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
- 6
- 7
-----

Only Fair

-----

Lord Turgon's waiting room was long and narrow: perfect for nervous pacing, as
Egalmoth and Glorfindel were currently demonstrating. Ecthelion watched them,
surprised to see Glorfindel, usually so serene, displaying overt anxiety. He
himself was not tempted to join his friends -- not because he didn't fear
banish, de, demotion, or sewer duty, but because he was preoccupied with other
matters.

Since the debate in his office, Ecthelion had made several attempts to untangle
the moral implications of Glorfindel's proposal. Each time, however, he had
become distracted by the same minor point: the question of exactly what a
reenactment of the Incident would entail. Engrossed in perfecting an answer, he
had failed to resolve his real dilemma. He had not even decided whether he
would feel worse if he accepted the proposal or if he refused.

Now, as he watched Glorfindel walk back and forth with his usual grace,
Ecthelion was rapidly reaching the conclusion that the reenactment was almost
certain to take place, if not at some convenient time agreed upon by both
parties, then at a moment of weakness. He could imagine several possible
scenarios, from the aftermath of another drunken gathering to a cold night
spent in the wilderness after being chased from the city. Really, banishment
sounded almost appealing.

He no longer felt guilty. Like a sailor who has blundered into a storm and is
buffeted about by forces beyond his control, he had no time for self-reproach.
He was too busy attempting to evade disaster -- to maintain an air of
detachment even as Glorfindel met his eye and gave him an unsteady smile of
reassurance.

When the door to the throne room finally opened, Ecthelion was the last to
notice. He caught up with his friends as they filed in to stand before their
lord.

Turgon barely acknowledged their bows. He spoke slowly, weighing each word.
"I charged you with guarding my sister. You failed in this when you let
her wander off without escort, however briefly. Your presence might have protected
her not only from outside dangers, but also from the rash impulse that led her
to strike out alone."

Ecthelion saw the justice of this accusation; the familiar feeling of guilt
returned as he waited for the verdict. However, Turgon seemed in no hurry to
deliver one. Instead, he leaned forward in his seat, as if they were in his
private study and not in a formal hall.

"All three of you accompanied my family out of Valinor," he said.
"You have witnessed first-hand our courage, our fortitude, our willingness
to attempt the impossible. Qualities I am proud of, glad to see echoed in my
people -- and in my sister, who has always had them in abundance -- but that,
at their extreme, can lead us to take reckless, thoughtlessgretgrettable
actions.

"However, there is no room for such behaviour in this city, where we need
to temper even our valour with forbearance. That is the only way we will
survive. I know that it is not easy; I can sense that many feel trapped or
bored. And now..." He closed his eyes briefly. "And now my sister has
departed the city, and ridden headlong into danger. What sort of example does
this set for the restless youngsters?"

A bad one, certainly, but Ecthelion could not see how this was relevant.

"It will not do," said Turgon. "And so, I have decided to tell
no-one of Aredhel's flight. I will expect you, as my captains, to confirm that
you lost her in the Valley."

The phrase 'as my captains' leapt out at Ecthelion. It implied forgiveness.
This implication was confirmed when Turgon went on to speak about work
schedules and the need to keep new recruits occupied. Aredhel was not mentioned
again; and it seemed that their public punishment was to consist mostly of
working longer hours.

Ecthelion, who had been planning to do so anyway, if only to sort out the mess
their absence had wrought, found this more than fair. And yet the thought of
covering up for Aredhel disturbed him. A lie is still a lie, regardless of the
motives behind it -- and the benefits of this particular falsehood seemed
meager. When the audience was over, he walked out of the palace in an unhappy
daze.

His friends seemed to share his discontent, although for reasons of their own.

"Politics," Egalmoth said with disgust. "I suppose I would feel
better about being asked to protect the tattered reputation of the Finwions
from further damage if my own skills as a tracker were not being called into
question."

"I am sure that something else will happen to take everyone's mind off our
failures." Glorfindel sighed and readjusted his sling. "In a century
or so, perhaps. In the meantime, I need a drink."

