"Why have you come before me?"
Turgon's voice rang throughout the grand hall, its rich timbre both commanding and gentle at the same time, his dark eyes regarding carefully the mortal man that kneeled at his feet.
"I come before you, Turgon King, to prove my worthiness in seeking the hand of your daughter, Her Royal Highness the Crown Princess Itarille Celebrindal, to be bound in the eyes of the Valar."
Glorfindel stood impassively as the man spoke, the glint of sunlight off of his blonde head visible even to the elf lord hidden in the shadows at the rear of the hall. He noted absently the elegant garments that sat easily over the broad shoulders, the cloth of a make far above the man's status, but gracing his form nonetheless as what seemed to be the whole of Ondolinde watched from behind.
"Your request is noted, Tuor Son of Huor of the Race of Men. For what reason should I allow you the hand of my daughter?"
These were just the formalities as the original permission had been granted days ago to allow for the preparations of the ceremony, but Tuor looked every bit as serious and cowed as the Lord of the Flowers imagined he had been the first time. But still, the man raised grey-blue eyes to the king and spoke loudly, voice firm. "I love her."
There was no delicate wording or passionate declarations, simply the one sentence the man had uttered, eyes wide and honest. The High King of the Noldor regarded him silently for several moments, the silence in the hall almost palpable as the guests waited with bated breath his response.
"Is there anyone who would speak for the honour of this man?"
The dark haired elf in the front row took the cue to step forward, raising stormy grey eyes to his king as he bowed before stepping onto the dais and resting a hand on Tuor's curved shoulder.
"I am Voronwe Aranwion and I speak for the honour of this Son of Man. Tuor is strong of heart, body, and mind and will make a match for your spitfire of a daughter."
The king's lips curved briefly as he raised a single dark brow at the elf, eyes as dark as his hair glittering with amusement. There were few who could say such things with impunity, but Voronwe, a childhood playmate of the princess, was counted among them. The comment too had released some of the tension in the room as the king nodded.
"Tuor Son of Huor, Stand firm and proud, for I judge you worthy of my daughter's hand," he gestured for him to rise.
Glorfindel stiffened and pressed himself back into the shadows as the golden haired youth stood and was joined by Voronwe to the left of the king, both turning to the solid doors that slowly opened to the hall, brilliant sunlight pouring in as the barrier was removed. He closed his eyes for a moment, hands flexing and releasing his own tension as he finally dared to look to the path that had cleared through the center of the room.
A vision of white and gold flowed across the floor, supported on her right by Ecthelion, the Lord of the Fountain dressed too in gold, but accenting a dark green that complemented his eyes and rich, dark hair. Glorfindel dismissed him after the first glance, however, his eyes focusing on the figure at his side. He forgot to breathe as blue eyes took in the slender, proud figure with hair so golden that it shone almost painfully in the sunlight. White silks flowed flawlessly over slim curves, the gold trimmings accenting pale honeyed skin and turning lapis eyes to a burning sapphire.
Those eyes, however beautiful, were focused not on him, but at the mortal man upon the dais. The Lord of the Golden Flowers felt his stomach wrench at the irony, that something so exquisitely beautiful could make him want to die. It was supposed to have been his job, to escort the Crown Princess to her intended, but both he and Idril knew that he could not bear such a duty and hadn't been so cruel as to ask it of him. As such, he had been replaced by his best friend, the Lord Ecthelion. His hands clenched fitfully as the pair finished the walk to the dais and she was handed off to Tuor, a serene love glowing from her eyes as they took their place before Turgon.
The king began to speak, but Glorfindel could hear nothing, all other sounds drowned out by deafening pounding of his heart as is threatened to break free of his chest. He drew in a shaky breath, watching as Turgon wound a white silk ribbon about Tuor and Idril's clasped hands, no doubt speaking the ceremony of binding they all knew by heart. His blue eyes remained on the pair, blinking not though tears first glimmered, then dropped slowly from the orbs, their intensity the only sign of the pain wracking his heart and mind.
He stood silently, his heart wrenching in two as the ceremony was finished, the cheers echoing around him sounding not at all unlike the toll of his death bell, the figures ahead blurred by the tears in his eyes. The newly bound pair paused to kiss and Glorfindel knew he could take no more. With a final, agonized glance at the ethereal figure that had so captivated him, he fled the hall to seek solace in a solitary ride and his prize stallion.
After what seemed like hours of riding, he stopped and threw himself beneath the shade of a large tree and let the emotions that he had been holding back flow freely. Shudders tore at his lithe form as tears pathed over his cheeks, leaving glittering diamond trails across his cheeks. His heart hurt so intensely that he feared it would stop beating.
Though he had known it was not meant to be from the start, he had not been able to help the shock he felt when she had come to him that evening, her own blue eyes dark with some unreadable emotion as they sought out his. They were to be married, she told him, holding his hand gently between warm palms. The blood had rushed from his face and his equilibrium threatened the same as he desperately searched her face for any sign that she had been joking.
'We must live the lives the Valar have given us, Glorfindel,' she had spoken softly, raising a hand to cup his cheek as her eyes glittered with unshed tears.
His name on her lips had been his undoing and he had fled from her, just as he had today, unable to face either thought or sight of her in any man's arms but his.
So he sat in the shade, tears coursing down his cheeks as the city of Ondolinde, unknowing of the love that had been condemned that day, congratulated their princess and her new prince, the Lord of the Golden Flowers forgotten in their revelry.
And so he cried.