Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Flawed and Fair	By : tehta Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 946 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
-----

Brothers-In-Arms

-----

To any warrior who has spent centuries in hiding while his enemies roamed free,
a chance for battle is a very special occasion. The smallest details take on
great significance. Ecthelion hesitated over his choice of weapon, glancing
from his spear to his mace to his old sword. At last, he decided that Aredhel's
orc warning had made him feel rather nostalgic, and picked up the battle-tested
blade. He then joined the others at the edge of the forest where, half cealcealed by the trees, they were watching some hunched shapes move across the
valley.

"Four dozen," said Egalmoth.

"Running towards us. Good." Aredhel hugged
herself happily, like a little girl preparing to unwrap a present. "Here,
this big oak looks sturdy. Let us find good positions up there and string our
bows. We will hold our fire until we can count their teeth; that way we can
pick them all off, even if they run. The swordsmen will guard our tree down by
the roots."

Reluctantly, Ecthelion had to acknowledge that it was as good a plan as any.
Aredhel was clearly skilled at hurting things, whether they were game, orcs, or
Glorfindel's feelings -- although Ecthelion was pleased to note that
Glorfindel, at least, cheered up somewhat once they had assumed their positions
under the tree.

"You know, Ecthelion," said Glorfindel, "this is what I meant,
in a way, when I just spoke. Surely it is neither hideous nor obscene, to stand
beside a worthy companion and fight creatures of evil? The... desire part
hardly matters at all."

Ecthelion could detect a certain tightness in his
voice during that last statement. Glorfindel had never been a good liar; but if
lies helped him get over his pain, who was Ecthelion to argue?

"Quite right," he said cheerily. "Let us forget all about
unnatural desires and focus on our swords."

Glorfindel blinked and lowered the weapon he had been holding out in front of
his body just as Aredhel, up above them, whistled a hunting signal. Off in the
distance, the first orcs started falling to swift arrows. The remaining
creatures headed straight for the forest.

---

When the orcs finally reached the oak, Ecthelion found them a disappointingly
poor lot. For one, their tactics were atrocious. Instead of holding off until
they could launch a concentrated attack, they arrived in small groups, so that
Ecthelion and Glorfindel never had to deal with more than two or so apiece. And
then, their actual fighting skills were underwhelming: Ecthelion never got a
single chance to take advantage of all his battle formation training by
blocking a blow meant for Glorfindel. The only real challenge was the footwork,
which got increasingly tricky as the pile of bodies at his feet rose higher,
until it was, more accurately speaking, the pile of
bodies at his knees.

Once all his orcs were dead, Ecthelion glanced over to his right, where
Glorfindel was dispatching his final attacker, fighting with grace and a smug
smile. Watching him, Ecthelion felt elated by the victory, in spite of the
disappointments of the battle itself. However, Glorfindel did not seem to share
his joy. His smile faded even as his opponent fell, and he just stood there
awkwardly, uncharacteristically reluctant to exchange the traditional
congratulatory gesture of victorious warriors -- a rough hug followed by a slap
on the lower back.

"Well fought," he said instead.

Ecthelion had to admit that he was quite relieved by the break with tradition,
for his elation was making the blood sing throughout his body. A rough hug
seemed rather risky. "You too," he said.

"Are you injured?"

"I am not sure. You?"

"I am not sure, either."

They both began to check themselves over in the usual fashion, scrutinizing the
weak points of their armour and running their hands over their lightly-armoured
limbs. Ecthelion's subconscious had only just presented him with the
predictable thoughts that they should really be checking each other, and that
clothes were only in the way, when Glorfindel let out a pained hiss. Ecthelion
felt an immediate pang onceoncern, which faded only slightly when he realized
that the cause was simply a huge clot of gore caught in Glorfindel's hair.

Though unsettled by the orcish origins of the mess, Ecthelion had a sudden
vision of other ways in which hair could be disheveled. Yes, his blood certainly
was singing, and in some parts of his body more than in others. He could not
look away from Glorfindel, not even when Aredhel and Egalmoth came down from
the tree.

"Oh, do not stare at me in that disapproving way, Ecthelion," said
Glorfindel. "I am not about to 'start braiding my hair like a normal
warrior.' Now, if anybody wants me, I will be bathing in the river."

Aredhel laughed. "Well, that certainly is a tempting invitation! Who is it
aimed at, I wonder?"