"Good idea -- that might take our own minds off it all, at least,"
said Egalmoth. "Let us go to the officers' drinking hall and flaunt our
newly restored positions."

They made their way across the city. Walking beside Glorfindel, Ecthelion found
his newfound conviction that they would someday be committing an unnatural act
irritatingly exciting. He distracted himself by analyzing the curious glances
and raised eyebrows provoked by their passage, and concluded that his friends
were right: public opinion had turned against them, to some degree. Still, he
did not mind. All he cared about was the respect of the men of the Guard.

---

The drinking hall was unusually full, given the early hour, and so noisy that
nobody marked their arrival. At the center of the hall stood Salgant, his
instrument was in his hand, poised as if he had just concluded a performance.
When he noticed Ecthelion's attention, he smiled in an oddly self-satisfied
fashion, causing his audience to turn and notice the newcomers. The silence
that fell then felt strangely abrupt and, somehow, embarrassed. Scanning the
crowd, Ecthelion recognized many of Egalmoth's erstwhile guests, and even a few
of his own men. Most of them seemed unwilling to meet his eye.

The atmosp did did not seem conducive to peaceful drinking. Still, an early
departure washinkhinkable; it would seem a cowardly retreat.

"You two find us a table," said Glorfindel. "I will get the
drinks."

Ecthelion recognized the strained, uncertain tone as the one Glorfindel used
when trying to conceal distress, and this bothered him far more than Salgant's
smirk or the awkward silence. "How would you carry them all in one
hand?" he asked. "I will go."

Just as he had expected, Salgant intercepted him at the bar.

"Greetings, Ecthelion," he said. "Let me get you a drink. It
might help dull the memories of your frightful ordeal."

"What frightful ordeal? Oh, do not concern yourself. We were too late to
hear you sing."

The words were out before Ecthelion could stop himself. Salgant's eyes widened,
but a glance at his appreciative audience helped him regain his composure.

"A pity," he said. "For I would dearly like to hear your opinion
of my latest composition. If I may?" Without waiting for an answer, he
struck up a song. Ecthelion had no choice but to listen.

The tune was mild, inoffensive; the lyrics, meanwhile, told the story of three
gay butterflies -- one silver, one gold, and one multicoloured -- that fell
into a fluttering panic whenever they spotted a spiderweb. Ecthelion could not
decide what outraged him more, the indecency of using music for such a
malicious purpose, or the expectation that he would be hurt by such horribly
clumsy imagery. Still, the temptation to strangle Salgant with his own
harpstrings was far weaker than the less natural temptations he usually faced,
and so maintaining an expression of polite interest proved rather easy.

"I do like it," he said as the final chord died away. "Perhaps
because I have always enjoyed the Sindarin air it so closely resembles. Still,
I can think of several improvements. If I may?"

He pulled the harp from Salgant's weak grasp and picked out a variation of the
melody, a cheerier, catchier tune that soon had the audience nodding along.

"That should make those silly butterflies sound even more idiotic, which
is your aim, is it not?" Ecthelion handed the harp back to a speechless
Salgant and picked up the drinks. "Of course, you will do as you see fit.
As for me, I will go drink to your continuing musical development."

As he walked towards the corner where he had spotted Egalmoth's bright cloak,
several of the men he passed greeted him with cheerful respect. The change
pleased him, but he forgot all about it when he reached the right table and
noticed that Glorfindel was nowhere in sight.

"On the one hand, nicely done." Egalmoth took two of the drinks from
his hands. "On the other hand, did you really need to make that accursed
tune more memorable? Soon the whole city will be singing it."

"Well, that should please Lord Turgon. It is a song about tempering one's
valour, after all." Ecthelion was barely aware of what he was saying as he
glanced around. "What happened to Glorfindel?"

"He went home," said Egalmoth. "When Salgant started singing he
said that he had to get out before he committed, if not a kinslaying, then at
least a kinbeating."

"Glorfindel threatened violence? And the thought of Salgant's difficult
childhood was not enough to restrain him?" Such uncharacteristic behaviour
was surely evidence of great innermoirmoil. Worried, Ecthelion glanced at the
door through which Glorfindel had presumably departed. "Did the song
really bother him so?"

