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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
- 5
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Athrabeth Glorfindel ah Ecthelion

-----

When he first heard the voices, Ecthelion could not decide whether he was
dreaming or waking. Of course, his memories of the previous day's events
suggested a third possibility: that he had died in his sleep. He considered the
matter. On the one hand, the ground where he lay was strewn with scratchy
twiglike objects, and this was not how he imagined the halls of Mandos. On the
other hand, he had, untilentlently, supposed Lorien to be a reliable source of
first-aid advice, only to be proven quite wrong. So perhaps Mandos was a slob,
after all. But could a dead person think such impious thoughts?

Ecthelion needed more information. He opened his eyes, stretched -- and gasped
with pain. He had forgotten about the leg. Well, at least it proved that he was
both alive and awake.

"Let me take a look at that." Egalmoth knelt down by his side.
Ecthelion stared at him, confused by his sudden appearance, until he noticed
his exhaustion and the dust that muted the colours of his outfit, making it
look almost tasteful. Yes, Egalmoth looked exactly like a man who had spent the
night riding around in the Valley. Ecthelion was about to ask him about his
adventures when he noticed Glorfindel approaching, and his emotions returned in
a confusing whirl: joy over last night's epiphany, guilt over the Incident,
and, finally, doubt as to whether either the epiphany or the Incident had
actually taken place, for Glorfindel looked just as he always did -- at least
until he noticed Ecthelion's scrutiny, and smiled. The affection behind his
smile was tangible: it radiated from him like heat from a flame. Ecthelion felt
his guilt and doubt evaporate, even as he struggled to suppress this ludicrous
over-reaction.

Fortunately, the hands now moving over his leg, prodding at every irritated
nerve, helped pull him back to reality. Ignoring his thumping heart, Ecthelion
turned to Egalmoth.

"Any news of Aredhel?" he asked.

"I followed her tracks for a while." Egalmoth scowled at Ecthelion's
leg as if it were a poorly fletched arrow. "She rode on even after it got
dark, with no thought for her horse. When I was sure no spiders were following
her, I turned around. I expect she will do just fine, but if she does not... I
know she is my lord's sister, but I am not willing to die for her. Besides, you
two are my friends, and infinitely more worthy."

Ecthelion felt grateful towards Egalmoth, but also rather worried for him.
"Lord Turgon will not be happy with you."

"Ah, he will get over it." Glorfindel joined them on thoundound and
offered Ecthelion his good hand: something to squeeze for comfort, an ordinary
kindness to an injured comrade. The pain in Ecthelion's leg faded the moment
their fingers met.

"You two seem rather cheerful." Egalmoth raised an eyebrow.

At this hint of suspicion, Ecthelion sobered at once. Glorfindel, meanwhile,
simply turned his bright smile on Egalmoth.

"Well, we are all alive and together, which is surely good," he said.
"Also, we have a horse, which is even better. And is it not wonderful that
one of us, and only one of us, has a serious leg injury? It allows us to avoid
all those ridiculously noble debates as to who gets to ride."

He remained irrepressibly joyful while helping Ecthelion mount the horse -- a
difficult procedure involving a nearby tree. Ecthelion longed to tell him to be
discreet, but could not see how to do so without appearing even more
suspicious. He resolved to be impassive enough for two, in the hope that
Glorfindel would take the hint.

They soon set out westward, retracing their steps along the edge of the forest
as fast as their injuries allowed, hoping to reach the end of the Valley before
they were attacked again. Each of them knew that any battle was almost certain
to turn into a last stand. Ecthelion felt particularly helpless, for a skillful
fighter needs his balance.

It was a tense, day-long race against the ever-increasing crowd of spiders
gathering far on their right. As the sun descended up ahead, the creatures
moved in closer, scuttling among the foul pools that, in the fading, reddish
light, looked like pools of blood -- or like puddles of spilt wine, Ecthelion
decided, forcing himself into unaccustomed optimism. If he could not fight the
creatures themselves, he would at least fight the despondency they caused.

"Look, Egalmoth," he said as brightly as he could. "The Valley
looks just like your floor did during the farewell party. A good omen,
surely."

"You would not be saying that if you had been obliged to clean that floor
while nursing a pounding hangover." Egalmoth pretended to scowl, but there
was a new lightness to his step.

Glorfindel, in contrast, was now limping slightly and wearing a pleased smile.
"Do you know what would make this situation even more like Egalmoth's
little gathering?"

Ecthelion decided that, in spite of Glorfindel's recent lack of discretion, the
answer could not possibly have anything to do with the post-party events, and
so he said, "I have no idea," instead of, "Some drunken
groping."

