want to make a few comments in my own defense on the subject of the canonicity of this chapter.
First, about Ecthelion. Ooooh, Ecthelion. WHY oh why is there not more Ecthelion slash out there?
Point one: As far as warriors go--he was THE elf, wasn't he? Killer of, count them, THREE balrogs, all in the same day no less, one of which was the prince of balrogs, Gothmog, who had once killed off poor Fëanor when that mighty elf was fresh. The encyclopedia of Arda says about Fëanor that "such was the ferocity of his spirit that after his death, his body was consumed by flame." And this was the elf who LOST to Gothmog! Ecthelion slew the beast after killing two others just before, AND while wounded so that he could only use one arm. Does the phrase, "with one hand tied behind my back" mean anything to anyone? He just leaves the competition, all of the competition, even Glorfindel, standing. Yet almost nobody writes about him.
Point two: Tolkien wasn't one to say much about the appearance of his characters. Even Galadriel and Celeborn--who fared better than most--were lucky to get a few lines each. But he was REALLY carried away by this elf. He spent a whole paragraph just describing his armor, for heaven's sake. So, if the old, rather stodgy (sorry but it's true) prof thought he was impressive, I'm thinking he must really be something in the looks department. I am assuming he was dark haired and grey eyed, because that is the description Tolkien says applied to most Sindarin elves (so maybe they shouldn't have bothered with the wig on Orlando in the film).
Point three: Glorfindel and Ecthelion always seemed to be together; whenever one was mentioned, there was the other, almost like they were joined at the hip--so to speak. So, here we have the greatest warrior ever, gorgeous, and a good friend of Glorfindel's--all of which is canon. Add in that they both died the same way--fighting balrogs, and perishing selflessly to save others--and voila, a slash pairing par excellence is born.
Last point: Why am I making him Sindarin when everyone knows Gondolin was a Noldorin city under a Noldorin king? For several reasons. First, Tolkien specifically said that there were a large number of Sindar living in Gondolin, and in that case, it seems strange that there would not be even ONE Sindarin officer among the king's guard. Second, all the other leaders of Turgon's army are specifically mentioned by Tolkien as being Noldor, every single one, but nothing is said about Ecthelion. Nope, not a word. Maybe Tolkien just overlooked it, but I don't think so, because, third, there's the name to consider. Ecthelion's title was the Lord of the Fountain and Lord of the People of the Fountain at Gondolin. Yet his name in Quenyan (the language of the Noldor) means "Spear-point." But in Sindarin, "ecthel" means fountain, which would make much more sense given his known titles. What would a Noldorin elf be doing with a Sindarin name? He wouldn't; ergo, Ecthelion was Sindarin. And, of course, Thranduil would have known about the most famous Sindarin warrior to ever live. Oh, btw, for as long as it lasts, there's a great image of Ecthelion slaying the balrog here:
Second, about Glorfindel. I am assuming, as I have throughout, that Glorfindel of Gondolin and Glorfindel of Imladris are one and the same--according to Christopher Tolkien, his father decided this late in life so I guess I'm in the clear here unless you want to argue with the great man's son. Unfortunately, canon doesn't say exactly when Glorfindel was returned to Middle Earth or why. I have chosen to go along with Tolkien's suggestion (Last Writings, History of Middle-Earth XII) that Glorfindel's return very probably took place sometime in the middle part of the Second Age, so he would have been there well in advance of the Last Alliance. I explained my version of why he was sent back in the course of this chapter.
It was obvious in my fic One Last Time that Glorfindel and Thranduil had never before met. Since the Sindarin and Noldorin armies were under different leadership and occupied different parts of the battlefield at the Last Alliance, they need not have met there, as Glorfindel was only one of Elrond's retainers, and not an advisor of Gil-Galad's. There would have been no reason for him to be included in high-level discussions.