"I am not sure, but Salgant's behaviour towards you certainly did. Look,
Ecthelion..." Egalmoth looked ill at ease, as if he were about to ask for
a loan. "Look, Ecthelion, is there anything going on between you
two?"

The room darkened as all the blood left Ecthelion's head. "No."
Although his vision was hazy, he glared in Egalmoth's direction, hoping to lend
additional emphasis to his forceful words. "No, there is not."

Egalmoth shook his head. "Bad answer."

"What are you talking about?"

"That is a much better answer, although you might try to show even more
confusion." Egalmoth looked down into his cups. "Not that I think
anyone else is likely to ask, but..."

Ecthelion understood that Egalmoth knew, and steeled himself to a face a
comrade's disgust. "I am sorry," he said, feeling inadequate.

"You should be. Such a fine piece of gossip, and I cannot share it -- it
nearly breaks my heart. But never mind. Maybe now I can finally get some
attention from the maidens."

Although he spoke lightly, Egalmoth could not meet Ecthelion's eye. Still,
Ecthelion felt deeply touched by this awkward affirmation of friendship and
discretion. And, at the same time, very determined to change the subject. He
sat down.

"Do you have any particular maiden in mind?" he asked.

"Not yet." Egalmoth sent Ecthelion a grateful smile. "But it
should be easy to find one. All I require in a woman is that she be beautiful,
stylish, and easily impressed. Do you have any suggestions?"

They discussed the matter at length. As they spoke, much of the tension seemed
to dissipate, so that they were able to finish their drinks without discomfort.

---

It was only afterwards, when he was walking through the city once more, that
Ecthelion began to wonder about the nature of the suspicions he had implicitly
confirmed. He soon developed the disturbing impression that Egalmoth's
conjectures about What Was Going On were far more solid than his own. All
Ecthelion had were scraps: an intense, mutual,aturatural attraction;
Glorfindel's theories about the inspiring power of such passions; the way the
two of them fought together, as if every move were part of a practiced dance;
and that new awareness of a strength that matched his own. Oh, and his guilt,
of course. But what did it all add up to?

Ecthelion suppressed a ridiculous impulse to run back and ask Egalmoth for an
explanation. Instead, he paused, and noticed where he was headed: towards
Glorfindel's house. He hesitated, but, recalling Glorfindel's distress, did not
turn back.

He dragged his stiff leg up the familiar staircase, one step at a time. At the
top, he paused, resting -- and listening to the strange scraping noises coming
through the door. When he knocked, there was no answering call of, "Come
in!" Instead, after a few moments, the door swung open.

"Ecthelion." Glorfindel leaned against the frame. "I heard you
on the stairs."

"I heard you moving about inside." Ecthelion took in Glorfindel's
hes,hes, which were slightly askew, and frowned. "What were you doing?
Rearranging the furniture?"

"Yes, some of it. I had been practicing my swordplay -- it always clears
my head -- but when I realized that you were coming by to cheer me up, I
decided to tidy the place. And myself." Glorfindel brushed at his cheek,
dislodging a damp strand of hair, and straightened his tunic. "Whatever you
do, do not look under the bed. Now, what brings you here?"

"As you seem all too aware, I wanted to cheer you up."

Glorfindel's nonchalance vanished, replaced by surprise. "Ecthelion, I was
only joking." He smiled brightly. "Anyway, you have already
succeeded."

"Oh." The sincerity of that statement was undeniable, as was the
effort Glorfindel had gone to on the behalf of his visitor. Ecthelion suddenly
became aware of the importance he held -- had long held -- in these rooms. The
feeling was incredible, intoxicating. Everything wobbled slightly; even
Glorfindel seemed to sway towards him. Ecthelion closed his eyes. When he
opened them, Glorfindel was gone from the door and walking towards a large
chest. The mute departure felt like a dismissal, both of Ecthelion and of his
absurd flight of fancy.

"Should I leave, then, seeing as my task is done?" asked Ecthelion.