"Your singing," said Glorfindel. "I have noticed that it makes
the spiders hesitate, and we need them to hesitate as much as possible,
tonight."

He was undeniably right: and so, Ecthelion sang. He began with his favourite
epics, tales of famous battles and deeds of desperate courage, but they seemed
inappropriate when desperate battle was the very thing his little group was
bent on avoiding. Anyway, most of those heroic songs reminded him of the
possibility of Unnatural Desire between warriors -- not that he needed much of
a reminder now, with the memory of walking Glorfindel home so fresh in his
mind. He moved onto hymns to the Valar, but it was hard to do them justice
while fighting down base thoughts about what might have happened that night,
had he stayed on Glorfindel's bed a little longer. No, Ecthelion was not
singing his best. Even his companions noticed.

"Try a love song," Egalmoth suggested. "That should distract us
from our current predicament quite nicely."

"No." Ecthelion did some quick thinking. "Love songs would only
remind me of Aredhel; after all, we are here only because she decided to go
looking for love in strange places."

"Ah, but love can be such an uplifting emotion," said Egalmoth.
"Still, I expect that neither of you two confirmed bachelors would understand
that, right?"

Ecthelion ignored his odd, inquisitive look by glancing around in search of
inspiration. Well, there was the forest on his left, an essentially good place,
shrouded in Sindarin magic. It reminded him of some of the songs he had heard
in Valinor: nothing very pious, just simple Telerin tunes praising the beauty
and power of nature. He started to sing one, and immediately knew that he had
chosen well, for the trees seemed to change slightly to match his words, their
branches extending further towards the Valley. Ecthelion's obsessive thoughts
receded; he was almost sure that the spiders did likewise, their dark shapes
slinking further away.

He sang all night, with only a few brief pauses. When dawn came, it revealed
that the spiders were, indeed, some distance off -- and also that their army
was larger than ever, and that the end of the Valley was nowhere in sight.
Ecthelion rubbed his throat, which was so sore that he felt just about ready to
join Salgant's hoarse patrol, and tried to revive his falling spirits.

"Give your voice a rest, Ecthelion." Egalmoth handed him a water
bottle. "I have just written a new song about our current situation, and I
would like to hear your opinion of it." He assumed a solemn expression
before launching into a rather familiar tune.

The spiders are reeking!

They ask for a thrashing!

They'll die with much shrieking,

Once our blades start slashing!

O! Tril-lil-lil-lelly,

Giant spiders are smelly!

Ha! Ha!

"Cheering, is it not?" he asked.

Indeed, Ecthelion had found the ditty, and the memories it evoked, oddly
comforting, in spite of its awfulness. "Certainly," he said.
"Our impending deaths seem a most welcome prospect, now that we can look
forward to taking that song to the grave with us."

"What is more, it could come in handy in the afterlife," said
Glorfindel. "I intend to sing it repeatedly when I am summoned before
Mandos -- that should be enough to secure me an exceptionally quick release
from the Halls."

"You may have to wait a while before trying out your plan." Egalmoth
was staring off into the distance. "Look straight ahead -- I can see the
river. We have made it! And that is not all. Ecthelion, I believe we have found
your missing horse."

Ecthelion strained until he saw it too: the faint glimmer of early light on
something shiny that could only be water. As they picked up the pace and drew
nearer, he even noticed the familiar creature moving around near it. Soon they
were fording the river, its brisk, cool waters washing off the stench of the Valley,
while the spiders hung back behind, clearly unwilling to undergo the same
treatment. Once on the other side, they set up a hasty camp and collapsed. They
had made it, but with little strength to spare.

---

The following day, Ecthelion was glad to mount his own horse again, in spite of
the discomfort involved. He shut his eyes as he waited for the pain in his leg
to fade, and so it was only when he felt an arm slip around his waist that he
realized that he would be sharing his horse. With Glorfindel.

"Are we certain that this is a good idea?" Ecthelion asked the moment
Egalmoth was out of earshot.

"It is the only combination that makes sense, with the other horse so
tired." Glorfindel sounded incredibly close for someone whose body was in
contact with Ecthelion's only at the waist. "Anyway, surely this is quite
safe. What unnatural acts can we possibly commit on horseback?"

Well, there was one obvious possibility. The hand now touching Ecthelion's
stomach could easily drop lower. Indeed, the distance it would have to cover
had decreased even as Ecthelion considered the idea. However, he could not
bring himself to shatter Glorfindel's innocence by mentioning this.