On the subject of elvish reincarnation, I can only point out that Tolkien himself changed ideas on this several times. Basically, he agreed in all sources that elves live as long as Earth continues, are composed of Fëa (the soul) and Hroa (the body) and that dead elves go to a place of waiting called Mandos where, after a time reflecting on their lives and mistakes, they can be reborn into new bodies as much like their old ones as their soul can remember. The only exceptions were those who did not wish to return and those who had seriously displeased the Valar and were forbidden to do so. The newly reborn elves would remember nothing of their former lives until they had matured. So the only place I have stretched a point on these matters is in making the reincarnated Ecthelion look like Elladan, which made sense under the circumstances. Otherwise, everyone would have known who he was from the first, thereby seriously messing with the poor elfling's head and ruining the Valar's gift.
What Tolkien was unclear on, because he changed his mind over the years, was where these reanimated elves went. He seems to have finally decided that they lived in Valinor, not Middle Earth, but obviously he made an exception for Glorfindel. My point is that, if he could make one exception, why not two, especially if the second exception was done as a gift for the first? Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Paring: Thranduil/Celeborn/Elrond; Elrohir/Glorfindel; Haldir/Gildor; Elladan/Orophin
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline and my precious, evil mind.
Feedback: Please!
Warnings: BDSM. A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc. Read them in order--Unspoken/Revelations/Changes/One Last Time/Quid Pro Quo--or prepare to be confused. There is an author's note at the end (yes, I actually remembered to include it this time) for anyone who is interested.
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**The main audience chamber of Mandos was similar to many of the meeting halls Glorfindel had seen in his life, if rather darker, being lit only by a few standing candelabra. He reminded himself that this could well be just a mental projection designed to make him feel more comfortable, with the reality being very different. That view was reinforced when he saw the room's occupant. Glorfindel had always been told that the Valar were larger than life, radiant as a star, and terrible in their beauty. It was rather a shock, then, to see the figure lounging on the throne, picking his teeth and looking bored.
"Ulmo! Kindly get out of my seat." The throne's occupant looked up, grinned, and raised a glass to his host, who seemed peeved. "Every time you visit you do this," Namo complained. "Why don't you get your own hall somewhere and stop littering up mine?"
Ulmo rose to his feet slowly, making it obvious that he was just doing it to humour his host. "Littering? I should say rather decorating, Namo," he commented, coming down the stairs towards them, "and this place can certainly use it." Glorfindel could not help but notice that he was very little like the description given in the old legends. He was tall, for instance, but no more so than many elves Glorfindel had known; he did wear an impressive, silver crown and a long grey cloak, and the tunic underneath it, which was slightly iridescent, could at a great stretch be said to resemble the scales of a fish. However, his hair, which was supposed to cascade down his back "as foam glimmering in the dusk" just looked normal to Glorfindel, and there was no sign of the "kirtle of deep green that flashed and flickered with sea-fire as he strode." Perhaps his tailor was having an off day, Glorfindel thought, and fought down an urge to giggle. He wondered if it was possible for spirits to go insane, and if so, if you were then doomed to madness forever or might perhaps recover.
"You aren't mad, Glorfindel, although I suppose you can be forgiven for thinking so," the Lord of the Sea commented, clapping him on the back. He leaned closer and whispered in his ear, "And even the gods dress down when we're at home."
"You aren't AT home, Ulmo," Namo reminded him tetchily. "You are clogging up my palace and adding to my already heavy burden of annoyance." He waved a black robed arm vaguely at the door through which they'd just entered, as he settled himself on his throne. "Go, conclude your business with this one. I said I wouldn't oppose you and I won't, but that doesn't mean I wish to hear about it. It makes no sense having rules if you're just going to go about breaking them all the time."
"He's always like that," Ulmo said, leading Glorfindel out of the chamber. "I'd remind him about Luthien and his own flouting of the rules, and with even less of an excuse than I have, but we need to avoid irritating him further. His support, however grudging, will make all this so much easier."
"Forgive me, Lord Ulmo, but it will make what easier?"
