Fountain
Ecthelion sat on the edge of the fountain, grey-blue eyes barely closed, dark eyelashes fluttering softly on his pale cheek.
Across from him slouched Glorfindel, reclined on his side, a blissful smile on his face as the light summer breeze lifted his sun-kissed hair off his bare shoulders.
"I dearly love fountains." Ecthelion remarked contentedly after a long moment of peaceful silence before playing a quick bird-like trill on the light shiny flute balanced between his long slender fingers as if it were weightless.
"Well then you, my friend, are in luck, for our beautiful city of Gondolin contains more fountains than any other." Glorfindel laughed, making half-hearted protestations as Ecthelion picked and tucked a small but bright golden flower behind his lordly friend's ear.
"I think," continued Ecthelion, swiveling on the thick stone side of the fountain upon which the two friends were resting, supporting himself on his hands as he leaned over, face getting closer and closer to the cold crystal water, gazing wordlessly at his reflection below.
Suddenly, in the water beneath him he saw the ghosts of flames, blood, smoke, staring back up at him, and the words died on his lips.
"Ecthelion, Ecthelion! Are you quite alright?" Glorfindel asked worriedly, voice rising as his friend yanked himself away, a cold sweat on his brow, eyes wide, face ashen.
"Ecthelion? Ecthelion, what happened?" Glorfindel asked again, grabbing the renowned
flutist's shoulders as he nearly toppled off the side from the sheer force of pulling back from the water's edge.
"Fine. I am fine. Sorry, that was nothing, do not worry yourself." Ecthelion reassured him hastily once he had gotten his breath back, smiling weakly, the fountain suddenly much less appealing. "If you would just put a shirt on we could go walk in the Way of Roses, to pick up some and leave them for Idril to find, she loves it when anonymous elf-lords do that." Ecthelion rose hastily, drawing his concerned friend away, daring one backwards glance at the now clear blue water before hurrying on, a cold feeling of dread settling over him.