It was Glorfindel who spoke first. "Never mind," he said feebly,
before moving his grip from Ecthelion's waist to his shoulder. Perhaps he was
not as naive as he seemed.

As they rode on, Ecthelion found it very hard to get his mind off the oddly
compelling idea that they had both imagined the same unnatural act at the same
time. Since Egalmoth was still riding quite far ahead, he decided to distract
himself by breaking the silence.

"I suppose that this is quite convenient, really. I have been meaning to
speak to you privately for some time. Look, Glorfindel, is there any way you
could start behaving in a more discreet fashion? All this smiling -- it might
give rise to suspicion."

"Do you really think so? I am not aware of any recent change in my
behaviour. I have always acted warmly towards you, just as you have always been
somewhat cold towards me." Glorfindel fell silent for a moment. "Were
you being discreet, then? I must admit that I am still finding it rather
difficult to reconcile what I thought I knew of you with recent events. I have
always believed you to be above... base passions."

"Right -- I believe you called me 'a natural ascetic.'" Ecthelion did
not like straying from the topic at hand, but this opportunity to correct a
horrible misconception was too good to miss. "Well, I told you at the time
that you were quite wrong. I have my dreams, obviously. And, when awake, I feel
things just like everyone else does. Possibly more strongly."

Glorfindel laughed a little. "I very much doubt that. I expect that you
have no idea how bad this gets, for 'other people.' I mean, I am sure that,
when you spar, you do not find yourself distracted by your opponent's body. And
that you have never been struck by a sudden fantasy set somewhere
inappropriate, like before Turgon's throne, or in a public fountain, or on your
office table."

That last sentence, the images it evoked... Ecthelion could not think straight.
He turned to his default safe emotion, annoyance. For, truly, it was incredibly
irritating how completely Glorfindel underestimated his struggles.

"Actually, you are, again, quite wrong. Except, perhaps, about Turgon's
throne. But definitely about the sparring, and the fountain, and especially the
table. I have had all kinds of inappropriate fantasies."

"Really? Care to give me any examples?" Glorfindel's voice was very
quiet; Ecthelion struggled to hear it over the clatter of the horse's hooves
and the beating of his own excited heart. The soft words interwove with the
underlying rhythms in a hypnotic way, like the opening phrase of a tempting new
song, so that replying felt like the natural thing to do. Fortunately,
Ecthelion caught himself just in time. He decided to ignore the question
entirely.

"Look, Glorfindel, we cannot go on talking like this. It goes against all
that is right and decent."

"How do we talk, then?"

"As we did before this trip -- only, perhaps, slightly more politely, on
my part. I have been thinking about what you said, back when we were discussiFingFingon and Maedhros, and I agree that we might be able to derive some...
inspiration from our unnatural feelings. But surely even you see that we must
ignore their least natural aspects? Let us remain brothers-in-arms, caring
about each other as brothers do."

"This is very important to you." Glorfindel's hand tightened on
Ecthelion's shoulder. "Very well. Let us try it."

---

And try it they did. The nights proved slightly awkward, as Ecthelion had
developed a disturbing tendency to drift to Glorfindel's side while
half-asleep. He solved the problem by placing his weapons in the space between
them. The small injuries he collected when dazedly attempting to embrace his
own spear were a small price to pay for continued chastity.

During the daytime, in Egalmoth's presence, it was not so difficult: they were
friendly towards each other, as was only right. It was the city, where they
might, at times, be thrown together without an obvious chaperone, that would be
the true test. When they reached the outer gate Ecthelion felt both relieved
and worried.

His concern proved well-founded, though for a different reason. Lord Turgon
rode out to meet them at the Sixth Gate, in the very room in which Ecthelion
normally spent so many of his working hours. There was no kindness in his eyes
as he took in their wounds.

"Explain yourselves," he said.

Ecthelion broke the oppressive silence, and gave an account of their journey.
He spoke of Doriath, of the orc tree, and of the spiders. His words were plain;
he used few adverbs or adjectives. Turgon listened intently, bidding Ecthelion
go on even after he had handed over the scarf. Only when the story was over did
he read Aredhel's note, going through it twice. He then stared at it for some
minutes, motionless but for a small twitch in his cheek.

"Why you had to turn back, I can see," he said at last. "But I
can also see why my sister wished to leave you behind. You seem to have led her
along the most dangerous path in Middle-earth, and roused every creature for
miles around. Again, I must ask you to explain yourselves."

So, Turgon had decided that they were at fault -- but, surely, there was no
reason for all three of them to suffer.
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