Ulmo just smiled, and towed him down a complicated maze of halls to a very dark chamber where a pool of water flickered under the light of a single hanging lantern. "Go ahead, look!" Ulmo pushed him to the pool's edge, and Glorfindel obediently looked in, but saw nothing extraordinary, just the rough-hewn stone of the pool's bottom, reflecting glimmering eddies of light. Then the surface became opaquely silver, and images started to flicker across it.**
Celeborn looked as if he was trying to absorb the tale, but Thranduil just scowled. "And what, pray tell, does any of your adventures in Mandos have to do with Elrohir? I know what I saw, Glorfindel, and . . . "
Glorfindel held up a hand. "I know this is taking some time, but it will make much more sense if you allow me to proceed in my own way." The really difficult part, he reflected, was ensuring that he did not mention anything that he had seen that did not concern the immediate problem. Few of the scattered and rapidly flickering images had meant much to him at the time, but subsequent events had shed considerable light on them; yet to reveal too much would be to possibly unbalance the way events were meant to unfold. It was a heavy burden, and he had long wished that Lord Ulmo had been somewhat more careful about what he had allowed him to see.
**"I do not understand, my Lord. What is it you are showing me?"
Ulmo had seated himself on one of the large, black volcanic rocks that rimmed the pool, and was combing out his hair. He had perched his crown at a lopsided angle on a small rock and it looked perilously close to tumbling into the pool. Glorfindel wasn't sure if it would be sacrilegious to point that out, so he didn't mention it. "That is the future, Glorfindel, or rather, the future as it stands now--which is not at all the same thing as the future decided, which is all the past really is, isn't it?"
Glorfindel regarded him levelly, and supposed that gods didn't have to make sense, although it would be nice.
"I heard that," Ulmo told him sharply. "Anyway, I AM making sense. You're just a little slow. But no matter, loyalty above brains, I've always said--the former is much rarer than the latter, I've found."
Glorfindel wondered if he had just been insulted.
"If you have, be glad of it," Ulmo told him. "I've insulted most of Arda at one time or another, or at least the better part of it--no good insulting the truly evil as they take it as a compliment--so you should be pleased. Sort of a status symbol, really. Anyway," he jumped down off his rock and pointed at something in the pool, "there you are, right there, do you see?"
He was pointing to the current image, which showed a vast, deep plain filled with orcs, which a great elvin army--and were those men?--were fighting. "I see a battle, my Lord, but I am not there."
Ulmo smiled and patted him on the back. "Exactly!," he said, sitting back down as if that explained everything. Glorfindel regarded him expectantly, and Ulmo sighed. "You aren't there because you're dead." Glorfindel continued to look hopeful--an explanation had to be forthcoming sooner or later that made sense, and it wasn't as if he didn't have plenty of time. Ulmo sighed again. "In that future," he explained very slowly, "you are dead. So, you can't influence matters."
"Yes, my Lord."
Ulmo waved a hand and the images stopped. "There--do you recognise him?" He pointed at a handsome dark elf who was caught, sword raised, about to slay an orc. The frozen face did look somewhat familiar, but if they had met before, Glorfindel could not place him. "Look carefully, does he not remind you of someone?"
Glorfindel regarded the face again, leaning over the pool to get a closer look, and yes, there was something . . . "He looks as if he may be a relative of the king's," he commented, for the elf had the same intense eyes, and the line of his jaw and something about his high forehead reminded Glorfindel of his lost sovereign. Something occurred to him then, and he turned to Ulmo excitedly. "Could I see him? Could I see the king? He must be here."
Ulmo sighed. "Look at the image, Glorfindel, and do try to concentrate." He waved a hand again and, very slowly, the people began to move. At this speed, Glorfindel could see the figure being closely pressed, and then a huge orc came up behind him and skewered him on a long spear. The elf finished off the two orcs he was fighting, then turned and slew his attacker, but Glorfindel could see him weakening, and he wasn't surprised. No elf could withstand a blow like that.
"The one you saw die was Elrond, or rather, he IS Elrond, Turgon's great grandson, for all that is still far in the future. But it is also very wrong. I did not go to all the trouble to set that family up for great deeds, only to have my plans destroyed by an orc, of all things. I mean really--not even a dragon or a balrog, some worthy opponent, but an ORC! Generations of careful planning all gone," he snapped his fingers, looking disgusted, "just like that. And why, do you suppose?"
Glorfindel looked lost and Ulmo seemed to be loosing patience with him. "Because. You. Were. Dead. Do you understand? You couldn't save the day twice, because you'd already done it once and ended up here for your pains. Useless. That's what you are now, completely useless, roaming about Mandos when, if you were there, you could change everything. And you would, wouldn't you, Glorfindel? Your sovereign attacked, surrounded by enemies--you would be at his back, would you not?"