Ecthelion wanted to slap her for the cruelty of toying thus with someone she
had just rejected. He tried to send Glorfindel a sympathetic look, but
Glorfindel would not meet his eye.

"I meant 'if anyone wants me to slay any more orcs'," he said with
great dignity before walking off.

Ecthelion was in need of a wash himself, but the recent victory, the
hair-related visions, and Aredhel's indo mdo made even the thought of bathing
anywhere within a league of Glorfindel far too dangerous. He settled for
cleaning his sword, and helping the archers collect their spent arrows. They
had some sort of a bet going as to who had scored the most kills, but Ecthelion
retired before the matter was fully resolved.

---

Ecthelion dreamed that he was standing opposite Glorfindel in a landscape of
gently rolling hills topped with silvery shrubbery. He knew it was a dream
because Glorfindel's presence was a source of simple pleasure, unmingled with
shame. The fact that the hills were, in fact, piles of dead
orcs, and the shrubbery -- a tangle of broken orc weapons only confirmed his
suspicions. The fact that the dead orcs were all singing the Orc-Slaying
Ditty was a completely superfluous clue. Finally, the fact
that both Glorfindel and Ecthelion were nude made perfect sense, because the
two of them were supposed to check oth other over for injuries.
Ecthelion circled Glorfindel, but he could see none on his flawless body.

"Those orcs were running away from something in the valley, you
know," said Glorfindel. "They practically ran onto our swords."

At the mention of swords, Ecthelion was shocked to realize that he was unarmed.
This made him feel twice as naked. He looked down at himself.

"Yes," said Glorfindel. "I know your sword is long and keen.
However, I do not know if it can compare to the White Lady's gently arching
bow." His hand drew a curve in the air, and he turned away, towards an
orc-hill. "We must count all these orcs, and see how many have been slain
by arrows. Only then will I know which of you two is capable of the greater
acts of valour."

Ecthelion, used to singing songs written by the finest poets, found the clumsy
symbolism physically painful. But then, he had always known that the dream
Glorfindel was far worse company than the real one, in spite of his frequent
willingness and even more frequent nudity. Still, he was all Ecthelion had, and
so Ecthelion started to count arrows.

---

The process went on all night; in the end, the only thing a frustrated
Ecthelion took away from the dream was the conviction that the orcs had,
indeed, been running from something. When he shared this insight with the rest
of the group, Aredhel, predictably, insisted that they follow the orc tracks
towards the source of danger. So, they rode out of the forest and across the
plain, and, after fording a river, entered the Valley
of Dreadful Death.

The valley was a barren, rocky place, only occasionally broken by dark streams,
which twisted among the stones as if in torment. Even their gurgling had a
tortured sound. Ecthelion had never heard water sound so discordant, had never
seen it look so black. But then, everything was shadowed here, and the shadows
seemed longer than they should be.

Finally, there was the smell.

"What a very strange aroma," said Aredhel.

Ecthelion found it less strange. "A bit like the sewers under our
city," he said.

"How do you-- Oh, right," said Egalmoth. "I keep forgetting that
'Lord of the Fountains' is code for 'Lord of the Plumbing.' I suppose it makes
some semantic sense, but I will never understand why you chose to supervise
such an unpleasant aspect of city planning instead of helping out with the
concert halls, or something."

"Some people," said Glorfindel, "simply do whatever needs to be
done."

"Yes, Ecthelion is very virtuous, is he not?" Aredhel sounded
flirtatious, and probably looked even worse, but Ecthelion was too busy staring
at the ground to check.

"A tree!" said Egalmoth, suddenly. "I see a tree in the
distance, one bearing strange pale fruit."

Ecthelion could see only a blurry mushroom shape but, as they rode towards it,
this shape did, indeed, resolve itself into a fruit-laden tree. As they got
even closer, the fruit started to resemble the cocoons he had once seen in a
silk-making workshop -- only these cocoons were filthy, and large enough to
conceal a warrior. Spider work, for sure. Ecthelion decided to check whether
they hid the spiders themselves, or their dead prey. He lifted his spear and
rode ahead of the others, hoping they would have sense enough to hold back.
Once he was within reach of a cocoon, he tapped it lightly with his
far-reaching weapon. The movement it made was not entirely due to the prodding,
and, through the threads, he could just discern a familiar shape.

"This one contains an orc," he said over his shoulder. "A living orc." As he looked around, he realized
that the other cocoons held similar captives. In a few cases, he could even
make out faces trapped beneath the thread, contorted in anger and fear.
"They all do, I think."