"No." Glorfindel rummaged around in the chest, eventually extracting
a bottle. "You should stay and have some wine."

He poured it out one-handed, head bent so that his hair fell forward. Seeking
to distract himself from its treacherous brightness, Ecthelion accepted a glass
and took a long sip. The wine was smooth, easy to drink, but strong; Glorfindel
looked slightly flushed already. Fine, potent wine and privacy in an empty
room. A risky combination. Ecthelion put his glass down.

"Look, let us be honest with each other. If I stay and drink, we will end
up doing our reenactment sooner than we had expected."

"I do not plan to drink much. It is just that..." Glorfindel
carefully swirled his wine. "I need a reasonable way of occupying my hand
and mouth. I almost had a Finwian cousin moment, there at the door. And I need
to talk to you."

Perhaps Glorfindel's high colour was not caused by the alcohol, after all. At
any rate, no glass of wine, no matter how strong, could possibly prove as
dangerous as that little confession. Ecthelion had to escape. "You can
talk to me at work. I will return here when your arm is better, as we
planned."

Glorfindel shook his head. "I need to talk to you in private. I have been
thinking... Perhaps you were right, when we spoke in your office. Public
opinion is a powerful force. Public censure..." He drank deeply, and
grimaced. "I have had some small taste of it, lately, and I find it quite
bitter."

Ecthelion felt astounded. By Glorfindel's reversal, certainly, but also by his
unworthy sentiments. "You are being ridiculous," he said. "What
was it that you told me about self-pity? Why are you so oversensitive to the
disapproval of strangers?"

"Oh, am I? Or do you only think so because you yourself are immune to all
disapproval, having inoculated yourself against it with your endless
self-chastisement? But even you would hate it, I think, if Salgant were to
immortalize us in one of his songs."

"One about Ecthelion and Glorfindel and their dueling swords?"
Ecthelion had to smile, both at the idea and at Glorfindel's reaction to it: a
shuddering breath drawn through parted lips. It felt so strange to watch
someone else struggle with conflicting impulses. Strange, and exciting, to know
that he was the cause. He reminded himself that Glorfindel's new attitude was
the right one -- even if his reasons for adopting it were infuriatingly wrong
and would have to be overturned.

"Look here," he said. "We both know that Salgant lied in order
to get out of escorting Aredhel. He has the courage of a paper soldier and the
integrity of a wet piece of paper. How can you let the malicious actions of
such a person affect you? How can you care more about his ignorant beliefs than
about the promptings of your own conscience? How can you... diminish yourself
so?"

Glorfindel stared at him, seemingly enthralled by the self-righteous outburst.
Then, he shook his head, as if to clear it. "No. Salgant is not the real
problem, and you know it; you were the one who first bht uht up the question of
public opinion."

Ecthelion decided to be honest. "Yes, but I only did so because I was
trying to put you off by using your weaknesses against you."

"That was not very fair of you."

"What are you going to do, demand recompense?"

That last, evocative word hung in the air between them, forcing Ecthelion to
see the situation clearly. "Glorfindel, this debate is pointless. Why fear
for your reputation when all that is at stake is a single reenactment? How
could anyone make anything of the fact that we met in private one time, exactly
as we are doing now?"

"Exactly as..." Glorfindel looked around the room. "You are
right. After all, it is to be just the once, is it not?"

He spoke as if stating a new notion, one that he could not quite accept.
Ecthelion felt a rush of sympathy: no, of empathy, or worse, for he realized
that he himself had not quite accepted the reenactment's finality, either.

"Right, it is just the once." At least he sounded as if he believed
it.

"Just the once, then." Glorfindel put down his glass and glanced
towards the inner room. "I thought we could use my bed as the shelter. My
sheets are the rightour.our."

Yes, this was what the discussion had been about all along, under all the
unnecessary words: not about virtue, or reputation, or some future act of
atonement, but about their shared longing, and the possibility of its imminent
satisfaction. Ecthelion felt the vague dread that it would all soon be over
sharpen and solidify until it felt like there was a small weapon lodged just
below his heart. Still, he resolved to copy Glorfindel's nonchalance.