Glorfindel nodded. 'Yes, Lord, unless he ordered me elsewhere, as King Turgon did . . . "
Ulmo waved a hand. "Elrond isn't stupid. You always need someone in battle to guard your back, someone capable enough not to get killed and to see that you don't either. That's what I need for Elrond, and that's why I'm here, depending on Namo's dubious hospitality. Glorfindel, I've come to send you back."**
* * *
Erestor watched Elrohir with a worried frown on his face. They sat outside in the gathering dusk, the mountains within view but their goal still several days' journey away. The camp was quiet, with preparations for the evening meal under way. With the wounded having been dispatched back to Imladris that morning, there was little for anyone, other than the sentries, to do. Erestor fidgeted; he had too much to worry about: the raid on the mines, where, it now seemed, they were expected, so resistance would doubtless be fierce; the problem with Elrohir choosing to remember his past NOW when they were too far away to seek Elrond's help, and then refusing to return to Lorien with the wounded; and his own feelings for Camthalion, which were quite strong and completely unexpected.
Erestor sighed and made a movement towards Elrohir, who was sitting near the edge of the camp, lost in his thoughts. He stopped, however, after a few paces, not certain whether interrupting him was the best thing to do. And how was he supposed to know? Even Elrond had not been entirely certain what should be done, as Glorfindel had been returned as an adult, having "grown up" a second time in Valinor before being sent back. And reanimated elves were not exactly thick on the ground in Middle Earth. It wasn't, Erestor thought petulantly, as if one could simply stroll up to one and say, so, how did your memories come back, then, and did you run amuck for a while thereafter? Kill anyone at all?
He kicked a rock into the forest and wished there was an orc around to shoot. Preferably several orcs. He usually hated the haphazard violence of combat. Even the best laid battle plans never went as expected, and often who won was less about strategy than pure dumb luck. Erestor preferred things to be laid out with precision, and then carefully followed through, so that everything took place exactly as it was meant to do. It was how he ran Elrond's household and how he preferred to run his life, but there was nothing orderly about combat. Still, he was almost looking forward to the mines in comparison with the horrible conundrum facing him now. When to help might be to harm, but so might doing nothing, who could know the right road to take?
He needed Elrond's wisdom, his patience, and especially his sense of calm. Whenever Imladris' lord was there, things suddenly seemed to fall into place. Elrond's debilitation had seriously damaged Erestor's comfortable sense of well being, as, for the first time in centuries, he found himself working without a safety net. If he made the wrong decision, there was no one to catch him; if he gave Glorfindel the wrong advice, and the Elda had been leaning on him more and more lately, who was there to argue with him? Usually he and Glorfindel were the perfect counterparts--he provided the careful, sane, logical approach to problems, while Glorfindel tended to be bolder, and in Erestor's opinion, sometimes even reckless. Yet Elrond was able to easily judge between them, and almost invariably made the right decision for any given situation. But now they had to find their way alone, as Erestor did not trust Lord Celeborn's judgment as much as he had Elrond's, and he certainly had no faith whatsoever in Thranduil's.
He glanced behind him, to the tent where Glorfindel had retreated with the Eldar in question some time before, and wondered how that discussion was going. He could have worse tasks, he thought wryly. Then he looked back to where Elrohir sat, and noticed the young one regarding him closely. Sighing, Erestor decided that sometimes in life, it was necessary just to take a chance. Gathering his dark robes about him, he wove through the obstacles littered about the camp and stopped before his old charge. "Elrohir, I believe we need to talk."
* * *
"It seemed that my death displeased the Valar, especially Lord Ulmo who has always taken an interest in his envoy's family, and thought my services could yet be of use to them. He told me that he was unhappy with my sacrifice and offered to reanimate my Fëa and send me back to Middle Earth, as long as I would continue to feel bound by my oath to Turgon's line."
"And you agreed," Celeborn commented, looking moved. "To subject yourself utterly to the will of the Valar--it is a rare and beautiful thing, Glorfindel."