His companions joined him, and the four of them wandered together under the
giant tree, among the bound orcs.

"A spider's larder," said Egalmoth. "Very
interesting. I expect our orcs were the ones that got away -- or, more
likely, the ones that got tossed back, since they did look a bit scrawny."

"It is a fitting end for such creatures," said Aredhel. "Evil
feeding on evil... it is almost poetic, would you not say, Ecthelion?"

Surprised by the question, Ecthelion said what was on his mind. "If you think about it that way. And
yet, what a horrible death."

"You feel for the orcs?" asked Glorfindel. "Can you not
sense their evil? I certainly can."

Ecthelion might have taken that statement to heart, only he knew very well that
Glorfindel was incapable of detecting evil even when said evil was sitting on
his bed. "I am sure they all had terrible childhoods," he said.

"What would you have us do? Free them?"

"I think I would like to kill them. Give them a merciful--"

"Kill them. Yes," said Aredhel. "Ecthelion, you are a warrior
after my own heart."

"Of course," Ecthelion continued, "killing these orcs might
upset the spiders."

They debated the matter. Egalmoth, who had found some fresh spider tracks, was
against upsetting the spiders. Ecthelion was leaning towards 'against', too,
because of his duty to protect his lord's sister; he calmed his conscience by
telling it that he would not be doing the orcs any active evil. Glorfindel said
he needed more time to think.

"Well, I am all for it," said Aredhel. "I am not afraid of the
spiders. And we would not want these orcs to escape and kill any innocents,
would we?" Ignoring the others, she strung her bow and started shooting.
Ecthelion joined her, sword in hand; it would have been hypocritical to stand
aside.

---

Their grim task done, the travelers turned eastward and set out across the
rocky plain. As they rode, the clouds above them thickened, hanging heavy like
orc cocoons, and a murky fog started to drift off the
mountain. They passed strange stagnant pools, where darkness played upon the
surface of the water as light might play upon the surface of a clear lake. Up
ahead the fog was denser, with patches of solid blackness.

"Unlight," said Ecthelion.

"My grandfather died in unlight," said Aredhel. "The spiders
must be close." She looked at the cloud as if facing down a despised
enemy; then, perhaps judging that it had been sufficiently intimidated, she
started to move her shying horse towards it.

"We should probably lead the horses through the fog." Glorfindel
caught up with her and dismounted. He placed his hands on the two animals'
necks, so that they stood in place, but but wary.

"Actually, " said Egalmoth, "I think we
should lead the horses around it. Preferably towards the
forest. Call me a coward, but I have no wish to practice archery inside
a cloud of unlight. I cannot aim for a spider I cannot see, no matter how giant
it is."

"I think I can see them," said Aredhel. "Inside
the cloud."

Ecthelion stared into the unlight. At first, all he could see were vague
shapes, reminiscent of childhood nightmares, but then the shapes got clearer,
until he could see legs like twisted tree trunks, and multi-faceted insectile
eyes -- but no hairy spider bodies. He strained, trying to guess whether the
visions were real, or a trick of unlight. The edge of the cloud tensed and
billowed, like the surface of an overfilled water-skin. Ecthelion's fingers
were closing on his spear when the darkness burst, releasing a shadowy shape.

Glorfindel immediately slapped Aredhel's horse, causing it to back away
rapidly. "Get behind us!" he shouted, before grabbing for his own
saddle.

Ecthelion tried to ride forward to cover him as he mounted, but both their
horses were bucking violently. He struggled to regain control, very aware that
the dark shape was drawing ever closer. Abstractedly, he noted that it was not
exactly a spider: instead of a rounded, regular abdomen, it had a shapeless
mass, in places dark as unlight, in places revoltingly pale. It certainly was
huge. It towered over Glorfindel as he faced it on foot, blade raised high.

Ecthelion yelled and threw his sword at the monster's head, but his horse spun
in place and he did not see the effect. As he turned, he could see other,
smaller, spiders approaching. One was lurching, pierced by a white-fletched
arrow. He saw Glorfindel again, briefly -- still standing -- and felt
increasingly helpless. While his horse trashed around in terror, he could do
nothing more than keep the animal from bolting. He could not even prevent the
spiders from killing his mount beneath him. Thinking quickly, he tossed his
spear clear away and half-jumped, half-fell from his saddle and into a shoulder
roll.

The rocky ground slammed into his back. He looked up into the sky, too stunned
to breathe, until the spider loomed above him, now larger than ever and far
more hideous, clawing at the air with upraised limbs.