"Sounds reasonable," he said before walking over to the bed.
Suppressing a ridiculous impulse to look under it, he lay down. "Look at
me: I am Glorfindel of the Golden Flower."

The mattress was more comfortable than his own. It gave way slightly as
Glorfindel sat down beside him; when their eyes met, something seemed to give
way inside Ecthelion's head. If this really was a one-time occurrence, then he
would do it properly.

"Wait a moment," he said. He removed the clasps from his hair,
combing it out to spill over the pillows. "Now, I am Glorfindel."

Glorfindel's eyes brightened with delight. His hand moved to trace the small
waves left behind by tight braids. Ecthelion disliked that effect, disliked the
way it made him look: like a fragile, decorative minstrel. He shifted slightly,
so that the hair slid out of Glorfindel's reach.

Glorfindel laughed. "Be like that, then. Just keep in mind that, in a
moment, I will be touching more than your hair."

It was odd how a show of confidence could affect Ecthelion just as much as a
show of vulnerability. He shuddered and glanced at Glorfindel's hands, frowning
as he noticed the sling.

"Yes, it is a bit of a problem." said Glorfindel. "Do you not
now wish we knew the words to that 'Where Is His Other Hand' song? Well, we l hal have to make do. You had better sit up. And help me with your
clothes."

Ecthelion obeyed. He sat up against the head of the bed and shifted his
garments just as he had done for Glorfindel in the shelter: raising his shirt
and pushing down his trousers. When the cold air hit his skin, he felt a
strange tug at his pride. It felt odd to be bared in such an unusual way, as if
for no purpose other than to expose need. He looked up with defiance, but
Glorfindel did not notice; his eyes were sliding up and down Ecthelion's body.
His hand followed, brushing across Ecthelion's chest, then down along his hip
and thigh. Ecthelion was not sure whether he wanted to flinch away or push
forward but, either way, it was a struggle to stay still and composed under the
unaccustomed touch.

"I never did that," he said.

"Right. I forgot: since I am Ecthelion, I am supposed to be as efficient
and impersonal as possibleot; ot; Glorfindel shifted a bit closer, his fingers
drifting back up to trace Ecthelion's jaw. "I cannot even kiss you."

Ecthelion looked away. Guilt burned deep within him, threatening to overwhelm desire.
He had just opened his mouth -- to explain, to apologize again -- when
Glorfindel kissed him and took him in hand all at once.

It was the kiss that ensured Ecthelion's defeat. While imagining this
situation, he had pictured Glorfindel watching him, looking for small signs of
pleasure that, to Ecthelion's humiliation, would slip past his iron control. He
had not expected this tactic, an attack on two fronts; he had marshaled his
forces all wrong. The result was an utter rout.

Within seconds, Ecthelion was shocked to hear himself moaning into Glorfindel's
warm mouth, to feel his body rocking to meet Glorfindel's hand. He could
remember that, during the Incident, Glorfindel had held tensely still, but he
did not care. Instead of keeping his arms by his sides, as Glorfindel had done,
he wrapped them around Glorfindel, running his fingers over smooth hair and
taut muscle, drawing him closer.

Then Glorfindel paused. "Wait, this is not quite right."

For a moment, Ecthelion feared that he was being punished for his lack of
restraint. He froze, trying to gather enough of his wits to promise to do
better in the future. But Glorfindel was not so petty: he kissed Ecthelion
again almost at once. He had changed his grip slightly. The new motion of his
hand felt easier, somehow, more familiar; it was the motion Ecthelion had used
in the shelter. As he wondered at Glorfindel's subtlety, Ecthelion realized
that he was, once more, capable of coherent thought. Perhaps it was because a
known attack is far easier to defend against; or perhaps it was because the
small arrowhead of dread was now pressing against Ecthelion's heart, reminding
him that this would end soon, and end forever. He had to act.