Glorfindel shifted slightly in his chair. It hadn't been exactly like that.
**"What did you say?" Ulmo regarded him with surprise. There was as yet no anger in his visage, perhaps out of sheer shock--Glorfindel doubted that anyone had ever been foolish enough before to tell him no, however respectfully.
"I, er, I said that I would rather not, Lord."
Ulmo just continued to look at him, as if re-evaluating his previous comment on Glorfindel's sanity. "Any reason why or just not in the mood?," he asked, finally.
"I . . . well, that is . . . ," Glorfindel could not think how to explain things tactfully, but luckily, Ulmo was continuing his habit of reading his thoughts. The image in the pool changed and there he was, just as Glorfindel had first seen him, his dark hair blowing in the wind, his grey eyes laughing, the sun sparking tiny rainbows off the diamonds and crystals set into his armor.
Ulmo looked stunned. "You would refuse my request for him--just an elf?"
Glorfindel bristled. "He was not 'just an elf' my Lord, and he also died defending Turgon's line, if you recall." Glorfindel pushed memories of that scene out of his mind--he definitely did not want to be shown that again, of all things.
"Don't be impertinent." Ulmo looked faintly amused. "So what did you have in mind? Seeking him out, here in Mandos?"
Glorfindel sighed. He had just woken up, after seeing the city he loved smashed to pieces, watching the only lover he had ever cared about die in agony, and plunging off a cliff to his own fiery end. Since coming back to awareness, not only had he not been given time to come to grips with his emotions, but he had been ruthlessly teased by the Valar, who acted as if his desires were irrelevant in their complex plans for Arda. At this point, Glorfindel didn't care about Arda, he cared about talking to Ecthelion and making sure he was all right, or as much as possible under the circumstances.
Again, Ulmo seemed to discern his thoughts without being told. He was stroking his chin thoughtfully when Namo's voice suddenly rang out, echoing off the chamber's walls. "Don't even THINK about it!"
Ulmo smiled, and gripped Glorfindel about the shoulders. "Terrible eavesdropper--I should have known. Anyway, Glorfindel, I think perhaps we can come to an understanding, after all."**
"So you are telling me you gave the Valar an ultimatum?" Thranduil burst out laughing, but his eyes were impressed. "I always knew you were an original, seneschal! I just did not realise how much! Yet," he grew thoughtful, you WERE drawn to me, when we met--I know this, Glorfindel, so do not bother to deny it. I would hardly have wasted so much time on you if I truly believed your heart belonged to another. So why encourage me, if you expected the return of your life partner?"
Glorfindel shook his head, smiling faintly. "The Valar promised to return Ecthelion to me, but they did not say when. I had foolishly assumed that we would be sent back together, but I was returned to Middle Earth alone. For centuries I waited, believing that any day he would come, yet the years passed and still I was alone. I finally decided that I was being punished for my presumption in dictating to the Valar, and that he might never come, or might do so just before I died--again--which seemed a likely possibility on several occasions. Then, after Barad-dur, I gave up all hope, sure that, as I had fulfilled my purpose, Lord Ulmo would have no incentive to send my lover back to me. I finally resigned myself to living without him, resolving to find love, or at least companionship, where I might. Then I met you, and was instantly drawn to you."
"But your vow still held, to serve Elrond's family always." It was as if Glorfindel and the king were alone, as Celeborn had backed out of the conversation, looking on from the shadows, but saying nothing.
"Yes, and I remained faithful to it, despite temptation to the contrary." Glorfindel smiled--he might as well admit it, Thranduil had always made a tempting offer. "I think now that that might have been what prompted Lord Ulmo to fulfill his vow. The Valar saw that I kept my word despite their tardiness in honouring their's, and decided to reward me. They gave me an added gift in not only allowing my lover to return to me, but also insuring that he was born into the family I had promised to serve, thereby permitting me to keep my vow and also to have him near. Waiting for him to reach maturity was difficult, but not as much as remaining silent about who he was. Lord Elrond was told what had been decided before Elrohir was born, and agreed to accept him into his household for my sake. He made no objection to his being given the same appearance as Elladan, whom Ecthelion resembled in any case."