There was no time to think about how hard it is to move while winded; Ecthelion
threw himself in the direction of his spear, and got it pointing nearly upward
by the time the monster struck. Soon, he was crouching under a hideous flopping
thing, every spasm threatening to rip the spear from his hands. He held on,
pelted by gore, until the creature shuddered and stilled; he managed to get out
just before it collapsed, dragging the spear behind him.

Ecthelion staggered, stabbed at something small and nasty, staggered again, and
saw Glorfindel.

The sight made him feel like singing. Glorfindel was radiant, a golden figure
in all the murk, dancing quickly in and out of the reach of several spiders,
some of which were starting to resemble archery butts. His brightness was a
beacon of hope; the spiders seemed to shrink from it, just as they shrunk from
his sharp sword. But there were so many of the creatures! It was the archetypal
battle of light and dark, the battle Ecthelion himself longed to join. He did
start singing then -- a song of the first coming of the sun -- and he leapt
forward to take his place at Glorfindel's side.

They made their stand together, not side-by-side or back-to-back, but both
turning in place; Ecthelion, with his greater reach, poked at the bigger
spiders, while Glorfindel sliced at the smaller ones. Although this was not a
technique they had ever practiced, they worked together well: trusting in each
other's skill, aware of one another as good warriors should be, thrilled to be
moving in such harmony. The moment when all their opponents were finally
motionless came as a shock. They looked out over the valley, at the
disappearing shreds of dark fog, and turned towards each other, grinning.

This time they did embrace, fully and in genuine happiness. Also, in a sort of
innocence, at least at first -- it was only when Ecthelion realized their
position that he became aware of Glorfindel's hipbone against his body, of the
strong back beneath his hands. He could never understand why, when all warriors
had the same tapering shape, Glorfindel seemed to look -- and, apparentleel eel
-- particularly good. He would have to ask Glorfindel whether he did any
special back exercises.

"Oh." Glorfindel froze. Ecthelion drew back in a panic, afraid that
he had betrayed himself somehow; but he saw that Glorfindel was looking past
him, and turned to see a horse motionless on the ground, raked by spider claws.

"Yours got away, I think," said Glorfindel. Ecthelion remembered his
fall, and became aware of the pain in his back. It was true: his horse was
nowhere to be seen. There was a hope that it had escaped being webbed and
dragged off somewhere. But no such hope for Glorfindel.

Ecthelion put his arm around Glorfindel and squeezed his shoulder lightly. They
stood there together in silence until the others joined them.

"Thirty spiders, including those two huge monstrosities," said
Aredhel, once they had collected all the arrows and other scattered equipment.
"Not bad, considering we suffered no real injuries. Pity
about the horses. We will have to double up on our way back to the
forest."

The forest! Ecthelion was surprised by this unexpected evidence of common
sense.

"Yes. We can rest in the forest, find fresh water..." Aredhel was
looking very thoughtful. "Perhaps catch some wild horses. Or deer. Or even moose." She remounted. "Come on
then, Ecthelion."

It took Ecthelion a while to realize that she meant for him to ride behind her.
He handed her his spear and climbed up, placing one awkward arm around her
waist, while Glorfindel joined Egalmoth. Ecthelion thought he saw him glance at
Aredhel with longing, as if he were wishing himself in Ecthelion's place.

"Tell me, Ecthelion," said Aredhel, a few minutes into the ride.
"Is there anyone you... have strong feelings for, waiting back in
Gondolin?"

"No," said Ecthelion, regretting the truth of that statement for more
than just the usual reasons.

"You and Glorfindel both, then. You virtuous
warrior types... I daresay you find it difficult to relate to most women, who
share none of your interests. Oh! But I am overjoyed that you are my
brothers-in-arms on this great adventure..."

She continued in this vein for some time, her voice disturbingly playful.
Ecthelion distracted himself from her chatter, and from the pain in his back,
by watching the creepy clouds overhead turn into ordinary rainclouds. By the
time they reached the north edge of the woods, it was beginning to drizzle.

---

They made camp. To keep the rain off as they slept, they wove branches together
to form two traditional hunters' shelters: one for Aredhel, and one for any
sleeping members of her escort.

"Right, then," Egalmoth said when they were done. "I might as
well take first watch; I want to straighten my gleaned arrows." He sat
down beside Aredhel, who was already looking through hers under a makeshift
canopy made out of cloaks.