He leaned forward and tried to maintain the kiss as his hands groped blindly,
slipping along the sheets until they reached Glorfindel's thigh and traced it
to its source. The resulting groan distracted him, reminded him that his was
not the only will in the room. He decided to make sure that his behaviour was
truly welcome. His lips sought Glorfindel's ear.

"Is this--"

"Yes!"

Glorfindel sounded impatient and hoarse. Perhaps they had a single will after
all. As in battle, they moved in harmony, sliding down and rearranging
themselves on the bed so that they could press together and feel pleasure
without pain. Ecthelion balanced on one elbow, his fingers brushing
Glorfindel's face, and saw his own need echoed in Glorfindel's eyes. Below,
their hands were moving in unison, so that it was difficult to remember whose
hand was whose. It did not really matter. What mattered was that this was no
fantasy, that he was not alone, that if he kissed Glorfindel hard enough to
hurt he would feel his kiss returned, just as desperately. And that it all felt
so good. The rush of blood to his head felt like a triumphant march as he came.

---

Ecthelion usually thought of a climax as a dark doorway, one that took him from
a desperate place filled with lustful imaginings to one of unclean shame and
utter loneliness. This time, however, he found himself somewhere new. As his
head came to a natural rest on Glorfindel's good shoulder, he wanted to laugh
with giddy relief. Instead, he lay silent and listened to Glorfindel's slowing
heart.

"Do you realize what you have just done?" When Glorfindel spoke,
Ecthelion could feel breath in his hair and deep vibration in the chest beneath
his ear. "You have unbalanced the situation again."

"That was my intention, yes.&quocthecthelion heard Glorfindel's heart rate
speed up at this declaration and smiled.

A few moments passed.

"You do not regret it now?" Glorfindel asked carefully.

"No. Not now. But I am sure that I will regret it -- perhaps not all the
time, but on occasion."

He felt Glorfindel's arm tighten across his shoulders. "I am so glad to
hear you say that. Not that you will experience regret, but that you will...
Oh, you know what I mean."

"I do." Ecthelion's hand moved up and down Glorfindel's body in a
stealthy caress. "But what about public censure?"

"I shall do my best not to... diminish myself by fearing it. Doing so
should be easy enough while in your presence, given that it tends to affect me
in the opposite way."

Ecthelion groaned. "Glorfindel, that joke--"

"Ah, but it is no joke."

Indeed, Ecthelion could feel that it wasn't, just as he could feel his own
hunger returning. This time, it would be less desperate; he would be able to
savour the experience.

He sat up and stripped quickly before turning to help Glorfindel do the same.
The sling made this simple task rather complicated, especially for two people
who were far more interested in touching each other, in exploring the warmth
and texture of bare skin, than in solving a logic puzzle. In the end, they
simply removed it along with the clothes, until Glorfindel was left with only
the dressing on his shoulder. As Ecthelion took in his golden skin and hair,
luminous in the fading light, his heart clenched at the familiar sight.

This was where they had sat after Egalmoth's party. So much had changed since
then. Or had it? He had learned that his desires were returned, yes, so that
his perception of the situation had certainly changed, but what of its
intrinsic immorality?

"Ecthelion?" Glorfindel touched his arm.

This, too, echoed what had happened then. There was only one great difference:
this time, he had fallen. Even worse, he had made an implicit promise to fall
again. And not in a moment of frantic desire, but in a moment of deeper
weakness. He had been right to fear the insidious softer emotions. They were
the thread that could link aberrant incts tts together, make them part of the
fabric of life.

"Ecthelion, no. Do not sink into regret." Glorfindel's face was set
now, his back straighter, so that his nudity seemed more natural than
seductive, as if he were sitting on a bench in the baths. "Be practical.
Think of all the virtues you have cultivated to compensate for your flaws. If
they are not enough, well, then, think of what a positive influence you can
have on me. Think of all the good we can do together, when we stop wallowing in
repressed desire like a pair of young recruits. Think of the good of the
city."

Ecthelion shut his eyes. Really, Glorfindel's strange logic made him as dizzy
as Glorfindel's touch. "Are you suggesting that, by repeatedly giving in
to our unnatural longings, we would be sacrificing our souls for the good of
Gondolin?"