"But why all the secrecy?," Thranduil burst out. "Your gift is also one to all the Sindar! Our greatest hero has returned, and yet you said nothing! For fifty years . . . "
"The Valar warned that it would be dangerous to reveal his identity to Elrohir too soon. I can attest to the truth of the old rumour that no elf remembers his former life as soon as he is reanimated. I was more than one hundred cycles old before I began to remember, and there are still some things I do not recall until a chance remark brings them to mind. Most reanimated elves live out their lives in Valinor, where they have the help of the Valar in bearing the burden of many centuries. How well do you think Elrohir would survive having millennia of memories crash down on him all at once, and at such a young age? We were told the result could be madness." Glorfindel leaned over the table, willing Thranduil to understand. "We did not dare to tell you, for fear that you would insist on talking with him, questioning him, and that, unwittingly, you might cause him harm. That is why Elrond steered him toward Lorien at his coming of age, rather than sending him to your court as Elladan was. No one else was told of his true identity either--Lord Celeborn did not even know, although I believe the Lady Galadriel suspects. She once remarked to me that she has great difficulty reading Elrohir--as rarely occurs in any but the most powerful of elves."
Thranduil glanced at Celeborn. "So you did not warn them that I was expected."
Celeborn shook his head; he seemed overwhelmed. "I have not had the opportunity to spend much time with Elrohir; I honestly did not know."
Glorfindel agreed, wishing that he felt less like a traitor for keeping the secret. "There was no reason for you to suspect--if Lord Elrond and his entire household accepted him, why should it occur to you to question his identity? But Thranduil had never met him, although he did know Elladan." Glorfindel turned to the king, "Had I known you would be in Lorien, I would have kept Elrohir in Imladris. You are famed for discerning the hearts of others better than any elf in Arda. We thought it likely that you would compare Elrond's two sons and become suspicious."
Thranduil smiled, his expression dreamy. "I could hardly fail to recognise the greatest warrior of them all. I grew up on tales of his exploits; as elflings, we used to act out the slaying of Gothmog, trying to come up with a way Ecthelion could have accomplished it and still lived. I once said that, could I meet any elf from the past, he would be my first choice. I would like to think I would have recognised him."
"Which is why either myself or Erestor was always with Elrohir, so we could hurry him away should you come around. I kept your interest on me at the reception that first night, because I could not risk your taking too much notice of him. I apologise if that gave you hope of renewing our acquaintance . . . "
Thranduil waved a hand. "I already had such in mind when I arrived in Lorien." He sat quietly for some time, then spoke. "After what we witnessed today, I cannot doubt your word, but I am unwilling to have . . . Elrohir . . . continue to think of me as an enemy and to deny his identity. He must be told."
"In time, he will be, when he is old enough to bear it, assuming he has not already remembered for himself. I do not know if he will choose to go to Mirkwood when that time comes--naturally, I will do all I can to persuade him to stay with me."
Thranduil inclined his head. "We agree, then. He will have his choice freely, when he is able to make it. Now, I have a story for you about the elves in the mines, and what Lord Elrond and I saw is almost as incredible as what you have told us."
* * *
Author's Note:
I usually try to avoid explanatory notes; I don't like to read them in fic and I assume most people feel the same as they aren't all that entertaining. I will keep this one as short as possible, and I tacked it on to the end of the chapter so those of you with no patience for this sort of thing can easily skip it. But before I get howled at via e-mail, I did want to make a few comments in my own defense on the subject of the canonicity of this chapter.
First, about Ecthelion. Ooooh, Ecthelion. WHY oh why is there not more Ecthelion slash out there?
Point one: As far as warriors go--he was THE elf, wasn't he? Killer of, count them, THREE balrogs, all in the same day no less, one of which was the prince of balrogs, Gothmog, who had once killed off poor Fëanor when that mighty elf was fresh. The encyclopedia of Arda says about Fëanor that "such was the ferocity of his spirit that after his death, his body was consumed by flame." And this was the elf who LOST to Gothmog! Ecthelion slew the beast after killing two others just before, AND while wounded so that he could only use one arm. Does the phrase, "with one hand tied behind my back" mean anything to anyone? He just leaves the competition, all of the competition, even Glorfindel, standing. Yet almost nobody writes about him.