Ecthelion sought out a stream and washed off the spider gore, wincing whenever
he touched his bruises. His stiff shoulder needed attention, if it was to be of
any use tomorrow; as it was, he could not even get his shirt back on. He
crawled into the shelter to fetch his medical supplies before remembering that
they had been inside his saddlebag.

He was just considering alternatives when the branches covering the entrance
rustled and parted, revealing Glorfindel. Noticing Ecthelion, he hesitated.

"Ah, Glorfindel -- I was just tending to my shoulder," said
Ecthelion. "You would not happen to have any balm, would you? Mine is
probably inside a spider by now. Or at least inside a spider
cocoon."

"One moment." Glorfindel slipped in and rummaged around in his
bag. "Here, turn your back towards the light." His touch was gentler
than Ecthelion's own had been. "Well. Interesting.
It must have been all those rocks. Do you want me to...
I mean, perhaps you should ask Egalmoth to help you. He would enjoy seeing all
the colours you have on here."

It was a rather terrible joke. No wonder Glorfindel had sounded so
uncomfortable when he made it, almost as uncomfortable as Ecthelion himself was
feeling at his touch. Egalmoth seemed like a much safer option, until Ecthelion
remembered that he was sitting beside Aredhel. Considering her recent
behaviour, it was almost certain that she would offer her assistance; he did
not want to put Glorfindel through the jealousy this would, no doubt, elicit.

"Egalmoth is busy," he said. "Would you mind?"

Glorfindel settled in behind him. Ecthelion was really happy that eye contact
was impossible, for the physical contact was enough to contend with, both
because of the unavoidable pain of it, and because of the equally unavoidable
pleasure of being touched by the object of his sick desires. He tried to focus
on other, less attractive, things. Well, there was one such topic he wanted to
discuss.

"Glorfindel," he said. "I just wanted you to know that I find
Aredhel's recent attentions... puzzling. I mean, I have done nothing to
encourage them, and I am not interested in her."

"I did not think you were." Glorfindel's hands moved down his back,
pressing so lightly that the pain was easy to ignore. "But why do you want
me to know this, exactly?"

"Well, I am quite aware of your... feelings." The pressure ceased;
Ecthelion was almost certain that Glorfindel had paused in mid-breath. He
realized that bringing up his friend's unrequited passion was slightly unkind,
but for some reason he felt compelled to press on. "I mean, I know that
you have some interest in the lady, and I jusntednted you to know that I--"

Glorfindel laughed, a little oddly. "You believe that I am interested in her?
Valar, but that is too strange. I mean, Finwe's Grandchild... I would sooner
court a Balrog." He exhaled, and his hands resumed their motions.
"No, wait, that was discourteous. Would it be better to say that I beli Are Aredhel would sooner court a Balrog? She is always saying that you cannot have
true passion without irritation."

Ecthelion felt dizzy. His mental landscape was shifting confusingly, and then
there were the hands on his back.

"But the way you have been acting: paying her so much attention, speaking
to her of love..."

"Well, I do know her quite well, and what I know evokes my compassion. She
has ambition, but no direction. She is proud, and all the more lonely for her
pride, because she views her brother's vassals as her inferiors; so, she has
no-one to love except an overprotective older brother who will not let her seek
the excitement she craves, and a niece who is happy with the sort of life that
bores her."

Ecthelion's back tingled as the balm began to work. He shivered. "You do
sound fond of her."

"I understand her, but... Ecthelion, she is risking all our lives for a
frivolous reason, traveling to visit a cousin she vaguely likes in the hope
that time has intensified her feelings. It is, of course, quite possible that
recent historical events have made a Feanorion more irritating, but I do not
believe love works like that. And surely you have seen how she baits me?"
Glorfindel sighed. "Truly, she has taught me that it is possible to feel
irritation without passion."

The pain of the bruises was almost gone now, its memory growing as faint and
ridiculous as the memory of Ecthelion's suspicions. "In that case, you
have been demonstrating remarkable restraint. As I have not. I suppose that
explains why she shows interest in me now; she must have noticed my
irritation."

"Perhaps. More likely, it is your
fighting skills." Glorfindel shifted slightly. "And
that aloof and slightly rude air of yours. A lot of people find that
attractive. And your looks, of course."

"What about my looks? Do I remind her of some other cousin?"

"No, I was referring to, you know, the whole 'fairest of the Noldor'
business," said Glorfindel evasively.