"I was not, but now that you have said it -- is that not something you
would gladly do?"

Of course it was. But how much could two people -- two fine warriors, even --
really do for a city? Inspiring each other during sparring sessions somehow did
not feel like enough. They would have to attempt something greater.

When the idea came into Ecthelion's head, it not not feel like inspiration, but
like recognition: yes, here is one thin cou could do better than anyone else.

"You know, Glorfindel," he said, "I have been thinking that we
should have brought some of those spiders back with us."

"As have I. I rather liked the effects of their venom."

Glorfindel's comment was little more than a mutter. Ecthelion decided to ignore
it and press on.

"I thought that we could breed them and use them to train the men in
spider slaying. After all, while Egalmoth's Spider-slaying Ditty is certainly
memorable, it is sadly inadequate as teaching material. But here is an
alternative suggestion -- I think we should teach ourselves to wield the
weapons of the enemy. Whips, troll clubs, flails that mimic spider
claws..."

"Right." Glorfindel was nodding, intent. "That way we can train
ourselves -- and others -- how to best fight against them. It is certain to
help the city, sooner or later; and then people might be willing to forgive us
a few vices. And then, of course, such a shared project would provide us with
an opportunity to spend a lot of time together." He looked at Ecthelion
questioningly.

"True." Ecthelion took a deep breath. Yes, he could live with this
situation, no matter how flawed and strange. At that moment, it did not feel
any worse than going along with Turgon's deception. "It would give us an unshakable
excuse."

Glorfindel smiled. "Wait." He got up and walked back to the other
room.

Ecthelion watched him, just as he had done while waiting for the audience
earlier that day. The growing awareness that, this time, he did not have to
restrain himself made him feel like singing. He lay back, and worked on his
balance of virtue by refraining from looking under the bed until Glorfindel
returned with the wine glasses, still half-full.

They drank a wordless toast to something neither hem hem would name, and kissed
to taste the wine on each other's lips -- and then again, for no reason,
pressing together to feel skin against skin for the first time.

"You know," Glorfindel said a few minutes later, "I have a
suggestion, too, and coincidentally it is also spider-inspired. Do you remember
how, when I got my spider bite, you--"

"Yes." Ecthelion touched the healing scar on Glorfindel's thigh.
"I already thought of that -- I do intend to brush up on my first-aid
techniques."

"Good idea, but what I had in mind was quite different: another
reenactment. Here, come sit on the edge of the bed -- imagine that it is a
spider corpse. You can be me again. I, meanwhile..." Glorfindel slid to
the floor and placed his hand on Ecthelion's knee. "I have wanted to try
this for... a rather long time."

"So have I." Ecthelion could barely get the words out as he looked
down at this scene from dream and fantasy, deeply impressed by the cool courage
with which Glorfindel faced the unfamiliar. He reached out to touch him, then stopped
himself.

"Your hair. May I--"

Glorfindel said nothing. He simply took Ecthelion's hand and tangled it in the
hair at the back of his neck.

-----

---

-

---

-----

Author's notes:

0. This is fairly important -- so important that I am going to put it before
the usual passive-aggressive pleading for comments. I do not believe that there
is anything particularly unnatural about Ecthelion's desires. I do not even
agree with Glorfindel's idea that they can compensate for their vice by being
extra virtuous, because I do not see said desires as a vice. (Glorfindel's
vanity and Ecthelion's obsessive introspection, on the other hand...)

1. I do so love to get comments. Compliments, certainly, but constructive
criticism as well.

2. I adore all my helpful critics. Lyllyn, AfterEver, Earmire, Marnie,
Dragonlady7, Elvinesse, Squirrel -- thanks for commenting at HASA. Thanks also
to all my ffn reviewers, especially to Ninmen, who pointed out a canon mistake,
and to non-Silm readers CLS and L. And the Elves in my head would like to thank
Maggie, who is the perfect beta in that she manages to combine extreme
pickiness with ego-stroking encouragement, and who has certainly done a lot for
my smut-writing skills.
- 6
- 7
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