Point two: Tolkien wasn't one to say much about the appearance of his characters. Even Galadriel and Celeborn--who fared better than most--were lucky to get a few lines each. But he was REALLY carried away by this elf. He spent a whole paragraph just describing his armor, for heaven's sake. So, if the old, rather stodgy (sorry but it's true) prof thought he was impressive, I'm thinking he must really be something in the looks department. I am assuming he was dark haired and grey eyed, because that is the description Tolkien says applied to most Sindarin elves (so maybe they shouldn't have bothered with the wig on Orlando in the film).
Point three: Glorfindel and Ecthelion always seemed to be together; whenever one was mentioned, there was the other, almost like they were joined at the hip--so to speak. So, here we have the greatest warrior ever, gorgeous, and a good friend of Glorfindel's--all of which is canon. Add in that they both died the same way--fighting balrogs, and perishing selflessly to save others--and voila, a slash pairing par excellence is born.
Last point: Why am I making him Sindarin when everyone knows Gondolin was a Noldorin city under a Noldorin king? For several reasons. First, Tolkien specifically said that there were a large number of Sindar living in Gondolin, and in that case, it seems strange that there would not be even ONE Sindarin officer among the king's guard. Second, all the other leaders of Turgon's army are specifically mentioned by Tolkien as being Noldor, every single one, but nothing is said about Ecthelion. Nope, not a word. Maybe Tolkien just overlooked it, but I don't think so, because, third, there's the name to consider. Ecthelion's title was the Lord of the Fountain and Lord of the People of the Fountain at Gondolin. Yet his name in Quenyan (the language of the Noldor) means "Spear-point." But in Sindarin, "ecthel" means fountain, which would make much more sense given his known titles. What would a Noldorin elf be doing with a Sindarin name? He wouldn't; ergo, Ecthelion was Sindarin. And, of course, Thranduil would have known about the most famous Sindarin warrior to ever live. Oh, btw, for as long as it lasts, there's a great image of Ecthelion slaying the balrog here:
Second, about Glorfindel. I am assuming, as I have throughout, that Glorfindel of Gondolin and Glorfindel of Imladris are one and the same--according to Christopher Tolkien, his father decided this late in life so I guess I'm in the clear here unless you want to argue with the great man's son. Unfortunately, canon doesn't say exactly when Glorfindel was returned to Middle Earth or why. I have chosen to go along with Tolkien's suggestion (Last Writings, History of Middle-Earth XII) that Glorfindel's return very probably took place sometime in the middle part of the Second Age, so he would have been there well in advance of the Last Alliance. I explained my version of why he was sent back in the course of this chapter.
It was obvious in my fic One Last Time that Glorfindel and Thranduil had never before met. Since the Sindarin and Noldorin armies were under different leadership and occupied different parts of the battlefield at the Last Alliance, they need not have met there, as Glorfindel was only one of Elrond's retainers, and not an advisor of Gil-Galad's. There would have been no reason for him to be included in high-level discussions.
On the subject of elvish reincarnation, I can only point out that Tolkien himself changed ideas on this several times. Basically, he agreed in all sources that elves live as long as Earth continues, are composed of Fëa (the soul) and Hroa (the body) and that dead elves go to a place of waiting called Mandos where, after a time reflecting on their lives and mistakes, they can be reborn into new bodies as much like their old ones as their soul can remember. The only exceptions were those who did not wish to return and those who had seriously displeased the Valar and were forbidden to do so. The newly reborn elves would remember nothing of their former lives until they had matured. So the only place I have stretched a point on these matters is in making the reincarnated Ecthelion look like Elladan, which made sense under the circumstances. Otherwise, everyone would have known who he was from the first, thereby seriously messing with the poor elfling's head and ruining the Valar's gift.
What Tolkien was unclear on, because he changed his mind over the years, was where these reanimated elves went. He seems to have finally decided that they lived in Valinor, not Middle Earth, but obviously he made an exception for Glorfindel. My point is that, if he could make one exception, why not two, especially if the second exception was done as a gift for the first? Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.