Ecthelion had heard that description applied to himself often enough, but this
was absurd. "Come on, you know as well as I do that Pengolodh only calls
me that because I always pay my share of the beer money."

"You mean that!" Glorfindel sounded almost outraged. "Do you
never look at yourself in a mirror?"

"Certainly, when I need to fix my hair or my clothes.
So, I am well aware that I look quite normal."

"Normal? But what about your
jawline, and the way your... Never mind. If you do not
believe me, ask someone else. Ask Aredhel herself. At any rate, I think I am
done here." Glorfindel's hands came to rest on Ecthelion's shoulders.
"You know, there is one thing I have been meaning to ask you -- do you do
any particular exercises for your lower back?"

They discussed the finer points of weight training while Ecthelion dressed
again, his arm moving freely now. Afterwards, they stretched out on the ground
and fell silent.

Lying beside Glorfindel in darkness and privacy, their shoulders almost
touching, Ecthelion realized that, even though Glorfindel was clearly mistaken
in his interpretation of that ridiculous 'fairest of the Noldor' epithet, the
nature of his mistake implied that he found Ecthelion objectively attractive.
Ecthelion was disgusted by how happy this made him feel. Worse, his joy was
making him delusional, for he was beginning to think that he had detected a certain sensuality in Glorfindel's touch. He replayed
their conversation in his head, giving it inappropriate, warm overtones. The
fantasy made him long to reach over and take Glorfindel's hand.

And do what? What disturbed him about this impulse was that he had not even
intended to put the hand anywhere specific on his body. Of course, on one
level, grabbing another man's hand was far less unnatural than grabbing any one
of several appealing alternatives -- just a friendly gesture between
brothers-in-arms -- but Ecthelion knew he had not meant it that way. Lust is
bad enough, but lust is a hungry creature that can be fed and satisfied for a le. le. The more tender emotions weave an entrapping cocoon from which there is
no easy escape.

No, far better to feel lust, unnatural as it may be. Ecthelion summoned forth
his usual irritation, knowing that, for him, like for Aredhel, irritation was
close to passion. Rather like friction, which is, after all,
a form of irritation. He turned towards the wall of the shelter,
pressing himself into the hard ground, firm as another warrior's body, and
mustered his harsher fantasies. How often had he longed to say, "Kneel
down before me and let me grab you by the hair?" To
shock Glorfindel out of his complacent virtue. To see him helpless
before unnatural advances, overwhelmed with dark
pleasure. Flushed, but not with embarrassment. Or even with embarrassment, for
there is a thrill to be found in discomfiting one normally so smug.

The fantasies worked; Ecthelion could not longer remember what he had been
trying to forget. He decided to go outside for a bit. He crawled to the
entrance, taking great care not to disturb his tentmate, and stood up in the
drizzle.

"I am so glad to find you awake!" Egalmoth was heading towards the
shelter. "I think I can see more spiders heading our way. I told you we
should have left that tree alone."

His words checked Ecthelion's excitement. A single look out over the valley
quenched it entirely. He, also, could see the spiders: or, at least, he could
see a mass of unpleasant shapes, darker than the night.

"I have been watching them for some time," said Aredhel. "They
are smarter than yesterday's orcs. I think they are mustering their forces
before attacking."

Glorfindel joined them. "Perhaps they are simply attempting to keep us out
of the valley. We could try moving away along the edge of the wood. Could they
follow us in here, I wonder?"

Aredhel's nod was barely visible in the darkness. "There are old
spider-tracks in this wood."

"Yes, that is true," said Egalmoth. "Now that I know what to
look for, I see their traces everywhere. There must be hundreds of the
creatures living in the valley. This trip could turn into a serious military
campaign."

Ecthelion reviewed the odds. "We cannot risk it," he said, certain
that his friends were reaching the same conclusion. "We must fall back
towards the city."

"What, give up?" Aredhel's eyes glittered. "Never."

-----

---

-

---

-----

Author's notes:

0. In case anyone cares about the geography of all this, the orc battle takes
place in Dimbar, near the Brithiach. So Glorfindel washes his hair in the
Sirion. The crossing of Dimbar, which probably takes a while, is dismissed in a
single sentence. The story ends in the forest
of Neldoreth.

1. The "fairest of the Noldor" business: this is how Ecthelion is
described in 'The Fall Of Gondolin'. Which of the
possible meanings of the word 'fair' was intended is left up to the reader.
- 3
- 4
- 5
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Flawed and Fair